A/N: Insert usual apologies regarding tardiness, multiply by five… hundred. Real Life Priorities got in the way of fan-fiction writing (though fan-fiction is WAY MORE FUN than Real Life Priorities, I do want to attend grad school so I do need to study & put Academic Things on my resume & a bunch of other hooey that has nothing to do with changing into a lion or killing zombies- sadly).
So, this is the final chapter of Common Ground (plus Epilogue). I hope y'all like it! One life ends in sacrifice, another takes an unexpected turn, Samoj tanks, Beln thinks, Tialla surprised, and all eyes turn to Northrend. Enjoy!
Chapter 15 – Where Do We Go From Here?
The cart lurched forward, the terrified kodo surging in the traces. A thick black whip came down on the beast's shoulders and it burst into a wild gallop, pulling away from them with tremendous speed. Beln watched in momentary, stunned paralysis as the lifeless body of his friend was carried further and further beyond his reach.
"Beln!" Ironcore grabbed his wrist. "With me, now!" She dropped into her bear form and he climbed astride without question. He had never ridden a bear but he had seen others with harnessed and armoured bear mounts, though he was dead certain none of them had been Druids. He fisted his hands in her coarse fur and gripped his legs around her ribs. Ironcore barreled after the disappearing cart. Beside them, he saw Khemat shapeshift into a rangy feline form and bolt, delicate pads tapping a counter-point to Ironcore's enormous paws.
Ahead of them, the cart shook and bounced over the rough terrain, but they were gaining on it. Beln took a brief glance over his shoulder- Tialla still held Medarion's shoulders, Vedenrith leaned heavily on Aetos, Marley slumped between Tologrin and Ilsa. They plunged away into the darkness and Beln hung on, relying on the two Druids to accurately follow the retreating necromancer and his grisly cargo. He was sure the rest of the group could track them between Ilsa and Tialla. He and Ironcore could bring the man to bay, Khemat could keep them alive, and they could… what? The warrior swallowed and narrowed his eyes, fixing his sight on the fleeing cart.
A deep, hollow wail filled the night. It set Beln's teeth on edge, sent a thrill of adrenaline pounding through him and he had the instinctive, primal urge to run. Ironcore must have felt something similar, as she went from gallop to flat-out sprint. The sound came again and then Beln felt the ground shake through Ironcore's powerful frame. Something enormous was here with them.
Ironcore weighed her options quickly: turn and fight and lose Pelcyr completely, or follow the necromancer, and abandon Samoj and the others to the worst sort of luck. Pelcyr is beyond my help, beyond all help but a decent burial, it sorrowed her to think such, but it was the truth. I cannot leave the others. Beln yelped as she whirled her ursine bulk.
The bellow made Thorns drop to her belly and whine, eyes rolling in fear. Ilsa felt the same way, but she only cringed, hand clutching the dark leather of Marley's armour with renewed intensity. She felt the Forsaken tense, fingers fumbling for his knives.
"What was that?" asked Tologrin in a tiny voice, her luminous eyes round with terror. Samoj slowly uncoiled from his crouch, stretching up to his full height.
"Dat be bad," he said softly and widened his stance abruptly as the earth trembled and resonated. "You!" he pointed at Aetos, "Get heem over he-ah, now!" The Warlock nodded and murmured to Vedenrith, who was now rigid with attention, staring into the ruddy darkness. They moved, awkwardly, slowly, to join the others.
Ilsa thought the land itself moved, and had she voiced it, no one would have disbelieved her as pieces of Outland were wont to break off and drift, contemptuous of gravity. But it wasn't a shard of the broken world that bore down on them. It was a machine.
The thing was massive, a mountain of fel iron hewn with glowing sigils, targeting Samoj and his square of totems with eerie speed, so huge it reared head and shoulders above the jagged foothills. Nothing so enormous should have moved with such swiftness but it did, hydraulics pummeling the shattered ground, lurching appendages out-stretched for the silent Troll. It wailed once again, a long sepulchral howl full of warning and finality. Samoj stood his ground even as the others sat for fear of being tossed off their feet.
"Stay down," he ordered, without turning to look at them, "an' stay behind me."
"What is that thing?" hissed Ilsa, addressing Aetos and Vedenrith.
The Warlock was staring at the demonic machine with something disturbingly close to rapture. "A Fel Reaver," he whispered in awe. "Siege engine of the Burning Legion."
"And coming straight for us!" Ilsa gasped.
"Stay down!" came Samoj's order again, more urgently than before and the Shaman raised his axe and his dagger, fists glowing with ominous spiritual strength. Electricity crackled around his hands and then streaked up, striking the Reaver in a pale arc. The machine convulsed and bellowed and raised its gigantic fists over the Troll. One of his totems spat a gob of flame that splashed harmlessly off its armour and Samoj danced aside as the juggernaut pounded metal knuckles into the brittle earth. The impact jolted the entire group, but the Shaman moved effortlessly. He lunged forward, howling a warcry that raised the hair on the back of Ilsa's neck, and hacked into the construct's armoured forearm with the axe. It reared back, the Troll resolutely gripping his weapon as it yanked him thirty feet into the air.
The Shaman sank his dagger in above the axe, putting the wicked knife into the labyrinth of hoses and cables that formed the Fel Reaver's elbow joint. The machine bent the arm, trying to trap him or his weapons, but Samoj ripped the axe free and swung, letting go of the dagger at the last possible moment to flip backwards, pushing off of the Reaver's forearm. He landed hard but upright, grinning madly at the demonic machine as it reeled back, off-balance.
Then it kicked him.
Samoj lost his axe, tossed head over heels, aware only of the burst of agony in his abdomen where the construct's spike-shod foot had caught him. He landed, bounced, skidded and flopped over face-first.
"Samoj!" Ilsa screamed, horrified. She dropped Marley and swung her bow off her back, baring her teeth. "Thorns!" she cried, "Stay." She ran forward, to the edge of the warm glow put out by Samoj's square of totems and took aim. The Fel Reaver was mere steps from the Shaman.
"Tink I made it mad," she heard him groan and then he rolled to his feet, a warm green glow emanating from his hand, clasped to his stomach. He was grimacing but focused. Nevertheless, Ilsa let her arrow fly. It thudded home with grim accuracy, burying its steel head in the same joint that Samoj had left his dagger in. The machine twitched but did not turn. Ilsa scrambled to nock another arrow.
"Com on den," taunted the Shaman and spat. "You don't scare me." It swung both fists downward again but Samoj was ready. He twisted aside and pounced up the Fel Reaver's arm, ripped his dagger free as he scrambled by and wrapped long arms around the trio of pylons above the machine's shoulders. It swiveled and swatted at him, but couldn't reach him.
Ilsa saw his axe, half-buried in the reddish dust kicked up by their combat. She glanced up at the Reaver; it was still pawing at Samoj, who was using the brute's enormous bulk to his advantage. She darted forward and grabbed the axe.
"Samoj! Catch!" Ilsa had never thrown an axe before and judging from the make of the weapon, it was not meant to be aerodynamic. But she hurled it anyway. Samoj ducked down and it clanged off the pylon beside him. He groped for it and came up triumphant.
The Fel Reaver saw Ilsa and bellowed furiously. She froze. It loomed above her, green steam flaring from vents opened in rage. She wanted to move, to run, but it held her transfixed, huge and terrible and so very close. Her breath caught in her throat.
Something struck her in the ribs, shoving her off her feet, arms wrapped around her in a vice grip as they rolled together on the hard soil. Ilsa struggled to sit up, gasping, the spell broken, and found Marley on top of her, pinning her down with more strength than his lanky body seemed capable of housing. Another figure barreled past them and she recognized Vedenrith's dark armour. The Fel Reaver turned its attention to the charging Death Knight.
"Th-thanks," she managed and helped the Rogue hobble back to his feet. Vedenrith was keeping the gigantic machine distracted, chopping at its feet and dodging blows while Samoj rode its shoulders, axe and dagger flashing intermittently as he hacked about its back and head. For all the strength and determination of the two men, they seemed to be making very little progress.
Ilsa rolled to her feet, checked her bow and pulled another arrow.
"Aetos!" she called, "What does it take to kill these things?" The Warlock was summoning, surrounded by shifting purple runes. He shook his head.
"Remove its heart." Ilsa glanced aside to see Khemat, eyes narrowed at the monstrosity.
"It has a heart?"
The healer nodded. Beln appeared at her side, then Ironcore behind him, a smudge in the darkness. Ilsa aimed carefully and loosed, the arrow disappearing through the slats of the grate covering the Reaver's chest. It did not hesitate or acknowledge the attack but Ilsa thought she saw the glowing interior flicker just a little.
"Let Vedenrith take the demon's wrath," Khemat advised, as Beln tightened the straps on his shield. "You are not experienced enough and I have no wish to see you killed. Help Samoj." The Draenei looked up to where the determined Shaman was clinging one-handed to a pipe protruding from the Reaver's back, dagger between his teeth, axe flying in his other fist. Sparks flew when the blade impacted. Beln took off his shield and started forward, then paused and pulled off his cape as well. The machine had so many moving parts; he didn't want to become tangled in them.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ironcore nod, the hulking shape of her bear form giving way to the lower, sleeker silhouette of a lion. He turned back, saw Vedenrith dive and roll to avoid a stomp that jostled Samoj into the air and jogged sideways until he was facing the machine's back. Ironcore prowled beside him. They shared a quick look and she bared her long teeth in a feral grin. They charged in silence.
Beln had no idea how to climb the towering Reaver and doubted he would be as agile on the machine's back as barefoot Samoj was, or Ironcore's leonine form was proving to be. She bounded up the construct, claws finding gaps in the armour, four paws giving her more points of contact and greater stability. Beln stayed on the ground behind the behemoth and focused on its legs. It moved more swiftly than something of its size should have, but not fast enough to be dangerous to him standing at its back. He moved with the machine as it punched and kicked at Vedenrith and squinted at the knee closest to him. The joint was lined with tubes and wires, with a sheathed bundle of cables in the midst. Behind that, Beln glimpsed an oiled metal shaft and a brief flash of a flat socket. He side-stepped, trying to keep one eye on the Reaver and one on where Vedenrith was leading the thing.
He didn't understand a lot about machinery and he wasn't even sure the Fel Reaver was entirely a machine, but it seemed like a solid strategy to injure its joints and immobilize it. Beln slashed at the bundle of cables, cutting a handful loose. He hurried after the Reaver as it pursued Vedenrith. Beln glimpsed the man between the construct's knees; he could hear the Death Knight's ragged breathing. He jabbed his sword into the joint again, slashing back and forth two-handed, heedless of style.
A green bolt of fire smashed into the back of the machine's other knee and Beln looked round to see Tialla, shaking with fatigue, her tear-streaked face set in grim resolution. The blast didn't seem to have much of an effect, but it gave him an idea.
"Medarion!" he hailed and the mage crept forward to lean on his lover. Beln hastily leapt aside as the Reaver stepped backwards. "Medarion! Frostbolt!"
The mage nodded and a haze of ice fog wrapped his hands, propelling a jet of searing cold into the depth of the moving parts. There was a grinding, straining sound and then the ice covering the metal broke apart. Beln put all his strength behind a thrust and cut through the rest of the cables, leaving their frayed ends splayed around the exposed shaft. The machine bellowed right above him and Beln staggered, wincing at the sound.
Vedenrith saw the Fel Reaver begin to turn, attention drawn to the Draenei and two Night Elves scrambling desperately out of its way. His jaw was throbbing with every breath and every step but his hand was firm on the hilt of his sword. He summoned strength from the runes, spreading an aura of death from the spot where he stood, threatening the Reaver with insinuations of decay and defeat, and it glared back toward him. He ran sideways, the earth beneath his feet crumbling, disabused of life or the will to live. The machine came after him, swinging fists the size of houses.
Beln saluted though he doubted Vedenrith saw it. He turned to Medarion.
"Again, as much as you can." This time the frostbolt caused the machine's left leg to seize up completely, bringing it to an un-balanced, whining halt. Even as it attempted to pivot, Ironcore slid down its front, talons catching on the grate covering its chest. She drew her lips back as the heat within the thing enveloped her face, scorching her whiskers and grasped the slats between her teeth. The machine staggered, still twisting to face Beln and Medarion but now bringing one arm up to smash the druid clinging to its chest.
"Ho no!" snarled Samoj and jammed his dagger into the shoulder joint, driving it deeper with quick, successive blows from his axe. Metal shrieked against metal. The arm halted in its progression and Ironcore ignored the blast of hot, stinking air, wrenching with all the strength of her shapeshifted muscles. The grate groaned and bent. There was a crack and Samoj's dagger snapped. The arm swung forward with unfettered speed, too fast for Ironcore to react. It crashed across her, crushing her against the furnace in its chest. She yowled, sucking in the smell of burning fur and flesh, thrashing against the strength of the demonic machine, but it wasn't holding her as tightly as she would have imagined.
Out the corner of her eye she saw Khemat, in her bear form, jaws locked on the Reaver's hand, straining to hold it back. She must have caught it when the dagger stopped the machine from initially crushing Ironcore and the darker druid intensified her squirming until she was free. Before the Reaver could retaliate at the pale healer, Khemat scuttled backwards and Ironcore leapt on the machine's injured shoulder.
"Aetos!" Beln hollered. "Fireball! Here!" He pointed to the Reaver's left knee where Medarion had frozen the metal to a standstill. The Warlock, now accompanied by a ragged-looking Imp, gathered his magic and unleashed a torrent of flame. Metal popped and squealed, going from sub-zero to forge-hot in seconds. Beln saw the shaft warp and jammed his sword into the gap that formed between the metal 'femur' and 'tibia'.
Vedenrith lead the monster one step forward and Beln saw his chance. He threw his weight on the pommel of the sword, using the weapon as a lever and the Reaver's momentum as it swung round after the Death Knight against it. There was a shriek of deforming metal and the shaft, weakened by the onslaught of cold and heat, shifted off its axis, twisting out of the slot that allowed the machine bend its knee.
It staggered for a moment, trying to prop its enormous weight on the broken joint in a way that would allow it to remain upright. But Ironcore and Samoj hung from the machine's right shoulder, and as Beln slammed his armoured bulk against the Reaver's forward leg, he saw Ilsa, then Tologrin, then Tialla in her bear form, scale the construct's back and throw their own weight forward along with the druid and shaman.
The Fel Reaver resisted, tilted, tipped and with a wail of fury, went down. Beln was thrown off his feet by the impact. He saw Tologrin fall hard, face-first, near him and felt someone else land a hair's breadth from him. He sat up, blinking at the haze of dust the machine had raised.
It had fallen on its front and even now, attempted to push itself up. Ironcore and Samoj were still on top of its right shoulder, worrying the wires and tubing within the damaged joint with savage teeth and clever hands.
Beln remembered Khemat's words and scrambled over the downed construct's back to where he supposed a heart would be. His sword was still caught in its knee, but he had his throwing daggers and he used one to pry at a panel seeping green, ill-flavoured fog. Aetos was beside him with a sharp little knife as well, and then Ilsa. Beln forced his hand into the gap they created and hauled on the metal, grunting and straining until the panel peeled back with a groan.
The machine bellowed, furious now and strident with something akin to panic. The steam that billowed out of the open portal seared Beln's hand through the thick leather of his glove and he ground his jaws together, forcing his fist deeper into the hole.
"Where is it?" he shouted, catching sight of Khemat's pale form. "How do we get to the heart?" She was kneeling in the angle created by the Reaver's torso and outflung, useless arm, the one that Samoj and Ironcore had at last rendered immobile.
"It-" she began, but the Fel Reaver didn't give her a chance to finish. It straightened its uninjured arm and leg with a lurch, sending Beln, Aetos and Ilsa tumbling down its back. Beln saw Ironcore and Samoj leap away from its broken shoulder, saw Aetos' imp grab his belt and haul him backwards as the machine thrashed its legs, and then it flung itself over on its back.
There was a sudden burst of golden light and a muffled wail of agony.
"Khemat! Khemat!" Ironcore was screaming, desperate in a way Beln had never heard her, and he realized with sick certainty that the Reaver had rolled over on top of the other druid. "Help me get it up! Get it off her!"
"Tologrin!" That was Marley, one hand on Ilsa's hip, the other on Thorns' back. "She was under there too!" But the infernal machine was not yet dead and it struck at them, keeping them back. Beln thought he heard sobbing from beneath it and bared his teeth. Fury overwhelmed his fatigue, abolished his pain and he roared, plunging up the sheer fel iron side of the Reaver without a single mis-step, swinging his sword over his head. It was a poor attack form from a defense perspective, but the demonic machine had other worries. Beln saw the gaping, forge-hot square in its chest where Ironcore had torn the furnace grate away, saw a flicker of movement at his elbow and realized Samoj was with him, howling with bloodlust.
They reached the Reaver's unprotected chest simultaneously and sank their weapons together into the thing's infernal heart. There was a deafening pulse of sound like a geyser without heat or steam and a pillar of green light poured upwards out of the construct's riven chest. Beln and Samoj dived off it, landing side-by-side in the red dirt, eyes wide, hair standing on end with dual ferocity and the strength of the Reaver's dying blast of power.
The night became eerily silent. For a moment, the Warrior and the Shaman lay propped on their elbows, not daring to breathe as the dust settled around them. Then Beln struggled up, legs shaking, leaning on his sword and extended his other hand to Samoj. The Troll accepted it with a cough and staggered to his feet beside the Draenei.
It took all of them- even Marley with one useful leg and Medarion who could barely stand- to move the Reaver's corpse enough to reach Khemat. Ironcore and Samoj wriggled under the construct's bulk and together hauled the white Druid to safety. She was in her bear form, curled into a tight ball, muscles rigid, broken and bleeding and sobbing even in her feral guise.
"Beln," Ironcore whispered, "what you did for me- on the ocean- the power of your people-"
"Of course," he replied and drew on his link to the Naaru. The sigil appeared above his brow and Beln's hands glowed briefly with white light that passed to the Tauren. Ironcore knelt beside her friend, pouring her strength out in twining green energy as Aetos held Khemat's hand and murmured useless, comforting words.
At last, her body relaxed, uncurling and changing form. The Cenarion druid was still weeping and as Ironcore and Aetos each put an arm around her to help her sit up, they saw why: within Khemat's embrace was Tologrin. The Blood Elf paladin was motionless, her perfect features serene despite a messily broken nose. Her bright blond hair splayed around her helmetless head in a halo and her chest didn't move.
"She's dead," gasped Khemat, a familiar sorrow and horror filling her brown eyes, "She- she was already injured and she cast a ward on me as the Reaver fell, the ward that takes my pain onto herself." The druid turned away and covered her face with her hands. "Poor little child. I tried to protect her and I utterly failed." Ironcore murmured words of sympathy in Taura'he and watched Marley stumble forward to the body of his peer and rival. Ilsa helped him kneel down and he gazed at Tologrin wordlessly.
Ironcore caught Samoj's eye. He was exhausted and banged up, but his stance was steady and his frown determined.
"Samoj, Beln," she said, then saw Ilsa straighten up with an awkward pat on Marley's shoulder, "Ilsa. There is still something we must do. One tragedy we can prevent."
"I'm coming with you," croaked Medarion, hobbling over to her under his own strength. He looked down at the dead Paladin and swallowed hard. "She didn't know Pelcyr. She didn't even want to be here. She came anyway. If Pelcyr is dead, I want to bring her b-back to Ashenvale where she belongs."
Ironcore only nodded.
"Aetos, Tialla, keep them safe," she said, "We will return."
She shifted into bear form again but this time Beln shook his head and helped Medarion seat himself on the druid's back with no small trepidation. They left half of their group in grief beside the wrecked Fel Reaver and set off into the waning night, the pale promise of dawn at their backs.
Samoj and Ilsa lead the group in silence, both expertly tracking the necromancer's flight. Thorns ranged ahead of the huntress, nose to the ground. The hyena stopped, pawed at her face and sneezed, snorting in distaste. Ilsa peered at the ground and patted her pet, then pointed north. The group followed without words.
Beln was lost in thought, shocked by Tologrin's death. He had held no special affection or even respect for the Blood Elf. He had not known her well enough to overcome the violent shared history of their races, nor was he sure he would have wanted to. But she had chosen to accompany Ironcore and Marley and she had sacrificed herself for Khemat, and those things alone made him sorry he had not known her better. What a complicated place this world is, he thought in a rare moment of sober contemplation. We are all so different and yet… Beln looked over at Medarion, fists clenched in Ironcore's thick fur, eyes fixed on the horizon. Then he turned to see Samoj, focused on the task at hand, but still bleeding from a burn on one shoulder. Beside him paced the human huntress, unperturbed by the looming Troll. We've all lost something and found something.
It was full dawn by the time Samoj and Ilsa stopped walking and crouched behind a scraggly patch of desert vegetation, pointing to a fortified dome hut built in the lee of a towering cliff. Orcs- red Orcs- patrolled the area lazily in ones and twos. Smoke rose from a hole in the roof and even from this distance, Beln could sense foul magic. Thorns whined quietly, little brush tail tucked between her haunches.
"I know," muttered Ilsa, stroking the hyena's neck, "I feel the saw way. Whatever's going on in there, it isn't good."
"So what's our strategy?" asked Beln, turning to Ironcore. She had let Medarion slip from her back and stood in her natural Tauren form, chewing her lip and watching the guard's movements. Ilsa looked over her shoulder, waiting for the Druid's response.
"Whatever is inside that hut," she said finally, "is infinitely more dangerous than the guards out here. We need to get them to come to us, preferably individually and quietly, and ambush whatever lies within. We'll start with the ones near the back."
This proved to be a difficult endeavour. The first guard they targeted yelped when Ilsa shot him with an arrow, attracting the attention of a second Orc, whom Medarion quickly silenced with a frostbolt. However, now they had two blatantly visible bodies.
"Shadowmeld," hissed Ilsa to Medarion hurriedly, "and pull them back around the side of the-"
There was a grunt of surprise and they found themselves with a third guard, who had noticed the lifeless, horizontal state of his companions and come to investigate. He failed to notice, however, Samoj, who had climbed the hut like a lizard to out-flank him. The Troll broke his neck before the guard could react to turquoise hands around his jaws.
Medarion vanished into the rising sun and soon the most distant body seemed to inch of its own accord into the shadow. He had just started pulling the second body out of sight when another of the guards caught on. This one was damnably more intelligent that the other and instead of coming over to investigate, he bellowed a warning at the top of his lungs.
Suddenly the air was full of whizzing arrows and balls of fire and throwing knives but the damage was done.
"Inside the hut!" roared Ironcore. "Beln! Keep them off us! Ilsa, Medarion, focus on killing whatever is in that building! Samoj, keep its attention and, Earthmother help me, I will try to keep us all alive."
There was no grace or organization to their assault. Beln flipped his shield onto his forearm and gave a blood-curdling shout, instantly earning the attention of every remaining guard, plus two from inside the hut that rushed out just as Medarion motioned with one hand and sent a pulse of deadly arcane power spinning out from himself. That took out the two guards, allowing Samoj to plunge past, snarling with a visceral intensity only a Troll could produce. Ilsa followed, brandishing her sword, Thorns by her side.
Beln couldn't see what the foursome saw as they burst through the leather doorflap. He put his back to it, gritted his teeth and flung his shield up to fend off a spinning throwing ax.
Samoj had been a fighter all his life and he had seen some terrible things on the battlefield. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him as he pounced through the doorway, weapons flashing.
Pelcyr lay on her back, naked, arms crossed over her chest, candles burning at her feet and the crown of her head. Before her, shocked into immobility, stood an Orc dressed in the red cowl and skeletal trappings of a Necromancer. For the briefest moment, the Shaman and the Necromancer stared at each other.
"You know," said Samoj, gesturing with his dagger, "dey don't actually need to be undressed. My people been resurre'ting stuff fo' years an' dis I know. You're sick." Then he clocked the baffled Orc with his axe. Or he was hoping to, except the weapon struck an unseen barrier and bounced off, even as Samoj repeated the attempt with his dagger. A fireball and then an arrow splashed off the shield and the Orc began to laugh.
"You savage idiots," rasped the Necromancer, "You think you can harm me? I have made my peace with Death- I welcome it and it has strengthened me for my faith!" He made a gesture with one hand and Samoj found himself hurled backwards against the wall of the hut, something invisible coiling around his throat, cutting off his breath and unbreakable. He heard Ilsa's panicked gasping and Medarion's furious wheezes as they both suffered the spell. Ironcore's heavy form slammed down beside him and he saw her fists aglow with the only force keeping them all alive.
Then the rising sun seemed to vanish. The hut sank into utter blackness, save for the wobbling flames of the Necromancer's candles. All Samoj could see through failing vision was a black shadow that rose up from the floor, climbed the painted walls of the building, towered above the laughing Necromancer and Samoj froze with terror and confusion.
"You… fool… ish… man…" whispered the shadow with the voice of a corpse pulled unwilling from the earth. Ironcore dug her nails into Samoj's arm in fear. "You… called… me? You… called… me?" The flickering candle flames danced wildly for a moment and were snuffed out by a creeping cold that spread from the blackness. "Pow… er… less… and… ignorant!" hissed the shadow and the spell began to falter on Samoj's throat. "You called me… and you… expect me… to lie idly by… while you… MURDER MY FRIENDS?"
And the shadow reached out one long, delicate hand towards the Necromancer, bathed now in her own cold, violet light, smiling cruelly at the surprised Orc. Pelcyr Woodsgrace snapped forward, forcing her hand between the Necromancer's jaws, grabbed hold of something incorporeal and with a shriek of fury, she ripped his living soul from his body.
The blackness lifted. The Necromancer toppled to the dirt floor, lifeless. Samoj slowly sat up, rubbing his throat. Beside him, Ironcore rolled over, hardly daring to breathe. Across the hut, Ilsa helped Medarion to his knees. None of them said anything.
Beln toppled backwards through the leather doorflap, kicking and cursing loudly, slashing at the two guards who bore him down. Silence broken, Samoj leaped into the fray, joined by Ilsa and Thorns.
Medarion leaned against the wall, staring at his sister. She stood rigid, her hand still outstretched, fingers clenched. Her eyes were wide open in shock but they were no longer the tranquil glowing silver that he recognized. Now they were yellow.
"Pelcyr?" he whispered and stepped forward, dizzy, "You- you're- alive!" He threw his arms around her and felt her jump, then hug him back fiercely.
"Actually," she replied into his hair, "I don't think I am. Exactly."
Marley had politely declined the water that Khemat had offered him.
"You may be undead," she said gently, "but I know you still get thirsty."
"It's a mental reaction," he said quietly. "Or something. I never figured it out. I don't need to drink."
The Druid nodded and left him where he sat, staring into the campfire, cross-legged now that his splintered shin was mended. Marley looked up briefly from the flames to the Priestess standing with her back to him across the campsite. So this was the reason we came all the way here, he thought, watching the undead Night Elf toy with her long braid. What is she now?
Pelcyr was wondering the same thing. They had returned to the broken Reaver and made camp right there. The others had fallen asleep almost instantly despite it now being midday, as they were physically exhausted and emotionally wiped, but Pelcyr did not feel tired. Undead don't sleep, she thought and turned to catch the yellow-eyed Rogue quickly looking away. She smiled and walked over to sit beside him.
"Hey," she said, "Can I ask you a bunch of really personal questions?"
Marley drew back, vaguely insulted. "No, you may not."
"But you're the only undead person here-"
"The Death Knight is undead."
"I'm glad someone finally clarified that. But he's in that tent over there with the Warlock and the Huntress and I don't think any of them want me to barge in and ask if I can chew my nails."
"You need permission to chew your nails?"
"Well, no, I just want to know if they're going to grow back or if I'm just going to… slowly decay." Marley hunched his shoulders and returned to staring at the fire.
"I guess we probably would fall apart eventually. But the Dark Lady keeps us whole." He looked up. "Like you fixed my leg. We have Shadow Priests and necromancers of our own to... well, as healers, I guess. Ironcore and Khemat couldn't fix me because they're Druids. Druids use nature, life, things that grow and change, to do their magic. Our bodies don't grow or change or repair themselves."
"But I used my Holy-"
"Just because I'm undead doesn't mean I'm evil!" Marley snapped. Pelcyr leaned away from him.
"I didn't mean that, I just don't understand how my Holy powers are still accessible even though I was brought back to life by dark arts."
"Maybe you weren't trying to be mean, but that's what you meant," said Marley adamantly. "Dark arts. I don't like being this way. I want to go back to my little brother and my parents' farm and not have dogs run away from me. But I can't. But that doesn't mean I can't be… a good person. That's why your Holy magic worked. You believe, and so do I."
Pelcyr blinked. "I'm sorry," she said with complete sincerity. "I didn't know that." She dropped her pointed chin into her hands. "I don't know anything anymore. And I can't Shadowmeld anymore, either. I tried."
"I bet you can talk in Gutterspeak though," said Marley and Pelcyr shrugged.
"I'll probably have to learn it."
Marley laughed. "No, you just understood me."
"Of course I- wait, you were speaking… that?"
"Yes."
"Oh. But I thought that language was only spoken by the Forsaken?"
"Well, you're undead, right?"
"Yes, but-"
"And you have your own will, right?"
"Yes…"
"So you're Forsaken."
"But you're all human," she said, clearly distressed. Marley laughed again.
"No we aren't! Sylvanas isn't human- neither are her Dark Rangers." Pelcyr sat up a little straighter and looked at Marley out of the corner of her glowing yellow eyes.
"What do you think she'll think of me?" said Pelcyr uncertainly. Marley shrugged.
"Just tell her you hate the Scourge and want to join the fight against Arthas and you'll be fine."
Pelcyr and Marley were still sitting together, tending the fire, when Ironcore woke that evening. She hadn't bothered to put up a tent; she simply turned into a lion and sprawled on the sand. Beln had pulled off most of his armour and flopped down beside her, and was still comatose.
The druid moved over to the fire, greeting the two Forsaken with a smile. When she dug in Aetos' pack and pulled out a tripod and blackened kettle, Pelcyr hurried to find tea in Medarion's knapsack and soon the three were enjoying a cup of evening mint tea.
"Ironcore," began Pelcyr, "Marley and I were talking all night. He wants to go to Northrend. I want to go too, but before that I want to go to Undercity. Can you take me? I… I don't want to get lost and I don't know how welcome I would be without someone else from the Horde."
Ironcore smiled. "Pelcyr," she said, "I would be honoured to guide you to Undercity and proud to welcome you to the Horde." The Priestess' smile faltered and she looked down at her tea.
"I'll never see Darnassus again, will I?" she said softly. "I mean, I'm still kaldorei but I'm not…"
Beln plopped down beside Ironcore and leaned around her to address Pelcyr. "I thought I'd never see Draenor again," he said quietly. "And then when we were planning to come here to bring you back all I could think of was how horrific it would be to see my people's world destroyed by the Burning Legion. I thought it would be like losing it all over again. But you know… it's still here. All the horror that happened and there's still a world and even Shattrath, a big city!" He reached over to pat her shoulder.
"Eventually, you'll get back to Darnassus. Life seems to have a weird way of getting you home again." Pelcyr felt a slight burning sensation in her eyes and blinked.
"I don't think I've ever heard you say so much at once before," she teased. "So it must be true." Beln chuckled.
The others rose and joined them in ones and twos, sharing tea and quiet thoughts. Slowly, the party began to break up. Khemat bade them farewell and departed carrying Tologrin's body, wrapped in the white Druid's cloak, through a portal to Silvermoon City that Medarion drew up for her. Aetos vowed to meet up with her at a camp the Cenarion Expedition had installed in the Borean Tundra, once he and Vedenrith had properly prepared Ilsa for the perils of Northrend by introducing her to the perils of Outland. The huntress gave Pelcyr a lop-sided, happily-suffering smile and set off in the company of her two guardians.
Marley set off for the Dark Portal, Samoj at his side, both intent on Northrend as a final destination. They intended to stop at Sen'Jin village for supplies and so Samoj could pick up his mate, Jashi.
"I will meet you again in Northrend, old friend," said Ironcore, clasping the Troll in a crushing embrace.
"Haha! We gonna make da Scourge flee like rabbits!" He kissed her enthusiastically on the mouth and laughed when Beln narrowed his eyes and growled under his breath. "You keep a good eye on dat elf too," he leered. "I tink we be seein' more of dis one in da months ta come…"
"He's talking about me, isn't he?" sighed Pelcyr, feigning annoyance. She whirled on the Troll and shook a playful finger in his face. "Just you wait until I learn Orcish. You'll keep that naughty mouth closed or I'll silence you." Ironcore burst out laughing.
"What?" said Samoj warily.
"Oh we'll have some fun in Northrend, I think," she replied and gave the Shaman a friendly shove. Pelcyr smirked at the Troll and turned to fall into her brother's embrace.
"I'm going to miss you so much," she whispered. Medarion nodded emphatically.
"I don't care what else you are, Pel. You'll always be my little sister. I love you." Pelcyr found her eyes burning again although Marley had explained that she could no longer cry.
"I love you too, big brother," she choked out. Then she pulled on Tialla's sleeve. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"
"I'd better," said the Druid smugly, "I want my child to have her father around."
This was met with squeals, shrieks, congratulations and dropped jaws all around.
"I'm going to be an aunt!" chirruped Pelcyr with glee, bouncing up and down on the balls up her feet with excitement. "This is wonderful!" She flung herself on Tialla, laughing, and drew the other Night Elf away, chattering happily.
Ironcore and Beln were left facing each other, both still smiling stupidly from Tialla's news. The druid gently took the warrior's hands in hers. "I will come to you in Northrend once I've brought Pelcyr to Sylvanas," she vowed. "We've spent so much time apart."
"I will miss you," said Beln, slipping his arms around her hips, "And I will wait impatiently for you to join me." Ironcore leaned closer, eyes closing to green slits.
"Don't be too impatient," she murmured, "You're going to need all your strength and stamina when I get up there with you."
"Oh I do hope that's a promise," he returned, pulling her against him.
"I'll write letters that will leave you sleepless," she purred, kneading his back with her powerful hands.
Beln laughed and didn't care who was watching and kissed her long and deep on the mouth.
~The End~
~Epilogue~
Snow stung Beln's cheeks through the scarf wrapped around his face. He squinted against the bitter wind and knifing crystals and struggled forward through the drifting snow. Or at least he hoped it was forward. The world was white and howling and he had lost all sense of direction. The blizzard continued unrelenting. He fumbled ahead of himself with his sword, stabbing at the ground to make sure he wasn't going to walk off the edge of a cliff or into a crevasse.
The mission had been simple enough: scout a perimeter around his new home base, Victory Ridge. The little Ashen Verdict outpost was located in the foothills- such edifices of stone could only be called something so mundane in comparison to their parent range- of the Storm Peaks. The mission was more to give him something to do than to patrol for potential threats, and to test his mettle in the hostile weather. Beln was quite sure he had never been colder in his life and he was also certain now that he was lost.
Not for the first time, he wished Ironcore had been allowed to join him, but in her capacity as the Cenarion Expedition's ambassador to Victory Ridge there was no reason for her to leave the outpost. Still, her communion with nature gave her an uncanny sense of direction and Beln missed her stoic presence.
Lost in self-pity, he literally tripped over the girl. One moment he was slogging forward, hating snow with every fibre of his being, and the next he was off balance and staggering to plant his feet before the wind threw him over completely. She was curled up in a tight little ball, the thin fur hood of her cloak pulled over her head, knees touching her brow, hands tucked between her thighs for warmth. At first he thought she was already dead, and then when she grunted and moved, he worried that he had injured her when he tripped.
"By the Light," he shouted to make himself heard over the bellowing storm, "what are you doing out here?" Her head snapped up and fear showed instantly in her eyes. She was Orcish, he was Draenei and she was clearly at a disadvantage. Being Orcish, the fear was quickly followed by a harder emotion and she struggled up, pulling an ax from her belt. Beln held up his hands hurriedly.
"I mean you no harm," he said in accented Orcish. "Come, this is no time or place for a fight."
She paused, the ax clearly shaking in her grasp and not from fear.
"Leave me alone," she snapped. The wind shifted abruptly, tossing her cloak up high off her back and over her head, blowing Beln's hair into a whirlwind. She fought her clothing back in place but he caught sight of the totems she carried in a sling under her cloak. He also saw the red stain she had been hiding that blossomed from beneath her left arm and across her chest.
"If I leave you out here, you're going to bleed out or freeze, and I'm not sure which would happen faster," he snapped. "So you can either get under my cloak and let me help you, or I'll tie you up and carry you back to Victory Ridge." Providing, of course, that I can find Victory Ridge again… The Shaman hesitated, arms wrapped around herself, fangs chattering. She looked around the miserable landscape, then up at Beln, frowning down at her in polished armour and fur-lined cloak.
"I don't know why you're not killing me, and I don't know why you can speak Orcish," she snarled, "but I'm going to trust you, Draenei. Just this once. And if you double-cross me, I'll never forgive you, or your race, and I'll make sure I feed your remains to my Forsaken friends, and-"
"Okay, I get the idea," said Beln, rolling his eyes. "Get under the cloak." She obeyed, but only enough to get a shoulder under one fold. Beln groaned, yanked the Orc against his side and wrapped the cloak around her, tucking it into his belt so she couldn't escape. Predictably, she yowled and threatened him and struggled. "Look, if I had any ill intentions, you'd already be dead. Do you see the size of this sword?"
The Orc craned her head to look at the pommel Beln was tapping over his shoulder. She gulped.
"Exactly. So I don't want to kill you. I want to take you back to Victory Ridge where my friends can fix you up and feed you." She said nothing more and sagged against his hip. Beln stomped off in the direction he prayed Victory Ridge was in and concentrated on not tripping or shivering or doing anything that would make him appear less heroic.
"Why?" she croaked finally after a half hour spent plowing through shrieking wind and thigh-deep snow. "Why are you helping me?" Beln didn't answer for a while.
"Because you were cold and I have extra space under my cloak," he said finally. She snorted but said nothing more, clutching the thick fur wrap under her chin. "My name is Beln," he said, peering into the storm for any sign he was going the right direction.
"Tambora," muttered the Shaman grudgingly. After another eternity spent struggling along, she added, "Don't suppose you saw anyone else out there, eh?"
"Like the person who gave you that injury?" he asked. Tambora grumbled again.
"No. I fell and jabbed myself on a rock," she snorted. "Stupid. My idiot sister. Went off to pick Icethorn, if you can believe it. She sees the storm rolling in and she says she'll be fine. Stupid, stupid Warlock. Casters. Feh! Think they're invincible!" Beln had to chuckle.
"I know a mage or two that would fit that description," he said. And then to his delight, he spotted the black and white sun of the Ashen Verdict waving wildly in the freezing wind. Thank the Naaru. "Watch your step here. It's damn steep and slippery."
They descended together slowly. By the end, Beln was holding up Tambora's entire weight as she clutched his arm. As they approached, two guards materialized out of the storm to meet them.
"Hail!" bellowed one, a massive Tauren Death Knight named Bloodtower. Beside him was a Dwarven Paladin, bundled up to her misty gray eyes in white fur.
"What have ye there, Stormfist?" called the Paladin, Greshlyn.
Beln opened his cloak briefly. "Found her up in the steppes," he yelled in reply. Bloodtower bent down to peer at the Orc.
"Poor girl," he rumbled in his sepulchral voice. "Good thing you found her." Beln nodded and hauled Tambora through the heavy wooden gates into the fortress proper. The wind lessened immediately and Tambora struggled to walk on her own.
"Thought your name was Beln," she said mistrustfully, "Or are you lying to me?"
Beln blew out a long breath. "Beln was the name my parents gave me. Stormfist is the name my mate gave me," he explained. "Tauren have a tradition of giving their people Brave Names. She gave me mine after our first battle in Northrend. Now shut up and let me get you indoors."
He could feel her staring at him, trying to figure out if what he was saying had a gram of truth to it. Beln smiled a little to himself.
"Watchin' you hit Scourge is like watchin' a storm strike a man wit' lightnin'," said Samoj, slapping Beln on the shoulder. "Dey don' even know what hit dem!" The battlefield testified the Troll's statement, although Beln was bent over, hands on his knees, panting with fatigue. But as he gasped for breath, he knew that around him his friends and allies still stood, every one of them. Samoj had a chip out of one tusk, Jashi was sporting a new scar on her shoulder, Pelcyr was complaining about a tear in her robes, Ironcore's mane was a little singed, and Vedenrith was fussing with a cut on Aetos' cheek, but they were alive. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marley searching for the Cult of the Damned member he'd lost his dagger in, and hear Khemat chanting some mysterious rhyme to the trees that had been damaged in the fight.
Ilsa brought Beln a waterskin, chuckling at Samoj's statement.
"Pretty bold imagery," she said, "maybe you should put that on your shield. The Argent Dawn insignia is a little out-dated."
"I got that shield from Harlan," he said indignantly, "I don't care if it's fashionable or not, it has sentimental value."
"It would make a good Brave Name, though," said Ironcore, shouldering her staff as she approached. Beln's eyes widened.
"Really?" he said, heart pounding. She'd promised him a Brave Name so long ago. He thought she might have forgotten, or that they were reserved solely for Tauren, no matter how much she loved him.
"Stormfist," she pronounced, and Jashi nodded her approval.
"Stormfist!"
The door creaked as Beln pushed into the inn, announcing their arrival.
"Could use a healer-"
"Thrall's tusks, sister! Is that you?" Another female Orc, this one dressed richly in black and red robes that looked suspiciously like something Beln had seen Aetos wear, vaulted over a trestle table and slid to a stop in front them.
"YOU! You stupid Warlock!" spat the Shaman.
"I'm stupid? I'm not half-froze to death, you idiot!"
"Healer?" said Beln tiredly as the sisters snapped at each other.
"Unless Warlocks have learned to heal in the last several minutes," interrupted a welcome and familiar voice, "stand back and let me work," advised Ironcore, then lifted the Warlock up by her hood and set her aside. "Hello, lover," she whispered to Beln and gave him a quick peck on the lips before scooping up the bewildered Shaman and carting her off upstairs.
"Told you so," Beln mouthed at her over Ironcore's shoulder. Chuckling, he grabbed the Warlock's elbow and lead her over to the table where Pelcyr was up to her eyes in fluffy purple yarn, knitting sticks flashing precisely through what looked like a little wooly priestess robe. Marley scooted aside to let the Orc sit.
"Stupid Warlock, these are my friends. Friends, this is Stupid Warlock. I think that was her sister, Stupid Shaman, that Ironcore just hauled upstairs."
"My name is Tephra," growled the Warlock and banged her fist on the table. Then she took a closer look at Pelcyr and blinked. "You're a Night Elf, honey."
Pelcyr smiled cheerfully. "A Forsaken Night Elf. Look! My brother is bringing his family to Northrend so I'm knitting my niece a coat." Tephra the Warlock looked slowly from Beln, to Pelcyr, then to Marley.
"This is the strangest inn I've ever stayed at," she pronounced finally, then turned back to Beln. "Lucky for my sister."
"You're welcome," said the Draenei and sat down for a well-deserved hot cider.
Author's Final Notes: Well, this makes me a little misty-eyed. I had a great time writing this story and I am still tickled that so many other people enjoyed it too! Thanks for reading and, wow, thank you for your patience when the space between updates stretched into months.
Will there be a sequel? No, there won't be, despite the appearance of the delightful Volcano Girls in the Epilogue (they would be fun to write about though). But… I am writing another WoW fan-fic! It will feature a couple of big canon characters, a slightly Alternate Universe, peculiar OC's, sex, and some darker themes which I will handle with humour, since I can't do real, wrist-slitting angst even if I try. ;)
Thank you for reading! Peace out.