Journey

[Nosh'marak]

The vast red lands of Durotar were buzzing with activity, for once. Scorpions hunted their prey, boars foraged for food in the sparse shrubbery. Nosh'marak had set out from Razor Hill not long ago, riding forth to reach The Barrens. He grunted as some of the red dust stuck to his grey, sweat-covered skin. He'd said this journey was simply to get closer to the spirits, but that was only partially the truth. He needed a break. A break from everything; the past few days had simply been drama coated drama, with drama filling. He felt relieved going on this trip, though. The moment his worg had been saddled and ready, all the worries had washed away. He snorted, riding onwards.

He'd secured passage through Ashenvale and in to Stonetalon, which had been a pain. Elves were more stuck-up than ever, for some reason. He'd been through the forest very quickly, not wanting to waste any time; especially not in knife-ear territory. He was reminded of all the memories he had in the forests with the tribe; fighting demons, going on spirit quests, Irontusks riling up elves and putting them on the brink of war... Good times, he thought. He reached the pass in to Stonetalon, gazing over the lands. This was truly a land ravaged by machinery and elements alike; the perfect place for him to try and get closer with them. He wanted to hunt something, perhaps a wolf to make a wolfmask. He'd always admired wolfmasks for their way of striking fear in to the enemy, but also for how they could make any buckethead like himself look wise and intelligent. He chuckled to himself at the thought. Nosh'marak the Wise Shaman.

He'd set up camp on a cliff, looking over the vast war-torn land. He unrolled his furs, stretching out. He laid his head on the fur pillow with a thump, instantly falling asleep.



The sun had been blocked out, the mountains had cracked, the streams overflown, the grass withered. All that remained was foul green fire, a stench burning the nostrils of the strongest warriors and making them turn away. A great black shadow swept across the broken land, eating up all in its path. Not even the pure force of elements could stand against it, it was a veil of death, covering all. Thousands of whispers slithered around Nosh'marak, lifting him up. The mountains filled their cracks, the streams flowed calmly, the sun rose once more. The same voices from his first vision sounded once more.

"Perhaps he -is- the right one." said one voice.

"He has shown great respect since our first visit." said another.

Nosh'marak was frozen in place, a new voice entering his mind.

"Great trials lay before you, both for body and spirit. Maybe you will come out worthy."

With those words, a gust of wind blew past him, sending him back in to his own world.

[Azolg]

Fitting