Of Sea and Stars Part II

((Just a quick note on language. Butha is speaking troll, as that is the language he knows best. The "stranger" is speaking orc with a troll accent. His reasons are kinda revealed later in the story and in stories to follow.))




He enjoyed their ritual morning swims, but at the time it was offered, the temptation of a long-awaited present overshadowed any need to join in their swim. Yet, something seemed amiss. A mixture of excitement tempered with uneasiness, tore at Buthaleirus as his gaze cycled between his mother's slowly disappearing orange bob to mysterious package.

Too young to comprehend the minutia of his mother's words or context of her actions, Buthaleirus was instinctual enough to feel his her emotions. The passing minutes felt like hours, as he replayed their conversation, and the young troll's anxious excitement slowly descended into a lonely despair. Memories, both recent and old, and a suffocating fear gripped Buthaleirus, squeezing tears from Durotor's newest orphan.

With his head buried in his hands and his eyes flooded with tears, Butha didn't notice the adult-male troll, which had been spying him. Casting a long shadow over the weeping youngster, the tall lanky Darkspear stood just feet from Butha. The aged stranger's face beared the signs of empathy.

"Dun cry lil' Butha." The stranger said in a thick troll-orcish, and continued almost speaking to himself as much as to his young audience. "Der still be hope."

"What?" Butha asked, slowing his sobbing and wiping the tears from his eyes, as he poorly attempted the illusion of composure. "What are you talking about? My momma!"

Ignoring the youngsters questions and demeanor, the stranger continued his charming and calming tone. "Wuthca got der?" He asked, crouching down to the smaller troll's eye level and pointing to the leather wrappings.

Butha shrugged absently. His thoughts lost, grasping at feelings he did not fully understand. Despite the heavy blanket of despair choking the youngster, a sparkle, twinkling within this stranger's eyes pulled at Butha.

"Nah?" The elder troll said, feigning surprise and confusion. "Den open dat fing up! "Et lookin like a gud fing, an gud fings shood be knows!"

"I can't." Butha answered, his voice cracking. "My momma...My momma said I can't open it till she gone."

"Dat nawt wut she sayin." Smirked, the spy. "She sayin..." The stranger's accent disappearing to mimic Butha's mother's voice. "You can have this, only if you promise, not to open it till you can't see me." The imitation was uncanny: the voice, the mannerisms, the expression.

Bewildered by such an accurate impersonation, Butha responded. "Yes, I guessin that's what she said."

"Gud." The unnamed troll smiled. "Der be a big diffarance in gone an jus nawt seein dems. Sometin, Shentul teach ya."

Shentul's mention hit Buthaleirus like a wooden club, and his expression showed it. His parents both spoke reverently of the troll. Just this morning, he remembered his momma said something about Shentul teaching him just as he taught Butha's pup-pup. "You know Shentul?" Butha asked. "He supposed to meet Butha."

"Yah, I noz Shentul." The smile on the troll's face grew wider. "An, iffin yooz wantin him ta meet ya, yooz betta open dat fing!"

Peering out to the east, Butha scanned the horizon for any sign of his mother. With his gaze never leaving the Sea, he said. "She g--". Pausing, then looking to the unnamed Darkspear, who was still crouched at eye-level, Butha finished. "I don't see her anymore."

The larger troll nodded, and said. "Ohpen et."

"Ok." Butha answered, his voice cracking with a heavy sadness, yet happy to have seemingly found a friend. Shifting his hips back, the young Darkspear sprawled forward, reaching for his prize. Uncharacteristically, he slowly, deliberately removed the fine leather folds. Through the tears that began to slowly fall, Butha saw a dagger. His father's training blade lay uncovered on Durotar's clay beach.

The larger troll stood from his crouch, and performed a salute of sorts. Stating in troll, so Butha would make no mistake in translation. "Welcome ta da Shattered Hand. I am Shentul, Butha." Pausing and crouching to look his student in the eyes, Shentul continued. "And, that dagger is your admission into the Hand's academy."

As morning rolled to afternoon and the afternoon faded, the ever-student and his teacher sat on the beach. Buthaleirus wanted to know so much. Questions about his father, his mother, his past and his future, all poured forth. Shentul, patient beyond description, answered as many as he could.

"Et gettin late lil' Butha." Shentul noticed. "We ought ta be headin ta da cleft, an get joo set up."

"Okies." Butha answered, looking off into the early evening sky. "An, you right bout one-thing."

"Oh, I's glad ta be gud on one fing." Shentul smirked. "Wut dat one fing be?"

"My momma nawt gone." Butha said, looking up at three stars. "She just didn't want Butha to see her."

"Dat's righ't." Shentul replied, following the youngster's gaze, as he stood. "Time ta go Butha."

"Okies." Buthalierus answered, as he followed Shentul's lead. "Just one more question?"

"Sho' fing."

"That's not a dagger." Butha said, pointing to the crude weapon hanging from the Trainer's hip.

"Dat's righ't." Shentul's ears perked up, as an idea shot him like an arrow. He pulled the weapon forth, twisting it clumsily in the air. "I's tryin ta get the han'g uf et, but jus can't."

"What is it?" Butha asked.

"A Mayce."