Drotara inhaled sharply. The air here was brisk, fresh and clean. It was a welcomed change from the humidity of Sholazar Basin and the dry heat that hung over the Borean Tundra. It had been a long time since he had seen pine trees. This new place, the Grizzly Hills as they called it, was literally a breath of air.
This new place, the Grizzly Hills as they called it, was literally a breath of air.
Unfortunately Drotara still had work to do and this excursion was not intended to be leisurely. Hellscream had sent him here after his exploits in the basin, figuring that Drotara could be an asset to Conqueror Krenna. Drotara knew this was going to be frustrating when Hellscream proclaimed that he had installed her as overseer of the area himself.
Drotara and Temujin were alone again as they traveled. Grakk was having his wounds tended to as the rogue’s poison from the attack left him without the use of the left side of his body. None of it was permanent they were told but he was going to need some time to recover. All the better. Grakk had proven himself useful but Drotara still preferred the quiet.
They had not yet arrived at Conquest Hold and he wasn’t expected for at least a few more days. He had hired a fisherman from the local Kalu’ak tribe to take him from the tundra to a sister outpost in the Howling Fjord. This saved the pair at least 4 days worth of travel time although he had fund to fund the trip from his own pocket. Garrosh would had just preferred if Drotara had walked.
As they pushed through the snow, exiting the northern side of the mountain pass, the first thing that caught Drotara’s eye was the massive fallen tree. He had once seen Teldrassil and while this did not compare to it, that didn’t mean it was not formidable. To the east he was able to make out the edge of the ocean. Pine trees covered the landscape in all directions.
The snow was thinning and the pair knew they were to head east and south to reach their destination. The road would take them there if they chose to use it, with the obvious threat of an open confrontation with the Alliance in the area or any other denizens who might be inhabiting the region.
Surprisingly the area felt quite calm and peaceful. The pleasant chatter of birds in the trees and the slow creaking of their branches helped put Drotara at ease. So much in fact, that he decided not to venture off the trail. His mind slipped away to other times, some filled with conflict, some filled with the quiet between conflict.
Sometimes he though it would be nice to seclude himself from the world.
But that was not Drotara’s life. He shook his head and quickly came back to reality, shoving the daydreams out of his mind and focused on his surroundings once more. And it was just in time too. The pair quickly removed themselves from the trail as they spotted two human figures in the distance. Concealing themselves in a group of bushes, Drotara peered into the distance.
They looked like loggers but there was no logging camp nearby. He heard of a power struggle for some camps but they were farther north according to what he was told. Drotara continued to follow the pair until they had traveled over a small ridge.
Temujin and Drotara moved towards the direction where the humans had vanished. As they approached the ridge they found a small encampment with a few buildings with a couple dozen men and women. Many were sitting around campfires, cooking, or were engaged in other menial tasks.
The camp was void of any Alliance logos or identifying marks of any kind. Drotara wasn’t sure if that should make him feel better or worse about what they found.
Soldiers under the orders of King Varian were not the worst things out in the wild.
Drotara heard voices raising. He didn’t hear what the squabble was about, but it was about to come to blows between the two. But then something happened he did not expect.
Through the fighting and yelling, the two hunched over, writhing in apparent pain. Tufts of fur sprouted from their skin with claws extending from their hands.
“Worgen” Drotara thought to himself. He had not seen one of these . . . creatures in years.
The two beasts quarreled viciously until one turned and ran. In the direction of Drotara and Temujin. They attempted to scramble backwards to try and give themselves as much space between themselves and the camp as possible.
But the worgen was closing fast and Drotara was hoping to avoid conflict. But it was not meant to be. The worgen stopped about 20 yards from the pair and sniffed the air, pivoting, peering in all directions. It saw Drotara and Temujin in the bushes and charged again.
An arrow was let loose, lodging itself in the worgen’s neck. Drotara hoped that it would prevent him from alerting the nearby camp. He was barely able to notch another arrow before the worgen has closed the gap, forcing Drotara to reach for his polearm for melee combat. The fangs attempted to latch down on Drotara’s neck but was pummeled on the side of the head with the hilt of the polearm. In painful retaliation the worgen swiped at Drotara’s arm, leaving a deep laceration in his left arm where each claw connected.
Drotara stabbed with the long blade, sending it deep into the thigh of the attacking beast. A wheezing gasp escaped it’s mouth as it attempted to cry out in pain. Drotara firmly planted his his foot on to the now bleeding thigh of the worgen as it was keeling over. He used this as a launching pad to propel himself a few yards away from the worgen, as the creature anguished at the pressure placed upon the fresh wound. This gave him a chance to reacquire his bow in attempts to finish the beast.
However, as he prepared to fire, his left arm was unable to support the force needed to notch and draw an arrow, as he collapsed to one knee from the pain spreading from his arm. The worgen was attempting to stand with Drotara’s polearm embedded in his flesh. As the worgen reached down to try and remove it, Temujin leaped from the nearby bushes, clamping tightly on the worgen’s arm. As the worgen swung at Temujin, knocking him loose, Drotara charged back towards the worgen.
He could feel the anger swelling inside of him and the worgen must have been able to see it in his eyes.
Drotara sat up with the beast pinned underneath him and let his rage take over. His gloved fist pummeled the beast repeatedly. With his one free arm the worgen continued to lash out at him but it was futile as the sharp claws only caused superficial scratches. Everything began to blur together . . .
Drotara breathed heavily. Leaning against a tree he reached for small patches of snow to scrap the blood from his skin and armor. The rage had subsided as the beast lay a few yards away in a motionless heap. He used a bandage to wrap his injured arm after cleaning it off with some alcohol he had purchased in Orgrimmar. He knew he would be in a weakened state for a few hours till the pain in his arm numbed itself and he was able to hold his bow effectively again.
After all, soldiers were not the worst things out in the wild.
After all, soldiers were not the worst things out in the wild.