Authors note: this story takes place after the defeat of the Lich King, and still takes place in the World of Warcraft universe, on the alliance side.
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We marched, Giles, Soyora, and I, right up to the entrance of the stockades. We all dressed in the arms of Stormwind foot soldiers. There we produced one of Soyora's clever forgeries to the guard there: a summons for an orc named Buntaro to appear before the courts of Stormwind. The guards held it, and looked at it in confusion.
"Did they forget our situation here?" he said. "We're in no condition to retrieve anyone right now."
He gestured to the rows of wounded guards laying on bedrolls.
"The three of us will get him out," I said.
"You can't be serious?"
"Duty calls!" said Soyora. "Will you obstruct us in our charge?"
"We're not coming in after you," said the guard. "Those are our orders."
"You won't need to," I said.
With that the guard opened the gates and into the prison halls we went. The rowdiness of prisoners, and the sounds of fighting echoed through the halls. No prisoners met us to start, but we drew our weapons and marched into the halls. For mere habit, I muttered a chant of battle I had so many times recited. It felt rote, empty, and no blessing of the Naaru came upon me. No aura glowed from my feet, and I could offer my comrades no magical protection. Yet my chant must've have been loud enough to hear. For a gang of humans exited their cells and blocked our path. They carried simple clubs and crude daggers. Some had even cruder bandages upon their bruised and bloodied bodies. We were confronted by their leader. He stood with courage, before his men. Respecting him did not mean I relaxed.
"Thought we made it clear, The Dreadspikes control this block of the stockades now," he said. "Guards aren't welcome."
"I've fought walking abominations, blue dragons, and necromancers," I taunted. "How do you think the eight of you will match to me?"
Giles raised his sword ready to fight.
"Oh my," said their leader. "Petty girl of the watch got herself delusions of grandeur."
Before I could charge, Soyora held out her arm to stop me.
"We're not here for you, Dreadspikes," she said. She pulled off her helmet, "Hell, I'm not even a real guard, laddies."
They all looked to her, measuring her accent. She pointed to the three masted ship tattoo on one of the prisoner's bare chest.
"Oi you there," she said. "What's the name of that frigate?"
"She was called the Wicked Seahorse," he said.
Soyora took a sharp inhale. Then looked at the prisoner in the eye.
"Terrible fate, that ship," she said in a near whisper.
"Aye," he said stone faced.
Soyora turned to the leader.
"Listen here for a moment: my friend here's got rage as hot as a Tarnassis noonday, and she's not lying about what she's fought. I've seen it myself."
She hefted out a pair of potions, a medical kit, and a skin of wine.
"But we're not here for the Dreadspikes," she said. "We're not even here for Stormwind. So take a few gifts and leave us in peace, aye?"
She popped the cork of the wineskin and poured some into her mouth.
The leader looked to the bare chested pirate, who nodded.
"What is your business here then?" said their leader.
"Not your concern," I said.
The leader glared at me.
"Oh, did I say we'll inevitably kill a few black rocks?" interjected Soyora.
The leader took the wine. Other members took the potions and healing kits. Motioning us deeper into the Stockades, they returned to their cells.
The Blackrock prisoners were not quite so open to diplomacy. As we approached their end of the stockades, a group of their brutes charged us. In truth, I relished the chance to wet my sword upon them. I took a hit to my back from one of their clubs. I spun around, swung my sword, and grazed his arm sending a streak of blood on the wall behind. The Blackrock stumbled and dropped his club. I gave him a solid kick in the chest.
"Duck!" cried Giles.
I dove down and a bolt of fire singed above my head. An imp, chattering down the hallway, conjured another bolt. Giles held his shield before him and charged forth. The imp sent a flamebolt that exploded onto Giles's shield.
The Blackrock I tussled with stood up, and was dazed. He reached for his club. As soon as he turned his head, Soyora kicked him in the face, and he fell over unconscious. Soyora's hair stuck to her skin underneath her helmet. Her sword was bloodied, and a dead Blackrock lay behind her. Another lay wounded before me. I saw in his face terror, and grief.
"You want to die here today?" I said with a sigh in Orcish.
"You speak?" he stammered with blood in his mouth. "How do you speak?"
"Thrall's Orcs taught me," I said. I knelled down next to him. I reached out my hand to his wound. Frightened, he tried to push it away. Then I touched his wound, and healed it.
"The true horde always kills wounded enemies," he said.
"I am no Blackrock," I said, pointing to the humans's side of the stockade.
"Run there and hide," I said. "But first, where is Thrall's orc?"
Giles stepped in looking over the recently healed Blackock. He held an imp's head in his hand.
"Third cell to the left," the orc said. "Master Sargok wishes to turn him."
"Run," I said.
The Blackrock stumbled up and retreated into the shadowy halls of the stockade.
Further down the hall way, more Black rocks shouted about the commotion. We hurried to the third cell door, opened the lock and I bust through.
"Buntaro?" I shouted.
"Who's asking?" he said from behind me. I turned and saw him grimacing back at me, holding a quarterstaff. He look tired, hungry, but determined.