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‘Frostwolves.’
The huffs and snarls of the beasts outside the darkened room could tell her that much, though the smell of wet fur was comfortably familiar. Wolves were noble creatures much like their masters, loyal to their own kin and pack. The clan she hailed from also regarded the wolf as one of their beast-protectors, and she found it to be the animal guide closest to her heart. How fitting that the Frostwolf clan would house her in her time of need. Knowing much of their clan’s pack mentality, she was going to be the outsider regardless of their hospitality, for despite once sharing a border with their lands, she was not a Frostwolf after all.
Her eyes fought her to stay closed, lids feeling as if they weighed a ton under her struggle. The voices she heard spoke in a language she recognized, yet the dialect was different. She understood most of it, but some words seemed new and strange, even for the Frostwolves.
Once her eyes parted slightly, she saw light coming through what looked like a door. It was no room, but a tent. Beneath her hands and bare feet she sensed the piles of soft furs that she laid under, keeping her warm despite the snow covered region she was dragged to. And then a lot more familiar feeling of cold, hard, iron shackles on her wrists.
Was she a prisoner? No, orcs did not take prisoners this way. What prisoner would be given the privilege of a warm and soft bed and the safety of a tent? Then again, she saw many strange creatures in the haze after she was freed from Blackrock, so perhaps it was one of those foreigners that thought this is the correct way to treat your captives.
As her eyes adjusted, she noticed movement in the tent. Another person, this one different from the ones that were with her during their escape. It was tall with blue skin and tusks, yet it was no orc. Skinny long limbs and a long curved nose, wearing purple robes with an eye symbol on them, yet it seemed she had adorn the sleeves and neckline with trinkets and relics from her own clan. This being looked to be a woman, probably assigned to guard her – or tend to her. Once the other tusked woman saw her open her eyes, she gasped a little. In the genuine surprise on her face, she could tell this tall blue girl was young for her species.
“You are awake,” spoke the young woman. She could recognize the language, but the dialect was different.
“Call da Chieftain, call da Archmage, tell ‘em she is finally awake.” the younger woman shouted out to someone outside. It was quite clear what this girl was talking about, yet she couldn’t make out one of the words at all. Where was this young woman from and why was her language so similar, yet so distinct, to their own?
“Archmage?” she whispered, trying to get a feeling of how this particular word is said. After few moments, she heard footsteps outside and few of the wolves stirring, making whining noises almost as if they wanted to play. Her ears perked up to try and make out the sounds as they approached the entrance. Was someone talking to the beasts as one would talk to pets?
Within moments, the doorway darkened and she recognized the figure of that pale pink creature that pulled her out of the ruins at Blackhand's camp. This one, she knew is a male, as she saw few others of his species in the chaos following her release. What kind of powers did these creatures posses that would make them respected among so many others in the lack of obvious height and muscle? Perhaps something similar to hers?
The man approached, though he did not have hesitation or fear in his stride as he closed the distance. Why was this being not intimidated by someone far stronger than himself, she wondered. After all, in the darkness of this tent, any features similar to his own she might’ve had would be concealed under dark black hair and ashen gray skin, with only two glowing golden eyes watching him carefully with each step he took.
“Ah there you are! And you look better already!” he addressed her in perfect Orcish. In fact, he was so accurate down to her specific dialect, that she raised her brows in surprise.
“Are you responsible for these…” she looked at the bedding she was in before turning back to him “Privileges?”
“Well I would hardly call this a privilege, but no, that would be our host, Durotan,” the man replied and began turning around himself, as if he was looking for something.
“Durotan,” she repeated. An Orcish name. A name she has heard. A host? So not a jailer. Would that make the unfamiliar word this man’s name?
She watched as he turned around until he spotted a small wooden stool. He walked up to it and grabbed the few items that were left on the top, trying to relocate them to the table. The cup made of bone and steel slipped out of his hand and banged loudly on the metal bowl that was already laid down, which made him drop the stool he picked up. She raised a brow. His misfortune and lack of grace made a tusked smile curl on her face.
“<Archmage, are you alright?>” a voice shouted from outside, this one speaking in a completely different tongue.
“Yes, yes! Worry not! Everything is perfectly fine!” he replied, in Orcish in fact.
That word came up again, so she was now confident she understood what it meant.
“Durotan is an orc, and the chieftain of the Frostwolves,” she stated as the man dragged the stool near her bedding and sat down “And you are Archmage.”
“Well I am an Archmage,” he began, unsure of what she was trying to say.
“Is that a common name among your clan?” she continued.
“Oh!” he tried suppressing amusement but a chuckle escaped him “No, no. Archmage is a title. And now come to think of it, it’s my fault for not properly introducing myself. I am Khadgar, Archmage of the Kirin Tor.”
He extended a hand towards her and his lip curled. He was smiling, she concluded, so these pink creatures were in fact not that different. They just looked like small, deformed, tuskless orcs. His hand gesture confused her and she frowned a little. It didn’t seem like a proper way to shake ones hand, not to an orc at least.
“Khadgar of clan Kirin Tor, are you offering me something or do you ask me to give you something?” she asked, looking between his hand and his face. His dark gray eyebrows dropped and his blue eyes seemed almost sad, she noted.
“Just a gesture of friendship, nothing more,” he told her.
“I would take your hand, Khadgar of clan Kirin Tor, but wouldn’t they ostracize you for offering your friendship to a prisoner?” she asked.
“You are not a prisoner, you are a hero!” he pulled back, surprised at her statement “Without you, our party would’ve certainly perished at Blackrock and we would’ve never made it to the boats. This entire camp has been waiting for you to wake up for days in anticipation.”
That’s what those words meant. A hero? She knew the meaning of the word, but that did not reveal to her what it meant for these strange creatures. And it was true, she did aid in their escape from Blackrock, she helped break through Blackhand’s troops all the way to the dam, which this pink man broke and let the water wipe out their vile machinery. He did almost drown in the process, she recalled, which was surprisingly selfless and even noble, if a little amusing. Afterwards it became a blur and the last thing she remembered was attacking this very same man, among others, as they tried to usher her on a ship. The moments prior and after were nothing but darkness. Was that the reason she was imprisoned?
“Is it customary for your kind, Khadgar of clan Kirin Tor, to put your heroes in chains?” she asked, lifting her hands from under the furs and showing the heavy shackles around her wrists. His shoulders slumped when he saw the metal binding her hands and his mouth opened, but no words came out as he shook his head a little. He was ashamed she thought, perhaps even apologetic?
“Oh...Cordana,” he mumbled “I am so sorry about this. May I?”
Cordana. Another name she heard before. The woman in the metal armor, following him closely. She did not speak much in their brief meeting, but she was still comfortable with shackling her while she was unconscious. That was something to keep in mind. He reached out and her breath caught. He lifted her hand and only then she realized how weak she felt. She noticed that his eyes glanced at her arm and his eyebrows furrowed and how the thin flesh, that would’ve otherwise been muscular, hung over her bones. Blackhand showed no hospitality in his foundry, and much less in his prisons and camps.
He didn’t produce a key, he just waved his hand around the metal and a small magical flash opened the lock. She looked up at him as he put the shackles beside her bed, and in the most awkward and unsure manner, just tapped her on the arm before he sat back in his stool.
“That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asked “No one told her to do it, she just... she is very careful. Overbearingly so. I will talk to her about this.”
“Is it because I attacked you?” she asked.
“Well—” he began scratching the back of his head “I like to think that it was a misunderstanding. You wouldn’t be the first orc to do that, hah! Though it was a bit unexpected.”
He tried to chuckle and she just tilted her head. He was forgiving and polite. An orc from another clan would’ve had her killed for challenging him like that. The sentiment seemed to be mutual, as she felt no disdain towards this Khadgar of clan Kirin Tor. No desire to harm him, even if he looked so defenseless.
“How do you understand my language?” she continued.
“A ring with an enchantment of my own,” Khadgar showed her his hand. “Now where is Thrall…”
“May I see it?” she asked, her yellow eyes looking at him intently “The ring.”
“Of course,” Khadgar took off his glove and showed it to her “The runes here allow me to tap into the magical residue people leave behind when talking, the tiniest of particles and with it, translate what they say between our tongues. I was not sure if you are a magic practitioner yourself, though I had my suspicion.”
“I speak to the elements. Do your people consider that magic? Or is it only though the use of Arcane that you can do so?” she added and reached out to touch the ring on his finger. While the man seemed surprised at her antic, she was simply testing how far he will let her go.
“This is precisely why I wish Thrall was here right now, you two would get along! Either him or Farseer Drek’Thar. The fellow with the blindfold you saved?”
She listened to him carefully, seeing how dismissive he was of her, preferring that she was left with her own kind. His initial kindness hid some unease. Had he met orcs before? How was it possible that she didn’t know of the manner of creature he is, yet he knew her kind?
“What are you, Khadgar of clan Kirin Tor?” she asked and tilted her head as she laid back down, almost like a wolf trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. She then stretched out her arms and rolled a bit on her back, which prompted Khadgar to clear his throat and look away. Men of all species were the same it seemed.
“A human,” he said and his eyes trailed as she reached out her hand and looked at his bare palm, then slowly up his arm and touching the metal pieces of his robe that covered his chest and shoulder “You have never seen humans? That is quite strange, it must mean you’ve been locked up for… quite some time? Over a decade perhaps?”
“I could no longer count beyond the first few months, after they moved me between the camps. I’d guess it’s been years,” she added and looked up at him, noticing the almost embarrassed expression on his face as he looked to the side.
“I did not mean to pry,” he sounded almost apologetic. Her hand rested on the metal armor over his chest for a moment and he just looked down at it, allowing her to explore his appearance under the premise that she has never seen a human (which was true, even if not important to her).
Had he not looked away when she stretched, he would’ve noticed the moment where she moved the chain shackles he discarded, closer to herself. Had he not looked at her hand trailing up his arm and chest, he would’ve noticed that she found a good leverage point on one of the wooden pillars that held the tent up. It had a metal piece for a torch and was absent of one for the time being, leaving a perfect spot for what she had planned.
Khadgar’s guard was up for all of the wrong reasons. These pink creatures did not have the survival skills of an orc. Had he not operated on previous prejudice he had for her race, or even her gender, he would've been more careful.
She let her hand trail back down his arm and finally, she placed it in his bare hand. The Archmage was alarmed and confused, but he did not react like someone being attacked. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think him flustered. In one swift motion, she used her other hand to shackle his wrist with the same shackles that were used on her and before he could even realize what is going on, she jumped up and pulled the short chain of the shackles over the little torch hook on the wooden pillar. His whole body followed without objection as she had caught him off-guard, which gave her enough leverage to put the chain over and pull the man, who weighted as much as her, up with ease. She then shackled his other hand and left him hanging by his wrists on the torch holder while she grabbed the blankets and threw them over herself.
“Hey!” he shouted after her, irritation and confusion in his voice. He knew she isn’t hostile and she didn’t try to hurt him, yet she knew he was understandably angry with her. Khadgar shouldn’t have had that puzzlement in his voice, for after all, what made him think she would trust him and all these other strange creatures?
She picked up the knife the blue tusked woman used to cut food, and made a hole in the side of the tent, jumping out and disappearing before the Archmage managed to set himself free. And just in time too, she thought, for any moment sooner and he could’ve stopped her. That’s precisely why she tied his hands over the torch holder and backwards at that. His palms could not reach quickly enough to set himself free or cast any spell.
Once outside, she spotted a saddled nighthowl and made her way to it with haste, knowing that the whole camp will soon be upon her. In a flash of magic, Khadgar appeared near and shouted.
“Wait! You are not a prisoner!”
She did not care for his words, nor did she let him finish as she mounted the wolf, spurring the beast until it sprinted across the camp.
The onlookers, Frostwolf orcs, green and blue tusked creatures, beasts with horns, walking corpses and small green people, all turned their heads at the sight of the rushing animal. She tightened the reins and the wolf jumped over a pile of boxes and cargo and then ran through the dying embers of a campfire.
To Khadgar’s aid rushed the armored woman, Cordana, and before he could say a word, she sprung in pursuit of the wolf and its rider. No amount of boxes, wooden beams and tools that were used to assemble this camp were going to stop our rider however, as she jumped and ran over everything in her path. The gates were open and that was the path to freedom.
Behind her, the armored woman was mounted on another beast, one bearing a shorter snout and two downward turned fangs. A great cat-like animal, keeping pace with the wolf. And then right behind her, an orc, a Frostwolf by the looks of it, mounted on a beast far bigger than the other two. She kept pace with Cordana and almost overtook her, as if she was trying to stop or slow her pursuit.
This did not motivate our rider to stop, and she just sprung the wolf faster, rushing through the snow, as the woods slowly thinned and endless fields of white opened before her. Freedom, at last. True freedom, or whatever that meant at the moment. No walls, no closed dark rooms. Just cloudy skies and a soft cover of white. The elements, they were all around her, in the air and in the distant water, in the soil beneath the snowflakes, in the rocks she jumped and climbed over. The beast clawed further and further away, grabbing onto the slippery slopes of the cliffs as she tried losing her pursuers.
Suddenly a whistle, and the wolf stopped. As she spurred it again, the animal objected and after a brief struggle shook her off its back. It turned and ran back to the other orc woman, the Frostwolf one. She was the one to whistle and now together with Cordana they stood near her.
“That is our wolf,” the orange-skinned orc began, though there was no contempt in her voice. It sounded more like a mother scolding a child.
“Very well,” she replied to the orc “I do not need your wolf.”
As she spoke she closed her eyes and channeled the Spirit energy of the world, drawing from the ice and the snow and the cliffs below. In a moment, she growled and reached for the ground, digging in her nails as her head snapped at the two women, baring her teeth and tusks.
She transformed into a spirit-wolf, as big as the wolves they were mounted on, energy surrounding her as her weak and skinny form turned into a powerful dark nighthowl. She snapped at the two women, both taking a step back as the beasts in their control growled and cowered, but she did not strike. Instead she turned around and continued running through the snow. The orc woman frowned, but Cordana spurred her saber cat. The hunt was on again.
The three women ran across the snow once more, and our Ghost Wolf wondered why they were still in pursuit. What could have she done to these foreigners, to the Frostwolves, to earn such persecution? Was her only option to turn on them and fight? The winds picked up and the temperatures dropped, but the other two women were still on her heels. She was growing tired, and it was obvious that her spent body could not handle the stress of this for much longer. The magic that turned her spirit into a wolf began fading as she managed to sprung the last efforts forward, reaching the edge of a long cliff that hung over the abyss below like a terrace, giving no escape but the plunge to the rocky death beneath or the inevitability of facing her pursuers.
She transformed back, holding onto the fur blanket she stole, feeling the cold envelop her barely clothed form underneath. The women stopped not too far from her once more, and she addressed them.
“Why? Why did you come here for me?” she snarled, the wind picking up even more around them.
“A lone wolf dies in the snow,” the other orc woman replied.
“Then why not leave me to it?” she bared her tusks at the other orc and now the winds were turning into a blizzard.
“That is not our way,” the orc woman stepped forward.
“Hunting me down suits you more, doesn’t it Frostwolf?”
“My name is Draka, warrior of the Frostwolf clan. And my mate is Durotan, the Chieftain. You saved our people. You saved our Farseer. What honor is there in leaving you to die like this?”
“Honor? There is no honor among our kind!” she roared and the winds picked up, almost pushing Cordana and Draka off their feet as they held the reins to their mounts tightly “Our kind has forgotten everything but brutality and violence!”
Suddenly she slammed her hands on the snow and a vibration spread across the cliff, trembling under their feet. A crunching sound, followed by rockfall and a slight tilt of the ground they stood on. The wind was almost unbearable and it made it difficult to see, enveloping all of them in a veil of white that nipped violently at their exposed skin.
“Those who hurt you threaten to destroy our home!” Draka shouted through the elemental storm.
“They already destroyed mine!” she shouted back.
“They enslave the elements and they murder our people!”
“That is why I run away! Why I run away from you! Because they will come for you!” she replied, her voice cracking.
“You don’t have to be alone in this. Stand and fight with us! Avenge your people!” Draka finally said and suddenly a loud crack was heard. Cordana was alarmed as she turned to her and the two realized the cliff they stood on, the terrace like structure that hung over the sharp rocks below, broke, now sliding down under the pressure of the snow. They were not going to make the run back to solid ground and the winds made it impossible to move as they brought so much snow that piled around their feet.
“Stop this! Now!” Cordana finally spoke, pleading with the orc woman she had tied up in that tent.
And she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. The elements were chaotic, they responded only to despair, pain and fear. They would not calm down because they responded to her. All of them were going to plunge to their death, but it wouldn’t matter. The freedom she chased was but an illusion. The breaking of the chains, being pulled out of her decade long prison, were all illusions. She couldn’t run. She had no strength to do so. As the snow began sliding down the broken cliffs and the two other women struggled to set their mounts loose, she sat there accepting her death and the embrace of her Ancestors.
“You hid and you ran. You lowered your head and were brought to heel because you had to survive. There is no shame in this,” a gentle voice spoke to her through the blizzard. As she looked up, she saw the glowing outline of a figure, an elderly orc woman with long white hair that fell heavy over her slouched body, unmoved by the raging winds around.
“But now you must stop running. All your choices got you to this exact moment. Now is time to turn around and fight,” another voice from the other side spoke, the one of a mature warrior, an orc woman with strong arms and even stronger features that had laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. As the winds blew, these visions disappeared and she realized that the cliff had broken off.
The three of them were being pulled down by the heavy snow and towards the abyss below.
Before Draka and Cordana could realize that they are not yet dead, a strong gust of wind suddenly embraced them and lifted them upwards, preventing their fall and pushing them to solid ground. The two wolves and the saber cat were already there, having made the run through the snow before the cliff broke off.
And then the same wind brought her up with it too, letting her land with a thunderous thud not too far from them. Draka grinned with her tusks and Cordana stood surprised as they both looked at her. The blizzard ceased and the skies cleared. The cliff falling below crashed and roared as it broke among the jagged rocks and yet she stood unmoving at the sound. From among the long disheveled dark hair they saw her two yellow eyes, almost glowing. They looked at them not with rage, but with determination. She needed desperately to believe. She needed to hope.
Draka nodded at her slightly, and she almost smiled back. Suddenly the world began to spin, the ground felt uneven and her legs grew numb. The last thing she saw was the sight of Draka and Cordana rushing at her before it all turned black.
‘Frostwolves.’
Once again she found comfort in the familiar huffs and snarls coming from outside. In the soft furs she was laid underneath and the warmth of the tent they brought her to. It meant that Draka and Cordana carried her back. That her trust was not misplaced after all. After years and years of loneliness, abuse and suffering, her Ancestors decided to bring her right here. Perhaps that was all she needed to believe right now.
She ran her fingers through the warm bedding as she began waking up, her hands no longer bound, and once her eyes parted slightly she noticed the figure that was sitting in her room. It was not the tall blue tusked woman she saw earlier, it was in fact the Archmage. He sat there at the small wooden table, eating, completely oblivious to her looking at him.
“Khadgar, of clan Kirin Tor,” she spoke quietly, still trying to find her voice.
“Ah, good to see you!” he exclaimed, trying to make sure the food won’t fall out of his mouth. “Back among the living. Are you hungry? They left a lot of this...um, stew in here. It’s not too bad, though I have to warn you, if you eat outside, the wolves will pester you until you share with them. And they are quite large.”
She blinked slowly and Khadgar could tell that she had a genuine and soft smile across her lip, framed nicely between her tusks. He was being so kind to her still, despite everything she did to him. In fact, he got up and poured some of the stew in a small metal bowl before he reached out to hand it to her. She got up a little, wearing nothing but undergarments and it caught Khadgar off guard.
“Oh!” he said with an embarrassed chuckle. She pulled the furs over her and he handed her the bowl and a spoon, still cautiously looking away just in case.
“I will be outside with the others. Do join us when you’re ready,” he told her and took his bowl with him. As soon as he was out of the tent’s door, she could hear a bunch of wolves instantly crowding him for food, despite his protests. A chuckle escaped her. It was his fault for feeding them scraps and now they knew he was gullible and easy to manipulate. Such carelessness and lack of self-preservation, unlike any orc she has met. It was was quite endearing.
It was couple hours before she joined the others outside, walking in the open as the whole camp turned to see the orc that both saved them and caused them trouble. They were kind enough to leave her some clothes and armor that would shield from the cold winds of the Frostfire Ridge, as well as cover her otherwise emaciated body underneath. The state of her hair was all her doing. Once shaved short up to the skull on both sides, it has since grown to reach past her knees. She could not walk around with a mane like that, and she realized as much when it made her earlier efforts of running away a lot more difficult. A moderate solution was found as she cut it up the small of her back, tying the overgrown bangs behind her head and out of her face.
To Khadgar, it seemed like he was looking at a different person for a moment. She was far from the largest orc he has ever seen, even for a woman, making him wonder even if she was a half orc herself, but seeing her skinny form and long mane before, made her look like an entirely different species. Now he could clearly make out her features in the daylight, illuminated further by the snow that reflected the sun rays and he could tell that she was a quite distinct looking orc. She had pale gray skin, like a smooth stone one would find by the shore, with no clan markings or demonic corruption, which made it hard to determine where she hailed from. He caught himself analyzing her like some kind of alien specimen, which was not his intention, and politely he looked to the side, waiting for her to approach instead.
Cordana had packed their bags and secured them onto her saber tooth cat, while two Frostwolf guards sat at a distance as if waiting for the pair to leave, annoyed at the delay. However Khadgar explicitly waited for her, and she knew this.
“You seem prepared,” he commented, awkwardly, as if trying to break the tension by causing more of it.
“I will have to thank the hosts for their hospitality,” she spoke, looking down at the clothes that she was given, unsure how long it has been since she last wore anything other than the slave rags under Blackhand's imprisonment.
“Oh, you will have plenty of time to do so,” Khadgar exclaimed “I am sure they will want you back.”
“You need me for something then?” she lowered her chin, eyes fixated on his.
“We are still strangers to the Frostwolves and they will not aid us easily. However a hero who saved their Farseer, who was welcomed personally by their chieftain? You have quite the rapport.”
“My clan was a friend of the Frostwolves,” she replied.
“Even better!” Khadgar tried to be encouraging, however his face soured for a moment when he realized she said ‘was’.
“Perhaps your clan--” he began, but she grimaced, closing her eyes and raising her hand at him.
“I speak for them now,” she said softly “And I saw that Blackhand lived. As did the others aiding him. And most of all, I heard of figures in the shadows who are behind all of this...violence.”
“Yes,” Khadgar lowered his gaze as he heard the barely contained anger in her voice “Which is why I need your help. Convincing the Frostwolves to aid us will bring me closer to finding those figures in the shadows you mentioned.”
“I have terms for my help,” she stared him down and Khadgar’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but he nodded.
“You wouldn’t be the first at that,” he smirked, not expecting this “Name your terms, if I can meet them.”
“I will come with you,” she said determined, flinging the bag she was dragging by her side this whole time, over her shoulder.
“Oh, is that all?” Khadgar chuckled, surprised once again, but had no reason to object “You could’ve bartered for more you know. But this is a rather dangerous cause, I would not insist for you to come.”
“That is not for you to decide,” she warned as she walked closer to him. Khadgar was mindful of her movements, not in fear, but rather observation. She seemed a lot calmer and more direct than she did at any point prior.
“These fiends destroyed my home. Had me imprisoned for years. I must do right by my clan and avenge their deaths. I am the only one left to do it. So if you want my help, I go with you until the very end.”
Khadgar nodded, securing his bag and even though his gaze trailed away few times, hers remained fixed on him. Once their eyes met again, he smiled.
“Alright,” he said softly, “We will see this until the very end.”
“We will fight until the very end, Khadgar of clan Kirin Tor,” she told him and extended her hand, offering it to him in the same manner he did earlier. Khadgar opened his mouth as if he were to say something, but soon realized that he did not know her name. Noticing his brief pause, she continued with the same tone.
“Shazidra, of clan Stonetusk.”
Khadgar shook her hand and nodded, his smile getting wider. For a moment he noticed she was trying to contain hers, but she still returned the gesture, even if with a bit of uncertainty.
“Then let us go. We will be back to camp and you can speak to the Chief then,” Khadgar told her, turning to find Cordana. She walked calmly by his side before he even spoke her name, having him stand there with his hand raised and a slight relief on his face. Shazidra watched as Khadgar then waved his arms and in a swirling burst of magic, a portal appeared before them.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Shazidra told him and his face dropped.
“It will not harm you and we will be through in moments,” he reassured.
“Perhaps some day, but not right now. I would prefer to ride, so we ride,” she crossed her arms.
“But—” he began “Saddle sores…” he muttered, rubbing his behind a little. She raised a brow and scoffed, a little chuckle escaping her.
“I am sure that will be for us to worry about, Archmage, not yourself,” Cordana added, mounting her saber tooth cat. Shazidra secured her bag on one of the wolves that was given to them, coincidentally the same beast she stole earlier, and she too was on it’s back.
As they slowly walked to the edge of the camp, Khadgar stopped before the beasts and turned to the two women next to him.
“Well, then, off we go,” he gestured with his head. Shazidra watched him as he took his staff in hand and lightly tapped it on the snowy ground. In a gentle swirl of Arcane and what seemed like feathers, the once humanoid form turned into a dark blue bird, his wings shimmering in iridescent greens. She laughed a little, frowning as she watched him fly off.
“Come on,” Cordana signaled to her and the two rode after the bird.
Strange creature this Khadgar was, awkward, sometimes clumsy, polite and kind, yet not too obedient and certainly not easily intimidated. Clearly a lot more powerful than he appeared. Perhaps they would truly see this to the end, and a part of Shazidra now dared to believe, dared to hope that they will come out of it victorious.