This choice: Alissa destroys the logging operation and retrieves the mysterious scroll. • Go Back... In days passed, the brilliant pink leaves of the glade’s trees would rustle lightly in breezes blown in from the sea. The natives would spend afternoons in the soft grass below the boughs of the trees watching them dance in the wind. Today, what natives remained stained the grass red and embraced it with their bellies instead of their backs. The trees jerked and shuddered, oozing sap onto the stained ground as axes were sunk into their trunks. The orcs may have well have been sinking those tools into Alissa.
From the edge of the grove a lithe panther exploded through what small brush separated her from the first peon she felled. The first pair of peons assailing the ancient trees were on the ground and bleeding profusely before anyone could so much as shout in confusion. Alissa pounced from the hemorrhaged peons, bloodied paws landing with little noise. Yells of alarm rippled through-out the small camp and a half-dozen or so peons hefted their chipped axes to defend themselves or abandoned kodo-hide tents before they could be fully erected. In the back of the hastily assembled camp a pair of goblins playing cards were interrupted, the female taking advantage of her partner’s distraction by sweeping the anted gold pieces into her arms and bolting to the safety of the forest, only to be followed by a furious comrade moments later with the scroll leaning against their table forgotten. What caught Alissa’s eye in particular was a sturdy orc woman, turning from a collection of restrained prisoners with a look of malice etched upon her face.
Alissa snarled, leaping sideways to evade a hastily swung peon lumber ax. The muscles in her hind legs coiled and released as she didn’t so much jump on but over the orc. With a fluid motion she dug her claws into her flesh, launching herself clear of the lacerated peon and onto the one behind him. She landed with fangs bared and clasped down on his throat. She leapt again, tearing chunks of flesh as she did so. An axe intended for her back imbedded itself in the chest of the downed peon; Alissa raked her claws across the chest of the weapon’s owner before slamming her hard skull into the open wound and shoving the orc off his feet. Blood splattered onto the short purple hairs of her head, further adding to the mess of red staining her snout. Her ears twitched, her head swiveling in response to a throaty war cry. The stony ork woman thundered towards Alissa slicing down with a massive sword. The druid squirmed in her attempts to rush forward. The howling blade bit flesh, drawing thin ribbons of red from a slice running down the druid’s flank. Alissa pivoted on nimble paws that were swelling larger by the second. Her thin form ballooned with layers of muscle and fur as a deadly predator yielded to an unstoppable behemoth. The bear charged, a glancing sword blow shaving only hair off her thick shoulder, smashing directly into the orc’s armored gut. The taskmaster grunted and stumbled, digging her heels into the ground in an attempt to stop her backwards listing. Alissa bellowed a gutteral roar, drowning out a high-pitched voice shouting in the distance. She hefted a claw and swiped it forward. The impact dented the task master’s armor and forced the orc to the ground. Alissa shifted her weight and slammed the female once again with enough force to make her tumble a few feet. She heard armor crunching and the faint drag of a sword sliding through soil. The voice returned, more insistent this time. The druid lifted her claw one more time, snarling at the orc staring defiantly up at her through a haze of pain.
"Stop!"
Alissa hesitated, her claw hitching in mid swipe. She gazed at the orc before her, matching a returned stare that was full of mirrored hatred, anger, and confusion.
“No more! Please.” The soft female voice pleaded as a sob nearly made her speech inaudible. Alissa pinned the orc to the ground with a heavy paw before turning to face to the origin of the sound. A small gnome in tattered, oil-stained coveralls with pink pigtails was staring at her with wide water-rimmed blue eyes. Tears pattered softly against the ground. The druid sighed, her form slimming as she returned to her full height, her bare lavender foot pressing against the downed taskmaster. Alissa beseeched the trees of this grove, requesting they contain her prisoner as she released the others. The grove responded, gnarled roots burst from the ground and ensnared the orc in their sturdy grip. She struggled against them, grunting in effort. Alissa awkwardly padded over to the crying gnome, who had since hidden her face behind pink bangs. The gnome was separated from the remainder of the prisoners, all Pandaren and most of them cubs. Alissa winced with each step she took, pain lancing through her wounded thigh. She swallowed, unsure how to deal with an emotionally distraught civilian. She attempted to clean some of the blood from her face before clearing her throat, “Are you alright?”
What looked up at her was not the distraught civilian that she expected. The small gnome produced an intense look with furrowed brow, her eyes dry and narrow. “Are you stupid?” The gnome hissed in a low whisper.
“I…I’m sorry?” Alissa reeled from the small woman, her eyes wide.
“The Skyfire is grounded, maybe even destroyed. Its crew is scattered and we’ve only encountered one horde settlement.” She spoke as though this was an obvious fact. “And you want to kill the first horde leader we find without even trying to get information out of her?”
“She’s just the leash holder of a ring of lumber-chopping thugs, why wou-“
“Intelligence gathering has to start somewhere.” The gnome interrupted, fidgeting against her bonds. “Everyone wants to get to the boss right away and always forgets that you need to shake down the menials first to know where to go.”
Alissa moved to assist her, but the gnome stood. Strands of sliced rope fell to the ground and she slipped a small gnomish pocket knife back into the band of her belt. “At the very least, she can give us an idea if there are more of these camps and where they may be.” The gnome turned her attention to Alissa, casting her gaze up and down the night elf. “So, you must be the druid the King stuck with us. Ravenwing right?”
“That’s correct.” Alissa gave a nod, rubbing the rest of the blood from her face. “Though seeing as it’s just us, Alissa is fine.”
The gnome shrugged non-committedly, “If we’re being informal you might as well just call me Miki. Now, Alissa, please help the rest of the prisoners while I search this camp for anything worth taking with us.”
“Very well.” Alissa gave the gnome a side-long glance. Miki Thermocog had been quiet on the journey over; Alissa had only run into her a few times. The druid had taken her to be part of the engineering team that kept the ponderous ship moving. Alissa shook her head, tending to the bewildered natives and properly securing the injured orc taskmaster. From what the natives told her, there was a village nearby. The horde had attempted to seek harborage there a few days ago, but flew into a rage when denied. They assaulted the village, taking children and field workers prisoner before setting up in the village’s fields to chop down trees. The adult prisoners offered to lead the two there as thanks for rescuing them and extended an invitation to stay and have a drink. It was at this point Miki cut in and asked if anyone there could translate a scroll. Apparently the only thing of interest she could find was an ornate scroll with onyx handles and jeweled lettering that was obviously not written in orcish script and that these natives could not read. Upon assurances that there was a lore walker within Paw’don village, Miki agreed to join the natives in returning to their home. Alissa hauled the injured and bound orc over her shoulders. Her form shifted resulting in the orc being draped across the back of a tall, sturdy deer.
The pandaren natives led them to a quaint village nestled in the hills of the glade. Short walls surrounded it and simple one story buildings with teal tiled roofs sat on raised hills behind the walls. A small crowd of villagers clamored at the arrival of their loved ones. Parents ran forward to scoop up their children and hold them tight. Alissa’s chest swelled as she watched the natives re-unite with those the horde took from them. A male pandaren with a wide brimmed sunhat and a staff that had a bottle hanging from it approached the two alliance women with a smile on his face. Miki turned to regard him but a dull hush had descended on the crowd and suffocated the joyous mood. They followed the trail of gazes to the road, noticing a figured padding up the smooth stone path. It was a worgen, black fur stained almost entirely blood red. The loose metal plates strapped to his hulking form clanked as he hefted a limp individual cradled under his right arm. Soft orange eyes smoldered with iris flitting about to examine the crowd of pandaren, his attentive ears were nicked and scarred. He approached the gate, stopping shy of the two guards holding steady to either side. He regarded them with quick glances before looking at the other two alliance members. He spoke with a deep voice, refined voice tinged with the faint grumble characteristic of worgen.
“Ladies,” He gave a courteous nod of his head, “we need a medic.”
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