Darkness: Chapter 1 - Dusk

Darkness: Chapter 1 – Dusk

His nostrils flared, irritated. The air was stifling, suffocating even. The coarse grains of sand and dust on the wind weathered his old hide while the sun’s rays scorched him mercilessly, Orcs of Frostwolf blood never liked the heat, never. He couldn’t even begin to guess the discomfort of his allies.

The Barrens, north and south, are the way they are for a good reason it seems.

He mused wearily, the heat had been an unwelcome companion to the Blademaster and the Siam’quashi party for three days now, the sun’s relentless attack would only be halted come sunset. And that, spirits be thanked, was not far off. Gripping the reigns of his worg he spurred the black furred beast into an ample stride to catch up to the leading troll of the trio, dust rising behind him as the paws met earth.

“The trail continues east then, Jol’tor?” Krogon asked as his wolf came alongside the armoured black raptor in the lead. The Siam’quashi turned his head to peer down at the Orc. His skin was blue, his face scarred and painted... in many shades of black and ebon.

“It be clear dey’ come dis way Blademastah’, We can be stoppin at da border to Dustwallow as da sun sets to make a camp” spoke Jol’tor, firmly as if it was matter of fact and not up for debate, or need not be anyway. His brows rose almost questioningly.

He worries that I intend to try to over-rule him, the Darkspear truly are weary of Orcs now, even those considered close friends it seems...

Krogon grunted, bowing his head respectfully to the senior Troll in acceptance, his gaze turning east as the horizon shivered between hues of orange , red and thinning blue. The sun of course was descending into the western mountains behind them, so his eyes were spared the glare, even if his bare back got no reprieve from the heat.

Krogon turned his head to eye the other two members of the group, and sure enough, they rode behind at a short distance either side of Jol’tor, riding atop their armoured  raptors. Neither looked ahead, that was for Jol’tor their tracker to do. Their task was that of lookouts, their eyes fixed on their flanks and rear for any sign of trouble.

Dutiful and vigilant, these Siam’quashi know their business and how to go about it well.

Nal’aka, the female rode on the north side of the road behind Krogon. She was neither beautiful, nor ugly Krogon guessed... Though she did forever wear that cowl adorned with bones and tusks, so he had no idea what she looked like to begin with. What he did know was that her twin-bladed war-blade looked potent, and worthy of felling a Gronn with one slice. She kept the weapon atop her back, shifting her body calmly with an aura of composure and control.

Tet’shalak, on the other hand fidgeted. On the south side of the road next to Nal’aka he was forever twitching this way and that as if the slightest sound was a warning of impending attack. Also unlike Nal’aka he wore nothing over his face, his bald head, small tusks and unpainted face were nothing unusual, so far as to say Krogon could discern no remarkable or noteworthy features. He did have a rather ornate looking crossbow though, adorned with bones and fine feathers... a bolt already loaded and ready to launch.

I am in good company for this errand I think.

Krogon turned his gaze ahead once more with a grunt, now facing the east and the approaching border to Dustwallow.

Though I get the feeling it has become a Wild plainstrider chase.

When the tribe had set out for the eastern kingdoms on the chieftains latest campaign, Krogon had been left behind with tasks and errands to prepare for their return. One of which included assisting the Darkspear as best he could with combating the renegade Dark shaman and Kor’kron on Kalimdor. Thus, he was here, ranging far and wide over the southern barrens in search of their elusive and dangerous foe.

The old Blademaster grumbled, running his right hand over the hilt of the sword at his left hip, reminding himself out of habit and ritual that it was still and always present.

I will be glad when the tribe returns and I may resume my proper duty’s.

It wasn’t that he was beginning to miss the absence of the tribe, being separated from its Orcs, It was also the frustration of this hunt. The dark shaman had raided a human caravan south east of Desolation hold and left Horde banners in an attempt to implicate Vol’jins horde. Such cowardly audacity could not be tolerated with the truce so tentative in Kalimdor. Unfortunately it also couldn’t  be dealt with, as the scum wouldn’t sit still and had reduced the party of four to scouring after them in circles, following whatever barely readable tracks and trails they left.

”Da border approach” Jol’tor spoke firmly, nodding ahead at the area drawing closer ahead. Krogon stirred from his thoughts and ran his eyes over the area, his gaze moving downwards as his wolf came to a halt at the top of what was a hill, and below... the marsh of Dustwallow. He could smell its stagnant water from up here.

”We can set camp up here and descend into the marsh to continue the chase” Krogon spoke, nodding firmly. It was the smart thing to do for now. Jol’tor nodded in agreement as he turned his raptor to face the other two trolls who had come to a stop close behind them. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, Krogon watched the last glimmers of the sun dip beyond the horizon to the west, the sky turning from blood red to gold and shades of deep blue as it rolled back over-head and to the east.

There it goes at last, some relief...

Then silence.

Silence is never something to be associated with inactivity, slumber or the absence of sound. That is a fool’s concept, for silence is the deep breath before action, the paused moment before danger and the plunge into chaos. Thus Krogon’s ears twitched as all sound fell away, the wind, the sound of crickets in the bushes...

...then the sound of bows and the whistle of arrows began.