It has come to my attention through reviews on ff.net that people seem to want to know how Thomas’ new job will go. Also, it seems that his pal Collins (from Shades of Grey exclusively) has a fangirl, which makes me chuckle. (Okay, not a real fangirl (brrr!), but one person said twice she wanted him back.)
Since these are much better suggestions than the one where a reviewer asked me to write a humor story wherein Kevin (Seiken Densetsu 3) had an embarrassing physical reaction in front of all his friends (Christ on a cracker!), I am writing two short pieces to fill in the blanks. One is below, the other is on its way.
This takes place between Remembering Grey and that Azshara misadventure.
Just after midday on a fairly sunny day, a medium sized ship left the port in Theramore and sailed towards Ratchet. It did not carry any precious wares to be sold to the goblins, yet there were several soldiers of Theramore onboard and ready to protect the ‘cargo’. Hopefully they would have no reason to even reach for their swords. A situation requiring weapons, as soon as they reached Ratchet, would undo the whole reason for this journey.
For the first time in years there would actually be a diplomatic, official meeting between emissaries from Theramore and Durotar.
One could almost taste the curious tension in the air, muddled with the thick smell from the swamp.
They may have left the port under a cheerfully blue sky, but soon they sailed into the dank mist rolling out of Dustwallow. Up on deck, two men stood by the railing, gazing at the brown, wet wall surrounding them and creeping over the ship. The sight was not too bad, as the ship sailed towards the open water in order to get past the mist as soon as possible. Monsters wouldn’t be able to climb up the side of the ship unnoticed.
One of the men decided that it was high time to break the thoughtful silence.
“How are you feeling, Sir?” Simon Nebula politely asked.
He voiced this question after watching Thomas Southstone correct his own collar for the third time in two minutes. The breeze from the ocean toyed with their hair, and the new emissary apparently thought that it messed with his robe as well. It didn’t really, so it was not hard to spot the signs of a nervous mind.
Sighing, Thomas looked down at himself and let his hand fall to the ship’s railing.
“Naked. I miss my armor,” he admitted, then added quickly while waving his hand at the chuckling Simon, “I know I’m not going out to battle. But still.”
“I suppose I understand, Sir.” To hide his grin, Simon looked around. The mist of the swamp still hung in the air, but one could see the glow of the sun above. Soon, they would be under the blue sky again.
While the crew went about their business, the handful of other Theramore soldiers stood a little ways away, talking amongst each other.
The aide turned back to the emissary, finding him staring out at nothing with an unreadable expression.
“By the way,” Simon started, “the escort and I were wondering about that story behind you and this orc representative, Sir. Would you mind telling us?”
Thomas nodded as he turned his head, smiling.
“Of course. Call them over.”
As Simon turned around to go fetch the rest of the escort, Thomas allowed himself a frown. He did not have much worries about meeting Dor’ash and whatever other orcs the shaman might be bringing for this first meeting. No, not the orcs. However, he had received no reply to his frantically written message to Dor’ash. There was no way to tell if it had reached Orgrimmar, and the shaman, in time.
But Dor’ash would not bring Sarah along, would he? This was between Theramore and Orgrimmar, and Forsaken weren’t exactly the symbol of friendliness.
He could only hope that she wouldn’t be there. If she really was Simon’s dead sister, it would be a disaster.
As his entire escort walked towards him though, Thomas had to push the troubling thoughts aside and just show as much of a relaxed, friendly side as he could muster despite the mental storm clouds. Apart from Simon, acting as Thomas’ aide, there were four soldiers – all veterans from the battle on Hyjal. Lady Jaina had set the scene so that the orcish representatives would only meet with men and women who remembered that alliance. According to her, Warchief Thrall had planned much of the same. The two of them really wanted peace, and thinking about that Thomas felt a swell of pride at being chosen as a tool for this purpose – although muddled with some anxiety about whether he would be able to do a good job. It wasn’t something he had been trained for, like a proper diplomat. But he knew that he could count on Dor’ash to be civil and friendly, and that would be an easy start.
Just as long as that unpleasant very-possibly-family reunion didn’t take place.
Argh.
The escort surrounded him, watching him curiously as he nodded again. With a great heave of willpower Thomas forced himself to relax, and began telling the story of how he came to be an emissary of Theramore, starting in the green, humid depths of the Un’goro crater.
When he got to the part in Stranglethorn where he and the others met Dor’ash, he renamed Sarah ‘Savannah’ to avoid suspicion. It may be a gamble of sorts, but one he chose to risk. A couple of times he almost slipped on that during the tale, but managed to catch himself. That was something else which he had written in the message to Dor’ash after meeting Simon for the first time. Yet another reason to hope that he had received the letter, otherwise this white lie might get blown within the first five minutes even if Sarah wasn’t at the meeting.
As he reached the end of the tale, Thomas added:
“Although I wouldn’t talk too much about that with Dor’ash. He and the others seemed to be a little embarrassed at being saved by an undead woman.”
“Can’t blame them, Sir,” one of the female soldiers said, with a thoughtful frown. “Why would she do that, though?”
“Probably just enjoyed the scare, I suppose. I hope,” Thomas said, shrugging.
A couple of uneasy chuckles were heard, in understanding of his last two words.
By this time they were well out of the mist, and the sun shone down on the sea and the approaching, dusty land. They passed by Northwatch Hold without incident and continued towards Ratchet at good speed.
Long before they docked, they spotted the clump of short, green figures waiting for them on the pier. The goblins, being the hosts of this occasion, apparently wanted to make a good impression since they waited with an escort of their own.
“The orcish representatives are already here,” the goblin in the front announced in a typically high-pitched, nasal voice, while the humans walked down the gangway.
“I hope we haven’t kept them waiting long,” Thomas said. He actually desperately hoped that he could get some hint about whether or not Sarah had come along. If she had, it would be impossible to cushion the fall, but he would at least be prepared.
“Not at all, Sir,” the goblin said, eternal grin unwavering. “Their leader even said to tell you that you needn’t worry about a thing. Really relaxed group, for orcs.”
“Ah.” Thomas forced himself to not let the relief show. “Most gracious.”
The goblins led the guests up to the city and onwards to the trade manager Gazlowe’s own house. From early mercenary-like work of his past, Thomas knew that the building normally whirred with activity and little green men running about with messages and strange items, as well as the occasional adventurer coming in looking for work or reporting their results.
Today, however, the place had been cleared out so that this rather historical meeting could take place in peace. In a secure place too, Thomas imagined. There were surely many who did not like the idea of diplomatic ties between Theramore and Durotar. However, assaulting Gazlowe’s home meant messing with a man under direct protection of the goblin Trade Princes, something no sane person – and few insane, even – would consider.
Gazlowe himself greeted the humans by the door, and ushered them inside. He didn’t look much different from others of his kind, except for the discolored, sunken patch around his right eye. It caused a rather manic stare, but his smile was friendly and people found themselves getting used to the intense look – often to their own surprise.
The other goblins filed out in the entrance room as Gazlowe led his guests up the stairs.
“Your Lady Proudmoore and the Warchief insisted that we should help you in any way possible,” he explained. “Both of them even said that they believed this would be a perfectly peaceful meeting. So I’m taking the risk of letting you and your big friends borrow my office.”
Oh, no added pressure at all. How much payment had Gazlowe been promised? And how much more would he demand if a single pencil got broken for any reason?
Thomas mentally shook his head, telling himself to calm down. Dor’ash was in charge of the orcs. It would be fine. Still, now that the meeting was so close, Thomas found himself wondering if he was truly up to this task. So much could go wrong, no matter what he and Dor’ash did.
Reaching the top of the stair, Gazlowe opened a door and politely waved at the humans to enter.
It was a large room, with a thick green carpet on the floor and the walls covered with maps of Kalimdor and smaller regions, drawn roads crisscrossing each piece of picture land. A huge table had been prepared, with human-sized chairs lined up along one side, and orc-sized on the other. As the group from Theramore entered, three of the orcs in the room were sitting, but now they got to their feet.
Thomas instantly met the leader’s eyes.
Though he wore much lighter leather armor than he had in Stranglethorn, Dor’ash looked just the same. Same dozens of tiny braids in his black hair (and looking at his huge fingers, that hairdo was a plain mystery), same friendly grin, as far as a mouth full of fangs goes. Although with the lighter armor, one got to see more of the scars on his arms. Many were obviously from claws – several alike, lighter green little ridges or tears in a row – but others were solitary. Daggers or swords.
The other four orcs wore similarly light armor, but that didn’t take away much of how they towered over the humans – each hand the size of any of the men and women’s head if not bigger. Looking at them, and Dor’ash, Thomas reflected on how once upon a time all orcs had looked the same to him. This despite the fact that they all had different hairstyles, some having beards and some not. They even had different skin color, if you looked closer. Dor’ash and one of his companions had a more teal hue, and the one furthest away was definitely a shade darker green than everyone else.
All had scars to match. How many of those marks had been collected on Hyjal?
These thoughts were brief, because Dor’ash strode forwards with that huge grin on his face and grabbed Thomas’ offered hands. The former paladin grinned back with the same feeling, glad to see this strange ally from the jungle again, and in a peaceful situation. He was also relieved to find that his fingers never ran the risk of getting crushed. Dor’ash used only a fraction of pressure in his grip. Hearty, but not dangerous. The nervousness gave away, just like that.
“Well I’ll be!” Gazlowe squeakily commented in the background.
Oh, ye of little faith, Thomas cheerfully thought.
“Throm-ka, Dor’ash,” he said aloud.
“I am glad to see you well, my friend,” the shaman replied.
“Yes, I needed a few night’s worth of sleep to recover after all that happened.” He smiled gratefully. “And thank you for giving me a chance to recover at all.”
Dor’ash nodded.
“You earned the protection,” he said, sincere despite the remaining grin. Letting go of Thomas’s hands, he gave the human a light – for an orc – thump on the pack.
They both thought of the people in Grom’gol, pretty much everyone there, who had wanted nothing but to lynch the little paladin. It wasn’t something they should bring up, though. It would definitely sour the air in the eyes of the Theramore soldiers.
Recovering his balance after the thump, Thomas turned to make introductions of his escort. By now, everyone in the room had a curious look on their face, as if none of them had actually believed in this friendship they had heard about.
Well, can you call it friendship when you have only spent two days with somebody?
Good enough.
Thomas glanced at Dor’ash when introducing Simon, but though the shaman’s fleshy eyebrows gave a small twitch in recognition, he looked at this living Nebula no longer than any of the other humans. His voice revealed no concern when Dor’ash introduced his own escort, either. Near perfect self control.
There was that burning question they could not speak of, but as the two groups moved to sit down around the table, Thomas caught Dor’ash’s eye. The human glanced aside, towards Simon, his head turned so that nobody but Dor’ash saw it. Silently, the orc pursed his mouth and one of his lightly armored shoulders twitched. He couldn’t tell for certain, either.
That had to be enough, for now. Both of them had to shake off that particular unease, too, in order to focus on their purpose here.
“So.” Thomas folded his hands on the table. It helped him gather his thoughts. “I have not studied to become a diplomat, so you may find I’m not so good at slipping around issues like an eel drenched in oil.”
“We appreciate that,” Dor’ash said, grinning around one tusk while the other orcs cracked up beside him.
Thomas felt the disbelieving glances he got from his escort. However, he had been chosen for this because he had dealt with orcs and trolls on a friendly level – Lady Jaina had made this very clear to him. She too knew that they preferred bluntness to sugarcoating and silky lies – the weapons of a trained emissary. Thomas suspected that the Lady too liked this upfront philosophy. It certainly would make things easier.
“Since it’s a first meeting, also, I do not feel I have the freedom to discuss everything since I have not had the time to learn all about the politics in Kalimdor,” Thomas went on. “If there’s anything we can’t sort out here that you would like to bring up, however, we could save that for a latter meeting.”
“Yes, we understand,” Dor’ash said with a nod. “I will be the main representative today and for the next meeting, just to stabilize things. Areg here will take over after that.”
He motioned to the orc on his right side, who nodded, watching Thomas with curious interest.
“You can speak to both of us in the same way,” the other orc said.
“Very well,” Thomas said with a nod to him. “So, Lady Proudmoore hopes that we will be able to sort things out between our people. I’m sure we can agree that this will be rather difficult.”
“A pain in the ass, you mean,” Areg said with a huge sneer.
Dor’ash didn’t comment, only rolled his eyes as the other orcs snickered. Although Thomas noticed the members of his escort tensing at this uncouth behavior at an official meeting, he merely smirked right back. He recognized a test when he saw one.
“That being a good summary of the situation, yes,” he agreed.
The orcs looked at him – still chuckling, but with no trace of contempt. Dor’ash gave a small nod, grinning.
Shaking his head, Thomas held up both hands.
“Fine, I get it,” he said, “I was sounding too formal for my own taste as well. Simon.” He turned his hand so that the palm pointed up.
Simon looked as if he didn’t know whether to stare or laugh, but handed over a rolled up document which Thomas spread over the table.
“Let’s see. First of all, Lady Proudmoore wishes to officially apologize for the spies that were caught sneaking around Brackenwall village,” he said, looking up. “She did not approve of them, but people were suspicious of the sudden orc and ogre activity in the area.”
The amusement faltered into seriousness on the orcs’ faces, and they nodded.
“If not for the black dragons, the ogres wouldn’t even be there in the first place,” Dor’ash said. “They will return to their old habitat as soon as possible. However, as they are our allies the Warchief sent some troops to help them. Everyone was on edge, so when they caught human spies they acted without thinking although they had orders from the Warchief not to get into fights with Theramore.”
“Have you ever tried to reason with an ogre?” Areg interjected, shaking his head.
“Not apart from shouting ‘halt or the righteous power of the Light shall- aaargh!’ no,” Thomas said, glancing down at his list again while making a motion towards his shoulder as if to indicate an old wound.
The following silence broke when a snort escaped one of his soldiers, followed by a helpless bout of chuckling. That opened the floodgates, and everyone cracked up. Grinning triumphantly Thomas looked up and met the same expression on Dor’ash’s face.
Although the emissary wouldn’t admit it, he silently thanked his friend Collins for that joke. That man were full of those.
He waited until the laughter ebbed out before he tapped the paper on the table with one finger.
“Anyway,” he said, “since there were, ah, ‘only’ a few dozen broken bones and no casualties, thank goodness, the greatest harm was of course lost trust between Theramore and your outpost.”
“Ah yes, the Warchief was less than pleased for what happened, although relieved that nobody was killed,” Dor’ash said, serious again. “We mean no offense in the area and hoped that finding the culprits who destroyed the Shady Rest Inn would be a form of peace offering.”
Thomas nodded.
“It was appreciated, but to tell the truth those spies shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
This time Dor’ash didn’t answer, but turned his head towards Areg. The future representative watched Thomas with even more interest than before, some respect even. It had to be for the quick comebacks, because so far Thomas knew he had officially said sorry too much to earn any higher opinion from his job.
“Apology accepted,” Areg said, and Dor’ash nodded agreement.
“Since we are on the subject,” the shaman began, “we are searching for the people who attacked Northwatch Hold and wounded and killed many of the soldiers there. We will let you know when there are results.”
The meeting continued in the same vein, with both sides mainly bringing up small but painful everyday skirmishes and getting answers to what was done about them. The most complicated issue remained that of Northwatch Hold and the trigger-happy soldiers therein, but seeing as this was being beaten on by Lady Proudmoore already – sinking neutral trading ships had not gone down well for the guilty – it could be handled.
Tirigarde Keep and the Kul Tiras fanatics within had to be laid aside. Thomas felt grim doubts about ever being able to do anything about that diplomatically. From what he had heard, those soldiers were on par with the Scarlet Crusade when it came to reasoning.
As they were finishing up the meeting, the door opened and Gazlowe poked his head in. One could almost suspect that he had been listening in. Wouldn’t surprise anybody.
“Are you people still friendly enough with each other to have dinner together or shall we rearrange the tables below?” the goblin cheerfully asked.
He seemed to think that this whole thing was very amusing, especially since it had not led to his property getting trashed due to some disagreement.
After assurances that everything was just fine, the two groups filed down the stair and let the goblin lead them into a dining room. It was a pleasantly furnished room, just like the one above. Another huge table, chair set just like before, but with one extra. Gazlowe skipped up and sat down at the high end of the table, apparently set on seeing some of the show unfold.
“It’s all being paid by your leaders,” he informed with an extra wide smile as other goblins filed in, carrying plates with more or less amounts of strain. “Eat as much as you want!”
Considering what kind of people they were dealing with, this felt like a very necessary piece of information.
The food was basically the same for all of them, grilled, well seasoned pork with salad – the amounts, on the other hand, were set to suit the individual guests. While the humans, and Gazlowe, were served neatly cut slices of meat, the orcs had whole hog’s legs on plates the size of windows placed in front of them. They did make an effort to use knife and fork, however, although everyone present knew that this wasn’t the way things usually went. Still, the orcs tried for the sake of not being offensive, a nice touch after all the testing jokes during the meeting.
Say what you want about goblins, but they know how to cook. Gazlowe cheerfully lapped up the polite but completely honest compliments. That ceremony over, Thomas felt it alright to change the subject to what interested him personally.
“Do you know if Vo’don and his students are back from Stranglethorn?” he asked, looking across the table.
Dor’ash loudly swallowed, then put down his giant fork and shook his head.
“He sent a letter saying they were doing well, but they’re still in the jungle chasing after raptors,” he said, then grinned toothily. “He’ll be glad to hear you’re doing well.”
“And about that, I can’t thank you enough for helping me like you have,” Thomas said with a smile.
“Eh, don’t mention it. I’ve never had a human stand up against his own kind, trying to save me and a bunch of trolls before. ‘Savannah’ doesn’t count.”
Thomas forced himself not to glance towards Simon, fully aware that just about everyone were listening in with great interest.
“Ah, yes, her,” Thomas said, pained half-smile completely honest. “Where is she, anyway?”
It was an innocent question – even his escort would understand that he might feel some grudging curiosity about the Forsaken who had wounded herself so badly to save her mixed company.
“She let me know that I better make it up to her, the trouble she went through,” Dor’ash said with a shake of his head. “So I assume she’s up and about again, at least.”
Thomas took that to mean that she wasn’t anywhere nearby, and that was enough for him.
“And you?” Dor’ash asked, a little softer than before. “What of the Silver Hand?”
“They don’t want anything to do with me anymore,” Thomas replied. He shrugged, surprised at how little he already felt about that – so many years of his life, suddenly denied and he couldn’t bring himself to be upset anymore. They were in the wrong, he knew that for certain, and he had a new purpose. “But if they are so close minded, let it be. Although I suppose I better find something else than my old signet ring for Vo’don.”
Saying so he reached into a pocket on the inside of his robe and drew out the troll totem he had received in Stranglethorn.
“I don’t go anywhere without this. The old one brought luck, after all,” he commented with a slanted smile.
The sympathetic look in Dor’ash’s eyes faded, replaced by a smile.
“Good, I will let Vo’don know that,” he said. “He will appreciate it.”
Simon asked to see the totem, and Thomas passed it over. It moved from hand to hand, the text on the backside studied by all, even if the humans couldn’t read the text. They had been told what it said, though. Once he had it back, Thomas gently tucked the totem back into the pocket. He treated this one with even more care than his last.
He looked up as Dor’ash spoke again.
“I suppose it might not have been apparent to you,” Dor’ash said, thoughtfully, “but Vo’don has a bit of a higher standing in Sen’jin, being a raptor mount breeder and trainer.”
“I figured he had to be something more than just another warrior, but I wasn’t sure,” Thomas said.
Deep down he wondered, although he couldn’t be sure if it was worth hoping, that this was a hint at that someday he may receive the honor of visiting Sen’jin village. A thrilling thought, just as much as that of perhaps getting to see Orgrimmar. Funny, how most other humans would think him mad for even considering that an honor. He tucked those thoughts away for the moment though. It was too soon to think that far ahead, even if things looked good now.
Later, after the dinner, and the goodbyes and thanks said to Gazlowe, the troll friend of both Thomas and Dor’ash was spoken of one last time. By then they all stood on the pier, the people of Theramore about to board their ship back home.
“And next time I see Vo’don, I will definitely tell him that you wore a dress last I saw you,” Dor’ash added to the goodbyes, with a huge grin which caused the soon-to-be-sinking sun to glimmer on his fangs.
Rolling his entire head along with his eyes, Thomas chuckled.
“I simply have to summon a friend of mine to help keep up with you,” he said, taking Dor’ash’s huge hand as a sign of friendly farewell. “Collins, the other man in Un’goro. He’s the one with the snappy one-liners, not I.”
“You didn’t do that badly, my friend,” the shaman said, still grinning although it had softened some.
“Thank you. Neither did you.”
With a glance he extended the last, cheerful sentence to Areg and the other orcs. They grinned back, the future representative nodding agreement.
It had been a good meeting. Surely not all issues would go so smoothly as they had today, but this made a fine start.
Next up: Collins is an agent of your bad conscience!
After all, I gotta make up for flashing that “review” in your faces, my darlings.
I’m going to try tying all my WoW stories together, not just because I’ve presented all my core characters by now.