The Employed Hero

With the weekend comes free time, and with free time comes boredom...I think you can figure out the rest!

Next chapter, onward!

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A rustle, barely detectable amongst the soft sounds of night around them. Sloane was not one to shrug off any strange disturbance. His eyes shot open quickly as he pricked his ears for any additional noise. It was morning, the sun barely cresting a large mountain to the east. He quickly gazed down at the Human to see her slumbering peacefully. He slowly navigated his way from her light hold, to cause the least movement to wake her, and got to his feet.



He stretched his body sluggishly as his eyes scanned the dewy morning. Another, louder sound bristled in a large sticker bush to his left. He quickly leaned down and reached for his weapon with a strong grip. He would not need his armor, he thought with an overconfident grin.



The next moment, a loud shrieking squeal tore at his eardrums. A curious pig-man came charging from the brush around him with a crude looking dagger. One of the Razorbacks, he thought briefly. It stared intently into his eyes with cold, blackened irises as it came within feet of him, swinging it's dagger clumsily. Sloane dodged the attack with ease and swung his mighty blade in retaliation.



The animal-man went down quickly, dead before his limp body collided with the earth. Sloane would have grinned again. Would have, had ten or more squeals hadn't sounded in the surrounding brush. They approached him in a wall of twelve or more, each pair of eyes trained on him. Each held a similar iron dagger. Sloane now wished his thick armor adorned his body.



The wall of Razorbacks fell upon him in a frenzy of shrieks, groans and coarse fur. He felt blade after blade slice into his as he desperately attempted avoiding every attack he was able to, more and more of the enemies blood staining his weapon and face. He quickly switched his hand's placement upon the axe in his hands and curled his toes. The next instant, it became a spinning weapon as he spun within the crowd around him. Wet slicing of flesh was heard over his own grunts of exertion and pain from his injuries.



At last, it was over. He dropped the the thing in his hands and fell to his knees, amongst the dead around him. Jagged breaths left his lungs while clutching to his bleeding body.

“Overconfident fool,” he cursed at himself under his breath in Orcish.

“Sloane? What happened?” a breathless voice asked behind him.

He craned his neck to see Claire approaching him. The midmorning sun hit her golden hair, causing it to sparkle beautifully. Sent her skin glowing as well, he thought absently.

“Pig-men,” he replied back, “I should have been armored. They have been known to attack travelers.”

He let out a harsh cough.

“Where are your bags?” she asked him.

“I will be fine,” he replied, “I don't need treatment-”

He let out a loud groan as he had turned to look at her and pulled at one of his wounds. He settled back into his kneeling state.

“Next to my armor,” he answered her question.



She returned in a moment's time.

“Lie back,” she softly commanded him.

“I can do it myself,” he quickly stated to her.

“Please, allow me to repay you for freeing me,” she said while looking into his eyes, “in any way that I can.”

He let out a raspy grunt as his shoulders rested upon the cold and sandy ground. In contrast, a silky and extremely warm hand suddenly rested upon his stomach. He looked down to see Claire placing one of his bandages firmly to one of the larger of his injuries. He lifted his back a bit to allow her to wrap the material around his middle with greater ease. She quickly tied off the fabric and moved to his next wound, again placing her hand upon his skin.



“Done,” she announced sometime later.

He noticed her hand had remained upon him. In fact, he thought he felt it lightly trail over his muscled chest. He quickly sat up, their eyes locking.

“Thank you,” he finally managed to say as he got to his feet.

He offered a hand to help Claire to stand. She took it.

“You had never told me of how your feet became in that state,” Sloane asked her absently while walking over to his armor and reaching for the chest plate.

He had felt worlds better already, the bandages working their magical touch.

“There was this Tauren,” she began a bit shakily.

A long pause ensued. Sloane continued slipping armor upon himself, a bit slowly due to his tender skin.

“He had an unnatural desire for Human feet. Obsessed with them,” she continued on.

Sloane dawned his powerful shoulder pieces, the final part of the set. He preferred not to wear a helmet.

“I was forced to stroke him with them,” she said with a shaky sigh, “he bit them and-”

She was lost to her sobbing. Sloane remained there for a moment or two, contemplating. Finally, after much thought, he approached her and stooped down. With tentative movement, he placed his gloved hands upon her seemingly fragile shoulders.



The reaction caught him off guard. She leaned forward and hugged him tightly, her fingers clawing at his armor. Her entire body shook in her sobs, tears patting at the steel draped about him. He placed his hand upon her back.



Sloane had never considered himself much in the way of emotion. Whenever a being was crying or screaming in hatred, he would always rather ignore the imposition. Emotions were usually a waste of time to him, yet here he was, feeling genuine sorrow for the being within his arms. In fact, he wished to comfort her, somehow say some profound words or commit some action to assist her. It was foolish thinking indeed, he thought.



She broke away and stared into his eyes, those pools of clear blue seeming to shine.

“I am your debt for so much,” she began with a strengthening voice, “for my life.”

“Let's get you home,” was his response.

Sloane wished to close this emotional doorway within him as quickly as possible. It did not feel safe or secure; he felt vulnerable, as if entities could feed off his very soul at that moment.



He stood and approached his weapon, picking it off the ground quickly and walking back to Claire. He offered his hand again to assist her. The grip she had upon him was changed somehow, almost causing him to want to squeeze back to somehow experiment with the odd difference. It was firm, reassuring and gentle, all at the same time.



Loving?



He shook the thoughts away with a shame. Those emotions had taken their toll on him, he thought.



Their journey commenced beneath the heat of The Barrens sun once again. Although the same dry, heated air stung at Sloane's eyes, breezes of cooler, more humid air blew before them. He knew they must be growing close to Dustwallow Marsh.



The winding road eventually branched off into two paths; one leading directly ahead of them and curving outward toward the south, the other winding directly to their left. A crude looking sign was planted at the split, each road accompanied by a wooden arrow. 'Dustwallow' was etched into the left pointed arrow.

“That's the way,” Sloane stated while pointing to the sign, “stay close to me. The creatures here are much more powerful.”

He saw her nod and take a step closer. Together, they followed the sign's direction, toward the Marsh.



They had passed by a destroyed Human structure beside the road. The charred and smoked wood was an indication for Sloane of a kind of border between the two lands. He had been past this mark many times.

“Probably a three day's walk from here,” Sloane announced as he picked up his feet once more.



It was already mid afternoon as the two travelers began down the soggy and mud-caked road of Dustwallow Marsh. Sloane thought he felt Claire's eyes on him.

“Hey Sloane?” she asked, confirming his suspicion.

He looked to her. Her cheeks were flush.

“Have you ever had any women in your life?” she managed to ask after a long pause.

He blinked several times.

“Is it relevant?” he asked her in a confused tone.

She shook her head quickly.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude,” she stuttered out, her head down in shame.

“Orcs aren't sentimental beings,” Sloane answered the question, “the path of an Orc normally consists primarily upon honing one's skills and hardening their bodies to the elements. One rarely finds the extra effort necessary to have proper relationships.”

He saw her nod.

“I see,” she said weakly.

He thought he detected something strange in her demeanor. Sorrow, almost crushed hope?

“There have been cases that prove this theory wrong, however,” he finished the thought.

Her expression did not change. He shrugged and continued on.



Humans were interesting creatures indeed.