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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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3.

Despite his initial misgivings, the next few days passed almost pleasantly. The troll turned out to be an entertaining and useful companion.
She seemed to know the area pretty well. They climbed the foot of the mountains bordering Silithus, where although the rough terrain made their progress slow, they could always find shelter and water.
Ardel kept to his end of the bargain, wowing tales of Silvermoon, the Eversong Woods and the Ghostlands. If he exaggerated here and there – well it wasn’t likely that the troll would ever have to chance to catch him on it. He blamed it on the long time spent away from home (nostalgia did magnify all that was nice, and made inconveniences nonexistent) and on the obvious interest his one-person audience was listening to him. Ardel felt compelled to make the life of his kind sound the most wonderful on Azeroth, the battles they fought the most heroic, and their capital the most sophisticated. He didn’t know if the troll believed him or not – but she never questioned him, for which he was glad.
When he was out of breath, or out of tales to tell, she took over. It seemed she travelled through Kalimdor from Everlook to Silithus without more reason than to find interesting animals, meet people, fight people and simply for the joy of travelling. Ardel found her view of life farfetched if a bit enviable. Well maybe she was just overstating as well. He didn’t question her stories as they were quite entertaining, and because she didn’t question his either.
There were awkward moments of course. On their second night together he was woken up to the troll fiddling with his shield and helm he took off while resting. Ardel kept his breathing long and even while he opened his eyes to a slit to see what she was doing. She seemed just inspecting them but when she actually tried his shield – a family heirloom passed down from generations - to her arm, he cleared his throat and sat up. Without looking the slightest bit ashamed she launched her questions on why was his armor so light, if the shield is practical with their ornaments (it wasn’t but his father insisted that he should take it), if it is enchanted and seemed a bit reluctant to give them back.
On another occasion he was so caught up with recalling his fight with a forest troll chieftain on the Ghostlands that he actually forgot who he was talking to. He was just telling how he swung his sword and cut the head of his enemy, ‘…he was huge, I swear his tusks were as long as my arms…’ when he caught himself.
There was an awkward silence, while Ardel groped for something to say. He glanced at his companion, but she was looking at her raptor as she led it by the reins.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to imply…’
‘Don’t ya worry elf,’ she cut him off ‘we are not that fond of da other tribes.’
But for the rest of the day conversation was limited to short instructions for her – ‘careful here’, ‘need to climb up there’ and Ardel was afraid it will be like that for the remanding of their journey.
Next day however she started a tale of her own, about some strange druid cult dwelling in a cavern on the Barrens. Ardel felt relived. He was obviously forgiven.

After a week spent travelling through the mountains he had to admit that he didn’t mind the troll’s presence as much as he thought he will. That he actually came to like her. It was slightly disconcerting.

‘What happened dan’?’ Zangah asked, eagerly leaning forward. Ardel took a deep breath, prepared to plunge ahead with the story. The troll didn’t have any delusions that all his words were true – she listened to and told too many tales in taverns or by the fire for that. Everyone liked to present their adventures the most gripping way possible, but not all was as talented as her elf.
‘We continued towards the heart of Deatholme. The land there is ruined and wasted. Unnumbered mindless undead swarm the place… the first fight was behind us but we knew it was only the beginning. But we couldn’t rest, couldn’t falter. We knew that if we can’t slay Dar’Khan, our beloved land will never be freed from the Scourge.’ He pressed a hand to his hart, his pretty face a bit flushed, green eyes ablazed, as he described how they cut through the field horded with undead, necromants and other vile creatures to finally reach the evil elf hosed at the main building.
‘Our comrades had fallen and now it was only the three of us. The quest seemed impossible – but we had no other choice that to try to slay the evil no matter how slim our chances were. Covering the others I surged forward in the dark dungeon…’
He is positively pretty, Zangah decided. Not just simply handsome. Not what her kind usually thought manly – by trollish standards he was too short, had too refined features, his voice was too soft. Although there must be a muscled body under that armor he never took off. Even though she found the plate helm so much lighter then she expected when she picked it up, to wear the whole set still had to require a strong physic. If only there would be a reason for him to take it down, she could check…
‘…finally, when I thought all hope lost, there was an opening and I stuck – impaling Dar’Khan on my sword…’
Zangah sighed. ‘Impaling, eh? You must be really good at dat.’
Frowning at the interruption, the elf gave a slow nod. ‘I am. I had to chance to practice in my years of duty…’
‘Practice is good,’ Zangah gave him her least threatening smile. ‘Practice makes perfect, ain’t it?’ She stretched out languidly. She took off her chest armor for the rest and she could feel her shirt clinging to her breast and stomach as she moved. She gave the elf a coy glance – his eyes burned in a deeper shade of green as he watched her. ‘Come on love,’ she urged him in her mind ‘take your clue finally.’
But he didn’t. Looking away he cleared his throat and continued with his story and Zangah had to stifle a frustrated groan.
They had been playing this game for days. Zangah found the elf good looking and entertaining (if a bit garrulous) and saw no reason why they shouldn’t make this long journey to Tanaris a lot more pleasurable for both of them. Her first initiations didn’t receive a reaction at all, but from time to time, she still caught him looking. She knew that look - she recognized it even on an elven face. So they seemed to set up a routine - Zangah would flirt, Ardel would look interested – just to pretend a second later that nothing happened. The troll was first flummoxed but quickly decided that she won’t lose to an elf who was playing hard to get. She will have him make the first move.
Only it seemed he required a more obvious hint. Zangah hid her grin behind her hand. She just knew what to do. They were nearing the ghat between Silithus and Un’goro. After they pass through a series of warm watered pool will welcome them. It would be stupid not to stop to wash the sand of the desert from their bodies. Sighing contently at her plan she let herself doze off to the melodious voice of her companion.

Ardel stared at the troll unbelievingly and repeated his question louder at the second time. No answer. She did fall asleep while he was talking to her.
‘Bloody troll,’ he muttered, more than unhappy with her at the moment. First the crude coquetting, now this. He watched as her chest rose and fall evenly. She was sleeping as peacefully as they were in The Royal Exchange. She even took her armor off, and how stupid was that? Silithus had proven itself too dangerous to be so relaxed. No matter how sticky, smelly and uncomfortable it was, he didn’t take off his plate chest and leg guards since he arrived here - and there she was, sleeping in nothing but leather trousers and a light shirt. Even the front lace of the shirt wasn’t properly done in. The curves of her blue breasts were well-defined and become even more prominent every time she breathed in…
‘Stop staring at her boobs, you moron,’ he told himself strictly, but only did so when he felt the first sting of arousal in his groin.
Disgusted with himself he stood up and turned away. ‘This isn’t happening,’ he thought ‘you are NOT going to get excited over a troll.’ Letting out a deep breath he tried to will his uncomfortable arousal away. Ardel had been considered quite a ladies’ man at home, but he had never slept with anyone not from his own race. ‘And you aren’t going to start it now,’ he reminded himself ‘Just think what would your friends at Silvermoon say, you would never live it down.’
He could easily picture their astonished and disgusted faces. They couldn’t even comprehend why he wanted to leave Silvermoon City in the first place. He could still see Aelna, as she looked at him with a frown on her lovely face as she questioned his sanity for wanting to travel to Kalimdor. There is nothing there, she told him, just ugly scenery and foul creatures. Her tone didn’t forbear any doubt, although she never travelled farer than Fairbreeze Village.
As she couldn’t make him change his mind, she had her revenge. She attended Ardel’s good bye party with Marthen Lightsong, the son of one of the richest merchants in the city on her side, although she and Ardel were considered to be a couple for over a year.
When Ardel, at that time quite tipsily, questioned her, she laughed coldly and asked if he expected her to be faithful to him given the circumstances. He didn’t, but it would have been nice of her to actually wait until he left…
Shaking himself, Ardel returned to the present. He no longer felt arousal, just a creeping annoyance at all the women of Azeroth in general and a slight pity for himself. No wonder he was so keyed up – he hardly had any release since he left home, and most of those were just the solitary kind.
He glanced at the troll, taking into account everything why he shouldn’t have sex with her. One - her tusks which were quite prominent as her lips were party open in sleep. Two - her very un-elfish red hair which fall down to her lean but muscled arms. Three - her three fingered hand resting on the handle of her battle axe, which belied her relaxed pose. Four – the sleeping Silthid at her unbooted feet. He had to admit despite all her trollishness she was still not an unappealing sight, but she also looked so alien, that he found he could enforce his resolve. He will make sure nothing is going to happen between them.
Cheered up a bit at his own unfaltering character Ardel sat down to keep vigil for the first part of the night.
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Culture Clash