| [Story] A little change |
[Apr. 4th, 2012|02:23 pm] |
He still had his old chainmail.
Matojo frowned as he pulled the set of armour from his vault in Orgrimmar; it was in need of repair, having sat for so long after being abandoned in favour of plate, but it would still work as intended. All he needed, the finishing touch, was an old friend.
The old troll finished shoving the armour into his pack and threw that over his shoulder before making his way out along the dusty road toward the city’s stables.
It was a route he was intimately familiar with, even though the city had changed over the years. The stable keepers nodded at him as he entered, and did not interfere as he made his way toward the far end of the compound where a large eagle was perched upon the fence. The creature seemed to recognize the approaching troll and swiveled its head in his direction to stare unblinkingly at him.
“Uh, hey,” Matojo said in Zandali. “I know I said I’d let you retire in peace, but uh, I need one more favour.”
The eagle stretched its massive wings out and shook them for a moment, then folded them against its body again and let out a short chirping noise. The troll cleared his throat and stepped close.
“I’ve gotta go somewhere, and I’ve gotta use this... magic, see. Other animals might... give me away, and that could be bad. Real bad. You know me, though, and we trust each other. You’d watch my back like I’d watch yours,” the old troll smiled faintly. “I’m riskin’ my ass for some folks and I’d rather have somebody wit’ me I can trust.”
For a brief moment their eyes met. The eagle bobbed its head and Matojo grinned broadly.
“You feel like goin’ to Surwich?”
- - -
Krensythe Manashaper steepled his fingers and leaned forward to inspect the troll that stood across the desk from him. The elf grinned toothily as he slipped the ancient pocketwatch from his robes and slid it across the wooden surface toward the other fellow as the man looked on in surprise.
“‘s, uh, mo’ shineh,” Matojo said.
“Oh, more than that,” Krensythe replied, “it is the focus of the polymorphing spell that will change your form to one that will allow you to pass through Alliance territory unmolested. The materials you gathered allowed for the most powerful I could conjure - all I expect from you is a favour to be delivered at a later date.”
Matojo hated owing people anything. It always felt wrong, it always felt like opening himself up for something bad, so he always endeavoured not to put himself into such a position.
It would be worth it, though, he told himself. It had to be.
“Fine,” the old troll grunted. “So how’s dis wohk?”
“Oh, drop the act,” the elf said as he took the watch by the chain and held it up to its new owner. “I am quite aware of your ability to speak properly, so please, stop abusing the Orcish language.”
Matojo took the watch from the elf and scowled.
“Anyway, it works the way any magical artefact works - you draw the spell from within and let it do the rest. Concentrate on the magic. Simple,” Krensythe continued, gesturing to the small apartment’s curtains, which slid shut. The lanterns that lined the room flickered to arcane life and Matojo eyed them - and everything else - warily.
“Try it,” the elf encouraged.
The old troll didn’t really figure that magic was his forté, but if all he had to do was concentrate, well, he could do that. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the watch, thought about triggering the spell, and waited. It started as a tingly feeling in his hand that went up his arm, spread through his entire body, and then it was a flash of blinding pain. When he came to, Krensythe was standing over him - fingers steepled, as usual - and grinning.
“To reverse it, you do the same thing,” he said. “I suggest doing so before you leave, or else we could have a situation.”
Matojo held his hand in front of his face. It was pale, with five fingers, and dark hairs on the knuckles. He was far hairier than what he was used to - not the soft fuzz of a jungle troll, but the coarse hair of a human. The old fellow touched his face and found a beard there.
“This’ll do,” he said. “This’ll do pretty good.”
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