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automaticenemycrusade · 3 years

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Joyride: Ch. 2 - Kit’s Caravan

“Why is it my job to babysit?”

This had been the fourth or fifth time Nord was being complained to by Irro about their little arrangement, and while it went without saying, he was growing just a tinsy bit weary of it. From what he could tell, she had grown impatient and bored in the week that followed, in the week they all bargained for. The one day he promised them proved just as unfulfilling as the last, just as the next day did, then the next, then the next, but today, he always said, today would be the day where he could be careless.

He responded flatly, and with a hint of exasperation, “Because that’s your job.” What more did she expect? He supposed it made sense when he gave it some deeper thought. There must have been a reason for the vixen to blatantly leave behind her sibling. Maybe she sought escape from just that, from babysitting. In any case, he pushed it aside. He could discuss theories with himself later, because for now, Irro still looked irked.

“Okay, but why is it my job to babysit?” Out of all the odd jobs the caravan had to do on the Sandpiercer, she was burdened with the delicate task of caring for the smaller ones, including the more menial of duties, like in her current case, changing out Raysik’s diaper. If one couldn’t tell already, it was the responsibility that she hated the most. Nord could never tell why, nor would he ever ask. It’s anyone’s guess as to the latter.

“Because it’s your job, like it’s Rheana’s job to babysit Lynsol, and it’s Jole’s job to cook, and it’s my job to…” He trailed off. Fortunately for him, his cousin had just arrived to finish off his sentence. How convenient.

“To do everything else. We get it, big guy. Say, I’m starved, you think you could head out and-” And then he was cut off by another, by Raysik.

“Go faster! I wanna playyyy!”

“Yeah, I know, and it’ll go faster if you stay quiet for five more seconds.”

Then the boy started kicking his legs, and then the whining ensued, and then a sharp, “FASTER.” bellowed from him. Irro was next to join the cacophony with an unnecessarily drawn-out groan, and soon, Lynsol with his whimpers; Rheana with her pleading; Jole with his sly comments. Nord’s ears began to wilt, draping over the sides of his cheeks and pinning there to block out the raving chatter. It wasn’t working.

“Please shut up, please.” But in spite of her begging, Raysik continued to wail, which caused her to raise her voice and vice versa. Syllables grew more prolonged, cries grew louder, and Nord continued to shrink.

Nord interjected, “Raysik, pl-” but was cut off again.

“It hurts…”

“I know, honey.”

“Hmph!”

“Stop moving so much!”

Nord tried at it again. “Guys-” Again, he was cut off. Rheana’s added attempts at silencing them fell on deaf ears.

“Too loud.”

“Please quiet down.”

“Faster!”

“I’d be done if you’d stop kicking!”

And again. “Guys, listen to me. Guys?” And the cycle repeated, again. “Please.” And again. “No one’s listening to me--guys!” And again. “Guys!” Until the words eventually blurred together in a cluster of inseparable sounds, until Nord simply couldn’t take it anymore, and it was only with a thunderous stomp and a booming, “GUYS!” that silence finally descended upon the wagon. They all stared back at him with those same starry-eyed looks, waiting and anticipating. He didn’t have to utter a word for the caravan to fall into a chorus of apologies and resignations. He was almost awestruck at how much sway he held, but proud all the same. “Thank you.” And with that, he moved to open the door and head outside, for he was in desperate need of fresh air. He was stopped by the familiar stammer of a vixen though, namely Rheana.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“Outside. I need some air. I won’t be long.”

She nodded faintly, adding, “Okay.” And not another word was spoken as Nord departed out the door. In fact, it wasn’t until he made it a few yards away that he heard the chatter start up again, though from this distance, he couldn’t tell whether it was good or bad. Either way, it wasn’t his problem right now, and he trusted Jole enough to keep things orderly in his absence, even if the fox was the living incarnate of chaos. He’d freely admit to that too. For now, he needed time to himself, time to think, time to collect his thoughts. Despite how free-rein this trip of theirs was, he rarely got the time to do just that. It was better spent tending to something or doing a chore, the very thing he wanted to escape when he agreed to this. This was meant to be his temporary reprieve! Yet all it had been was another way for fate, or karma, or kismet to kick him in the butt.

He couldn’t complain though. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of their little family in the week he had known them, even if they came to odds every now and again. Today, though, felt like the worst of them all, at least in terms of everyone’s physical shape. Lynsol had been feeling ill since the day before, Jole was lacking his usual pep, Irro was bored, Rheana was paranoid, and Raysik was oftentimes impatient. Nord, on the other hand, was lost. This wasn’t the first time he had come outside in the name of retrospection, nor would it be the last, and he could guarantee that. He felt aimless, dull, and he wasn’t at all pleased with how accustomed he was growing with the shackles of leadership. It scared him how much they all looked up to him, how much faith they had in him, because he knew he didn’t deserve it. Deep down, he knew he was both their blessing and their curse.

He hated it. He hated it so much. He just wasn’t sure who ‘it’ should be. Though, as per the usual, his train of thought was derailed once a voice reached his ears, a voice calling his name. His eyes shot up to the sky, in fear that time was once again slipping away. How long had he sat out there? An hour? More? He looked over to Jole--who had just arrived at his side--and opened his mouth, though he found the words had already abandoned him. His cousin, however, was happy to fill the silence.

“Nordyyy,” He started. “You good?” Nord had to wonder how many times those words had been passed between them at that point. Too many times. “I’ve been sensing some off vibes from you.”

“I’m just stressed, is all. We’ve been out here a week, Jole. I don’t--” He stammered. “What do I tell their parents when we get back? Why are we still out here?” A sharp pain hit his gut, like all of his stupidity was just now donning on him. What was he thinking, being so selfish? What was he thinking? He wobbled and shot up onto his feet, sputtering, “We need to go home. All of us. We’ve been out here too long.” And then he pivoted and started walking, but to his surprise, a hand to his shoulder hindered him from going any further. He turned his head to send the most boggled glance at Jole. What was he doing?

“Hey, hey,” He reeled Nord back in, cooing soothingly. “Just take a sit down, big guy. I can tell things have been weighing on you lately, but you don’t gotta worry, ‘cause I got everything handled behind the scenes. It’s the big, deep desert, Nordy. They’d be stupid not to expect a delay or four.” He spoke slowly and enunciated his words, which, to his success (Nord could only guess), got his cousin to start nodding along, for better or for worse. “Remember what this is all about, ‘kay?”

“We’re educating the kits? The authentic caravaneer experience?”

Jole shook his head. “Fun, bud. Fun.”

Despite all the cozy reassurances, Nord remained unconvinced, and with a shrug of his shoulder, continued his traipse toward the wagon. He was stopped again. “What.”

“You’re stressed, I get it,” The ashfur put his hands out in front of him, appearing as understanding as he possibly could. “But you don’t wanna ruin all their fun, right?”

Nord scoffed. He knew that was a lie. He knew that was a lie. “Jole--”

“Shh-shh-shh,” Jole put a finger to his cousin’s lip. “I got an easy fix. You’re tense, you’re worried, and that’s fine, I am too sometimes, but me? I got a solution.” He raised his hand, wiggled his fingers, then dug deep into that overstuffed coat he had grown prone to wearing, before pulling from it the smallest satchel Nord had ever seen. He’d be better off calling it a pouch with buckles and straps, though it’s what was inside that Jole sought to grab his attention with. A crudely-carved pipe that, once he caught a whiff, smelt absolutely rancid. Jole, however, was waving the thing around like it was the key to a Sethraki fortune. “This’ll make you feel a million times better.”

Nord retrieved it from him tentatively. “What is it?”

The ashfur shrugged, as if he himself wasn’t all that sure. “Gift from Dad. He has, like, fifty of ‘em, and he decided to send me one, so…” He paused, itching at the nape of his neck. “Wouldn’t wanna put it to waste, right?” And to push the point, he nudged it further into his grasp, which worked. Somehow.

“How do--” And Jole immediately hushed him, as his hand delved back into his coat and pulled out a little sack--a packet--which he tore open and slipped its contents into the bowl of the pipe. It appeared to be an array of milled herbs and plantlife. Nord couldn’t help but wonder what the end goal here was.

“And then,” He paused and held up a finger, before bolting off back to the Sandpiercer, where he snatched up a twig--of all things--and held it to the lantern light to set the tip ablaze. Once he brought that back, to Nord’s sheer confusion, he held it to the bowl and set the flame to the herbs. Nord recoiled in disgust. That did NOT smell fragrant. “Easy as that.” Jole popped a grin. “Now, you smoke it. Puff-puff.”

His counterpart had never quirked his brow higher, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by the prospect. Nord shuffled the device awkwardly in his hands, uncertain as to how he should take it, but with Jole’s guidance, he got the proper hold eventually. “Puff-puff,” He repeated, bringing the mouthpiece to his lips. “Puff.” And he proceeded to do the exact opposite and inhale, hacking and sputtering once the mix of herbs went the opposite way. Jole nearly slapped him upside the head for that one.

“Puff.”

“Right. Sorry.”

And he did just that. Puff. Smoke soon trailed from his nostrils as his shoulders began to sag, a distant, “You feelin’ it?” catching his ear. For the first time, he felt relaxed. He was amazed! What kind of magic was this? “What?” He stuttered, though he found the word only played in his head, or if it did come out, it was faint. Time was moving faster, the world was spinning--it was both a dream and a nightmare. The pipe itself had left his hand, before finding itself there again but a second later. Puff.

Puff.

Nord couldn’t have told anyone in full confidence how long he’d stood there, in that spot, with pipe in hand. It could have been as little as five minutes, or as long as a day. He wasn’t sure. But, when he eventually returned from semi-consciousness, he found that he was alone again, with delicate footsteps approaching close behind him. He didn’t dare to catch a preemptive glance at whatever was coming to greet him, and it was anyone’s guess as to why.

“Hey,” they said. It was Irro, unexpectedly. “You’ve been out here a while.”

He didn’t find that as off-putting as he probably should have. He asked for this the minute he took Jole up on his offer. “Yeah,” he replied lazily, his movements sluggish. “Just needed some me time, I guess.” With that, he left them at an awkward and wordless impasse. That is, until his eyes landed on the pipe still planted in his hands, when shame and guilt took hold. He couldn’t hide it anymore. “Hey,” Irro looked back at him, wide-eyed. “Don’t be like me. Okay?”

She turned her gaze elsewhere when he said it, placid-like. She probably wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart, but she was here, she had made that decision, and now she faced the consequences. She shrugged. “Dunno why. You seem kinda,” She made a so-so gesture. “Prime example-ish.”

Nord chuckled half-heartedly. “Do as I say, not as I do.” And that, too, squeezed a titter out of the vixen. Not a word more was exchanged between them, but he didn’t mind. He was satisfied with the company. He--and he assumed she too--fell into a fit of admiring the sunset, a sight he too often missed, just as it was descending past the horizon. It was nice. This was nice. “--Irro?”

And she was already gone.

♦

To no one’s surprise, the day that followed didn’t prove any more thrilling than the last, nor the next, nor the next. A week turned to two, weeks turned to a month, a month turned to six, and months turned to a year. A year. A year away from home and family, a year Nord had kept the children under his care away from their mothers and fathers. A year turned to more drags of the pipe; it turned to more of Jole’s stupid reassurances; it turned to more impatience, paranoia, and boredom, but on a lighter note, it turned to stronger bonds; it turned to more days spent as a family; it turned to memories that Nord could enjoy well into his golden years. In time, a year turned to four.

Nord had lost count of the days. With each sunrise and sunset, he had to remind himself it wasn’t the one from the night before. Sometimes he’d forget to do so and lose a day, and those added up very quickly. He’d often lose weeks at a time if there wasn’t something particularly memorable that happened in them, which didn’t happen often, because little changed from day to day. Today was no exception.

Here he sat, aboard the Sandpiercer, watching the vulpera mingle with one another, and awaiting something, anything, to happen. Though it excluded the company of Jole and Lynsol, the others did their best to entertain him, with some being more fervent than their peers. Rheana--bless her soul--could talk his ear off all she wanted, but her efforts were for naught. To Nord, it was but another day, where nothing ever changed.

It was unsettling. The deeper he fell into his own head, the more the voices around him dimmed and the less physical response Rheana received. Then came the abrupt hammering at the door, and his senses were instantly reignited.

“We got a big problem here!”

♦

Jole had never been one for theatrics. Of course, he had never been all that good at telling the truth either! But, if there’s one thing he was ace at, it was coming up with bizarre and ludicrous games for the whole family to enjoy. They came in all variants, all styles of play, and while he had his preferences, his utmost favorite of them all was Valley Hopping. It was a simple enough game to play: you picked an opponent, you picked a valley, you picked a starting spot and a finish line, then you met up, you clapped hands, and you ran. The best part? It didn’t matter who won the race. It only mattered how much stuff you managed to grab along the way, as that’s how points were tallied. Plantlife, herbs, metal scraps, whatever one could spot mid-dash. And today, that’s exactly the game he wanted to play.

Step One: Pick an Opponent. Easy enough. There was no one around that he was particularly on board with, or vice versa. More so vice versa. The siblings had some steady vibes, but one was really annoying and the other hated his guts for whatever reason. She’d say otherwise when she got the chance, but Jole saw right through her. That’s another thing he was ace at. He was ace at a lot of things. Was he getting off topic? He was getting off topic. There was the other vixen, but she was subpar competition, and Jole was looking for something fresh, something exciting. Lo and behold, in came that little, dappled bundle of sunshine. Lyn, Lynnie, Lynman, Lynster, Lil’ Lyn, Lynsol. Bingo.

“Lynnie!”

“Mm?”

He stuck out a hand. “Wanna go Valley Hopping?”

“Me? Really?” He already looked giddy. Jole’s handiwork, no doubt. “Oh, but,” And then it evaporated. Jole would have scoffed-- “Nordy said I had chores to do today. He says I gotta start being more independent.” He scoffed. Lynsol, true to his nature, took notice of it and elaborated, “But I wanna go! I can do stuff after.” And there came that smile. Who could say no to that smile? Not that Jole was planning on saying no anyway.

“Not a worry, Lynman, I’m sure the big boss won’t mind. We’re here to have fun, aren’t we?” He gave the boy’s shoulder a light punch, which was met with a similarly light titter. That’s one step down.

Step Two: Pick a Valley. This step might as well have been a formality. Vol’dun was practically made of valleys. Instead of doing the thing Nordy might have done, like pull out a whole-ass map to pencil down the approximate locations and the threat of the local wildlife and the Sethrak activity in the area, Jole was going to do a thing called “winging it,” which as you may have guessed, was another thing he was ace at. All the same, he and Lynster wandered around the desert for quite some time before landing upon a quaint little canyon in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t his go-to, but it would do.

The ashfur swung his sack onto the ground, announcing with prolix, “Allllriiiiiight! Now all we need to do is pick a start and finish,” Step Three, by the way. “and we’ll be more golden than a troll king buried in a family tomb. I sayyyyy, here to there!” He pointed vaguely. “Easy-peasy.”

Lynsol looked unsure of what to do with the jumble of words that just escaped Jole’s lips, but damn it if he didn’t try anyway-- “Okay!” He paused, briefly looking off into the distance, supposedly where Jole had pointed. He was far off, but Jole gave credit where it was due. The boy looked back. “Where?”

Jole waved his hands dismissively. “Details, details! Just follow me and stop when I stop.”

“Oh, okay!” Lynnie’s eyes darted off elsewhere, before darting right back. “What if I get in front of you?”

He would have scoffed if not for-- You know what? Fuck it. He scoffed. “First of all,” He rose a pointer finger. “You won’t. Trust me,” then rose a middle finger. “And second of all, it doesn’t matter who wiiins! C’mon, y’know this. Just matters how much stuff you grab along the way.” He flicked at Lynman’s ear. Playfully, obviously. In any case, he looked more than on board.

Step Four: Clap Hands. Technically Step Five, but they had already “met up,” per se, so they were allowed to skip around. Plus, it was his game, so he could do what he wanted. It’s not like having fun was meant to be orderly. Was he being bitter? He was being bitter. After a quick readjustment of his vibe, he led his opponent to their starting spot, as it were, before arching low enough that his chest would meet his thigh and his knuckles would meet the sand. He extended his hand out at his side, where it would soon meet the flat of Lynnie’s.

“Remember, it’s a test of perception, not speed.” He probably didn’t know what ‘perception’ meant, huh? Jole elaborated, “Who can eye gooder.”

“Okay!”

“No looking back, no backtracking. Oh, and mind the hornets.”

“What?”

“OKAY. ONETWOTHREEGO.”

And with their resounding clap, they set off into the canyon, with that previous sound becoming completely overshot by the sound of their footsteps, and soon enough, the heaving of their breath, though that may have just been Jole. Did the vigor of youth count as cheating?-- Whoa. He nearly missed that clump of star moss. Keep it cool, keep it frosty.

Running, and running, and running. He couldn’t waste even a moment to look over his shoulder to see the state of his competitor. It’s not like he could have overtaken him already! This was the kid’s first time playing, and there were a lot of tactics one had to learn to--

And there he was, like some mystical, blazing arrow that had been shot from the bow of a Loa. Did Loa have bows? Jole had never been too poetic-- FOCUS. And so he began to speed up, his feet slamming into the dunes like it had just insulted his mother, which, admittedly, wasn’t all that good of a simile, because Jole wouldn’t have cared. Worse yet, now they were heading into the brush and briar, which meant thorns to jab at their toes. At the very least, he was ahead of Lynster again, though he was deeply regretting not opting for his go-to. He knew that valley inside and out! He would have had the advantage! When he asked for something exciting and something fresh, he wasn’t asking to lose.

Not that he was going to lose, of course.

And that mentality stuck! That is, until Jole found that he had collided with a branch. WHAM! But as quick as he collapsed, he ascended back to his feet. A distant, concerned, “Are you okay?” rung out behind him, probably from Lynnie, definitely from Lynnie. He called out in reply, “NO BACKTRACKING.” which received an even quieter, “Right! Sorry!” in turn.

He repeated the process again, over and over, in an almost mindless fashion. What he thought to be absolute centuries of droning and braindead collection turned out to be, to his surprise, a singular minute. He blanked. Did he just pull a Nordy? He wouldn’t be given the chance to process that, as he was tugged back into reality by the click-clacking of… something. He could have stopped running to investigate, but therein lied the issue. It required stopping. It’s not like he had to pin it down. It could have been something as simple as the rustle of their knapsacks, which it no doubt was now that he thought about it.

Still, that gut feeling wasn’t going away, and it was rare that his gut feelings were wrong. The click-clacking grew louder, so loud that it crept into the realm of familiarity. He knew exactly what he was hearing, yet at the same time, he was denying it. A contradiction unto himself. His first instinct was to keep running, but then he heard the grunts, the panicked cry, and then one, sharp, “JOLLY!”

And that finally convinced him to grind to a halt. He huffed out a breath, then weakly pivoted on his heel. His knees were numb. Everything was numb. But none of that mattered when the adrenaline took hold. He would remember vividly what he saw that evening: that same dappled bundle of sunshine batting away at a hornet--the ugliest one he had ever seen--with a twig. Maybe they were all that ugly. He had never gotten this close to one before, willingly or not.

The ashfur watched as the hornet’s stinger, like some disgusting, throbbing quill, sunk into Lynsol’s back for the briefest moment, before fight or flight took the reins. Jole barreled into the fray, hefting up a branch two times his size and swinging it at the thing. Never had he been so pleased to hear the crunching of a carapace than in that moment, but he couldn’t stay long. Despite every muscle in his body pushing him to finish the bug off, he knew he had to do the wise thing, just this once.

And that’s just what he did.

He hoisted the boy into his arms and ran. He ran like he never had before, which may have been a lie. He was only vulperan, so he had his limitations, but, you know, dramatic narration and all. This isn’t to say he wasn’t trying, he really was trying. He really was. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want it to be his fault. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be.

“I’ve gotcha, little guy, don’t worry.” He didn’t sound all that certain, which isn’t to say that he wasn’t. He definitely was! He just didn’t sound like it. “Just hold on for me, ‘kay? ‘Kay. Alright.”

He hadn’t gone too far, thankfully, so it wasn’t long until the Sandpiercer was in sight. He wasted no time in colliding with the door and banging on it relentlessly. Between his panicked breathing and his incoherent cursing, he sputtered out,

“We got a big problem here!”

♦

When Nord threw open the door, he was greeted with a relative who fancied himself a visionary, carrying the limp body of a dreamer. In all his life, in all the terrible, abhorrent news he had seen and been given over the years, in all the times his heart had sunk, it had never sunk so fast as when his eyes landed upon the aimless, dull blues of Lynsol’s, staring back at him pleadingly. His hand had never flown up so quickly, and he had never pointed at Rheana with such fury before. His voice had never bellowed so loudly, nor had it ever sounded so angry. His suggestions became demands and his propositions became orders. In an instant, he had changed. In an instant, the gravity of the situation had broken him.

As soon as he received the rug he had asked for, he swept himself outside, laid it on the ground, and barked, “Put him down on this!” which his cousin was more than happy to oblige. His hands landed on the boy just as the opportunity arose, checking every place one could tell a pulse from, repeatedly, as his mind lay fragmented somewhere between paranoia and blind hatred. This time he wouldn’t let the seconds slip away from him, because he was going to count each and every one of them. His eyes shot back up at Jole. “What did you do.”

The ashfur looked disturbed, to say the least, but as per his nature, he had the divine ability to evaporate his own tension as if it were as easy as flipping a switch. “I dunno. He was out playing in the canyon, I think. I didn’t know what he was doing, but I looked away for one second and I found him like this.” He rose the boy’s head, high enough to gesture to the venomous wound that lay in his back. The rampant anxiety clung harder. “Sting, I could guess.” He shrugged. Shrugged. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all.

“Well, did you clean it? He should be fine if you disinfected the wound. You cleaned it, right?” Nord’s breathing only grew further out of pace, while Lynsol’s began to waver.

Jole paused. “I, uh, I didn’t find him soon enough. I didn’t know what to do--” He choked.

“Then it’s infected. It’s infected.” He muttered a swear. “There’s an antidote. It’s the,” He clapped his hands together in a desperate attempt to reignite his memory. “The stalk, near the caves, to the north. Get some, quickly.” He waved off the ashfur, but he did not leave. He blanked at him. “Jole, go!--”

“Do you want me to die too?! I can’t go! It’s almost night, the Sethrak will--”

“He’s going to die, Jole! Are you just going to stand there and gawk while you could be, I don’t know, TRYING?” Nord’s eyes fell back down to the boy, who now clung to his arm. He clung back, if not with a tinge more force, before his attention shot back up to the ashfur. Why was he still here? “JOLE.”

“I CAN’T DO ANYTHING.”

Nord’s heart beat within his chest faster than it ever had. He felt faint. Every solution he calculated in his head lost its legs at an unprecedented dead end, everything he and his merry band of children could do would do next to nothing. What could he do? Why didn’t he go back? Why didn’t he say no?

There was a huff of breath that reached his ears--Lynsol’s--that caused him to envelope the boy with his own body. The rise and fall of his chest staggered, as Nord desperately tried making out the words he was supposedly being told.

“Can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe.”

Nord muttered back, “It’s okay, Lynnie, shhh… It’s okay.” as he laid him back down while remaining just as close. His hand went to frailly claw at his throat to emphasize the point, the truth that Nord wished to do anything but accept. “Remember when I said you’d help us all learn how to keep our chins up? Well, you did it, Lynnie. We need you to keep doing it. I need you.” And in that single space of time, his surroundings became just as unclear as when he took a drag of the pipe. The world seemed to slow, solely to trap him in this one torturous moment. He couldn’t hear any other voice, any other breath, besides the boy’s, not even his own. He stared into the eyes of happiness itself, of sunshine, of hope. He stared into those eyes just as they began to flicker. Every word he ushered he couldn’t hear; every minor reassurance fell on deaf ears. He was all that mattered. Why didn’t they see that? He wanted to scream, to berate, to separate the wall, but he, too, was limp, just as that little bundle of sunshine was.

Lynnie.

And then the light died.

#irromemoirs #wowrp #wowrpblog #wyrmrestaccordrp #vulpera #voldun #vulperarp #worldofwarcraftrp

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automaticenemycrusade · 3 years

Text

Joyride: Prologue

“Nord!”

The onyx vulpera awoke with a gasp, soft as it could be, as he jerked his head up from the shabby, little table. Oh, had he fallen asleep at his desk again? No doubt he’d be dying the day he actually decided to sleep in his own bed. He glanced down to regard the mess he’d made, only to notice the goopy, black ink that had splattered across both himself and the parchment he was supposedly scrawling on. Fur and ink, what an exciting mixture. Dunes know he’d be having the time of his life washing that out.

He barely had time to make himself presentable before another vulpera emerged from underneath the flap of his tent, the one who had called his name. To neither his nor anyone’s surprise, it was his relative, a cousin whose only mission in life was to bother the former with his “brilliant” ideas. Nord acknowledged his presence as best he could, before swiping a rag off the table and wiping at his sullied pelt. It wasn’t coming out.

“Nord, hey,” The swagger in his step, the giddiness in his features, the passion brimming at his cheeks, warped and stretched to either side by that smile. That damn smile. Nord knew those motions all too well. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you, ‘cause I think,” Here it comes. “And stop me if you’ve heard this one before,” Despite the urge to, Nord smiled encouragingly, as if to say ‘do go on,’ to which his counterpart was happy to oblige. “‘cause I think I got it!”

And there it was. The poor fox had to resist rolling his eyes into the back of his head and groaning, which he did with ease. He had the practice after all. “Yeah?” He replied, lifting his brow. “And what is the ingenious plan you’ve cooked up this time, Jole?” Wry smirk in hand--or on face, technically speaking--he raised a single digit as he continued, “Are we convincing the guards to personally escort us to the oasis by pretending to be, what was it?” He tapped his chin in sarcastic thought, before lighting up his face in a similarly sarcastic realization. “The Dune Duke?”

The other vulpera, Jole, was taken aback by an eyeroll of his own, as well as a derisive series of hardy har har’s. “Before you mock me,” He began. “Just hear me out,” Nord complied, allowing him to continue, “Hot take: we get a wagon, a few alpacas, and we take everyone who wants it on the adventure of their lives.” That showman’s finesse of his really shined through in moments like this. Nord supposed one had to build some sort of charismatic skill set when they came up with bizarre schemes as often as Jole did, which is to say, he was irritably used to this. Nonetheless, he went on, “Day-long trip, from here to there, let the kits see the sights and get a taste of that authentic caravaneer life. Hundred-percent educational experience, no foul play.” He bent forward in a semi-bow, spreading his arms to either side with a final, “Whaddya think?”

“Well, first off, I think you’re insane.” He responded, oddly calm in tone for how witty his remark had been. They shared a chuckle, though Nord was quick to recover. “So, what? Are we bribing some,” He vaguely waved his hand. “Famous caravaneer to be our guide? For celebrity appeal?” Jole shook his head, though he did gesture for Nord to keep guessing. He was, no doubt, delightfully entertained. Nord obeyed. “Will the alpacas be incredibly rare? One has extravagant colors, maybe? Hot pink?”

Jole produced a drawn-out, “Noooooope.” in reply. He was having fun with this, and Nord couldn’t help but roll back his eyes at that. For what felt like the first time, he was actually intrigued by the prospect, even if it was probably extraordinarily dangerous. Of course, he’d had this mentality about Jole’s ingenuity dozens of times before, but there was always one tiny complication or flaw in the grand scheme that ruined it for him. Suffice to say, he wasn’t making any special exceptions nor holding his breath for this one.

The onyx vulpera finally relented, leaning back onto his palms with a shrug--his palms still stained by the ink, obviously. “What is it then?” He said, boggled, despite having never guessed it on the first try before. “What’s the outside help?”

Jole grinned that cocky grin of his and arched forward, “There is none,” He lifted up his hands to dramatically waggle his fingers. “‘cause we do it ourselves. You and me,”

“You and I.” Nord corrected.

“You and I. Not even! Mostly me.” The ash-furred vulpera winked--sweet sand demons, he hated those--before straightening out his posture, because you just know all that bending and curving he did for his showy presentations was taking its toll on his spine. Nord didn’t think it possible for his eyes to go any further into the back of his head, yet here he was, on the verge of an eyeball backflip. Although, Jole’s performances aside, the idea itself was interest-piquing. It’s the kind of thing he would have enjoyed as a kit. It’s the kind of thing he could still enjoy now. But, as with all of Jole’s ploys, they were too selfish to be fully realized. His cousin was never one to scheme if he didn’t think it benefitted him too.

“Let me guess,” Nord’s eyes glinted with familiarity, as he went to meet his counterpart’s gaze with knitted brows. “First people you invite are the vixens you talked up at the story circle,” He lifted a finger just as Jole went to interject. “The same story circle where you regaled the tale of The Dune Duke and his Dusty Damsel.” He, too, grinned a malicious grin, snark and snide practically enchanting his demeanor in that moment. This is what made listening to Jole’s rambling so very worth it. Still, he couldn’t help but feign shame and aim a friendly punch at his shoulder, tacking on a, “I’m kidding.”

“You laugh now, but just you wait until I get things in full gear.” Jole assured, and as per any accusation that involved him and women, he felt pressed to address it. “And for one, those ladies were delighted to have me; for two, that story was great,” And in an attempt to mimic his cousin, he raised a finger to Nord’s face before he could interrupt. “And you can’t deny it, ‘cause everyone else thought it was great too!”

“I dunno.” The curve of Nord’s lip twirled into a sly smirk. “I personally thought the ending could’ve been a little better. Plus, aren’t stories at the story circle supposed to be true?”

“It was true!” He retorted, though he quickly remedied his behavior once faced with a skeptical look from Nord. He folded his arms and paused. “Some of it, anyway- Look, that’s not the point. Point is, we got things to do!”

“Not people, I hope.”

“Doh,” And at last, Nord squeezed an eyeroll out of him, so much so that he couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, inkface,” Wait, was it on his face? He went to uncomfortably feel at it as Jole continued, “--Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that little detail when I rolled in here. Tell you what, you go wash up and I’ll do all the hard work, ‘cause I’m a generous and hard-working friend.”

Nord’s own laughter knocked the wind out of him. He replied, “You haven’t worked a day in your life.” just as Jole vanished back outside, to which he could hear a guffaw radiate from beyond his tent flap.

“It’s about persistence, not work ethic!”

The onyx vulpera scoffed, obviously, and although he wished to push the topic further, he decided against it. He turned back to that filthy desk of his, glancing at it with disdain, the disdain one got when they told themselves to do a chore. As if washing himself up wouldn’t take long enough! Note to Nord: sleep in your damn bed.

And then it donned on him, and he promptly dove his head past the tent flap in search of his cousin, which, praise be, there he stood, hands shoved in his pouch-pockets and eyes gliding from vixen to vixen. He’d slap himself in the face if he wasn’t preoccupied with another thought. “Jole!” He called out, to which the oblivious ashfur perked up an ear and spun on his heels to look back at Nord. “How do you plan on dealing with the older vulpera? That might be uncomfortable.”

“That’s the best part!” He shouted back.

“No supervision!”

♦

Nord had spent far too many minutes scrubbing away at his paw, far too many hours. Had it even been an hour? He hadn’t cared to check how high the sun rose above the horizon, and who knows when he originally woke up. At this point, he could barely remember the night before at all. Though, knowing him, it might be better to say, “the early morning before.” What was it he was biding all that time with? Funnily enough, that was exactly the problem. It was the very fact he had nothing to bide his time with. With each sunrise came the same routine, the same chores, the same hunts, the same necessities for survival. Had he grown so stale that he was finally giving into Jole’s senseless thrillseeking ways? Was there a part of him that wished that one of his cousin’s ploys would actually come to pass?

He wasn’t sure.

What he was sure of though, was that this damn ink, wasn’t coming out. Even with the addition of lukewarm water, it insisted on sticking to him. What was that ink made out of anyway? Tar? He needed a break, he needed a getaway, he needed something to sweep him off his mundane feet and wrap him in the exoticity of life. He needed an adventure. But, every time they got close, Jole lost motivation, or found something better to do, or abandoned the project all together out of spite.

Maybe this time, it’d be different. Just maybe.

Not that he was getting his hopes up, of course. Last thing he needed was to put effort into something and have it fail miserably, but hey, he was a hopeful guy. His birthright was that of faith he could misplace at his leisure, not that he was in any hurry. If anything, he was in more of a hurry to get this stain off. How much force did he have to apply? There’s only so much pressure a fifteen-year-old kid can exude!

“Nord!”

Fuck it. Just wrap it, wrap it up, no one will know. And that’s just what he did. He tore a strip of leather off of his own trousers and laced it around the still (somehow) ink-soaked hand. You burned yourself. That’s the story we’re going with. At last, he ushered himself outside, seeing none other than Jole standing… about a yard or two away from him. A cough was exchanged between the two as he moved an inch or two closer. His flair for the dramatic was a gamble as to whether or not it would be properly executed.

“So!” The ashfur began, clicking his tongue.

Nord, meanwhile, calculated all the excuses that were about to leave his cousin’s mouth. They were out of wagons. They want to keep the alpacas out of the deep desert for a few months. I had a wagon, but the wheel snapped when I tried moving it. I had an alpaca, but they fell ill just today. Everyone I asked said no. I kinda had a change of heart. I got an even better idea! I thought you hated the idea, so I got discouraged. I was sure you meant-

“We’re back in business, baby!”

#irromemoirs #wowrp #wyrmrestaccordrp #wyrmrestaccord #world of warcraft #warcraft rp #wra #warcraft oc #roleplayblog #vulpera #vulperarp #world of warcraft rp

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automaticenemycrusade · 3 years

Text

Joyride: Ch. 1 - A Tale of Six

It was but a day before that the fox was rising up from his desk after a less-than-preferable slumber to do the same things he did any other day, random and sometimes unnecessary chores that he (and others) put himself up to. Yet, here he was, alongside his cousin, watching him curiously as he rambled on about the route they planned to take. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying all that much attention until a roll of vellum made its way onto that dingy table of his, unfurled to reveal a roughly-drawn outline of their pilgrimage.

Jole tapped at it with a pointer finger. “We start here,” He said, tracing his finger along the dotted line and stopping somewhere in the middle, before resuming his tapping. “Stop here. Neat lil’ ruin there, easy to scavenge, full of fun toys n’ keepsakes, stuff like that.”

“Is it safe?”

There was a pause. “Probably?”

“Jole.” He said exasperatedly. “These kits are being put under our care, so the least we can do is guarantee their safety.” He inhaled, reemphasizing, “Is it safe?”

The vulpera knocked back his head with a wince, sucking in a breath of air through gritted teeth. “Yeah,” He exhaled. “Yeah, I know a guy. He can scout it out, see what’s what.” The poor thing, he almost sounded ashamed of himself, so much so that Nord felt pressured to reassure him.

“We’ll make this work.” His tone, obviously, held a tinge of uncertainty, as this could have very well been bait to stroke Jole’s ego, which it was. It definitely, definitely was. “Just get everything sorted. There’s no point in it if we’re stressing ourselves out the whole time.”

“Half the charm, bud. We’re in the big leagues now!”

Nord cut in. “If you consider carting around kits the big leagues, then yeah.” Now he was the one being hypocritical! How the tables have turned. In any case, the interjection was met with an eyeroll and a scoff, as was customary. It was a miracle they still tolerated each other after all these years of quarrels and quibbles, but lo and behold, by the blessing of whatever the hell kept their hearts beating, they still co-existed. Generally, anyway.

“If you consider carting around kits the big leagues.” He mimicked.

“Very mature.”

“Y’know, you’re really dead set on there being kits.”

“That’s what you told me.”

“Did not.”

“So, you are just inviting those girls.”

“N- no! I didn’t say that!”

“Kinda sounds like you did.”

They could go on for hours. In fact, they probably already had. How long had it been? Who knows. The two todds, eventually, for better or for worse, came to the mutual agreement that things should be kept formal and professional for as long as the planning phase of their scheme lasted. Here’s hoping it never ended, right? It couldn’t be broken either, for it was by pinky that they sealed their pact, and if there’s any sort of promise you can’t break, it’s a pinky one.

The ashfur had long since departed from the tent by then, leaving with a, “I’ll spot out some company. Catch some zizzies! We got a big day next sunrise.” and for once, Nord went to bed properly that night, in his own bed, under his own sheets, and nestled against his own pillow.

Except he couldn’t sleep.

He was too busy thinking, and unlike the layman, he wasn’t mulling over all the insurmountable things that could go wrong. He was thinking about the very opposite, actually. The friends they’d make, the sights they’d see, the freedom he’d feel, but like all of his cousin’s incredibly ambitious projects, it felt just out of reach. He made a promise not to have any high expectations after the first few disappointments, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited. Something inside of him called out for adventure, and the world had just conveniently given it to him. Who was he to put down the opportunity?

He shifted uncomfortably and tugged the sheets further over his chest as an updraft of wind made its way past the tent flap. He hadn’t tightened the rope enough, and yet he neglected to crawl out of bed to do just that. Why? He wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. Maybe it was out of fear he’d collapse at his desk again. Maybe he was already sleeping and his dream happened to concern being awake. He couldn’t have been that bland, right? He was still young, he could still experience the thrill of youth, which was something he had lacked up until now. For a day, he could be a kit again; for a day, he could be careless.

He recalled Jole’s words in that moment, “No supervision.” and it was just as that burden of responsibility washed over him that he pressed into the pillow, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and forced himself into slumber. No more thinking, not tonight.

♦

The morning after was both the busiest and most unpleasant one he had ever woken up to. As if the lack of sleep wasn’t enough, Jole barging in and clanging two horseshoes together definitely took the cake. That’s what Nord woke up to, in any case, and Jole, true to his fashion, didn’t stop until he was sure his cousin was properly roused. An unnecessary amount of wake up’s, come on’s, and I’m awake’s were exchanged between the two before the onyx vulpera actually managed to scramble to his feet and dust himself off of the morning grime. He hadn’t even put on his vest yet, which he promptly went to remedy.

“Today’s the day, Nordy!” He had never looked so thrilled in the time Nord had known him, which was a high bar to jump. Not that he was surprised, the occasion called for it. “The day we rewrite the game, the day we add puh to the pow, you and me.” Nord gave him a look. “And I.” There you go.

“So, everything’s set?” He had just finished yanking his vest from an unkempt pile of clothes and fitting it over his torso when the question left his lips. Laundry. He should do that when he gets back.

Jole, meanwhile, slurred off into an, “Ehhh…” as he itched at the back of his neck with unease. “I mean, not all the people I asked said yes,” The vixens. Called it. “But we got a few applicants. Kits. We’re gonna go pick ‘em up, actually.” He instinctively went to raise up his hands just as Nord leaned back to pinch at the bridge of his snout. “Yeah, we’ll have to talk to some parents, but that’s why I do the talking! You just stand there and look, uh…” He trailed off.

“Mature?”

“Right. That. Look like you know a thing or two.”

“I do know a thing or two.”

“Not my point, but sure.” The ashfur paused, then rose a finger. “In fact,” He paused again, this time with an open grin. A joyous, illegible voice from outside then broke their silence, calling out a name that Nord couldn’t quite catch from this distance. It was unfamiliar to him, but seemingly not to Jole, who said right afterward, “Here’s one now.”

He had questions, lots of them, but it appeared now wasn’t the time, as Jole made pretty clear by shushing him, taking him by the hand, and ushering him outside. The glare of the sun took him by surprise once they left the safety of his shelter, squeezing out an, “Ow.” once it got him in the eyes. A part of him wanted to plead with Jole to slow down, to give him just a bit of respite, but the other pushed him on, the other kept reminding him of the spectacular day ahead once they got their wagon on the trail.

They never said it was easy having fun in the desert.

The voice called out again, clear enough to pick out the words this time, “Mister Jolluh?” and once Nord was able to track its source, his eyes landed upon a short, dappled orange vulpera who couldn’t have been more than five or six.

Jole called back, “Jole! It’s Jole.”

“It’s Jolluh.” Nord cut in, which his cousin was quick to prohibit by swiping a hand in front of his face.

“Jole.” He repeated. By then, he had waved the child over, who practically tripped over himself in trying to close the distance. It wasn’t any help that he was carrying quite a load on him, with a mix of knapsacks and nap snacks.

“Hi!” He offered a little wave, which nearly caused all that stuff he was holding to slip onto the ground. Should he help? Nord wasn’t sure. “I’m Lynsol!” He said, cheerily. Nord had never seen someone quite as bright and joyous as the boy, and that was enough to make him smile. Jole looked pretty proud of himself for that one.

Speaking of the ashfur, he had leaned over to be eye-level with the kit, presenting his hand to be shaken, which it was, almost immediately. “And how old are you, buddy?”

The boy, Lynsol, held up five fingers. Huh. He wasn’t far off. Nord had apparently looked off-put by this discovery, as the kit brought attention to it by waving at him and reassuring him, “Don’t be sad! Mom says I got a gold heart! And I got op-ti-mi-sm! Which means I’m super happy!” And then he giggled, and in a blink, Nord forgot what sadness was. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“She’s right, you know.” Nord, too, outstretched his hand, which was taken just as fast. “Maybe you can teach us how to keep our chins up as well as you do, huh?” Lynsol, in turn, nodded repeatedly, an exuberant smile still planted on his snout.

“Isn’t he just a bundle of joy?” Jole went to pinch at his cheeks, which caused another giggle to escape from the boy and another smile to sweep onto Nord’s face. “With that out of the way, how ‘bout I introduce you to the sacks of fluff we’ll be using this eve’?” He waved a hand off to the side with dramatic flair, which Lynsol felt pressed to applaud at. Awh.

“I’m gonna be really disappointed if one’s not pink.” Nord remarked. Jole, whilst in the motion of pivoting and leading them off to the stable, rolled his eyes in response. He could practically hear the unspoken hardy har har radiating from him. Strangely, it felt as if he blacked out somewhere along the way, because one second they weren’t there, then the next they were, and he had no recollection of the steps it took to get there. The fact Jole was giving him one of those looks only added to the mystery.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

Two blinks, a shake of his head, and a roll of his shoulders later, and he had more or less snapped back to reality. By then, his cousin had disappeared into the stable, and by the next second, he emerged with--

“What.”

What lay before Nord was a pair of the scruffiest, shaggiest, and grungiest alpacas he had ever had the misfortune of looking upon. Had that one even been sheared since it was born? And the other smelt like marmot breath. He couldn’t help but recoil in disgust. “Are you s-”

“Oh, I love them! Can I pet them? Pretty please?” The boy queried, excitedly. Nord could barely believe his eyes. He was made so giddy by just seeing an alpaca, and not even a good, healthy one, for that matter. Should he have been giddy? Was he missing something? Either way, his cousin was happy to humor the little one.

“Go right ahead, lil’ guy!” He replied, twirling his fingers in the alpacas’ direction as if he were spinning a cane. Always the showman, this guy. Lynsol clapped his hands together in a rapid, exhilarated rhythm, as he--true to Jole’s directions--went right ahead. Those small hands of his darted over to scritch at what was likely a tick-ridden clump of fluff, but oddly enough, that didn’t look to be of any concern to the kit, nor to the alpaca. In fact, the alpaca looked at the boy like he was the first to have given them a scritch or two, as if everybody else had always judged them by their disheveled appearances. In a flash, Nord had gone from being generally neutral to feeling guilty and terrible. He felt pressured to redeem himself in his own eyes, and so it was that his subconscious took the wheel and put one foot in front of the other. A hand rose to caress the animal, but he found that it hovered in front of Jole’s face instead, as he had conveniently moved in front of him during his approach. The ashfur gently moved the hand aside, and with that, Nord blinked himself back to reality. No more thinking, not today.

“Apollo and Hutch.”

“Huh?”

“Apollo and Hutch, the alpacas.” Jole pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the duo. The alpacas, Apollo and Hutch, looked on expectantly, while Lynsol kept itching at their scruffs, cooing and chortling. “Something tells me you didn’t catch much sleep last night, big guy.” He clapped a hand onto Nord’s shoulder, almost sounding concerned. Almost.

“I’m fine.” Nord said, waving a hand dismissively. He really wasn’t, and Jole knew it too, but he didn’t want to bring down the mood. He wasn’t that selfish. Either way, he didn’t think his soul--nor anyone’s soul, for that matter--could sustain the boy being unhappy with his dismay. He didn’t think he could sustain the boy being unhappy at all.

“If you say so.” The words slapped Nord back to attention. It was obvious the ashfur wasn’t convinced of his cousin’s fineness, but he wasn’t one to push, especially not today. Why was it today that Nord’s head decided to preoccupy itself with all these thoughts? He wasn’t sure. Though, just like the last few times, life moved on, because Jole had a job to do. “Right! So, Lyn, Lynnie, buddy,”

Lynsol tossed a glance over his shoulder, the joy in his eyes never once dimming since the time they had met. “Hm?”

“Lucky you, you're our first member aboard the wagon, bud, ‘cause we got friends on the way. You’re gonna help me and Nordy here pick ‘em up!” Jole planted a hand against his cousin’s vest, patting it twice, before sweeping his hand back to his side. “And yeah, you might be thinking, ‘but Jole, where are we gonna get a wagon this late into your special day?’ And my answer to that is riiiiight,” He held up a finger again, his eyes closed and his free hand set on his hip. He continued to hold out the word, to seemingly to no avail, because nothing happened. He began to look nervous. “Arrrrooouuund,” Nothing. “Thhhhhhe,” Nord’s amusement in the situation started to dwindle. “Cooorrrrnn-”

And, lo and behold, he was cut off by the familiar sound of wagon wheels crunching through sand. Soon enough, a vixen came into the view, an older, exhausted vixen, but Nord wasn’t paying attention to her. He was paying attention to the wagon she was dragging behind her, because unlike Apollo and Hutch, it looked incredibly well-preserved. The wood looked fresh, with not a splinter to be seen in the wheels, and the sheet that constructed its cover lacked the wear and tear that he was accustomed to. Suffice to say, he was amazed, and couldn’t help but mutter a soft, “Wow.” in its wake.

“Ah-ha!” Jole spread his arms. “I call it the Sandpiercer.”

“I still think that’s a stupid name, Jolluh.” The vixen remarked, to which the ashfur choked out a laugh that balanced somewhere between being sarcastic and legitimately wanting to punch someone in the face.

“It’s Jole-- okay, buh-bye, love you.” He quickly waved off the vixen, who did just that, leaving nothing but a roll of her eyes and a disgusted scoff with her departure. Nord and Lynsol both had their fair share of laughter at the exchange.

“You named it?” Nord finally asked.

Jole nodded. “‘Course I did! That’s what you do with a wagon bound for greatness. Plus, it’s cool, and no, you can’t tell me any different.”

“Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes, though it wasn’t long until those eyes landed back on the wagon. “Sandpiercer.” He repeated, still awestruck by just how pristine it was. He really wasted no expense with this one, did he? Though, as soon as he entered that paradise of thought, it was interrupted by Jole’s voice, which swept in front of him like a moon eclipsing a star.

“Without further adieu,” He said, placing a hand against the door to the wagon and throwing it open not a second later. “Let’s not keep those new friends of ours waiting.” He frantically directed them in. “C’mooon, don’t be shy.” Lynsol took the initiative and eagerly scrambled up onto the wagon bed via Jole’s aid. Nord popped in just behind him, though his ascent was much steadier given his size. His cousin, however, didn’t follow them in, as he had to keep outside to guide over the alpacas and fit them into the reins. This conveniently left Nord in the awkward position of being alone in the wagon with Lynsol. Should he say something? Strike up a conversation, maybe? What sort of things do you talk about with a five-year-old? Nord had no clue. Maybe he didn’t have to. He looked preoccupied anyway.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Lynsol took on that charge for him, lamenting, “You look sad.”

He did? He dragged a hand along his features insecurely, replying, “I’m fine.” How many times could he lie to himself? It wasn’t like he could describe why he wasn’t fine, in any case. Lynsol, unfortunately, didn’t look convinced, but similarly to Jole, he didn’t seem intent on budging.

“Do you got a happy place? That’s where I go when I’m sad.” The boy smiled, bright enough to light a lantern, if not a few dozen. “I think about the people I love!”

Nord paused. What was his happy place? Should he feel bad that one didn’t immediately come to mind? While he managed to force a smile, he wasn’t given the chance to answer, because a certain relative of his was knocking at the door frame for his attention. He looked over to Jole earnestly, tired eyes narrowed.

“‘Cause I feel generous, I’m gonna let you drive.” He said, slipping into the wagon and waving a hand outside. He assured, “I’ll keep our friend here company,” before taking Nord by the shoulder and guiding him to the door, where he simply nodded and wished him good luck. The onyx vulpera may or may not have stopped listening somewhere in there, but nonetheless, he shuffled outside and boarded the front of the wagon, where he took hold of the reins and steadied out the alpacas with a clicking whistle. Apollo and Hutch, despite their conditions, looked more than eager to get moving. Maybe Nord really did misjudge them.

As the pitter-patter of alpaca nails and the groan of wagon wheels invaded his ears, so too did the chatter within: Jole’s laughter and Lynsol’s kiddish giggling, on repeat in his head.

He deafened them out eventually.

♦

The first was a pair of siblings, both red-furred and accented with tanned patches. The younger of the two (he assumed) barreled in front of his sister and tugged at her impatiently, whining for her to move faster, not that she looked in any position to do that. Unlike Lynsol, she was carrying a burden of equipment made for two, though it seemed the younger was neglecting to pull his weight. The urge to lighten the load came along and he acted on it thoughtlessly, hopping down from his vantage and bolting over to lend a hand.

“Raysik!-” The vixen called agitatedly. It’s no surprise she was annoyed with the lack of help, but as she caught Nord in the midst of his dash, she looked a little relieved, if not a tinge confused. He was, after all, running at her without an established intention.

“I got it,” was all he said before closing the distance and shifting a thing or two into his arms. The girl looked thankful, smiling accordingly.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

It wasn’t a second later that Jole threw open the door, dramatic enthusiasm at the ready. “Heeeyyyo!” He hollered. Lynsol followed suit and popped his head out from behind the door, holding in a snicker or two. “I’ll be your oh-so-beloved conductor this eve’.” He tipped a nonexistent hat. The siblings’ parents, whom Nord had just noticed, looked less than impressed. One was stone-faced, while the other appeared much more delicate, which is to say they had a superb contrast. It was only then that Jole noticed the girl’s plight, darting over to aid her, but with his, “I gotcha!” came a stutter from the vixen.

“Are you sure? It’s a little heavy-”

Nord intruded. “I got it.” And so came an end to Jole’s zeal, for his vibe had been executed. He rose his arms in defeat, before spinning on his heel and approaching the older vulpera with a finger gun. Nord would have almost preferred to be the one talking if Jole insisted on being so… himself. Still, he aided the girl in getting their luggage onto the wagon bed, while the younger, Raysik, introduced himself to Lynsol, before going on a rant about something Nord had long since tuned out.

Eventually, the onyx fox was brought back to focus by another stutter from the vixen. “I’m Rheana.” She said shyly.

He turned to look at her. “I’m Nord.” He paused, quickly tacking on, “It’s nice to meet you.”

She nodded gently, pointing a thumb at the boys behind her, whose mouths were still running a mile a minute. Nord could only assume she was gesturing to Raysik. “That’s my brother. Raysik?” Her brother didn’t answer her, so she sighed annoyedly instead. “He’s… fun.” She didn’t sound certain, obviously, but Nord didn’t get the chance to discuss it further, for she had already moved on to the next topic, peering outside and pointing at the ashfur chatting up her parents. “Is that your brother?”

“Cousin.” He responded.

“You two seem close.”

Nord paused. She really had no idea, did she? “Yeah. We are.” Now was his turn to switch topics. “And how old are you, Rheana?”

“Oh, um,” The question took her by surprise, which Nord didn’t intend for, but he couldn’t exactly go back on it now. Add it to the ever growing heap of unspoken guilt. “Seven.” She said. “My brother’s four.” And suddenly, he couldn’t think, nor could he speak. He was expecting young, but this was young young, this was the influencing stages of life sort of young. He choked on still air for a moment, which Rheana instantly took notice to. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to.”

He frantically waved his hands. “No, no--” He set his hands on her shoulders, affirming, “No. I’m fine. I was just thinking, is all.” And just as before, he forced a smile, which Rheana didn’t seem at all convinced by, but she wasn’t one to budge, right?

“Okay.”

And that was the last word spoken between them before Jole popped back in and bobbed his arms up and down to grab everyone’s attention. He was pretty good at that. “Just one more pitstop and we’ll be good to go!” The boys cheered while Rheana offered light applause, which was soon joined in on by Nord. Of course, he reminded himself that he was still the designated driver, which slowed his clapping to a halt. Wordlessly, he moved onto his feet, dusted himself off, and walked outside, repeating the same motion of grabbing the reins and steadying the alpacas with that clicking whistle. This time another voice joined the chatter, then a second once Rheana (he assumed) felt comfortable enough. This time he couldn’t deafen them out.

“Having fun in there?” He eventually said, and just his luck, the chatter continued to roar over him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the idea that he was brought along just to be a chauffeur. Did Jole really mean it when he told him to stand there and look mature? Nord wasn’t sure.

But, as fate was feeling kind today, both Jole’s and Lynsol’s heads popped out the window, which had been sealed via curtain prior to that. “Yeah!” The boy said, heartily.

“Party’s just getting started--” Jole began, though he cut himself off to slip his head back in and call illegibly for someone to “do the thing,” so to speak. Not a moment later did Raysik appear, sliding his head atop Lynsol’s and looping their ears together, before they collectively blew raspberries. Jole threw his head back in laughter, with the boys in tow, and ultimately Nord as well. However, as soon as it began, the rambunctious chuckling was again drowned out by chatter, as each of them fell back from the window.

And to subconsciously answer his own question, Nord muttered a reticent, “Yeah. Me too.”

♦

Within the hour, they arrived upon another settlement, where an older, peach-furred vulpera fumbled with the knapsack strapped across a younger vixen’s back. The girl was garnet-colored, with patches just a shade darker, and she appeared just as ecstatic as Lynsol had been. The vulpera Nord could only assume to be the father mumbled out a twitchy, stress-ridden, “I packed you three meals. One lasts an hour, one lasts six, and one lasts eleven, which is for breakfast, lunch, and dinner-- Oh, I forgot dessert.” He choked on his words, facing away to holler out for another’s attention, “Pumpkin, did I forget dessert, or is it with you?”

Another voice, practically illegible, called back out to him, though the only words Nord managed to pick out were ‘no’, ‘here’, and maybe ‘it’s’? The father huffed out a breath at whatever the voice had said, pleading with the girl to, “Just stick tight,” before straggling back into the tent where the voice had originated.

Through all of this, Nord had almost forgotten why he was there. That is, until Jole ruptured through the door with a spirited, “Heeeyyyo!” Oh right, their grand adventure. The ashfur slung himself from the doorway, where Nord soon joined him.

The vixen had just begun scurrying over to them when they slotted themselves against the frame, stopping just short of the wagon and slipping a sharp, “Oh!” before tripping on herself and scampering the opposite way, where she dove into another tent and fell silent. Meanwhile, the girl’s father had reemerged from the central tent, holding with him whatever they called “dessert.” When a sweep from left to right didn’t land his eyes on his daughter, he started calling her name.

Jole, ever the opportunist, took this as his chance for a meet-and-greet, so he did just that, tumbling from the wagon and approaching the fox with--you guessed it--a finger gun. “Heyyya, buddy,” was all Nord caught before they slurred off into murmurs and incoherent nonsense.

He didn’t know how, or when, but the moment he looked down, there she was, as if out of thin air. She shuffled her things closer to her chest before allowing a wave at him. “Hi.” She whispered.

Although he found it confusing, Nord felt the need to match her volume. “Hi.” And without any signal to do so, they both looked over to the ashfur, then back to each other, to which Nord outstretched a hand and said, “Long day?”

“Duh.” She tittered, taking his hand, where it was then gently shaken.

“Here’s hoping we can have some fun then, huh?”

“Mhm!”

Nord, too, snickered along with her, though he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. The girl kept an aura, like she was hiding a dozen secrets at once, not that that was something he was willing to bring up. “I’m Nord.” He bowed his head.

“Irro.” She bowed her own.

“Are you alone?” He asked.

She looked taken aback, shifting her eyes from side to side suspiciously, before focusing back in on Nord, to which she smiled, perked up her shoulders, and said, “Yep!”

He didn’t question it. Maybe he should have, but in the moment, he didn’t think to, and that was that. Instead, he dismissed whatever paranoia he held about the situation and gave her a warm smile, the best he could manage, before sliding his hand down her forearm and clutching on tight. “Alright, Irro-- big steps.” With a heave, he hoisted her up onto the wagon bed, which she giggled at; all the more when she noticed those who sat within and when those who sat within noticed her. Introductions began: hands were waved, names were exchanged, smiles grew brighter, and as with most things, Nord smiled subconsciously. They had rounded everyone up, as far as he knew, so finally, finally, they could do what they came here to do: have fun.

And when one fell, another came to take its place, because just as Nord turned around again, there stood Irro’s father, as well as Jole. He really couldn’t handle another jumpscare, seriously. “Sir--” The vulpera extended the dessert, flubbing. “Sir, is my little girl in there? I have her tarts, sir.”

Nord swerved his head back. “Irro.”

The kit emerged from the mass of giggling children the second he called for her, sliding onto her knees to retrieve the carefully wrapped box from her dad. “Thank you, Paaaa~” She leaned forward to lay a peck on his forehead, which, from what Nord could tell, put him on the verge of tears.

“Oh!” He grieved, turning to Nord and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You keep my little girl safe, okay, sir? You keep her safe.”

Nord nodded solemnly, taking the fox’s finger and shifting it into an open hand for him to shake. “You have my word. It’s only a day, you won’t even know she’s gone.”

“Love you, Pa.” She added, for better or for worse.

“I love you too.” He replied, inhaling shakily, before resigning himself and turning to depart.

Jole, on the other hand, tacked on a less-than-helpful, “Not a worry, big guy! This is gonna be the trip of a lifetime, and I’m sure she wouldn’t wanna miss out on it,” which caused the older vulpera to briefly stop, before continuing to walk. Nord looked less than amused with his cousin, but he wasn’t in the mood to push it. In the meantime, Irro returned to the circle the other kits had made, where they shared stories passed down to them by their parents. Likely all false, but who was Nord to ruin their fun?

The cousins had clambered back into the Sandpiercer by then, where Jole had unraveled a sheet of vellum, the same vellum that kept their route bound in ink, except now it was turned on its opposite side. His eyes flicked from the sheet to the kits repeatedly, until he eventually squinted over at Nord and whispered, “There’s supposed to be seven. We’re missing one.”

Nord knitted his brows. “Do we need to make another stop?” He was certain he said that was their last stop, because he sure didn’t see anyone else, unless Jole just miscalculated. Very plausible.

“No, her,” He vaguely pointed at Irro. “She has a sister.”

And it was that final piece of information that confirmed his gut feeling, and yet after everything, Nord felt inclined to put aside his better judgement and keep it their little secret. Who was he to deny their fun? They were all here to escape, if just for a day. He wasn’t going to be the one to strip them of that.

So he shrugged.

“Did you want to go back?” Nord asked.

Jole was as impatient as he was self-assured, Nord knew that well enough, so when he shook his head and wrapped up the vellum, his cousin was already ten steps ahead. “Nope. First come first served.” And with that, he thwapped Nord across the head with the scroll, before promptly calling shotgun.

Just Jole being Jole, right?

♦

Nord had never once had a companion in the front seat during the trip, so Jole, for once, was welcome company, even if he was just there to spout out directions that corresponded with their route. On that note, he wasn’t listening all that much, not like he needed to. He had spent his entire life in these dunes, of course he knew where he was going! Though, he was thankful for that time along the way where Jole made sure he took a left instead of a right.

Despite how much they bickered, they could often tell what was circling in each other’s heads, though this time around, the exchange was incredibly one-sided. Jole knew everything about Nord, but Nord knew nothing about Jole, which was… a little odd, he had to admit. His cousin was usually the much more open of the two, yet for this voyage, he had put on a façade just for the benefit of the children. What a charitable guy.

He inevitably gave into the urge to strike up a conversation that didn’t involve pointless directions, querying, “So, how’s it feel, Jole? One of your plans finally worked.”

The ashfur had been in the midst of calling for a left turn when the question was asked, causing his head to perk up and dumbfounded eyes to land on Nord. He scoffed. “Was bound to happen! Just needed the right idea, the right time,” He puffed out a breath. “The right people.”

“Awh,” Nord put a hand over his heart, or at least, wherever he thought it was. “I’m flattered.”

He shot back, “Don’t be, was mostly me,” and that one nearly caused Nord to scoff up his lungs. He’d never admit defeat, would he? And following that thought, his cousin conveniently went, “Thought you’d catch me off-guard, huh?”

“Read my mind,” Literally. “How’d you know?”

“It’s my job to know, Nordy. Think of where you’d be without me,” and just as Nord went to answer, he shushed him. “Don’t answer that. You’d be bored, is what you’d be.”

Well. He couldn’t disagree with that. “Right.”

That was the last of their conversation for a fair while, until it grew so quiet that Nord fell into a state of disassociation. He was still guiding the alpacas, following Jole’s directions, but he did so mindlessly, as if he himself was elsewhere, out-of-body. He didn’t remember the sights along the way, nor the awful one-liners his cousin may have slipped to him. He didn’t remember how the kits leaned their heads out the windows to catch the wind on their faces, nor when Jole…

Whatever Jole did, it kept them from leaning too far out. Good for them.

And then they were there, after a mere five minutes.

“You good? Your throat dry? Don’t think you’ve made a sound in an hour, big guy.”

Nord blinked, then blinked again. An hour? Had it been that long? He licked his lips, which he found to be immensely dry, and in his state of confusion, he didn’t quite catch what his cousin had said, which Jole obviously found to be concerning. “We’re here. We made it.” He said, nudging at him with an elbow, and that was enough to bring him back to life.

He inhaled a breath, then started gasping for it, before transitioning to panting. “Right. Sorry. Got lost in my head for a second there.”

His counterpart knocked at his shoulder. “Was more than a second, Nordy,” He paused. “But hey! We’re here, let’s go have some fun.” And to have some fun he went, dismounting from the wagon and throwing open the door to lead everyone out. Varied cheers roared from the kits as they barreled out the door, separating into what Nord guessed to be their social groups. Two boys, two girls, perfectly balanced.

By the time Nord had finished settling down Apollo and Hutch, Jole had already filed them all into a line, where he was now offering them exposition behind the grand ruins they were nigh to explore. It goes without saying, but it was all bullshit. He professed, “Have you ever heard of… The Dune Duke? He was the greatest of tomb raiders, you know. He retired in wealth and luxury!”

Nord had never slapped himself so hard in the face. “Jole.”

Lynsol, however, looked more than invested, though definitely a little confused by the terminology. “Mister Jolluh?”

“Jole.” He corrected. “What’s up?”

“What’s ‘retire’?”

“Well, my dappled friend, it’s something my dad really likes to shove in my face, but lucky us, we don’t gloat on the Sandpiercer!” And with those words came an uproar of questions and suggestions:

“Ooh, a gloat! Is that like a lizard goat? I want a lizard goat!”

“What’s a Sandpiercer?”

“That sounds mean!”

“Your dad sounds cool! Tell us about your dad!”

Nord cut in. “Yeah. Tell them about your dad, Jole.”

The poor ashfur let out a whine. Suave remarks weren’t going to save him here, so he opted for the next best thing, a change of subject. “All of those questions are GREAT questions, but how ‘bout we go on and get this party started, ‘kay? Who wants to do some looting, ‘cuz I know I dooooo!” The kits looked content enough with that answer, speeding past Jole with the fox himself close behind. Unfortunately for him, he’d find his path blocked by none other than his cousin, who still had one last question that definitely needed to be answered.

“Did your scout find anything? Is it safe?”

Jole shrunk in his place. If a vulpera could turn pale, he would have looked sickly. “Uh,” He wouldn’t lie to Nord, right? They could trust each other. “Yeeesss. Super safe. There was a Sethrak patrol moving through here, buuuut, uh, they went,” He wouldn’t lie. “Somewhere else.”

He lied.

Nord tuned out the laughter, the bonding of friendships, the joyous cries when someone had found something. All of his focus lay on a single phrase, looping in his head. Protect the kits. That’s all that mattered. He checked every nook and cranny; he searched behind every rock and every stone; he listened to every footstep and every claw tap. Nothing. The day he was meant to be free was spent being shackled by responsibility. The day he wasn’t meant to waste had been wasted.

Eventually, he found himself outside the Sandpiercer, staring down at the sand and devoid of emotion. Only then did he realize the shadow of night that cloaked his surroundings, and more importantly, the voice calling for him, “Nord! Nord, you good?” It was Jole’s. He finally turned to look at him, where it was revealed they had gathered around a makeshift campfire, with their loot dumped out in front of them. “We’re making a lootpile,” He explained. “You grab anything?”

Nord looked down at his hands. Empty. Not even in his delusions did he have the sense to grab a memento or two. “Ah, no. I didn’t. Sorry.” A few among the children seemed to find that funny. So much for no gloating on the Sandpiercer.

Jole looked nothing short of unimpressed, waving at him dismissively and emitting a disappointed, “Pfft.” Nord had never so desperately wanted to shove the blame off himself and onto another, but he said nothing. He kept his frustration pent-up. It was easier that way.

He allowed them but a second more, before approaching them and saying, “We should get you all home.” And that, too, faced an uproar.

“Oh, c’mon!”

“Can we stay out another day?”

“Mom and Dad won’t mind!”

The obvious ‘no’ became clogged in his throat. He cast a glance over the five of them, to Lynsol, to Irro, to Raysik, to Rheana, to Jole, who still, somehow, looked sly, like this had all worked to plan. They all looked on expectantly, waiting, anticipating, all aside from her, aside from Rheana, the only one with any sense. And he said that because he had none.

“Yeah.”

There was silence.

“We can stay another day.”

And with their rousing cheers, came a thousand broken promises.

#irromemoirs #wowrp #wowrpblog #wyrmrestaccordrp #vulpera #voldun #vulperarp #worldofwarcraftrp

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