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Culture Clash	By : Makkoska Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 7770 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Quite unfortunately, I do not own Wow, I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Culture Clash
Fandom: Word of Warcraft
Pairing: Troll Female/Blood Elf Male
Rating: Will be NC-17 in later chapters
Summary: Follow our hero, a blood elf paladin as he is saved by an unusual heroine, travels through Kalimdor and changes his view of life.
A/N: This story has been nagging me for a while, so I finally gave in and started to write. Be warned that this is not only a WIP, but a completely unbetad one for that. Feel free to point out my mistakes, be them grammatical, rhetorical or lore related. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome.

1.
Night at Silithus was cold, quiet and dark. Zangah burrowed deep into her cloak and sighed. She loved deserts, they always remained her of her tender days spent with scouting in Durotar. She leaned against the side of her raptor, prepared to dozing off when she heard the rumble from the near distance. She sat up straighter, trying to place the direction of the voice. Even with her years spent in the wild, it wasn’t an easy task in the complete darkness.
Finally she decided there must be an upheaval in the Twilights’ camp. Frowning, she stood up, contemplating her next move. The cultists always creeped her. As a troll she was well familiar with secret rites and cults, but the years spent in the wild alone also gave her a strong sense of autonomity. She knew the Twilights to be a savage bunch of morons and made care to avoid them during her stay in Silithus, but maybe someone wasn’t careful enough...
Within a heartbeat she decided what to do. A Darkspear shouldn’t back off from battle, her uncle had always said, and it was one of his few guidance she heeded. As fast as she could she fixed the saddle on her raptor and let out a sharp whistle for her newly tamed companion ‘Time to test ya’ battle skills girl’, she whispered to the Silthid as she mounted. ‘There’s trouble ahead.’
The raptor broke into a long strided run, its slightly glowing eyes finding the path easily in the dark. Zangah hardly had to guide it – the reptile was her long time companion, and it knew very well that wherever a fight broke out they were heading towards it. As they neared the camp it become obvious that Zangah’s instinct was right, the noise was indeed due to someone fighting for their life.
As they climbed the last high dune the Cultists’ camp came into view. With the numerous bonfires and torches ablaze, Zangah had no trouble spotting the fighters below. She pulled the reins forcefully, earning an angry hiss from her raptor. Although her heart beat faster and fingers itched to fire her arrows to the cultists below, she kept her cool enough not to to charge into a swarm of fanatics without knowing who she risked her life for. To think about it – this might have been simply an internal quarrel for them…
That theory quickly shattered as she spotted a heavily armored figure fighting the crimson robed cultists. The smooth moves and the number of the fallen enemies around him spoke of a trained warrior, but for Zangah’s battle trained eyes it was also obvious that the fighter was getting tired battling against the enemy which greatly outnumbered him.
The troll was leaning forward in the saddle, trying to figure out what race the warrior can belong to when he cried out, sparkling light surrounding his body, knocking back the advancing cultists.
‘A paladin’, thought Zangah disappointedly. She fought against humans just enough times to know - and grudgingly respect - their holy knights. She was about to turn back her raptor, leaving the fighter to his fate – she was not about to save a human after all - when she realized the cry didn’t sound like it was in the Alliance’s Common language at all, much more like the melodic way she heard blood elves speak. Eyes flashing in delight, she let out a sharp battle cry of her own, she surged the raptor forward to help the stranger.

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Ardel cursed the day he come to Silithus. He hated the blazing heat at day, the freezing nights, the sand, the creepy creatures living here, and hated, with all his passion, the deadly lunatics with whom he had to fight with all his might for his life. Why he let that bloody goblin persuade him to come here in the first place? Why he though it a good, well not good but a passable idea to try to disguise himself as one of the cultists? He thought of the scroll pocketed away in his bag. As his chances were, he wasn’t going to get out of the camp and deliver it back to Gadgetzan.
He had luck in seizing the scroll, but it didn’t last till he managed to leave the Twilight camp. He thought he could make it – but he’s been caught. The chance to escape – the darkness of the desert – was just right ahead, but as more and more cultist joined the fight as they were waken from their sleep that few steps begin to seem like a thousand miles.
Ardel was an experienced fighter. He participated in many battles, and this was not the first occasion he had to keep up against more opponents. However as the circle of cultists closed around him, he realized the end was near. He will soon feel the bite of the first blow he won’t be able to parry, the burning of a curse he can’t doge… He was not afraid of death, but to die at the end of the word, to never see the sunlight again was exasperating.
And there it was… Ardel raised his shield as he blocked a crushing blow from an armored orc, while he saw, from the corner of his eyes a human male advancing on him from the other side. He tried to gather the power of light around himself, but his mental power felt frayed.
‘I’m not going to make it’, he though just as the human’s blade swished through the air – and stopped right before it reached him. The cultist eyes under his crimson hood widened then glazed over as he fall face first to the ground before the elf. A massive, red feathered arrow stuck from the nape of his neck.
The attack of a new enemy caused a moment of confusion among the cultists, and allowed Ardel a very much needed breath of air. Another of them fell to the ground with an arrow pointing from her chest and suddenly there was only a cloaked gnome between the blood knight and the dark desert. Taking his chance he dashed away next to the stunned creature, towards where the arrows were coming from. Whoever was shooting at the cultists, he had to hope will be an ally to him.
The gnome however wasn’t as confused with the unseen archer’s attack as he hoped. As Ardel ran past he glanced at him just in time to see a fireball forming between his tiny hands. Just as he was to throw himself to the ground to avoid the destructive magic, a huge, beetle-like creature careered from the dark to sink its sharp chelicerae into the gnome.
Shocked as Ardel was from this unexpected help, his battle toned reflexes carried him forwards. From the shadows a raptor came galloping with a troll woman perched on its saddle. Ardel, as most of his kind, had a strong aversion against trolls, having fought the Amani on numerous occasions. However one troll was way much better than about fifty, just woken up cultists whom he robbed, so when the blue skinned creature shouted ‘Jump elf’, in orcish and extended her tree fingered hand he did just that.
Grasping the troll’s hand with his left, he leaped up behind her. The raptor grunted under the extra weight but turned sharply away from the camp as its rider pulled the reins. Ardel saw the huge bug, its head now covered with blood, catch up with them before the impenetrable darkness of the Silithusian night swallowed them.
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Culture Clash