Bob wiped his lip and gingerly put some weight on his knee. It didn't give out instantly, which was a good sign. Whatever liquid his hand wiped from his chin, whether it was blood or sweat, Bob didn't get a chance to look. Kragnar let out a taunt at the pair of Yongol he was fighting. These Youngol, were different than the Youngol he had encountered in the village. They were imbued with the power of the Sha. Instead of simple brute force ( of which they had plenty of), they were attacking with the force of hatred itself.
Bob hurled yellow and green deadly fire at the pair. The yellow fire streaked through the ground, curling left and right, like a snake, ready to devour its target. The green fireball of chaos streaked through the air on a more direct route. Regardless, they both hit at almost the same moment. Where there were once two hate filled Youngol, only two craters now remained.
Kragnar turned to acknowledge his master, then silently floated off in the direction of his next target.
A few yards away, Hotplate was keeping herself busy as well. Her dual blades whistled in the night air. Normally, Pandaren nights were moderate, requiring nothing more than a linen blanket to sleep under the stars. But the air around hotplate was as frigid as a blizzard in Northrend. The death knight was born of this bitter cold, and it would never leave her. Now the cold was her weapon, along with blood and rune. Her blades gave off an eerie white glow, like the color of snow in the moonlight. But instead of inspiring an image of a peaceful Winter Solstice, they were cleaving through a particularly large Youngol warrior.
The warrior did not last long.
-------
"Did I ever thank you for dragging me to this demon infested continent?" quiped Hot.
"You could have stayed at the manor, helped Hunt at the market" replied Bob.
"What? And let an old man like you go back to war on his own?" joked Hot.
While Bob wasn't as young as he used to be, he looked younger than he'd looked in years. The last few months in Pandaria had hardened Bob. After years of being cooped up in the manor with his books, his body had softened and aged. This new campaign sharpened his mind and reinvigorated his body. He was almost in as good a shape as he was when he fought the Burning Legion, a lifetime ago.
The trip had done well for Hotplate as well. Retirement had not suited her. While the others could change clothes, and pretend to live the simple lives of civilians, the Northrend campaign had obviously changed Hotplate. She no longer spoke about her time before becoming a Death Knight. Before Arthas had made her into what she was now. But the action had given her a purpose, and that was something she was sorely missing.
No comments:
Post a Comment