Fiction: The Tragedy of an Outcast

Known by many names to the natives of this strange land half a world away, I write this to no one and anyone who may stumble upon this place after my time in this unforgiving world has ended. Though I am a dwarf of Dun Morogh, I had never been fond of the unchanging earthen sky of my people’s capital and the frozen, gray land that lay outside - in hindsight, it holds a comforting place in my heart, but my youthful spirit was not to be confined by those mountains. I have always had an affinity for sunshine and open skies, a disposition not shared with my disapproving kin, and have watched myself become an outsider because of it. I packed what little I had and made my way south, to where I knew not. I looked for honest work and found little opportunity for the honesty of it. What I did find was skepticism towards my intentions and despite my efforts was eventually torn between struggling to provide myself with basic necessities and being unreasonably inclined to hold myself to a high ethical standard which I could not break despite my state of squalor. 

Passing through Goldshire, exhausted and famished, I noticed a Call to Arms posted outside of the Lion’s Pride Inn that promised a quality of pay and basic necessities which my younger, prideful self would’ve scoffed at, but those were deluded times of grandeur and dreams guaranteed by no one to come true. With an appearance as an undersized undead serf who wandered too far from the slums of Undercity, I enlisted and even in this time of desperation I undoubtedly saw reluctance in the eyes of the recruiting officer towards my competency to die for a cause that viewed me as a drop in a bucket. 

My first and only assignment was to join an ill-fated crew of men with little character and a few Night Elves anxious to return to the familiarity of a home they seemed to hold much more dear than I held my own. We were to set sail for Dustwallow Marsh and traverse north through Kalimdor to flank an impending Orc attack on a crucial Alliance post in Ashenvale. Captain Taron, a man who talked a lot, but said little of worth was in command. The voyage was uneventful and the men avoided me out of prejudice I assume, but I did not mind being left alone. There was an older man, who looked closer to death than he actually was, and when I looked into his eyes I could see the uncanny look of desperation that I had felt in myself since leaving Dun Morogh. I never caught his name, nor did we say anything of meaning to each other, but he was the only person on board that I trusted.

Thanks to the incompetence of our Captain we had gotten off course and apparently had come close enough to Durotar to be intercepted by a Horde warship. We didn’t stand a chance, they sank our ship and only a handful of us survived washing up on a parched land infested with beasts I had never seen or heard of during my time in the Eastern Kingdoms - little did I know that I had been in the company of beasts capable of much worse deeds than any creature native to this new land. Aside from myself, the Captain, my nameless friend, a handful of other men and one of the Night Elves survived. We regrouped and decided to continue with our mission, for there was no other option. According to the Night Elf we were in the Barrens, a place I had heard little about and only knew that it was sandwiched between the ruthless Tauren and bloodthirsty Orcs. 

I quickly realized that the completion of this mission was doomed and that we would all die before making it to Ashenvale. Leading us aimlessly, Captain Taron exercised his authority recklessly and the group began to progressively voice their disdain towards his poor leadership. I had no idea where I was and knew my only hope was in numbers regardless of the situation; therefore, I kept quiet on account that I would not be heard anyway. At a certain point the Night Elf had enough and explained to the Captain, “You have had your chance to lead us to safety and we have all obeyed our oath to recognize your authority, but you have not considered our advice to you. I am the only one here with a familiarity of this land and the ability to deliver us from it. Swallow your pride and follow my lead now.” The group made approving whispers under their breath and the Captain turned red with rage. While the group came closer to agreeing with the Night Elf as he continued to speak, a blast went off and the Night Elf fell to the ground lifelessly. Turning around we saw the Captain holding a smoking musket and he said, with unbound rage in his voice, “If anyone threatens to disobey me, you will die where you stand. We are no longer continuing our mission. We will turn south and make our way to Theramore in Dustwallow Marsh.” Then the man who I trusted spoke up with a shaky voice, “What have you done? You killed the only one of us who knew where to go. You have already killed us all. You say that we are to head south, yet you couldn’t even lead us north. What sort of Captain are you?” Without a word, to my surprise, the Captain tackled him and let a flurry of punches down at him. A couple of the men managed to pull him off, but it was too late.

We made our way south, for whatever that was worth, no one saying more than a few words here and there for days out of fear for their lives. One day, as we continued to wander aimlessly, an unfortunate young Tauren crossed our path. It was only a child to my eyes and instantly displayed terror at the sight of our presence. The Captain ran after it and held it up by one of its horns as if it were some rodent in need of extermination. The rest of the men laughed as he tormented it and explained how he was going to enjoy killing it. Although the youngster could not understand his words, I could. Watching the Captain display his sadism, I could no longer suffer his presence in the world. I walked up behind him and buried my sword deep into his back, though I knew it meant my life in one way or another. Moments later a stampede of hooves came rushing towards us in savage rage. It was members of the young tauren’s village, I was knocked over and by the time I had gotten back to my feet all of the men in my group had been slaughtered, yet I had not been touched. The largest of the Tauren in all of his ferocity towered over me with that look of skepticism I had become so used to. Though the look was the same, the feeling it conveyed was different. They must have seen me slay the Captain in my attempt to spare the young one’s life. He stared at me as the child stood behind him and let out an indifferent snort then turned around and beckoned his group to go home. 

I did not move a muscle for some time, with a million existential thoughts racing through my mind, and watched as they slowly disappeared from sight. I eventually left that spot and wandered for sometime and discovered an empty cave where I stopped for the night and slept. Waking up the next morning I intended on continuing the attempt to reach the safety of the Alliance, but as I sat in that cave a sort of nihilism set in and I decided to no longer take part in a world that had never been kind to me or anyone else I had ever crossed paths with.

I left my home to escape my people’s stone prison and frozen landscape, only to find myself on the other side of the world in another stone prison of my own surrounded by a scorched wasteland instead. I have lost track of time in my solitude, though it does not matter. I have gathered that my presence here has become a sort of folklore to the local Tauren, I do not bother them and they do not bother me. Despite the unfortunate sequence of events which led me here, I am happier with the destination than the journey. If you are reading this, I only hope your fate was different from mine.