The Eve of Battle

Garwulf sighed. It had been a long time since he last stood within the great ridges of the Ironforge Mountains. A chill breeze haunted the evening, and Garwulf shivered a bit. “I wonder what he is up to…,” he muttered, trailing off.

Turning back to head down the slopes, he whistled into the crisp air, beckoning his trusty companion. With a deafening growl, and a piercing howl, Loque’nahak appeared right next to him, as if out of thin air. “’Atta boy,” Garwulf said as he patted Loque’nahak on the head, giving him a scratch behind the ears. “I miss him as well.”

The two managed to get down the rocky crags with relative ease, using knowledge passed on to them in the past on how to watch for loose rocks, and find the hidden trails that one would normally not be able to see. The path before them led east, toward the great city in the mountain. Garwulf hopped on his mount, and strode at a blistering pace, navigating the winding trail that led to the city’s main gates. Passing the guards, giving them a slight nod, he continued on toward the center near The Great Forge, where the Gryphon Master stood, ever ready to provide transportation for those in need.

The flight to Menethil Harbor was short, yet refreshing, almost invoking a sense of déjà vu within Garwulf. He landed and began walking along the docks to catch a ride on the boat to Northrend. Garwulf paused, “Loq, did you feel that?” His pet didn’t respond, except for shaking its head slightly. A small smirk formed on Garwulf’s lips, if only for a second, and he continued with a “Hmph.” Waiting for the boat, a long time friend and companion called to him, “Gar!” Garwulf turned to see Kelryn running up to him, dressed in her traditional priest garb. “Going to Northrend?” she asked. “Where else?” he replied sarcastically. “Hey, did you feel something a minute ago?” Kelryn demanded. Solemnly Garwulf responded, “No…” With a blank look on his face, Garwulf turned to the open sea and the two friends waited in silence for the next ship to come to port.

After what seemed like hours of travel, the boat finally came to rest at the docks of the Howling Fjord. A quick trip to the flight master ensued, and they were on their way to Dalaran. As they approached the mysterious floating city, Garwulf felt it again, only this time much stronger. “Kel, what is it exactly that you felt earlier?” Garwulf inquired. “I’m not sure,” she replied “but it felt as if something long lost had returned.” “Do you think something is stirring here in Northrend? Perhaps the Lich King has found some new method of destruction,” Garwulf wondered. “No, it’s not that. More like something that we had before, but lost for a while.” said Kelryn.

They landed with grace as their rides dropped them off on the landing platform of Dalaran. “Well I’m sure we’ll figure it out in any case. I’m heading to the bank, later Gar!” Kelryn yelled as she ran off. Garwulf nodded in her direction, and headed towards the inner city still concerned about the feelings they had both felt.

The city was bustling with the usual chaos of trade, and folks looking for adventure. Ever since the Rise of the Lich King, Dalaran has been the hub of the world. People from all parts step foot in the grand city at least once in their lifetime, and many call it home, attuning their hearthstones to the innkeepers. Garwulf found himself, without thinking, heading to the Magus Commerce Exchange and was soon staring at the doorway of the little tinkering shop, “Like Clockwork.” Gar could hear the sounds of blacksmith hammers clanging, and gizmos going whizz-bang. Garwulf heard what he thought was the rough laughing of a Dwarf, but turned and saw nothing that could have made the commotion. Shrugging it off he headed toward the inn to stock up on food and drink for the adventures to come.

Garwulf hit up an alchemist and had some potions made, and went to the local engineers to acquire arrows for his trusty bow. His armor newly repaired, and gems in the sockets, he was ready. “The eve of battle is up on us!” a crier yelled out. “Wintergrasp is in peril, and the Horde pushes to take control of the Vault of Archavon. Bring your sword, your bow and your fireballs! All are needed to fight the vicious Horde and beat them back once again!” Garwulf grinned, this was his element. He quickly ran toward the crier, and entered the portal dropping him in the middle of Wintergrasp Keep, prepared to do battle once again. This trip through the portal however, would be his most memorable.

Garwulf quickly mounted and left the gates of the keep, heading toward the Sunken Ring to secure the Siege Workshop. As he approached, he saw a Tauren Warrior and an Undead Mage guarding the entrance to the production facility. Soon the Horde would use this base to create siege weapons to storm the keep, they had to be stopped. Garwulf worked his way around to the back side of the Siege Workshop as several other Horde appeared on the far side, bringing their numbers to five. The Workshop was overrun, and without reinforcements Garwulf had no hope of securing it.

Garwulf heard a buzzing sound behind him, and his jaw dropped in awe as he turned to see what the commotion was. “Tempest…?” Garwulf said, a hint of surprise to his voice as he stared at the giant wasp a few feet in front of him. Garwulf looked around, searching for his bearded companion of many years. “Where are you…” he mumbled under his breath. Then Garwulf saw him, kneeling 30 yards off to the eastern side of the Sunken Ring.

The crouching figure, stout in nature, didn’t seem to notice that his pet wasn’t with him. He was focused on the 5 Horde patrolling the Siege Workshop. As he seethed, wanting to tear into them, he knew that it would only be futile. Five on one was too much for any Dwarf, even one as skilled as he. His heightened senses warned him of rustling to his right. He immediately sprung a Freezing Trap from his pack and made his way farther east, searching for the culprit. He stared grumpily as he noticed Tempest off to the north side of the Workshop, almost 40 yards away from him. “Blasted Wasp!” he grumbled quietly. He motioned with his hand and the Wasp sauntered over lazily. “Tempest, we’re in battle. If yer not careful I’ll take ya back to Zangarmarsh where I found ye, how’d ye like that?” he asked more rhetorically than anything.

Something in the Dwarf’s peripheral vision caught his eye, and for a moment he thought he saw a night elf vanish into the shadows. Finally he had some help. “You ready Elf? ‘Bout time someone showed up!” he called out, cringing as he thought he might have alerted the Horde members below.

The Undead Mage wandered to the east side of the Siege Workshop, alone. Immediately the Dwarf and Garwulf sprung into action, almost as if in synch. A blue crystalline arrow flew from Garwulf’s bow directly toward the mage. As the mage looked up, the arrow landed at his feet, freezing the ground around him instantly, coating the mage in a layer of frost as well. The two alliance members aimed and fired, breaking the icy hold on the mage. Just as the Horde member got his bearings, Tempest charged down the hill knocking him to his feet with a loud thud. Bullets and arrows rained down on the mage, and with one final Arcane Shot, he dropped like a sack of stones.

The silence was broken, and the Tauren Warrior and a Troll Shaman rounded the corner, chanting cries of war. The shaman’s face twisted in fear as Loque’nahak pounced from behind and with an intimidating growl and froze the Shaman in terror. Garwulf descended on him with a flurry of arrows, inciting the beastly spirits within to fuel his rage.

The Dwarf stood face to face with the Warrior; the Warrior charged! The Dwarf was ready and immediately took a heroic leap backward unloading three shots before landing. The Warrior took one shot to the head and was dazed, stumbling slowly toward the Dwarf. The Dwarf peppered the thick armor of the Warrior, firing with everything he had. Tempest thrust his stinger at the Warrior’s back, looking for an opening. The Dwarf charged the warrior, rolled low under a clumsy attack, clipped the Warrior’s leg and ran forward away from the Warrior as fast as he could.

Hearing a cry of pain, the Dwarf looked over to see the shaman fall to the ground. Garwulf didn’t hesitate and immediately turned his focus toward the Warrior. The two of them finished the Warrior with proficient ease and ran around to the front of the Siege Workshop, out of breath, no other Horde to be found. The Dwarf sat down, resting. “Nice shootin’ elf! Saved me arse there!” he said thankfully. “You know Drack, you always did get in over your head.” Garwulf replied. Drackmire paused, and slowly turned toward the elf. “Gar?!” he exclaimed. The two sat for a second in awe, as waves of memories and battles past rushed through their heads. Garwulf nodded at Drack, “Good to have you back Drack.” “’Tis good to be back as well, old friend.” Drack said serenely.

The sounds of battle echoed in the distance, and on this eve of battle two friends were reunited.