Simplicity((Story))

(( I wrote this a long time ago. This is just a bit of proof to show that I'm only a dumb ass when I feel like it. <3 ))

“Come on troll. You’ve had enough to drink for tonight. It’s nearly three.”

People are always telling me that I need to stop drinking. I suppose they’re right, but I enjoy ale more than their company, so I usually ignore them. Usually it’s not the bartender though.

“Drink.”

I’m not a very talkative or boisterous drunk. Actually, most people find me to be depressing and quiet when I’m drunk. Actually, they find that I’m depressing and quiet when I’m sober too. Probably why I’m not much of a social drinker.

The goblin gave a sigh and filled the mug, passing it across the bar to me.

“Final call. You sure you’ve got the money to pay for all this?”

“Shure.”

The bar was a dirty, and run down affair. The kind of place where you have to wonder what that questionable looking human in the hood who keeps glancing at the door is really doing here. Not a good place to bring the family. It was nearly empty now, all the chairs put up on the tables. Only two people left, including me. Aside from mystery hood over there, everyone else left an hour ago and no new customer had come since.

My mug had been empty for a few minutes now, and I was getting a look from the goblin that meant I should probably go. I emptied one pocket of gold and nodded to the goblin. He didn’t say anything, just began counting the pile of coins one by one. I left without a word. Ten steps outside the door, it opened again. I turned quickly to see it.

-----

I’d say it was about six hours later that I woke up in an unfamiliar room with a headache the size of Kalimdor and a nice bump on the back of my head. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I was relieved to find that it wasn’t some dark dungeon or some dank and grimy cave. Actually it was a pretty nice room. It was richly furnished, well lit, there were even windows. Open windows. Definitely in my top five unfamiliar places to wake up.

I stood, yawning slightly and scratching my head. As I was deciding whether to escape through the window or go back to sleep, the door opened. In stepped the mystery man in the robe from the other night, sans robe and mystery. I was surprised to find that he was dressed in elegant clothing. He wore richly threaded black mageweave shirt and pants, with blackened leather gloves and a hat that covered a well kept mat of black hair. His eyes were the shade of blue that I wished I had, so that I could pull off the refined and intelligent look. Needless to say he had a very refined and intelligent look to him.

“Damukag. I have a job.”

Just like that. It starts so simple.

------

I’m not here to tell my life story, but in order to understand why all this happened and why I did what I did, you need to know some things about me.

I’ve always been a killer. My first job was serving with the Frostwolves in Alterac Valley, something I did for a good time longer than I wished to. Someone spends too much time in that place and they either get killed or loose their head. After about ten years of service, I finally left. Of course, my brilliant plan for getting out of Alterac Valley ended at ‘Get out of Alterac Valley’, and I was soon without any sort of job or money to my name. I worked as a bounty hunter and guard for a while, but I soon discovered two things. One, I’m much better at killing people than keeping them alive, and two, there’s much more money to be made on the other side of the law.

As an Ex-Frostwolf it wasn’t hard to get a job in the Cartel. From there I just moved up, and eventually learned enough to go out on my own. Things were looking fine until people started trying to kill me. It’s a bit enlightening, being on the other side of the blade. I decided it was time to get myself lost, and I guess the ones who’d been trying to get me out of the way were fine with that. I’ve been in and around Booty Bay since then, taking local jobs and doing my best to lay low (also not one of my stronger points). It was working out well, and I’d felt same (a problem in itself, I suppose).

Times change, and so do people. Now I was worth killing again. That’s what I thought, at least. In retrospect I can see this had very little to do with killing me.

The point is, I didn’t officially kill anymore. But hell, when you're broke, small things like that don't really mean anything.

------

"A job?"

"A job. A simple job."

His voice was sharp and cold as ice, with a detached monotone.

This is when a smart, good troll would tell the man he was out of the game, and wouldn't get back in for all the money in the world.

"Well you didn't have to kidnap me for that." I replied, rubbing the back of my head with a slight cringe.

I'm not a smart, good troll.

“We didn’t kidnap you. You were drunk outside the bar. You fell and hit your head.”

“Fell?”

“Yes.”

“and hit my head.”

“Yes.”

"Huh, usually when I do that the bump's on the front of my head." I replied with a smile that could have pierced steel.

His eyes narrowed, like he was seeing me for the first time and sizing me up. Not that I was much to see. People are telling me that I’m getting old, and so far people have been right about me. My blue hair is slowly turning white, and my once piercingly yellow eyes are getting duller every day. I figure that it’s only a few more years before I can pull of that ‘old wiseman’ look and settle down a bit. I’m wearing some old clothes that, while presentable and elegant when I first got them, are now torn in several places and faded. I don’t even fill them out anymore, either. My youthful muscle is gone. All I’ve got going for me are experience and a willingness to do anything to survive. I figure those’ll trump youth and determination any day.

“Yes.” He said after a long pause. “How curious.”

“Yeah. That’s a good word for it. Curious.”

We would have sat there staring holes into each others heads if he hadn’t finally spoken up.

“Four thousand gold.”

I nearly blinked. Nearly.

“Four thousand,” he repeated again to assure me I’d heard right, “for one job.”

By the spirits, this guy was either an idiot or insane. The most I’ve ever made for a single job was about four hundred, and that was back when I was actually good at what I did.

“Who’s this for?”

That’s suspicion kicking in. For that much there’s gotta be a catch. But the answer doesn’t matter. For that much I’d work for Tyrande F***ing Whisperwind.

“The Syndicate.”

Ah, there it is. The catch. You know those criminal masterminds who never get caught and are always one step ahead of everyone else? Well they have nightmares about the Syndicate. There was no way these guys were dealing with a washed up killer like me.

Now my eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“What do you mean? We have a job, we came to the person who does them.”

“Yeah, but you have people. You have rooms full of people. Why me?”

He gave a sigh, then stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Because you’re lazy and halfhearted. Because we need someone we’ve never worked with who’s so unprofessional that they’ll never imagine that we’d employ him.” He said, almost hissing with anger.

I glared at him. Just because it was true didn’t mean it didn’t anger me.

“Glad I meet your standards. What’s the job?” I said through clenched teeth.

By standard, asking this question means you're in completely. Once you know the target, you're either a tool or a liability. No going back until the job was taken care of.

“It’s simple.”

Simple yet time consuming, I suppose.

The zeppelin had been the worst. I hate flying in those things. Every time you hear a crack or a bang, you think the engine's about fail and you're going to fall to you're death. There were a lot of cracks and bangs. There are things I just naturally distrust, and Goblin Engineering was one of them.

It seemed sturdy enough to look at, but after the ride to Grom'gol it was bliss to be able to get off and feel stable ground beneath my feet once more. The zeppelin began to sputter off, leaving me in the jungle.

Ah the jungle.

Pity I left so soon. The jungle had a feeling of security. It seemed to give of an aura of mystery and power.

Or maybe it was just the aftereffect of all the zeppelin fumes. Anyone's guess.

-----

Simple had been an understatement.

Kill one girl, maybe her lone bodyguard, and wait in Ratchet for my payment.

Four thousand gold for this. The man must be insane. I wasn't about to say anything though.

No special conditions, no surprises, no heavily defended lairs. Just one woman. A human, even. Lives in Westfall alone except for her bodyguard. I know what you're thinking. Sketchy, right? Must be in hiding from someone (like, oh say, my friend the mage?) to be living alone in a place like that.

Nope. Turn out she just saw my friend making dealings with the Defias, and my friend doesn't like this. So I fix the problem, my friend once again has nothing to do with the insurgency in Westfall, I get paid, everyone runs off on their separate ways, living happily ever after.

Except the woman. She dies.

-----

Now that I think of it, I probably should have gotten asked for a better description than 'abandoned, run down farmstead'. The mage was describing every building in the damn region. I mean seriously, how hard can it be to add some details to that? Why the hell do all these farms look exactly the same?

Actually, I should have gotten more of a name than 'Grace' too. Is that her real name or just a nickname? Maybe this job wasn't so simple after all.

I couldn't really just go out and ask, you know? I mean, I was about 99% more likely to get stabbed with a pitchfork than to get a response. And the response would be to slam the door in my face. Even without my absolutely charming personality and wonderful people skills, this would never work.

So if the honest peasants think you're a bad guy, why not try being a bad guy?

-----

The wooden door was rotting and weak, so it presented no barrier to my seaforium. Awfully expensive, but it did the trick. The door splintered into pieces, and before the dust had began to clear I charged in, knife drawn. Yes, it sounds stupid. Yes, I had a spear. Yes my spear was a much more effective weapon. No, I was not going to use my spear. It's a long story.

Shouts of surprise.

Shouts.

As in plural.

As in !*#@, I might be screwed.

A two men were visible, one already standing, the other still sitting in a chair so old and diplated that it looked like it had been on the frontlines of a war. The standing one went for his sword. I was faster. I threw the knife at him without stopping, and it caught him in the shoulder. Very badass, but I had been aiming for the heart. It did the trick though, and he gave a cry of pain. His sword arm was useless now. I reached him only a second or two after my knife did, tackling him to the floor and punching his throat. The other one forcefully ripped me off of his friend, and I grunted with pain. Calling the spirits of earth to me, I sent a burst of power at him which flung him off of me. He hit the wall with a crunch, and I turned to the first man again, he was standing now, trying to pull the knife out. I didn't even have time to stand all the way up. I just dove into his stomach.

It worked, and he fell to the ground with me. He put up a weak fight, and I subdued him quickly.

Time to find Grace.

-----

There are so many different interpretations of a statement like 'a simple job'. For example, one person (oh, let's say a human mage) might throw out the word simple when describing a situation like mine. Indeed the idea of it was quite simple: Make a human give you some information. However, as is the case in most situations like this, the act itself is hardly as easy as it sounds. Now the person who's in the situation (let's say a troll shaman) would never consider this simple. In fact, he'd be liable to take offense to anyone who called the process a simple task. It was so complex and intricate a task that many people spent their entire lives discovering all it subtleties. I speak of course, of interrogation and torture.

See, I consider myself an artist of sorts in this area. I've heard various explanations as to why I might be so good at torture (perhaps an underused and overactive imagination combined with my line of work, for example), but the simple fact is that I'm just good at causing people immense amounts of pain and misery.

Call it a talent.

See, I have some nice guidelines. You don't start with the heavy stuff first. That just sends them into panic and shock, which is no good. They can't give you information then, which defeats the purpose of the act entirely. No, instead you can start with some normal everyday objects. Most people think that it takes a lot to crack a man. Complex setups, insidious devices, you know, the kind of stuff you'd see in the Archimonde's bedroom. I personally disagree. It's the simplest thing in the world to cause a man more pain than he can possibly bear. You cause this pain and you make sure they know the only way to stop it is to comply. They'll break down faster than a product of goblin engineering.

However, this was going to be more complex than most of my other 'bonding' sessions. See, I had accidentally killed the other man when I'd thrown him against the wall in our little tussle. He'd been relatively fine until his neck broke his fall (and itself), resulting in his untimely demise.

In short, I had to get Grace's location out of this guy without killing him (at least, without killing him before I got what I wanted).

I picked up the chair and broke a leg off, smiling as I saw the rusty nails and splintery wood. Like I said, sometimes it's the simplest things that work the best.

(( These were the first two chapters, I lost the rest so I'll need to rewrite them. ))

There's nothing to like about the barrens. Just a dry and arid wastlelands where you have to remind yourself that the plains end eventually. The occasional tree blotted out the sun temporarily, but the shade was also a favorite hangout of lion prides, so it wasn't as relaxing as you might think. I'd done my best to get through as quickly as possible, but any time spent in that desert is too long in my opinion.

My point is that when I finally reached Ashenvale I was almost glad to see the elven watchpost that marked the entrance of the forest. I'm never really 'glad' to see an elf, but I suppose this is the closest I'd come in a long while.

-----

Ashenvale was always a place of mixed emotions for me. The tall, thick forest of trees reminded me a bit of the jungles of Stranglethorn. There was something about being surrounded by nothing but trees and animals that was comforting. These days, being surrounded by bears and panthers is safer than being surrounded by people. It gave the same air of power and mystery that my homeland did. It it hadn't been filled with elves, it might actually be quite nice.

It was though, and so instead of strolling about and enjoying the surrounding nature, I was quickly forging my way through a thick tangle of bushes and branches. They'd let me through the gates when I told them I was a messenger. Hell, they'd even given me directions straight to Grace when I'd told them she was the one I was supposed to find. Still, I didn't trust these elves to give me the benefit of the doubt if they saw me in their forest. I'd heard too many stories of orcs and tauren 'mistaken' for wild animals and being 'accidently' put down by the sentinels. I didn't know what kind of animals prowled the forest I was in, but I was sure the elves could think of one that looked quite similar to a troll.

Suddenly there was a shout from the path nearby and I dropped to my chest. I couldn't see who'd made the noise from my position, but I didn't want to risk moving to see. After a few moments of silence, I decided that if they had seen me, laying down in the grass and waiting for them to find me wasn't going to help my cause. Slowly I moved up to a crouch, cringing as the quietest rustles seemed like echoing roars. Finally I glanced back to the path and saw the shouting's source.

A patrol of sentinels were pointing towards me and shouting. I was about to break cover and run when I saw what they were pointing to. It was an orc, sprinting towards the same foilage I was hiding in. His hands were tied behind his back, so his run was more of a quick off balance stumbling, but no one was moving to follow him. I wondered why for a moment before I saw a smirk on one of the elf's faces. She quickly drew her bow, notched an arrow, and let fly. I couldn't see it hit, but the orc suddenly seized up, as if frozen in place. He took a few tentative steps forward and I thought for a moment he was going to reach the bush, but he finally faltered and fell foward, arrow sticking up out of his back.

The elf who'd shot him gave a snort of disdain and placed the bow carefully over her back. She and a few others strode forward, talking quietly in a language I couldn't understand. Suddenly I realized the orc wasn't dead yet. He was kicking forward with his feet, trying to push his hulking frame further from the elves. One noticed, pointing and laughing. She spoke up in broken orcish, obviously to the orc.

"Tough one. Don't know when to give up." she said, drawing her bow. " Teach him not to invade forest."

Suddenly I froze too. The orc had seen me. His eyes widened and bulged out, and he started kicking more frantically.

"Orc scared?" the one with the bow asked, laughing. The other two, obviously a bit more squemish, frowned and studiously studied their feet.

It shouldn't have really been a hard choice. Show myself, get an arrow in the face, and die, or don't, run away, and live. I'm not heartless. I do have a concious. I'm just remarkably good at ignoring it or drinking it away. This though, was a bit troubling. Seeing an orc helpless like this, and an elf laughing over his obvious fate. I should have just moved, but I couldn't. I just sat and watched. I watched until the elf finally fired the arrow, and it thudded sickeningly into the back of the orc's skull. I laid still, watching the elves cut his bonds and finally return to the path. Finally, with nothing left to watch, I continued through the bushes, onwards towards Grace

----

It was just past dusk when I finally reached her small cabin. It wasn't far from the elf's city, so I was a bit uneasy, but at the same time it represented what was ostensibly the end of my journey. Needless to say, I was eager to get this job over with as quickly as possible so I could settle back with four thousand gold in my pockets. There was a light on inside, and I glanced through the window.

A single lamp burned dimly on a wooden table between two chairs, and the embers of a fire burned in the fireplace. Over the top of one chair I saw the back of a woman's head. A human woman.

Grace.

Must be. I hadn't seen any other houses in this area, much less one with humans instead of elves. Here she was, mere feet from me. I drew my dagger slowly, and inspected the window. I couldn't see a way to open it from the outside, and I didn't want to cause a ruckus by breaking it. We were close to the city, and I didn't want to make more noise than I had to. There are several things I don't like seeing in my line of work, but an angry mob of armed, angry elves is one of the worst I can think of.

Slowly I crept along the wall, pausing at each window to check inside. The cabin seemed to have two rooms. One was the room the woman was sitting in and although the other was completely dark, I guessed it was a bedroom. I continued along the perimeter, keeping myself calm. No point in ruining things by getting overeager and rushing. Finally, on the wall opposite the one I'd come to initially, I found the door. A single torch burned next to it, throwing a solitary pool of light on the door and the ground in front of it. I hesitated, then decided that there was no other way. I stepped forward cooly, and checked the doorknob. Locked.

Suddenly I felt the sickening (and, I must admit, somewhat familiar) touch of cold steel to the back of my neck.

"Oh."

"Made wrong move troll." she said, laughing in a way that made me shiver.

It wasn't until she first spoke that I realize it was the exact same elf who'd killed the orc earlier that day. She had a uniquely broken way of speaking orcish, but her cold laughter was also very familiar. Her blade had an unnatural chill to it, and she pressed it harder into the back of my neck, breaking the skin and drawing a few drops of blood. I did my best to hold still, gritting my teeth. She would probably kill me anyway, but I didn't want to give her any reason to do so sooner rather than later. I tried to collect my thoughts quickly, and figure out what to do, but it was a hopeless endeavor. The cold edge of a blade against my neck has never really helped my thought process along.

Another elf stepped out of the bushes in front of me, a rather nasty looking barbed arrow pulled back against a taunt bowstring and aiming straight at my face. She gestured down at the ground with her bow, eyes never leaving mine. I got the idea and, in the interest of not having one of my eyes replaced with an arrow, decided to comply by lieing down on my stomach. The one behind me, obviously a leader of some sort, leaned over and quickly removed my satchel and dagger from my belt. I'd left my pack and spear back in the forest temporarily, so those were the only two things visible. I had other weapons, of course, but reaching them before my hands were bound would be difficult.

"Got other weapons troll?" She asked calmly, forcibly pressing her foot into my back.

"You're orcish is terrible, elf." I grunted out in common. Knowing languages is almost as important as knowing how to fight in this job. I may not have liked the alliance, but knowing how to speak their language was a big help when I needed to get information. Or, like right now, needed to not get stabbed by a sharp object.

"Ah, a funny one." she replied, laughing again. When she wasn't grunting out the foreign sylables of orcish, her voice sounded almost musical. "Well at least he can speak common. The last few we caught around here couldn't. No fun in that."

"You caught others around here?" I asked, legitimately confused.

"Quite a few." she replied, removing her foot. "Plenty of your kind." She laughed again, removing her foot from my back. I moved to stand, but she forcefully slammed her leg down on my back, sending me down to the ground once more. She smashed her foot down again, snarling as she did. I groaned and she bent over, her mouth next to my ear.

"but you're the one I've been waiting for, Damukag." she whispered.

I was confused, but it didn't take me long to realize what was happening. This was the leader of the sentinels. The one whose life I'd ruined, who'd sworn revenge on me. Yeah, she was the one holding the knife to me now.

Not exactly the most fortunate of situations.

If there's one thing I'm good at, it'd be improvisation. Well, that's a lie. It'd probably be something more related to making people angry. I am good at improvisation though. I like to think it's because I'm good at thinking on my feet, but to be honest most times I don't think at all, I just act on instinct. Perhaps it's my trollish beserker heritage. Perhaps it's just my strong will to survive. Or perhaps it's just the fact that I'm terrible at planning ahead, and so I get a lot of practice. Whatever the reason, when my plans fall apart (which they do more frequently than I'd care to admit), I can usually find some way out of it.

That's why I wasn't really worried. Sure, she was probably just seconds away from slitting my throat or something equally painful and fatal. And sure, even if I did somehow get her out of the way, weaponless and restrained though I was, I still had her two friends aiming rather nasty looking arrows at me. But really, it wasn't that bad. Well, maybe it was, but I was too busy getting over the pain of having my face shoved into the ground to notice.

When she finally took her knee off of my neck for long enough for me to talk, I managed to gargle out a few words.

"Makes you feel good, doesn't it?" Hopefully if I angered her enough, she'd make some sort of mistake. Send her minions away, cut my bonds, something stupid and 'honorable' like most of these alliance folk. "Beating an old, unarmed troll."

She kicked me in the mouth and I coughed a bit of blood up. For all my tough guy act, I was really hurting. The only thing keeping me from breaking down was the subconcious knowledge that when I did, she'd have gotten her satisfaction and just kill me. So please, don't mistake my actions for brave and honorable. It'd be an insult. They were just as self centered as anything else I'd done in my life.

"Yep," I gurgled, forcing a smile, "Mommy would be so proud of her little sadist."

That seemed to send her off the edge. She screamed an almost unearthly howl and threw herself down on top of me, fingers wrapping around my neck. Before her vengeful face took up the whole of my view, I noticed that she'd dropped the dagger a few yards away. They'd bound my hands already, but I could cut through a rope pretty easily, even bound. Especially bound, to be honest.

"DON'T EVER TALK ABOUT HER!" she howled, spittle flying at my face. And they said elves were clensly creatures.

My strangled grunts and groans didn't seem to be an appropriate response, but suddenly she was pulled off of me. My hopes of help took a blow as I realized that my would be rescuer was in fact, one of the other elves. She was restraining her leader, shouting out something in the elven tounge I couldn't understand. I could understand the shouted, angry response though.

"Let me go! Get your **!@ing hands off of me! I don't care if it won't look like an accident! Let go!" she roared, fighting angrily against her friend's restraint. I took the opportunity to crawl backwards, hands under me, to where I'd seen the dagger. Feeling the sharp cut of its blade on my wrist, I quickly twisted and grasped it behind my back, flipping it around and trying to mask the up and down sawing motion as best I could. The elves must have thought I was merely distancing myself from my enraged captor (which I was as well), for they made no move to stop me. The one who wasn't restraining the leader still had her bow on me, but her eyes were uneasily watching the other elves.

And just as I thought I was in the clear, the restraining elf finally released her grip and the Sentinel Warden was towering over me once more. I looked up with genuine regret in my eyes, though not so much for my crimes as for the fact that I'd failed to escape them. I stopped moving the dagger, fearful that she might realize it was missing and figure out where it had gone.

She bent down over me, the embers of rage still gleaming in her eyes, and grasped me by the shoulders. She hesitated for a second, staring at me, and in that moment I remember wondering what she was thinking or feeling. Her she was, at the moment she'd be training and working for so vigorously since her parents had been killed: the confrontation. And yet all she had in front of her was a washed up old troll who hadn't even put up a fight. When would she finally realize that the revenge she was looking for wouldn't fill her up and give her life purpose, but instead make her feel more empty and lost than before? Because I knew that look on her face, and I finally remembered where I'd seen it before. On my own face, all those years ago, when I'd finally met the spirit damned paladin who'd slain my master. And that realization scared me more than anything. The fact that she was on her way down the same path I'd already walked, that scared me. Because I remembered what I'd done to that paladin, and more importantly, what doing that had done to me...

But it was that realization that led me to realize what I had to do in order to survive.

"I wonder..." I managed to croak out, voice reduced to a whisper by the punishment my neck and mouth had taken, "What you'll do after this."

"What?" she hissed, moving in closer.

"Not right... not right after." I managed, coughing badly and spitting up a little bit more blood. "But in a few weeks, when you finally... finally realize that there's nothing left for you in the Sentinels."

She didn't say anything, but she was still staring at me and making no move to attack, so I continued. And slowly, behind my back, my hands began to move again.

"When you... finally realize that without the hunt, without the revenge, you're life is... empty." I whispered, trying and failing at a grin.

"You don't know the first thing about me, troll." she spat. But once again, she made no move foward. I knew I was getting onto something.

"More than you'd thing, I imagine." I said, this time smiling legitimately. "But the question still stands. What will you do?"

"Well I'll start by ending this." she said, voice deadly quiet.

I watched her face as she reached down for her sheath, keeping my eyes trained firmly on hers. When I saw the luminous orbs go wide in surprise, I smiled again.

"Too late." I whispered. And then my hands were free.

Now perhaps my hands had been free a little bit before that, but you can't hold it against a troll to go for a little dramatic timing.

----

As soon as I saw her eyes go wide, I'd rolled slightly to my left, giving my right arm the space to flash out and bury the dagger hilt deep in the elf's side. At this range, with this dagger, the leather harness she was wearing might as well have been paper. Her mouth opened wide but no sound came out. I would have loved to twist the blade around a bit (you know, just to make sure), but I knew I had only a second or two before one of the elves realized what had happened. Quickly I let go of the dagger and grasped her on either side, pulling her closer to me and shaking a bit. Then I rolled us both to the right, so we were on our sides and the dagger in her ribs was hidden beneath her. Finally she managed to gurgle something and I heard the shout of surprise. One of her friends charged forward, dropping her bow and moving to pull me off of her leader. Probably thought that the crazed elf was just trying to strangle me again. Quickly I rolled back, grasping the hilt of the dagger and wrenching it free. The would-be-savior stopped short, recognizing the gleam of silver. It was too late though, and I sliced out with a savage scream. The edge sliced at her shins, splattering blood all over my face and arms and raising an ear-splitting shriek.

At this point I was beyond noticing unimportant details like that. It was just me and someone who honestly wished for me to die. The elf was falling to her knees and I snarled again, shoving and writhing my way out from under my friend the leader of the sentinels. As I freed myself, The elf on my knees was drawing her own dagger and screaming something incomprehensible. I suppose it was something along the lines of 'Would you kindly kill this troll with your Bow and Arrow before he can do me great harm' because suddenly I felt a jarring pain in my side. I didn't really seem to notice this either. Like I said, I was beyond noticing unimportant details.

I half tackled, half fell towards the dagger wielding elf. Hopefully if I stayed tangled up with her, the bow and arrow elf wouldn't risk another shot. She fell backwards under me and by some combination of luck and skill, I managed to pin the arm her dagger was in under my own arm and shoulder. She screamed again, attempting to free at least her wrist so that she could stab at my arm. I tried jerk my own dagger up to stab, but somehow she managed to get her left hand up to grasp my wrist. I gritted my teeth and pushed, but it seemed that the effects of age were making themselves known. I managed to straighten myself out, grasping her wrist in my own left hand as I shifted my weight. We wrestled back and forth, rolling around and covering each other with blood and dirt. I don't know how long exactly we struggled like that, each of us trying fruitlessly to push to other's hand back the slightest bit so that we could use our weapons, but it seemed like hours. At the end though, I could feel my strength waning and knew that I had to do something quickly.

What I did do was a bit bold. I let go of my dagger and bent my hand down, wrapping my three fingers around her thin wrist. Then I straightened my own wrist as quickly and abrubtly as possible, pulling her wrist up even as the motion bent her arm down. I heard a crack, then another scream, and felt her grip fall away. I reached down for the dagger only to have my hand brush against the arrow lodged in my side. Without thinking I grasped it, wrenching it free, and then pulled it around and slammed it down, point first, towards the writhing elf below me. Her struggling ceased immediately and I rolled off, stumbling to my feet. Suddenly another arrow flew out of the darkness, striking me in the shoulder. I quickly, almost instinctively, called the spirits of storm to me, sending them flowing out towards where the shot had come from. I heard a cry of pain and rushed for it, leaving the clearing for the dense forest beyond. I could hear her running now, trampling through the bush with distinctly un-elven clumsiness. I followed, somehow managing to run despite the arrow in my shoulder. Branches lashed out at my face, brambles sc*!@*d and clutched at my sides, and roots made me stumble and nearly fall, but by some unnatural force I managed to continue. Suddenly I saw a shape loom up ahead of me and heard a strangled sob. Clenching my jaw, I charged headlong towards it.

Apparently I'd hit her in the leg, for she was limping. She was glancing back over her shoulder, an expression of undisguised terror planted on her face. I called the storm elements again, extending my arm and using my outstretched fingers as a conduit for their power. The bolt flew true, striking her in the back with a sickening sizzle. She fell to the ground, but I could still hear hear her gasping for breath, arms reaching forward slowly to pull herself away from me. It reminded me of something I'd seen earlier that day, but I couldn't quite place it then. Instead I just strode forward, breathing heavily and rhythmatically, and planted my foot firmly on her neck. She made a pitiful strangled sob (or perhaps gurgle, I couldn't tell), then I raised my foot and slammed it back down, heel first. I heard the distinct snap immediately, but I stood there for another few minutes, panting slowly. Then I blinked a few times, rubbed my forehead, and realized I was still standing there with my foot on her back. I stepped back quickly, then doubled over in pain. I felt at my side, where the pain had come from, and my fingers came back up covered in blood. I remembered the arrow, and then, just as quickly, remembered the other one still in my shoulder.

It took me a good hour or so to bandage myself up to the point where I could make the walk back towards Grace's house. The combination of the healing aspects of shamanism, my natural trollish regeneration, and my skill with salves and bandages was indeed a powerful force, but the punishment I'd sustained that night was going to take some time getting over. Not even a troll can just take a beating and two arrows to the torso and run off like nothing happened.

When I reached the camp I was surprised to only find one body. I wondered which of the elves it had been until I saw the arrow sticking out of its eye. It seemed like the Sentinel Leader had crawled off, either to die in some other place or raise help. Either way, I didn't think I was in any condition to track her, much less finish her off. I sat down heavily, slumbed against the wall. Some voice in the back of the head (apparently an intelligent one) reminded me that I probably shouldn't fall asleep right there, so I managed to stumble up and towards the forest before my vision finally went dark and I hit the ground.

-----

A large part of shamanism is about knowing yourself. Who you really are when everything else is stripped away, and accepting that. It's the only way you can truly understand your connection with the elements, and by extension, the only way you can call upon them for aid. I suspect that one of the reasons I'm such a skilled shaman is because of the ease at which I can do this. That's one thing you can't hold against me. I'm a murderer, a thief, a criminal (because not all murderers and thieves really are), and a generally despicable person, but I'm honest about it. I don't fool myself into thinking that deep down, in some long lost and dusty corner of my heart, I've got a good side waiting to come out and say hello. I know what I am. Deep down, beneath my trollish body and my cynical worldview, I'm just a beast. A thoughtless animal who'll do anything to survive. I learned to live with that fact long ago, and I'm a better troll for it.

It's not hard for me to find that animal. Most other shamans have complex rituals. Journeys to the desert, or the tundra. Days spent sitting cross legged in the snows of Everlook, completely nude. How that helps them realize who they are is beyond me (unless, of course, their inner self is a snowman). I've never needed anything like that to find the real 'me'. All I really need is something threatening my survival

When I finally cracked my eyes open more than a few hours later, there were a few things that surprised me.

The first was that somehow I was actually still alive. Apparently killing two Sentinels, maiming their leader, and then taking a nap at the scene of the crime is no longer a one way ticket to getting yourself killed. Not that I was complaining.

The second was that I wasn’t awkwardly lying in some bush. I wasn’t even outside at all. When I finally did pry my eyes open, I was gazing straight up at a worn wooden ceiling. That woke me up a bit. I shot up to my feet with all the grace and celerity of a drunken murloc and quickly scanned the room. It was a small area with wooden walls and furniture, including the bed I was laying on, two simple chairs, and another bed across from mine. There were no bars, no heavily armored and club wielding guards. If this was an elfin prison, things sure had changed since my last stay. There were even a few windows in the room, and harsh sunlight shot through them, casting stark shadows on the far wall. The single door was a simple wooden affair, and didn’t look like it even had a lock.

It seemed I was forming a habit of losing consciousness under questionable circumstances and waking up in astonishingly pleasant, welcoming places. Not a terrible habit, if I do say so myself.

It was the brisk breeze from one of those windows playing against my skin that made me realize for the first time since I’d woken that I was naked save for the bandages I’d applied. I cursed loudly, looking about the room once more in search of my pack and supplies. It lay on the floor next to one of the shabby wooden chairs and I quickly strode over to it, opening the cover and looking through it.

It had been pilfered. The only items remaining were a single pair of clothes, and not the ones I’d been wearing last night. I pulled them out and inspected them. The shirt was white and roughly woven linen that sc*%#@d my skin when I pulled it on. It had no buttons or collar, and was a bit too large for me, but it would do better than nothing. The pants were a similar affair, except brown in color. I shrugged and pulled them on. I probably looked like a fool but it would be better than charging about stark naked.

It was about that time I figured I might want to figure out where I actually was. I wasn’t particularly worried. Whoever had brought me here obviously didn’t harbor me much ill will, or I doubt they would have allowed me so much freedom. Unless, of course, they were one of those ‘evil masterminds’ who had kept me alive merely to gloat about how they were going to destroy me and then unleash demon armageddon upon Azeroth, or destroy Ogrimmar with a giant meteor. I loved those guys. They had this great habit of putting me into easily escapable situations and guarding themselves with a few inept minions.

But I didn’t get the feeling that was the situation. For starters, those guys weren’t much for scenic Ashenvale cabins. More brimstone and dangerously fall-into-able lava pits. Plus, I wasn’t tied into some sort of absurd torture device, which I figured was a plus. I think I’ve explained this before, but I’m not a big fan of those things.

-----

I’m sorry to digress. I can’t seem to get my thoughts straight right now, much less put them to paper. I guess I should just tell it as it happened, without trying to explain myself. That is the point, after all. To tell it as it happened, to not make excuses for what I did.

-----

The single door was, as I had guess, not locked. It opened easily enough, but squeaked loud enough to wake the dead. I cringed, holding stock still for a moment as if that would either make the sound go away or make me invisible. Nothing doing, and I heard a shout from the other side. A rather soft and feminine shout of surprise. I pushed the door open the whole way, glancing quickly about for the source.

A young looking black haired human woman was standing in front of a small table, a plate in one hand, staring straight at me. I reached instinctively for my side, for the familiar feel of my dagger’s handle, only to remember that it’d been taken. No matter. I closed my eyes and drew the spirits of storm to me, feeling the sudden vigor flow through me. Lightning crackled in the air and I drew the energy into manifestation around my arms. The human woman merely put down her plate and held her hands up.

“Lok’tar, troll. Peace, I am on your side. Stop.” She said in forcefull orcish.

And I did.

(( This is the last chapter, I know it didn't take me long to really write it all up, but, its because I wrote it about a month ago and most of it came back to me as I finished writing it.

Wow.... pretty long story. How long did it take you to write all of that?

Pwetty cool story
When can we read the next parts?
<3