Dragons tale (world of warcraft)

He walked the mountains of Alisiac whilst the snow of winter began to take hold.  Those mountains were treacherous enough, but with the change of seasons his journey became slower.  The ice made slick the tracks forged by decades of journeymen off to sell wares from the far north.  The great wares of wonder and mystique to those of the south and west saw excessive amounts of gold pass hands in a blink of an eye. But he was not a journeyman.  His coat was worn and tattered from months of travel, high boots of quality leather had worn from treading the uneven roads beyond the mountains and there was an aimless slouch to his large broad shoulders, a man tormented and without hope.  He seemed as a pauper that moved from town to town, surviving on the wildlife and the charity of others.  Younger than many in his position, he hid his face in the shadow of his hood he was nameless and faceless, unmemorable and this was what he wanted. He moved slowly on with no time or purpose as an agenda and all he saw was the snow falling softly like feathers onto his cloak and in front of his eyes.
         It wasn’t until he stumbled his way through the rocky Ipcrian pass that lead to the great ice fields of Icecrown that he saw the magnificent herds of Rhinos and Elekk that gathered in the early winter to move south into the tundra region beyond the mountains.  Here also soared the great white hawks and eagles that fed on wild snow rabbit. Such an abundance of life in a terrain that was so harsh was amazing, but in summer Icecrown was flush with flowers and grass, fruit laden bushes and tall trees with long high stretching branches.  Now it was dying in the cold season and the herds were gathering to cross the frozen Unduar River then enter the tundra where the mountains ended and only hills and valleys etched into the landscape among the massive southern forests. Many miles away and from where he stood on the face of a rocky outcrop overlooking Icecrown; it all seemed so far away, misted by unseen, unknown dangers.  He pulled his old cloak tighter around his shivering form and trudged onward.
         By nightfall he was at the foot of the mountains where the cold ice fields beyond created small eddy of mist that swirled and writhed in some exotic dance.  He had managed to collect a few pieces of wood nearby, and boiled water to add herbs and fruits collected throughout his journey.  The food supply was low and so was his strength, how long had he been out here, wondering far from his home land. He laid on the rocky outcrop close to the ice, his pack had a heavy under-blanket which he wrapped around himself, but it did little to keep the cold at bay and now he dreamed.  He dreamed of the land beyond most travellers’ comprehension, beyond the Great Blue Sea of the north to the islands where no one dared to travel, except the treacherous pirates and smugglers that pilfered the area for the prized Dragon eggs of Cunundara. A rare precious stone found deep in the caverns of the islands, guarded by faceless demons, the great prophets of the Isle, and monks sworn to protect the eggs from any who tried to remove them. Among the monks were the warrior castes, men and women shape-shifters much like the druids of the southern tip of Danascas several hundred miles from the tundra. The knowledge of these beings was limited, knitted into myths and fairy tales told to children in the human cities.  He dreamt of green fields and purple flowers of gentle streams and grazing livestock, the valleys and fields of the Islands above the deep caverns.  Pleasant familiarity filled his mind. A woman running through the knee high wheat laughing back at him, her golden hair like a halo around her face, his laughter bubbled inside his chest as did the love he felt for her, for those lovely eyes that looked at him adoringly, trustingly those arms that would reach for him in the dim light of their marital home, where the hearth glowed with gentle fire and the kettle bubbled softly.  The smell of lavender filled his nostrils and his body melted into hers. 
He woke in the early morning light, the sky a wondrous grey and soft snow flakes moistened the now extinct fire from the night before.  Now he felt the cold not only that of the landscape, but that of his heart. His hand reached for the stone that was around his neck attached by rare dragonkin skin leather, but it wasn’t a stone, it was a crystal that appeared blue as the sky. This had been her gift to him on their anniversary so many years ago, when her belly was still round with their child, days before she would die at the hands of the invading pirates. He whispered something softly into the wind and at that moment his hood fell from his head with the new born morning breeze. His yellow hair curled around his face moving in the breeze and his eyes glowed fiery red, his handsome face raised up to the grey sky was angelic then as the fire increased in his eyes his features blurred and then changed, lightly tanned skin became patchy and flakes of it joined the floating snow. He felt the change inside, the anger and rage building and manifesting, his throat tightening and then roaring.  His bones ached and cracked, his organs began to shift painfully.  He had to fight hard against the change, he had to stop it before it took him over and killed everything in the Ice fields, already the rhinos near were stampeding in fear. Their terrorised footfall shook the ground splintering and shaking ice loose to open caverns far below them. He swallowed hard and blinking back the heat of his eyes, slowly the rage dissipated then was gone.  Gentle blue eyes looked around the landscape about him, high above him snow eagles flew in search of food and he could hear the movement of rabbits close by.  Life goes on, he said to himself, and so does my nightmare. He gathered his things and went in search of the trail that led to the Unduar River.  Soon he would be among the many beings that thrived in the south and he dreaded it with all his being.  The cities awaited him.

         STORM PEAKS: Ulduar
The hunter rode his stallion through the narrow gorge that divided the Unduar River into two and led away from the tundra of Icecrown and into Storm Peaks.  Above him his companion flew in slow circles a calm scene to many but the hunter knew and felt the animal’s agitation.  He needed both hands to move the steed he rode through some of the twisting trails and narrow paths until they reached the wide opening only a few miles from the great Ulduar city. Only now did he stop and put out his arm:
“Come! Come Qualin.” The Eagle cried out with relief and headed downward spiralling slowly until he landed on the offered arm. Without being told he moved to the pummel of the horses’ saddle and settled, but the hunter could see the eyes were fearful. “Settle boy, home is near. The creature is far behind us.” He stroked the large head of his companion then urged on his horse.
         No one looked twice as Kerridon rode through the city gates.  Hunters were common at this time of year when the great herds were beginning to migrate south from the isolated mountains and frozen wastelands of the north, and as this was the largest city so close their emergence it was often the first place hunters gathered. The stables were filled with their companions, housed in warmth and fed generously by their masters and each one could nearly pinpoint the origin of hunter. Hunters with heavy coated cats and wolves came from the east, bears and vipers from the west and the south had a strange mix of many breads some to large to stay in simple stables.  These were housed by the city gates near the Elekk mounting yards. Kerridon stabled Qualin among other flying companions, ravens, buzzards and bats, but hooded him due to the fear that still emanated from him.  The stable keeper a pert female dwarf tutted her disapproval but was reassured by extra silver and the hunters calming words spoken in elfish to his companion. Kerridon didn’t appreciate the mutterings of the woman in her own language, especially when he made out some of the words: like white eyed, long eared freaks.  The trouble was that the dwarfs were great carers of pets, and mounts so he tightened his mouth and went to the horse stables farther in the city but closer to the inn angry at the woman but happy with the knowledge Qualin was well cared for. 
         The Travellers Arms Inn was a favourite among the travellers that entered Unduar.  Unlike the local inn that the city inhabitants frequented, it offered rooms at reasonable prices, ale and meals as well as women who occasionally enjoyed the company of a traveller, for a price.  There were several night elves in the Inn when he entered.  He knew two of them and inclined his head in greeting, they offered him a spot at there table which he took and joined in the conversation of the hunt of Rhinos starting within days. The inn keeper took his order of stew and ale with cheese to follow and also money for a weeks lodging, this lightened Kerridons’ purse somewhat but then he would make more money with pelts by the end of the following day.  His skill at skinning was superb and the quality of hides from aging Rhinos were at a premium for making under-armour for the Kings Death Knights.
         He ate well watching the comings and goings of the inn, listening to the night elves talk of home or their professions that they would wield here in this cold land. He was the youngest of the group.  His ears though long did not wilt with age or illness and his skin gleamed in the candle and firelight of the inn.  His white eyes moved over the crowd: more dwarves, several mixed raced priests huddled closer to the fire, a free lance human warrior kissing a local girl at his table whilst her hands busied themselves in regions that made the young Elf blush and quickly look away.  Three other humans were standing at the bar laughing with a blue draenei, who appeared to be a shaman by his apparel and the high staff he had on his back. The humans had short knives and carried small bottles attached to belts on their wastes, rogues Kerridon thought, sneaky bastards that many hunters disliked.  Their habits of killing with poison tended to affect many animals and even he had once lost a companion in early training to one who thought that duelling in jest meant that the life of the hunter’s companion was up for grabs.  The rogue had won that fight. But Kerridon later killed him in the back streets of Stormwind by the canal with a short sword thrust in the side, a thrust that had severed bowel and ruptured kidneys. The memory made him smile. That was when he went deep into Northrend and found Qualin. 
The inn doors opened and the cold night air shifted and swirled in the entrance, as if declaring the strangers appearance.  Kerridon looked with every other eye in the room.  Initially he wondered why he was drawn to the newcomer. Plain heavy cloak tide around his waste and neck, long legs strode in clad in cheap aging materials, high boots uncommon to the zone but more at home on ships and boats.  He had a large knapsack on his back which he removed as he entered.  What was it about this man that made them all stare?  The stranger felt the eyes but did not move to take of his hood, in Ulduar this was not a social custom as it was in Stormwind or even Dalarian, instead he stepped over to the fire and warmed himself.  Large hands outstretched toward the dancing flames, one of the barmaids took pity on him and went over to figure by the fire. She whispered to him without looking into the darkness beyond the hood.  A soft masculine voice replied in human tongue and the barmaid smiled and nodded.  She went off to fetch what he needed.  There was only the stool by the fire and a small table unused by any so he sat and stretched his long legs toward the heat. Gradually interest in him faded and conversations began to strike up among the patrons, among them were the night elves that Kerridon sat with. The barmaid passed them from the kitchen and sat a small bowl in front of the stranger with a cup of warm broth. He paid her in loose copper which she took with a smile and bobbed away. He ate quickly and without looking up.  His hood stayed where it was keeping his features secret from prying eyes.
“Do you think he is a highwayman or a pirate?” Kerridon said finishing his second mug of ale.  The night elves stopped the conversation on the price of arrows in town and looked over at the man.
“Neither.” said the eldest elf.  He spoke in Elfish, “he has no weapon that I can see.” Kerridon looked closer but couldn’t see the handle of gun, sword or dagger.
“Maybe he has it well hidden.” Another whispered. The other muttered in agreement.
“No, not that one.” The elder drank the last of his ale and looked under heavy eyes, “I doubt many would even tangle with him. Look at his shoulders,” Kerridon had to admit, they were quite broad. “Hand to hand combat maybe, or something else.” That left only one thing
“Magic?” the two elves whispered in unison.
“He isn’t human, look at his hands.” They all looked carefully at the hands as he spooned food into his mouth.  Kerridon cocked a brow, hmm four long fingers and thumb... but the thumb was long. In fact it was longer than the other fingers. “That could be a deformity.” He said to the other elves.
“Its not.” said the elder. Kerridon looked over at the elder Elf, his face craggy from years of sunshine and wind.  It was then that he realized that the aging elf was a druid.  The way he looked deeply at the stranger and his eyes had a misting over them. Only another of the magic class would recognise a like.  “He is of legend. Like the Draenei once were. Long before any of you young elves were born.”
“I know the Draenei story,” Kerridon said, “but I don’t remember any other race having one.”
“No you wouldn’t, this one is really almost a myth except among the Death knights and the Kings table.” The elves all listened intently to the elder as he spoke in hushed tones. “Far north of here, beyond the sea is the Magic Isles of Mist. There is where the Dragon Eggs have laid hidden for centuries...”
“Eggs?”
“They aren’t really, they’re precious stones. Only found under the islands.”
“Have you been there?” Kerridon asked.
“I did, long ago, when the king first put value on the ‘eggs’. Before then, only the pirates sailed around the islands, but they didn’t stop then. They would just sail past.  Then the king was a given an egg that was found in the surrounding ocean and he put a bounty on them.  The islanders never knew fear, fight or killing they were farmers, fishermen builders, as far as the pirates knew anyway. I went with some men to act as their healer on the journey. The islands were surrounded by mist so thick that the navigator sent out a smaller boat that led us through the channels and canals up into these caves.  One boat had a lamp that led the ship inside this huge cavernous opening.  The walls were limestone and it had huge deposits of silver, I remember thinking, why go for the eggs with so much silver.  Later I was told that it was impossible to mine under the islands due to the cavern walls instability. 
         A few hundred yards into the cavern it narrowed, so several dwarves and myself got into the front boat.  We went alone further into, what could only be called a cave.  Then the places seemed to glow,” the elder smiled at the memory, “rich amber in colour. So beautiful, that it made your heart beat faster.  Then we came upon a larger cave.  The eggs were in the millions, some up to a hundred or more kilos each and we let out a small cheer, even I did.  But then we saw the people, they were using the cave as a point to set traps for water beasts.”
“Fishing?” Karridon asked, and the man nodded.
“They saw us. These handsome human like beings, totally unarmed and totally confused by our appearance. They were unarmed but my companions were not, they killed all of them with their rifles and then went about removing thousands of the eggs.  While they did I looked at the bodies of the beings, their skin appeared flaky like they were shedding skin and the eyes were yellow to reddish brown. So close to them I sensed something deep with the dead, unknown spirits trapped within, my whole being shrank back in fear and I told the dwarves to hurry.”
“That’s very strange.” One of the elves said. “Are you sure they were dead?”
“They were quite dead. But as we began to move out of the cave I heard a tremendous roar coming from above us.  It was then I noticed that the cave had steps leading up to an access hole.  Here light shone down on us, revealing the crime the dwarves had committed.  We all looked up and saw a man changing into something... something unlike anything I had ever seen. It was as if his body was being stretched in all directions... We didn’t wait to see what was happening.  I didn’t think it was for those dwarves to row so quickly.  Later I heard that other invading pirates took the larger eggs and killed hundreds of those islanders.”
“It’s a terrible tale.” Kerridon said his eyes moving back to the stranger who was finishing his meal.  For a second his hood moved and light entered the darkness, Kerridons white eyes met the bluest eyes he had ever seen, and in those eyes he saw such pain and anguish that his heart caught and he gasped. The elder saw Kerridons face and looked to the stranger.
“That is something else, the eyes of the living Islanders can pierce your soul.” The stranger looked away and covered his face. A few moments later he stood up and left the inn.