The Green Hills Of Stranglethorn

By Hemet Nesingwary

Our first day went as well as one can expect first days to go. Most of our time was preoccupied with making the necessary arrangements to establish a base camp. I located an ideal setting by a freshwater river inlet. Judging by the old, abandoned docks nearby, this site was inhabited sometime ago. As for the original inhabitants, only time can tell that tale.

For this expedition I have assembled Ajeck Rouack and Sir S. J. Erlgadin, along with my trusted servant, Barnil Stonepot. I fought alongside Ajeck's father's side in many battles in defense of the Alliance. Seeing her grown is quite special. Her father schooled her well in the ways of weaponry. Her skills with a bow makes me wonder if there is elven blood running through those veins.

Sir S. J. Erlgadin comes from human aristocracy. His father, Count Erlgadin, was renowned for his generosity. It was the Count who lobbied for improved working conditions for the Stonemasons' Guild during the restoration of Stormwind after the second Great War.

In the years that followed, after Stormwind betrayed the Stonemasons' Guild, Sir Erlgadin grew bitter about the role of the nobles within the Kingdom. He no longer wished to uphold the position that his father's bloodline had earned for him in the House of Nobles.

But I digress. The purpose of this story is not to act as a political treatise or a biography. This is the account of my experiences hunting big game in the green hills of Stranglethorn...

We rose with the sun. Barnil began to prepare the morning meal. I noticed Ajeck's attention was somewhat distracted. The day's trek would be long and our hunt would bring us close to danger. A lack of focus could easily lead to an errant mishap. Yet Ajeck seemed unable to divert her gaze from Barnil who stood by the edge of the river rinsing out his mess kit.

Just as I was about to question Ajeck's lack of interest in the day's hunting strategy, she reached for her quiver, drew an arrow and unleashed a shot right towards poor Barnil. But it was not Barnil that Ajeck was shooting at,. For when Barnil stepped aside, mouth agape, a large river crocolisk floated to the surface with Ajeck's arrow perfectly placed between his two large eyes.

We set out towards the west, through the thick overgrowth of the tangled jungle. Moving with slow, deliberate steps we paced through thick foliage in the search of prey. The morning passed in frustrated silence. Nothing was stirring in the Vale, not even a breeze. By the afternoon, the expedition had grown restless. Barnil no longer strode with the cautious steps of a predator tracking prey. Rather he clumsily clomped along the path often stepping noisily on dried leaves or fallen branches.

During one such misstep, Erlgadin laid a heavy hand on Barnil's shoulder. Ajeck and I gave a casual glance, assuming the man was simply giving Barnil a much-needed scolding for his carelessness. Erlgadin, however, gestured slowly with his head toward a nearby fallen tree. Gazing back at us were two piercing black eyes just as above a mouthful of razor sharp fangs.

The beast was a male Stranglethorn Tiger. Before I could cock my rifle, Erlgadin raised his crossbow and fired upon the beast. The bolt missed its mark and caught the beast heavily in the left flank. The tiger made a futile attempt to flee but its wound was too grave. The beast stumbled for a few tragic seconds until Barnil finished the kill with a thrown axe.

The kill brought about a festive mood amongst the expedition. Barnil poured mead for all to enjoy. But our festivities were short-lived. As we were preparing the corpse for transport back to base camp we were all caught off guard by a horrendous growl. In all my years I have never heard anything so blood curdling.

On a rocky precipice above, silhouetted by the setting sun, I could make out the largest cat of prey I have ever laid eyes upon. I was able to loose one clumsy volley with my rifle, but the cat held his ground. He growled once again, this time louder than the first, and vanished.

We gathered our belongings and headed solemnly back to camp.

I had promised the expedition that we would spend the next day hunting panthers, as their furs are in high demand throughout Azeroth. it only makes sense that such demand should exist with all of the able-bodied hunters, trappers and fur-traders off giving their lives so valiantly in the name of the Alliance.

Ajeck and Sir Erlgadin were anxious to learn how to hunt effectively with a Dwarven Rifle. I had the two humans leave their primitive range weapons at base camp. Barnil and I outfitted them with some of Ironforge's finest firearms.

On this day we ventured to the south, following some fresh panther tracks. Soon we reached a ravine spanned by a tremendous rope bridge. I could not help but to think of Brann's descriptive writings of this region when I saw the engineering marvel. So often it was assumed that the native Trolls were a primitive and uneducated race yet as I gazed upon the master craftsmanship of the bridge I was able to recognize the skill with which the Troll builders overcame the seemingly impossible feat.

Before long, Ajeck tracked the panther to the southwest. We walked quietly, guns at the ready, in anticipation of our prey. A snapping of twigs from a nearby copse of trees drew our attention immediately. Something was in there. One stern glance at Barnil was enough to convey my thoughts. Barnil slowly lowered his rifle. This kill was not for us, it was for our Human companions. Countless panthers had lost their lives in front of our smoking barrels. This kill would be for the Humans.

Both Ajeck and Sir Erlgadin stood poised, guns leveled at the bristling overgrowth at the base of the swaying trees. The midday sun beat heavily upon us. A slow trickle of perspiration trailed down from Erlgadin's temple as he pulled the pin back. Upon the sound of the click, the thick flora parted and a large black panther -- a beautiful specimen -- darted out onto the plain.

The Humans trained their sights on the panther as it ran along the edge of the tree line. The barrels of their guns moved in perfect parallel tandem. Barnil gave me an urging glance but I shook my head no. This hunt was for the Humans, not Barnil or me. Erlgadin fired a booming shot, missing the panther altogether. Apparently he was unprepared for the violent kickback of the rifle blast.

His gun tossed back violently in his arms. The barrel swooped sideways and came up beneath Ajeck's rifle. Ajeck had chosen that exact moment to pull her trigger. The rifle, the aim now knocked clumsily toward the tree line, went off with a distinct boom. A flock of birds screamed out the canopy, scattering in every direction. A plume of smoke rose from the tree. We watched in awe as a tremendous branch fell squarely on the fleeing panther, breaking its back.

As the weeks passed our stockpile of panther and tiger skins grew immense. I decided it was time for the expedition to shift our focus to a new challenge: Raptors.

The Humans, while appreciative of the training Barnil and I offered, decided to refrain from hunting with firearms. Ajeck was much more comfortable with a finely strung bow and Sir Erlgadin never left camp without his sturdy crossbow.

We set out at first light, heading south past the Tkashi Ruins. Barnil voiced concern that we might encounter members of the Bloodscalp Tribe. I reminded Barnil that the Bloodscalps were more concerned with destroying their tribal enemy, the Skullsplitters. Needless to say, Barnil was not comforted in the least. I, however, had a loaded rifle, a satchel full of gunpowder and three deadly hunters with me to ease any concerns of an unfriendly ambush.

I've stood before a towering Infernal on the battlefield, the army of the Burning Legion advancing from all directions. An unruly band of Trolls seems as harmless as a jackrabbit in the hills of Dun Morogh.

We passed the Tkashi Ruins without event, much to Barnil's relief. The party proceeded to head westward, toward the Great Sea, skirting the Ruins of Zul'Kunda just to the south. As we ascended the high sea bluffs we spotted our first Raptor.

The beast never so much as detected our presence. In fact, the only greeting he received from the expedition was a bullet between the eyes.

Sir Erlgadin let out a hearty *hurrah* as Ajeck nodded toward me with keen approval. I sifted through my pack in search of my pipe, hoping to enjoy a celebratory smoke. Barnil began to scurry up the hillside to retrieve the Raptor's corpse. I stared at the fallen beast with the satisfaction that accompanies every big kill.

But I could not bask in for the glory of the kill for long. For when I turned my eyes toward the horizon, several silhouettes appeared cresting the hill, just above poor Barnil.

*Flee, Barnil!* I shouted. Ajeck, Sir Erlgadin and myself loosed a volley of bullets, arrows and bolts over Barnil and toward the pursuing raptors. One of us landed a kill amidst the confusion.

Our hastily aimed shots were enough to buy Barnil's escape. Barnil clamored back down the hill and rejoined the party. We scurried off into the jungle; a pack of ferocious Lashtail Raptors stalking our every move.

The hunters were now hunted.

Conduje a la expedición hasta el mar, con el fin de que la costa nos protegiera de los raptores. En nuestro apresuramiento, nos desviamos y acabamos en el norte, en un monte peligrosamente elevado. Pero nos equivocamos. Fue culpa mía. Nos detuvimos delante de un escarpado acantilado, con los raptores justo detrás de nosotros.

Avancé lentamente con el arma levantada. Había conducido a estos valientes cazadores a su fin. Tenía que morir defendiéndolos. Los raptores colazote son particularmente feroces, conocidos por ser unos sanguinarios implacables. Eran muchos más que nosotros. Pero no me habría perdonado dejar que nos mataran a mis camaradas y a mí, sin antes derramar parte de su propia sangre.

Ajeck y Sir Erlgadin prepararon sus armas, flanqueándome a ambos lados, con las espaldas orientadas al mar. Barnil lanzó un suspiro de derrota y sacó su hacha. Los colazotes estaban casi encima de nosotros. Sus firmes zancadas eran ahora más pausadas. Estaban observando a su presa, ya que sabían que nos tenían acorralados.

Entonces ocurrió algo milagroso. Desde donde estábamos escuchamos el inconfundible y aterrador rugido del gran tigre blanco. A pesar de ser numerosos, los raptores dieron media vuelta y se dispersaron. Solo vimos el breve destello blanco de un tigre que salió disparado junto a nosotros, abalanzándose sobre uno de los raptores. No fue necesario dar ninguna orden. Los cuatro miembros de la expedición sabíamos que era el momento de salir corriendo.

Corrimos a toda velocidad hasta el campamento base, sin reducir la marcha en ningún momento. Más tarde aquella noche, nos sentamos en silencio alrededor de la hoguera, sabiendo que un extraño golpe de suerte nos había salvado la vida. Esos son los riesgos que corre el cazador de caza mayor. Jugamos con la suerte, desafiándola. No obstante, todos, en algún momento de nuestras vidas, debemos afrontar las afiladas garras del destino. Este enano se alegra, porque ese momento aún no ha llegado a las verdes colinas de Tuercespina.