Beyond Harrogath, in the foothills of Mt.Arreat; barren, deserted,
wasteland...or so many believed. In truth, a small village guarded the
entrance to the mountain majesty of Arreat. It had very few inhabitants,
but those which existed were a hearty breed. Most of them Barbarians: not
the smartest form of life, but by far the most powerful. They did not go
out looking for fights though, as most would assume.
They survived off of their bulk and whatever furs they could tear off of passing animals. Occasionally they would send a few men out into the icy darkness south to Harrogath for some weapons or if they needed it, food. It was on one of these expeditions that the men did not return with food and weaponry, but rather appeared back in the streets battered and bruised all over, with extremely large cuts that had torn through their makeshift body armor.
Baffled, the residents carried the men off to the local tavern where they knew the town medic was wasting away. It was after the men had guzzled down a few health potions to cure their ailments that they began to pluck what they could from their memories and describe to us the tale of the Arreat Wolf.
They had their orders, all three of them; get to Harrogath, trade what they could, and return with weapons and food. They were determined to bring their people what they needed. Their minds were set solely on their orders as they marched off into the frozen wasteland that was the foothills of Mt.Arreat.
Occasionally they would see a rabbit dart by, usually being chased by an arctic fox or something of the sort. They never saw anything unusual at all, until a wolf crossed their path.
They never saw wolves too often, which was lucky because they usually meant trouble. They had stopped trudging forward, hoping it would dash off into the night. The moment it had lifted its head up from the ground it had ceased trotting along and just glared at them. The men began to feel uneasy, watching its snow-white fur bristle as the wind whisked by, its fangs glistening in the moonlight with malice. The largest of the three, Icefist, leapt forward so as to startle the beast, but it didn't budge. It just kept glaring at them with a lust in its eyes; they knew it would attack soon so they prepared themselves. Their hands rested lightly upon their axes, ready to wield them at any moment. The wolf glanced at their weapons and seemed as though it were grinning, acting too intelligent to be a wolf.
The wolf slowly slid one of its front paws forward, keeping the back of the paw raised from the ground. It paused for a moment, frozen in that position. The men's hands now gripped the handles of their axes tightly in anticipation of the creature to dart forward. A moment later, the back of the paw tapped the ground lightly and at that moment the ground began to rumble.
Rocks bounced quickly across the ground as it shifted beneath the men. The two smaller ones quickly lost their footing, partly out of nervousness. Icefist was able to hold his position, but instead of charging at the wolf with his axe ready to strike, his attention was drawn to his comrades. He looked down at them frantically trying to get back up and urged that they do it quickly, lest they be mauled by the wolf.
Talking takes too much time.
Icefist's head darted back up to the position of the wolf, hoping that it had darted off in light of the earthquake but he had no such luck. The wolf shot a mocking stare at him, silently laughing at his plight. Icefist readied himself to attack the creature by wielding his axe and raising it into the air, meaning to hit the demon-wolf. Still, the wolf gave him the same mocking stare.
Deciding not to waste any more time, he hurled the weapon with his full force at the creature. He closed his eyes and waited for the proper noise to indicate that he had hit the target, but heard none.
He looked up to find out what had happened, but nothing was there. He had no time to wonder though, as he saw the flash of a blade in the moonlight. He turned to run, as his comrades had done long ago (though he hadn't realized it) but it was too late. Sudden sharp pains immobilized his body and he was sent crashing to the ground. The last he remembered was seeing the blade flash again, blood trailing behind it, and hearing the screams of his comrades.
Where did the blade come from? Who was wielding it? Why did they impede the men's progress? Questions that may be better of unanswered. But until they are, that is the tale of the Arreat Wolf.
They survived off of their bulk and whatever furs they could tear off of passing animals. Occasionally they would send a few men out into the icy darkness south to Harrogath for some weapons or if they needed it, food. It was on one of these expeditions that the men did not return with food and weaponry, but rather appeared back in the streets battered and bruised all over, with extremely large cuts that had torn through their makeshift body armor.
Baffled, the residents carried the men off to the local tavern where they knew the town medic was wasting away. It was after the men had guzzled down a few health potions to cure their ailments that they began to pluck what they could from their memories and describe to us the tale of the Arreat Wolf.
They had their orders, all three of them; get to Harrogath, trade what they could, and return with weapons and food. They were determined to bring their people what they needed. Their minds were set solely on their orders as they marched off into the frozen wasteland that was the foothills of Mt.Arreat.
Occasionally they would see a rabbit dart by, usually being chased by an arctic fox or something of the sort. They never saw anything unusual at all, until a wolf crossed their path.
They never saw wolves too often, which was lucky because they usually meant trouble. They had stopped trudging forward, hoping it would dash off into the night. The moment it had lifted its head up from the ground it had ceased trotting along and just glared at them. The men began to feel uneasy, watching its snow-white fur bristle as the wind whisked by, its fangs glistening in the moonlight with malice. The largest of the three, Icefist, leapt forward so as to startle the beast, but it didn't budge. It just kept glaring at them with a lust in its eyes; they knew it would attack soon so they prepared themselves. Their hands rested lightly upon their axes, ready to wield them at any moment. The wolf glanced at their weapons and seemed as though it were grinning, acting too intelligent to be a wolf.
The wolf slowly slid one of its front paws forward, keeping the back of the paw raised from the ground. It paused for a moment, frozen in that position. The men's hands now gripped the handles of their axes tightly in anticipation of the creature to dart forward. A moment later, the back of the paw tapped the ground lightly and at that moment the ground began to rumble.
Rocks bounced quickly across the ground as it shifted beneath the men. The two smaller ones quickly lost their footing, partly out of nervousness. Icefist was able to hold his position, but instead of charging at the wolf with his axe ready to strike, his attention was drawn to his comrades. He looked down at them frantically trying to get back up and urged that they do it quickly, lest they be mauled by the wolf.
Talking takes too much time.
Icefist's head darted back up to the position of the wolf, hoping that it had darted off in light of the earthquake but he had no such luck. The wolf shot a mocking stare at him, silently laughing at his plight. Icefist readied himself to attack the creature by wielding his axe and raising it into the air, meaning to hit the demon-wolf. Still, the wolf gave him the same mocking stare.
Deciding not to waste any more time, he hurled the weapon with his full force at the creature. He closed his eyes and waited for the proper noise to indicate that he had hit the target, but heard none.
He looked up to find out what had happened, but nothing was there. He had no time to wonder though, as he saw the flash of a blade in the moonlight. He turned to run, as his comrades had done long ago (though he hadn't realized it) but it was too late. Sudden sharp pains immobilized his body and he was sent crashing to the ground. The last he remembered was seeing the blade flash again, blood trailing behind it, and hearing the screams of his comrades.
Where did the blade come from? Who was wielding it? Why did they impede the men's progress? Questions that may be better of unanswered. But until they are, that is the tale of the Arreat Wolf.