Post by Patty
((Yes, it is here! I am nervous about posting this, merely because of the other uses of language. Hope I don't get skinned alive for butchering Lovecraft, but there is a reference. Part 4 can be found
here. Hope you enjoy!))
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“Nel jot rigyas ron chen kot, Shai ka Hakkar, Bogg-Shah kot rah shar Ysera e lon Dream, shikala krissak asal. Asal.” Muttered Naia, the words almost rolling from her tongue gently, despite the harsh sound. Several Elves she walked past looked at her strangely, stared and shrugged before continuing with their activities.
She heard a voice, deep and booming “What are you saying such trollop for?” It asked, before another voice spat “It could be applied to you!” Naia rubbed her head, and the second voice went silent.
“Did you not see the way they looked at you?” Hissed the deep voice “They deserve to die, they are too cruel to their own kind.” Before fading away, and she began uttering something different as she approached her door.
“Zul’geb Sargeras! An dur de vale!” She exclaimed, entering her dark room. Darkclaw followed suit, but the door was slammed shut, and he went into the woods for some food, meowing softly.
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Kyrael sat on a stool in the almost empty inn, and sighed loudly.
“Hard day?” Asked the barmaid, getting him a drink of Moonberry juice.
“Yes, very.” He said, shaking his head in sorrow.
“Vell, you look troubled.” Hinted a Large Draenei sat near the Elf in the common tongue. He was well built and had almost regal blue skin, and he was wearing shining plate armour. At his side was a large mace, with a purple crystal infused in it. He assumed the Draenei was a Paladin.
“Indeed, sorry.” Said the Kal’dorei, breathing slowly.
“Let me tell you something that the Prophet told our people, ven fleeing from the Orcs.” He said, moving closer to Kyrael, who looked at him in a puzzled manner. “He said, alvays remember vot things were like before this. Remember the good times, forget the bad about people. One day ve vill need them for the Naaru.” He said, hopefully. Kyrael nodded, smiling lightly.
“Shala….” He thought.
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Shala finished drinking her very small amount of water, and broke a little bread on a bar in her cage, before biting it with her molars. The Orc guards laughed at her, spitting and kicking at her as she whimpered.
The door opened loudly, the sound resonating through her long ears, and Shala jumped a little. A large, muscular and plate-clad Orc uttered something in Orcish, and the guards left the room, sneering.
He put his axe down, opened Shala’s cage and roughly grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. She winced, and was thrown at his feet. He smirked, and started grinning widely to reveal yellow, chapped teeth.
“Welcome, Elf.” He said fluently in common. “My guards have been treating you well, it seems.” He said, chuckling. Shala frowned, and scowled. “Well, you are still alive.” He said, and she raised her hand to try and hit him, but he clenched her wrist tightly, twisting her moon-kissed skin. She screamed in pain, and he kicked her in the back.
“Don’t…Play tricks with me.” He said, breathing heavily and clenching his fists. Shala quickly spat “I am the prisoner. Where is your honour?” The Captain stepped back, shocked.
“Right here!” He exclaimed, loosening his plate belt before slapping it right on her still broken ribs. She howled in agony, begging him to stop. He continued hitting her, she tried getting off the floor but eventually collapsed, not having any strength left. She was bleeding, and covered in bruises.
“Of course, I want to have my fun with you first. The name is
Overlord Kakrun Shatteraxe, and by the time I am done with you, you will never forget it.” He said, pulling at her hair, whispering in her ear.
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Tiragon and Sproxie rode through the dark forests, seeing glowing eyes staring at them in the shadows. A cold whisper was heard in Tiragon’s ears, but he meditated to the Light to keep it at bay. Sproxie was talking about her family history, but he could hardly hear her.
They reached the large city of Astranaar, engulfed in twilight with pale moonstones glowing through the town. Sproxie was almost nodding off to sleep, so Tiragon picked her up and booked two rooms in the spacious inn.
“What…whaddaya doin’?” Asked Sproxie, opening her eyes to be in Tiragon’s arms.
“Taking you to bed, shorty.” He said, giggling. The Gnome frowned at him.
“You know what?” She asked. Tiragon sighed, and said “Let me guess, you’re taller than your father and 3 foot 2 is the tallest your family has seen, thanks to you?” He chuckled.
“Yeah, how d’ya know that?” Asked Sproxie, confused.
“You told me earlier…” Sighed the human, dropping her off to bed before going next door to his own comfortable bed, immediately drifting into a light sleep.
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Drakthog and Tal’ruk walked back out, reaching the burnt wastes of Ashenvale where the camp was situated.
“Father…Is that it?” Asked Tal’ruk, sighing.
“Yes, son, I can ask no more.” Replied a disgruntled Drakthog.
“But -” Said the younger Orc.
“But nothing! We tried, and presumably failed.” He spat angrily.
“You said yourself, the Elements will have their revenge.” Said his son, confused.
“Yes, and it will happen in due time.” Coughed Drakthog, before having a drink from his pouch of water.
“What if they need a Shaman to channel their vengeance?” Asked his son, smiling. Drakthog rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Very well, we are going back.” Said Drakthog, feeling the Spirits enter his body. “One rule though; As little blood spilt as possible.” He said.
“Of course.” Replied Tal’ruk, walking back towards the entrance to the foreboding fortress, walking heavily.