A story f two soldiers on the front lines of a war that is really barely happening. In Warcraft 2. What?
It was dark and stormy over the Hillsbrad coast. A dampening snow seemed to both smother and lightly ice the normally much friendlier rural landscape, like some kind of giant frosted cake. Only dotted with gingerbread farmsteads and broccoli trees. That wasn’t even mentioning the vanilla lining that followed the various streams of molten milk into the sea, carrying under them fish just waiting to be cooked into something that could but didn’t necessarily have to be completely edible (after all, it took an iron stomach to eat any wild thing from this particular part of the world seeing as how you probably had to chop it into pieces before it died), or better yet the prancing steak/rabbit things that someone had to eat.
This mention of food was, as one could imagine, the product of a mind that was slightly preoccupied with the idea of eating. A subject matter that Mordechai Frost, a tall, round-faced fellow with a crown of brown curls and a pleasant disposition, found made him hungrier the more he thought about it.
‘’And when you haven’t eaten for a week it’s hard not to think about.’’
‘’Jesus, Mordy, shut the fuck up, would you?’’ called the other man on patrol from behind him. Mordechai grinned. It could be said that to be stationed with and to serve alongside someone he’d known as long as Roland would be a fortunate thing. Unfortunately, Roland Black happened to be the sourest person Mordechai (or anyone, for that matter) was likely to ever known.
‘’It’s either that or conjure up more images of food, so calm down.’’
‘’So he mentions food, which we haven’t eaten in a week.’’
‘’And I had just finished noting that to myself.’’
‘’Fuckadoodledoo, let’s get married.’’
‘’We’ve been over this, I need flowers and cake first.’’
‘’Will you stop talking about food!’’
‘’No, no I won’t, because gosh darn I’m hungry and the entire world shall hear my displeasure.’’
‘’I hate you.’’
‘’Flowers and cake first, dear, flowers and cake.’’
The 707th Foot Regiment detachment of the local Alliance garrison had been sent to Hillsbrad to, well, do nothing Mordechai had ever been able to properly pin down, though whatever particular task the lackadaisical mob of soldiers dubbed ‘’The Shit-Disturbers’’ had been assigned to do it so far involved quite a bit of standing around and being cold. That and being hungry.
That wasn’t entirely fair. They were watching for orcs in paired patrols in a place where orcs were the least likely to appear in the wake of Stormwind‘s burning. Which didn’t sound that much more fair in Mordechai’s mind, but then he was sitting on his proverbial ass (he was standing) in the very literally freezing cold with an equally literally empty stomach looking for something that was pointedly not there nor had been for several days now.
Mordechai turned to see Roland sit up straight on his extremely uncomfortable rock, or as much as he could what with a pronounced slouch. The crow-like sharp and hooked features that made up Black’s face were laid out in something resembling scornful contemplation. Running a spidery hand through a mop of wild hair, he glanced intently at Mordechai with slitted eyes above a hooked nose.
This, Mordechai could have said he was not expecting. What he did end up saying was ‘’What?’’
‘’You fucking heard me, let’s get the hell out of here.’’
‘’What?’’ Mordechai was slightly baffled. Roland had come up with as many bad ideas as Mordechai had, in all honesty, though none had ever sounded as particularly fatal as this one.
‘’Say what again, mother- look, listen to me. Let’s. Get. Out. Of. Here.’’
‘’What part of ‘conscripted’ don’t you understand?’’
‘’The part where you get volunteered for service that could fuck right off.’’
‘’Wow, Roland, you need something to eat.’’
‘’I am perfectly fucking cognizant, Mordechai Frost, and I am proposing we desert this particular army because I’ve got better things to do than die.’’
‘’You are aware that desertion is one of those things that they kill you over.’’
‘’No, I’m fairly sure they just pelt you with petunias.’’
‘’You’re actually insane.’’
Try as he might, however, Mordechai couldn’t bring up anything he’d call a real argument. Stay and starve or run? Admittedly running probably meant less food in the outrun, as the slums of Lordaeron City didn’t exactly pay well. But at least it was warm. Hell.
‘’No. Being hungry is one thing, getting murdered by an uncaring state another.’’
‘’Well-’’ It was a pity really. Mordechai’s comeback was really good. Went something along the lines of Roland’s particular lack of contact with either of his own insults. Unfortunately, he was cut off, as people normally are when narrowly missing being brained by a giant stone axe.
‘’JESUS FUCKING H PHELPS CHRIST!’’ Roland cried calmly.
It wasn’t a loudmouth who appeared, however. Well a figurative one, in any case, as the orc who had swung and was indeed still swinging said stone axe of gargantuan proportions was bellowing loudly. Or so Mordechai found, the loud mouth being inches away from his face.
‘’Oh God, Roland, help!’’
Mordechai brought a shoddy long sword held by a shoddily clad gauntlet out and across his body. He had been trained to do this (though by trained one could really just say they showed it to him a couple of times), and had been told it would keep him alive. It seemed to Mordechai that this wasn’t panning out anywhere near as he’d thought (with him living), as the continental axe was coming down at his head. If Roland hadn’t managed to cut the great green giant across the monstrosity that was his tattooed face.
If either of them had felt any kind of victory, it was squashed by the pure rage that showed itself in the pig eyes of the orc.
The two men spread out. It wasn’t that the ‘’Shit-Disturbers had ever been any worth in a fight, but they did know how to make life fairly miserable for those on the other side of the field and this was the tenant they taught their conscripts. Not that this crossed Mordechai’s mind. What did cross his mind was the fact that he was probably going to die here. And with Roland Black of all people.
The orc swung forward at Roland, it’s nose sniffing it’s own blood on his sword. Mordechai watched Roland fling himself gracelessly back, almost tripping on himself. Seeing the opening, Mordechai lunged his own chipped and cheap blade forward, stabbing deep into the orc’s side.
It squealed. It died. And it was all over.
Mordechai looked at Roland. He saw Roland look at him.
‘’Oh shut up and let’s fucking walk.’’ Mordechai said.