v a n i s h

The Worg made Jackson’s hairs on the back of their neck stand on end as soon as she appeared. So that was the huge creature that had aided in the attack- and while intimidating and putting on an air of ferocity, the Worg seemed to accompany the Orc. This was confirmed as soon as they watched Gakash clasp the canine’s muzzle, an act of dominance in Jackson’s perspective. The sinew and blood on her fur was ghastly enough, and Jackson had to look away, instead focusing their sight on Gakash himself. He didn’t seem to be like many Orcs they’d read about, or like the other they had met so far. Instead of a giant axe or weapon that dwarfed the smaller creature in size, he seemed to have an entirely different arsenal on hand. Daggers, pouches… things that read as shady, but skillful. Something Jackson could not properly comprehend.

Jackson’s expression flickered once Gakash mentioned medical supplies. Relief washed over them, and their posture went from afraid to a little more at ease. Their once upright, long ears fanned outward, relaxed- the ears were expressive; Elven, almost. What was such an odd creature doing all alone in Frostfire Ridge by themselves?

Like the Orc, the mage was equally afraid. While Jackson had a magical advantage, their savior had a physical one. Right now, he could easily overpower them if he wanted; but he didn’t. Instead, Jackson was surprised that he offered a remedy to the wounds they had so brutally suffered not even ten minutes ago. Reaching out, Jackson’s image and demeanor changed entirely when they accepted the bandages and assorted supplies so generously given to them- but something else that was quite strange happened.

While accepting his offering, Jackson’s hand met with his, and it gently grabbed his much thicker wrist to the best of his ability. The clawed hand, despite Jackson’s once ferocious and ruthless first impression, was gentle; in no way did they intend to invoke fear or alarm. Eye half-lidded, the mage focused, soon closing their eye as the tattoos barely showing in the tears of their clothing glowed briefly, transitioning from dark brown to a flash of white. The Orc would feel nothing- but Jackson felt a surge of energy run through them, having learned the rest of his language and dialect with a mere touch.

And finally, after a long and drawn-out silence, the creature spoke.

“I’m sorry, please don’t be alarmed. I had to learn your language.” Jackson quickly let go of him, to make things less awkward. “I’m Jackson. Archmage, with no faction. Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life and I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m alone, and quite stupidly so, to be frank.” Looking to Shadetail, now, the cyclops bristled slightly. “…She’s scary.”

Jackson winced again. The stinging of the cuts and scratches couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Magic, obviously, but what kind and of what nature he wasn’t yet certain. She could be a warlock for all he knew- a demon, but something… else, told him that wasn’t true–that it didn’t fit, somehow.

That was the only reason he could come up with for not flinching away or drawing a weapon when she grasped his large wrist. Yellow eyes wide, his ears perked up as well, as he watched the faint glow emanate from somewhere within the one-eyed creature. It was beautiful magic, whatever it was, and he was momentarily captivated.

Shadetail was noticeably less so, however, and the worg trotted anxiously around the two with a snort, ears pressed against her large skull. When Jackson spoke, however, the worg stopped and let out a strange sound, a mix between a yawn and a yowl, as if to say: ‘really? that’s all?’ Shadetail then shook her large head a few times before appearing noticeably bored; quite the turnabout, really, and dropped her body to the ground with a loud whump! She was positioned on the upper half of one of the pale corpses, but she either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care, and was, apparently, now content enough with the situation to relax and lay down.

Gakash ignored the worg entirely, he was far more interested in what Jackson had to say.

“Right--Naturally.” He chuckled softly at the explanation of learning his language through touch, trying to clear the heavy atmosphere with a small dose of humor. ‘No faction’ was something he was eager to hear though; she wasn’t Alliance or Iron Horde, or worse… Though it was the title of Archmage that intrigued him the most.

Only when Jackson remarked on Shadetail did he realize he’d been unusually quiet during her rushed explanation, not even returning her gush of information with any on himself. He laughed in response then, this time more freely than before, “–And now she knows you think she’s scary.” He joked, turning to look at the beast, because while Shadetail could be intimidating, she was actually–mostly–harmless; not that she, nor himself for that matter, would be much threat to an Archmage, he figured.

“Huh?” He turned back to Jackson quickly, her proposal bringing him back to the reality of the situation. “Ah, right–Of course.” He nodded in response, guilty that he’d become distracted enough to forget about gaping wounds.

“You’re in a worse state than me, uhh–” He motioned to, well, all of Jackson, and shifted uncomfortably. “How did you.. want to do this?” It was an honest question, but it must have made him look the fool anyhow. He was used to tending his own wounds, or even Shadetail’s when necessary, but he was a far cry from a healer, or even anything remotely resembling a medic, and dealing with so many wounds on a complete stranger was a little intimidating.

Another Pale fell to the ground, dead- and someone else stumbled into the fire. An Orc! Jackson’s eye widened, and now they were dragging themselves to get closer to the fire to be seen. The light and flickering embers barely lit the Archmage’s features, sharp cheekbones creating shadows on the face that didn’t exactly give them a friendly appearance- and with one gigantic eye in the center of the face, that probably wasn’t a great sight to see for the newcomer, either. The fire was beginning to die out amidst the struggle.

Before Jackson could react properly, one of the Pale had laid their hands on the Orc, now, and it was enough to make the cyclops pissed off at the sight of it. No way in hell would Jackson let them get dragged into this mess, too. With only one Pale at their back now, Jackson turned, opening their jaws wide and showing two rows of razor sharp teeth. With one yell, a blast of flame soon spouted from their jaws akin to Dragon’s breath, widening as it hit its target. One of the remaining Pale shrieked and screamed as it was burnt alive to a complete crisp- a horrifying and intimidating sight to behold, and the cyclops felt no remorse. The flames were enough to light the entire cave chamber, but only for a moment.

Now there was only one of the twisted creatures left; bruised, bloody, and angry, Jackson fumbled around to find their staff in the darkness. When their fingers felt the familiar wooden texture of their weapon, they grasped it tightly and stood upright, brow furrowed. No more playing games. In a flicker of arcane, Jackson was gone, now behind the strange Orc and his attacker; a sickening crunch came from behind as something collided with the head of the Pale, breaking its neck with alarming strength upon impact.

With the last body falling to the cave floor, a thud audible, the only thing that came next was the sound of the howling winds outside and the gulping breaths of Jackson themselves. Backing away to give the Orc space, they bent over, clutching their knees and trying to calm down.

Now Jackson was cold, miserable, and injured. Could it get any worse? The scratches all over their shoulders, arms, and sides were stinging like mad. It made the cyclops wince, having to find a part of the cave wall to lean on. Fumbling to find the right words, Jackson tried to speak in Orcish, though their voice was shaky and hushed.

The entire cave lit up in a momentary blaze of heat, the roar of fire paling all other sounds of struggle in its destructive wake. Suddenly, the orc wasn’t certain if he’d made the right decision in helping this person, who was, entirely literally, spitting fire from her mouth. Just as quickly as the fireball had come, however, it was gone, and so was the life of the pale-orc it had been directed at. In his shock, the rogue had been momentarily frozen, and had seemingly forgotten about the creature that had managed to deliver a decent gash to his shoulder.

No matter, it would seem, as within the blink of an eye another sound filled the cave--crunch. Gakash clumsily tumbled forward, startled by how near the sound of that violent death had been to him, and still in a dizzying confusion as to who--or what--exactly, he had just helped save.

Turning on his heels to face this fire-spewing mystery, he found himself only bombarded with more questions.

What was she?

“Uhh--n-not at- all.” The orc replied between quick breaths, stabilizing now that the fighting had subsided. He looked away awkwardly, but the sting in his shoulder was demanding his attention, and he quickly reached up to stop the bleeding, and the cold touch of his palm eased some of the immediate stinging pain as well. He noticed that the creature before him was badly scratched as well, tears and gashes littering her body, and as concerned as he was as to the true nature of this stranger, he wasn’t going to just leave her here--he didn’t have the heart. Besides, she could have killed him ten times over already if she’d really wanted to, what with magic like that at her command.

With that thought, an especially harsh wind suddenly blew passed the entrance of the cave, and the whiteout conditions outside reminded him that he probably couldn’t leave even if he tried.

Suddenly, in a flurry of fangs and fur, the grizzled worg bounded back into the cave with one massive leap. The old thing looked haggard and exhausted, but the blood that filled her maw, and that was now staining her chest and lower jaw, would lend to another idea entirely. She still had skin and sinew hanging from between sharp fangs, and Gakash grimaced at the grizzly scene, but approached her with a sigh.

The brown and gray worg considered her master without interest, but her red-orange eyes quickly found the person whose cries for help had first warranted her attention, and brought her here in the first place. A low growl began emanating from the back of the worg’s throat, but before  the beast could react further, Gakash took her entire jaw in his free hand, forcing her toothy mouth shut.

“Yes, you’re savage. Very impressive.” He huffed, snorting as he looked his old companion in the face, and the worg seemed to roll her eyes as if she almost understood him. With that, however, the growling stopped, and the orc freed her muzzle from his grip.

“Sorry, uhh, she’s a show off.” He chuckled awkwardly. Turning his back to the strange woman then, he began fumbling around the worg’s leather harness and the pouches she bore. “I have some medical supplies here...” He mumbled, hoping that maybe if he helped dress the stranger’s wounds, she’d let him and Shadetail ride out this storm in the cave.

He was almost embarrassed, but some warning would have been nice.

The orc listened as the two continued to speak as though he wasn’t there, and he decided that letting them believe he was working for the horde was his best option at present. Sneaking supply line missives to a certain interested party of goblins, independent of the horde, was a tricky business in and of itself, and he was sure his own commander would not be happy to know of it, let alone the alliance he had attempted to steal it from.

“Nngh--this is all, very interesting, but--” He spoke, finally catching his breath, feeling his strength slowly returning to him. He wanted to sit up, but he wasn’t sure how the priest or the hunter would react, so he stayed down, belly-up like a submissive pup. He’d been in worse situations, at any rate, but he wasn’t given the chance to finish that snarky comment anyway.

She pulled the second arrow shaft.

“ARGH!--” He howled again, his growling more akin to a savage animal than any humanoid, and this time he shot up to a sitting position, instinct demanding that he react. “Damn this!” He groaned in orcish this time, happy to be rid of the final arrow, but finding that this priestess’ methods were more brutal than he’d been prepared for; nearly orcish herself.

“Thank you...” He winced through gritted teeth, looking the priestess in the face, “I think.”

Uncertain of what either one of the night elves next course of action would be, he allowed the priestess to continue healing and dressing his wounds. Even so, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, his strength, while returning, was still only a fraction of what it had been before he so carelessly found himself riddled with arrows. If they sent him off, he wasn’t sure he’d make it to safety before some hungry animal--or worse--stumbled upon him in the darkness; he was far into enemy territory after all, and on more than one front.

Snow. Jackson hated it.They’d seen it before on the very tips of the mountains they were once familiar with back home. Here, it was a white blanket across every inch of land, as far as the eye could see. And it was here that Jackson was most vulnerable, in thin and loose clothes that did nothing to keep them warm. Desperate at this point, Jackson unpinned their long cloak from their back with some difficulty, before draping it around themselves like a shawl. To say it looked ridiculous was an understatement.

Time passed- it felt like hours. Where Jackson had walked, footprints were left behind. The cyclops didn’t bother to cover or hide their trail, as the land seemed barren and like that of a wintery wasteland. The windchill only added to their misery, sharp teeth chattering as they pressed on.

Something appeared in the distance- trees! Coated with snow, they seemed scattered among the area, and Jackson rushed toward them as best as they could. Grunting, long legs had to lift up to the knees to take steps in the deep snow, akin to marching. To Jackson’s relief, it slowly sloped away into black dirt, which spread at the very wide mouth of a cave. Finally, safety- a place where they could find shelter. A miracle, indeed. Jackson grabbed some branches for a fire from the trees with an audible number of snaps, tucking them under their cloak, before hobbling inside.

Peace and quiet. 

Everything seemed just fine now, really. It wasn’t too late to back out- Jackson could still get back to Elwynn, if they wanted…

No, the Archmage’s thoughts spoke firmly for them. You’re here to discover. Stick it out.

A fire lit up the darkness. It brought welcome warmth, which made the Archmage sigh and relax, shoulders sloping instead of tensing. Embers and ash rose into the air, making the Archmage look up and watch them drift, only to pause, and freeze.

Eyes- a number of them, staring Jackson down, glowing brightly in the pitch black that swallowed everything that could normally be in sight. The fire barely lit the area around them, and something seemed to be scratching with agitation at the cave walls. The cyclops bristled, before standing upright and reaching for their staff, only to find that it had gone missing. Gasping and turning, they heard the sound of wood drag along the cave floor, growing more distant. And, if things could get any worse, two clawed hands grabbed at Jackson’s back- then two more at the arms. Four. Six. Eight. Claws and nails raked against the thin cloth, ripping it. 

Jackson let out a scream, turning to ward off their attackers. The scream echoed through the cave walls, making the thin and alabaster creatures that were trying to grab them as prey hiss in annoyance. Jackson struggled- normally, getting out of such a situation would be easy, if not for a number of hands pulling them back. Pale Orcs- where there was one, at least three more were always lurking.

“HELP!”

He needed to get out of this storm.

Turning to look over his shoulder, he noticed his riding wolf, Shadetail, had fallen a fair distance behind him, and his brow furrowed in concern. He wasn’t mounted, the old girl’s joints were bad enough, but in this weather? She was obviously struggling more than usual.

Turning his attention back to what little he could see in front of him, he tugged at his cloak, trying to get more use out of the thing than it could realistically offer. Dressed in light leather with fur trimmings, he cursed his lack of proper armor, wishing desperately--for once--that his jerkin had more than one strap. His lightly tattooed arms were exposed, though shielded, somewhat, by the cloak, but his chest was fully exposed, and he remembered now all of the times a certain tauren had always mocked him for that--if only he could see the rogue now.

This wasn’t the time for distraction, however, and his momentary pause was interrupted as his worg had seemingly caught up to him. Shadetail grunted, though it was lost on the wind, and she opted for biting her master’s hand instead. Gakash flinched away, though not entirely out of shock--the worg had little other ways of communicating, after all--and he looked at her with a somewhat guilty expression.

He’d brought her with him to Draenor when it hadn’t been entirely necessary, and while she likely wouldn’t have stayed behind anyway, he still felt bad; she was getting so old, after all. As if in retort of that thought, however, the worg let out a loud snarl.

“What?! Yes, it’s cold! I understand!” The orc grunted in return, but just as he was about to continue moving, Shadetail bolted to the west, fangs bared, snout forward in a decidedly aggressive fashion.

Then he heard it. Someone calling for help? It was muffled on the wind, but it didn’t sound too far off either. Shadetail was already nearly out of sight, and he was surprised at how quickly she was moving now. Clutching his cloak tightly, he followed after her begrudgingly, a snarl of his own marking his bold features.

Only when the cave entrance came into sight, accompanied by the sound of struggling, as well as a pained yowl from his worg, did he break into a full sprint, nearly toppling over several times in his new-found urgency.

Slipping through the entrance seemingly unnoticed, the rogue took advantage of the creeping darkness, hanging on the boundary, yellow eyes scanning the chaotic situation before him. There were nasty things, pale, thin, with a foul stench and look about them, grappling with someone else. It was dark, and he couldn’t exactly make them out, but whether their victim was iron horde, alliance, or worse, he didn’t have time to consider. Shadetail had already dragged one of the pale-orcs out of the cave entirely, and the sound of flesh being ripped from bone, accompanied by screams and vicious growling, let him know that the old wolf didn’t require his help.

Focusing on the victim of these creatures instead, he unsheathed two daggers, and quickly, almost without thinking, threw the smaller dagger forward, watching it cut through the darkness, before landing its target. The three pale-orcs that remained seemed momentarily distracted, and the orc watched as the one he’d struck slumped to the ground in a bony heap; dead.

Suddenly, as he made for another small dagger, he was gripped by a cold hand, claws digging into his shoulder, tearing his cloak from his back, exposing him as he tumbled into the light of the fire. He cried out in surprise, snarling as he turned to the person who had called for help, but before he could say, or do, anything else, he was met with a sudden rush of pain. The long, quick riiiiip-- of claws on flesh caused him to reel, and he stabbed desperately at the hand that had lashed out at his shoulder, watching as warm blood began to flow freely down his arm.

While his shoulder still throbbed, it was the wound above his collar bone that hurt the most--it felt deeper somehow, even though the impact of the first shot had been more intense, the second arrow had been loosed with a more fatal intention, and he was feeling it now. She’d definitely struck something important, and the more he thought about it, the more it ached.

As his yellow eyes attempted to focus, he would have jumped if he’d had the strength, at what he saw before him. In his pained and clouded state, he must have forgotten about the blue-haired night elf that had spared him from an early grave; yet there she was... mending his wounds.

He watched as she spun her magic with a practice and form that spoke of her talent--she must have been doing this for a long time. The moonlight brushed the magical particles, illuminating them from within, as though it were the moonlight itself. He was mesmerized.

A priestess then. That felt oddly appropriate somehow. Apparently, ‘incredibly lucky’ didn’t even begin to cover it for this orc, since were it not for her timely intervention, he had absolutely no doubt that he’d be laying here with one more arrow through him--and he’d be dead of course, definitely dead.

Watching still as the magic began to seep through his wounds, he flinched, anticipating the pain, yet it brought only a cool sensation that caused his muscles to relax, and a content, uninhibited sigh escaped him. This didn’t last long, however, and he flinched once again as the momentary relief dissipated.

Watching the woman’s hands work above his collar bone wound, he managed to cough out a few words.

“Not--a bad shot.” He tried to smile, but it ended up being a lopsided and sorrily pained excuse of one. He didn’t know what to say, he was completely at this elf’s mercy, but just as he was about to open his mouth to speak something as equally as idiotic as before, he heard the steady footfall of his old friend returning. His gaze fell upon the huntress, and he swallowed hard and anxiously; she still looked pissed.

His senses were dulling now, but he heard the shout come from somewhere in the mix of enraged night elves nonetheless. Her movements were fluid, and she walked with a decidedly pointed gait, commanding the attention of the others without a word. She had to be a high ranking officer--or maybe she was just really old? He didn’t know how elves worked, and right now he was hard pressed to find a reason to give a damn; he was just thankful that her presence had seemed to put a bit of hesitance into the bloodthirsty huntress.

When she began exchanging words with his would-be-killer, however, he furrowed his brow, slumping further into his sitting position, vision blurring as he strained to listen.

What? Was she stopping the huntress? Oh. Apparently so.

He must have appeared just as confused as the flustered huntress, but he was entirely more thankful for the sudden turn of the situation. His heroine was right of course, about the ceasefire, but he was still surprised; that huntress had murder written all over her sharp features.

As the other approached him, Gakash gritted his teeth, his momentary rush of relief at being spared fading, only to be met with an intensely deep pain that now wracked and throbbed through his entire body. He was shaking and pale, but as he raised his yellow gaze to meet her silver one, an almost dopey smile spread across his rugged features.

“Incredibly lucky?” Was all he could come up with in response to her question before snorting in amusement. Without giving her his name, he grunted, reaching up to his wound again before a feeling of swirling dizziness threatened to overtake him.

“I--” He managed to get one word out before the darkness hit, and he grappled desperately for something to hold onto for stability. Not entirely in control of his body now, he gripped the night elf’s upper arm, the smile from only seconds ago completely erased. 

“Shit.” He growled in his native tongue once more, and with that, the orc lost his balance completely, his grip on the woman lost, and he toppled over into a heap of blood and sweat.

“Please! W-Wait!”