Who Needs a Bed? Or a Barracks...
Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2015 3:27 am
The first thing Alakhai had done after establishing her basecamp in Frostfire Ridge was to have a druid come aid her in planting some trees. She then paid the druid quite well to aid the trees in a rapid explosion of growth. He did not even ask why she required trees, except to remark offhanded, “I hope you aren’t intending to cut them down.” Alakhai smiled and shook her head. The next person she hired was a skilled leatherworker, a kind troll who sung as he worked. The troll made a brilliant space, nestled within the branches, of tough but soft leather and a spider’s web of ropes. The moment Alakhai climbed into the tightly bound, over-sized “hammock”, she cheered with delight and gave the troll a bonus. Combined with an army of pillows and one incredibly dense down-filled blanket, the now warrior was content with her personal space.
The night Anaie came pounding upon the gates to her garrison, Alakhai was sound asleep and burrowed under all the fluff. She never heard the rogue, who pounded on the gates and then barged her way inside. She slept right through the argument between Anaie and the guards, through the kerfluffle of Anaie tossing the barracks in search of the warrior, and even through the guards pointing Anaie in the right direction to the tiny grove of trees before they scrambled to fix the mess the Insane One had made.
What she did not sleep through was the ropes of her cozy bed being severed and her not-so-bouncy rear impacting the frozen ground. With a yelp, she scrambled to her feet and spun around until she finally spotted the diminutive rogue.
“What's dis drivel?!” Anaie ordered, shoving a battered piece of parchment into Alakhai’s face.
Blurry eyed and still far from being awake, the Pandaren mumbled and yawned, then took hold of the parchment. She squinted at it, made a dissatisfied grunt and yawned again. “You broke my bed,” she mumbled, moving passed the rogue to get nearer the bonfire for the light.
Anaie simply shrugged, her palm resting on one of the cleavers on her hips.
With the light of the bonfire, Alakhai was better able to discern the parchment. It had been folded and refolded many times, making the sketch difficult to understand. She flipped it upside down, then reconsidered and turned it to one side. Disgruntled, she plopped down onto the stool before the bonfire and started mumbling to herself.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, still unsure of which side was up for the paper.
“Dis is why I used ta just stick'em in da crow's nest as a lookout!”
“The hunter?”
“Tha 'untah!” Anaie exclaimed, flinging her arms into the air. It was the first time that Alakhai had ever seen the pirate looking frazzled. Angry, yes. Murderous, definitely. Frazzled? Never.
Alakhai turned the paper in the other direction, then shouted, “Ah ha!” Smoothing it out onto her lap. she motioned for Anaie to look at it. “I finally see what this is. Have you slipped into the Citadel?”
Anaie straightened up from looking at the paper and gave a minor nod. “I sneaked in. Too many forces for me to slip by alone. Maybe wit’ sistah…”
“We broke through their initial forces guarding the front of the Citadel. They’ve a commander named Mar’tok--”
“I ‘eard ‘er yellin’,” Anaie interjected.
Nodding, Alakhai continued, “She’s a coward. She saw we were going to quickly overwhelm her guards and escaped. Or so we thought. When we were recovering and looking around, she returned inside of a giant warsuit.” Pausing, Alakhai thrust her finger against a large, poorly drawn stick figure in the middle of the parchment. “That’s Mar’tok inside of her Reaver.” Her finger drifted up pointing out some curious lines that, once you knew what you were looking for, read: REVAH.
A sigh followed the sound of Anaie slapping her own forehead. “Dat 'untah still be illiterate?! Dat was ‘is report! I can't undahstand it at all, though now dat I know what it be, it is much bettah den 'e used ta write...”
“Well, I think he was trying to say we killed her? I mean, if you turn the paper like this to where you can read… if you want to call it that… Reaver, then she’s obviously lying on the ground?”
The warrior found herself on the receiving end of a sarcastic look, “I tink 'e still be buggered on rum. 'e used ta 'ave quite a problem. Orcish ain't exactly a tough language, an' 'is artistic ability is on pah wit' a peon dat spent all day in da sun...” The rogue sighed. "I suppose it is bettah den 'is old 'X'."
She offered Anaie a faint smile. “Well, we dealt with the entry forces, Mar’tok in the Reaver and then the High Council. Not that he seems to have mentioned them…” Her words drifted off as she inspected the parchment again to make sure that there was no mention of the other kills. With a shrug, she offered the paper back to Anaie and looked passed the rogue to her collapsed bed. Sighing, she planted her chin into the palm of her hand.
“Progress or no, dis ain't acceptable!” Anaie grabbed the paper out of Alakhai’s hand and stormed toward the gate. “I’m goin’ ta need you ta keep me updated from 'ere out! Dat troll kin continue ta yell at everyone, 'e be good at doin' dat, but yer gonna be sendin' me reports!”
“Me?! What about Tradire?” the warrior exclaimed, her nose twitching slightly. "Do you smell smoke?"
“Elfie be busy keepin’ tha rest of you scallywags line! You’ll be m’eyes!”
A cold-chill ran down Alakhai’s back at the mention of eyes. She had seen Anaie’s not-so-secret stash of eyes and certainly didn’t want to join the bunch. “Uh, okay? I guess?”
“Good! I’ll be tellin’ tha Commandah," the rogue sniffed the air, "an' o'course I smell smoke, we're neah a bonfiah! I do 'ear yellin' though, yer troops lack discipline!" Then Anaie vanished into the snow that had started to fall.
After collecting her blanket and pillows, Alakhai stalked off to the barracks to kick someone out of their bed, telling them to go help in guarding the gates, and that's when she saw the fire that was consuming the quarters...
The night Anaie came pounding upon the gates to her garrison, Alakhai was sound asleep and burrowed under all the fluff. She never heard the rogue, who pounded on the gates and then barged her way inside. She slept right through the argument between Anaie and the guards, through the kerfluffle of Anaie tossing the barracks in search of the warrior, and even through the guards pointing Anaie in the right direction to the tiny grove of trees before they scrambled to fix the mess the Insane One had made.
What she did not sleep through was the ropes of her cozy bed being severed and her not-so-bouncy rear impacting the frozen ground. With a yelp, she scrambled to her feet and spun around until she finally spotted the diminutive rogue.
“What's dis drivel?!” Anaie ordered, shoving a battered piece of parchment into Alakhai’s face.
Blurry eyed and still far from being awake, the Pandaren mumbled and yawned, then took hold of the parchment. She squinted at it, made a dissatisfied grunt and yawned again. “You broke my bed,” she mumbled, moving passed the rogue to get nearer the bonfire for the light.
Anaie simply shrugged, her palm resting on one of the cleavers on her hips.
With the light of the bonfire, Alakhai was better able to discern the parchment. It had been folded and refolded many times, making the sketch difficult to understand. She flipped it upside down, then reconsidered and turned it to one side. Disgruntled, she plopped down onto the stool before the bonfire and started mumbling to herself.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, still unsure of which side was up for the paper.
“Dis is why I used ta just stick'em in da crow's nest as a lookout!”
“The hunter?”
“Tha 'untah!” Anaie exclaimed, flinging her arms into the air. It was the first time that Alakhai had ever seen the pirate looking frazzled. Angry, yes. Murderous, definitely. Frazzled? Never.
Alakhai turned the paper in the other direction, then shouted, “Ah ha!” Smoothing it out onto her lap. she motioned for Anaie to look at it. “I finally see what this is. Have you slipped into the Citadel?”
Anaie straightened up from looking at the paper and gave a minor nod. “I sneaked in. Too many forces for me to slip by alone. Maybe wit’ sistah…”
“We broke through their initial forces guarding the front of the Citadel. They’ve a commander named Mar’tok--”
“I ‘eard ‘er yellin’,” Anaie interjected.
Nodding, Alakhai continued, “She’s a coward. She saw we were going to quickly overwhelm her guards and escaped. Or so we thought. When we were recovering and looking around, she returned inside of a giant warsuit.” Pausing, Alakhai thrust her finger against a large, poorly drawn stick figure in the middle of the parchment. “That’s Mar’tok inside of her Reaver.” Her finger drifted up pointing out some curious lines that, once you knew what you were looking for, read: REVAH.
A sigh followed the sound of Anaie slapping her own forehead. “Dat 'untah still be illiterate?! Dat was ‘is report! I can't undahstand it at all, though now dat I know what it be, it is much bettah den 'e used ta write...”
“Well, I think he was trying to say we killed her? I mean, if you turn the paper like this to where you can read… if you want to call it that… Reaver, then she’s obviously lying on the ground?”
The warrior found herself on the receiving end of a sarcastic look, “I tink 'e still be buggered on rum. 'e used ta 'ave quite a problem. Orcish ain't exactly a tough language, an' 'is artistic ability is on pah wit' a peon dat spent all day in da sun...” The rogue sighed. "I suppose it is bettah den 'is old 'X'."
She offered Anaie a faint smile. “Well, we dealt with the entry forces, Mar’tok in the Reaver and then the High Council. Not that he seems to have mentioned them…” Her words drifted off as she inspected the parchment again to make sure that there was no mention of the other kills. With a shrug, she offered the paper back to Anaie and looked passed the rogue to her collapsed bed. Sighing, she planted her chin into the palm of her hand.
“Progress or no, dis ain't acceptable!” Anaie grabbed the paper out of Alakhai’s hand and stormed toward the gate. “I’m goin’ ta need you ta keep me updated from 'ere out! Dat troll kin continue ta yell at everyone, 'e be good at doin' dat, but yer gonna be sendin' me reports!”
“Me?! What about Tradire?” the warrior exclaimed, her nose twitching slightly. "Do you smell smoke?"
“Elfie be busy keepin’ tha rest of you scallywags line! You’ll be m’eyes!”
A cold-chill ran down Alakhai’s back at the mention of eyes. She had seen Anaie’s not-so-secret stash of eyes and certainly didn’t want to join the bunch. “Uh, okay? I guess?”
“Good! I’ll be tellin’ tha Commandah," the rogue sniffed the air, "an' o'course I smell smoke, we're neah a bonfiah! I do 'ear yellin' though, yer troops lack discipline!" Then Anaie vanished into the snow that had started to fall.
After collecting her blanket and pillows, Alakhai stalked off to the barracks to kick someone out of their bed, telling them to go help in guarding the gates, and that's when she saw the fire that was consuming the quarters...