One Week (Story)

[Moonlost]

A little pet project I've been working on over the past week, with one of my characters. Set during the height of Wrath of the Lich King, with the Argent Crusade still setting up their foothold in Icecrown. Seven parts to come, each one detailing a different day in a single week.
Hope you enjoy it. ^_^

~

One Week

Day One

Hylian covered his nose with his hand, hoping that the thick cloth he held to it would dampen the stench of whatever it was the camp up ahead was burning. The sky of Icecrown, already dark and foreboding, was stained by the thick, billowing black smoke as it rose up, swallowing the clear skies like a gigantic python.
“That rag won't do you much good.” Lord Ironhilt commented to the draenei as he rode up to him, the gigantic shire horse he rode upon snorting in irritation. “The smell of burning corpses has a way of wiggling it's way through any sort of covering.”
That certainly explained why the stench was so vile. Hylian baulked a little at the thought of a pyre of dead bodies being set to the flame, his deep gray face paling at the mental image.
“Get used to it squire.” The lord sniffed. “Undoubtedly, you will be smelling the same stench a hundred times and more during your tour in Icecrown.”
“Yes, my lord.” He responded, before the human kicked his horse forward, taking the lead of the new recruits as they moved into the camp proper.

Not for the first time, Hylian wondered just what he had gotten himself into here. He was no fighter. He could barely hold a weapon, let alone use one effectively in combat. Yet knowing this, he had left the crystalline safety of the Exodar to join the Argent Crusade in their efforts against the Lich King. He had only just arrived in this cold land and already he found himself missing the warm, purple glow of home.
He jolted back to reality as the Lord he was squiring under slid off of his horse and handed him the reigns.
“Make sure he is properly groomed, fed and stabled. There should be some thick furs you can cover him with to keep the worst of the cold out.” Ironhilt commanded, before sweeping off and into the large yellow and white tent to the side. Hylian watched after the human, before sighing softly to himself and leading the horse away. He couldn't help but notice the odd looks he received as he moved; it seemed as if every second person he saw stared at him as if he were an oddity. Looking around, he supposed he was. Not another draenei in sight. There must have been others of his species within the Crusade, but evidently this encampment did not house any others.

Or perhaps they could sense that he would be useless on the battlefield, that all he was good for was tending after animals and penning letters.

He reached the stables and quickly found where they kept the grooming supplies. He unsaddled the great horse and quickly set to work brushing the animal down. As his body fell into the familiar motions of grooming, he started to look around, seeing who else was at the stables. Mostly he saw other humans, probably other squires or pages he suspected. On occasion, he caught sight of a dwarf, an elf or an orc doing the same with their mounts. He heard a growl from a nearby worg, who had apparently not taken to the idea of being tended to by anyone who wasn't his rider.
A brief glimmer of olive green caused the draenei to briefly pause in his grooming. Hylian narrowed his eyes, attempting to catch a glance at whatever it was that had attracted his attention. Alas, there was just too much in-between him and it. So he moved his attention fully to finishing up with his Lord's mount. It didn't take him long to brush all of the large gelding, and he made quick work of feeding and stabling him. Finding a thick, fur blanket, he tied it around the horse before setting off to look for the odd flash of green amidst the blinding white snows of Northrend.

He wove his way around other mounts, wincing as a few worgs snapped at him as he passed. He caught sight of the olive green once again and made his way towards it. He soon found himself face to face with a reptilian snout. He paused in surprise as he viewed the creature. It stared right back at him with bright yellow eyes and thin, slitted pupils.
The strange creature stood on two legs, with a long, thick tail stretched out behind it for balance and smaller, taloned forearms tucked underneath it. The most disconcerting part of the animal, however, were the twin, sickle-like claws; one on each of it's feet. It's long, tapered snout was tipped with a single horn.
It twisted it's head this way and that as it looked at Hylian, making soft clicking noises. In a way, it reminded the draenei of a bird. Very swift movements, punctuated by sudden stops. He swallowed nervously as the predator moved closer to him, parting it's olive-scaled mouth to reveal razor sharp teeth. Was it going to attack? Wouldn't that be tragic; making his way to Icecrown only to die not at the claws of the undead, but at the teeth of this great reptile.
It reached above him, only to gently nip at one of the horn-like protrusions at the back of his head.
“Ow!” Hylian hissed, stepping back from the animal. He jumped as he heard loud laughter from behind him. He turned, only to see a male humanoid just as strange as the animal behind him. In a way, he reminded Hylian of one of those Night elves, but it was as if he had been grabbed by some great creature and stretched out. He was very thin and quite tall, could probably even match him in height, but was hunched over so much that his two-fingered hands almost touched the snowy ground. His long, pointed ears were tattered and two gigantic tusks jutted out from each corner of the man's mouth, curving downward before pointing up at the tips. His skin was a deep purple, his hair a contrasting bright red. Although the humanoid was garbed in plate armour, it had been stylised and decorated with small wooden trinkets and carvings, along with what looked to be dried animal parts. It was all rather savage, truth be told.

“Rak'Killi likes ya mon.” The humanoid commented with a grin, revealing teeth nearly as sharp as the reptile's.
“I highly doubt that.” Hylian answered in a soft voice, turning around to wave away the reptile's snout before he nipped him again. “He keeps attempting to bite me.”
“ 'Dat just 'is way o' sayin' 'e likes ya.” The stranger said as he moved over to Rak, running a hand along the animal's snout. “If 'e didn't, joo'd not 'ave a 'ead spike no more. Joo might not have a face either.”
Hylian frowned at the thought, although it had taken him a little to decipher what it was that the stranger had said in his thick accent.
“What is he?” He asked, turning to look back to Rak and his supposed master. “He is similar to the Daggermaws back on Draenor, but he's less... jagged. For that matter, what are you, if you do not mind me asking?”
“He be a raptah, mon. An' I be a troll.” The troll answered, looking far more amused about the situation than Hylian would have expected. “What 'da mattah, joo neva' see a troll befoah?”
“No, never.” Hylian admitted quietly, his natural shyness starting to creep back. “I've been... secluded since my people arrived on this planet.”
“Well, today be your lucky day den!” The troll laughed again, the action seemingly easy for him. He turned around and tugged on the reigns of his raptor, leading it to a stable among the orcish worgs.
“Joo be one o' dem draynay, no?” He asked as he walked.
“Draenei.” Hylian corrected.
“Don' see many of joo 'round here. What'cha name?”
“Hylian. I'm serving as a squire for Lord Ironhilt. Yourself?”
“Jez'Lai.” The troll grinned again. “I be servin' nobody but meself. I come ta kill de undead. Why joo serve someone else an' let dem do de killin' for ya?”

Hylian paused, looking ashamed briefly.
“I... Can't fight.” He finally admitted, wincing a little. “I have little to no combat skills.”
“Well, joo picked de wrong faction to sign up with, mon!” Jez'Lai laughed. “Dere not be many days were we not unda attack. Surely joo know about dis when joo signed. Why ja go when joo cannot fight, huh?”
The draenei remained silent at this, not wanting to explain his reasons for leaving the safety of his home to a stranger. Picking up on Hylian's hesitation, the troll instead switched to another topic.
“So den, if joo not fight, den what do ya do?”
“Pen letters mostly.” Hylian answered, glad for the slight change in conversation. “I also see to my Lord's needs. Stabling and feeding his horse, cleaning his armour and weapons, fetching him food at times.”
Jez'Lai snorted disdainfully at this. “What sorta mon don't care for his own mount? Cannot care for 'is own weapons or armah? I don't undahstand dese alliance, how ya supposed ta respect a mon who don't do nothin' fah 'imself?”

Hylian found he couldn't disagree. Back home, it was expected that you have enough discipline to take care of your own equipment. If you could not find the time to do so, then you did not deserve the privilege of owning it. There were only few exceptions, such as an apprentice who had to work for board under his master's roof, or an acolyte tending to temple duties while the anchorites saw to the needs of the Naaru. But unlike those situations, he had to afford his own equipment off of his pay. He was provided with nothing outside of what he would have been given anyway for signing up with the crusade.
Then again, this was probably the only way he could help with the war effort without being forced to take up arms.

“Hylian!”
The voice of his Lord snapped the draenei out of his thoughts.
“Dat your alliance mastah?” Jez'Lai asked with a smirk. Hylian winced and nodded, suddenly feeling ashamed at his current job. “Joo best be reporten' back ta 'im den, unless ya like sharpenin' swords.”
“It has been a pleasure, Jez'Lai.” Hylian bowed. His words were rewarded with another, loud, booming laugh.
“I be called many tings ovah me life. A pleasure not be one of dem.” Jez'Lai grinned once more. Rak bit at Hylian's head ridge once more, before the two left into the night. Hylian hadn't noticed just how quickly it had gotten dark, already stars were beginning to pop up in the sky above. This strange land would take some getting used to, he decided. As would the strange people within it.
He left, making his way back to his Lord's tent before the human got angry with him.

[Ikutai]

I LOVE THIS! That seems like quite the badass Troll.

[Serendipity82]

I am loving this. <3 Jez

[Moonlost]

One Week

Day Two

Sleep eluded the draenei in this land of harsh winter. Despite layering his bedroll in at least a good dozen thick furs, he couldn't manage to keep the cold out. As a result, he spent most of the night shivering. He must have dozed off at some point, however, as he was awoken by the sound of clashing metal and grunting men. The sharp noises causing his head to pound even more than it already was, each metallic screech felt like it drilled right down into the marrow of his bones. He rose from his bedroll and rubbed his eyes, moving slowly to the entrance to his tent and lifting up the flap to see what demons were causing such an infernal racket. His eyes rolled around, eventually catching sight of a clear patch of ground. A couple of humans garbed in armour swung swords at one another, the clash of steel echoing around the entire encampment. It appeared that a sparring circle had been set up not too far from his tent. How joyous.
A sudden breeze shoved it's way into his tent, showing him that however hold he had thought it was last night, it was a hundred times worse outside. Hylian briefly debated on whether or not he should return to the comfort his bedroll offered to attempt to get a little more sleep. The thought quickly passed: not only would he not get a moment's rest with the racket outside, but his Lord would be expecting him to attend to him soon. Too late and he would be reprimanded, which would be a fine way to start his career in the Crusade. Hylian the Layabout.

The draenei closed the flap to his tent and quickly set about clothing himself. He chose a number of thick, padded leggings, tunics and gloves, layering himself with as much clothing as he could while retaining mobility in his joints. He even wrapped his tail in a thick, sock-like blanket. Too little clothing, and the cold would take whatever extremities you left uncovered. In a way, the wind here was just as much your enemy as the undead were.
He exited his tent and made his way across the grounds, the snow crunching with each fall of his hooves. His breath came in quick pants, his body feeling like it wasn't nearly getting enough oxygen. He watched as each exhaled sigh transformed into thick white cloud. It was quite pretty in a way.
Finally, he arrived at the Commander's Pavilion. The tent was huge, easily the size of a house. Inside it was toasty warm, so much so that the draenei was forced to remove some of his layered clothing to keep himself from overheating. How was it that they managed to guard this place against the frigid grasp of Icecrown? Magic? Engineering? Whatever it was, he made a note to find out. He doubted he could stand too many cold nights like the one just past.
He caught sight of Lord Ironhilt seated at a large table, a map of the surrounding area pinned down to the wooden frame by four sharp daggers. Various small tokens sat scattered across the tabletop, representing forces of the Lich King, the Ebon Blade and the Argent Crusade itself he guessed. Hylian moved over to his lord, only to be asked to fetch the man a cup of something hot. He complied, quickly fixing up the human a cup of draenei-style spiced tea. Ironhilt frowned as he first tasted the brew, but continued to drink it afterwards.

The next few hours were filled with chatter over tactics and strategy. Each of the commanders at the table seemed to have a different idea on how to tackle the problem of the massive body of undead that lay before them, none of them seemed willing to compromise. Some wanted to charge right in, others wished to use a flying squad to rain down explosives, yet more wanted to use the mountains to bypass the undead entirely. Just as it seemed that progress was being made, someone brought up some grievance they had and it was all reset back to square one. Hylian barely took notice of it all, so tired was he that he almost fell asleep a number of times. The warmth around him only lulled him further into the depths of slumber-
“Hylian, I doubt I will need you here.” Lord Ironhilt told him, jolting the draenei awake. “Head outside and speak with Quatermaster Garrak, ask him to set you up with some armour and a weapon, then see if you can find someone to spar with. Get your combat skills honed.”

Hylian felt his heart fall to the bottom of his hooves. So much for remaining within a warm and toasty tent. He bowed his head to his Lord, then set to work rugging himself back up against the aggressively frigid wind outside.

The chill of the outside air hit Hylian like a brick wall, instantly sending a violent shiver down his spine. It took all of his willpower not to dart right back into that tent to cower from that hungry cold. Instead, he threw his cloak further around his shoulders and huddled into it. He slowly made his way back to the training ground, watching the knights around him spar. All of them wielded their weapons with such finesse and expertise. Hylian grimaced at the thought of asking any one of them to help train him. His skills with a blade were no better than those of a babe; clumsy and unskilled. More and more, he felt like he didn't belong here at all.
He made his way to the quartermaster and requisitioned some armour and a weapon. There were a good dozen other knights before him, waiting to be garbed, so the draenei turned back to the grounds, watching the sparring with a feeling of dread building up in the pit of his stomach.
His eyes widened a little in surprise as he caught sight of a familiar lanky humanoid upon the grounds, locked in combat with a massive tauren. Jez'Lai looked like a dancer on the battlefield more than he did a warrior; each of his movements were graceful and swift despite being clad in thick plates of protective metal. His opponent couldn't seem to land a blow on the smaller man, despite their efforts. The troll was patient, only ever lifting his weapon when he was sure he could land a blow. And what a weapon that was; a sword only in the sense that it was long, flat and had an edge. It looked more like jagged shard of metal than it did a finely made tool of war.

The draenei's attention was drawn away from the fight as he was approached by a number of humans, each carrying an armful of thick metal armour. Without so much as a word, they began to buckle it onto Hylian piece by piece.
Hylian did his best not to wince as each section was attached. It felt less like he was being protected and more like he was being strapped into some cruel torture device. Each section of armour was secured tightly upon him, so much so that it felt like it was cutting off his circulation. The chestplate was the worst; the weight of it felt like it was crushing his shoulders and collar bone. Did he just hear his bones crack, or was it just his imagination?
Finally it was over and the humans quickly moved off to garb another knight in armour, leaving Hylian gasping for air and unable to move. It felt like somebody was crushing his body in a gigantic vice, pinning his limbs to great weights with tight leather straps. His vision swam as he attempted to peer through the tiny slit in his helmet, his pulse pounded as it attempted to get the blood flowing past the too-tight straps. Despite all the pain and discomfort, he couldn't help but feel ashamed. Others wore armour like it was a second skin. What would they think when they saw him collapse just because he had it strapped onto him? He could hear them laughing now, a terrible, mocking noise that stung his ears...

Suddenly, there was a snapping sound and the massive weight on his chest fell away. He gasped for air, lungs burning as he felt more of his metal prison dropping from him. He lifted his arms to the helmet, ripping it off of his head and tossing it to the side before bowing down in pain, panting and wheezing.
“Joo okay mon?” A familiar, deep voice with an exotic accent asked. Hylian lifted his head to stare into the crimson eyes of Jez'Lai; a sharp knife in his two-fingered hand and a concerned expression on his tusked face. Hylian nodded, then looked away. He could feel the eyes of the other knights and trainees upon him. Naaru, he must look quite the fool.
“Yes.” He finally answered, trying not to sound as ashamed as he felt: a task he felt he failed quite miserably at.
“Why did ya not tell de quatahmastah dat joo not be able ta wear full plate?” Jez'Lai asked as he slid his knife along the final leather strap along his arm; the vambrace falling away neatly into the snow, where one of the squires quickly snatched it up to be repaired.
“I... I didn't have a chance”
“Dat be a load of raptor shit.” The troll snorted. “Full plate take damned long ta put on, joo have plenty of time ta tell 'em.”
“I-I....” Hylian baulked at Jez'Lai's sudden confrontation, wanting little more than to cower from him. He doubted the troll would give him that option, which meant he'd need to find his voice. Find the right words to explain his situation. “I d-did not want to... to confront them.”
Jez'Lai snorted again, seemingly accepting of the answer even if he liked it less than the previous one Hylian gave. A large, purplish finger suddenly jabbed the draenei in the chest.

“Joo need ta learn ta speak up fer yaself, mon.” The troll commanded. “Nobody else gonna do it for ya out here. If ya don't joo gonna be left in ta snow ta freeze.”
Hylian didn't answer, merely nodding in reply. Jez'Lai sighed in frustration, but seemingly let the matter drop. He beckoned the draenei to follow him, before walking away from the training grounds.
“What joo doin' out here anyway, mon?” He asked, running one hand through his thick mane of red hair. “I thought ya said joo weren't a fighter?”
“Lord Ironhilt commanded me to get some combat training in while he was busy.” Hylian explained, which earned him a disdainful snort from the troll. “What is wrong with that?”
“Nothin' I suppose. But how joo supposed ta fight if ya don't feel passion for it in ya bones? Just leads ta sloppy fightin' if joo ask me.”
Hylian couldn't argue with that he supposed.

“Why joo here, Hylian?”

He looked up in surprise once more, not only because that question kept being asked, but because the troll, whom he had met only yesterday, had remembered his name.
“I...” He paused, looking away, not too sure how he wanted to answer. “I wanted to find myself.”
“Icecrown be a poor choice to be searchin' fer ya soul, mon.”
“But where else was I supposed to go?!” Hylian suddenly roared, years of pent up frustration briefly bubbling to the surface. “I was a burden to my own people, nobody wanted me. I thought that maybe I could do some good here, that maybe all this war could force me to become somebody. A warrior, or a commander, or...or something!”
He growled softly, grimacing and looking away. The only sound between the two was the rushing of wind between them.

“Teach me how to fight. How to feel it in my bones.” Hylian eventually asked.
“Ya sure joo want dis?” The troll asked. “It not gonna be easy for joo.”
“Yes.” He answered. He could remember watching Jez'Tai fighting, although that was a poor way of putting it. Creating art might have been a better way to put it, it certainly felt more akin to watching an artist paint or listening to a musician play. Hylian envied him his combat prowess, wanted to be able to do the same thing.
“In dat case, meet me here tomorrow mornin'. Get yerself some armour and a weapon you feel comfahtable wit'. Don't let anyone else pick it out for joo. An' I hope joo don't mind a few bruises, I won't be goin' easy on ya mon.”
With that, the troll shot him a sharp-toothed grin and walked away, leaving Hylian standing alone in the snow.

The draenei felt, at once, both excited and terrified. What had he just gotten himself into? Part of him just wanted to run away; find a gryphon and fly back to Dalaran with his tail in-between his legs.
For once in his life, he swallowed his fear, forced it into the pit of his belly. If he didn't do this, he'd just return back to being Hylian the Layabout, and he was sick and tired of that.

Shrugging into his cloak once more, he made his way back to the quatermaster, intending to look through their supply of weapons and armour for himself this time.