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Ripple Recovery	By : wanderingaddict Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 5633 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own WoW or even these characters. I have made no money from this and have not profited from this in any way.

Chapter List
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Haha, wow! I�m surprised so many people
thought this was so funny! That makes me so pleased, heh,
I didn�t think most of the humor would come across that well at all, so
seriously, that�s great! No more funny though. Time to get to
the actual story eh?
And thanks to those of you who
left reviews! I just wish everyone who read fics was
as courteous as you! A few responses though:
Mialattia: wow! that
pleases me so much! I *always* try hard to make my stories readable to everyone
regardless of their personal experience with the game, so that really makes me
tingle! Seriously, one of the *best* comments anyone has ever given me!
Nex: You are srsly insatiable! Haha, I love it!
Elspeth: No naughty bits. At
least, not yet� *wink wink nudge nudge*
sucat: one of the best orcs ever eh? Haha wow! wow! ya�ll
have just been *full* of delightful reviews!
Hana: I hope to keep pleasing ya ^.^
Ivy: yeah, some people are just
plain pricks. someday, they�ll get theirs!
And Fawnheart-
I�m never ignoring your reviews, of course. I just figure you�ve had enough of
me already :P

--___---__-__---___--

From his new, breathtakingly
gorgeous vantage on top of the hill, the orc could
see the ornate roofs of Quel�Danil rising through the
treetops in the distance, and the great lake it sat upon shimmering beyond.
Pretty as it was, Malton still felt like cracking a ruthful grin. This was
the place where he had chosen to camp the first time he came to the
Hinterlands, two years ago, after the elves of HighVale
had steadfastly refused to allow him into their city, even in the face of Gilvarin�s furious wrath. For some reason (though probably
just out of spite) his elf-friend had chosen to remain at the same campsite
they had shared almost year-round, forcing all the high and mighty members of
the city to come to him whenever they needed something done. Malton guessed that it was those same town elders who had
finally ordered the pavestones and lampposts put in, given that Gilvarin hadn�t even bothered to have a house constructed
over the last few years.
Pausing to soak in the light
from the low-hanging sun one last time, he turned and continued along the
curving path. It wound its lazy way through the thick forest, with only the
occasional lamppost for company, until the terrain finally opened up at the top
of another hill, where Malton saw a tall, long-legged
elf with dirty blonde hair emerge from an octagonal tent.
He was scribbling in a ledger,
of course. The orc rarely saw him go a day without
touching one. For all of Gilvarin�s complaints about
his father�s obsession with the damn things, it seemed like the apple hadn�t
actually fallen too far from the tree. There were stacks more inside the tent, Malton knew, inventories of the all the shops and
farmsteads in the valley. Every spring, the elf would collect them from the
tenants of the Sunchaser holdings and pour through
every detail. The last time Malton had visited, he�d
helped his friend organize and add footnotes to each journal. An interesting,
if somewhat tedious task, but then, he�d always liked doing research.
Apparently the elf hadn�t seen
him. The tall blonde didn�t even look up from his ledger, disappearing around
the corner of the tent in two long strides. A grin stole across Malton�s face as he ambled into the wide clearing, noting
with amusement that the pavestones extended almost all the way to the firepit itself. As to how the Council members convinced �Varin to let them go even that far, Malton
didn�t have a clue. He snorted a laugh at the thought that maybe they�d just
snuck in and had it done when the elf wasn�t there.
Politely waiting near the
�boundary� of the camp, Malton frowned. It didn�t
look like his friend would be returning anytime soon.
��Vaaar-rin,�
the orc called out in a sing-song voice.
There was a moment of quiet,
and then he heard the soft patter of Gilvarin�s
footsteps through the grass. The elf strode around the far corner of the dark
blue tent, his face tense and guarded, but the expression melted away the
moment he realized it was Malton who�d called him.
"Mal!� he exclaimed in delight. �Holy fuck, you big green bastard, when
the hell did you get here?�
Malton didn�t say anything, simply grinning
and holding his hands out as though that were explanation enough. The elf
bounded into the orc�s open invitation, throwing his
arms around Malton�s broad shoulders and giving his
friend a few decidedly rough whacks on the back. Ready to return in kind, Malton looped his thick arms around the elf�s scrawny chest
and squeezed. He heard Gilvarin gasp and gamely try
to tighten his grasp in return, but the elf�s slight, extra height actually put
him at a disadvantage for once. �
Grinning into his friend�s
tunic, the orc really forced his grip, feeling
the elf�s ribs start to bend. Gilvarin grunted, laughing as the air was nearly squeezed from his lungs.
�Okay-,� the elf huffed, trying desperately to break Malton�s
grasp, �Okay, I give!�
Malton let him go, the breathless, laughing
elf habitually straightening his vested tunic as he stepped back to get another
good look at the orc. �Hey, how-," he started to
ask, but broke off suddenly. His eyes were already hard-set before he even
asked his next question. "What the fuck did those assholes do to you this
time?" It almost sounded like he already knew the answer.
While the orc
would pay dearly to see Hawk and Amberglade knocked
down a few pegs, Malton really didn�t feel like
letting the Rangers continue to ruin his day. "Not a thing!" he
chirped brightly, striving to look as guileless as he could.
A slight narrowing of the elf�s
eyes told Malton that his friend wasn�t buying it. "Nothing? Nothing at all?"
Gilvarin asked, his voice dropping just slightly in
pitch. Malton tried to think quick.
"Yeah, well, they took my
name and stuff, but then pretty much waved me right through. Been here often
enough I suppose," he said, shrugging as he feigned disinterest. The last
thing the orc needed was for his vindictive, almost
blood-thirsty friend to give the Rangers even more reasons to hate him. Malton clapped his hands, rubbing them together in eager
anticipation as he changed the subject. "Now, more importantly, what have
you got to drink?"
The elf�s eyes sparked, his
piercing gaze slipping away in his excitement. �You�re gonna
be in for a treat this time Mal!� he exclaimed, practically bounding over to
the heavy-canvas door of his tent. He disappeared momentarily, emerging with a
fat, long-necked bottle of wine clutched in his hands. �Look!�
Gilvarin�s face was alive and animated as he held
out the bottle. Malton started to reach for it
himself, but apparently the elf couldn�t wait. �Honeydew Ripple, from the year 810!�
his friend exclaimed, even before the orc could take
the wine in hand.
�810!� Malton exclaimed, his jaw dropping when he grabbed the
offered bottle to check the label himself. The orc
looked back up at his friend�s wide grin. A two-hundred year-old bottle like
this was nearly priceless! �Where the hell did you find this?� he asked, his
voice filled with more than a little awe.
Reaching out
to gently take the bottle from his hands- gently, because there was nothing
worse than jostled Ripple- Gilvarin gave him a rather
pleased grin.
�Finally went and stayed in Quel�Danil for a few days
I�ve been meaning to clean out some of the empty properties there. Found this
in one of the cellars- it must have gone unnoticed for years!� The elf glanced
down reverently at the long bottle in his hands, turning the glass in the light
before suddenly looking up and peering around.
�Hey,� he asked, shooting Malton a quizzical look, �Where�s your wagon? This is the
first time I think I�ve ever seen you without it!�
Inwardly cursing his friend�s
ever-present attention to detail, Malton tried to
think of the most tactful excuse he could possibly make. �Met a group of
rangers on the way in,� the orc said with a
nonchalant shrug. �Lent it to them to haul an injured gal and
a bunch of troll hoodoo back to the Rock River
camp. They said they�d be bringing it here by tomorrow.�
Malton made himself busy while he talked,
ducking into the canvas tent to grab a pair of fine wine glasses from the rack
inside- still in the same place he�d seen it during his last visit- before heading
for the great stone table that sat behind the tent. A small pile of ledgers
currently sat on the far end, along with one of the wide, sway-backed chairs
that surrounded the stone table. The rest of the chairs though were scattered
in various places around it. Two were sitting in relative privacy on the far
side of the camp, behind the great blue tent where one could not easily be seen
from the road.
Grabbing the two low-backed
chairs, he swung them around and positioned them side by side so that he and
the elf could get a panoramic view of the Vale as they drank. He glanced back
when he realized that his friend hadn�t followed. ��Varin?�
he called. The elf started, twisting his head to stare at the orc. For a moment, Malton
would�ve sworn he saw something dark glitter in the elf�s eyes, but it passed,
and then the elf was smiling brightly as though nothing had happened.
��Troll
hoodoo� huh? I take
it that mean�s they�ve actually been following through on their promise to
explore the ruins around the borders?� Gilvarin
asked.
�Must be,� the orc shrugged as he dropped into his chair. �I�m just hoping
the stuff doesn�t turn my horse into a frog or something.�
Chuckling at his friend�s dour
outlook, Gilvarin snagged the bottle from Malton�s grip and started to pry out the cork with
suspicious ease. �You haven�t already snuck a taste for yourself
have you?� the orc teased, as �Varin
popped the cork out one hand.
Gilvarin laughed, shaking his head, and poured
the smooth, honey-colored liquid into the delicate glasses. �No, Mal, I
didn�t sneak any before you goy here. I just made sure that it wasn�t
completely ruined.� He corked the wine bottle once more and carefully set it
aside, pulling his own glass from Malton�s hand at
the same time. �Whatever�s in this bottle will be a surprise to both of us,�
the elf finished, quite primly, though it was spoiled by a quick wink at the
end.
Settling back in his seat, Gilvarin gently tipped his glass in part of a toast.
Tilting his back in kind, Malton readily brought the
glass to his lips. He knew by sight alone that the pure, undiluted liquid in
his glass was of Ripple variety, not tainted by mold or temperature over the
last few hundred years, but that still didn�t prepare him for the delightful
splash of flavor that his tongue on the first sip.
�Daaaamn,�
he breathed, savoring the taste of the wine in his mouth. Malton
glanced down, surprised at the strong flavor of the amber liquid. �This is
good! It�s so much more robust than any of the other Ripples I�ve had! And the
way the flavor just flows through your mouth?� The orc
shook his head in disbelief.
�Yeah, it is, isn�t it?� Gilvarin agreed, excitedly. �And the way the aftertaste
doesn�t linger?�
�Fades almost immediately?� Malton added, returning the elf�s eager grin. �Yeah, this
is easily some of the best wine I�ve ever had, �Varin.�
His friend gave him a quick nod
and took another long, contemplative sip from his own glass, though he was
obviously immensely pleased that the orc was enjoying
it. The elf leaned back in his seat, crossing his long legs as the two friends
took a minute to simply stare out over the valley.
Probably the best spot in the
Vale, Mal thought. The pretty, cerulean tiles of Quel�Danil
had caught the sun in the distance, and sparkled in the evening light. To the
north of the city, the great lake- also, imaginatively named Quel�Danil- stretched out to meet near-impenetrable
mountains of the Northeron range, and if the orc craned his neck around to glance south, he knew he�d be
able to see almost all the way to the HighVale Pass. Made the Vale
seem downright small, even though it actually took nearly two whole days to
cross.
�Sorry,� the elf said suddenly,
jolting Malton out of his contemplative mood. Startled,
the orc shot his friend a questioning glance. �For
not being at the border there today,� Gilvarin
explained. �Your last letter made it sound like you�d still be more�n a week out.�
Inwardly breathing a sigh of
relief, Malton shrugged. �Hey, it�s alright,� the orc said, taking care not to neither confirm nor deny any
of his friend�s suspicions about the border today. Gilvarin
was masterfully shrewd, and quick to suspect. Malton
had learned that the hard way, during the course of their friendship. Once the
noble-born elf had a target, the man went after them with a single-minded zeal
that bordered on predatory hunger. Drunken brawls, confrontations, even
half-remembered insults from years ago, the elf was
always ready for a chance at revenge.
And, in Malton�s
opinion, it was only a vicious circle that would only get worse. He was just
happy to have thrown the elf off the Rangers� scent enough as it was. Much as
he wouldn�t mind seeing the two pricks get a taste of their own, Malton knew that Gilvarin
wouldn�t stop at �a taste.� His friend would fall on Hawk and Amberglade like a ton of bricks. And then burn the fields
and poison the wells too.
Malton snorted. The analogy had gotten a bit
out of hand with that last bit. Instead, he tossed just Gilvarin
a quick smirk. �And I was a week out. Traveling through the mountains
has been a lot easier now, ever since the trolls took a liking to griffon
meat.�
At some point in the last two
years, the Witherbark trolls had finally realized
that the dwarves� flying pests made for quite good cookin�-
an event that came as more than a slight relief to all non-dwarven
travelers. The beasts took a liking to the dwarven Wildhammer clan just fine, but anyone else- particularly
anyone green- was as good as dead. Of course, the Wildhammer
had gotten all huffy about the trolls� new diet, and while Malton
did respect their values, the stumpy little bastards had never been the ones
forced to deal with the shrieking caws of territorial males every night.
Plus, the griffons used to
mass-lair in the Durnhold Pass,
and their droppings had been everywhere.
Now, Malton had seen and smelled some terrible things
in his young life, but nothing quite compared to griffen
scat. Like a slimy, stinky cross between bird poop and cat vomit, only it was
also in dog-sized clumps and strewn across the entire valley.
The orc
shuddered at the memory. Mag�tha, he was so glad the
beasts were finally being kept under control. Not even wyverns were as bad as
griffons.
The elf beside him elbowed his
gut for attention. �And, hey, at least you don�t got
your Pa here with you this time!� Gilvarin said, a
grin spreading across his face. �What�s the old codger up to now that you�re
doing all the footwork?�
Laughing, the orc leaned back in his chair. �Haranguing the new help,� he
said with a roll of his eyes. Two new people had just started the day Malton left, and even as he had walked out the door he
could already hear his father�s growled displeasure for their �slack habits.� Malton shrugged. �With me out of the city so often now��
He trailed off, glancing at �Varin as he took a sip from his glass. �So he�s been
letting you leave the city on your own then?� the elf asked, hardly waiting for
Malton�s nod. �Where�s he been sending you to now?�
�Oh,� the orc
waved vaguely. �Trips down to see the Baron in Stranglethorn mostly.�
At Gilvarin�s
curious glance he elaborated with, �Pa�s been looking into a number of the
shipwrecks off the coast there, eager to start dredging them up for salvage, so
I�ve been his messenger boy for the last few months.� Malton
gave another shrug, not really interested in relating the long, slow days spent
in the muggy jungle. The business had been even worse, with constant arguments
over who got what from the salvaged ship and why. A miserable affair, on the
whole, and to top it off, orcs were simply not made
for such wet climates. The same thick, waxy skin that kept him cool and
hydrated in the dry lands of Durotar had felt swollen
and desperate to sweat the moment he�d set foot in the Stranglethorn
Vale.
�So what�s new in Quel�Danil?� he asked. It was a not so subtle attempt to
change the subject.
Gilvarin snorted. �Nothing,� he muttered darkly,
taking a rather irritated swig from his glass. After a moment of silence
though, he shrugged, shaking his head with a sigh. �Well, the Lodge has stopped
their petty squabbles with the Revantusk now that Silvermoon has cast their allegiance with the Horde.
Finally got it through their thick skulls that maybe they should buckle down
and actually try to work with the one tribe of trolls that�s not
trying to kill them.�
The elf shook his head again,
his eyebrows crinkling as his forehead creased in annoyance. �Idiots,� Gilvarin muttered, glaring at his boots. Malton couldn�t help but feel a bit sorry for his friend,
whenever the elf started talking about diplomacy. The man was exceptionally
skilled at it, but still, the way he talked made it sound like he was the one
mature voice in a room full of squabbling children.
And, picturing a meeting
between the frosty, close-minded Council that lead the Vale seated across a
table from the self-righteous, primal trolls of the coast, the orc couldn�t help but think of that description as
incredibly apt.
His friend shook himself, the
elf�s mouth twisting slightly when he shot the orc a
wry smirk. ��Course, those trolls aren�t exactly geniuses either,� Gilvarin added with a roll of his eyes. �They keep acting
like they�re the mighty warrior tribe they were before the Second War. You
know, �cause it�s not like they�ve been left sitting
in a little straw village and clinging to the cliffs in fear of the next storm
or anything.�
Malton had to laugh at the elf�s harsh
depiction of the coastal troll-tribe, his amusement sparking Gilvarin�s good mood once more. Flashing a hint of dimpled
cheek, Gilvarin went on, his eyes flicking back out
over the sunlit valley. �Only way to get the bloody lot of them to just be civil
with each other was to drug the wine and then force it down their throats,� the
elf added, yawning and arching his arms over his head in a long, full-body
stretch.
Unable to resist stretching
himself, Malton thrust his arms forward, rolling his
shoulders back and forth before leaning back in his chair with a contented
sigh. The wind had picked up again, brushing through the treetops with the rich
sound of cascading leaves. He slouched down in his chair a little, letting his
legs splay out in an imitation of Gilvarin�s lazy
sprawl. Another wide grin nearly split his face, already a little sore from
smiling so much. The orc just couldn�t help it
though. Even with the border guards today (which really wasn�t anything
unexpected) he was still enjoying himself immensely.
Suddenly, Gilvarin�s
last words registered in his head. He sat up, turning to stare at his friend
with wide brown eyes. �What?�
The elf blinked at him,
nonplussed by Malton�s confusing outburst. �What
�what?��
The orc
blinked back and moved forward in his chair. �What did you just say?� he
pressed.
Almost immediately, he could
tell that Gilvarin had realized his slip. �What do
you mean-,� his friend tried to hedge, but Malton was
ready and on the offense.
�You know damn well what I mean
you pointy-eared elf!� the orc seethed, now
more than fully aware that his friend was trying to keep something amazing
from his ears. �Did you seriously drug them?�
One look at the elf�s
too-innocent eyes was all Malton needed to know the
truth. He threw back his head with a hearty guffaw, amazed and amused at his
friend�s sometimes incredible lack of moral fiber. �What the hell!� he
yelled, still laughing incredulously and struggling to control himself enough to speak. �What the hell is wrong with you!�
Mag�tha, the things the elf did were, at times,
just-! The burning shame the Council must have felt the next day briefly
crossed his mind, and Malton couldn�t help guffawing
again. The Council! The Council! Of
all people! While he had the dubious pleasure of having met most of them on
only a few occasions, Malton had still seen enough to
tell that they were nothing but self-righteous pricks with a sense of
entitlement, through and through. And here his friend had drugged them at what had to be one of the most important nights in
recent history!
Gilvarin squared his shoulders defensively, his
mouth setting into a firm, if petulant, frown. �Well it�s not like they were
ever going to sign the damn treaties on their own!� the elf snapped, crossing
his arms.
�But to drug them to do it!�
the orc gasped, breathlessly, his eyes nearly
boggling when the words left his mouth. By the Ancestors�s
blood! It sounded even worse when he
said it aloud!
�Ssh!�
the elf hushed, a little too forcefully as he nervously shot a rather pointed
glance at the trees surrounding them. �I didn�t drug them so much as I just�� Gilvarin
paused and licked his lips. �Made� sure that the liquor was� a little harder
than what they were used to,� he finished carefully. The elf leaned in a little
closer, dropping his voice. �And as far as they know, anything they did that
night was their own damn fault!� he hissed, suddenly more mindful than
ever of the ears that might lurk in the woods.
Malton nearly gagged at that, choking on his
own sheer amazement. ��Anything they did�?� He nearly shouted, only managing to
keep his voice down through sheer will. This he had to hear! The Council, of
all people, the most stubbornly conservative of all the elves in the Vale, and
here �Varin had caught them with their pants down!
This was glorious! This was easily some of the best news he�d heard all year!
�Come on, tell me!� the orc begged, now practically dying to know what had
happened. He�d bumped into enough of them during his trips to the Vale to know
that the scathing descriptions in Gilvarin�s letters
weren�t that far off. By Hellscream�s hairy teats,
those bastards had their heads so far up their own asses that they even treated
the other elves like shit.
�Well�� Gilvarin
trailed off, gnawing his lip as he glanced around the camp, looking at anything
but the orc beside him. �A few of the more� uptight�
members of the Council really� cut loose.�
Leaning forward eagerly, Malton tried to will his reluctant companion into confessing. The
elf's uncharacteristic silence told Mal that whatever Gilvarin
was holding out on had to be good! His friend was even flushing slightly,
and from what Malton had seen, �Varin
never blushed. �How �loose�?� he pressed once more.
The elf hesitated again. �To�
the point that they� started working on racial relations themselves,� he
mumbled.
Malton stared, and then it hit him. He felt
his jaw hit the ground. �What!� he exclaimed, rearing back.
Gilvarin bristled, misreading the orc�s sheer, incredulous surprise as anger. �It was the
only way I�d ever get them to agree to anything!� the elf shouted, his blue
eyes sparking defensively. �I�ve been beating their heads into the ground and
getting nowhere for the last three years! At least by holding a brick like that
over their heads I finally got them an alliance that should have happened a
decade ago!�
�No, no,� Malton
laughed, spreading his hands in an attempt to placate his fiery friend. He could
feel a sly grin nearly splitting his face. �No! I think it�s
amazing �Varin!� The orc
shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his righteous,
often impossibly indignant friend could do anything so sneaky and
underhanded. His jaw worked for a minute as he struggled to think of something
to say, but he could hardly think around this mind-boggling new information.
Finally, he decided to just give up. He stared once more at his friend, feeling
a semi-incredulous laugh bubble up.
�Sorry,� the orc tried to say as he started laughing again. �It�s just
that, sometimes, �Varin, you� you flat-out stun
me.� For the next five- ten!- years, his elven friend
would have the Council eating from the palm of his hand as they struggled to
save face! They had been caught with trolls!
Trolls! An elf getting caught with a human was bad enough, but an elf with a
troll was- �!
Gilvarin's cheeks flushed, and his mouth worked a
little uncomfortably while he looked away, clearly not quite sure how to take
that last comment. After a moment though, his blonde head swiveled back, his
high ears perking forward slightly with interest. �Do you remember Salade Turnwood?� he asked, the
name alone sending a shiver down Malton�s spine.
Salade Turnwood. He
remembered her alright. One of the few elf-faces that
always stood out in his mind. While he could hardly tell most of the
pricks apart, Malton had learned- the hard way- to
recognize her face on sight. She had been the Captain on duty during his first
trip here. Coincidentally, she was also the one who was most vocal about having
him stripped to his underclothes and tossed- bound- in a cage.
Then she spent the whole time
staring at him from the corner of her eyes, her pink lips wet and parted.
Occasionally strutting up to hassle him, rattle the bars of the cage, her eyes
devouring his near-naked form� �
Even after �Varin
showed up, spitting fire and brimstone, Salade still
managed to bump into the two of them constantly, every single time they left Malton�s camp in the hills. That, coupled with her rather
unhealthy interest in tying him up with obviously unnecessary knots, was one of
the main reasons that he never went anywhere in the Vale without Gilvarin by his side. Some of the elves here in the Vale
weren�t just mean, they were crazy. He�d take ten Hawks or Amberglades
over one Salade any day. Salade
was creepy, in a way that made his balls shrivel in fear.
Not that Gilvarin
could ever know that, of course. If he let that much slip, the elf would go
after the poor woman like a rabid wolf, and Gilvarin�s
angry fury wasn�t something Malton would ever wish on
anyone. When Gilvarin got angry, his intent wasn�t
simply to hurt, it was to maim. Permanently.
So he kept his answer
purposefully vague. �That busty Farstrider, with long
brown hair?� he said slowly, as though he couldn�t really remember.
�Yeah, that�s her,� Gilvarin said with an excited burst, but he seemed to catch
himself. �She was head of the honor guard.� The elf leaned back and casually
eyed Malton, a sly smirk twitching on his mouth. �The
Revantusk chieftain, Torntusk,
took a liking to her.�
The orc
had an inkling as to where this was going to go.
Preparing himself for the usual cover-talk about a subject- in this case, women-
he wasn�t interested in (at least, not in that
way), the orc took a deep breath and forced
an interested smile onto his face. �Yeah?�
�Apparently his wife did too.�
Smirking full now, Gilvarin�s eyes turned inward.
�Judging from all the noise they made, it must have been one wild night. Could
you imagine that? Two women at once? That�d just be�!�
The elf trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands.
�Yeah, I�ll bet,� Malton said with a noncommittal shrug, glancing away.
Anything else he would have gladly talked about- well, within reason- but he
just flat-out did not like talking to �Varin when it
was driven by the elf�s interest in the opposite sex. Not that he had anything
against women personally- most of the women in Orgrimmar
were more than gorgeous creatures- but he just didn�t like it when �Varin talked about them like that.
Sensing the orc�s
disinterest, Gilvarin started to open his mouth
again, but didn�t know what to say. He sank back in his seat, soft huff.
For a moment, there was nothing
but the coarse call of a bluejay, sounding from
somewhere in the woods, before the silence grew too loud and Gilvarin felt the need to break it again. He shot the orc a rueful look and stared out over the foothills of the
Vale. �Other than that though, nothing�s changed,� he sighed. There was a
definite edge of bitterness in his voice. �Nothing ever changes here.�
Malton turned to stare at the elf, his mouth
agape. �What are you talking about?� he exclaimed. ��Varin,
getting them to even think of settling down to talks with the trolls
instead of fighting them is amazing!� If there was one thing in the
world that the elves hated more than anything else, it was the forest trolls of
Lorderan. There were so many petty disputes between
the two long-lived races that the orc would sooner
believe Thrall had finally knocked up Jaina before
the Revantusk and HighVale
elves ever gave up their hatred of each other. The two races were like fire and
water! To get the two races to the same table without bloodshed was a miracle
in and of itself!
And here his friend couldn�t
even grasp the magnitude of what he�d done! Malton
shook his head at the elf, seeing the man cast in something of a brand new light.
He�d known that �Varin could be remarkably silver-tongued-
when he felt like it- but this! �How the hell did you even manage to get the
idea into their heads?� he asked wonderingly.
Snorting dismissively, Gilvarin shot the orc a wry
smirk. �The fact that I own everything in the entire Vale probably helped.�
The orc
huffed, amused at the ease with which his friend waved off his praise. �Still,�
he pressed, �That must have been the single greatest change in the Vale since��
Malton trailed off, fumbling for an accurate
comparison. �Since it was built!�
Gilvarin gave him an appraising glance, and
encouraged, Malton continued. �Don�t play it
down, �Varin, you�ve accomplished a� a real miracle!�
�You think so?� the elf asked,
shifting his weight so that he sat a little higher.
�I know,� the orc stated, more than confident. �The changes you�ve forced
in the people here? I mean, you might not notice since you�re here all the
time, but the people here have gotten a lot better over the years.�
Arching a skeptical brow, Gilvarin leaned back in his chair. �Yeah?
How?�
�Well-,� Malton
started slowly, trying to buy himself some time to answer. He hadn�t actually
expected �Varin to challenged him for evidence, and,
put on the spot, it was pretty hard to think of good things the elves of
HighVale had done. Most of the examples he did
have he couldn�t share. Like the instance today, for example, with Ranger Evantide stopping to let him salve the wound that� one of
the other Rangers had inflicted. And he certainly didn't want to come out and
tell Gilvarin about Hawk and Amberglade, because
he knew that the elf would fake a smile and nod, while dark, evil plans
for revenge formed in his eyes, so that left interactions with natives of the
Vale quite few and far between.
But, truthfully, the elves were
getting better. Three years was not a lot of time to expect some sort of
change, but whenever he looked back Malton certainly
noticed it was there. Mostly little stuff, like just ignoring him altogether-
which was pretty much the only thing Malton actually
wanted. Being ignored meant that no one would bother to go out of their way to
hassle him or cause pointless trouble.
�Hey, they didn�t even try to
detain me or hold me in a cell until you had to come and get me like the first
year,� he offered, eager to quell the angry, burning spark he could tell had
been simmering in Gilvarin�s chest for the last few
weeks. �And some of the border-patrol even spoke up for me a couple times-,� he
started to say, but cut himself off when he saw the elf�s eyes narrow and
glint. Mag�tha! He wasn�t making any progress at all!
If anything, Gilvarin seemed even more primed
to go after the Ranger Lodge for insults that were already a few years old.
It wasn�t that Malton didn�t think that the elves didn�t deserve it, or
that he wasn�t thrilled to have �Varin always rearing
and ready to stand up for him- because, truly, he was! It was just that the
elf�s memory was long, and the man never, ever forgot an insult, and certainly
didn�t forgive. For all that Malton valued Gilvarin�s friendship more than just about anything else in
the world, the orc still knew that, at times, the elf
could be remarkably petty. And that was what led to the sort of trouble that Malton always tried his best to avoid, because life at the
bottom had long ago taught him what was bad for his health.
Foundering for something to say
that could potentially diffuse his friend�s darkening mood, Malton
grasped at the first thing that came to mind. �You still haven�t moved into the
Vale itself?� When in doubt, just change the subject.
The elf�s sky-blue eyes met his
for a moment, before he glanced away. Gilvarin was
silent for a long moment, staring out over the canopy of trees. �Yeah�� he
said, taking a rather wasteful swig of his wine. �I don�t see that happening
anytime soon.�
Malton hesitated, rethinking what he�d been
about to say next. He�d never seen his friend look so� down.
This conversation was starting
to drift into uncomfortably deep and intimate waters that he wasn�t quite sure
he wanted to tread. The orc caught himself
at that thought, his heart twitching with a sharp pain of guilt. Mag�tha, that
sounded cold, even in his own head. Malton glanced at
the towering pines to either side of the camp, searching for something to say
that could alleviate at least some of the seriousness of the situation.
The orc
sucked a deep breath, his jaw working once or twice before he finally spoke.
�At least you chose the prettiest spot in HighVale to
have your little tantrum then,� he offered awkwardly, rubbing one hand on the
back of his neck.
Gilvarin glanced up at him in surprise, the
elf�s blue eyes flashing to his before shifting to stare out over the Vale. The
hardened expression on his face softened some at the sight of the slowly reddening,
cloud-filled sky above the far mountains. His lips twitched. �Isn�t it though?�
the elf agreed, after a moment. He seemed contemplative, almost wistful. �There
are so many nights I just sit here and watch Quel�Danil
light up in the distance.� Gilvarin�s mouth twitched
again, actually breaking into a slight grin as he gave the orc
another quick glance and shake of his head. �It�s better with you here though,�
he said, awkwardly shrugging one shoulder and looking down at his glass.
Embarrassed, Malton coughed softly and looked away, trying to mask the
uncomfortable intimacy by scratching at the itchy stubble on his neck. He just�
hadn�t expected the elf�s frank admission of their friendship like that. Sure,
they were definitely friends- hell he didn�t sail across the world three times
a year to visit a stranger- but this was definitely getting a little too
honest for comfort.
But, if he was actually honest
with himself for once, he could admit that this was a sign he had been
looking for, a sign of hope and � things better left unsaid, and maybe that�s
what left him so unnerved. It wasn�t like he�d had all that much time to figure
out his nascent dreams himself.
Though that�s not to say he
lacked conviction. He knew what was right for him. It was one of those things
that just- fell into place. Like the riddles Gilvarin
was so fond of. When he had first come to visit the elf in HighVale,
it had been simply because he didn�t know
what else to do. Where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do with his life.
Nothing had really piqued his interest- at least, not to the point that he�d be
happy to devote his life to it. Battle
held no awe for him, and the spirits certainly never whispered in his ears. Even his father�s salvaging
company, for all the money it raked in, didn�t appeal.
After he had stayed here in the
Vale those first few days though, something had happened to� give him purpose.
Though the orc wasn�t quite sure when it was or how,
he knew that during one of those long, drunken nights with his friend, he�d had
the sudden idea to look into the cost of rebuilding one of the vineyards here.
Just because he�d been curious, and had wondered why none of the famous Ripple vinemasters had come back to resume production of what was
inarguably one of Azeroth�s most exquisite wines.
But the more he�d learned about
vineyards, their general costs and concerns, the more fascinated he got. The
beginning of his journal was little more than tattered scraps of notes, things
he thought mildly curious and was interested in learning more about. The
greater bulk of it, though, was quickly filled with the utterly enthralling
research done on soil quality and control through nonmagical
means by the dwarves down in Loch Modan, the
painstakingly precise grapevine-heredity experiments performed by a single
elven botanist over the course her long, long life. It excited him, in a
way he hadn�t known before. Pretty soon, wanting to pay to revitalize one of
the Ripple vineyards as a personal whim became wanting to do it himself.
But a Ripple vineyard couldn�t
be just any vineyard. It had to be one in the Vale, where the vintage had been
produced historically, where the idea first came to him during one of those
magical nights.
To do that, though, he�d need Gilvarin�s help, and he wasn�t quite sure that he was
strong enough to ask.Still�
The words burned mightily in
his throat. If he mentioned it now, said anything about it at all, he�d have an
answer, at least. He�d know whether or not his friend was even remotely
interested in the idea. If� if he was, then Malton
would be able to move out of his father�s house and strike out on his own- form
his own business, one based off of his own sweat and labor. The
vineyard would be a damn good one too, easily the equal of any elven vinemaster�s stock! Malton was
sure of that. Every possible grapevine affliction- the cause, the cure- had
been exhaustively researched. Growing cycles, the weather one could expect in
the Hinterlands, the proper precautions one should take when growing grapevines
in such a temperamental clime, he�d learned it all! Penned it all down and read
and reread it for the last two and a half years. Made it his
dream.
Honestly, to be the first
orc
vinemaster? To produce the
exquisite vintages that were the envy of two continents, famous the world over?
To be ranked as an equal, amongst all the races of Lorderan.
Something that had plagued the orcish
race ever since their time in the interment camps. He had grown up lost
amongst those dirty, overcrowded huts, treated like animals by the humans
guarding them. He had been lucky- his father had never been one of the
proud warriors whose spirits had been crushed and broken by their defeat,
ground down under the heels of the humans they had so mercilessly slaughtered.
The fact that most of the older Horde had been driven by demonic forces beyond
their control hadn�t absolved them in the eyes of their human slavers. It
hadn�t absolved them in their own hearts either. The blood of two whole peoples
lay on the hands of their race, and it was something that no one was going to
ever, ever let them forget.
Dran had never had a direct tie to battle
though. The breaking of the Horde hadn�t bothered him much. Just
meant that life would be a little harder than normal. Malton loved his father for that, more than anything. The
other kids he�d known in the camps had always had hard, beaten looks about
them, and had known nothing but apathy from their parents and cruelty from the
humans who saw in them the eyes of the all the children they themselves had lost
during the War. Where they had grown up with defeated fathers and lethargic
mothers, he, at least, had been blessed with one of the few still possessing at
least a little drive.
Every orc
dreamed of doing something to help restore the honor that their race had lost.
Even with the settlement of Durotar and the progress
they had made against the Burning Legion in Azeroth,
there were still great, black stains on the orcish
pride. Sure, it was a little foolish to think that a few actions could somehow
earn their race forgiveness from the human kingdoms that had been devastated
by the Horde�s pointless War. Or to hope that the dwarves, the elves, the dranei and the gnomes could possibly come to respect them,
but he didn�t know a single orc that wouldn�t at least
like to try.
If he could at least do
something to show that they were even worthy of respect outside of the
battlefield in the first place, that the orcs now
were nothing like the savage monsters they were twenty years ago, he would feel
accomplished in his life. Revitalizing the Ripple vineyards wouldn�t be such a
bad place to start then, by that reasoning. It was something more sophisticated
than most people thought his race capable of. All he needed was a bit of land
and maybe a little help getting started, and the rest he could do on his own.
It wasn�t much, but it was a
start, at least. Malton�s eyes slid over to the elf
beside him. And� then there was the fact that he�d be able to live here, see
his friend every day of the year instead of the few weeks he managed to scavenge.
His stomach twisted over
itself. Terrible though it was to admit, there were times that he thought he
needed Gilvarin more than anything else in the world.
The sight of those blue, almond eyes crinkling with a grin, the elf�s ears
perking whenever he got excited and showed interest, it was honestly something
of a balm on Malton�s soul.
Faced with the potential for
such overwhelming reward, Malton found the nerve to
finally open his mouth. A slight inhale of breath, and then he was struggling
hard to overcome his hesitation and force himself to speak before the moment
was lost. If� he could just�
But it was too late. The moment
was already past.
The elf perked up suddenly,
swiveling his head towards the front of the camp. He grinned, giving Malton a light smack on the arm. �Hey, I hear dinner,� the
elf said, standing up and heading back around the canvas tent. The orc couldn�t help but stare after him, one hand reaching
out almost plaintively towards the spot where Gilvarin
had disappeared.
His mouth opened, then closed
and opened again, before he sighed and hung his head in his hands.
Dinner had been the last
thing on Malton�s mind. His heart was doing a funny
tumble in his chest, and he didn�t know if he should be sad or glad that the
moment had been lost. The orc sank deep into his
chair, staring morosely at the magnificent view. So close, and yet here he was.
Once again.
�Varin
probably would have thought the idea a joke. Or, well, the elf would have at
first, but he would have still gotten excited about it and been eager to help.
Malton thought about that some more. No, with
his luck, he would have started telling his friend everything he�d had planned,
only to have the elf suddenly, seriously, point out the fact that� that the
whole Vale had one been covered in griffon scat, except for the few bits of
land that held the old vineyards, oh but the reason no one actually had
returned to those was because a flock of the squawking pests had moved in
during the war and, oh, sorry Mal, but now that land is ruined too.
Or something.
The more Malton
thought about it though, the more he came to accept it as true. He just
flat-out wasn�t lucky enough to not have it any other way. He�d tell �Varin,
and the elf would be all excited and supportive and happy, and only then would Malton fall flat on his face, because now he had an audience.
It was the way his luck worked.
Some people had a limitless supply, it seemed, of which they never ran out.
Others were more like him. They had to scrimp and save what little bits of luck
they could, in order to do fun things- to make good friends, friends like Gilvarin. It took amazing
luck to do that. If he had luck like that all the time, he�d be a king!
But no, he also had to use it
to get out of the stupid, pointless, and annoying situations. Like today,
outside the Rock River Lodge, where he had to use what precious little luck he
had left in order to simply not be publicly
humiliated.
Which meant
that there wasn�t much of any luck left to go towards a vineyard. Which also meant that something bizarre
and stupid would come and play a role, like an avalanche burying the valley, or
the freaking wildkin moving in and making it their
nesting site, or, hell, even just some crochety,
xenophobic old elf deciding to just sit on his land �til he died a few
centuries later rather than ever sell to an orc.
Really. Malton tilted
his head back a little, his dark-brown eyes wandering over the red and banded
clouds in the sky. It was probably for the best that he hadn�t said anything at
all, he decided, although that did nothing to silence the niggling little voice
in the back of his head.
With a sigh, the orc idly scratched at the short hairs coming in under his
jaw. He still wasn�t quite used to shaving every day and often forgot, until
the tiny, itchy hairs reminded him. Apparently he�d forgotten to shave this
morning again too.
Now rubbing at his chin a
little self-consciously, the orc stood, hoping that
the dark shadow across his jaw didn�t look too scruffy. That thought
made him snort. He shook his head at himself a little ruefully as he walked,
and caught himself in the middle of the act, almost shaking his head at his own
head-shaking. It really was a terrible habit he�d picked up from �Varin, and there were times that the act itself almost made
him grin.
The dull funk he�d been stewing
in his head melted away almost as quickly as it had come, and by the time Malton rounded the tent he was smiling again. Perhaps tomorrow, or maybe the next day, he could tell �Varin. Perhaps. It wasn�t like it
was the end of the world.
And, he had to admit, this was
the first time he�d heard of Gilvarin expecting
dinner to be brought in. The sight of a rather plain, wide-hipped elf-woman
helping his friend pull two bulging baskets off the back of a white-splotched
horse made it clear where their dinner had come from, but it still didn�t
explain why the elf had so unexpectedly started having the food brought in
after these past two years. It seemed like every time he�d visited before, Gilvarin had enjoyed dragging his orc
friend down to the city for their supplies, knowing full-well that Malton�s very presence was just going to start a fight.
Most unusual
indeed. His friend never
backed down from a chance to irritate the elves of the Vale. Malton took a few cautious steps into the firepit area in front of the tent, watching the woman
straighten and wipe her hands fastidiously on her bright blue skirts. Gilvarin saw him first.
�Ah, Sarah,� Gilvarin said, motioning to the woman with his right hand
and waving at the orc with his left, �Malton Droffers. He will be here as well for the next
few days.�
The woman�s face was
surprisingly blank. Most of the elves in the Vale showed at least a little
shock, or often revulsion, upon introduction, but she didn�t even blink. She
bowed briefly to him and turned her attention back to the Sunchaser
noble. �The guest you said was coming in the next few weeks, Master Sunchaser?� she asked, her voice making it clear that she
was more irritated with his inaccurate calendar than the fact that the guest
was an orc. Her pale, pale eyes flicked between Malton and Gilvarin once more,
bearing the very familiar look of someone doing quick sums in their head. Malton knew the look well. He had practically grown up with
it, after all.
Sarah nodded, apparently
satisfied with her figures. �Very well then. I shall
adjust your provisions accordingly.� Her voice was still monotone and more than
a little dry.
�Thank you. And how has Rumbolt been today?� Gilvarin
asked, reaching out to give the horse a good, hard scratch under its chin. The
painted roan whickered, stomping forward to snuffle at
the elf�s outstretched hand.
Surprisingly, Malton saw Sarah�s stern half-frown actually twitch into
something of a smile. �His usual, temperamental self.�
Giving the big horse a fond glance, she seemed to remember herself and
carefully schooled her mouth. �Will you be needing
anything else then, Master Sunchaser?�
Gilvarin smiled at her and shook his head. �No,
thank you, Sarah,� he said, releasing his hold on the roan�s bridal and
stepping back. �Give my regards to your husband for me too,� the elf added.
�Of course,� the woman said,
and Malton could�ve sworn that he�d heard actual
warmth in her voice. Sarah tugged at the horse�s reigns, pulling the animal
away from Gilvarin.
�Very well,
Master Sunchaser. I shall be returning to Quel�Danil then.� She nodded first to the Sunchaser heir, and then surprised Malton
again by squarely meeting his own gaze and nodding once more. The elven woman
clicked her tongue, urging Rumboldt around before
swinging confidently onto his back and riding off into the woods. Malton watched her go, a little
intrigued by the relatively pleasant she�d presented herself. Very unusual, for the Vale. Most of the other elves here
weren�t nearly so kind. He glanced down at the elf beside him, watching the man
dig through one of the two big, round, skillfully
woven baskets.
�Rumboldt?�
the orc asked, because he was curious.
The elf glanced up at him in
confusion, before he realized that Malton was asking
about horse�s rather unusual name. Gilvarin snorted,
his face breaking into a grin. �Dwarf I used to know, ornery as a one-horned
goat full of gas. Seemed to fit.� He glanced down at
the basket he was digging in and stood, apparently satisfied that it was the
right one. He hefted the straps over one shoulder, heading for the table by the
edge of the bluff.
Malton took that as his cue to go dig out the
dishes. He headed the opposite direction, to the eastern side of the great
tent, where �Varin kept the big trunk with the plates
and the cups. �Oh!� he heard the elf call suddenly, �You know that cave to the
east, the one I told you used to be a Horde camp
during the Second War?�
�Yeah?� the orc
called, cocking one ear in his friend�s direction as he heaved the lid off the
weathered chest.
The wind picked up slightly,
carrying Gilvarin�s voice clearly over the tent. �Get
this- the Ranger patrols coming back from there said that the Vilebranch trolls in that area have completely cleared out!
Apparently the place is full of oozes and sap beasts now.� Malton
grabbed a couple of the heavier dishes and some beaten silverware from the
chest as the elf continued. �That�s not the weird thing though- it�s the
stories the trolls are telling about the place. The informants the Rangers got
among the trolls there say that that there�s some sort of �master slime�
directing all the others, one that�s actually intelligent!�
�Pull the other one �Varin,� the orc called, laughing
at the rather ridiculous tale. Slimes were about the last thing anyone could
consider capable of intelligence. Rocks were better suited to thinking
than slimes. Honestly, the things were dumb enough that the greatest risk
travelers faced from them was that they�d ooze into the campsite and boil
themselves into a vaporous stink over the fire.
Gilvarin laughed, raising his voice to be heard
from the other side of the camp. �Hey, I�m just saying that�s the news that�s
been going around lately! Don�t blame me if it�s only a bunch of crazy troll
gibberish.�
The orc
stacked several different sizes of the beaten plates and hurried back, eager to
see what exactly �dinner� consisted of, now that it had been provided by
somebody else. In the years before, meals had mostly made from whatever Gilvarin had bought that day to cook. Now, Malton wasn�t much a cook himself, but his friend was�
worse, to say the least. The problem wasn�t so much that the food was inedible-
it was more that whenever Gilvarin cooked something
himself, he wasn�t satisfied until it was loaded with salt and grease. By the
time Malton had ended his first week here, he�d felt
like even his insides were choked with fat.
Apparently something had
changed, in the time since his last visit. Malton had
been preparing a number of ways to suggest that �Varin
let him cook this year instead, however regrettable that would probably still
be. That wouldn�t be necessary now, it seemed. With a bounce in his step, the orc rounded the tent, his jaw nearly dropping when he saw the
feast �Varin�d spread out on the table. Long slices
of succulent pork glazed with honey, loaves of fresh-baked bread, and what
looked like plump muffins bursting with berries and nuts sat in more of the
same round, woven baskets (though these were on a much smaller scale), looking
for all the world like a gift served straight from the gods.
�This looks amazing �Varin,� he gushed, hardly able to contain his awe. The food
on the table was easily a hundred- a thousand!- times
better than what he�d been dreading! Malton sat down
in one of the heavy chairs beside Gilvarin, more than
ready to start his dinner. �When did you start having your meals delivered?�
�A little bit
after I�d hired Sarah.
She handles my daily affairs,� the elf said, by way of explanation. He grabbed
their plates and piled several very choice cuts of meat on each, along with
what looked like fine slices of muenster cheese. �Her
husband is an ostler, comes from the south. Near Stormwind. No clue what
possessed him to move here,� the elf said, his eyes rolling as he shook his
head. Malton laughed, knowing full well that that
look meant �Varin didn�t know, didn�t care, and
thought that anything there was to know wasn�t worth finding out.
Shrugging, Gilvarin
set their plates back in place and reached for the wine. He flashed the orc a quick grin as he refilled their glasses. �Probably
something stupid, to do with love or something, I don�t know. Sarah seems like
too much of a prude to that great in bed, but hey, what do I know?�
�Nothing,� Malton
answered. Gilvarin shot him a glare (and kicked his
foot against Malton�s shin), but the orc could still hear the amusement in his voice.
�Anyways,� the elf said as he continued his story. �No one was
willing to hire him. Afraid he might do something foreign to their
animals.� Scowling, Gilvarin leaned over the table to
grab a couple of rolls before he finally sat down, tossing one of the flakey,
delightful morsels onto Malton�s plate as well. �Can
you believe that?� he asked, turning his blonde head back to face the orc. �Every time I start to think that there�s hope for
them�� He shook his head angrily. �Hell of a great guy too. Good with animals,
but even better in the kitchen.�
�But all that
aside,� Gilvarin waved, finished with his rant,
�Sarah started bringing dinner every once in a while, on days I needed her to
work late with me out here. Got hooked on the very first
bite.� The elf grinned at him as he raised his loaded fork to his mouth.
Looking down at his plate, the orc could see why. The moist, succulent pork was coated
with a thick glaze of honey and herbs, and the smell alone was making his mouth
water. He quickly paired a long slice of meat with some of the velvety muenster cheese, the combination of the two nearly overstimulating his tongue when he finally got his fork to
his mouth. Mag�tha! The meat was of such fine quality
that it nearly melted in his mouth, and the surprisingly delicious pairing with
the cheese was testament enough to the skills of Sarah�s husband. His elven
friend was right. No matter how good the man was with any horse, it couldn�t hold
a candle to the man�s strength as a chef.
Hearing another coarse call of
a jay, the orc had to marvel at the juxtaposition of
the magnificent dinner and the wooded camp. That, coupled with the exquisite
vintage in the bottle between them, made it clear that even though Gilvarin Sunchaser spent most of
the year living in a tent, he wasn�t at a lack for luxury.
After a few more savory bites, Malton forced himself to pull away from his plate long
enough to make some conversation. �Well, any news on the vineyards here then?�
he asked his friend, intensely interested in the subject while still not
wanting to reveal too much.
Curious, the elf cocked his
head. �What, you mean like that little one the Dewbottoms
pretend to run?�
Not exactly, but that was
actually a good lead-in to his real interest. Emboldened, Malton
pressed on. �Yeah, or if there�s been any interest in starting another one, you
know, in the same vein as the old Ripple vineyards.�
Gilvarin shook his head, chewing the wad of food
in his mouth. �Nah, I don�t think there�s much interest in that. Any of the Vinemasters that lived here before the Wars have probably
gotten too attached to Quel�thalas. They�d have
returned already if they wanted to come back,� he said, idly tearing off a bit
of his flakey roll and popping it into his mouth. �I mean, fuck, compare this
dump to anywhere in Eversong and you�d be
hard-pressed to find anyone who�d choose to come back.� The elf�s long ears
twitched slightly, and his eyes turned inward for a moment, but then he stirred
and shook his head. �No, I think the two or three bottles ol�
Dewbottom makes every year is
going to be it.�
His blue eyes slid over to meet
the orc�s own brown ones, and he flashed a
commiserating grin. �Heh, sorry Mal, I know how much
you like the Ripple wine.� The elf reached for his glass and tipped it to his
lips, savoring a long, slow taste of the golden wine. �Just means you�ll have
to savor each sip a little more, right?� he teased.
�Heh,�
the orc laughed, moving a wad of food into his cheek.
�Guess I shouldn�t be too worried now, though, seeing as how you still have a
warehouse full of it here.�
�Are you kidding me? With the
killing your Pa�s making when he sells it, it�ll all be gone in a few years
time.� Gilvarin took another long draw and set his
glass down, eagerly returning to his plate. �All gone!
No more Ripple, anywhere at all.� The elf sighed wistfully, glancing at his
half-empty glass before stuffing a huge slice of pork into his mouth.
Malton huffed quietly, amused by the way that
his friend always ate, almost as though some unseen hand was poised to snatch
his plate away. He knew he probably should be a little more concerned about his
favorite wine disappearing altogether, but it just seemed like one more reason
to actually get started on a vineyard of his own. �And what about you?� he
asked.
The elf blinked at him. �What?
What about me?�
�Will you still be here? In a few years time?�
Gilvarin stared at him, his jaw working once or
twice before he finally spoke. �I�� he began, but glanced down at the table
with a sigh. �Probably.� The elf smirked wryly,
twirling the last bit of meat with his fork. �I don�t think I�ll really be
allowed to go home until I finally get it through these idiots� thick heads
that breaking from Silvermoon is not the smart
thing to do.�
Perking up though, the elf
shrugged his shoulders and his smirk turned back into a little grin. ��Sides
it�s not so bad. �Specially not when I got someone to drink
with, anyway,� he drawled, giving Malton a pointed
look. �I mean,� the elf added quickly, awkwardly looking away. �I�ve kind of
been meaning to tell you this for while now, but your visits mean a lot to me.�
Gilvarin forced a glance at Malton
from the corner of his eye, shrugging and waving one hand dismissively as he
tried to turn it into a bit of a joke. �Thanks for visiting so much, Mal. Helps
keep me sane.�
His green ears burning bright,
the orc cleared his throat awkwardly. �Shove off,� he
grunted, giving the elf a friendly push with one hand as he hunched his burning
face down towards his plate.
�Hey I mean it!� Gilvarin yelled, laughing as he punched Malton
back. The bright, happy mood of the day restored, the two of them dug into
their meals quickly, unable to resist the pull of the delicious, mouthwatering slices
of honey-glazed pork or the velvety texture of the warm muenster
cheese- and certainly not the vintage bottle of wine that sat between them. By
the time they were done with their meal they�d already drained it almost to the
bottom.
His cheeks a little red from
the wine, Gilvarin turned his head back towards Malton, the elf�s thick hair sort of glinting gold in the
light of the setting sun. �Hey Mal,� he said, his eyes dancing. �Wanna know something?�
Unfortunately for the elf, Malton had long ago learned what that look meant. �Oh no,�
he said, pulling himself up out of his slouch.
�Come on, it�ll be fun!� his
friend insisted as the orc tossed back the last of
his wine.
Huffing something between an
exacerbated laugh and a sigh, the orc glanced at his
friend. �Okay, what?� he asked.
�It�s a riddle-,� Gilvarin began.
�Hey, fuck you �Varin,� Malton exploded, in only
part mock-anger. �I�m not doing any more of those stupid riddles!�
�Aww,
come on!� the elf begged.
�No! I hate your riddles! The
answer�s always the stupidest thing, like �she was dead the whole time!� or
something!� Malton snapped,
loathing the idea of suckered into another one of the miserable games.
Seriously. There had once been a time when Malton had been amused by the elf�s seemingly endless
supply of the damn things, but he had long since come to despise them. Probably because he�d never once gotten a single one right.
Half the time they weren�t even actual puzzles, they were just stupid plays on
words that were so anticlimactic that they weren�t even worth the wasted
breath.
Of course, he probably wouldn�t
mind them so much if the elf were so damn smug about the fact that he could
never, ever get one right, but when it came to riddles, Gilvarin
seemed to be addicted to pissing him off. Or if Malton
ever had a chance of stumping his friend with one in return he�d probably call
it even, but the elf also seemed to have heard just about every single riddle,
trick, or practical joke that had ever been made. Word-games were probably the
one thing the elf liked more than booze.
Frowning, the elf sat back in
his seat with a huff, but almost immediately sat forward again, his eyes
lighting up. �Fine, how �bout a game then?� he asked.
His conscience niggling at him,
Malton decided to just give in and let the blonde
win. �Sure,� he said, resigned.
Gilvarin�s eyes flicked first to the lined ridges
of his bare stomach before settling on the orc�s
arms. �You�ve gotten bigger huh?� Gilvarin wiggled
his eyebrows at Malton and reached out, giving the orc�s bulging biceps a firm squeeze. �What have you been
doing around the store?�
Mildly disconcerted by the
elf�s sudden interest, Malton hesitated. He didn�t
think it would be a good idea to honest in revealing why he had begun working
out a little more often. Truthfully, a lot of it was simply because he liked the
occasional admiring glance he got from other men in the public baths back in
Org�. He knew he wasn�t fortunate enough to turn heads with his face alone, so
he had kind of focused on something that he could actually have some success in
improving.
Well, that and perhaps a few,
more personal reasons, but regardless, he still wasn�t about to say. �Uh�this
and that,� the orc hedged, his green cheeks flushing
slightly at his friend�s scrutiny. He nervously tugged at his vest, suddenly
wishing that maybe he�d gotten one that at least went all the way down to his
waist, instead of stopping halfway.
Ignoring the orc�s obvious evasion, Gilvarin let
his hand drop and blithely went on, eager to get to much more important things.
Things like setting the trap. �It�s not important,� he waved, moving on.
�Anyways, would you say you�re pretty strong?�
�Yeah,� Malton
said slowly, not really sure what Gilvarin wanted to
hear.
The elf�s lips twitched slyly.
�Well, what if I said that I bet I could have you hold something in your right
hand that you can�t possibly hold in your left, no matter who or how strong you are.�
Malton frowned. �That doesn�t even make any
sense. What, is it enchanted to double its weight depending on a left or right
grip or something?� By his Ancestors� blood, he had already run into enough of
the elf�s pranks with enchantments...
�No! It�s not gimmicky trick!� Gilvarin said crossly. He always got huffy and insulted
whenever Malton needled him back (which the orc, if he was honest, had to admit he did as often as he
could). �Now do we have a bet or not?�
Sighing, Malton
figured that since he�d already given an inch he might as well give the elf a
mile too. �How much?� he asked, reaching for his coinpurse.
Mag�tha, the thing was light enough already�
�Twenty-five gold,� Gilvarin answered immediately.
�What! No way in hell! One
gold!� the orc yelled, snapped out of his thoughts at
the sheer audacity of the elf. That much? That was
almost half the price of a fucking mount!
�One? One gold?� the elf exclaimed, �Fuck that Mal! You have no idea what
this riddle�s worth! Twenty gold,� he insisted,
sitting forward.
The orc
scoffed. �All your riddles are worthless! You�re lucky that I even pay
in any money at all, the way you rig your bets!�
Sensing that he wasn�t going to
win by quite as much as he though, Gilvarin finally
backed down, blowing his cheeks out in a huff. �Fine, fifteen gold and I�m not
going lower,� he conceded, a moment before his eyes suddenly sparked and a
wicked grin spread across his face. �Unless you don�t think you can do it?�
Malton scowled fiercely at the elf. �That
trick is not going to work on me, �Varin. Do
you know why? Because it�s stupid.�
�Hm,
is that so,� the elf said, his voice small, polite, and utterly dismissive.
�Worked like a charm when I bet that you couldn�t out-drink old lady Bebara in Ratc-�
�Yeah, yeah- fifteen gold
though?� Malton whined, interrupting quickly. Mag�tha, he was never going to get to live that one down.
Even to this day he�d swear by his Ancestors�s blood
that the little old gnome woman had been born with two wooden legs and an iron
gut to boot. There�s no other way she could have possibly chugged all that
booze straight down and outlasted three contests, let alone the one
he had entered against her!
Crossing his arms, �Varin gave him something of a level stare mixed with a
petulant frown. �Fifteen gold �cause I gotta make my
money back from the booze I blow on you somehow,� he muttered, pouting.
The look on the elf�s face was
too much. A smile cracked in the corners of his mouth, and the orc had to laugh. �Okay, okay,� Malton
said, giving in and holding his hands up in defeat. �What am I supposed to do
then?�
�Excellent!� Gilvarin cheered, with a clap of his hands. He turned in
his seat, leaning forward eagerly. �But first, an exercise.
Raise your right hand, palm up, like this.� The elf demonstrated, and Malton, suspicious, slowly mimicked.
�Okay, good. Now bring it
towards your chest,� the elf ordered, drawing his right arm back slightly. The orc did so as well, only to be corrected right away. �No,
turn more,� the elf admonished, repeating the gesture in full, so his right
hand was almost tucked beneath his right arm. Malton
rolled his eyes mimicked the elf again. �Okay, now place your left elbow in
your right hand. Got it?� Gilvarin asked, holding his
own clasped elbow to demonstrate.
Getting impatient the orc promptly followed and urged the elf to hurry up and
continue. His eyes sparking, Gilvarin waggled his
raised left hand, vaguely gesturing with his arms. �Alright, now place your
left elbow in your left hand.�
Feeling testy, Malton didn�t even think as he at first started to shift
his left elbow to his right hand, but then caught himself and jerked his arm
forward instead, for a moment futilely trying to touch his left hand�s fingers
to his own elbow.
Then his mind processed what
the elf had just said, and he dropped his arm to his side, his eyes rolling
back into his head as the sheer retardedness of Gilvarin�s bet overwhelmed him. Mag�tha,
he could feel his face clench and purple already. Of all the stupidest
tricks in the world�!
�Oho!� the elf crowed, �I know
what that ugly face means! It means I win again!� Gilvarin
clapped his hands, laughing exuberantly. Steadfastly ignoring the elf�s wild
laughter, Malton snatched the little pouch of money
from his waist and slammed it down on the table, sitting back in a huff,
knowing that what was coming next was only going to make it worse.
Still chuckling, Gilvarin sat forward and hefted the brown sack, his face
lighting up even more when he reached his fingers in to count how much gold
there was. �Haha! Only ten
gold huh?� he prodded, his eyes bright.
�Yeah,� Malton
grumbled, cutting the elf off in the hopes that he would just let it go.
Of course, he wasn�t nearly so
lucky. �You know what that means right?� Gilvarin
continued, his smug grin making it quite clear that he knew just how much he was
needling his orcish friend. �It means I-�
�Yeah, I know!� the orc snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at the
too-innocent trees surrounding the camp, trees that had witnessed yet another
incredibly stupid defeat of his intellectual abilities. Someday, he vowed,
curling his hands into tight fists as he shot �Varin
a dirty look. Someday he would be the one with the riddle that the elf
couldn�t solve. It�d have to be a tough one, just so that the elf would never
be able to figure out the answer on his own. That way Malton could simply not ever tell him the answer, and revel
in watching the man drive himself crazy from his own burning desire to know
what it was. The orc�s scowl slowly changed into a
dark grin as he stared across the table at the elf. Yeah, that�d show him.
That�d show him good.
His friend, however, was
completely undaunted by the sight of Malton�s temper.
Gilvarin simply laughed instead, leaning across the
stone table as his eyes sparked with laughter. �Guess how much you owe me now
Mal?� the elf teased, his smug grin nearly splitting his face, but he frowned
when Malton continued to not say anything at all.
�Come on, guess! It�s not any fun if you don�t guess!�
The orc
found himself scowling again. Two riddles. Ones that didn�t even have answers to them. And even
that was a fate too good for the elf.
Laughter bubbled out up from Gilvarin�s chest at the sight of the fuming orc, who, for all that he tried to make his rage look
terrible and scary, had never really managed to pull off anything worse than a
fierce sulk. The elf decided to give in, purely out of the graciousness of his
heart. Snickering, hardly able to control his genuine amusement, Gilvarin leaned forward again. �Alright,� he said, �I�ll
just tell you then. You listening? One
thousand, seven hundred and seventy-two gold sovereigns.�
Lifting a finger, he waggled it
admonishingly. �And don�t think I�m ever going to forget just how much you owe
me, Mal. I�ll be hounding you until you�ve got no hair and your balls have
dropped to your feet.� The elf sat back in his seat, the corner of his mouth
frowning as he added, �Although, judging by your father, that won�t be too
long...�
Malton narrowed his eyes at his friend,
shooting the elf a hard, dry look, but he couldn�t keep his face so serious for
long. At almost the same time, the pair�s faces broke into wide, open smiles as
more laughter bubbled up. They sat and giggled stupidly at the sheer
ridiculousness of their own antics for a few minutes, unable to even try
to compose themselves.
Letting out a long, happy sigh,
Malton reveled in the flush feeling of contentment.
It felt good to be able to smile so broadly. More than good,
in fact. Even though he hadn�t even seen his friend for almost six
months, it felt as though he had never been away.
The orc
stretched, grinning even harder despite the fact that his mouth was starting to
feel pretty sore. Shifting again, Malton drained the
last of the wine from his glass, but the pressure inside had already built up
too far. While he didn�t really want to spoil the moment- and lose the tingle
of joy and excitement he was feeling- the truth of the matter was that his
bladder was screaming for a bit of release.
�Uh,� he said when he caught Gilvarin�s curious glance. The orc
nodded his head at the trees. �I have to��
Gilvarin�s mouth parted in a slight grin when he
realized what Malton meant and he jerked his chin in
the direction the orc had nodded. Squaring his
shoulders, Malton stood and headed off into the woods,
idly rubbing his hand across his bare stomach.
�Good luck!� the elf called
suddenly, when the orc had reached the edge of the
camp. Malton turned and rolled his eyes over his
shoulder at him, but his smile was still too wide to try for a scowl.
Shaking his head as he tromped
into the undergrowth, the orc stepped carefully over
fallen logs and branches, having learned from many painful experiences that
most had the tendency to snap right up and tangle between the legs. Or just
smack into his groin.
Though it was darker under the
thick canopy of the forest than in the clearing behind him, Malton
still didn�t stop till he was well out of sight of the camp. He finally stopped
when he found a spot next to a suitable tree, one without any roots or rocks or
logs that could make unfortunate splashes. With a couple quick tugs, the laces
of his pants were undone and he dug his right hand in to pull out his dick,
aiming it a little farther than he normally would from his feet.
He sighed and let loose,
glancing up at the horizen, where he could just barely
see the tip of the sun�s red ball touching the mountain peaks. It was
astonishingly pretty when viewed through the tall trunks of the arboreal trees.
He blanked out.
After a moment though, he
glanced down at his hands, wiggling his dick a little when the stream still
refused to let up. The orc sighed once more, looking
around the woods yet again. The sunset could only hold his interest for so
long. He absentmindedly slipped his left hand under the bulging, rubbery sac of
his balls, rolling the waxy skin around with two fingers for the sheer lack of
anything better to do.
Mag�tha, this was taking a while. Had he really
needed to go that badly? Malton rocked back on his
heels, idly glancing to his right with the sudden realization that he could see
the road that lead into camp from this vantage point. The hill he stood on
actually put the road at his side and at his back, but there it was. He�d
stumbled surprisingly close to it in his short trek through the woods.
And, of course, there was
someone on it.
Walking in
the opposite direction though, thankfully. Towards the camp, a direction from where
he wouldn�t be seen unless the elf-woman turned around. He breathed a
mental sigh of relief, sending a silent prayer of thanks to his Ancestors for
averting at least a little of his customary bad luck. Made curious by the
woman�s familiar form, he squinted at her back, but her long brown hair and
sedate stride easily marked her as one of the few elves- other than �Varin- in the Vale that he actually liked to see. The Ranger-Lord of the HighVale Lodge, Jalinde Summerdrake herself.
Shaking himself off quickly, he
forced out the last few drops and took a single step back, just in time to feel
a whoosh of air shoot past his ear. So close that he could have sworn it had
nicked the skin.
An arrow quivered in the trunk
of the tree beside him, its feathers brushing the back of his neck. Malton twisted his head around, glaring, and saw Hawk
standing only ten feet away, his bow in his hands and a second arrow drawn.
�Hello orc.�
The black-haired man sneered as he took aim, the shaft of his drawn arrow
trained dangerously close to Malton�s chest. Hawk
cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. �You know, you seem to speak Thalassian quite well.�

--___---__-__---___--
Aww. Mal just can�t seem to get rid of trouble huh? Poor guy. Guess he really does have bad luck.
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Ripple Recovery