So...fanfic. Because I've run out of interesting things to write. It was just thrown together this evening, but it was fun to write. I'm sure I'll be writing more, but feel free to skip them since it's all about me and my characters and other characters I know in game.
Wee, Ceraan, and Shavra are all mine. Borin is used by permission. Yay!
Something To Prove
Part One - The Snows of Icecrown"We shall triumph!"
It was a phrase Auregwyn heard more than once used by Tirion Fordring, while doing various missions at his command. The words gave her a thrill, as if he were talking specifically to her, proclaiming her eventual success.
"It's because of my nickname," she explained, wrapping tiny hands around flint and striking sparks into the kindling. She was adept at making camp fires by now, though setting one up in the cold clime of Icecrown, where she was hard pressed to find a spot without snow, provided a new challenge.
"You have a nickname?" One of her companions stirred, showing interest.
"Yes. It's Wee Insanity. I thought you knew that by now, Shavra."
Shavra turned a deeper shade of blue, ducking her head. "I thought that was your real name," the draenei said. "What? I still don't know that much about gnomes. Or death knights. I heard that some had lost their memories is all."
She shut up when the druid dropped a blanket over her head. "Her name is Auregwyn."
Wee nodded, smiling a bit. "That's right, Ceraan. My mother named me after Magna Aegwynn. Though, not exact, of course. If I walked around named Aegwynn it would have been confusing at the time, and presumptuous, and a lot to live up to. Too much to live up to, really, since I didn't inherit a shred of my mother's abilities with magic."
"You met Magna Aegwynn?" asked the druid Ceraan in her soft voice. "What an honor that must have been."
"No, no," Wee shook her head quickly. "A lot of my mother's colleagues did though. See, I grew up in Dalaran."
"You?" Both of her companions expressed their shock. It seemed like the least likely origin for a gnomish death knight.
"My mother was one of their most talented mages, before the war." She smiled triumphantly, finally building the fire up enough to warm them and their supper. "Hand me that fish."
"I'll cook it," Ceraan insisted, sitting down next to the fire and opening her pack.
"Nuh-uh!" the gnome protested. "I've seen how some of you druids fish!"
"I'm the one who did the fishing," Shavra said, shaking her head in amusement, long white pigtails brushing her shoulders.
"Shaman shapeshift too," Wee said, crossing her arms.
"You're half dead," Ceraan pointed out. "Now let me cook, since I've the most talent at it."
"I do my best," Wee said. Still, she backed away and let the druid prepare the meal, watching and learning from what she did. "Not all of us can be billions of years old."
"Only a few thousand," Ceraan said. "Not that it matters. Shavra is older."
"I am not!" the draenei stood quickly, holding her hands out in protest. "I'm a very young draenei. See the pigtails? Young!"
"Right," Wee snorted, holding back a giggle. "You talk about Argus in your sleep. When I walked around that crashed ship of yours, they said your people fled that place way over 20,000 years ago. You're ancient. Your hair isn't white, it's totally gray."
"And I don't even remember the Sundering," Ceraan added, flipping the fish over.
"My grandmother, before she was viciously slaughtered by orcs, told me of the homeworld. She gave me visions of what it was like. I may, possibly, be a bit older than Ceraan. I do not remember how old I am, however. Time, day and night, the length of a year; these things are all different from planet to planet. And I was not born on Draenor."
The trio fell into silence. Shavra was brooding, Ceraan was making sure the food was thoroughly cooked, and Wee was trying to calculate just how many Azerothian years it had been since the draenei arrived on Draenor so she could start actually figuring out how old Shavra was. "My uncle Gyrofob said he could figure out the original circumference of Draenor if he could measure the curvature of the horizon, and the distance from the--"
"Let it go, Wee. I don't need to know," Shavra said softly, putting a hand on on the gnome's frigid shoulder. "We should eat quickly and sleep soundly, for tomorrow's journey shall be long and arduous in the terrain ahead."
"I don't understand why we can't just fly," Wee muttered.
"With that noisy contraption you built?" Ceraan shuddered, handing out portions of the meal she'd prepared, setting one aside. "Just thinking about it, I can hear it all over again."
"What?" Wee perked up, looking up toward the sky. "That's not mine, and that's not a memory." She jumped to her feet and started waving. "It's him! I'll bet he's got news!"
The propeller of the mechanical contraption nearly extinguished the fire as it landed. A dwarf climbed out, grabbing his mace and shield from beside the seat as his feet touched the ground. He left his heavy pack in his vehicle though, and hurried over. Ceraan silently handed him a portion of food.
"What news, Borin?" Shavra brightened a bit.
"Been all over the place, playing messenger," he grumbled, sitting down and resting his shield and weapon handily at his side. "It's as we feared." He took a large bite of his food and then looked around expectantly. "What? None of ye lasses have some brew to spare? If we're stormin' Ulduar on the morrow, I'll not spend tonight sober."
"It seems I'll be taking first watch," Ceraan sighed, pouring Borin a mug of mulled mead. It's what she had on her, and what she'd had heated for herself to aid her sleep that night.
Wee pouted. "Blightbender, or whatever I'm calling him today, can handle it. He's not all that bright, but he's loyal and he can warn us if anything foul is afoot."
"I won't be havin' a blasted undead as our only protection against, well, the undead!" Borin shook his head, scowling. "Light bless it, but I don't know a paladin alive that will stand for that. I keep better watch with a drink or two in me anyhow. Any dwarf worth his salt does."
"Aw, but he's so cute and all alone out there. Poor little guy, bits of him freezing to the ground...."
Shavra cringed, setting her food down for a moment. "He is far from little. You reanimated him from that vrykul we killed earlier. He is five times as tall as you, at least. How is that little, I ask you?"
"Whatever," Wee said around the last bite of her fish. "He's loyal, he doesn't need sleep any more than I do, and the three of you DO need sleep. I've been dead once, just like him, and that's quite enough sleep for me."
"You still need rest, though," Ceraan tried to forestall an argument between death knight and paladin. "Call it sleep or no, we all work better with rest and we'll all of us need rest if we're to be of any use to your guild tomorrow."
"Aye, that's as true as any," Borin said. "I'll take the first watch, 'an wake Wee in a few hours. And ye' best be stayin' awake so ye can wake Ceraan for watch. None of us'll be happy if we wake up to Bonenibbler--"
"Blightbender," Wee corrected.
"Whatever. None of us want the ghoul invitin' a few friends o' your old master in for a light snack."
Wee sighed and crawled into her tent.
"Thank you," Ceraan murmured.
"I hope I din't offend the wee lass. Better her and her friend on our side than
his after all. Her and her kind are about the toughest fighters, an' I know it's not a life they chose, but I--"
"I know what you mean," Shavra agreed. "It's like there is an absence of Light, where they stand. They've proven their worth, and their loyalty, many times over. Still, there's something about the death knights."
Wee rolled over in her sleeping bag, tuning out the voices outside. She knew they were right. She knew it more than they did. But, it seemed that the death knights would always have something to prove.
