The Valley

The harsh northern winds whipped up the snow in front of the cave, blasting each flake as they fluttered and tore around making the air thick. A lone figure stepped out, its cloak and hood rippling in the wind. The figure scrambled to the top of a nearby snowdrift and gazed out over the field in front of her.

“Oy! Jin’aya!”

Jin’aya turned to see the Frostwolf ambassador standing nearby.

“Wat yas be wantin?”

Rokhstrom smirked, “Your reputation precedes you Hunter, your presence has been requested in Alterac.” She offered Jin’aya a piece of folded parchment.

Jin’aya slid down from the back of her raptor and took the letter from her. She peered at the writing.

NOTICE OF PROMOTION 

Soldier: Darkspear Hunter Jin’aya 

'New posting: Alterac Valley. '

'Nominated by: Captain Shatterskull of the Warsong Outriders. '

'Congratulations Soldier. Report to Warmaster Laggrond in '

the Alterac Mountains for your next instructions.

Jin’aya finished reading, and wondered what she had done to upset Shatterskull enough to have him ‘promote’ her to the frozen hell-hole that was the valley. She lifted her head and gave Ambassador Rokhstrom a questioning look.

“Congratulations soldier.” She paused and looked Jin’aya up and down, smirking at her lightweight armor. “I suggest you find some travelling furs and make your way to the front. The Warmaster doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Jin’aya shoved the note in her pack, climbed back onto her raptor and rode off into the city without another word.

'

''The room span, she felt sick. Jin’aya prised her eyes open to see where she was. She was inside what looked like a cave, the nearby fire didn’t do much to stop the blistering wind howling bringing cold and snow with it. ''

'

''She shakily pushed herself up to sit, looking at the white furs as she pushed them off her. A low laugh began to echo through the cave. ''

'

''“Ha! You owe me 5 gold coins, told you she’d get up again.”''

Jin’aya climbed the hill towards the camp. She could see Warmaster Laggrond waiting outside of the cave. Taking a deep breath she spurred her raptor onwards. She halted as she reched the tall orc and saluted. She pulled the tattered promotion letter from her pack and handed it over. She watched Laggrond read, waiting for a response.

“Well,” he glanced at the parchement again, “Jin’aya, Welcome to the Valley.” He paused peering at her raptor. “You’re not taking him in there. Poor creature will freeze to death! you leave him here, we’ll look after him for you.”

Jin’aya considered arguing for a moment, and begrudgingly slid off her raptor, snarling slightly as a forsaken guard took his reigns from her.

“Right hunter, let me give you a walk-through of the situation out there….”

The harsh northern winds whipped up the snow in front of the cave, blasting each flake as they fluttered and tore around making the air thick. Jin’aya stepped out pulling her cloak tight around her. The wind caught and tugged at her hood, blasting snow and icy air down the back of her neck.

She grasped the talisman of strength that hung on the same stretch of leather as her raptor necklace. The wards against harm hung from her belt, she had used one within the cave, hoping it would save her skin.

It had just over a day since Nihli had given her the carved tokens of protection, yet it already seemed like a different world.

‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’ She had said. But Jin’aya had wanted to, her determination to prove herself as good if not better than the male hunters had not faded with age, or abated over the years. The desire for blood and glory ran strong within her still.

As she stood on top of the snowdrift she could hear the sounds of the battle in the distance.

The Warmaster had warned her of what to expect, ‘Exit the cave and head north, last reports say we’re holding them off at the fields of strife.’

Jin’aya followed the edge of the mountains keeping from the road. Creeping around the bastillions she noticed the Frostwolf archers standing on the upper floors firing out of windows and cracks in the stonework.

She practically crawled along the snowline until she pulled herself to the top of a drift and looked out.

The field of strife was aptly named, Hundreds of soldiers covered the field, many were dead or dying. As she watched she saw medics and priests riding in and out of the field taking any of the injured they could find to safety. In the distance dwarves and gnomes could be seen manning alliance catapults, firing flaming boulders into the battle, as likely killing their own soldiers as the horde.

Jin’aya gripped her bow tightly, calling upon the speed of the cheetah she ran across the gap, skipping and jumping over the bodies of the wounded or dead. She paused 30 or 40 yards from the front line, steadying herself she pulled back her bowstring and fired a volley of arrows into the crowd.

The screams and dwarven curses told her they had found their marks. She fired again and again, each time relishing the howls of those caught by the arrows.

Jin’aya pushed her hood back from her head to see more clearly, her crest shone brightly against the snowy backdrop. She knocked a shadow-imbued arrow to the string and pulled back, looking for her mark.

An Orcs battle roar rang out, Jin’aya turned to see the line to her left falter. Alliance cavalry was bearing down on them. Several orcs and trolls lay dying on the ground, those not dead were fleeing.

Jin’aya spun on her heel and loosed the string. The shadowy arrow tore across field, it buried itself in a Dwarvern ram. The ram fell crushing its rider beneath it. Jin’aya went to pull another arrow from her quiver, as she reached back she howled in pain, she looked down to see a stormpike arrow lodged in her left thigh. She brought bow round and fired at the archer stood to the right of the oncoming Alliance. He dodged her arrow and fired 2 back in quick succession, catching her in the shoulder and chest. She fell to her knees.

Fighting to retain grip on her bow her vision swam before her, The Stormpike soldiers were almost upon her. This was it, after 30 years she would fall at the hands of a dwarf or a human, miles from home in the snowy wastelands, fighting for a horde she no longer believed in.

Jin’aya closed her eyes, battling to remain conscious, waiting for the blow from an axe or sword. Suddenly a hand grasped her cloak pulling her backwards.

She felt herself thrown over the haunches of a mount, then a sensation of movement, she could see the snow moving fast below her. She turned her head to see who had rescued her. For a moment she could only make out the traditional white robe of the medic, her vision swam before her eyes, then she could see her rescuer.

“Cursed Elf!” she spat. He laughed at her, his almost sing-song voice ringing in her ears.

“Now now troll is that anyway to speak to your rescuer?” he smirked at Jin’aya as she writhed in pain trying to swipe at him.

“Better t’ ha died wit’ honor dan t’ ha’ bin rescued by n’ Elf!” she swore harshly in her own tounge, cursing the elf with every word she could think of.

“Save your strength and hang on troll, they are fol….”

Jin’aya heard the sound of the arrow before the elf did, she looked up to see the head of the arrow protruding through his chest, the blood poured from the wound and from his mouth staining his robe. Without another word he slid backwards off of the hawkstrider, landing in the snow.

Jin’aya pulled herself up into the saddle of the beast. She tried to focus, but the blood was still oozing from her wounds.

“Poison…” she mumbled before slumping forwards against the beasts neck, Darkness enveloped her vision as she lost consciousness.

The Frostwolf cave was heaving with the sick and wounded. The medics went from one to another, administering salves and bandages to those who required them, and words of comfort to those for which it was too late.

The entrance to the cave darkened suddenly, Lyrissa looked up. A black hawkstrider was pacing and flapping, squawking loudly with panic.

Lyrissa approached the bird, attempting to grasp the reigns of the creature. She called a nearby assistant to restrain the beast. As she walked round it she realized it was carrying someone, a large female troll was face down in the birds feathers, she appeared to be alive but her breathing was shallow and ragged.

With the help of two others they managed to move the troll from the back of the beast to a nearby cot.

Lyrissa examined the troll, she was pale and sweating. As she cast her eyes over she could see the remains of 3 arrows, broken off at the shaft protruding from the chinks in her armor. She pulled gently twisting the arrow-heads from the flesh. She put them besides her and examined the wound.

It remained open and oozing. This was not right, A trolls regeneration should have been able to deal with these.

She turned her attention back to the arrowheads, she held one in her hand, it had the faintest green glow around it, the liquid dripped from the tip and burned away a patch of her skin. Placing the arrowhead down she yelled at one of the guard orcs to come and light a fire nearby while she went to find a salve.

Lyrissa returned carrying a small dish of foul-smelling green-brown paste. Cursing in gutterspeak she knelt next to the troll. The female was still feverish and unconscious. She smeared the salve onto the wounds and bound them in fresh bandages, Lyrissa prayed that it would cleanse the poison and that they hadn’t got to her to late.

The orc guard turned from the fresh fire and looked at the forsaken priestess.

“Priestess Lyrissa?”

“Stay with the patient grunt, I have others to attend to, notify me if she wakes up.”

“As you wish mistress.”

Lyrissa shook her head sadly. Who was this troll who rode a hawkstrider? She would send the enquiry with the report of the days dead, and the few names of those survivors.

Warmaster Laggrond took the list from the runner. Todays casualties. There was a note enquiring about a black hawkstrider, he scrawled on the back of the note that no black hawkstriders had entered the valley in the last 6 months or so, that he could remember. He passed the note to a nearby guard, ordering it to be taken into the Frostwolf cave to Priestess Lyrissa.

He scanned the list of the fallen, many fine soldiers had died today. As he read he paused at a name.

Jin’aya – Missing in Action.

So much for Shatterskull’s recommendation. She hadn’t lasted more than a day. He let out a long sigh and signed the sheet for notification to be sent to families, tribes or clans of those fallen.

Handing the parchment back to the runner he looked up. There in the stables was Jin’aya’s blue raptor. ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘no point in keeping it here, it’s no use in the Valley.’

Laggrond turned to one of the forsaken guards.

“You!, take that raptor to the goblin trader who wanders Hillsbrad. I’m sure it will fetch him a good price in Booty-bay, and make sure you get good coin from him too!”

The forsaken nodded and led the raptor away.

The Warmaster turned his gaze out from the camp, here coming up the hill was todays recruits. ‘Here’s hoping they last a bit longer’ he muttered to himself.

“Ha! You owe me 5 gold coins, told you she’d get up again!”

Jin’aya looked at the grunt with curiosity. She held onto the edge of the bunk shaking violently. An undead approached her with a steaming bowl.

“Here,” she said offering the bowl, “You’ve been unconscious for 3 days, get this broth in you before you collapse again.”

Jin’aya’s eyes narrowed mistrusting the forsaken priestess. She was going to refuse but her stomach growled at the inviting smell coming from the bowl. She sighed and accepted the proffered broth and sat cross-legged and drank.

She finished and leant forward to put the bowl on the floor. She yowled in pain as she attempted to extend her arm. For the first time she looked down at herself. Her chest shoulder and thigh were bound tightly in blood-stained bandages. Dried blood could be seen around the edges of the dressings.

Horrified she looked up to the priestess, her eyes wide.

“Wat be happnin? where I be? Da last ting I be rememberin was bein on da fields o’ strife, der was dis elf….” She tailed off into silence, realizing she had no memory from that point. “Da elf, he wa’ shot in da back, he fell ….”

Lyrissa nodded slowly. “So that is how a troll ended up riding into the cave on the back of a hawkstrider. Tell me troll, do you know your name?”

Jin’aya snorted at the suggestion that she didn’t. “I be Jin’aya.”

Behind her there was a shuffling noise. She spun around to see the black hawkstrider curled up with his head under his wing.

“Why is dat ting here?”

Lyrissa looked from the bird to the troll. “He carried you here when you were unconscious. He refused to be led from your side, one of the grunts who tried to move him had his arm gouged, we gave up after that and let him stay. As you were with him when his last master fell, I think he believes you’re his new one….”

Jin’aya peered at the bird. Even despite her dislike all elven things, she could see he was a large and handsome creature. She shook her head.

“I be ha’in a raptor. He be stored outside o’ da valley”

Lyrissa raised an eyebrow, “A blue one?”

Jin’aya nodded.

“I’m greatly sorry Jin’aya that raptor has gone. It was thought you were lost in action, as you had no ‘next of kin’ to inherit him, it was sold to a goblin merchant to take to market in booty-bay. Two days ago. Anyway, we can worry about that later, in the mean time as your medic I insist you get some rest.”

Jin’aya was furious, she went to get up and suddenly felt horribly woozy. She looked down at the bowl and back at the priestess. Lyrissa was smiling.

“I’m sorry Jin’aya, the best thing for pain is sleep. Don’t fight the sedative, you will feel better for it.”

Lyrissa’s voice seemed quiet and muffled. Jin’aya slid back into the warm furs and fell deeply asleep.

5 days had passed since Jin’aya had entered Alterac Valley. She leaned heavily on a borrowed staff as she limped out of the entrance to the frostwolf cave. The green grass of Alterac mountains rolled away from her, down towards Hillsbrad and Tarren mill.

The black hawkstrider followed her out. Jin’aya turned to it.

“Looks like I stuck wit’ yas den. If I be keepin ya, yas better ha’ a name,” Jin’aya paused for a moment eyeing up the creature. “I be callin yas Zi’kala I tinks. It be meanin ‘bird’.”

Jin’aya approached the hawkstrider. The great beast sat down on the floor, allowing its injured mistress to climb on with better ease. As Jin’aya got her seat, Zi’kala stood up and began the walk down towards Tarren Mill.

Jin’aya ran her fingers through the birds black plumage stroking his neck.

“Wat da hell am I gonna tells da tribe…”