((The first in a series of RP stories centered around the Hellscream’s Angels, and their war against the “crusade” of WSB))
“You or I?”
“‘You or me’, you mean.”
“No, I mean You or I! S’my game, I pick de name.” Ezzran stared down at the elf seated across from him. Thoughticus’ lips were pursed and she met his gaze with those ever-burning eyes of gold.
“You. Or. I?” the large troll repeated, his voice a croak intertwined with the deep chill of undeath. Thoughticus’ lips curled into a snarl.
“You of course,” she spat, grabbing her mug and slamming it down on the table. Ezzran shrugged and leaned back.
“Alright, but de next round will be bigga and dat one is on ya, eh?” Thoughticus’ eyes narrowed as she slammed the mug one more time.
“Hmph, maybe this will be the last round.”
“Den ya have ta buy! Dis is de game. I got de first.” With a growl Thoughticus stood and took in a deep breath, hands on her hips. Ezzran starred expectantly, and the elf blew the long blonde hair out of her face.
“I hate your game.” Ezzran laughed as she tried her best to jostle him, and then wrenched on his ear, cutting the laugh short.
“Den how come ya keep agreein’ ta play!” The elf only grumbled in Thalassian, cursing him no doubt, as she swatted at his white mohawk and sauntered away. Ezzran sat back again, taking in the bar. The secluded dive was nestled high in the jungle-coated mountains of Zul’Dazar, accessible only by a winding dirt road; far away from the smooth stone roads and grandly gilded buildings used by lords and kings. It was muggy and hot even in the early hours of the morning, and the smell of overcooked meat, sweat, and vomit made for a magnificently pungent musk; a fitting place for the wild and unsavory. Most of the patrons were grizzled looking Zandalari trolls drowning their sorrows, and a few goblins playing cards in the corner. The hulking troll and the brightly garbed paladin were criminal more than most, but they stuck out like a sore thumb. Four large mugs were set roughly on the table, making the other dishes jump and jostling Ezzran from his musing.
“The last round! Choke on it and Bash’a no felo talah,” she said before taking a long draught. Ezzran glared at the elf over his drink and she glowered back at him, tattooed brow furrowed as she gulped. In unison the pair broke into sputtering laughter and dropped their mugs. The other drinks toppled over and the pair’s laps were covered in ale.
“To the newest Angel! His people are evolved from frogs, and he is the greatest toad of them all,” Thoughticus yelled, snatching up a mug and raising it over her head. She gave him a wily grin and the troll raised his own, but then the pair turned in unison as the thunder of many horse hooves reached their ears.
Ezzran moved to stand and Thoughticus put out a quick hand paired with a knowing stare, and the troll eased back into his seat, eyes on the door. The noise grew louder and then died and it was replaced with snorts and winnies, and the clamor of armor and men shouting. Ezzran watched the gaggle of men and elves shuffle in through the open doorway, jeering and shoving at each other. He counted eight in all, well-armed and dirty from a long ride. His initial inspection pegged them as mercenaries, but poorly made alliance sigils were sewn on their jackets and cloaks. They were a long way from home.
“Drinks, now!” a tall black haired elven man called out to no one in particular. He had a thing black beard and a short thin nose, the ghastly pale skin of void corruption, and was dressed head to toe in black leathers, with swords strapped to his back. When no one moved, he kicked at two of his comrades until they moved towards the bar. Ezzran half-hoped the tender would refuse them so that he would have an excuse to attack, but the tender wasn’t going to turn away good money. His hand gripped the hilt of a large knife-a short sword by most men’s standards-and Thoughticus casually shook her head before sipping what was left of her spilled drink.
“Not yet, Osh’Kazil,” she muttered, and then frowned at her empty cup. Ezzran dropped his hand from the hilt, and took in a deep breath; the aggression was easy to temper, but the hunger of undeath was not. The crowd of men pushed together a few tables and took to boisterous drinking. Ezzran watched them, waiting for them to turn and draw their blades, or begin attacking, but nothing came. After a short while Thoughticus stood.
“I’m going to get another round. You will stay here.” Ezzran frowned and moved to stand.
“Eh but ya got de last, it my tu-”
“You will stay here.” He watched her sway over to the bar and gesture for another round. She leaned lazily on the worn wood and waited for the drinks. The apparent leader immediately headed towards the bar, mustering every ounce of swagger he could, and then some. Ezzran’s hand went back to the hilt as the elf stopped a few paces short of Thoughticus.
“Well well, what do we have here?” Thoughticus’ head shifted only the slightest bit, and she let out an unimpressed snort. “What is a girl like you doin’ all the way out here?” a few men sauntered up behind their boss, hands resting on the hilts of their weapons and chuckling to each other. Ezzran resisted the urge to leap up and begin tearing them apart; he was not naive to the posturing, but his partner had not led him astray yet.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” the elf said, taking another step towards the bar “You were here all by yourself. Come join me?” He looked down at her, almost a head taller than the paladin. The goblins playing cards paused in unison and after a moment of hushed whispers they all turned their chairs to face the bar, and a few of the zandalari began to make their way out into the warm night. “I happen to be part of a powerful organization. One that could take you to great heights!” He tossed a little book onto the bar. “Take a look for yourself, and bathe in the wisdom and light of our great Himanshu!”
“You’re a filthy traitor” she paused, eyeing him up and down with a critical glare. “So no, I don’t think I will,” Thoughticus mused aloud, as she thumbed through the book. She tossed it to Ezzran and he snatched it out of the air, who began looking through it. The writing was unfamiliar and filled with symbols and flowery lettering. “Besides, I seem to have forgotten HOW to read.”
The elf took a few quick steps to the bar and stabbed a dagger into the wood beside her. “You’re a long way from the manure-stained streets of Orgrimmar. You should have better manners! I have offered you a great gift.” The elf’s hair almost seemed to wriggle and pulsate, and his eyes flared with a strange darkness as he spoke, and Thoughticus’ head lulled away from the dagger and she rubbed her ear.
“Keep it down, the dung spilling from your mouth is making my head hurt.” She turned to face the room, and leaned her back against the bar, elbows resting easy. The elf looked back at his men momentarily, and more of them began to posture themselves into a semi-circle around the bar.
“Watch your tongue! The Crusade is not to be trifled with. We are vast and our power grows every day. We do not cower like the others, even in the face of ugly creatures like your dog there.” The elf waved a hand lazily at Ezzran as he spoke and the men chuckled and nodded approvingly. One of the drinks was set beside Thoughticus and she picked it up, eyeing its muddy contents.
“You’re right, he is my dog…” she chuckled into the drink as she took a sip and then winked at Ezzran. “And he’s a big one.” Ezzran replied with an impish grin.
“Woof.” Thoughticus cracked the mug across the elf’s face, and in one swift motion she took a handful of black hair and slammed his head on table and put the knife through his ear, pinning it to the bar. Cries of pain cut through the muggy air and Ezzran bounded across the table like a wild beast, and crashed into the men. He grabbed one by the back of the head, bashed his face into the floor before swinging him into the others, sending a few sprawling. Two void elves stepped over them, weapons drawn and roaring. Ezzran parried one knife and ran his blade through the elf’s throat. The other elf’s blade bit into his side, and Ezzran brought his knee up into the attacker’s gut and shoved him aside.
Thoughticus kicked the pinned elf’s feet out from under him, causing the knife to sheer the ear off his head and she charged into the fray, screaming in Thalassian. The goblins began frantically shoving belongings and winnings into their packs and scrambled for the exit, and the bartender disappeared into his storeroom.
Thoughticus snatched up a serving tray and broke it across the face of a man, and then grabbed him by the throat. White-hot light consumed her fist and then engulfed his head, he let out a horrible screech as flesh boiled and burned under her touch. Ezzran leapt onto the downed elf and brought his fists down together on his skull, and was rewarded with a sickening crunch and an eruption of blood. A club caught Thoughticus in the ribs sending her sprawling, and the rest of the attackers began to dogpile onto Ezzran, stabbing and hitting with whatever they could find. With a guttural roar he fell back onto a table, crushing the elf on his back between a table and the weight of his big frame.
A bolt of flame streaked over his head, and he rolled away from the pile of men, and another bolt clipped his shoulder and exploded, showering everything and everyone in hissing sparks. Thoughticus was nearby, raining blow after blow down on a man’s face with her jewelry gilded fists, and yelling incoherently. The other attackers were on their feet now, helping their one-eared boss and the other injured. A particularly drunk man was standing on top of the bar now, hands wreathed in flame and yelling something in common. Fires were sprouting up all around them, fueled by alcohol soaked wood.
“Time ta go,” Ezzran muttered, and pulled Thoughticus off the pulp-faced man and tucked her under his arm. She kicked at him and pounded on his arm with her fists.
“Let me go, let me fight! Selama ashal’anore! Endala finel endal!” Fireballs streaked overhead and a few throwing knives ricocheted off his black plate as he bounded down the stairs, and practically galloped towards the pair of motorcycles that sat a short distance away from the bar.
“You cannot escape the crusade! The Battalion will have your heads!” A whistling screech came up behind the pair and Ezzran rolled to the side, crashing into the mud. A massive, molten ball of fire collided with their bikes and Ezzran wrapped himself around the paladin as the hogs exploded. The shockwave flung them into the jungle, and hot metal shrapnel peppered his skin. His vision was a rapidly twisting mass of fire and foliage and he could tell he was falling, he just wasn’t sure how far. He collided with earth and painful cracks shot up his arm and back, and then he was rolling. He tried to right himself and slow their fall, to reach out with his free arm and catch a hold of anything, but it was impossible on whatever muddy hillside they were tumbling down. Something collided with his shoulder and he felt bone pierce skin, but they slowed and eventually slid to a halt at the bottom of a ravine.
With a labored breath he rolled from his side to his back, and released Thoughticus who had begun to squirm under his grip. She was covered in cuts and fresh bruises and blood poured from her nose, but she had been saved from the worst of it all. She looked up at him, and wiped away the blood with a bit of Ezzran’s singed tabard. The dull, concussed look slowly faded from her face and was replaced by dazed rage, and she rolled off of the troll and tried to crawl towards the hill.
“Those bastards blew up my bike,” she wheezed, between fits of coughing. “I’ll kill them all, I’ll flay them alive! I’ll-” she began to vomit, and Ezzran let his head fall back onto mud and jagged stones. He never thought he’d meet anyone more stubborn than him. The elf continued to retch and wheeze as he managed to rock himself up into a sitting position, and then finally he made it to a standing slump.
“C’mon, lessgo. We can’t stay he’a.” He tore the Hellscream’s Angels tabard away from his chestplate and made his way over to his companion.
“We will kill them all. They have no idea what they’ve done,” she spat, still on her hands and knees. Ezzran laid the tabard on her back like a cloak and then picked her up like a mother cat carrying her kitten, and dropped her on his shoulder.
“Well we can’t do dis while we half blown-up and bleedin’. We needa get back ta de city, and tell de boss, eh?” She gripped his ear to steady herself and the troll began to slog his way through the bottom of the ravine.
“We will kill them all! No toll is too high for this ‘crusade’, whoever they are.” Ezzran paused, and let his free hand pat his pants pocket. He fished out the little book and held it up. It was stained with dirt and a tiny shard of metal was embedded in the pages, but it was still in one piece.
“We find out wat dis book say, an’ we can bring de pain, eh?” Thoughticus nodded, and ruffled his mohawk. “An’ maybe it tell us wat de hell a humanshoe is.”
“And destroy it.”