There’s a rhyme and reason
To the wild outdoors
When the heart of this star-crest voyager
Beats in time with yours

Chapter 1

Melikar

Hot and dry.

Why was it always hot and dry?

Opening an orange tinted eye to the sapphire sky above him, Melikar breathed in the dust swarmed air. He sat up, looking lazily across the path at a passing black boar. The days spent in Durotar were always like this. The heat almost made you feel like passing out at times.

But, as was the way of life. He was a twenty-something year old troll, feeling a bit out of place in life. His light blue skin contrasted strangely against the desert rocks, but his spiked, fiery red hair made up for that. He was a warrior in training, and so far, he didn’t have much to show for it. Some experience throwing an axe around, but that was about it.

A pair of orcs ran by, mounted on large wolves, not even giving him a second glance. This was no surprise to him. He made sure he’d never attracted much attention to begin with. The way he’d been brought up was quite a bit different than the average horde follower. Shaking his head, he decided not to pursue such thoughts.

It was time he muster up the courage and pursue those quillboars that had been annoying the local residents of Razor Hill. Unleashing his axe from his belt, he sauntered across the pathway towards the large thorn branches protruding out of the cliff faces.

As he neared, he spotted his first target. A lonesome quillboar was pacing around, quite a distance from the rest of the camp. Looking him over, Melikar didn’t see much of a threat. The creature was half the size of him, and didn’t look smart anyway.

Feeling his shield tighten on his arm by the clenching of his muscle, Melikar slowly started forward. He happened to notice this quillboar had a healing cut on its left leg. Perfect for slowing the thing down when he moved in for the final blow. Thinking about his warrior training, he gazed down between the large pair of white tusks adorning his mouth, and made a quick move forward.

The quillboar hadn’t even seen Melikar until it was too late. Feeling a sudden pain thrash across its shoulder it turned, swinging its own crude axe in return.
Melikar felt the rough sting as the badly sharpened stone cut at his knee. He swung his axe towards the quillboar’s neck, coming away with red fluid. The quillboar stumbled back and made another attempt to swing at Melikar, the axe simply rebounding off Melikar’s shield.

Knowing it no longer stood a chance against this much bigger foe, the quillboar tried retreating as fast as its stout legs would carry it. But the injury had proven well in Melikar’s favor and the quillboar didn’t get very far until it succumbed to the wrath of death.

Standing over his prey, Melikar dug around the quillboar’s pack, finding a couple pieces of stashed away copper. Not much, but it added it up. Putting the copper in with the rest of his collection, Melikar pulled out a small piece of parchment paper, reciting in his mind the orcish writing.

Kill eight quillboars and return to me in Razor Hill.

Well, that was one. Stashing the paper away, Melikar made his way closer to the camp. The more he seemed to ponder the deaths of these creatures, the longer killing eight of them would seem to take. The quillboars weren’t all separated like the lone one he’d caught before. Most of them worked close together in the camp. He knew rushing in there and getting mobbed was no way to finish with success. They may be weak alone, but when teamed together they became too much to handle. Instead, he came up with a better idea.

It was in his nature to come up with quick and witty ideas. He supposed he could’ve thanked his genes for that. It seemed a lot of the Troll race had a tendency to come up with good ideas for those around them.

Slowing down as he reached the camp edge, he gazed at the quillboars milling about, minding their own business. Feeling the hilt of his axe nestled in between his two right fingers, his eyes narrowed upon a quillboar closest to the outside. Moving in, taking his time, he hoped to catch the quillboar’s eye.

And in just a few steps, he had that very desire.

The quillboar shifted its eyes, and then its entire head towards him. Without stopping to judge how large Melikar was in comparison to itself, it charged at him, letting out some kind of vocal cry sounding like a mix between a dog and a pig. Much like with the other one, this quillboar tried striking feebly with its bad weapon.  
However, Melikar had to give the creature credit with the weapon when he felt a burning sting through his mid-thigh. Swinging his arm around, he cleaved the quillboar right in the side of the head. The axe cut deep, wedging itself underneath the quillboar’s ear and cutting up through its soft skin. The quillboar reeled back as Melikar tore the blade free.

It made one last attempt at getting away before it fell to the ground in a heap, its blood staining the earth below. Looking over this one’s body, Melikar found a few more pieces of stashed away copper and some ragged looking bracers. Nothing he would use, of course.

He looked down at his thigh, seeing blood tingeing the brown color of his pants. Looking over his injury, it wasn’t too bad. He just needed some rest and he’d be fine. Perhaps he could’ve been over estimating himself. But he didn’t want to wait around because of one little scratch.

About two hours had passed before Melikar had actually killed enough quillboars to head back to Razor Hill. He’d overstayed his visit near the village of those creatures that was for sure. Picking off the first few had been easy, but when it got time to go in closer, he’d had to take his time and wait for some of the quillboars to move off before attacking.

One thing he thought magic could’ve brought him was the ability to attack from a distance and to bring your prey to you. But, choosing the path of a warrior hadn’t lent him that advantage. He walked along the dust covered path near the quillboar camps back to Razor Hill. Idly swinging the axe in his hand, his mid drifted to thoughts about where this whole idea would take him.

What made him want to go out and do this with his life? Why didn’t he just go back home to the jungles of Stranglehorn? Well, one thing was for sure. The orcs had played a part in him being here. They’d taught him the ways of the Horde, and the fact that his race was allied with them. They were one of the few races Melikar actually bothered to tolerate. Not to mention they had both helped and honored the Trolls, making them something more than just a bunch of superstitious shamans living amongst dense trees.

Surprisingly, superstition was not a big aspect of his life. To many Trolls, life was all about your karma and your good and bad luck. Whether he made it though his warrior training alive would be in that matter, he supposed. And, he did carry a small trinket as a good luck charm. But the average non-Troll would be surprised at how much his race revolved around the superstitious.  Perhaps one of those reasons for not going back to the jungles was because he just never felt he’d exactly fit in with others of his kind. Perhaps taking this training road alone was all he wished for.

No, that wasn’t quite true. There was more to his motivation than just the fact that he’d found nowhere to be. It wasn’t just his race he didn’t feel like he’d fit in with. It was the entire Horde he felt he couldn’t be with. The Alliance had taken so much from his ancestors and the allies he lived with, but at the same time, they couldn’t all be bad, could they? Of course not.

That was a firm belief he’d had since he was young. His mind started drifting back again and he caught himself. Looking up, he saw the spiked fence surrounding Razor Hill. Sighing, he lumbered into the town proper, finding the orc that had sent him on this slow mission to begin with.

Approaching the orc man in question, Melikar produced the piece of parchment, ready to hand it over for his reward.

“I’ve done as you asked.” Melikar drawled, his accent catching on the harsh tones of the orcish language.

The orc snatched up the parchment Melikar produced and gave it a once over.
Grunting, the orc handed Melikar another sheet of parchment. What, did he have these all stacked away and saved somewhere?

As Melikar took it, the orc began explaining what he wanted next.

“I must say I’m impressed with what you’ve done so far, warrior.” He stated, “

However, there are a much more irritating batch of quillboars farther west. Beware of these ones, however. They use magic and that can take you down sooner than the heat.”

Melikar nodded, feeling even more disinterested in this quest than the last one. Apparently, no reward was to be had yet. And that riled up his impatience.

“Kill five of the mages, and five of the guardians.” The orc ordered. “You will be well rewarded when you return.”

Heading back off towards the middle of town, Melikar had to wonder: why was he doing this again? All it seemed is that people wanted things killed, retrieved, or both. Regardless, it got him better marks and his experience could use all the boost it could handle. This didn’t make him any happier about not receiving well done rewards.

Looking towards the sky, he noticed the sun had started dipping to the horizon. He could do this quest, he supposed. But after that, he was calling it a night. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he started off once more, heading down the same path he’d just walked.

This time, the quillboar camps were farther out and it took him a bit longer to get there. He could see many of the piggish creatures milling about as usual here. Unlike at the last camp he’d just ravaged, there seemed to be a lot more of them about. Sighing inwardly, he started nearing the camp, once more thinking along the lines of stealth and strength. Ducking quickly behind a nearby boulder, Melikar peaked out at the nearest threat. One of the quillboars was wearing a robe that dragged in the orange dust below its brown hoof-like feet. It stopped in its tracks, lifting its head as if sniffing the air for some kind of stench. It didn’t seem to find one, and turned its back on the boulder.

Bad move.

Throwing his seven foot frame out from behind the rock, Melikar rushed in for the kill. The quillboar turned, hearing the sudden movement and caught an axe to the arm. It stepped back quickly and started forming a dark aura in its hands. Melikar threw the axe toward the creature’s head but it merely swung over as the quillboar moved more deftly than the last ones.

These ones were more experienced, so it would take Melikar some quick thinking to avoid painful magic. He faked a throw to the left, causing the quillboar to move right. Melikar anticipated this move and caught the pig-like creature in the shoulder. The quillboar cried out and threw its arm into the air. Immediately, Melikar felt exposed. His armor had been rendered useless. Using the adrenaline in his system, Melikar chucked the axe harder into the quillboar’s frame. This time, he hit home. The quillboar instantly turned and tried running. Melikar caught up easily, and lashed the axe out, catching it right into the quillboar’s left leg. The leg gave right away and the quillboar stood no chance as Melikar swung the axe at its neck. Cutting cleanly through, and leaving a wonderful pool of blood to remember the event by, the quillboar’s head came clear off.

One down, nine more to go.

Melikar found this camp to be much tougher than the last one. A few times he’d had to up and run off from his various hiding places because more than one quillboar had managed to find him. By the time he was done, he was stained both with his own blood and that of the quillboar’s, he was covered in dirt and sweat and would probably make home for any nasty insects in the area.

Picking a spot away from the camp and the various quillboar bodies, Melikar sat down feeling the aches in his arms and legs. He reached for his chest, seeing a neat little hole burned right past his mail into his shirt. It would just have to be another item to repair when he got back to Razor Hill.

Digging through his pack, Melikar found the item he sought. Pulling out a hunk of bread, he tore off pieces and ate by his victory field. When he was done, he felt surprisingly better. Food was no substitute for real sleep though. And his mind was thinking of a nice bed as he headed back to town. The sun had now disappeared, leaving the sky black and brimming with white stars. Walking down the path, Melikar stopped and looked at them. He wondered who else could be looking at those very stars. It had been so long since he’d actually just stared at them and appreciated them.

Psh, who was he kidding? Anyone who knew he was thinking that would probably slap him across the face and call him a wuss.

Once more getting back to town, Melikar noticed the area was pretty empty. He managed to catch the orc giving him orders and finished up the deed. The orc had given him one silver and fifty copper as a reward. Wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Frowning, Melikar headed for the inn, wondering whether he was ever going to get better than earning those kind of wages.

He entered the inn itself and made his way to one of the rooms closest to the back. Entering, he took off his shield and axe, leaving them by the door. God, he was spent. He was tempted to just sleep in his mail, he was that tired. Sighing, he removed the items in question and decided to lay down in his cloth attire. Feeling the soft mattress underneath himself, he threw the mail chest-guard upon the floor, leaning back and relaxing. Now this was a good inn.

His hand came up and pulled at the collar of his shirt as me made himself more comfortable, shifting his weight. Still, his hand remained where it was, one finger sliding over a small, golden locket that resided there.  

And as sleep overcame him, he may have been surprised to know that his hand hadn’t strayed from that position for the rest of the night.