The Employed Hero

And you all thought I wasn't going to wrap up this little gem, were you? C'mon, admit it!

Anyway, this is the final chapter in this story. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I am almost a bit sad to be finally concluding.

Onward!

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“Why ye be so sore over it anyway?” the comforting, yet piercing voice of the Troll filled his head.

He halted the movement of a crudely made eating utensil upon a thick cut of seasoned meat.

“I'm not sore-”

“My tusks ye aren't, mon!” he shot back, “I don' mean te be braggin', but ye always come 'ere te be eatin' my cooking. Ye barely touch it now.”

At this, he felt a presence unbearably near his face. He looked up to see two amber irises staring back at him.

“We be friends, right?” the Troll continued on.

Sloane chuckled a bit, his eyes turning away from the being.

“I suppose I didn't give you the full story,” the Orc finally surrendered.

He felt his comrade, Zib'Jalin, to back away a bit. He looked to see him settling in the wooden chair.

“Ye know ye can share anytin' with me mon,” he replied, a bit softer then his previous tone.



Sloane sighed.

“I had worked for a Goblin awhile ago,” he began the life changing tale, “as a hired mercenary. He payed me well for my services.”

His eyes turned to the plate before him.

“I had gotten word of his death,” he continued, “he was killed by a crocolisk in Dustwallow. If he lived today, I would not be speaking with you at this moment.”

He paused for several moments to allow the information to penetrate the small room.

“I would have been forsaken with the Horde, for I committed a terrible crime, with him as the witness.”

“What that be?” Zib'Jalin asked with anticipation.

His eyelids slid over tired pupils.

“I had freed a Human woman,” he managed to say after a long silence.



He refused to look his comrade in the face, although he could imagine the expression.

“She be part of the Slave Cargo, yeah?” he continued questioning.

Sloane nodded.

“Is dat why ye be so down?” he said with a chuckle, “I won't be tellin' yer secret mon-”

“I fell in love with her,” he cut the statement short, “that was four months ago. Back at Theramore.”

The room fell to a lethal silence.

“Den I don' see da problem den,” Zib'Jalin finally said.

Sloane looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What could you possibly mean, friend?” he inquired, “A Human and a Orc are not meant to be together.”

“Da fact dat ye aren't together is the greater crime!” he answered back with raw emotion.

Sloane furrowed his eyebrows sharply. Why had Zib'Jalin taken such a strange and powerful interest?

“Why do you show such emotion?” he interrogated his comrade.



A look of shock suddenly spread across the Troll's face.

“I guess I be havin' a bit of a story te be tellin' ye then,” he said at last with a smirk.

Sloane shifted a bit in his seat uncomfortably.

“D'ere was this time, in the jungles of Stranglethorn,” he began, “I was huntin' some tigers fer a Dwarf dere. Name was Nesigvary er' somethin'. Anyway, I got myself into a heap o' trouble.”

A pause.

“Four tigers were hot on my heels as I ran; thought I be dead fer sure. Den, this woman came outta' thin air and saved me.”

“And this woman was not part of the Horde?” Sloane asked.

Zib'Jalin shook his head.

“Night Elf,” he responded slowly, as if the words were painful and laboring to be floating upon his tongue, “Aercaria was her name. She spoke Orcish fer some reason. Claimed it was taught to her long ago.”

The Troll smiled shallowly.

“Well, I be thankin' her and continued on my way,” he went on while crossing his arms over his chest, “until I went back to Booty Bay te stock up on arrows. I bumped into her dere. Just like dat', I was askin' her fer a drink at de tavern, mostly te be payin' her back for savin' me like she did.”

He closed his eyes.

“After dat, we became close friends,” the story commenced, “even though the Horde and Alliance around us gave smirks and looks of distaste, we didn't care. I was happy.”

“So why isn't this woman by your side today?” Sloane asked quickly.

“I be getting' te that,” Zib'Jalin responded with a laugh.

Sloane snorted. Patience was not something that came to him easily.



“Our friendship went beyond dat of normal confines,” he resumed the tale, “I had fallen in love wit' dis woman. It sounded crazy, even to my own self. I wanted to confess it to her.”

He shook his head slowly from side to side.

“Dat is, until I found out dat while she was helping that Nesinlury Dwarf wit' his huntin', a group of other Elves ambushed her and beat her. I figure it be my doing, on some degree, since they probably not be likin' the idea of her in my company.”

Sloane remained silent. Zib'Jalin's demeanor looked to be wavering.

“I found here out dere, all beat and bloody. All I could do was hold her crippled body, I couldn't tell her I loved her. She died in my arms, never knowin' my feelings.”

A shudder crawled down the Orc's spine.

“Don' be endin' up like me mon,” Zib'Jalin concluded with such a tone of dire as to weaken armor, “always sulkin' and wonderin' about what could 'ave been. Ye got te take a stand, even if ye be standin' alone. Love knows no bounds.”



It was at this moment, amidst the churning and swirling thoughts battling within Sloane's head, that a small sound entered his ear. Like a small, buzzing fly it refused to leave him. It had a tone of familiarity to it, and was steadily growing louder and closer.

“Do ye hear dat?” Zib'Jalin asked curiously over the silence.

Sloane nodded.

“Like a shoutin' er somethin.”

Sloane! He thought he could make out the word. It was in Common.



He shook his head as he laughed. Claire? Such a worthless, pathetic thought at this point. She was likely long gone, off to be courted by a handsome young-



“A Human has been spotted on our borders!” the harsh voice of an Orc watchman shouted from outside the hut.

Sloane's eyes went open in shock. He stared at the Troll for a fleeting moment. He smiled in response.

“It would appear dat fate itself be smilin' upon ye, mon,” he said as he stood and walked to the exit.

He snorted again. It wasn't her, he thought. Just some vagrant Human that wandered too closely to their village.



Still, he stood, his body feeling a bit alien from himself. With the movement of a Harvest Watcher, he walked to the simple flap of the hut's exit, following the footsteps of Zib'Jalin.



“Take aim!” the same voice of the Orc sounded upon Sloane's emergence from the hut.

He squinted against the bloated Barrens sunlight to see a being running towards the town. The noise of stretching sinew told him the archers were ready.

“Sloane!” the encroaching Human clearly shouted as it ran ever closer.

The words stabbed into the Orc like a knife made from sugar cane. A mixture of the sweetest pleasure combined with the darkest of horrors.



A hand rested on his shoulder.

“Go to her mon,” the words of Zib'Jalin reached him.

He did not turn back to face him.

“Hold your fire!” Sloane shouted at the archers around him.

They watched him curiously, a few dropping the tension on their bows. He wasted no additional time. His feet slammed harshly upon the dusty ground as he ran toward the Human with all the speed he could muster within his heavy armor. He thought he heard shouts behind him, but he ignored them.



As he came closer to the being, he saw it to be dawning thick looking plate armor. A long sword was in it's hands.

“Get away from me!” it shouted as Sloane was steps away.

The sword swung briskly in his direction, but he caught the being's hand before it could strike him. With a smile, he grabbed a hold of the cold steel of the warrior's helmet and slid it away. Long, flowing locks of gold fell from the covering as he quickly discarded it. The being's face immediately softened upon looked into his' with aqua blue eyes.

“Gods, I am so sorry-”

Sloane kissed her. He felt her knees growing weak under his stronger hold. Tears wet his cheek; her tears. Claire's tears.

“I couldn't stay away,” she quickly explained, “I'm sorry if I cost you your rank of the Horde, but I have renounced mine of the Alliance. I promise I will be good to you, if only-”

He cut her off a second time with a thick finger pressed to her lips. Her tears fell freely now.

“You don't need to explain your actions,” Sloane quickly countered her, “I suppose it wouldn't be completely correct to assume only Humans are the stubborn ones.”

He cupped her cheek as he kissed her a second time.

“I love you Sloane,” she said as they broke away.

His own tears began blurring his vision.

“I love you too Claire,” he replied back sincerely.



“Care explaining this disgusting behavior, Sloane?” a deep, throaty voice sounded behind him.

He furrowed his brow as he turned away from Claire's shining face. His eyes were met by the face of a crude Orc, one that led the militia of The Crossroads, he remembered.

“I am leaving this place with her,” he replied simply, “and you will not stop me.”

“As far as I see it, you have two options,” he shot back, “either be incarcerated right now and keep your title amongst our people.”

He spat on the ground.

“Or go with this worm and lose it forever,” he finished the thought with a smirk.

His arm released from Claire as he approached the Orc.

“This exile is long overdue,” Sloane said, “I was destined to be this way ever since I made that decision so long ago.”

“And what decision was that, traitor?” the Orc replied without pause.

“It is not for you to know,” he uttered.

He then ripped a small blade from under his armor and, with lightning quick movement, brought it to the other being's throat.

“But if you call her a worm again, I will kill you where you stand,” he finished with a vocal sting.

A long pause ensued.

“Stand down, men!” he finally ordered, the others around him backing away, “you have made a terrible mistake this day.”

Despite the situation, he grinned. The blade made it's way back to it's holder.

“Quite the contrary,” Sloane said while taking a step back.

His eyes caught those of Zib'Jalin's. He was smiling widely.

“This mistake, as you call it, is a blessing,” he responded as he walked back to Claire.

Her arm wrapped around him.

“Pity you will never know what that blessing is, commander,” he concluded as he turned and walked away from the camp.



“So, I see you have been training like I told you to do,” Sloane said to his love as they traversed the road of The Barrens.

She giggled.

“I'm getting really good at this warrior stuff,” she replied with a smile, “but not as good as you.”

He chuckled.

“Well, perhaps a few lessons are in order then,” he said.

He felt her squeeze him tightly.

“I would like that,” she said as she looked up at him.



They continued walking along the sun-baked road. To where? Sloane did not know, nor did he care. He was no longer Horde, she was no longer Alliance. Such titles of honor and pride were unnecessary in the face of what they each experienced every living moment. It would grow with each passing day; as the sun rises and sets. It would laugh in the presence of danger and uncertainty, comfort in the aura of sadness. It would heal all, bind all.



Love.