I'm back! To put this in hind-sight I wanted to let you know...I have more written. I just don't want to catch up to myself =P
Let's just say this chapter starts at page 197 in my word document. And there's 363 pages totally written so far. And I'm not quite done yet. haha. So no worries about me continuing to update!
Enjoy! R+R!
PS...Also, if you have any suggests...I'm definitely considering a sequel. But as far as a plot and cataclysm come, it's up in the air for the most part. Any suggestions, lemme know. =]
Northrend
Book Seven, Part One
The next two weeks on the ship could probably be defined, in the simplest sense, to torture. It wasn't a good kind of torture—not that such torture existed, but presuming there was a more favorable, lesser-of-two-evils torture that one would pick in a serious dilemma.
A good torture (humor me here) was substantial pain. A hurt you could pinpoint to a body part, an injury. Maybe even a certain cause of said physical torture. This physical torture wasn't favorable, of course, when the other option was no torture at all.
Those two weeks, in my opinion, were a form of bad torture. It was a turmoil rooted inside me. It wasn't a bite or a cut. It couldn't be diagnosed. Nobody inflicted me with the torture except myself. My brain was functioning as executioner.
I was left to myself, my thoughts. Recollections. Guilt trips. Two weeks.
The merchant Dwarf, who I eventually learned was named Alzar, let me help around the ship in exchange for a share of his small crew's rations. Besides his small orders and requests, though, nobody made a real effort to talk to me.
Once on the ship did I attempt to make contact with the Lich King. Once because I was afraid my connection to him would begin to work two ways, if the Lich King was determined enough to try to reach me. I had no intention of turning into his puppet no matter how unlikely the odds—so I decided that my crossovers would have to be carefully monitored.
It wasn't difficult to reach his side, which scared me the most. The crossover was a different feel this time. I heard his voice, his thoughts, as clear as if he was leaning over me and speaking into my ear.
He was chatting nonchalantly with an officer about recruits. The lack of intensity infuriated me, and it was horribly strong as it rang through my mind. I forced myself to remember the reason I crossed over—dangerous but necessary.
If you want me, come find me, I thought. I concentrated so hard on the words that I felt my own consciousness slip further into the Lich King's. If you want me, come find me.
I could almost feel the Lich King stop breathing as he listened intently. His eyes remained steady, body tense in the same position. No fear, only awareness. With a small hesitation, I thought again: If you want me, come find me.
The human girl has returned. I was fairly certain he had thought it—his servant near him didn't react to the change of subject. My promise remains, wench, he stated. You will be dead or Undead. Your time spent living is dwindling.
I'll be looking forward to it.
I felt myself drifting away, and for a split moment I actually believed I could possibly lose myself in his consciousness. The notion must have been enough to pull me out of the stupor: somehow I managed to slip away from the conversation and back into my reality. Once I opened my eyes, I felt the consequences of my actions.
Let's just say the nausea wasn't due to seasickness, as Alzar suspected. The next few hours I spend clinging to the side of the boat, stomach churning at the unsteady image of the water, but I was too afraid to move away. I wasn't going to mop up a mess on deck should my stomach flip over again.
Alzar shook his head in pity of my sea nausea, but I knew better—the bond was growing stronger, more intense to the point that I may have been pushing the envelope too far.
I refused to reconnect with Arthas again on the ship. A fear had started to climb up my spine, whispering of inevitable consequences to come.
The cold settled in about halfway through the journey, and only when the glaciers began to form in the waters did the remaining surrounding begin to shift. There was a fog that refused to leave the crew alone. It never waned after its first appearance—it was a heavy, thick, sad film that blanketed the ship—it didn't help rid of my saturnine mood.
"Only a few moments now," announced Alzar, his hands clasped behind his back. "After this field of glaciers, we'll settle into dock."
I nodded, attempting to stand and observe as well. I exhaled in surprise, my breath leaving in a puff of gray as glaciers twice as tall as the ship's masts acted as giants in the waters. They stood as tall, icy adversaries, and as our ship crawled through the mess of icebergs, I wondered how our ship was still floating—it was a helpless ant at the mercy of careless bystanders.
The thick fog that had followed us began to lift. I rubbed my hands together, my leather gloves not very good conductors of insulation—and I knew the cold would only get worse.
When people arrive at Borean Tundra by ship, the first image that sets into focus is the lighthouses that litter the small shoreline like fireflies at dusk. At least a half-dozen beacons of light are planted there, acting as guides for any sailor, whether lost, curious, or doomed. What the lighthouses don't inform guests is that what lies behind the welcoming shores is a land that is surely the best substitute for hell.
Upon reaching dock I could sense it, and once I stepped further into the land, the Undeath permeating Northrend invaded all my senses. It wasn't just the dark auras of the Lich army I sensed—it felt strangulated with impending chaos here, like everyone alive was simply waiting for the darkness to capture them.
There was construction being done further down the walk, I noted, so I turned around and moved back towards the docks. My knowledge of Northrend was minimal. I knew the following thus far: 1.) I was in Northrend. The Borean Tundra, to be exact. 2.) Somewhere on the continent, the Lich King was based and plotting the demise of the living. 3.) Somewhere on the continent were people hell-bend on halting the plot before it would destroy us, and- 4.) It was cold. Very cold.
Number four was nipping at my ears, so I hustled into an inn. Somebody around here had to know the answers to the questions I had.
The inn was well-stocked except for in the customer aspect—a keeper stood behind a counter in the far corner, and I immediately felt his eyes land on me even as he polished a beer mug with an aging rag. A few officers scattered at tables and along walls, but not many looked pleasant.
The heat within the inn caused my face to burn as I tossed off my hood and stepped further inside. Deciding the innkeeper was the safest bet to lower suspicion, I approached the counter. "Hello," I began, attempting to smile. My lips were cracked and dry, and it hurt to move them. "My name is Grace. I was wondering if you could help me out."
"Sure, what can I do for you?" he asked.
"I," I sighed, attempting to find the suitable route to explain myself. "I've come in search of my brother in Northrend. I don't know much of his whereabouts, but he was on the forefront against the Scourge." At the mention of our Undead enemy, the man grimaced. "Do you know where the fight against the Scourge is strongest?" I pressed.
The man set down his mug softly. "I don't know much about the matters, miss. What's a young lady such as you doing, pursuing the front lines of battles?"
"It's terribly important," I assured, momentarily regretting that I'd left my SI:7 identification back home. "I need to find whoever's leading the forefront attack."
"That'd be the Argent Dawn," replied a thin voice from behind me. The keeper's aura flared in agitation as I turned. Sitting at a table was an elderly man, his graying hair painting his scalp and chin. He leaned back in his chair as the cup of ale trembled in his grip.
"The Argent Dawn?" I asked, relieved that someone would give me some information. "Here in Northrend?"
"Of course here," the man grumbled, setting his glass down loudly and pulling himself up onto his feet. With a slight hobble he shuffled up to me, eyes bugging with craze. "A force of Undead is sweeping across the northern continent," he waved his waved for effect, "and it surprises you that the Argent Dawn wants to get in on the fun?"
"Oh, Colburn, stay out of this," growled the man behind the counter.
"No, tell me," I pleaded, turning fully toward the annoying elderly human. "Are they here? In the tundra?"
"Ha!" jested the man, his crooked finger wagging at me in mockery. "They'd be wasting their time in this hell-hole. Everyone here is too absorbed in building. Building buildings, building armies, building bigger buildings for the building of armies…"
"If you don't like it, then get out," snipped the other man. My eyebrows arched as the tension rose between the two grown men.
"They call themselves the Valiance Expedition here, but trust me," he sniffed loudly, causing me to grimace, "there's nothing valiant about it."
"You've had one too man, old man," growled the tavern keeper. "The Valiance Expedition is just as honorable as the crusade—and they've started establishing an array of recruits. Soon they'll be a force the Scourge will reckon with." It sounded as if he was trying to convince me more than the haggard drunk beside me.
"I need to find the Argent Dawn," I announced to both men, trying to ignore the fact that they were now glaring daggers at each other.
"The largest numbers are based in the Icecrown."
"Icecrown?"
The man known as Colburn sighed obnoxiously. "Where the Lich King has the forces strongest as well," explained the gray-haired man. "Farther up north."
"Icecrown. North. Got it." I nodded my thanks to both men, though the tavern keeper seemed miffed, and turned to start my journey north.
"You don't really plan on going there, do you?" asked the younger man. He now leaned into his counter in concern.
"Yes, actually, I do."
"Ha!" The old man cackled as he staggered back to his table to finish his drink. "Obviously a newcomer. There's many things you've overlooked, little one."
"I can handle myself," I argued, pursing my lips at the name-calling.
"I see. No friends. No weathered horse. No warm clothing. You'll be an ice-cube before you reach the border," announced Colburn, chin elevating to accentuate his confidence.
I stifled a laugh. "No friends," I put my hand on the door handle, turning the slightest to bow in goodbye. "I don't want friends."
Before they could interject again I continued outside, the cold air again welcoming me.
Like I wasn't aware that I needed a few things before my departure. Clothing, maybe. A horse, most likely. Friends, no.
Friends got in the way. I could barely cover my own behind. Any friend now would be put in grave danger.
The stables master was the easiest to find, and since I'd need a horse anyway, it was my first concern.
It was another Dwarf—female, I noticed after I was close enough that she'd acknowledge me. Her oversized hat had been hiding her features until she finally looked up to greet me. "Good afternoon!" she chided cheerfully. "My name's Celidh! What can I do for you?"
"Hello," after a pause, I smiled, "my name's Grace. I'm actually looking to purchase a horse, if that's okay."
"Of course, friend. Anything specific in mind?" the petite woman asked. "Farm work? Breeding?"
"Uh…riding?" I answered, trying my best not to sound stupid.
"For riding?" She sighed, her eyes momentarily drifting to the small stables. "I'm terribly sorry, but most of my good steeds I've sold to the Expedition."
"I don't need anything special," I insisted. "I'm heading North. Anything that can get me there will do."
"Well…" She bit her lip in thought as we paced through the stalls—very few housed a horse. "The most durable, broken-in horse I have available is…female."
My eyebrow rose in interest. "So?"
She nodded assertively once she realized I had been honest about my demands. "Right! I'll show her to you then!"
I frowned. "You don't sound convinced."
"Well…Whiplash is a bit…temperamental."
Shaking my head, I followed the woman through the stalls to the back. Whiplash. How quaint. Maybe she's temperamental because someone gave her an awful name.
In the last stall was the mare. At first she seemed perfectly normal, almost too calm as her eye followed the Dwarf and me. Celidh grabbed a stool and stood on it as we both looked the horse over.
She was a pretty white color, making her seem almost out of a fairy tale. Her snow white hair, however, was broken by shadows of black—some painted her nose, and it also ran down her neck and through her entire mane. Perhaps it was the white that broke up the black, I mused, since her darker sections were just so pronounced.
"She's beautiful," I said—it came out as an affectionate coo, which startled me. Maybe I had been away from friends and family too long.
"Don't let her fool you just yet," warned Celidh. Slowly I reached up to touch one of Whiplash's twitching ears that looked like the tips were dipped in oil. She flinched and then neighed loudly as she attempted to buck in her pen. The wooden frames shuddered, but I didn't move my hand.
"But she's broken in?" I asked curiously.
"Yes," the Dwarf piped. "Every once in a while she'll let someone on without a problem. She likes to run. You don't want to know how many times she's managed to kick off the rider and run off. I've had parties try to wrangle her back in, but she only returns when she's ready."
Cringing, I nodded. I'd have to make it work. "I suppose she'll do." I swore she huffed indignantly. "How much?"
"Normally I charge hundreds, considering gear and quality, but since I pity your purchase," I winced, "I'd say 150." My hands fished within my satchel, and after finding my money sack, I handed her the necessary amount of gold. "Okay then," Celidh announced as she clasped her hands and hopped off her stool. "Her gear is along the wall. Go ahead and equip everything you need, and you're free to go!"
"Thanks."
The lips of the Dwarf pursed into what I assumed to be a frown—her huge hat was once again covering a good portion of her face. "Do you need help with her reigns or anything? She can be a handful."
For a moment my mind flashed to images of a Dwarf standing behind the horse's powerful hind legs as they bucked mercilessly, a big hat flying off the Dwarf's head and fluttering one direction as the body was punted another, arms and legs flapping like a dolls as she caught air time.
"I'll manage," I answered, realizing my face had contorted with horrible possibilities. "Thanks so much."
"Good luck!"
I'd need it, I decided after grabbing the reigns off their designated hook on the wall. I tried getting the bit nicely into her mouth, tried easing it in while I cooed her name, but Whiplash would have none of it. She twisted her face out of the way, flicked her mane arrogantly when I had a failed attempt. It was like spoon feeding a toddler ogre human food. But even toddler ogres were pliable.
"I think I know what's wrong," I announced, talking to the horse. "You think no one understands. Are you underestimated, too?" I asked rhetorically.
After a couple more forceful tries, the bridle was on. Grimacing, I grabbed the heavy saddle and set it on her wooden gate.
The saddle itself was usually easy to buckle onto a horse—my times in SI:7, I geared a few horses every now and then when missions were so late we had to wake up the steeds ourselves. So saddles were the easy steps when dealing with average horses.
This horse, obviously, wasn't quite average.
"Here's what we're going to do," I began, my hand resting on the lock on Whiplash's stall. "I'm going to bring you out of your pen, and you'll stand right here so I can put on your saddle. And we're going to do that without any difficulties. Got it?"
Whiplash neighed gruffly, though she gave no sign she agreed. Of course she couldn't agree—she was a horse.
With a meager hold on her reigns I clipped open the door, waiting for the horse to simply take off and drag me along with her. To my relief, she didn't. Whiplash stood patiently in place.
Eyes glaring, I carefully approached her right side and sat the saddle and its padding behind her as I stooped to buckle the saddle on.
Suddenly the mare shuffled left, shaking her mane obnoxiously as she released a ninny.
I withheld a growl as her saddle slipped off her back, the hard leather flopping loudly to the ground. "I don't have time for this!" I explained, sighing when Whiplash stood there as if she didn't just cause her own personal kind of havoc.
I grabbed the saddle once again, heaving the nuisance over my shoulders in order to get it set right. "Second plight is right," I mumbled, recalling the adage my mother would always chant to me. Again, the fickle horse attempted to shrug off her saddle, but this time my left hand kept everything intact. "Better luck next time, girl," I encouraged as my hands skillfully clasped the saddle's buckles together.
Time was hard pressed. I wouldn't have much luck locating a vendor here anyway—everyone was too busy building a fortress, and the different trades hadn't been matured as of yet. My only option was to head north and hope a city vendor crossed my path.
I didn't ride Whiplash at the first opportunity. Not so close to the keep, where people were watching. As I passed through the keep's grounds, I held Whiplash's reigns tightly and the female horse clopped along. So far, she wasn't being problematic. But then again, I hadn't even tried mounting the horse as of yet.
Once I exited Valiance Keep, my obvious lack of Northrend knowledge wasn't such an embarrassment. I could barely maneuver around Stormwind, and now somehow I expected to navigate through unknown territory.
Nodding, I halted our pace and turned toward my new companion. "I'll make you a deal. I won't tire you out just yet. But once I try hiking my rogue behind into that saddle, you better behave."
Once the Valiance Keep was out of sight, I promised myself, we'd give it a go. But currently I didn't want to make a fool out of myself.
Borean Tundra had a nip of chill in its air, but the cold wasn't overwhelming yet. The land wasn't even snow covered—dirt and mud blemished patches of green grass.
I hadn't gone far before the exotic nature of the new land was obvious. Perhaps the large moths were a general foreshadowing—their powdery white wings sprinkled red dust behind in its trail, the dust sparkling of mysterious magic.
After the moths came a shift in the land the dirt surrounding my frugal path had adopted a reddened color as well. New plans, so large they towered like trees, had the warm reddened hue as well. Their leaves seemed to breathe with life as they sheltered beautiful, sparkling seeds from the weather. The moths enjoyed the flora, and even Whiplash crooned toward the mystifying plants.
It was an odd environment to say the least—desert-like setting in the midst of ice-caped Northrend was the last thing I expected. Still, I continued, even when we began to spot vermin kobolds.
Of course, I didn't have any qualms with the creatures, but their presence unnerved me. Their frail hands clawed at plant life, long snouts sniffing and even sneezing as they scavenged the sites further from the road. Most of the creatures that sensed my passing would simply glance up, mouth curling in defense, and then begrudgingly continue their search process.
Further ahead, the land was greener. Fawn and other grazing animals minded their own. I sighed, noting that most kobolds were now behind me, and pulled Whiplash closer. "Let's give it a go, then," I muttered. "I have a feeling our encounters are only going to get more dangerous. Better pick up the pace." I rolled my eyes. "My first day alone in Northrend and I'm talking to a horse. Just don't tell anyone. It's between you and me."
Holding my breath, I grabbed the saddle and prepared for the worst. Whiplash skittered beneath my weight as I stepped into a stirrup and mounted.
Her head bucked in irritation at the new weight. Before I could open my mouth she had managed to take three forceful strides forward and then stop abruptly. I found my grip on the saddle as well as the reigns tighten, breath catching in my lungs as I nearly flew over my own horse's head. "Whiplash," I hissed, only because something between surprise and dread had cinched my jaw shut. With anxiety I pulled back on the reigns, and was handsomely rewarded, of course—Whiplash's front hooves came off the ground as she bucked in mock response.
Before a growl of anger could escape my throat I was falling backwards, legs slipping out of their proper stirrups as gravity did its work. I landed on the tough pathway with a heavy thud, my bones jarring as shock ran up my spine. Ungracefully my arms braced some impact—I felt the pebbles along the road tear at my right elbow. "You stupid horse!" I spat, trying to sit up but worried it would cause a flair of pain. I looked up, expecting to glare at the white creature as she took off without a look back—but the mare hadn't disappeared. She tussled her mane playfully, hooves clapping the ground in what I translated to be laughter. "Yeah, I bet you find that really funny!" I growled. Even in my anger, though, I couldn't hide the relief that the stupid horse hadn't abandoned me. "Keep it up," I muttered, wincing as I pulled myself off the dirty ground. Red, crushed pebbles now powdered my dark leather armor. "You and I are going to butt heads this journey."
I swear the horse was a person trapped in an animal's body. She neighed lightly as if giggling, her hooves still sweeping up dirt.
What a stupid idea, I thought to myself. I asked for a horse that simply would get me there, but this was ridiculous. As I brushed away any dirt left on my clothing, I realized one of my daggers had slipped out during the fall. With a loud grumble I stooped over, picked the glinting weapon up, and stashed it in its sheath.
I continued north on foot, my hands curled into fists as I stalked onward like a pouty little girl. Fine. If the horse didn't want me to ride, then I wouldn't.
The snow-white nuisance followed me down the path. Her hooves were muffled by the dirt, and I found myself wishing my knack for reading humanoid auras was advanced with animal auras as well.
"I don't understand," I growled behind me. "I can't stop you from running off. So go already."
I didn't glace back. Perhaps a part of me feared that the horse would actually understand.
The green scenery was chipping away the dry, rough, red terrain. The skies were blue, I noted. It didn't calm my mood.
Animals could be heard calling through the fields. Howls and yips grew more unsettling as I trudged on. Even Whiplash the careless horse came to her senses—with a quick trot she was beside her new owner. "Scared?" I asked rhetorically. With all the noise, it was hard to fathom how empty the terrain seemed. We walked a bit further before a different howl broke the natural resonance. From the left a caribou of sort burst from the tall grasses, its frail legs mindlessly hammering the ground in a bout of fear. It took a split moment to maintain its balance on the new ground, its eyes not even seeming to spot me as it once again took off. It was only moments before another figure came rushing out of the grasses, this time the figure was Human. Although he was slightly hunched over like an animalistic predator, the digit wrapped around his rifle's trigger was definitely an eager Human finger. His feet planted firmly below him as a sneer of victory crawled across his face and showed off his lack of a full set of teeth. This creature didn't seem to notice me, either, even as he raised his rifle to eye level and took aim at the fawn. "Yer mine!" he cackled, lunacy creeping out of his words. The baby animal was still sprinting, fleeing from the known danger.
My intuition and clear intention was to slip by the situation all together. I hadn't previously tested it, but I was fairly certain that my leather armor was incapable of stopping rifle pellets. And, seeing as we were now in the midst of testing the theory out, I was now perfectly content with turning around. The poacher, thus far, hadn't noticed our presence, so if we were careful enough…
Just as my hand moved towards Whiplash's reigns to push us back the other way, the horse jumped onto her hind legs once again. A loud neigh escaped her mouth, causing the poacher to halt his process in surprise.
For a moment he hesitated, allowing the prey to get away as he sized us over. His gun lowered just the slightest, even as Whiplash restlessly pounded her black hooves. I couldn't decide what the fickle horse was doing—distracting the poacher to save the fawn, or distracting the poacher to put her rider on the chopping block.
Both scenarios were likely and coming true—a devilish grin was growing across the man's crooked face. I hadn't uttered a peep as of yet—my mind was still whirling, attempting to completely assess the situation. He uttered the first words: "Meddlin' in meh business," he mumbled—he sounded drunk, the words arrived so slurred. "Whadda want, gurl?"
"We don't want any trouble," I articulated clearly, hand gripping Whiplash's reigns with anticipation. By we, I really meant me, but the odd man's gaze had shifted to my companion, greedy eyes alit.
"Perty hide," he muttered. His hunched-over body hobbled forward a few steps, furs covering his back shifting with the motion. Whiplash immediately grew still, now alert of the man's advances.
"Leave her alone," I warned, even as the leather straps tethering my horse to me were pulled forcefully out of my grasp by Whiplash's retreating form.
In a flash the man, completely ignoring my growl, stepped closer, gun now rising to take aim. He had to be partially insane, if not completely.
My instincts drowned my senses—my dagger was drawn, right hand whipping left to right as I nicked his arm good enough that the man dropped his weapon. The poacher howled loudly, hand clutching his bleeding wound. "I gave you a fair warning," I berated with a vicious grumble. From behind me came a nuzzle—I turned quickly, my senses still attuned to danger until I registered Whiplash's white coat. The horse stepped closer, her saddle bumping into my shoulder. A grin crept through my angry face. "Let's ride."
With more grace than I anticipated I swung into the saddle, and before the greedy poacher could establish that we were missing, Whiplash had us gone.
The wind chilled my cheek bones, and it crept into my throat and left me feeling breathless.
It might have been how a Forsaken's body always felt, I thought, with the surrounding cool air and breathlessness. But even with that notion, with my abandonment of SI:7, my abandonment of Zen, of Stormwind, of friends…even with all of those acts of emotionlessness, I could feel the wind in my hair, the pounding of my horse's hooves, and the warmth at my fingertips, and I could feel alive. I still had things to live for—I sought vengeance. As long as I held on…
Whiplash dashed over a mess of rocks, her hooves momentarily completely off the ground. My air left in a forced exhale as we once again collide into the earth, but I still held on…
It wasn't for quite a distance that Whiplash slowed her pace—by then we had traveled very far north. We had passed many people on the way—well, encampments of them, at least. Some of them seemed more friendly than others—we completely avoided one camp full of Trolls and a Tauren, and once I tired approaching a camp full of Gnomes but sirens of "WARNING, INTRUDER ALERT!" caused me to continue the journey.
And by then, I was completely baffled by the land. I was a rogue—trained for surprises and taught to respond accurately, so I didn't necessarily live under a rock. But still, I was baffled. We came to a forest—a tropical forest—in Northrend. I didn't know much about Northrend, I'd admit, but generally and geographically speaking, should Northrend, a continent in the north, have some winter-like qualities to it?
Was I going the wrong way? More importantly, was I on the right continent?
We trudged on anyway, through the green thickets and ferns and the like. Insects drummed and screeched all around us, and every so often the call of a wild bird sliced through the trees. Whiplash had to prod carefully through the thickets—I nearly felt bad for her.
That is until she managed to successfully attempt one of her trademark bucks—she neighed loudly, front hooves instantly in the air. Again my rear was making acquaintances with the ground, the soreness from the last fall once again a throbbing pain. "What is with you?" I yelled with frustration.
The white horse began to backpedal, her rear hooves missing my thighs by a hair as I pulled myself back to avoid getting crushed. "Whiplash, you stupi-" An unusual hiss halted my sentence as I crooned around Whiplash's form. Within the mangled messes of vegetation was a long snout, the skin dark green and flaky like dry mold. I wouldn't have even taken it for alive if the snout hadn't then whipped to the side, a mouth opening to reveal sharp teeth that were sickeningly white. A pinkish tongue decorated the dark mass, and now the beast's beady eyes were noticeable, even though the marbles were black as nothingness.
The crockolisk was making a dangerous charge toward its new pair of victims. I screamed. I had fought off prowling Undead without a shiver of fear. The stroke of fear may have been due to the lack of confidence. Undead were at least somewhat predictable. A crockolisk in the face wasn't exactly my expertise.
It hissed again, the noise seeming to reverb through its teeth. The alligator's strong jaw snapped shut, searching for a taste of flesh. Another yelp escaped my lips as I found myself sprawling backwards in an un-athletic attempt to get away and get up. Losing my foot wasn't exactly on today's agenda. I went sprawling so fast and so sloppily that I completely failed to acknowledge my surroundings—or lack-there-of. By the time my hands noticed a blatant discrepancy in the forest floor below me, I was already sliding; head first, down a steep bank. My chest hit a jutted rock, effectively dislodging any scream I had wanted to muster into the atmosphere.
The heat of friction along my body intensified as I slipped further down the dirt ridge, closer to a lake below. Somehow I managed, with a good grip on one of the numerous ledges, to flip so I could land somewhat feet first. In the process, though, I acquired a nice scrape along my jaw line that I knew would be purple in the morning.
I still ended up crumpling onto the sandy ground. My first worry wasn't my condition—with shaky legs I pulled myself onto my feet, looking up in an attempting to find Whiplash. Was she safe? Did she escape?
My equilibrium was disturbed, and I found myself concerned that my vulnerable state would affect my consciousness as well. My head was throbbing, concentration minimized, and despite the thought that I may be susceptible to crossing over into the Lich King's consciousness, I remained standing.
It was eerily quiet above me for a moment as I swayed on my feet. I felt entirely helpless, waiting for something to happen above me. "Wh…Whiplash?" I called, standing on my toes to try to see the top of the ridge I had toppled off.
3ritti