09-03-2013, 12:36 AM
Her lungs were beginning their slow burn as her body went into a full-on sprint. The closer she got to her targets, the clearer they became, and just beyond them, a series of strange, glowing arches. One of the figures, presumably male and on horseback, caught sight of her and sped towards her.
As he approached, she began to make out his features: his skin was a slightly darker tone of green than hers, his face squared and utterly masculine, with a well-kept beard of black hair lining the lower half. Two thick cables of equally dark hair hung around his neck and draped over his chest, falling towards his lower abdomen, braided and secured with thick metal circlets and red leather straps. His shoulders were very broad, decorated with thick plates of metal and hardened leather with frightening spikes jutting from each of their centers, with more of the circlets decorating the edges. From his back, she could see the hilt of a weapon, but he was still too far away for her to make it out. His chest was encased in what looked to be mail and leather, a stunning work of art by an Orcish blacksmith whose pride was worked into every metal link and strap holding it together. Bits of fur and bone further enhanced the beauty of his armor, and caused a sharp pang of jealousy to steal through her.
In the back of her mind, she reminded herself that there was still danger, and pulled her daggers from their sheaths, ready for attack. He had the features of an Orc, and could very well have been, but how many times had she seen one brother attack another, cruelly and mercilessly rending their lives for their possessions, or just because they were too caught up in their bloodlust to care?
When he was within earshot, and she could see his face clearly, his eyes the color of the sky, Garona shouted, “Who are you?”
The Orc reeled his mount to a stop, the horse shaking its head, mane twisting majestically around it’s thickly muscled neck. It was strange seeing an Orc riding something other than the wolves they bred especially for such a purpose. Horses were more of a human transport, not Orc. “Now’s not the time,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly. He exuded an aura of leadership, and reminded her of someone from her world, someone of importance, but she couldn’t quite place him. He didn’t seem to be very dangerous, at least, he didn’t seem to be aggressive towards her. Good. It relaxed her just a little to know that she seemed to have at least this little piece of familiarity in a place that seemed to be everything but. “This place is about to get really dangerous. I’d advise you get behind us.”
Before she could ask him what he meant, and if she could offer her help, he rode off without another word.
“Fantastic,” Garona sighed. She looked back towards the arches from which he came, seeing another figure that must have decided to stay behind. Get behind them? Who were they? Sure, he was an Orc, like herself (well, okay, half-Orc, but still. She didn’t know them, and for all she knew, it was a ploy to gain her trust. Trust led to betrayal. Betrayal usually led to death. Despite the implied “immortality”, she was more than a little skeptical.
Deciding it was best to follow the Orc, Garona sped off back towards the fountain and the cowardly bunch who decided to stay behind like the pathetic prey they were. She made it back just in time to watch their little squabble, and for Ganondorf, the monster with the red hair and sickly colored skin, to step forward and demanded their names. He didn’t have the balls to go investigate them before, but now makes demands? It surprised her, but she should have expected it. Someone who looked as robust as he who didn’t take any initiative to protect others weaker than himself would find themselves on the wrong end of her dagger soon enough. She had a low tolerance for false heroics.
There was a storm of demands and questions from the growing crowd of people, to which Garona noticed even more had joined their fray. A few were also on horseback, much like the Orc, giving her the impression that they, too, were part of the two separate groups of observers on either side of them. It meant that there were perhaps more of those strange, glowing arches over there, too. What were they? Were they doorways into another world, like the Dark Portal had been? Was that how they got here, and did it mean there was a way out of here after all? It had to be. She would accept no other explanation.
The men on horseback conversed with one another, trading heated arguments and accusations. The Orc who approached her earlier was there, standing beside another man, a human called Aragorn, whose features were strikingly handsome.
Garona admired his raw, physical beauty. His face seemed to be lovingly cut from stone by a master artisan, the flesh a pale golden cream. Along his jaw, a spray of week-old stubble resided, framing a set of plump pink lips. They belonged to the face of a female, but seemed to enhance his masculinity even more in their perfection. Eyes as pale as an early morning sky took residence in the deep caverns beneath his pleasantly hewn brows, and his hair, a blond so dark it was almost brown, hung just past his shoulders in wavy strands. It was moist with sweat, adding to its sheen. The rest of him was simply clothed in a dark cotton cloak and matching tunic, with a pair of leather pants encasing a pair of powerfully muscled legs that strained beneath the fabric.
He was a warrior, she thought. His entire being exuded nobility, of a strength a man who wanted not for his own gain, as indicated by his simplistic trappings, but for something that mattered even more than gold and riches. He was a leader.
“If I hadn’t come here, you would have taken all these people,” the human glared at the other man who claimed to align himself with an “empire”. Was it true? Where would he have taken them? Surely to their deaths, she thought in the back of her mind. Death, or slavery, or maybe even both. Neither course would have been one she would have willingly supplied herself to. She found herself instantly disliking this human who called himself “Bradley”.
“And what were you coming to do, King Aragorn?” The scorn was practically dripping from his words.
An eruption came from around the fountain. The discontent was clear amongst the group who had just found themselves trapped within this white void. Aragorn’s shoulders squared, his face settling into a peaceful gaze as he took them all in, rebuffing Bradley’s accusation with an affable hint of a smile. Garona liked him in that moment. She liked him a lot.
He offered them a home in his lands. He guaranteed freedom and comfort, something that Garona had barely had the chance to experience in her own homeland. There had been tales of a time long ago when the clans had lived prosperously and peacefully on Draenor, but that was no longer, and was certainly well before her time. She wondered, no, hungered, to be part of that peaceful lifestyle again, but the skeptic within her kept a safe distance.
Before anybody could respond, Bradley wheeled his mount around and countered with his own offer. “We will make you comfortable, and by that, I mean a real place to live, not some stone-walled shack.” Funny, but stone-walled shacks were what she was accustomed to, and it was perfectly fine for her. He spoke about them as if it were something beneath him, to be ashamed of even considering. No, she didn’t much care for this man at all. “Make use of the technology available to us. There’s no catch. You can stay there, or go somewhere else.” He laughed mockingly as he continued, “Go see his Kingdom, if you want.”
Aragorn took the insult gracefully, not rising to the bait Bradley threw his way. “I am not forcing anyone,” he replied. “You can go with him, or come with us, or you can go to any one of the other verses. I just don’t want the Empire to twist you against us.”
A silence hung over the crowd, Garona included. For her, the decision seemed to be an easy one. She wanted to follow this man, and his Orc companion, if only for the familiarity of having one of her own kind around. However, he alluded to other “verses”, which she could only surmise were other lands or realms, other than his or Bradley’s. It piqued her curiosity, she admitted, but what of those verses would she be welcome, and which would she needlessly put herself in even more danger?
No. She couldn’t do that. She could become familiar with their lands, to explore her options, and then explore from there, she decided. Establish a base, and work her way outwards. Although she thought of these other newcomers as complete cowards not worthy of breathing the same air as she, she would let them go and make their own way around. Eventually, they’d run into each other again, and when they were on more even ground than now.
Stepping towards the Orc and the human, Garona sheathed her weapons, and drew one arm across her chest, her fist resting against her heavily beating heart. “I would like to follow you, if you would have me. I am sure you can use my skills, especially against people like that,” she cast a heated glare toward Bradley, who responded in kind. Oh yes, she would have fun with that one. She drew her gaze back to Aragorn, her lips turning downwards into a frown. “The moment I sense betrayal, however, will be the moment my weapons seek your heart. Do not cross me, human, or your life will be forfeit.”
Aragorn considered her words, and nodded. “You have my word.” He looked over to the male Orc, then back towards her. “Tell me, what is your name?”
Garona hadn’t supplied it to any of these strangers before now, and was somewhat leery over sharing it now. A name meant a way of identifying her, a way of breaking her cover when it was most needed. A name could be traced with magic, a sort of tracking method used by those powerful enough to use it.
After several moments, Garona’s shoulders squared, her jaw lifting. She would not be a coward.
“My name is Garona. Garona Halforcen.”
As he approached, she began to make out his features: his skin was a slightly darker tone of green than hers, his face squared and utterly masculine, with a well-kept beard of black hair lining the lower half. Two thick cables of equally dark hair hung around his neck and draped over his chest, falling towards his lower abdomen, braided and secured with thick metal circlets and red leather straps. His shoulders were very broad, decorated with thick plates of metal and hardened leather with frightening spikes jutting from each of their centers, with more of the circlets decorating the edges. From his back, she could see the hilt of a weapon, but he was still too far away for her to make it out. His chest was encased in what looked to be mail and leather, a stunning work of art by an Orcish blacksmith whose pride was worked into every metal link and strap holding it together. Bits of fur and bone further enhanced the beauty of his armor, and caused a sharp pang of jealousy to steal through her.
In the back of her mind, she reminded herself that there was still danger, and pulled her daggers from their sheaths, ready for attack. He had the features of an Orc, and could very well have been, but how many times had she seen one brother attack another, cruelly and mercilessly rending their lives for their possessions, or just because they were too caught up in their bloodlust to care?
When he was within earshot, and she could see his face clearly, his eyes the color of the sky, Garona shouted, “Who are you?”
The Orc reeled his mount to a stop, the horse shaking its head, mane twisting majestically around it’s thickly muscled neck. It was strange seeing an Orc riding something other than the wolves they bred especially for such a purpose. Horses were more of a human transport, not Orc. “Now’s not the time,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly. He exuded an aura of leadership, and reminded her of someone from her world, someone of importance, but she couldn’t quite place him. He didn’t seem to be very dangerous, at least, he didn’t seem to be aggressive towards her. Good. It relaxed her just a little to know that she seemed to have at least this little piece of familiarity in a place that seemed to be everything but. “This place is about to get really dangerous. I’d advise you get behind us.”
Before she could ask him what he meant, and if she could offer her help, he rode off without another word.
“Fantastic,” Garona sighed. She looked back towards the arches from which he came, seeing another figure that must have decided to stay behind. Get behind them? Who were they? Sure, he was an Orc, like herself (well, okay, half-Orc, but still. She didn’t know them, and for all she knew, it was a ploy to gain her trust. Trust led to betrayal. Betrayal usually led to death. Despite the implied “immortality”, she was more than a little skeptical.
Deciding it was best to follow the Orc, Garona sped off back towards the fountain and the cowardly bunch who decided to stay behind like the pathetic prey they were. She made it back just in time to watch their little squabble, and for Ganondorf, the monster with the red hair and sickly colored skin, to step forward and demanded their names. He didn’t have the balls to go investigate them before, but now makes demands? It surprised her, but she should have expected it. Someone who looked as robust as he who didn’t take any initiative to protect others weaker than himself would find themselves on the wrong end of her dagger soon enough. She had a low tolerance for false heroics.
There was a storm of demands and questions from the growing crowd of people, to which Garona noticed even more had joined their fray. A few were also on horseback, much like the Orc, giving her the impression that they, too, were part of the two separate groups of observers on either side of them. It meant that there were perhaps more of those strange, glowing arches over there, too. What were they? Were they doorways into another world, like the Dark Portal had been? Was that how they got here, and did it mean there was a way out of here after all? It had to be. She would accept no other explanation.
The men on horseback conversed with one another, trading heated arguments and accusations. The Orc who approached her earlier was there, standing beside another man, a human called Aragorn, whose features were strikingly handsome.
Garona admired his raw, physical beauty. His face seemed to be lovingly cut from stone by a master artisan, the flesh a pale golden cream. Along his jaw, a spray of week-old stubble resided, framing a set of plump pink lips. They belonged to the face of a female, but seemed to enhance his masculinity even more in their perfection. Eyes as pale as an early morning sky took residence in the deep caverns beneath his pleasantly hewn brows, and his hair, a blond so dark it was almost brown, hung just past his shoulders in wavy strands. It was moist with sweat, adding to its sheen. The rest of him was simply clothed in a dark cotton cloak and matching tunic, with a pair of leather pants encasing a pair of powerfully muscled legs that strained beneath the fabric.
He was a warrior, she thought. His entire being exuded nobility, of a strength a man who wanted not for his own gain, as indicated by his simplistic trappings, but for something that mattered even more than gold and riches. He was a leader.
“If I hadn’t come here, you would have taken all these people,” the human glared at the other man who claimed to align himself with an “empire”. Was it true? Where would he have taken them? Surely to their deaths, she thought in the back of her mind. Death, or slavery, or maybe even both. Neither course would have been one she would have willingly supplied herself to. She found herself instantly disliking this human who called himself “Bradley”.
“And what were you coming to do, King Aragorn?” The scorn was practically dripping from his words.
An eruption came from around the fountain. The discontent was clear amongst the group who had just found themselves trapped within this white void. Aragorn’s shoulders squared, his face settling into a peaceful gaze as he took them all in, rebuffing Bradley’s accusation with an affable hint of a smile. Garona liked him in that moment. She liked him a lot.
He offered them a home in his lands. He guaranteed freedom and comfort, something that Garona had barely had the chance to experience in her own homeland. There had been tales of a time long ago when the clans had lived prosperously and peacefully on Draenor, but that was no longer, and was certainly well before her time. She wondered, no, hungered, to be part of that peaceful lifestyle again, but the skeptic within her kept a safe distance.
Before anybody could respond, Bradley wheeled his mount around and countered with his own offer. “We will make you comfortable, and by that, I mean a real place to live, not some stone-walled shack.” Funny, but stone-walled shacks were what she was accustomed to, and it was perfectly fine for her. He spoke about them as if it were something beneath him, to be ashamed of even considering. No, she didn’t much care for this man at all. “Make use of the technology available to us. There’s no catch. You can stay there, or go somewhere else.” He laughed mockingly as he continued, “Go see his Kingdom, if you want.”
Aragorn took the insult gracefully, not rising to the bait Bradley threw his way. “I am not forcing anyone,” he replied. “You can go with him, or come with us, or you can go to any one of the other verses. I just don’t want the Empire to twist you against us.”
A silence hung over the crowd, Garona included. For her, the decision seemed to be an easy one. She wanted to follow this man, and his Orc companion, if only for the familiarity of having one of her own kind around. However, he alluded to other “verses”, which she could only surmise were other lands or realms, other than his or Bradley’s. It piqued her curiosity, she admitted, but what of those verses would she be welcome, and which would she needlessly put herself in even more danger?
No. She couldn’t do that. She could become familiar with their lands, to explore her options, and then explore from there, she decided. Establish a base, and work her way outwards. Although she thought of these other newcomers as complete cowards not worthy of breathing the same air as she, she would let them go and make their own way around. Eventually, they’d run into each other again, and when they were on more even ground than now.
Stepping towards the Orc and the human, Garona sheathed her weapons, and drew one arm across her chest, her fist resting against her heavily beating heart. “I would like to follow you, if you would have me. I am sure you can use my skills, especially against people like that,” she cast a heated glare toward Bradley, who responded in kind. Oh yes, she would have fun with that one. She drew her gaze back to Aragorn, her lips turning downwards into a frown. “The moment I sense betrayal, however, will be the moment my weapons seek your heart. Do not cross me, human, or your life will be forfeit.”
Aragorn considered her words, and nodded. “You have my word.” He looked over to the male Orc, then back towards her. “Tell me, what is your name?”
Garona hadn’t supplied it to any of these strangers before now, and was somewhat leery over sharing it now. A name meant a way of identifying her, a way of breaking her cover when it was most needed. A name could be traced with magic, a sort of tracking method used by those powerful enough to use it.
After several moments, Garona’s shoulders squared, her jaw lifting. She would not be a coward.
“My name is Garona. Garona Halforcen.”
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