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Old Acquaintances

The forgotten, plagued land lay unusually quiet. Right away the lone rider knew something was off in the area. His nose twitched, as if testing the air. Disease. Famine. Tauren. Hazel eyes scanned the area through a T-shaped opening in his helm. 'The Horde are in the area,' he thought. Urging his horse forward, the warrior kept watch.

The dull clop of his horse's hooves were stilled by a frigid blast of air that froze it to the ground. Mage, he told himself. He dismounted as soon as the ice faded – which was quickly – and sent his horse charging away from the oncoming battle with a smart slap to its rump. A big, beefy, bipedal bovine – a Tauren – warrior charged him from the left, but the human easily evaded… only to grunt in surprise as an undead rogue ambushed him from behind. The Alliance warrior shook off the attack after a quick breath. He had reinforced his back plate years ago after a near crippling encounter with yet another rogue. He swung his great sword in a wide circle whirlwind attack that struck both Tauren and the undead twice before they backed away. The lone fighter watched in disbelief as their wounds healed. His eyes narrowed. The healer had to go.

'Yes, indeed. That cleric has got to die'. He ignored the healing melee combatants and ran towards the cleric with intent to kill, but was stopped by another wave of ice. A close following fireball knocked into his shield and pushed him backwards… breaking the ice from his plated boots, but sending him into combat with the Tauren once again. Steel met steel and the human grunted as more magic – it felt like arcane missiles – slammed into his back. He stumbled with a snarl. 'Damn mages!'

The sounds of combat reached her sensitive ears and quickly the rogue vanished into the lengthening shadows. The battle was near. Horde were near. As she slipped beyond the sparse trees she saw several things at once. The first was the unbalance of the fight before her. The Alliance warrior dodged a blow from a Tauren. 'Mage. Cleric. The rogue may be a problem, but let's start with the easy guy.' She crept quietly behind the cleric and blew in his ear. Distracted, the cleric started to turn. He let out a strangled gurgle as a dagger made short work of his throat even as a second one found purchase in his heart. She was gone even before the others saw her.

The Tauren swung his axe around, but it skimped off the other fighter's shoulder plate. Predatory teeth gleamed from the slit in the human's helm. "My turn," he taunted in Tauren.

The Horde's eyes widened. "You speak my tongue."

"Know thy enemy," he replied. He brought his sword up, around, and downward into the weak point of the cow's armor – where the collar bone met the neck. The human jerked harder when his blade met sinew, muscle, and bone. One more downward, diagonal chop and even the platemail armor parted for his freshly sharpened blade.

The Tauren's eyes rounded in surprise, but his mind told him that any minute his ally would heal him. He'd be able to show this Alliance fool the true power of the Horde. It never came. He fell off the human's sword and towards the ground. He knew he'd not be getting back up. He twitched and knew no more.

The human winced as a dagger found purchase in his thigh. Damn rogues.

The Alliance rogue smiled darkly as she raised her daggers again. Mages were so easy to kill – their cloth robes offered no resistance to the bite of her daggers. This mage was no different. Her daggers found purchase in the space between his ribs and pierced his lung and kidney. As the mage slid off her weapons she stood straighter and surveyed the rest of the battle. With the casters eliminated, it seemed the warrior had things well in hand.

The Tauren warrior was dead, but the undead rogue still darted around him like a child on a sugar rush. It was rather annoying, really. Alliance patience won out. The rogue finally moved and so did he. His shield smacked the rogue in what remained of his face. The thief went down and so did the warrior's sword – severing the undead head from its corpse.

"Nice finishing move, warrior," said a smooth, alto voice.

Hazel eyes met ice blue ones as he looked up at the source of the voice.

She – oh, yes, the figure before him was definitely a she – wore midnight black leather armor that seemed painted on her. It molded and caressed her every curve. It was not a shiny black, but it did reflect light in a couple of places. At the same time it seemed to suck up and dull the very light around her. Her skin was flushed and her hair- straight, caramel brown in color – was pulled back into an 'innocent' looking pony tail. Her sword belt, he noticed, held a matching set of two very wicked looking daggers. He recognized her attitude as relaxed, but could see her muscles tense as he studied her.

"Patrick Duggan," he said as a way of introduction.

She took the opportunity to do an inspection of him even as she replied, "Allisondre Steelblade."

He was clad from head to toe in plate mail armor that, despite several new scratches, gleamed in the plagued light. What skin she could see was tanned bronze. Either that or he was naturally bronzed. The muscles she could see under the armor made it clear that it was not the plate mail bulking him up, but merely downplaying his more chiseled appearance. She got the impression that he'd been carved from solid rock and brought to life. He removed his helmet to wipe some sweat from his eyes and whistling for something in the distance. Allisondre was rewarded with an unobstructed view of his face. His hair was short and 'spiky' - for lack of a better term – and he had sideburns that reached to the bottom of his ears. His mustache – as brown as the rest of his hair – rested above his upper lip and was well groomed… like the whole of him.

Patrick nodded his head as his horse came and nuzzled him in the shoulder. "Easy (name)," he said as he took the reins of the white steed.

Allisondre clucked her tongue twice and a dappled pinto came into view. "Where are you headed, Patrick?"

"To Duskwood, milady. I am sent to the Swamp of Sorrows in search of a temple there. The last adventurer sent did not yet return."

"Ah," Allisondre smiled, amused. "I must return to Darkshire myself. Perhaps we are destined to travel there together."

The warrior nodded his head. "My father once told me that there are no chance encounters. Lady Destiny pushes people together for her own purposes. I would be honored if you chose to travel with me."

"The honor is mine, noble warrior."

The sickly, plagued lands were left behinds as the two - mounted on horseback -left the borders of the Plaguelands and entered the Alterac Mountains. The trip to Duskwood would take them many days and through many places. Their first stop would be Southshore to restock their supplies.

To Be Continued…