AN: This series primarily stars original characters of mine and won't be any real "lore changing" stuff. In essence: if you're expecting some globetrotting, world saving adventure… this won't be it. Enjoy.
Chapter 1: The Climb
Anne Desrossiers grimaced. The normally calm and collected Gilnean stared angrily up at the sky. Wild winds swept raven black hair back in all directions, she'd tried tying it but that only proved a light reprieve from the fierce, biting winds of frostfire ridge. Of course, the winds were only the start of their troubles, judging solely by the small sprinkles of rain she could feel spattering lightly across her forehead.
"Rain." She stated bluntly, turning to the Tauren at her right. "We'll need to set up camp or find some kind of warm place to hold out, the cold can't be good for that cut."
The "cut" she was referencing was, in all truth, a massive gash that stretched from the top of her mentor's left pectoral down almost to his hip. Her mastery of healing magic was… insignificant, at least when it came to such massive wounds. The most she could do was clean it, bind it, and use what magic she could to bring the wound from something that would kill her mentor in a few minutes, to something that would kill him in a few days if left untreated by someone more skilled than she.
The Tauren lifted his eyes towards his student: two bright green orbs squinting awkwardly under a heavy coat of dirty white fur. He was old for his kind, yet to Anne he always seemed to move with a kind of jovial lightness that seemed almost unbecoming of his heavy frame. Now, however, he was hunched down and leaning against the side of the ridge they'd found themselves on. Draenor was a savage land, one that didn't tolerate the weak; they had to cross rough and uneven rock outcroppings, travelling aimlessly through what felt like an endless mountain range.
Thunder roared in the distance, followed not long after by a flash of lightning briefly illuminating dark and jagged peaks. The Tauren grimaced. "Just a bit further…" He told her… though to Anne's ears, he appeared to be saying it to himself. "Then if we cannot find a refuge, we'll look for shelter in the mountains… there's bound to be a cave or solid ground somewhere around here."
Anne shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants. She wasn't dressed for this kind of weather… then again, before they were discovered by those thrice-damned "Iron" Horde scouts, she'd expected them to take a rather leisurely stroll through Talador, collect some floral samples for the Cenarion Circle, then go home.
Or as close to home as a backwater world with everything trying to murder you can be. Anne realized that as long as those Orcs did what they did best (which was, of course, ruining entire worlds then blaming it on some fellow who 'told us to do it') she couldn't ever expect to be safe, even on Azeroth. She'd keep those thoughts to herself, of course; Anne had a sinking feeling that even sporting such a nasty wound from an Orc wouldn't be enough to dissuade her mentor from lecturing her on 'racism' or some similar nonsense.
"You look too tired for even a minute more, master." Anne said slowly, she reached her hand out; the pale flesh of her hand was rough, dry, and bleeding. Grasping onto his shoulder, her blue eyes focused on his. "You can lean on me… it'll make it easier."
Without giving the old Tauren a chance to respond, she brought a heavy arm over her head and onto her shoulder. It was moments like these that she was thankful for the added strength her… condition gave her. Her mentor could only groan out a mumbled "thank you"… she sincerely hoped it was his pride causing him to speak so low, rather than his health, but she knew that hopes rarely ever aligned with reality.
"The wind's picking up… let's get moving…" Anne said calmly, her voice showing none of the strain her body did as she began to walk with her mentor. It would be a steep climb and the 'path' they found looked to only grow narrower as they progressed through the peaks. She grimaced, uttering a quiet prayer that they'd find shelter in time…
…
The pair of Druids, however, would not be so fortunate. They would travel for a few more hours, long since given up finding any hope of civilization, instead what propelled them forward was the fact that travelling back the way they came only meant death would be certain. The rain worsened, the cold crept upon her starting at her toes… then moving upwards. Each step felt like a titanic effort, every inch of ground seemed to cause the mountains to grow larger and larger.
Eventually there was warmth, though; Anne felt it spreading throughout her body. It was as warm as a nice summer day! She giggled uncontrollably, her knees at last buckling and the heavy load on her back falling unmoving into the snow. Why did it feel so warm out? Did they climb so high up that they got closer to the sun? How did those thoughts even begin to make sense?
No… thinking required to much energy. She was warm, she felt numb, and she was ever so tired too… she just needed her sleep…
She felt herself falling suddenly; or rather, it felt like the world was gradually floating away from her. She would be trapped down below in the darkness, but that was no concern of hers, she was too tired, too weak…
And then, there was a light. It flickered and burned, embers ascending high into the sky above her and creating twinkling like stars against the darkness. She knew what this was, but the name escaped her somehow…
Fire… she at last remembered. As she remembered, the fire grew larger and larger, and though the darkness didn't recoil against the light, it was as though it was consumed by the flames. Anne felt the recoil of her fall, the world seemed to return to her with the speed and force of an oncoming blow from some mighty weapon.
…
Her eyes opened first, she saw but it took her mind a few seconds to acknowledge that she was seeing. She wasn't dead and she certainly wasn't enveloped in darkness. Cold air rushed into her lungs, the Druid's bright blue eyes opening wide, she sat forward, feeling a strange sensation as warmth spread across her form and rocks tumbled over her skin. "E… eh… wh-what?" She looked down grasping one of the rocks. They were made of a strange black substance, yet the edges were radiating orange heat, almost reminding her of coal but with a smoother 'texture'.
"Well it looks like you didn't die on us." A rough voice responded, meanwhile Anne took in her surroundings: there was a large tent, a fire in the center, a hole for the smoke to escape through, and a figure sitting across from the fire. The figure had fierce eyes of a yellowish hue, the dancing flames made it hard to note any detailed features, but it was obvious that they were female and larger than most. The fur almost made Anne think it was a Worgen, but upon a few seconds of reflection, she realized the figure was merely wearing a heavy fur pelt for warmth.
"Did the cold get your brain or your manners first?" The figure asked, her voice getting impatient. "You've been starin' for a minute straight, thick-skull, you could at least give some thanks for not leavin' you to die out there."
Anne shook her head, groaning. "Right… sorry, sorry, I… I'm just a bit confused is all… t-thank you for your help miss…?" The figure leaned forward, a fierce grin on her face now.
"Durza. Durza Shattertusk." The old Orc woman's gaze bore into Anne's, while the Druid was still weak from her narrow encounter with death, she couldn't put up any real barrier. The Orc was able to see almost everything in those eyes… and it brought a snide grin to her face.
So this is one of those 'humans', eh?