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You are such a proud man, Cristianno. Your pride will get you killed!
Niela’s words rang loud and clear in his mind as the orc continued to kick him his torso. Cris fell over to his side, forcing himself to grin, his bruised face aching with each muscle he used. His ankles had heavy, iron shackles around them, chaining him to the ship’s wall. The forsaken laughed and reached down to punch his face once more. He struggled to remain conscious as the orc, forsaken, and troll continued to kick and beat on him.
“You think the Horde is full of shit now, elf?” the undead asked, his claw scratching into his face.
“Well,” Cris struggled to speak, “the way…you three…stinking bitches fight…yeah, I’d…say yes.” His response led to another kick in the gut.
“Damn elves should never be part of the Horde. Traitorous things,” the orc grumbled, but the troll quickly shoved him for attention as plated footsteps here heard walking down the steps below the ship.
“Are you three done playing with the prisoner?” The Admiral approached them as the three backed away.
“We get ‘im ta undastan,” the troll said, smirking widely.
“Good. Now get back upstairs and mind the crew. We should be getting to Orgrimmar soon. The three nodded and walked up the stairs. Cris noticed that his cigars were missing and were now carried under the troll’s arms. He gurgled a chuckle as he tried to sit up.
“So, if they hate the elves so much, why are you still here?”
The Admiral smiled and knelt beside Cris. “They’re fueled by brute strength. I have the brains. Come on, you know that. What I don’t understand is why a crew of pirates would make you their prisoner for no reason. What did you do?
With a little effort, Cris shrugged. “Couldn’t stand a good looking elf.” He tried to chuckle and looked up at the Admiral. “Why would an elf be an Admiral on this ship is my question.”
“Garrosh gave me the opportunity to lead my own fleet and security, and I took it. What more could we ask for? That’s how Admiral Lightdawn got to where he is now.”
Cris snickered, “Lightdawn. Funny.” He didn’t see the plated gaunt approach his cheek as the Admiral struck his already bruised and bleeding face.
“Oh, I don’t hear you laughing now, prisoner. Now, I know you’re not a fan of the Horde.” Cris lifted his eyes and spit out blood, landing on his plate armor. The Admiral reached for his face, gripping it between his fingers. As he was about to start talking, he stared at Cris’ face. “Now this is interesting. Your eyes don’t glow.” Cris stared at him angrily. “You’re one of those filthy Highborne.”
As he jerked his head away, Cris smirked, “A highborne. Would a highborne dirty their hands and be on a ship? Or even get caught?” The Admiral smiled, still studying Cris.
“Perhaps not, unless you’re an Alliance spy.”
“Fuck the Alliance.”
“Good. At least we’re on the same page, but it doesn’t satisfy my curiosity. Why are your eyes not glowing?”
“That is none of your fucking business.”
The Admiral’s fingers touched the small shark teeth along the side of his neck. “Look, we’re both elves here, regardless of what we may be. I am not a fan of the Horde, and neither are you. Let’s just have a civilized conversation.” The Admiral’s green eyes focused on the missing tooth on Cris’ neck and smiled. “So, tell me what I want to know.” He took the tooth below the missing tooth and yanked it out. Cristianno howled in pain, attempting to back away against the ship’s wall. “No, that’s not what I want to hear.” The plated gaunt reached for the next small tooth down and yanked it as well.
Cringing, he quickly counted how many teeth were left until the large tooth in the center of his neck. Two, and the Admiral’s fingers were already on the next tooth. “I’m a Darkmoon!”
The Admiral stopped. “You’re a gypsy?” He laughed, his hand still on the tooth. “How the fel does that happen?”
Breathing hard and withstanding the pain around his neck, Cris said, “My mother was sent away from Quel’Thalas when she was pregnant with me. The Darkmoon caravan accepted her and I was born there. I’ve had no use for your bloody Sunwell.”
Releasing the tooth, the Admiral backed away, “I see. So I take it you were nowhere near Silvermoon when it was brutally attacked.”
Cris gulped and chuckled, ignoring the streams of blood falling onto his shirt. “No. And I don’t wield magic or depend on it.” The Admiral nodded and rose to his feet.
“You, prisoner, are very interesting. In fact, I can guarantee that Garrosh can use someone like you to infiltrate Alliance cities. As much as you hate the Horde, you may be able to benefit from it. You must tell me more. I’m going to release you from your chains and you will join me for dinner.” The Admiral walked toward Cris’ feet. “But just in case you decide to run…” He lifted his heavy plate boot and slammed it down on his knee, dislocating it. “I can’t afford to lose my prized friend, now can I?” He unshackled his ankles and began to walk toward the stairs. “Well, come on, now.”
Cris’ body now trembled in pain, but he refused to give the Admiral the satisfaction of seeing him suffer. With an immense struggle, Cris managed to stand on his good leg and hop toward the staircase. It was there that the Admiral helped him up the stairs and onto the deck. It was night and the crew was lingering around the ship. He noticed that his box of cigars had been passed around as many sailors had the cigars in their hands. Cris grinned and continued to shuffle along.
The orc glared at Cris and yelled, “You’re feeding the prisoner?”
“I will do what I wish!” the Admiral yelled back. “Get us to Orgrimmar quickly. I can’t wait to tell Garrosh what an incompetent crew you all turned out to be.”
As the Admiral turned to open his cabin door, Cris turned to the crew and said, “Enjoy the cigars, assholes.”
Immediately, the Admiral turned to the crew, green eyes widened, as he shouted, “Don’t light them!” But his reminder came too late. Several sailors lit the cigars and as soon as a few of them puffed, the cigars started to explode, some of them shooting out like fireworks in the night. The Admiral ran out toward the crew and Cris limped toward the edge of the ship. The dark waters were intimidating, but they were his safest hiding spot.
“Protect me, mother,” he whispered. Swinging his dislocated leg over the side, Cris threw himself into the water. The sailors who weren’t affected by the cigars ran to the edge of the ship.
“Get him!” shouted the Admiral.
“There’s no way he’s going to survive that, Admiral! He’s wounded and it’s dark,” the forsaken said. “Besides, it was just some random merchant.”
The Admiral slammed his hands along the ship as he looked over the edge at the darkness below. “You really thought he was some merchant? Look at the way he dressed! Spoke! Acted! I’m sure he was a damn Bloodsail! Fel!”
The cold waters seemed to cradle his wounded body as Cris continued to push himself through, seeking for signs of shore. He had escaped, but the worst was not over. He still had to make his way to Silvermoon and with his wounds; he feared he would not make it at all. As he tried to kick his way through the water with one leg, he felt the ground and pushed himself onto the shore. Coughing, Cris lay on his back, gritting his teeth as the sea salt burned his wounds. Away from prying eyes, he finally let the tears flow. After a few breaths, the only word he could manage to utter was, “Niela.”
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