Brick And Mortar

Part I

The Broken One
A Quiet Evening Together
Introductions All Around
Razor Hill
Pirates
Covert Ops
Assault on Tiragarde Keep
A Lopsided Battle
The Sea
Return to Razor Hill / Beads on a String

The Broken One

Note: This story is set in Blizzard's World of Warcraft and is not meant as a challenge to any of Blizzard's trademarks or copyrights. However, I have changed various, minor things in this world to better suit my storytelling style. Don't bother e-mailing me to complain that Tauren are supposed to live 150 years, or that I got the name of the Lich King's pet spider wrong (it's "Whatnot", I promise). As long as the world I'm creating here is self-consistent and able to stand on its own for readers who are not familiar with WoW, then I'll be happy. My goal is to entertain readers, and not to retell someone else's story.

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Brick and Mortar A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 1: The Broken One

I seem to have acquired a traveling companion today. I'm not entirely sure how it happened. One moment I'm walking on the road alone, and then the next moment he was there beside me, matching my pace.

I was hiking the Grol'dom road at a good clip, trying to take advantage of the favorable weather while it lasted. The skies were overcast, but the rain they promised never came. Hardly a surprise, judging from the barrenness of the red desert that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The little water I had left would not last until morning, and I hadn't seen a stream, an oasis, or even a puddle in days. I suppose that I was not paying enough attention, and I let my concerns distract me. That was stupid. Durotar is war-torn land. Not paying attention here is asking for a quick death.

His sudden appearance startled me so much that I cried out like a new-born calf. I jumped backwards and raised my hammer over my head, ready to defend myself. My heart was racing.

He just stood there, motionless, staring at me.

I had never seen a man -- a creature -- such as him before. He looked tiny and frail. Had he stood up straight, he wouldn't have been more than five and a half feet tall. I doubt he weighed even a hundred pounds. His skin was pale and translucent, marked here and there with decay. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle that made my molars ache.

He looked like a dry husk, a dead casing that some sort of evil beast would one day crawl out of. He made my skin crawl.

The Forsaken. I had heard of these creatures, of course, but I'd never seen one. I'd never even met someone who had. My people did not openly discuss such abominations, so I knew little about them. Some plague, supposedly, had turned them into what they now are; the dead that refused to stay buried.

He stared at me, silently. He didn't breathe.

He smelled faintly of rot. It was not a pleasant smell, but it wasn't as horrible as I would have guessed. He smelled more like a dry, musty thing, than a corpse.

He continued to stare at me.

My eyes began to tear, and unlike him, I had to blink.

I found my voice, and hoped it sounded confident. "Why are you staring at me?"

He didn't say anything.

A fat, black fly landed on his temple. It washed its face with its forelegs for a moment and then casually strolled across the creature's eyeball.

Something lurched in my stomach and I had to look away. "Are you headed to Razor Hill?"

He raised a bony finger and pointed the direction we had been walking. I took that as a "yes".

I started walking again, a little slower this time, a lot more cautiously. He fell in beside me, as if I had invited him along.

There is safety in numbers, but I didn't know anything about this guy. Although I'm sure I could lift him up with one hand, or break him in half with both, what if he planned to slit my throat in my sleep?

The Forsaken are not our friends. My people would have nothing to do with such creatures. They are, however, friends of the Orcs, and us Tauren owe everything to the Orcs. The Orcs saved us and helped us take back our homeland.

The Orcs are a great, noble people. Thrall, the leader of the Orcs, trusts the Forsaken. That mystifies the Tauren. How can you trust the dead?

We walked in silence until the day grew late.

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A Quiet Evening Together
[First]

Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 2: A Quiet Evening Together

When dusk started to gather, I looked for a spot near the road where I could safely make camp. I found the perfect spot up a small rise, where a rock wall jutted up out of the sand. No one could sneak up behind me and I could keep an eye on the road. Plus, the wall would help to reflect back the heat of a campfire.

I had never been in a desert before this journey. This one was cursed. The sun was blazing hot all day and then the night was cold. I couldn't understand it. I missed the green grass and trees. I missed the sights and smells of Mulgore.

I set about collecting up firewood. There were no trees here, but there was plenty of small, gnarled bushes, so little scraps of wood were easy to find. They were all bone dry, as you might expect, so they would burn quick. Several arm loads would be required to keep even a small flame burning though the night.

The Forsaken followed me around, a silent shadow as I collected wood. Eventually, I handed the pile to him and he carried it back to camp. He seemed willing to help out, but unable to guess what he should be doing.

I wondered if he was "all there" in the head or if parts of his brain had died along with his body. Some people say that they are evil creatures and that only hatred and the desire for revenge keeps them in this world. That's a pretty unsettling thought, if there is truth to it.

Did he even know he was dead?

An hour later, the fire was crackling and the sun had set. I broke the silence by talking to myself. My people are known for their stoicism, but I guess I'm more social than most. There's only so much silence I can take, and I hadn't spoken to anyone in days.

"Not much water left," I said. Only one of my water skins had anything left in it and it was nearly empty. "If I had my choice, I'd travel at night and try to bed down during the day."

Unfortunately, the moon was only a sliver and the desert was dark as pitch. I might have been willing to risk it, if the world was not at war. I didn't know how well the other races of Azeroth could see in the dark, but I suspected that some could see better than my people. No, things were bad enough. It would be better to press on at sunrise and hope that Razor Hill was near.

I worried about the girls for a moment and then pushed them from my mind. They were tough. They had just as much water as I had and they drank it more slowly. They would be fine.

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Introductions All Around
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 3: Introductions All Around

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the last apple. "Not much food left, either." The gracious thing to do would be to offer it to my new companion. He didn't seem to be carrying anything other than the knives at his hips. I bit into the apple and tried to eat quietly.

The stranger slipped silently from the circle of firelight, and was gone a good while before he reappeared. Without a word, he offered me a dead snake. It was a few feet long and strongly muscled. The head had been sliced cleanly away and the body still twitched a bit.

"Thanks."

I hadn't cooked a snake before, but I prepared it like any other small game; skinned, gutted, wrapped in some palm leaves that I had gathered when we crossed the Southfury river. I used a small pinch of the salt I kept hidden away in my pack. Soon the bundle was buried in coals and smelling delicious.

"My friends call me Brick." The stranger didn't reply. "Ya' know... 'cause I'm big, and red," I thumped my chest, "and solid."

The silence between us stretched thin. He wasn't much of a talker.

He wore interesting clothes. His cloth pants and shirt had been woven from some sort of fiber. They were so filthy and ragged that it was anyone's guess what color they had been originally or what sort of cloth they were made from. The stitches that held them together were small and fine; finer than the Tauren would ever use to stitch two hides together. I wondered if he had been buried in them.

Cloth was an uncommon item in my homeland. It took many hours to tan a hide and turn it into clothing, but this was nothing compared to effort it took to make cloth. And unlike the Forsaken's clothing, leather was warm and rugged. I never understood why anyone would make anything from cloth.

I wore only a light shirt and pants. The leather was untinted, a natural light- brown. The sinew stitches were large, but strong. Despite the dust from my travels, they were well-cared for and would last for generations. Summer had just started, so I hadn't packed anything warmer, besides a small blanket. I rubbed my arms and cursed the cold.

The Forsaken's feet were bare. Our hooves are strong, so my people have little need for shoes, but his feet looked quite squishy. It must hurt to walk on such absurd-looking things all day. And what purpose did all of those little toes serve?

Tired of our one-sided conversation, I asked him, "What's your name?"

He stared at me for a while; either remembering how to form words, or making sure that I was expecting a reply, I'm not sure. Then he answered.

I'm not sure how to describe his voice. It was breathy, but not like a lover whispering in your ear. It was more like air escaping from a crack in the earth.

Try to imagine walking through very dark, scary woods. A stab of cold air blows through the trees, rustling the leaves. Did you hear a voice on the wind, or was it your imagination that had pulled a single word out of nowhere?

"Johnny, huh? Well, that's a good name, Johnny."

I felt like an idiot, trying so hard to talk to this guy.

The snake was tasty enough. It was meat. It didn't have much flavor, but at least it didn't taste bad. Johnny seemed oblivious to my attempts to share it with him.

"We should sleep in shifts. That way we won't be helpless if someone sneaks up." Trying to talk to him was more exhausting than walking had been. "Wake me up in a few hours, okay? Then we can head out at first light. We must be getting close to Razor Hill by now."

I curled up in the soft sand, next to the fire, and drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

I awoke at dawn. Johnny was still sitting in the same place, sitting in front of a fire that had burned out hours ago.

Sheesh.

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Razor Hill
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 4: Razor Hill

As it turns out, Razor Hill was only a couple miles from where we had stopped for the night. Had I only known, I could easily have pressed on, slept in a warm bed, and eaten something more tasty than headless snake.

Oh well. This trip was no vacation, I reminded myself.

Razor Hill was a tiny Orc town. It bustled with activity, but it lacked the "life" I had seen in all the other towns we had passed through so far. There were no children here. There was no laughter. The air was filled with the sounds of weapons being sharpened and oxen pulling supply carts.

"How can I help you?" said the Orc in the inn.

It was good to hear a friendly voice, and I've always had a soft spot for Orcs. They may be short, standing perhaps only six, or six and half feet tall, but you wouldn't call one puny. They have a sense of great energy and enthusiasm about them. They seem to take joy from everything they do.

Plus, and I hate to admit this, they remind me of the frogs we had back in Mulgore. It's not my fault. They have these wide mouths and green skin. When I look down on their little faces, I can almost hear the croak in their voices.

"Have you seen two gals? One has long braids and blue eyes, and the other with shorter, straight hair, and dark eyes?" I noticed that I was gesturing to indicate the length of their hair, and felt embarrassed. Why do people do that? I'm sure this guy knew what a long braid looked like. I suppose it could just be my discomfort in speaking Orcish.

The innkeeper just stared at me for a moment. "They... look like you?"

"No, silly!" I slammed my hand down on the table and let out a laugh. "They're girls!" This guy was a riot.

The innkeeper made a clicking sound out the side of his wide mouth and went back to wiping tables. "No Taurens been through here in months."

"Damn." I flopped down hard on a bench, and the wood groaned a bit. The innkeeper made a funny face at the sound. "We got separated on the way here," I explained. We were looking through nests for eggs, and a big group of those pig-faced people, got between us."

"Quillboars," the innkeeper growled. "Hate 'em."

"Yeah, they didn't look friendly. There were too many to fight, so we ran off in different directions." I sighed, ashamed. "I spent a couple days, trying to work my way around to where I saw them last, but those, those Quillboars were everywhere. When my water ran low, I had to go on without 'em."

"Don't feel bad, son," he said, slapping a meaty hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure they'll be fine. You headed to Orgrimmar?"

I nodded. "Conscription. The gals and I are here to serve the Horde."

"Well, then they'll surely pass through here. Hang around a couple days and I'm sure they'll catch up."

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Pirates
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 5: Pirates

I walked out, into the dusty street and kicked a stone with my hoof. I thought I heard a quiet rumbling, like distant thunder, and I noticed a column of smoke rising far to the east.

It wasn't like I had anything better to do, so I climbed a watchtower to get a better view. There was an older, battle-scarred Orc standing at the top of the tower, focused intently on the smoke. "Damn it," he was muttering.

Sergeant Furl Scornbrow, as I later learned he was called, stunk strongly of smoke. He was responsible for all of Razor Hill and he took the stress out on his lungs, beating them into submission with cigar after cigar.

"What's going on out there?" I asked him.

"Pirates," he spat, "attacking Benedict's men."

"Gosh." I had heard of pirates, but never seen them before. I had never even seen the sea.

I stared out at the smoke for a bit. It's hard to guess how far away it was. At least a day's walk, I presumed. "Will they be okay?"

"Sure as hell hope not," he grunted.

I was confused, for sure, but didn't want to look dumb, so I didn't say anything. Eventually he turned to me and explained.

"Three days ago, the Maiden's Virtue harbored where those pirate ships are now and resupplied Benedict's men." He ground his teeth and shouted, "The goddamn Maiden's Virtue!

"The Maiden's Virtue ain't no damn supply frigate. The only reason Stormwind would send the Maiden's Virtue would be if it carried something important. Maps! Orders! Who knows? Something more important than just food and weapons.

"Now pirates are helping themselves to those supplies. Good for them, I say. But this is our chance! If we attacked now, while they're still nursing their wounds, we could grab those orders and get them to Thrall."

The war chief, himself, wow. It was hard to believe I was having a conversation that involved Thrall in anything but a historical context. It was almost like I was seeing history unfold before my eyes.

He hung his head. "But where are my men?" He pointed to the south, "Pacifying the Kolkar. Damn it."

We went back to staring at the smoke.

"So you don't really need to fight them, right? You just need someone to sneak in there while they're preoccupied."

The sergeant turned, ever so slowly toward me. He took in my broad shoulders and noted that I was ducking slightly to fit beneath the canopy overhead. "You think you can sneak in, under Benedict's nose and steal his orders?" His voice dripped sarcasm.

"No sir, but Johnny's sneaky. You could steal those orders without anyone ever seeing you; couldn't you?"

Scornbrow clearly hadn't noticed Johnny standing there. He spun to face him and then jumped back in surprise. Johnny just pointed a finger out towards the smoke.

"All right! We'll be back with those orders before you know it!"

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Covert Ops
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 6: Covert Ops

I grabbed traveling supplies from innkeeper Grosk, and asked him to keep an eye out for the gals. In minutes, Johnny and I were underway; with little preparation, and even less planning.

Charged with purpose, we made great time. We hiked through the desert, East, past small ranches and smokehouses, into increasingly rugged terrain. I was surprised to see a few orchards, nestled within some craggy ravines.

We came over a crest and I smelled what could only be the ocean. When it was described to me, I couldn't imagine how something could smell "salty," but that was exactly right. It smelled cool, salty, and slightly fishy. I wished I could see it, but the light was failing fast.

Besides, as I had said before, this was no vacation.

The fires were extinguished before nightfall, and the columns of smoke faded, but by then, we had zeroed in on our destination; the ruined stronghold of Tiragarde Keep.

Benedict's men did not build this place. I suppose their ancestors might have. It must have been a great accomplishment at the time! The structure was made of grey stone and great planks of timber, neither of which could be found nearby in this red desert.

Orcish structures, of which I had seen many in the past few weeks, were short, intimate buildings built around a central cook-stove. They were "natural" buildings made only with local resources -- totally unlike this hold.

Likewise, the pirates had not destroyed this base. Sure, their attack may have burned some of the wooden interiors that the men had added to the ancient stone construction, but the real demolition must have happened centuries earlier.

Johnny and I drew close as the light failed. The moon was waxing, but not much more of a sliver than it had been the night before. It didn't provide enough light for me to see, so I put one hand on Johnny's back. It was cold and dead, making my skin crawl, but at least it was reassuring that I had not been separated from him. I advanced only when he did. Apparently he could still see something.

Soon, we were within sight of the hold. Torches burned here and there, and a few campfires were lit. I searched the darkness for patrols and spotted a couple near the building. It was anyone's guess how many I couldn't see.

Our destination was easy to guess. The outlying buildings were little more than archaeological remnants. The wall that once guarded the hold was breached in so many places that it actually benefited us more than them. There were countless dark corners to hide in; and too few soldiers to guard them all against attack.

I could see the men better now. They were short too, nearly the height of Orcs, but only a fraction as wide. Their skin was pale. They looked like a lot like Johnny. I guessed that these must be the people who survived the plague.

We crept as close as I dared. Despite my best efforts, moving silently is not one of my strengths. Johnny didn't seem to react, but I was cringing every time one of my hooves kicked a rock free.

"Wait," I whispered, "if I go any further, they'll hear me or see me. Do you think you can sneak ahead and find whatever it is the Maiden's Virtue left?" I felt terrible abandoning Johnny. I wanted to protect him from these people, but if we both went, it would only jeopardize the mission.

Johnny, in his understated way, pointed ahead, towards the hold, and disappeared into the darkness. I tried to spot him, but it was hopeless. He was a natural.

Come on... come on... you can do it. You can do it, Johnny...

Suddenly, I heard two voices from the darkness behind me. I couldn't understand their language. It didn't sound like casual conversation and it wasn't a shouted alarm, but it was definitely directed my way.

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Assault on Tiragarde Keep
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 7: Assault on Tiragarde Keep

I must have been spotted by a patrol! They were coming closer to investigate. I gripped the shaft of my hammer tightly, and prepared to defend myself, but it was hopeless. It was far too dark out here for me to see.

I knew that I should try to run away from the hold and lead the guards away from Johnny, but I was at too much of a disadvantage in the dark. My only hope was to run towards him, into the torchlight.

I set off towards the hold as quickly and as quietly as I could manage. I tried to stick to the darkest shadows, and as far away from the men as I could. I probably had a good lead on the patrol, but I knew they would be close behind me as I rounded the corner into the dim torchlight of the keep.

Today's battle must have raged right where I was standing. The dead of the defenders and the pirates as well littered the ground. At least there were no living guards here... yet.

A silent figure stepped out into the torchlight. The light hit his face and reflected off translucent skin.

Johnny pointed towards an alcove and I backed in as far as I could. I lifted my hammer over my head and worked to slow my breath. I tried to be as silent as possible. Thank goodness the ceiling was high! I don't think I could fight in an Orcish building if I had to.

Johnny stood in the middle of the room and stared out into the darkness with both daggers at the ready... watching... waiting.

Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. I gasped in surprise. I did not see what had cut him down. He lay there, motionless among the dead. I wanted to call out to him, but resisted.

A moment later, two guards rushed in. It had to be the patrol that had spotted me earlier. They were a man and a woman, dressed in heavy leather armor. Each had a short sword in hand. It didn't look good; two to one now, and I was unarmored. I hoped they didn't see me.

Their voices were quiet, but I had no problem hearing them in the silence of the keep. Look there, check there, I guessed they were saying. Their words were harsh and foreign.

My pulse pounded in my ears and sweat rolled down my arms. I tightened my grip around the hammer's handle.

The hammer was no thing of beauty. In fact, it was little more than an oak log on a stick. My father and I had made it two months before, when I learned that I would be leaving for Orgrimmar. It was a good day; the sun was shining, the sky was clear, the conversation natural. I felt closer to him than I had in a long time.

When the hammer was ready, I had wanted to carve some images into its sides. My people don't have a written language -- we say that anything worth telling someone is worth saying in person -- but we believe in the power of pictures. He told me not to.

He said, "This weapon suits you well. It may not be fast, and it may not be graceful, but it uses what the Tauren have in great abundance; pure strength. Keep it close and it will protect you... all the way to Orgrimmar."

I remember that seeming like a strange thing to say.

"Today was a wonderful day, and we'll think back on it fondly while you are away, but this hammer is just a tool. Do not get attached to it just because it reminds you of home.

"When you get to Orgrimmar, they will be able to provide better weapons for you; better than anything we have for you in this humble village. And that is what you should use, the best weapons you can find. Use them to protect your fellow soldiers. Use them to protect yourself.

"That way you can return to us in one piece, when all this fighting is past."

He was a very quiet man -- even by Tauren standards -- but when he chose to speak, his words were well thought out. I hoped he was right, and that the hammer would protect me this day.

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A Lopsided Battle
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 8: A Lopsided Battle

Suddenly, a blade flashed in the torchlight and Johnny cut easily through the man's calf muscle. He wasn't dead at all! Well, no more than usual, at least.

The guard gasped in pain and began to crumble to the ground, unable to support his weight on the ruined leg. This was my opportunity, and I knew it.

I leaped forward, toward the female guard and the hammer arced slowly through the air. I know it's a cliché, but time itself seemed to slow to a crawl. I saw her face, her surprised expression, the simple necklace she wore. I smelled her hair.

She turned, and in one well-polished move, she brought her sword up over her head at the proper angle to deflect the blow. She did not hesitate. Clearly she had far more training than I did.

Had her attacker been more like herself, the parry would have worked flawlessly. A sword like her own would have slid harmlessly along hers and left her weapon poised to strike back.

But I was not like her, not in the least. I stand nearly nine feet in height and weigh 800 pounds. I'm not trying to brag here, but I'd like you to be able to picture it. My biceps were as big around as her chest. Either of my fingers on one hand were as thick as her arms.

The hammer continued to arc towards her. If I had to take a guess, I'd say that it weighed about the same as she did.

The oak hit steel, and as one they crashed down on her head, on her spine, her chest, torso. The hammer came to rest with a sickening thud and I stood there, stunned at what I had done.

I had killed before, for food, but I'd never hurt another person. I'd never killed anyone before.

I looked up as Johnny was pulling his dagger from the man's back. He had dispatched the guard with as little emotion as he did everything.

The battle had been brief. We listened, but heard nothing. The noise had not alerted the others, somehow. Perhaps they had mistaken it for something that had fallen, and not realized it had been combat.

Johnny pointed to the alcove I had been hiding in and then in the opposite direction.

I nodded. "I'll wait there until you return."

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The Sea
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 9: The Sea

The rest of the evening had been a blur. Johnny left, he came back, we crept out of the hold and to the beach.

We headed north along the beach. This led us no closer to Razor Hill, but it put some distance between us and the hold, and the walking was easy, even in the pitch darkness.

I stopped to rest now and then -- there was no sign we were being followed -- and let the surf roll in over my hammer. It would be light soon, and if any gore still clung to the weapon, well, I didn't need to see it.

At dawn, I sat and watched the sun come up over the water. I'm sure it was a beautiful sight, the endless sea stretching on as far as the eye could see, but it was lost on me. All I could see was the guard's last moments.

"I can't stop thinking how unfair it was for us to kill those guards." Johnny stared at me blankly and let me talk, as usual. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, but he was a great listener.

"I know they would have killed us if we hadn't killed them. I know that we had to kill them to accomplish our goal... but was it fair? What did we kill them for?

"When I was younger, I imagined what it must be like to be in the army. I didn't dream of death and glory, but I always thought it would be more noble than this. I dreamed of helping to repel conquering forces. I imagined we would kill to protect; if not to protect our people directly, then to prevent a foe from attacking them.

"But what did we do this night? We killed... defenders. I guess they were in Durotar, and I suppose they could have been planning to mount an attack... but we don't know that, do we? We killed them over... over... parchment." I snatched the scrolls from Johnny and unrolled them on the beach.

Two of the sheets were maps of places I could not recognize. The land was unfamiliar and the language meant nothing to me. The rest were just scribbles; their written words. "I sure hope these were the right things; that this is what the Maiden's Virtue delivered."

I rolled the documents back up and turned to face Johnny. "Did we do the right thing?" He stared blankly at me, but I wanted to know. He had to have some opinion. Those people were his people, before the plague, at least. Did he feel anything about having killed his own countrymen? "What do you think?"

Johnny realized that I expected an answer.

He shrugged.

Suggestions?

For those of you following along, I have managed to queue up a fair number of episodes beyond this one. Thirty, actually, so that's what, the next 7.5 weeks, right? Cool. So it's not like there will be no new episodes tomorrow, or next week, or next month, etc., but then after that, I'm feeling kind'a stuck.

So... who out there would like to suggest a direction for this tale?

If so, here's where I stand (no real spoilers, I promise):

Part I is pretty introductory, with a dash of violence. Part II is... well, let's call it sports & romance. Part III is suspense.

So, what should I do with Part IV? Gratuitous violence? I really need to send Brick out into the world, for some sort of adventure, but what?

If you have some ideas, you could post them here, or e-mail me at g...@gmail.com. I've got a lot of time to think of something, but I'd love to brainstorm it out with someone who digs that sort of thing.

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Return to Razor Hill / Beads on a String
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Brick and Mortar
A World of Warcraft Story by Gre7g Luterman

Episode 10: Return to Razor Hill

I got some sleep on the beach while Johnny stood watch. Then we climbed the cliffs overlooking the ocean and traveled West through the rugged terrain. There were no roads here, no paths, only tiny game trails.

We saw no people here, no houses.

The going was much slower than it had been before, the mood more solemn; but at least the journey was not as urgent. In fact, it took us two full days to find our way back to Razor Hill. I was glad we had plenty of water and food this time.

I climbed the watchtower and handed the plans to Furl Scornbrow.

"Haha! I thought you two were vulture snacks for sure!" He unrolled the scrolls quickly across a low table, and studied each closely. "You had no troubles, I see!"

"No... nothing..." My voice trailed off.

Scornbrow marched briskly back down the tower and we followed him to the inn. There he grabbed a young Orc with a long, black pony tail, and pulled him away from the table. "You will ride to Orgrimmar and hand these to Thrall himself. You will stop for no one and no thing."

"Aw, sarge, I'm eating breakfast," the rider complained.

Furl Scornbrow took the rider's helmet off of the table, and slid the food into it; using it as a bowl. "Eat as you ride." There was no mistaking Furl's tone.

The rider saluted, "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Brick. Thank you, Johnny."

"You're welcome, sir," I replied for both of us.

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Episode 11: Beads on a String

The innkeeper, Grosk, I think his name was, greeted us warmly. "Conquering heroes, I see!"

"Thank you, sir," I replied. I didn't feel like a hero. I still felt glum from the other night. I felt like a big, stupid brute.

"Let me get you some breakfast," he croaked happily and turned back to the low, Orcish cook grill.

My stomach rumbled and I flopped down hard on the bench that Furl's rider had vacated. Ow. I had never really looked, but I guessed that Orcs must have tiny butts. Sitting on the ground was much more comfortable than this bench.

Johnny sat across the table from me. I don't know why. After four days together, I had yet to see him eat anything. Could he even eat, with his jaw hanging there like that?

Around his neck, he wore a simple necklace that I had seen a few days before. "Aw, that's just not right," I groaned. I reached across the table and pulled the necklace over his head.

I felt bad enough about having killed the woman, the last thing I needed was for Johnny to be walking around with a blood-stained trophy. Johnny just stared at me, unreadable as always.

Despite his repulsiveness, I was starting to find that I cared about him. He had been one of those people, once. He hadn't asked to be like he was; a monster wandering aimlessly, looking for a purpose in a foreign land. I could see why my people would think him evil. Perhaps he really was, but it seemed that Johnny, at least, was just... lost.

I picked at the dry blood on the necklace with a fingernail. It had been a pretty thing once, a string of hand-made beads on a leather thong.

I'd watched the girls make beads like these. They would roll clay into balls and poke a hole through them with a twig, and then leave them to dry. Later, they would coat the beads in pigments and bury them at the base of a hot campfire. When they cooled, the pigments turned glassy, pretty. The colors cracked through the balls like vivid spiderwebs.

I would wash the necklace and try to clean it up. Perhaps one day, we could return it...

"The girls!" I nearly shouted.

"Yes, yes, they passed through here shortly after you left," Grosk said as he brought a plate to the table.

I leaped to my feet and grasped the innkeeper under each arm, lifting him up to my face. "They did? Where are they?"

Grosk sputtered in surprise. "I... I told them what you told me to tell them... that you'd meet them in Orgrimmar..."

"That's not what I told you at all!" I dropped the little innkeeper on his ass and flopped down hard on the bench, splintering it. "I said to tell them to wait for me here, and that we'd go on to Orgrimmar together."

Stupid Grosk. Stupid bench. Stupid Durotar. Stupid Quillboars. Stupid eggs, and stupid me for getting separated from them in the first place. They were my tribe and I felt so alone without them.

People think of the Tauren as solitary because the tribes keep to themselves, but each tribe was a family. No one was ever really alone in an utankan, a Tauren encampment.

The innkeeper patted my shoulder with a meaty hand, "Oh, I'm sorry, son. I told them you were okay and they seemed relieved. Don't worry, the road to Orgrimmar is well-patrolled. They'll be fine. You and the... your friend... will meet up with them there."

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