In Mulgore, it rained. The raindrops sang as they bounced off of the armor of Leda’s warriors and shaman and made dull thunking noises as they hit the leather of her hunters and fellow druids. They left at dusk, as Cairne had ordered, but no glorious sunset appeared to see them off, no - in Mulgore, it rained.
In the Barrens, it rained. Lightening cracked overhead and the dull grey clouds were slowly turning black as they made their way through the Crossroads onto Ratchet. General Savagedawn and her twin brother – the Moonkin, ride at the head of their battalion, chests emblazoned with their new Rend Fate tabards, the red and black a striking contrast to that of the rest of her company – the bright yellows and browns of Cairne’s Horns. Tensing her jaw, Leda spurs on her Worg, pushing the battalion on faster to the coast. They had to make it to the Wetlands as soon as they could to reinforce the regiments there. The ground was foggy with steam, rising from the rain hitting hot rocks and sand. In Ratchet, no beautiful starscape greeted them, no – in the Barrens, it rained.
"Goblins are so stubborn!” Leda roared, stamping her hoof on the dock. “It’s just a small detour and it’s for the war effort! I’m a General for Elune’s sake!”
“Whoa whoa whoa, Leda, calm down. Why don’t you go grab me some Ironwood seeds? I think I saw a merchant up that hill.” With one final glare at the goblin on the dock, Leda stomps off, down the dock and up the hill, tail twitching in anger. As soon as she’s out of sight, behind a palm tree, Iyo steps in, draping a formidable arm across the goblin’s shoulders.
"Now see here, good sir, we need to get across this ocean tonight, but we don’t need to go to Booty Bay." From out of his pack, he grabs an Elixir of Greater Intellect, dangling it in front of the goblin’s face. “See this here potion? I finally found a Goldium Flower to make it, I was saving it for myself for after the war, but perhaps it will convince you to take us to Menethil…?”
The goblin looks skeptical, so Iyo steers him around, looking outward into the Ratchet bay, whispering now “I just developed this potion and finished testing it… This potion allows the drinker to turn anything he touches into gold for a period of 2 hours.” Iyotanka smirks at the goblin’s greedy gaze, his little green fingers twitching to grab the flask. “I thought it might change your mind.” At the end of the dock, he meets eyes with his twin sister and nods.
“Everyone onto the boat!” She yells, “Come on, come on, I don’t have all day you little heifers!” Grinning she follows the last soldier in, meeting Iyo in the hold, somehow knowing where he’d be without asking. “So what did you tell the Dockmaster was in the flask?” The Moonkin chuckles, his laugh low and rumbling.
“He thinks it’ll turn everything he touches into gold for the next two hours.”
“What is it actually?”
“An old Elixir of Greater Intellect I had at the bottom of my bag.”
Meanwhile back in Ratchet…
A rather respectable looking goblin can be seen jumping up and down in anger, crushing his hat beneath his boots. “Aaaarg! Stupid Tauren! See if that’s the last time the Cartel EVER deals with you two again!” He shook his fist after the rapidly disappearing ship, cursing their names.
In the Wetlands, it rained. The dampness was felt from miles away, but at least it had stopped storming. From their position on the boat, Leda could see that most of the humans used for defending the harbor had been relocated. Only a quarter of what usually was stationed in Menethil was actually present, which worked in her favour. Her troops were inexperienced and most had been sent directly from Hoof Camp – they were even younger than her 28 years. There was no way they would be able to sneak past, only a handful were druids, maybe 8 at most. Somehow, she couldn’t see a large, imposing Tauren warrior edging along a wall. It was cool outside, her breath came out in clouds and the wind had picked up drastically, blasting rain up her cloak. No frog song or cricket croak greeted them in the Wetlands, no – in the Wetlands, it rained.
“Iyo, how do you think we should go about this?” Leda was at her wit’s end. Strategy wasn’t her thing, she was better at charging and taking 5 or 6 enemies at a time on her own. Iyotanka was the one to cleverly circumvent the worst of the damage. As he mulled over their options, surveying the coast, he stroked his chin.
“There.” His large, short finger points at a slope out of the water, near the stables. “We can storm the coast from the water and the stable looks to be the weakest defended area. If you can get someone to yell a battle cry and spook the horses, it’ll create a cloak of chaos and we can quickly exit the front gate. From there it won’t be hard to outrun the defense – they won’t want to go far from their position.”
Nodding, Leda switches from Orcish to Taurahe, which would be impossible for even the most learned human scholar to translate, and addresses her young troops. “We will fight them on the beaches! We will fight them in the stables! We will run out of their front gate and not look back until we see murlocs! Come on Tauren! We WILL make it through this city and we WILL make our rendezvous with the forces in the swamps! Follow me men!” She shifts painfully into the only form she knows – the form of a massive, brown bear and jumps off of the moving ship into the murky, cold water of the harbor. Next to her is Iyotanka, prowling along in his cat form, pointing at the stables before swimming silently, unseen to the beach.
With a roar, her troops splash into the bay behind her, the rain bouncing off the water into her only remaining eye. The human troops, clad in their shining silver and blue armour are ready to meet them at the shore, their breath coming in puffs of steam in the cool evening air.
To this day, Leda still cringes when the Massacre at Menethil is mentioned and she refuses to speak to anyone about the true events of that hour. The number of troops was halved even before she got to the stable for her roar, a roar born of true anguish and grief at seeing those young lives taken so carelessly. True to Iyo’s plan the horses scattered, creating havoc and confusion among the human troops. Those who could run met her at the front gate and she had to shift back into her Tauren form to help a hunter grieving for his wife, who would never call upon the elements again, stumble out across the bridge.
The platoon of Forsaken would never have been seen by the naked eye. It was only because the wind had picked up so ferociously and erratically that Leda caught scent of them all at. Eerily, they beckoned to the battered troops, their motions all in unison. They said nothing, just turned and wandered into the swamp, flanking out into a “V” pattern as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Through the remaining hundred troops, the twins locked eyes, Iyotanka shrugged and turned to follow the Undead, shifting into his Moonkin form as easily as breathing. The beaten tauren followed the massive bird, their General pulling up the rear, now completely supporting the hunter, who refused to acknowledge his own existence.
Sounds of battle could be heard in the distance, no matter how deserted the swamp seemed. Cairne’s Horns made no sound as they travelled through muck, mud and crocolisks. They must have been walking for a good 10 minutes before Leda noticed their Forsaken escort had completely, wordlessly surrounded them. She hoped they were allies, because if not, they were all done for. Deeper and deeper into the swamp they stumbled, the sweat of battle cooling in their fur, their muscles tired and their minds racing with the horrors one experiences their first time in the field.
Their eerie guard gestured, as one, to a hill a few yards away. With a series of hand gestures, Leda attempted to tell a young druid to prowl over, to check that they weren’t walking into a trap, or worse – an enemy camp. With a sigh, General Savagedawn hands off the by-now suicidal hunter, who started muttering to himself halfway here, to a warrior missing his pauldrons. As quiet as a 7ft cow can be, she catches up with Iyotanka, who is resting against the back of the hill and unlike the barely-trained druid, he understands the look she gives him. Tensing her jaw, she watches as her twin disappears over the hill, knowing that if he didn’t come back, she’d take the entire enemy camp down with her.
“Leda!” It was Iyo.
“Don’t move,” she growled, grimacing at the shift into her most deadly (and only) form before barreling over the hill. A roar sent birds scattering for miles around and then - silence. Carefully and as quietly as possible, the youngest female tauren peeked over the hill to see their General back in her Tauren form, hands on hips and finger waving, berating her older twin brother. It was a Horde camp after all. Turning around to thank the Forsaken that had led them here, the young shaman saw no one and with a shudder, waved her brethren on and over the hill.
Sending one last dirty look at a chuckling Moonkin, Leda stomped over to the nearest tent, growling for directions to the medics. Anyone listening would be surprised the Troll within that tent actually understood the request, gesturing nonchalantly to her right. Once her troops were safely established and taken care of, Leda would be able to find the crazy leader of the forces here in the Wetlands. Their journey had taken all night and the sun was beginning to rise. While her troops might be resting, the General had more to do and doubted she’d see any kind of makeshift bed in the near future.
She left the medical tent, nodding at those sitting outside – the ones lucky enough to only be a bit bruised up and easily fell into step with Iyotanka. “Where’s the command tent?”
“Why don’t you eat something first? I have some Buzzard Bites in my-“
“I don’t want to eat Iyo. Where’s the command tent?”
“You really shoul-“ Leda just glares, her jaw tensing. “Fine. Its over there.” He gestured at a smaller tent, close to the middle of the makeshift camp.
“Wait outside. I’ll call you in.” Lifting the flap, she enters the small tent, the warmth barely piercing through the leather armor she still wore. Inside, a Tauren with the same Rend Fate general’s tabard that she inherited from some poor soul, stands talking with another, shorter soldier with his back to the door. Already, he seems odd. Respectfully, she kneels, head bowed and clears her throat to make herself known. “I apologize for the interruption, sir. General Savagedawn reporting from Thunder Bluff, with nearly 100 injured brothers and sisters as reinforcements from the High Chieftain himself.”
“Leda?” She looks up and finds herself staring into the face of an old friend. Iyo, by now, bursting with curiosity, peeks into the tent, squinting a bit in the light.
“Is that you Tree?”
