Stalemate

This is a collaboration between user:P3a and user:NikoB. It features Ursala and Gulgrim who, alongside Watrus, are trying to reach Garadar without being detected by the Twilight cult. It is set in early October 2010.
If you're unsure on who is speaking, Gulgrim uses straight quotes (".") whereas Ursala uses curved quotes (“.”).
It was cold. From the smell on the wind, it was only going to get colder. It had been raining here in Deadwind Pass, but nothing grew – something was wrong, but it was a thing that had been wrong for so long that there was no helping it.
Not many people stayed here for long. This forlorn party of adventurers – three of them, all with the same tabard – clearly didn’t want to stay here for as long as they did, but caution was key to their mission.
It was with reluctance that they had allowed the troll marksman to scout ahead, but she had insisted, and it was a sensible assertion. The swamps they were headed for presented the most dangerous terrain between themselves and their current goal: the Dark Portal.
The two remaining party members were waiting, then. They were to the side of the path, waiting under a tree. From the tree was hanging something which may, at some point, have been alive. And the two were a large wolf and a short orc.
The wolf rested her head on her paws. She was curled up a short way from her mate, watching him closely, and saying nothing.
"I've told you before not to stay in your wolf form when I'm around. It irks me, when we're alone."
Gulgrim's words were short, much like his temper under this prickly temperament. He'd been heading back and forth between the Clan and his mate constantly and he was reaching a point of exhaustion. Stroking his hand up and down the length of his weapon shafts, Gulgrim peered into the pass.
Ursala sat up, and stretched her front legs out before shifting.
“Sorry. Er. Floor is sort of bumpy. Fur makes it comfier.”
She tilted her head whilst she moved her legs out of a wolf-sitting-position and into an orc-sitting-position.
"They call this Deadwind for a reason. It's completely still. No wind, despite the fact the mountains hug close together here. You'd expect wind to be whistling merrily through, but it has no voice or presence here."
Grunting, Gulgrim picked up a rock and tossed it, childishly, into the rock outcropping on the far side. The stone bounced off, hopping once and twice until it slipped into the chasm that lay before them, with the dangerously eroded stone bridge ahead of them.
“And you can kind of hear the wind if you listen proper, just is… high. Not… here. Higher.”
Rather lamely, she pointed at the sky. When she looked at Gulgrim, she didn’t meet his eyes. They had come to terrify her recently – so tired, and yet so furious. At what, she was not sure.
“Sorry.”
She looked at her hands again, resting on her knees. They had scars on them. She didn’t even remember where some of the scars came from – they were new, she was sure of it, but the memories themselves escaped her. Maybe she just got them when she wasn’t looking?
"I don't know, I think perhaps a Shaman named this place. The wind avoids this pass, and I don't know why. Any that does come down here is thick and filled with the stench of death and decay. It's like the wind knows that there's something inherently wrong with this place."
“Is clever, the wind. Probably does know.” She kept looking at her hands.
"But then, we are beside a whole area that's bathed in the light of the moon all year round. Duskwood itself is a natural phenomenon, much like Ashenvale and Darkshore."
“Is… funny, have never really… thought. About that.”
She paused.
“Does Darkshore really never have sun? Thought it did… on the coast, yes? The beach? Sunsets?”
He didn't like to think about Darkshore much. That was where the Twilights had first claimed Ursala. Where this war had began. Now he was a single, lone, soldier of the Horde, wanting to fight for justice on the field of battle and yet being denied. This wasn't that kind of war.
"I wonder when Watrus will send up her flares."
He stated this flatly, shivering uncomfortably due to the locale, but trying to subdue it slightly for his mate.
She looked up sharply at the change in his tone, then watched him for a bit.
“You are cold.”
"There are a great many things I haven't thought about, until recently. I always thought I was a poor Shaman. That the Elements ignored me, saw me as a lesser vessel, but now I see the truth. Ursala. They've been calling out to me for a long time and now I know what I have to do." 
His hand tightened around his weapon, bicep tensing. 
"I have a cold slither of ice lodged within the core of my being. It allows me to be a stone cold killer when I need to be. It allows me to murder, in cold blood, those who would do us harm. You and I, and the Clan. I can strike down the enemies of the Horde with pride and dignity, as I know I am doing the right thing. And now, I also know I am serving the Elements while I do all of these things. They take me in their grasp and direct me. Ursala, that is the source of my bottomless combat rage." 
She sat still. As she gave his speech, she fumbled for her wolf mask – a source of security – and put it on, pulling it down over her eyes and nose. When he was done, he couldn’t read her expression, but the ears were angled down.
He looked to her, smirking slightly as he revealed this which he had been thinking on for a while now.
“You are cold, then.”
She shivered slightly and looked away.
“Balance. Moderation. Temperence. Equilibrium.”
A pause.
“Twilights had… none of that. Should have done, positioned between light and dark. But pulled the dark forward however they wanted. Did not mind if was not equal, the way they did.”
She said nothing more, but pulled her knees up to her chest and thought. She was sat quite far from him. She looked… small again. She’d been gaining in muscle, and she was still taller than him, but she seemed little.
"Then what I do to them will give them back that equilibrium. Will give them equivalent trade. You must reap what you sow." 
She didn't seem to be acting herself, but then neither was he. The rage he felt now it was like a forest fire, burning and consuming everything it touched even as it wrecked homes and lives. Gulgrim knew not what he did, and perhaps a small part of him wished that he too could have the exemption of judgement that the Elements could have. If a house burned down, it was not fire's fault, even when it was. 
"They will be destroyed by our hand, Ursala. I will not have their wicked plan come to pass. Not while I still draw breath." 
She said something very quietly. It was odd of her to say things like that – usually she was outspoken about what she thought. Her ears were flat against the furry top of her head now, and she shivered once more.
"Speak up, Ursala. What's the matter?"
It was more of a commanding tone than he was used to giving, even as a Sergeant. 
She immediately put her chin on her knees, wincing visibly at his tone. She immediately replied, quite loudly,
“Think you should talk to Grem. About this. Meaning… not that are stupid. Or dependant! Just think… should…”
She trailed off, then looked sharply at him, her face still covered by the mask. A hand reached to pull it down further over her face.
With no words, she slowly turned her gaze skywards, to watch for Watrus’ beacon.
"I dislike those masks," Gulgrim muttered as he leaned back against the rock and followed Ursala's gaze.
“Fine,” she muttered back.
She said nothing more.
In two minutes, they were saved by Watrus’ signal that the road ahead was clear – and gathered their things. In silence, they proceeded.
Category:Story