The Employed Hero

Like finding an unexpected twenty in the wash, The Wandering Author has procured another chapter! Full of action, romance, and all that kind of thing!

In all honesty, I am becoming rapidly attached to this story, so expect updates regularly :)

Anyway, enjoy!

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“Where are we going?” Claire had asked as the two of them walked along the carved street of the small city of Ratchet.

“Ultimately, I am taking you to Theramore,” Sloane stated after catching the eye of an inquisitive Goblin, “for now, you need clothing.”

He walked with her to a shop across the way. He knew it to be a tailoring shop, although the name eluded him.

“What'll you have, fine-”

The forest green Goblin woman across the counter cut off suddenly once her garnet eyes caught side of the weakened Human leaning upon his greater frame.

“I have just the thing for you!” she said with a sly grin; something the Goblins were never in short supply of.

She rummaged in a folded pile of assorted wears behind her and out of sight of Sloane or Claire. At last, she emerged to the counter, slapping a pair of strange fabric onto the counter.

“I'm sure you can have a whole lot of fun with this!” she said with a wide smile.

Sloane picked the clothing from the surface and eyed it for a few curious moments. Realizing it's nature, as well as what this Goblin was suggesting by offering such a thing to him, caused him to slap the material back down.

“She has no use for something such as this,” Sloane said while staring into the Goblin's face intently, “I said clothing.”

Small green fingers curled around the set of elegant lingerie upon the counter.

“I have many things for many tastes-”

“She is free,” Sloane replied harshly, his brow narrowed, “she will not be having her body ravaged in any way.”

The being's eyes widened for a moment.

“Alright,” she managed to say in a nonchalant tone, but Sloane knew she was heavily intimidated, “how about a nice, simple dress. Very covering and supportive.”

“That will do,” he replied simply while he waited impatiently for her to procure the desired outfit.

He snatched it from her hands the moment she offered it to him.



It unfurled into a long, cotton dress. Although it was a monotone fabric, small ruffles spread outward at the sleeves and ankles.

He turned to Claire, still remaining firmly pressed to his side for support.

“Try this,” he muttered to her as he handed her the outfit. She took it with a free hand and hobbled to a separate room behind the counter.

“How much for it?” Sloane then asked the smallish being before him.

“Fifty silver, standard issue,” she replied, all business at this point.

“Deal,” he replied quickly as he handed her the money.



Sloane waited, a bit awkwardly, for Claire to emerge from the back room. At last, the door creaked open to reveal her.

Sloane had never considered the stubborn pink skins to be of any mark of beauty, but he couldn't help but swallow a harsh wad of saliva at the sight of her. It was a perfect fit. The cloth contoured to her lithe body, adding volumes of beauty and grace to her form. The ruffles seemed to flutter with her every minuscule movement, the bottom spinning outward as she turned to face him.

“Is it a fit?” Sloane asked her as she approached him.

He was never particularly well versed in women's desires for fine fabrics, nor did he care to be. To him, clothing was merely a commodity that one uses to avoid nakedness.

“It's perfect,” she replied back with a grin.

It was a compound smile, he pondered. One of joy, serenity, gratefulness and kindness all rolled into one pair of curled lips.



Sloane offered his side for her to grab a hold of.

“I'll be fine,” she replied to him, “I want to stand on my own.”

Perhaps the bandage he had applied was working it's magic, he thought with a mental grin. Any injury that was covered with a Netherweave bandage always appeared to heal a great deal quicker, he thought to himself briefly.

“It's all paid for, Miss Claire,” Sloane stated to her as he turned to leave the small shop.

Two words stopped him.

“Thank you,” she had said, the statement being of the purest of sincerity.

He turned to look at her beaming face. He nodded awkwardly, then exited.



She emerged a moment later. Sloane noticed her to be walking quite a deal smoother than before. Still, a favor was placed upon one of her feet over the other. They shared a glance at for a fleeting moment.

“Let's get moving,” Sloane stated to shatter the silence, “The Barrens is a three day's travel, at best.”

She nodded to him, they beginning their journey down the road leading out of Ratchet.



“You don't have to tell me if you do not wish,” Claire began as they began up a small incline while following the winding road, “but why did you decide to help me?”

Sloane bowed his head for a moment, his shuffling feet greeting his eyes.

“My sister,” he began in a slow and thoughtful tone, “she was taken from us by the Slave Cargo. She was but a child then.”

A pause. He could tell the words hit her profoundly.

“I am the same way,” she finally managed to declare, “I was sold by my father when I was only five.”

Sloane did not reply. He found no necessity to.



The Slave Cargo was an underground, yet completely legal business, as he knew it. Goblins were usually the primary owners of these businesses, although he knew of Orc and even the stocky Gnomes to partake in the trade. Struggling families could sell an unnecessary sibling for gratuitous pay to be subjected to physical labor, housekeeping and sexual needs. Sloane had hoped his sister, Sasul, had not been subjected to the same treatment this woman beside him has.

“All I have known is rape and torture,” Claire went on somberly, her eyes heavy with tears.

Sloane remained silent.

“I'm sorry,” she rebounded, “I do not wish to impart my past upon you. I am grateful for you kindness.”

“You are welcome,” he said while looking to her, “I merely ask for one thing in return.”

He felt her eyes on him, probably guessing that he wished for some favor of the flesh.

“When I leave you in Theramore,” he began, “train. Become strong. Don't let them take you back willingly. Do you understand me?”

She nodded her head quickly, relief spreading onto her lovely face.

“It's a deal,” she replied with a wide grin.



They traveled for several hours. Although Sloane had been fairly cold to this woman when they first began, over the many long minutes of exhausting travel he had found himself to gradually be warming up to this being. Perhaps it was the intense heat going to his head, he thought. Despite his usual demeanor with people, especially Alliance, he was sharing a few of his more profound war stories with her and comedic tales.

“So it wasn't that he had stolen the wrong ship,” he said in conclusion to Claire, having to raise his voice a bit over her giggling, “he hadn't stolen anything at all.”

She erupted into a barrage of frenzied laughter, causing his own lips to turn upward. Listening to her laugh made him smile, oddly.



Evening came unpredictably quick. A wondrous sunset settled upon the mountainous horizons and greeting the two of them with warm hues of gold and red.

“It's funny,” Claire said as they both stared upward at the skies, “the Alliance and Horde both claim to hate one another and enjoy completely separate things. Yet here we are, staring into a sunset.”

Sloane did not say anything in response, although it did hold truth.



The sounds of night settled into their surroundings, even before the last spec of sunlight eased below the mountains. Crickets chirped, toads bellowed a melange of tones in a nearby oasis, a beetle scuttled past them and into a nearby burrow. The sights and sounds swirled about Sloane, bringing about a relative calm within him.



Night, at last, fell on the desolate terrain. The heat soon followed. Ever since a child, Sloane had known The Barrens to be immensely hot and humid during the days and freezing cold once the sun went down. His breath was already crystallizing before him, causing bits of his beard to develop a thin layer of frost. His head turned briefly to see Claire, her arms drawn tightly into herself. He was grateful for his armor, it would hold in heat for hours from the day.

“Let's camp,” he stated in the dim light, “we can continue in the morning.”

He saw her head nod, although no words left her lips. This weather was probably unnatural for a Human, he thought, whom spent most of their time within the warm and lush forests of Elwynn.



They had found an area of cleared sand, beside a large plains tree, and halted. Sloane reached for a bag upon his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. He quickly reached and pulled out a folded and thick blanket. He spread it along the floor, then went to work on removing his armor.



As he finished with his large and immensely heavy axe, which he lied beside the remainder of his plate covering, he sat upon the center of the large square of material.

“I only have this one blanket,” he stated to Claire, who was standing over him, “it will undoubtedly be a long night for a Human. Orcs are accustomed to this kind of weather.”

“I will be fine,” was her response.



He could tell she was extremely uncomfortable about the entire idea. Her lips were pursed together tightly, her eyes narrow.

She quickly lied herself on the farthest corner she could find. Away from him.



Sloane shrugged and lied upon the blanket himself. He propped his hands beneath his head and stared upward at the streaks of stars in the night sky while he waited for sleepiness to take him. A lone wolf let out a cry in the far distance, coupled with it's pack. His mind drifted from one lazy thought to the next as a chilled wind blew past him. Another, closer sound began ringing in his ears. He turned his head to find the source almost immediately. A shivering, whimpering Claire was a few feet away from him, her face turned away.



He chewed on his cheek for a few moments, thinking. A loud, raspy sigh left him; why were Humans so stubborn? If only Humans could somehow harness their powers of supreme stubbornness to a proper use, they could accomplish wondrous things, he thought.



His hands wrapped slowly around her middle as he picked her up from the blanket effortlessly and drew her closer to him. She was only suffering needlessly, he thought. Why be freezing when a warm body lie directly beside you? Humans are interesting creatures indeed, he pondered.

As he lied her down beside him, her shivers halted almost immediately. Sloane looked to her for a moment, then back at the skies.



The next moment, utter chaos. A loud scream escaped the woman's lips, coupled with her mad frenzy to roll away from him. Sloane drew his arms away from her, as if he had caused her immense pain somehow. At last, she spun around to look at him with wild eyes and ragged breath. He stared back, her expression mirrored upon his own face.

“I'm sorry,” she quickly said, her breath returning to her slowly, “I thought I was-”

He waited silently for her to continue.

“Nothing,” she stated after a few moments, her eyes closed, “I will be fine on my own.”

She rolled away from him again, leaving his surprised expression unattended.



Minutes passed, and still, Sloane was conscious. He merely watched the sky; it had always required much time for him to grow tired. The quivering and shaking of Claire returned to his ears, but he ignored it. She did not wish to be disturbed.

“Sloane?” he heard her voice wash over his eardrums a few stoic moments later.

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry about my behavior,” she said, a bit awkwardly.

He turned to see she was now facing him, her blue eyes sparkling from the light of the moon.

“It is alright,” he replied, “no harm was done.”

“Now I'm cold,” she then stated, suggesting the obvious.

He let his arm fall toward her, in an offering gesture. She quickly accepted it, scooting towards him and resting her head upon his bicep.



Her soft body pressed into his loosely. He gazed down to see her smiling back at him.

“Thank you,” she replied, then shut her eyes and rested her head upon his arm.

He would have laughed out loud, had a being not been attempting sleep directly beside him. The Horde was taught to always treat Alliance with the utmost hatreds and prejudice, yet here he was, in intimate contact with one of the Orc's most vicious enemies, since the days his ancestors were forced to work for The Burning Legion and fight against these creatures.



Another harsh swallow elicited from his throat as he felt her warm breasts pushing into his lightly clothed stomach. Orcish women were never this smooth, he thought, never this gentle...



What was he thinking? Was he considering this woman, of whom was not even part of his same affiliation, let alone of the same race, to have romantic qualities?

He forced the thoughts back as sleepiness approached him in a torrent. He hadn't normally been able to sleep this easily, he thought. Something was amiss. Something was different.