Spirit Bound

Before the great cataclysm, during the height of the scourge invasion, two hunters, from vastly different backgrounds, find themselves being driven towards a common cause, by unseen forces determined to save Azeroth from an even greater lurking evil.


2. Troll Hunter

Blood clung to the myriad of rubbery, fanned leaves surrounding Thaylla's hiding spot. Whether it was hers or theirs she couldn't be sure and she wasn't about to stop and contemplate it any longer than it took to wrap a coarse bandage about her upper arm, where she'd been nicked by a poorly aimed spear tip.

Poorly aimed only in that it hadn't ripped her arm clean off as it had sailed past, requiring she feign left and roll into a copse to avoid the three others following close behind it.

The acrid tang of iron permeated the air and made her head swim uncharacteristically. She was a seasoned hunter and a veteran of war;  blood was not something she was unaccustomed to, nor had it bothered her since well before she ceased being considered a child amoungst her people. That it was churning her stomach now was indicative of how little she'd slept and eaten in the last week and of how powerfully the lingering aftermath of her astral invasion was still affecting her.

For the love of… Now is not the time to think about that!

A roar brought her swiftly back to reality, and she looked up just as Mischa vaulted over her head to sink the length of her fangs into the neck of a shaman who had been creeping up on her in the form of a ghostly wolf. The wolf's startled howl strangled into a gurgling gasp as the body of the troll slowly materialized at her feet.

Not waiting for the twitching throes of death to subside, Thaylla rifled through his robes until she found the small, leather pouch containing the traces of…whatever it was the apothecary back in Undercity wanted her to retrieve.

"Time to find friendlier faces and a long, hot bath," she whispered, receiving an understanding blink from Mischa, who threw herself into her role of diversion, darting into the middle of an advancing group before plunging back into the thick brush beyond the crumbling stone walls of the ancient temple turned outcast village.

Thaylla watched as her own ghostly companion became nearly invisible in the undergrowth before turning and silently making her way inland, towards the river that would take her to the orc encampment of Grom'Gol. Mischa joined her shortly after she'd reached the river's edge, the faint pink tint of blood still marring her otherwise translucent visage in spots around her mouth and claws.

The water wasn't much safer than the land, but it would cover their tracks and wash away their scent long enough to throw the troll hunter's mangy tigers off their trail. Better to fend off a sharp toothed Frenzy fish than several hundred pounds of feline. The fish would taste better for dinner, too.

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