Wanderlust

Chapter 13

The journey, while ripe with potentiality and hope, proved to be a tragically uneventful event just as he had predicted. The pack Kodos were strong, but slow, perfect for hauling goods and ensuring that they stayed put instead of jostling about and ending up in pieces by the time they arrived at their destination. Terrible, however, for providing a restless Troll with any kind of amusement on a long trek through a painfully drab landscape. Enoki slumped miserably in his seat in various positions, either counting the Zhevras and Giraffes or watching the tawny, sun browned hills rolling past and trying to count the scraggly trees dotting them; anything to prevent his brain from wandering back toward Jyota.

Though thinking about not thinking about Jyota only made him think about Jyota more and with literally nothing better to occupy his thoughts they turned to the violet-haired hunter yet again. Never before in his short life had the Shaman felt so betrayed, furious, and utterly alone. When his grandfather had died there was at least the rousing thought of his grand journey to find his beautiful, elusive love. He had drive, passion and purpose with the role of the adventurous young hero to play. When he had found Jyota so soon he still had the game of their exciting courtship, of finding ways around their duties to steal away and claim one moment of romance for just the two of them. With Jyota gone everything he had ever imagined for himself was gone with him.

Enoki never really saw himself in the military and nothing had changed. In fact the prospect of signing up for another tour of duty, doing the exact same things and living in the exact same place made him nearly physically ill. It was all he could do to keep from leaning over the side of the cart and retching amidst strings of colorful curse words. He only briefly entertained the thought that perhaps he could go home. All that was waiting for him there were memories long gone, an empty house, and nothing to do. There was still the possibility of Gor’rik’s cryptic message to him the night prior in the store house, but he had yet to clearly decipher what exactly he meant.

It was a veritable toss up between either covertly trying to tell him he was a failure of a solider and he was better off leaving the Barrens and taking up pottery or basket weaving, or trying to tell him that no one really wanted him around other than Jyota and now that they were no longer an item it was best for everyone if he just left. Either option made him spark with anger without even meaning to, which spooked the Kodos and nearly caused them to run off the road and toward a pride of very hungry looking lions. Finally, Enoki decided it was better to just imagine what Ratchet and the sea must look like as hard as he possibly could and put everything else from his mind.

The Troll spent the rest of the journeying for that day with his eyes focused on his forgotten horizon and a re-envisioned adventure to lands unknown weaving itself into colorful mental being. When night fell, he pulled the cart off the road and under a plump, squat tree with a vast canopy of spindly branches and curled into the cargo area under a coarse blanket to sleep. Long ago, he imagined as he drifted off, adventurers from Kalimdor must have traveled the same route he did to get to the sea, wide-eyed and eager to see what lay beyond. He dreamt of the salty spray in his face and through his hair, the call of gulls triumphant in the air around him to herald the start of his voyage, guided on a grand ship by the stars that watched over him as he slept.

Morning only brought back the dry and dusty heat of the Barrens’ sun with the agitated lowing of the Kodos eager to get moving. Reluctantly, Enoki splashed a little water on his face, brushed back his hair, and gave his beasts of burden a small breakfast of dried grain before they continued their exodus to the Goblin city by the sea. Enoki chewed a bit of dried jerky as they rode, not wanting to waste more time than they had to, and turned his emerald eyes up to the sky for the second leg of his trip. Dusty golden grasses, wildlife he had seen every day of his life for a year, and the endless sprawl of unremarkable topography were inadequate entertainment for even one day’s journey, much less a second, so Enoki laid himself across the driver’s seat, folded his arms behind his head and let the Kodos pilot themselves with the reins held loosely between his two toes.

The sky above The Barrens was an endless and clear cornflower blue with but a few long wispy strands of white draped against it. Enoki had loved watching clouds back in much milder climated Mulgore where they sat fat and thick overhead and constantly morphed into fascinating patterns and shapes. Often it was to shirk training, or just for the sake of laziness and hiding from Inali’s yammering if only for an afternoon, but frequently it was more to clear his own mind. Immersing himself in nothing but blue and white and listening to the soft whispers of the wind transported him to a different world. He could almost hear the stories of places the gentle breezes had been in common tongues. Sometimes he even swore he could smell exotic foods and spices, hear the calls of creatures he had only heard tales of, or languages of people he knew nothing about.

That place between the heavens and the earth Inali had taught him was a sacred place, and as a young whelp he had been able to feel it. Even though the cart bumped and jostled beneath him, and the wind smelled only of dust he remembered, and let himself be transported. Eventually, Enoki dozed, and the sun wheeled unrelenting across the sky and took the day along with it. As it approached the horizon on the west side of the world it trailed a fiery train of much thicker clouds in its wake; clouds unknown to the sun baked savannah. The smell of salt and cool mist wove themselves into the quickening breeze, and as Enoki roused from drifting in and out of sleep, a flash of motion and a flurry of wings high above brought him wide-eyed out of the realm of dreams.

A flock of soaring black and white gulls sailed overhead, calling to each other and riding the coastal eddies with all the ease and confidence of a dragon. Enoki sat bolt upright at the sight and watched them for but a moment before the cart crested the gentle slope of the hill and unveiled the bustling inlet of water that was the port of Ratchet.

Proud ships’ masts pierced into the strata across the entire shoreline with their crisp sails neatly furled, rigging making a dizzying maze, and their flags billowing in the wind. They bore colors from every nation on Azeroth, being a neutral port, and as he drew closer Enoki could see patrons of every race and creed patrolling the streets. Goblins scurried around them all, handing out pamphlets and coupons, standing on soapboxes with megaphones and mechanical creatures at their beck and call and pushing unwilling patrons into their stores. Their city was jammed in tight against the sharp decline down to the ocean with eclectic buildings covered in advertisements. Gears and cogs controlled all manner of cockamamie machinery and thickly smoking pipes spewed merrily into the air. Near the shore there was even a building topped with the biggest, most crooked spyglass the young Troll had ever seen in his life; its lens slowly swiveling and surveying the ocean for potential customers.

Enoki grinned. His heart raced with renewed excitement and he snapped the reins of his kodo to drive them faster onward. As he passed a young female Goblin barked a welcome at him, as well as something about keeping his nose clean, but he paid her no heed. All he wanted to do was inspect and explore the city unlike anything he had ever seen. The crowds milling about the streets parted for the Horde cart willingly and swallowed him into the tide of life teeming through the entire port.

Everywhere he looked there were sights, sounds, smells, and sensations that outshone even the bustling hub that The Crossroads was when he first entered it. As he forged his way deeper, toward the hill upon which the inn was nestled comfortably, a shady looking human man with a tri-corner hat, a sharp face, and an equally sharp looking black dog at his heels used his cart to vanish from the eyes of the guards watching him. Enoki turned over his shoulder just in time to see the tail end of his cape and the tail of his dog pass into a side door of a shop, and for a rather imposing looking Draenei with a scarred lip and standoffish countenance to close it and return to his sentry post with his thick arms crossed over his barrel chest. Enoki had never seen the towering, hoofed creatures from a distant world, and he gawked unashamed until someone screeched at him to look where he was going. The natural reply was, of course, to snap irritatedly to the Forsaken man to watch where he was going in turn, and the two squared off until the cart had passed and the hunched, skeletal character decided he had more important matters than teaching some upstart Troll manners.

The cart continued bumping happily along the road and drew closer to the actual docks and the coastline of the crystal clear blue water. On its journey it passed more colorful characters that made up the fabric of a port town: a dwarf with a peg leg and a smoking pipe telling a group of enthralled looking travelers what appeared to be a very tall tale, a bent old Troll in a darkened hut with incense oozing bright, oily green smoke and caressing a crystal ball, a group of old, gray seafaring retirees of all races sitting around some cargo boxes, playing cards and playfully accusing each other of cheating, and finally a line of women standing under a bright crimson awning lined in gold fringe and elaborate tassels. They were all dressed in only the finest, most revealing, and enticing of outfits to show off their ample bosoms, perfect cleavage and tantalizing curves, but even as Enoki gawked openly at them their attention was rapt elsewhere.

A tall, striking Troll was leaned roguishly against the wall beside them; flirting shamelessly and delighting in the chorus of giggles he was getting. He was dressed from head to toe in jet-black leather, and what could be seen of his skin was dark violet and riddled with scars. His handsome face was pleasant and his smile easy and beguiling, all of it framed in wild, unkempt teal hair that looked windswept even under the protective awning away from the coastal breezes. The left side of his face was split by a jagged, angry looking scar, his ruined eye concealed by a battered patch, but it only seemed to add to his charming and mysterious airs and make the women more drawn to him. A particularly puckish and brazen Blood Elf pointed to a wanted poster nailed into the wall beside the entrance of the shop they were loitering beside and everyone, including Enoki, turned to see it bore a striking resemblance to the man they were all so entranced with.

A few giggles, teasing shakes of their hips and breasts, and puckered lips toward a wanted criminal were enough to finally get the attention of the Bruisers, however. The one-eyed Rogue was forced to grin, bow, and offer his ladies a promise of later that night before he tore off down the street, laughing, the armed Goblin guards in hot pursuit. Enoki grinned to himself and cupped his hands over his mouth to tell the stranger to run for it. Anyone bold enough to flirt under his own wanted poster more than deserved to get away with it, he thought.

Ratchet was certainly not the same type of city Enoki was used to, but for that he loved it all the more. He could have spent the rest of the day perched in his cart simply watching the cast of characters passing through, but the fact that he had that bulky, embarrassing cart with him and that he was dressed in the unmistakable raiment of a Barrens guard reminded him there were matters to attend to. He certainly couldn’t be mistaken for any of the seasoned adventurers heading off to the next leg of their endless journeys. A twinge of cold jealousy crept up his spine, and he forced his attention away from the colorful life teeming around him and headed up to the inn to check in.

Gor’rik had promised him one night in the inn, and damned if he wasn’t going to make good on that. He desired to stay gone as long as he possibly could, and as much as he hated to admit it his commander had been right. The busy port was thrilling for him. He had delighted in even entering the place, and he was actually looking forward to going shopping, even if it had to be in his uniform. If he got all his duties done that meant the more time he could spend simply looking around and shopping for himself, so the moment he had a key and a room promised to him he struck out into the city.

Gor’rik’s list was fairly straightforward. Foodstuffs, some ore, a few replacement weapons, nothing out of the ordinary. The medical supplies proved to be a bit difficult to find, but once he finally found the apothecary the surprisingly pleasant Forsaken woman had everything he needed and then some. Bag by bag and box by box he filled his wagon to capacity and merrily checked off each item on the list. By the time the sun had fully set he was finished and after taking the cart back to the inn to lock up securely with his Kodos he gathered up what was left of the money entrusted to him and headed out on foot to find a place to eat dinner. As long as he was on the Horde’s dime, he figured, he might as well.

That evening, Locke Goldbolt the tailor, owner of Goldbolt’s Adverturer’s Emporium, was just closing up shop when he smelled one last sale. The redheaded Troll dressed in the Barrens Guard armor that passed by his shop counting his gold naively in public looked as if he would rather be wearing dirty dish rags sewn together than the stifling leather and metal. It was his business to know when someone needed his services, and he hadn’t earned the name Goldbolt for nothing. The Troll looked nothing like a soldier. He wore his uniform like it was an obligation instead of an honor, and his bright emerald eyes were miles away. The perfect mark. Before Enoki could get away from him the Goblin scurried out into the streets, waving his hands and hailing him.

“Hey kid! Wait up a sec! Boy, have I got what YOU need!”

Enoki stopped in his tracks and looked around for the source of the voice, confused. Annoyed, Locke cleared his throat and tapped his thigh.

“Down here!” he insisted as pleasantly as he could muster.

The Shaman glanced down and smirked at the sight of the salesman that was all smiles despite the insult.

“Oh, dere yah are, whatcha want?’ he asked, holding back a laugh.

Locke grinned a suave, slick grin and put his hands on his hips pointedly.

“Oh, it isn’t what I want… It’s what you want. Like I said. I think I have JUST what you need,” the Goblin continued with a thumb over his shoulder toward his shop.

Enoki looked up, and his eyes met with the words emblazoned in bold, inviting red and gold above the shop’s door. For a moment it seemed unreal. That store with its quirky, crooked lettering and racks filled with the beautiful clothes only legendary heroes from campfire stories wore could not possibly exist in real life. Life was sand, an itchy, uncomfortable hammock and flavorless stewed beef eaten off of a tin plate. Life was shades of orange and brown tinting backbreaking, sweaty, tedious labor. Life was looking off into the horizon and wishing he were someplace else, anyplace else. Locke watched the longing flickering over Enoki’s face and steepled his fingers greedily.

“Go on in! Take a look around! I’m sure you’ll find something that suits your fancy,” he crooned.

Enoki merely smirked.

“In case yah hadn’t noticed, pal. I be stuck in dis get-up. What de hell use would a soldier have fah dis stuff anyway?” he scoffed.

Undaunted, Locke spread his arms invitingly toward his wares.

“Even a soldier has need for a proper traveling outfit!” he chirruped, “Why, think if you were dispatched up to Winterspring? Or even across the sea to Stranglethorn Vale? To Alterac Valley? Soldiers never remain at one station too long, and how would you fare in your journey in that meager outfit? Preposterous! And besides! What happens if you quit the military hmmm? You should be prepared for anything!”

Enoki’s lips twisted amusedly as he half listened to the Goblin’s enthusiastic sales pitch. He was doubtless that the Horde would provide proper traveling gear for him should he be transferred elsewhere. No one he knew back at the Barracks had much else other than perhaps a coat for the occasional storms over the Barrens, but even still, he found himself drifting into the store. There was no harm in just looking, after all. The clothes and gear inside were like nothing he had ever seen and if he could spend just a moment of escapism trying them on it would be worth listening to the high-pitched living advertisement following him inside.

The store was appropriately decorated in all manner of gear one would think to find in a so-called Adventurer’s Emporium. The walls were papered in old, peeling maps, old art of well-known travelers, explorers and heroes. Trophy heads, guns, swords, and even horns and antlers occupied the rest of the free space. The floor was packed from wall to wall with racks of any and all types of armor Enoki could even think of. There were tunics, pants, undershirts and cloaks in every color of the rainbow and every pattern imaginable. Touches of décor from every race in the world seemed to grace each rack as well. Some boasted wolf fur cloaks with Orcish war patterns, others tunics with elegant gold embroidery of phoenixes and the sun, cool purples with feathers and glyphs of the moon and stars, even proud lions, crossed hammers, and gears.

Locke had learned long ago that Ratchet was a neutral port, and as any good Goblin would he strove to please literally any potential customer that could possibly come through his door. Enoki gawked in complete rapture of his life’s work, unable to get enough of the colors, spices, and flares from every corner of Azeroth. Sensing the awe in his young patron he grinned and puffed out his chest proudly.

“Impressive, no? I designed some of this, some of it I actually traded for! I’ve got real Dwarf, Human, Orc, and yes, even Elf made stuff in here! The real deal!” he piped.

If Enoki heard him, he gave no indication, and was content to drift off and vanish into the jungle of fabrics without another word. He ran his hands through every rack as he passed. Fur, silk, leather, chain mail, even plate caressed his hands in return and glittered tauntingly in his wake. He picked up tunics, pants, and capes and held them up to his body, laughing when they were ridiculous and smiling sadly when he could almost see himself donning it each day. The occasional mirror reflecting a mere Barrens guard was always there, however, to remind him of why he was in Ratchet to begin with.

Enoki tried to ignore them and enjoy himself, but each time he found a rare article that excited him it seemed another reflection was always waiting. Even the most glorious of cloaks still betrayed the spiked pauldrons underneath, awkward and bulky over his broad shoulders with the points of metal mockingly denting it. The fur-lined ankle wraps still showed in the floor length mirrors no matter what he held against his body, and no matter what the fabric and how tight he pressed it the leather of his harness always touched him first.

Slowly, tragically, what had been a thrilling delve into escape became a grim reminder of fate. He had nowhere and no one to go to. All he had was the Barrens. It loomed, dark and malicious, on his horizons and blurred the light into a hazy, endless sea of dusk. Disheartened and unable to bear the disappointment, he put down the coat of chain mail he had been holding and turned toward the door to go with a sigh, but as he turned, one last flash of red caught his eye and silently beckoned him to stay. He paused, and gazed slowly up along the tailor’s dummy garbed in the most singularly glorious regalia Enoki had ever had the privilege to gaze upon.

It began with a pair of simple, cuffed black leather ankle wraps laid carefully against the stand that buckled at the ankle and calf and were secured with a few leather straps that wound haphazardly around them. Next came the pants, which only reached mid-calf and were dyed a rich earthen brown and accented in brilliant geometric green obviously Troll designed patterns. A strip of the chain mail lining them could be seen through a decorative slit down the outside of each thigh, and they were tied off with a simple black leather belt with a tribal clasp. The belt also held the piece of sheer beauty that had caught his attention in the first place. Astride the narrow hips of the dummy sat an asymmetrical leather kilt that swept down over the back of the legs to the knees and then wrapped around to cover only the right one. The color of the leather was a lighter dye than the pants and the tunic, but the bottom of it was vividly ablaze with tribal flames tooled and dyed so intricately they could have burned the rest of the outfit to cinders. To finish it off the whole thing was topped with a matching leather tunic that fastened flat against the right side of his body to line up with the kilt, and the most striking element of all; a billowing, plain red cloak with a hood that wrapped around the shoulders and upper part of the body, and then split down the right side and flared out heroically.

Locke was about to bodily block the door as best he could to entice the Troll to reconsider leaving, but grinned as one of his most prized sets captivated him instead. He hurried over and gestured to it with the outmost of pride which still did not stray the enraptured emerald eyes.

“Ah yes! One of my very finest pieces. All the finest leather lined with mithril! This was given to me by a Darkspear Shaman a year or so ago, on his way to devote his life to the Warchief in Orgrimmar and the sprits and what have you and no longer needing his traveling clothes. He drove a hard bargain that one, but I managed to get the clothes for a good price! Afraid I can’t let them go for TOO little, seeing as how fine they are and all, but I’d be more than happy to go back and draw up some installment plans we can discuss? I’ll even put on a pot of coffee how’s that sound? In fact why don’t I even see if I’m still running a special on buy a set, get the boots free! Seeing as these don’t even have soles I can’t in good faith charge you full price for boots anyway!”

The Goblin prattled on, but Enoki again heard absolutely nothing of what he said. All he could see, all he could hear, all he could feel, were those clothes on him, a wandering, traveling Shaman with nothing but the sky above and the ground underneath Zynn’s feet, riding off into the sunset with that beautiful cape like a train of fire behind him. Finally, everything made sense.

Gor’rik had always seen the wanderlust in him, it was Enoki who had denied it. It had been given many names over the years. Inali had called it youth. Cygnus had called it destiny. On his own he had called it Jyota, but now he finally understood what it truly was. It was his calling, a deep, ancient, beautiful call of the earth to wander and see it all. It was never about youthful restlessness, it was never about finding his place in the world, and it was especially never about Jyota. His soul yearned to be free and wild as the elements themselves and all the sorrow in his small world had come from trying to cage himself. No longer, he promised himself, as his fists curled tightly at his sides and the long forgotten bold, reckless grin spread across his lips.

He would cage himself no longer.

“I’ll take it,” Enoki finally interjected into Locke’s haggling with himself.

The Goblin stopped himself, eyes wide.

“You’ll- Whu huh?” he spluttered, “But we haven’t set a price!”

Enoki threw his head back and laughed wildly, turning to face Locke with a devious glint in his eye.

“I don’ care. I said I’ll take it! All of it! Wrap it up nice in a box an’ have it up at de in tomorrow mornin’ first thing!” he continued, and proceeded to drop his entire sack of coins at the feet of the astounded clothier.

Locke’s eyes greedily reflected the flash of gold as the coins leapt cheerily from the bag and splashed back in against themselves. He grinned and swept in a low, humble bow to quickly snatch the burlap container up before the patron could change his mind.

“Yes sir! Of course sir! First light I will be there!”

Enoki allowed the Goblin to scurry off victoriously while he remained to look at his new effects lovingly. He reached out and laid a hand gently on the bright silver clasps holding the mail-lined leather tunic shut, noting then they were shaped like tribal curls of air, and smirking.

“See yah tomorrow…” he murmured to the clothes, turned, and was gone.

After all, he still had to eat dinner, and if he could, catch the weapon smith before it was closed for the night as well.

Running as fast as his legs could carry him through the darkening streets of Ratchet toward the all too familiar smell of sulfur and hot iron, Enoki did find the blacksmith. Though they had stopped working for the day, they were still at the shop sitting back and enjoying a pipe and a drink of good crisp bourbon before retiring for the night. The sooty, burly Goblins were more than happy to allow Enoki to look at the wares they had available for sale, however, and joked with him as he perused. Axes were what he was most accustomed to, having been trained by Orcs for the most part, and it was on the rack of freshly forged axes that he found just what he was looking for.

A pair of light, nimble twin axes with blades like a breath of wind and decorated to represent the eastern and the western currents hung and twinkled invitingly as the street lamps were lit behind him. They instantly reminded him of the clasps that held his new beloved tunic together. Without a second thought Enoki handed over the last of his own savings to make them his.

Too broke to afford dinner, but tingling with excitement, Enoki carried his new weapons back to the inn to see what food he could salvage from his travel rations. Though he found himself almost too excited to eat, and after forcing himself to choke down just a hard biscuit he laid down and curled up to just go to sleep and greet the dawn that much sooner. A feeling like no other wrapped itself warmly around him as he drifted off with a wicked grin on his lips for the first time in years.

Before him lay the life he had always wanted, deep down, but had never embraced. He always had some dream to chase, some idea, some calling, some plan. It was not until that day he realized he didn’t need a plan, and that not having one was what he yearned for. He would find ways to survive, make money, eat, and get by, he wasn’t the least bit worried about that. All that mattered to him anymore was the euphoric feeling of freedom the mere idea of leaving the Barrens brought him. He could go wherever he wanted, see whatever he wanted, be anything he wanted. At last he could see the places the winds and waters had whispered about scantly to tease him. He could taste the exotic foods he sometimes smelled, hear the music, see the people, be a part of the planet in its entirety instead of living out his existence as a cardinal point on a map, fixed and unmoving. His fire would consume Azeroth and all of its wonders at last.

He was free.