[ooc] fanfiction ; seeking wisdom
Title: Seeking Wisdom
Author: metalsyko
Warning: Coarse language.
Summary: Kazkah, days away from being stationed in the Outland and even perhaps afraid of the prospect, seeks out Drek'Thar for reassurance on what it means to be a shaman.
Word Count: 4541.
Other: My first completed WoW fic.
It hadn't been a foolish idea ... had it? Taking on the endless meandering quests by assorted members of the Horde was one thing. But to blithely charge into a treacherous hotly-contested battleground with no rhyme or reason - or even the foggiest clues to the how and why? That was ludicrous, even by orcish standards. Besides, here she was, untested in matched combat (for the most part, anyway) against that hated Alliance, and she was expecting what? To just merrily prance in and have a nice cup of tea with the Frostwolf General? Of course! She'd sit down and talk nicey-nice with him about her troubles like he was a doting grandfather, about the spirits, the ancestors, and why being a shaman was so bleeding difficult. Immediately following teatime with Drek'Thar she'd skip right over to Ironforge and piss in Magni's ale, just like she always wanted. Then maybe she'd sprout wings and fly around the room a few times.
Kazkah shook her head, unable to keep from laughing, a short barking laugh that made Crazy Fang lay his ears back in nervousness. He was already jittery being so close to the unnatural-smelling Forsaken, and now his rider was giving one of her manic cackles. That never spelled out good times. The worg seemed to sigh as he trudged through the sodden grass of Hillsbrad, trying to give Tarren Mill as wide a berth as he could and still obey the commands given by the orc atop his back. She didn't seem to notice his antics though, as her remaining eye was locked on the blue and white banner that hung in the distance, waving in proud defiance despite the downpour. She had to see Drek'Thar. She wasn't leaving until she did.
Tossing her head abruptly, she growled her disgust, kicking two mail-clad heels into Crazy Fang's flanks. The worg yelped (illiciting an apologetic wince from Kazkah), spurred forward into a flat out run. The cave to Alterac Valley opened up before him without warning, and the presence of a Forsaken right beside the entrance was more than the worg could stand. He balked, nearly pitching his rider over his head. Having the presence of mind to grab a fist full of the worg's thick red fur, Kazkah was spared a flying entrance into Alterac Valley, instead now dangling oh-so-imposingly around his neck, feet scrabbling for purchase in the cold slop on the ground to prevent putting her hind end in it and wrecking her dignity further. When she managed to right herself with a growl, she snapped her tabard into a more comfortable position, glowering at the worg, even as he lowered his head with a penitent whine.
"Friggin' ducky. I shoulda named you Cringer, you flea-ridden idiot." Crazy Fang was suitably chastised, urged forward by the constant press of the orc woman against his shoulder. They passed through the tunnel unaccosted, and now it was Kazkah's turn to yelp as the icy wind hit her rain-soaked skin. Practically tearing open the bedroll tied to his saddle, she wrapped herself in the thin sleeping hide, clambering back onto the worg to share his body heat. The pair had at long last entered Alterac Valley, and there was no turning back now.
It was easy enough to follow the constant flow of soldiers in the direction of the fabled Frostwolf Keep. New recruits and veterans of the warzone buzzed around her in a frantic swarm. Despite being bundled in head to toe in the hide, her ears were sharp enough to pick up the reports shouted over the wind. Stormpike was mounting a fresh assault, the Ironforge dwarves preparing for battle.
Spurring the worg into as fast a gallop as he could manage on the slush-covered road, Kazkah remained huddled in his saddle, cursing loud enough to make even the most vulgar dwarf blush. The ice and snow the wind picked up were like tiny daggers, managing to find whatever unprotected skin they could, soon turning the careworn hide into a squelching mess that reeked of wet worg. Very nearly frozen (and cursing herself now for not thinking ahead and bringing the proper gear) by the time she trundled past the barricade of Frostwolf Village, Kazkah reluctantly slid from Crazy Fang's back. Biting back another colorful swear as the cold assaulted places previously kept warm by her mount, she came very close to dismembering the owner of the hand that clapped on her back suddenly.
"First time in Alterac, huh newbie? Haha!" When she graced the young orc with nothing more than a one-eyed glare capable of curdling milk, still wrapped in the hide, he laughed again. "Ya frosted up good in there, huh? C'mon, let's get you thawed out. Can't very well fight off the Stormpike scum when you're likely to shatter like glass!" He seemed entirely too tickled at Kazkah's predicament, yet she allowed herself to be escorted into one of the huts, fully prepared to smash that laughing mug of his ... when she could move without her teeth chattering, anyway.
Dropping her wrap in a wet plop, she instantly deposited herself on a dry fur, close enough to boil herself in her own juices, had she not been so ruddy cold. Instantly the male was on his knees before her, nearly pitching her feet over head as he took both ankles in his grip, stripping her boots off. With an offended growl she reacted quickly, struggling like a cornered cat. The heel of her foot contacted his jaw soundly, making his head jerk back in a most satisfying manner before he managed to restrain her.
"Easy easy easy! I'm just checkin' for frostbite! It's easy for new recruits to lose a whole foot if they ain't careful!" Managing to focus his eyes on her after she'd kicked the living daylights out of him, he looked down at the woman, suddenly feeling awkward with both of her ankles in his hands. "I ain't here to spoil your womanly virtues, if that's what you're thinkin'!" He graced her with his most affable grin, despite feeling like his skull was going to split open. When he was sure she wasn't going to make another attempt to knock his block off, he released one foot, carefully inspecting the other chilled appendage. Even if she still wore that bloodthirsty expression, he couldn't help but note the way her cheeks puffed out suddenly, her toes curling as she tried not to squirm. He moved to the other foot, giving it the same careful inspection. "Little ticklish, are we?" The comment was delivered quickly, as he scooted backwards out of the way to tend to his injured face. "By Grom, you got a worse kick than a talbuk!" Two stubby thick fingers were shoved into his mouth, his grunts muffled as he wrenched them out a moment later, a tooth between them. He tossed it away, sucking the bloodied hole a moment before spitting a gob of saliva and blood into the fire. "Don't worry, it was just onna them good chewin' teeth."
Kazkah had righted herself by that time. She crossed her legs, resting tightly-balled fists on her knees. "So?" She must have knocked him harder than she'd thought, as he regarded her with a confused expression. "Frostbite?"
"Oh. Nah, you're safe. You really ain't never been to Alterac, have you?" When she responded by shaking her head no, he rubbed his jaw once more, this time in contemplation. "I figured. What brings ya up here?" Bobbing his eyebrows briefly, he grinned that same charming grin. "Oh, and I'm Khydag, by the way. Khydag Wolfhowl."
The woman's hard-edged countenance softened for a moment, Khydag clearly stymied by her sudden change. "Kazkah Maneater." His eyebrows shot up at her surname, and she graced him with a wicked grin, the hardness returning to her features. "I needta meet the General." She shifted uncomfortably, edging away from the fire now that it was beginning to singe more than warm. Adjusting the solid maces that hung at her hips, the movement set to jangling four curious artifacts worn on her belt.
Her declaration on wanting to meet the General was now crystal clear, and he snapped his thick fingers as it dawned on him. "Shaman, huh?" She grunted her affirmation, which set him to rubbing the back of his neck as he sized her up. "Damn. Makin' 'em younger and younger, it seems. ...ah hell don't kick me again!" He skittered backwards on his haunches as she all but bristled, lips twisting into a snarl behind her sharp tusks. "Okay okay okay, forget I said anything. Ever. The General's not gonna have a lot of time on his hands, but I'll see what I can do. What's got you cranky ... or is this part of your natural charm?" He yelped, diving a half-hearted swipe in his direction, all but bolting for the door. "Natural charm, got it!" Snatching up massive double-bit axe leaning against the door frame, he pushed aside the heavy bearskin that hung in the entrance way. Rubbing the crested mohawk that graced his skull, he sighed as he trudged through the snow towards the Keep.
She'd taken to pacing the small hut, counting the minutes Khydag was gone. What a nutter, with his oozing charm and genial dumbass expression. Combined with his attempts at being witty, it was enough to set her teeth on edge. Who dumps a complete stranger on the ground, pulls off their boots, and then tries to make conversation? Kazkah scrubbed a gauntleted fist over her shaved scalp, hissing as a droplet of cold water escaped her topknot, trickling down her neck. The bearskin door shifted, and she turned, fully prepared for another corny one-liner delivered by the burly warrior. Instead she was greeted with the cold yellow eyes of a white wolf, who seemed to bow his head in a silent greeting.
Appropriately stunned, Kazkah couldn't help but follow as the wolf turned and left. Once outside, the beast circled her once, leaning hard against the backs of her knees until she was forced to take a step forward. She looked down at it in confusion, until finally it pointed its face towards Frostwolf Keep, barking sharply. "Looks like I'm granted an audience with the General, huh?" Shrugging her heavy shoulders, she walked side-by-side with the wolf until she was lead to the Keep's entrance. The wolf padded inside without so much as a second glance, leaving the woman to screw her courage to the sticking place. Trying her best to look confident, Kazkah followed where the wolf had gone. "Like they say ... here goes nothin'."
Drek'Thar's chamber was a buzz of activity, messengers darting in and out bearing reports and battle plans, others relaying the tally of supplies left to the Frostwolf forces. Given that she'd never laid eyes (or eye, in her case) on the fabled shaman, Kazkah quietly found herself pressed against one of the curving walls, trying to look everywhere at once. A tug on her tabard front made her look down, once again graced with the visage of the white wolf, jaws clamped firmly around the hem. Tugging insistantly on her, it lead her to the center of the room, before releasing her to curl up silently at the side of the ancient orc Kazkah had never noticed before. Another wolf joined it, resting its head upon what was presumably it's mate's back.
Kazkah swallowed hard, trying not to gape at the legendary figure seated serenely on his fur rug. Unable to take her gaze from the snow-white crest of his hair and beard, she found herself uttering one possibly disrespectful phrase. "He's ... blind?"
The venerable orc smiled, and Kazkah blanched. Of course he'd heard her. Yet he made no move for the blades that sat crossed at his feet. "Seems that someone never payed attention to their history lessons, hm?" He chuckled as the woman went rigid, pounding a fist against her chest in salute, trying to regain her composure. Clearly she was fighting the urge to prostrate herself at his feet. "Where has your courage gone, young one?"
Once again she babbled out the first thing that came to mind. It had been a fault of hers since youth, never stopping to think before she spoke. "Ran outta me like piss down a sod's leg. ....er!" Her remaining eye squeezed shut in embarassment, her breath seizing up in her throat. "Forgive me, Farseer!"
Surprisingly, Drek'Thar was laughing, his mirth bubbling up as he gestured to the rug before him. Even the wolves seemed amused by her statement and then her discomfort, jaws parting in lupine grins, their tongues lolling out. "Be at ease, little shaman. Sit, and rest before the time for bloodshed comes." Her legs practically dropped out from under her at his invitation, sitting cross-legged before him. The old shaman smiled knowingly, his head canted to the side. "You did not come here solely to aid the Frostwolves?" She shook her head silently, before she recalled with some chagrin that he was blind. Yet before she could vocalize, he nodded in understanding. "Please, do not regard my lack of vision as a handicap. The spirits let me see more than any mortal eyes could ever hope to see. The air around you is turbulent. Something troubles you."
"I ..." She paused as he gestured with a hand, beckoning her to lean closer. She obeyed, as his weathered hand went straight for her face, falling lightly on her right brow and the jagged scar incised there. Kazkah went rigid, fighting the old urge to twist away.
"Such violence you endured. You were just a babe, were you not?" Lips curled into a sad smile. "This scar speaks of those foul camps. Tell me, shaman, what is your clan?"
"B-Bleeding Hollow, Farseer."
"Hah. You see the irony, then." She nodded as his fingers drifted along the scar that marked nearly the entire left side of her face, to the black eyepatch slanting across her green skin. "You were taken by the humans when Kilrogg and Grommash led their clans through the Portal that final time, yes?" He didn't react when she nodded once more. "So young, and so full of anger. Tell me from your own lips, young one. Why does your spirit remember the taste of human blood when it should recall milk and grain?"
Kazkah swallowed again, held rigid by the touch of his calloused fingers. It seemed like the swirl of activity in the General's chambers had vanished, leaving her alone with the shaman. Taking far longer than she would have liked, she managed to work enough moisture into her mouth to speak. "I was taken by wagon to the camp when my parents were killed in the crossing. I was just a kid, really. I grew up there, in those camps." Her eye closed as she took a deep breath. "One night I tried to escape, but I was caught. I fought back as best I could, and in the struggle ..." Her lips peeled away from her teeth in a harsh smile. "I bit off the ear of a guard. I swallowed it, as he screamed and flailed on the ground."
"But his friends didn't stand idly by."
She winced, as if reliving the pain. "Of course not. They beat me. They beat the hell out of me, Farseer." Kazkah paled as the event unfolded in her mind's eye, brought to life by Drek'Thar's power. Curled into a tiny ball she refused to scream, even as the vicious kicks delivered by the plated boots of the guards tore rents in her skin. One caught her face, jerking her head out of the protective circle of her arms. They assaulted her exposed head, and she watched in mute horror as her child self let out a squeal of pure pain as one violet eye was torn from its socket, smeared into a thick paste on the bloodied ground. When she managed to speak again, she tried to tear her face away, to hide the sight. "One of the women mended me afterwards. She cleaned the mud and filth from the gashes, washed away the blood, and sewed up the wounds. She was crying, Farseer. She was crying as she touched the needle and thread to my eyelid."
"But despite your bravery, the humans had broken you."
"I was too young to know the whole story behind what had happened to us. Mannoroth, warlocks, demons - they were like some spooks out of a fairy tale and nothin' more to me. To some little kid stuck on a strange world with no parents, no nothin', the beatin' was enough. I was broken. As stupid and obedient as any other orc in the place, even though one of the old warriors named me Maneater, tryin' to make me feel better."
Helpless to resist as Drek'Thar slid the eyepatch away, she refused to open her eye. Most, even other orcs, tried not to look at the dark jagged gash on her green-skinned face, especially when she went without her eyepatch. Yet she got the feeling that old Drek'Thar, even blind, was staring right at her, unflinching. Fingers passed almost tenderly over the wrinkled, atrophied eyelid. "Now your strange cadence is clear to me, young one, Kazkah Maneater. You have the touch of Common on your tongue. You can speak it?" She nodded. It had been easy enough to pick up the human language from the guards, and she'd learned it out of sheer boredom, something to do to keep her mind occupied. "But ... it's also because you have only a little feeling here, yes?"
Nodding curtly once more, she felt only the faint pressure of his fingers as they moved closer to her ear. "Can't really feel anythin' in certain spots. You're near my ear, right?" The sensation had all but died, slowly returning as his fingers arced across her cheek, across the gash to her nose. "Sometimes that side of my mouth goes numb. Guess it makes me talk funny sometimes." She took a deep breath, hesitantly repositioning the eyepatch as Drek'Thar presented it to her. "Do the spirits tell you these things, Farseer? When you touch me?"
"Ah. That's why you have come. You do not understand their ways, or so you think. You have trouble speaking with them, asking them to aid you."
Scratching the back of her neck with an awkward smile, she shook her head. "I grew up in the orphanage, after we were freed, after the Warchief brought us to Durotar. Earned my keep as a Grunt, for a while. I was taken to study the old ways of our people, but I guess..."
"The hatred you feel for our mistreatment impedes you. Especially in talking with the Spirit of Fire."
She seemed to bristle again, hands clenched in anger at the Fire's constant refusal to come to her aid. "With or without him, I'll make 'em pay for what was done to me! To us!"
"Silence!" His loud bellow nearly sent her over backwards, the wolves at his side growling in warning at her. The hand that had been so gentle on her face before now locked in an iron grip around her jaw, heaving her forward until she was pulled within kissing distance of the old orc. "Silence that madness! We entered into the Legion's bargain of our own free will! The Spirit of Fire you desire will consume all, and sear another path of shame into the history of our people! He will not come to you when you wish to use his flame as cruelly as the warlocks wield their fel fires!" He gave her a shake, her teeth clacking together. As suddenly as he'd grabbed her she was released, landing in a panting heap at his feet. "Your hatred is misplaced, your recklesness will be your undoing. The Spirit of Fire does not respond to your call because you do not understand him. You demand he be a tool for destruction. The torches you see here? They do not consume their holdings, nor the walls or the floor. Fire burns, yes, but it is not always to cause sorrow." He smiled gently at the shaman who all but cowered at his feet, clearly reproachful for having angered him. "You remind me of a young orc I knew once, little one. Now, before the battle rages on my very doorstep, go outside, and dig beneath the snow." He repressed a snicker as she blanched at the thought of going back out into the cold. "Bring me a handful of earth."
Popping up like she'd sat on a rusted nail, Kazkah obeyed. Managing to reign in her usual snarling demeanor as she wound her way past the press of bodies, she was paused only for a moment to spy out an untouched snow bank. "Doomhammer smash me t' jelly now, I hate the cold." Digging furiously, she tossed snow in all directions, faintly registering that she'd covered another orc in the stuff. Her annoyance turned to mirth when she realized that said orc had been Khydag. Shaking the ice from his face, he used his sleeve to dry his eyes, looking at the woman as if she'd gone completely mad.
"Lose somethin' other than yer mind? If ya were that hungry, I coulda gotten ya some food. Ain't gotta go diggin' for nuts 'n berries!"
Well, that tore it. The first handful of muddied earth she came across was delivered not to Drek'Thar, but to Khydag, more specifically onto his tabard front, thanks to a casual flick of her wrist. He swore as the muck smeared the near-pristine white and blue Frostwolf colors, trying to scrub it clean with a handful of snow. Kazkah surveyed his anger with a touch of pride, the corners of her mouth turning up in a pleased grin.
"Maybe that'll learn ya to not mess with a shaman on an errand from the Farseer, huh?" Plunging her hand into the hole she'd dug again, she came up with another handful of dirt, grimacing as a chunk of snow worked its way into her glove.
"Yeah yeah. Pardon me for livin'." Dabbing still at his muddied tabard, Khydag frowned. "Forgive me, oh wise one," His tone dripped sarcasm, as he bowed with a flourish Kazkah noticed was meant to be mocking, "But you an' the General might like to know that the damn Stormpike are practically pissin' on our doorstep. We got ten minutes, maybe less, 'til we're overrun."
Nearly loosing this handful as she clenched her fists, Kazkah nodded with a sour smile. "Right. I'll tell 'im." Her free hand thunked the burly orc on his chest, as she found herself nodding curtly at him, "Don't go gettin' yerself killed, Wolfhowl." When his eyebrows shot up, something akin to interest in his eyes and the faint grin that was beginning to form, she punched him hard in the chest, making him stagger back with a grunt. "I'm reservin' that pleasure f' myself." With that, she turned on her heel, marching purposefully back into the Keep.
Khydag muttered, rubbing the spot on his chest with the heel of his palm. Shifting the axe on his back, he turned towards the encroaching battle, shaking his head. "Ancestors help whoever asks that hellion t' go huntin'."
The delay with Khydag had given the Keep time to empty out, as every able-bodied Horde assumed their battle stations. Even Drek'Thar was on his feet, both wolves at his side. "Farseer!" She skidded to a stop before him, the dripping slop in her fist held out. "The Alliance is almost here, Fa-" The news she had intended to relay to him was cut off as Drek'Thar closed both hands around her hand.
"You are strong, Kazkah." The woman was stunned at his sudden grin. "And spirits take me if you're not the most stubborn, most gigantic orc woman I've met." Well, that was true - she was big, for an orc. There were times when she towered over her own people by at least a foot. As for the stubborn part? ...well. Maybe. "Your strength is not from fire, Kazkah, but from the good earth. The mountain that is in the breadth of your shoulders, the unmoving trees in your legs. The Spirit of Fire will not let you understand him, Kazkah, until you understand yourself. You are capricious like Air, mercurial like Water. Strive to be like the Earth, young shaman, for that is your true calling. Do you see?" He turned his unseeing gaze to their hands. Her eye followed. The muck in her grip had sprung to life in a tangle of growth, roots and creeper vines threaded through her fingers. She could feel the slow determined life there, the hardiness of the plants, the solid patience of even the little stones. Drek'Thar nodded his approval, releasing her hand. "Understand, and grow, Kazkah. The stones do not seek to escape the riverbed, even though the water may wear them down. The mountain does not bow to the wind in all its bluster, nor the trees, though the wind may rip them asunder. It is the Earth that gives Water a home, Fire food, and the Wind a place to dance. It knows the other elements will inflict pain on it, will change its very shape, but it does not shrink from its duty. Battles will come and go, wounds heal into scars. The Earth does not resent the Water for cutting its path, nor the Fire for scorching its woods. It persists, just as you must."
The battle was close now. Kazkah could hear it, clear as day. The cries shouted by the Alliance - her gut clenching as they fell on her ears. Battle orders. Take the Keep, slay the Frostwolf General and all his wretched allies. For the Alliance! For Stormpike!
Kazkah whirled on her heel, maces unslung, even as a flood of defenders poured into the Keep, dogged by the mighty Alliance. Tossing the maces end over end in her grip as she widened her stance, the shaman sneered at the oncoming fight, feeling the anticipatory rumble of the earth beneath her feet. Be like the Earth, huh? Easy enough. Drek'Thar's wolves howled, as the General rallied his forces. Troll, tauren, orc, even forsaken and blood elf alike added their voice to the rising tide, cries that carried over the battle. Her maces pounded the ground as she hunched, seeking a target. The earthquake was coming, she could feel the rattle of it in her bones. Drek'Thar raised his blades, the wolves howling once more as he shouted. "VICTORY OR DEATH!" The savagery behind it made their foes hesitate, if only for a fraction of a second. Kazkah smirked, her scar twisting grotesquely as a result. The Stormpike would not get their victory today. She lunged forward, the individual battlecries of the myriad tribes unifying into one single cry, one that the young shaman joined in with bloodthirsty zeal. There would be time to be the patient Earth later.
"FOR THE HORDE!"