Forsaken

Feeling the call of duty to his people, a young blood elf rogue leaves the love of life behind to fight the Scourge. Returning to Silvermoon after many long years, Narizz looks for his beloved and is unprepared for what he finds.

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2. Meetings

 

 

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Narizz sat in shrouded silence at the Blue Peacock’s ebony, marble bar nursing a crystal

 

flute of moonberry wine more for appearance than any desire of the sweet, nutty spirits. From

 

where he sat the rogue was able to keep an eye on both the tavern’s elaborate stone entrance,

 

carved in the relief of a peacock’s splayed tail feathers (the owner had even splurged to have a

 

mage make the plumes glow with fey energies that caused the feathers to shift through some

 

myriad shades of blues and greens) and the common area.

 

The patrons of The Blue Peacock were as varied and colorful as the feathers of the

 

tavern’s namesake. A pair of undead gladiators sat quietly in one corner, the warrior’s heavy

 

mail showing recent wear while his healer glowed from the holy power emanating from her

 

blessed shroud.

 

The priest still displayed remnants of the beauty she had possessed in her past life, but the

 

warrior kept his visage hidden behind a great horned helm. The fires of hell burned from the eye

 

sockets when the Forsaken turned his chilling gaze on Narizz as if sensing the eyes of the living

 

on him. A brief second was all the undead locked gazes with Narizz, but a ball of ice coated with

 

a thin layer of fear formed in the blood elf’s stomach. With a slight tip of his nightmarish head

 

the undead acknowledged the rogue and then turned his attention back to his woman.

 

Narizz’s muscles relaxed and he removed his hands from the familiar hafts of his

 

enchanted maces letting out a scarcely audible sigh of relief. The Forsaken may be allies of the

 

Horde, but the elf had lost too many comrades and friends at the hands of the brutal Scourge for

 

him to accept any undead as anything other than vicious monsters bent on extinguishing all life.

 

A group of orc and tauren adventurers occupied the main part of the tavern and was the

 

source of most of its noise.

 

“I win again!” Bellowed coal black furred tauren, flexing his massive muscles. “Now

 

pay up Gorflek.”

 

“It’s a fluke,” growled a grizzled orc shaman while he rubbed his sore shoulder. “My

 

elbow slipped in a puddle of mead. Let’s go again, double or nothing.”

 

“Don’t you ever learn shaman?” Asked another tauren between swallowing chunks of

 

greasy mutton. “You have tried to best my brother in arm wrestling since we left Orgrimmar last

 

week. Face it Gor, Montish is just too strong for you, but if you are so intent on being parted

 

from your gold I’ll take that bet too.” Sheep-eater grinned as he threw a heavy, bulging pouch

 

onto the table by the other two bets.

 

“My brother is right Gorflek, but if it’s another lesson in humility you need then I am

 

ready to teach.” Montish rumbled.

 

The orc shrugged his broad shoulders and placed his elbow on the table. “We will see

 

pups,” the cunning Gorflek mumbled to himself. The shaman leaned over the table as he and

 

Montish locked powerful arms. Veins swelled and biceps bulged as the two contestants tried to

 

overcome one another.

 

Narizz watched in amusement as the shaman’s other hand slipped under the table to place

 

a totem and if he was a betting man, the blood elf believed the tauren was about to see his

 

winning streak end as the shaman’s earth totem boosted his strength with the power of the

 

elements.

 

Watching in eager anticipation of the prideful warrior’s defeat, Narizz felt a tingle at the

 

base of his skull. A tingle that year’s of martial training meant danger. The mirth forgotten, the

 

rogue scanned the room intently for the source of the sensation of danger and found an olive

 

skinned orc with a spiky blue mohawk staring at him with hate filled eyes.

 

As luck would have it, Gorflek chose that moment to slam his opponent’s meaty hand to

 

the table.

 

In disbelief and anger Montish hastily jumped up from the table, accidentally flipping it

 

over and revealing Gorflek’s deception. The three adventurers stood briefly watching one

 

another then action erupted all at once. Gorflek snatched the spilled pouches with one hand and

 

dropped yet another totem with the other as Montish and his brother lunged for the orc only to be

 

slowed down as if marred in an Un’ Goro tar pit as the totem of binding’s magic activated.

 

“Cheat! Deceiver!!” Montish roared at the fleeing shaman. Enraged even further by the

 

snail pace he was moving at the warrior drew a notched longsword and waved it at Gorflek.

 

“Come back and fight with honor!”

 

“Two to one?” Gorflek sniped back. “Sounds like the Alliances version of honor to me.

 

Are you sure you two are tauren and not human?” The watching spectators burst out with

 

laughter and jeers at the frustrated bull-man infuriating Montish to the point where his massive

 

body quivered with frustration and rage.

 

“Don’t worry brother. I’ll catch him.” The other tauren shape-shifted into the form of a

 

powerful hunting cat and with a primal roar of challenge bound from the impairing effects of the

 

totem only to be nearly frozen solid as a ball of ice cast by the shaman caught him square in the

 

chest, slowing the druid back down.

 

“Look me up when you calves get a few seasons under your belts and we’ll do this

 

again.” Gorflek taunted from the safety of the tavern’s entrance and with a prayer of thanks to

 

the spirits a gesture of his hands the shaman turned into the spirit of a wolf and raced off into the

 

city.

 

Hot on his heels a group of magisters and a pair of arcane patrollers showed up to escort

 

the protesting brothers none too gently from the Blue Peacock and eventually the city gates.

 

Forgotten during the skirmish, Narizz scanned the room for the peculiar orc that he had

 

been sure was watching him, but as luck would have it the orc was nowhere to be seen.

 

Wondering where the orc could have gone Narizz rose from his seat with the intention of seeking

 

out Mohawk when the lights dimmed and the most beautiful blood elf he had ever seen walked

 

onto the stage.

 

Walked did not do justice to the way she sauntered to the center of the stage, each sway

 

of her shapely hips and wave of her hands meant to swirl the provocative silk robe seductively

 

around her lithe body. Hair the color of a raven’s wing framed an angelic face and slightly

 

grazed slender shoulders. Full lips that seemed to be in a perpetual pout were laced in the

 

crimson of a freshly bloomed rose, but her eyes made all that pale in comparison. To any but a

 

blood elf, the eyes of Narizz’s race seem nothing more than glowing green orbs, but to the magic

 

hungry elves the shade and glow convey deep and complex meaning. The dancer’s grass green

 

eye’s glowed with such energy and passion that Narizz was surprised there wasn’t a glow trailing

 

behind her.

 

Slowly the music started, a primal rhythm of drums and reed pipes which she followed

 

with a hypnotic sway of her hips and twirling of her arms. The music pounded faster as the

 

dancer wove across the stage, leaping and spinning in time to the beat, her skimpy attire

 

teasingly revealing sensuous glimpses of soft moon-white skin and soft curves.

 

The tavern had grown quiet, each man and woman mesmerized by the dancer’s hypnotic

 

movements and fluid grace. All too soon for Narizz the music stopped and the enchanting blood

 

elf folded her arms around her chest and folded at her slender waist in a deep bow. Although her

 

body bent toward the stage floor, her face did not and those impassioned eyes locked with

 

Narizz’s.

 

Realizing the performance was over the patrons gave the beauty a standing ovation

 

mingled with catcalls pleas for the dance to begin anew. Stunned by the dancer’s intense gaze,

 

Narizz had been slow to get to his feet and by the time he did the girl was gone.

 

“Damn,” he cursed in irritation at being so shocked by the woman’s appearance and at

 

losing her after just locating her. His heart pounding hard in his chest, Narizz cajoled and jostled

 

his way to the stage and lept upon the raised dais much to the amusement of the on-looking

 

crowd. His head swiveled back and forth seeking the way the dancer had made her exit while

 

the crowd cheered and jeered at him.

 

“Go get her tiger!” Encouraged an orc hunter, his pet boar snorting in support.

 

“Save some for us mon!” Yelled a trio of long tusked island trolls.

 

Narizz paid them no heed and after a few brief moments, he spotted a small door at the back of

 

the stage. In a flash he plunged through it leaving the noise of the common room behind and

 

entered the bustling bee hive of performers preparing to go on stage.

 

“The girl who just performed. Where did she go?” The rogue asked an undead mage

 

who was juggling balls of fire and ice.

 

Annoyed at being interrupted, the mage pointed a bony finger toward a room off to the

 

right while growling something threateningly about catching Narizz on fire.

 

Hesitating in front of the room’s arched entrance, Narizz took a deep breath to steady his

 

pounding heart. Bolath had been right. The dancer had been her. His Mellay that he had

 

abandoned those many years ago to do what he had thought was best for her and their future

 

together. It had been a bitter lesson.

 

Narizz had followed his brother in pursuit of the Scourge believing that to fight the

 

unholy monsters, waging a war of genocide against the undead beasts was the only way to keep

 

Silvermoon and in turn his beloved safe. A chuckle of irony escaped his lips as he shook his

 

head remembering the frustration he and the war party had encountered. For every one of the

 

zombies they struck down, a handful more rose from the ground to take its place. But unlike

 

their prey, the blood elves did have a finite number to them and after months of harrying Arthas’s

 

minions the war party was badly gored, weary, and soon to be defeated and its members to join

 

the Lich King’s swelling army.

 

Just as it appeared that all hope had been lost, a band of Horde raiders swept in and they

 

along with their lupine mounts tore down the monsters with blade and claw alike. The raiders

 

had patched up the surviving blood elves and together they returned to the orc stronghold,

 

Orgrimmar. Believing that he had at last found the means to keep his Mellay safe, Narizz joined

 

the Warchief’s budding legion and fought a brutal campaign against the endless enemies of the

 

horde. War-weary and heartbroken Narizz returned to Silvermoon hoping to regain his lost life

 

and love.

 

Placing his hands on the heavy heads of his maces for confidence, Narizz stepped across

 

the room’s threshold and found the plushly decorated dressing room devoid of any life except a

 

silver dragonhawk hatchling that was sleeping curled up on a pile of silk pillows.

 

Running his fingers through his spiky red hair, Narizz looked for signs of his prey’s exit

 

or intent and saw a thick wooden door hanging partially ajar. The rogue couldn’t tell where it

 

lead, or if someone was waiting for him on the other side, but he was sure that Mellay intended

 

for him to follow her. Trusting in his instincts, Narizz threw caution to the wind and boldly

 

stepped through the door and into a clean, well-lit alleyway leading to the Avenue of Elders.

 

Dismay washed over the rogue like a ocean wave as watched the many inhabitants bustle

 

about the crowded avenue. Pages ran to and fro carrying important messages for their lords

 

while trying to dodge sedans carried by stout tauren or orc bodyguards. A group of Horde

 

ambassadors followed a pompous blood elf dignitary, seemingly bored as he stated various facts

 

on the landmarks and buildings they passed.

 

A flash of black caught his eye just in time to see Mellay, wearing a long close-fitting

 

black gown, turn the corner of the avenue that lead out of the city. With renewed energy Narizz

 

rushed after the retreating blood elf and hurried through the winding gates. So intent on his prey,

 

the rogue didn’t see the broad back of a tauren until he crashed into the man-bull.

 

“By Cairne’s Horns!” The tauren slid a massive two-handed axe from a myriad of deadly

 

weapons that from his battered leather harness. “What dog wants to meet their gods so badly to

 

strike me, Montish of the Ravenhoof Clan!”

 

Instantly recognizing the volatile warrior from the tavern, Narizz tried to apologize to

 

Montish not wanting to waste time on a pointless conflict. “Easy friend, I was in pursuit of

 

someone and did not see you...”

 

“DID NOT SEE ME!?” Montish bellowed. “Are you saying that I am small and weak?”

 

The tauren raised the heavily flanged mace menacingly at the back pedaling rogue. “Maybe I

 

need to teach you a lesson pointy ears!”

 

“I meant no harm tauren, but trust me when I say this is a fight you do not want.” Narizz

 

kept his arms held out wide to reinforce his peaceful intentions. As soon as the words left his

 

mouth he knew they were ill spoken.

 

With a wordless primal roar, Montish charged the diminutive elf intent on mashing

 

Narizz into a smear of gore on the cream-colored pathway.

 

Battle tempered, Narizz easily slipped around the hulking warrior with a feint to his right

 

and roll to his left, but he realized he underestimated Montish as the tauren’s plate sized hand

 

snagged his trailing cloak.

 

Years of lock-picking had kept the elf’s fingers deft and he quickly undid the cloak’s

 

clasp, spinning free of the bovine fighters crushing embrace and slipping his enchanted maces

 

free from their resting place.

 

An audible gasp escaped from the gathered crowd and even Montish’s eyes bulged in

 

disbelief.

 

Narizz knew what was causing their awe. Since he had arrived in Silvermoon he hadn’t

 

had time to remove his tabard. The upraised, bloody orc fist stood triumphantly on a jet-black

 

field plain for all to see. The crest of Blooded, the Horde’s most deadly and successful military

 

guild.

“Brother, concede the fight. There is no shame in submitting to a superior fighter.” The

 

druid came forward placing a gentle hand on his brother’s wide shoulder trying to soothe the

 

bloodrage that burned in the young tauren’s blood.

 

“Listen to your brother. You cannot best me and I have no desire to fight you.” Narizz

 

stated replacing his maces in their frogs and holding his arms out wide again.

 

Montish shrugged his heavy shoulder knocking the druid’s hand away. “Cheat!

 

Deceiver!” He roared in anger. “I will smash your puny body and wipe my hairy arse with your

 

tabard!”

 

Waving his crescent bladed weapon menacingly at the rogue, Montish deliberately

 

stalked toward his victim.

 

With a sigh Narizz slipped into a passive fighting stance biding his time, waiting for the

 

opportunity to finish the fight quickly. The rogue easily danced away from the tauren’s

 

overpowered swings until finally, Montish presented Narizz with the opening he had been

 

waiting for.

 

The battleaxe whistled horizontally through the air with the intention of cleaving the

 

slender elf in twine. Narizz dove under the arcing blade and rolled to crouch in front of the

 

towering warrior, a lock of flame colored hair landing near his hand showing how close he’d

 

come to losing his head and the challenge. Using the weight of the heavy weapon for

momentum, Montish brought the weapon high above his head to crush the impudent blood elf.

 

Darting through the tauren’s treelike legs and drawing a balanced throwing knife in each

 

hand, Narizz drove them deep into the back of Montish’s kneecaps. Bellowing in surprise and

 

pain the tauren twisted trying to grab the nimble rogue but lost his instead and fell on his back,

 

vulnerable and exposed.

 

“Yield warrior. Your wounds are incapacitating but not lethal and can be easily healed by

 

your brother. Continue and you may not be so fortunate.” Narizz stood above the bull-man, his

 

hands resting threateningly on his spiked maces.

 

Staring up at his opponent with brow furrowed in anger, the bloodrage diminished from

 

his large dark eyes, Montish growled through gritted teeth but lowered his great horned head in

 

defeat.

 

Narizz hastily picked up his fallen cloak; fastening the medallion of the horde that

 

clasped the magical smoke-gray cloak with only partial attention as he rushed through the

 

dispersing crowd, worried that he had lost Mellay’s trail.

 

The rogue had nothing to fear as Mellay sat atop a crimson hawkstrider near the city’s

 

alabaster stable. Patiently she watched Narizz like a silent dark angel, her ivory face giving no

 

indication of what lay behind those stormy, glowing eyes.

 

They stood a moment, eyes locked together, then Mellay turned her mount down the path

 

that lead to ranger outpost Farstrider Retreat.

 

Narizz allowed himself a small smile. The path forked a little way before the outpost and

 

the left branch lead down to the secluded sandy beaches on the western side of Eversong Forest.

 

Although the golden strands would have been an ideal place for blood elves seeking escape from

 

the hustle and bustle of Silvermoon, few went there because of its haunted past.

 

Angry spirits stalked the beaches and abandoned academy looking for unwary travelers to

 

take their agony out on but Narizz and Mellay, young, in love and invincible, had braved the

 

ghosts and found a secreted cave that became their spot.

 

The young lovers were enjoying the warm summer day, the salty air as it blew in from the

 

Forbidding Sea, dispatching any of the tortured souls that drifted to close, and chasing down the

 

mana wrymlings to steal their mystic energy whenever the desire for arcane power struck them.

 

Whether enticed by the scent of fresh blood or just in its mindless rambling, a powerful

 

spirit by the name of Eldinarcus found them. The two lovers soon realized that they couldn’t

 

best the enraged soul and fled from the monster, their peals of laughter abandoned to the winds

 

of youthful recklessness. They had escaped into a small fissure in the cliffside and Eldinarcus

 

had raged unknowingly by.

 

Fearing that the ghost would catch them if they left the security of the fissure, the two

 

blood elves had explored deeper into the crack and found a narrow path that lead up the cliff to a

 

cozy little cave overlooking the sea. Mellay and Narizz had spent their first night together

 

wrapped in the warmth and comfort of each others arms.

 

With a sigh for what was lost, Narizz dug his heels into the hawkstrider’s sapphire

 

feathers. With an indignant squawk the bird-mount raced off down the path.

 

 

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