#warcraft 2

Day 4: Ribbon/Misery 

Ice. Darkness. Abyss. Then suddenly, breath. Sweet, life-giving breath. The pain of seawater and frigid air caused the man to choke into full conciousness. As Treble fell down below the waves of the ocean, he’d break the surface once more, a drowned rat seeking safety amidst strewn debris all around him. 

“D-dad! Admiral!” 

The panic in his voice was lost amidst the choppy waves and multiple screams around him. The charred remains of a rocket half-sunk in the inky waters offered a momentary perch to brace upon. Scanning the area, he’d see several other groups of the crew struggling to stay afloat, pushing one another down into the cold waters in desperation. They fought for their right to live, sure as the sharks that began to circle in fought for their meals. One of the ogre laborers named Bolk was already half devoured by a thresher. 

“BOLK! NO! YOU EAT MY BRUDDER! CHOK EAT YOU!” 

The sibling in an act of mournful stupidity leaps off his vessel and paddles over to the shark. The crunch of gills and flesh was sickening.  

“Captain Treble! You’re awake!” exclaimed their Bosun, Wixley. 

“Wixley! Where’s my father?!” 

“He’s dead Sir...” 

The words did not register to him as he asked again in confusion. 

“Sir, the Admiral is dead. Our mission is a failure! We need to get to shore and regroup!” 

Treble could not process his grief or what had just occurred in the past few hours. Structure, tasks, and orders were all he knew. His father was her tormentor and guidance. While he could not think about death, he could follow this task. With an absent-minded nod, he begins to kick his feet out, helping Wixley paddle their waterlogged rocket towards the crates and other floating ruins of their escape rockets. Several other men including two orc grunts make it to the barge, one of which goes back for Chok. The dumb ogre gives resistance in letting his brother and the dead shark go but is pried off as he sobs uncontrollably. What a sad creature. All of them were poor souls on this day. 

“Oh God... the sharks are coming this way! NO!” 

A man shrieks as he is suddenly pulled under, a feeding frenzy ensuing. The deep ocean they had landed in was off the far side of Khaz Modan, given the frozen waters that cascaded down the steep cliffside hundreds of yards away from them. These seas were still Alliance territory. The nearest sight of civilization was Menethil Harbor far off on the horizon; a death sentence for their group. While goblin zeppelins had dominated the skies of the region, Kul Tiran ships were the masters of these seas. Should they linger, a patrolling vessel would spot the wreckage and subsequently finish the group off. They had no choice but to tread water down south for endless miles of open water. 

Hypothermia had begun to set in. It had been hours since the band of survivors had pushed their barge southwards in the hope of finding solid land. Much to their misery, sharp rocks jutted out along the coast they kept careful watch off to their left, the only other baring they had besides the sun high up in the cloudy sky. No warmth was offered to them. No small reprieve from the numbing cold that claimed yet another goblin as he slips off quietly into the depths below. There was no room for their sorrows. As they crept along the shore of the seaside mountains, the sight of a weathered dock comes into view. 

“LAND!” exclaims Wixley. The men looked up and began to rejoice. New hope flooded where despair had roosted in their hearts. With renewed motivation, the group collectively labored their last reserves of energy into making it to that dock. Within a half hour, they had finally scuttled up on the muddy bank of the small alcove. A half hill that sloped up towards a ridge nestled between the cliffs. The Bosun drops to the earth, kissing the dirt relentlessly. Chok lumbers up the hill slowly, his head hanging down dejectedly. The orc grunts haul up the crates and toolboxes that made up their barge onto the shore in hopes of finding something salvageable. Treble’s knees buckle under the weight of exhaustion. Crawling up towards the dock, he collapses flat on his back, the endless grey sky above greeting him. To the side, he glances at an ancient signpost. Carved into the weathered wood was the name “Newman’s Landing.” The words began to blur and fade as he lost consciousness once more. 

“Treble... Treble... Wake up!” 

Rousing from his deep slumber, the darkness of night greeted him. He found himself inside of a dusty cabin, his wet clothes draping over his body heavily. “Wha-” 

“SHH! Captain it’s pirates!” Wixley hushed his words as he covered Treble’s mouth with his hand. Now fully awake, the two peaked out from around the corner of the doorframe. A small ship was now at the end of the dock. The glow of several lanterns illuminated the path, held aloft by several people. 

“Ahoy! Come on out matey! We might as well all get acquainted!” 

The man in a faded red long coat beckoned the two that remained in the cabin. Wixley shook his head frantically, hiding behind Treble. “S-Sir! They have us surrounded!” 

Letting out a tired sigh, Treble slowly gets up and walks out of the shack down towards the docks. The orcs held up oars and a small hatchet, ready for a fight. Three goblins hid amongst large rocks; rifles aimed at the crowd. Chok had picked up a massive log and was ready to right to the death. As Treble walked down the creaking docks, he’d be greeted by the leader of the group. A tall, deeply tanned man with an unruly black beard and a smile full of rotten teeth welcomed them. 

“Hello friend! Tis providence that we be finding lost souls such as ye! These be Alliance waters, and should they be finding ye instead, ye be waking up in a watery grave instead!” He lets out a hearty chuckle at his own amusement. 

“Your crew would be killed on sight too. Alliance is probably on their way right now to find us after our crash.” The man’s smile waned. 

“Aye, then let’s get formalities out of the way. I be Captain Jerro.” He doffs his tattered tricorn to the goblin then waves his art out to a crimson-haired high elf beside him. “This be me Bosun Scarlett.” The woman gives a simple nod, keeping her blunderbuss aimed at the ready. “And over here is me cabin boy Legault.” An impish blonde gnome with striking blue eyes holds out a flintlock, his hand trembling. “And you must be the leader of these sea dogs, Mister...” 

“Captain Treble Von Bomberg.” 

“Captain, from one Captain to another, welcome! Now that we have that out of the way...” he looks around at the present company, arms all drawn on both sides. He grins once more and adresses the goblin. “Seems we are all friends and all armed. Good! More weapons and bodies to fend off those scurvy knaves! Now then... You seem to be in a bad situation. Alliance after ye, no transportation. Luckily we have our ship here, capable of taking you south!” The man gives a long pause, as if waiting for the goblin to ask something. 

“...How far south?” 

“Aye, that depends on how much ye can pay!” 

The sounds of rifles cocking and flintlocks arming in turn fill the void. 

“Men... pay up anything you can give. Gold teeth, buttons, jewelry. Whatever you have...” Treble’s voice was stern. He knew they were in no position to bargain more than their rifles and driftwood could afford. The men all looked amongst themselves with hushed voices before scrambling in their pockets.  

“W-wait, I need my teeth, please! I- AAAAAHH!” 

A muffled scream came from over the ridge as two goblins wrestled in the grass, trying to wrench out the golden molars of the other. Treble searched his pockets and realized out of all pins and badges his father had stuffed into his arms; only a few had survived the journey. Feeling around in his inner vest, he feels the soft silk ribbon of a badge and then the fumbling of several smaller pins. He couldn’t sacrifice all of them. He needed something to bury when he got home. Clutching out a fistful of pins, he offered the gold and silver medals to the pirate. The man appraised the priceless treasures with a gleeful smile, but his eyes wandered towards the inside of the goblin’s coat. 

“Is that everything you have to offer?~” He reaches out to accept the pins, stuffing them in his coat pocket. 

“It is...” 

“Hmm... and what be that other thing jingling in there?” 

Treble reaches deep into his coat, past the inner pocket to a second one. He then produces a small derringer with an inlaid pearl grip, aimed now at the man’s throat. 

“Ah, what a beauty she is!” 

“Deadly at this range too...” 

“Ho! Ho! I like the cut of yer jib!”  

As the collection of valuables is gathered, all parties gather in the center to offer their payment for safe passage. Dropping all their coins, buttons, watches, and bloody teeth into a sack, the gnome picks up the treasures and gives it to the captain. 

“Hmm... Alright. This is a decent haul. I say... this be enough to get ye to Westfall.” 

A murmur among the survivors, Treble chimes in. 

“We need to get back to Booty Bay.” 

The blunderbuss turns to Treble’s head and rifles are produced once more in the standoff. Captain Jerro leans down with a foul smile and reaffirms his stance. “Longshore is the best we can do fer ye... Deal?” 

Glancing around to the desperate men, their faces all gaunt and exhausted, he looks back to the man and nods shaking his hand. 

“Deal” 

With that, a round of rowdy laughter comes from the pirates. The grumbling sighs of the Horde crew shuffled out to board the ship, making themselves comfortable wherever they could sit on the limited deck space. Hitch untied, and sails drawn; the ship pushes off the dock and begins to sail down south. 

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a bust of an orcish looking guy.