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Once upon a time, in a forest far away, there lived gentle, kind creatures. All the animals lived in harmony with one another. The land was green and peaceful until one day, a great evil spread throughout the forest. The trees and plants wilted while once gentle animals turned into rabid killers, turning upon one another. The spirits of the forest whispered no more. The ursine children of the forest fled into a tunnel and hid. All hope was lost.
Much time passed when a beautiful princess from a mountain of iron came riding through on her unicorn. She saw the devastation of a once majestic forest and wept. The princess sought out the creatures in the tunnel, offering help, but they turned away from her, not knowing if she was a demon in disguise. The princess had to find another way to help them.
Squinting at the sun, I sip what had to be me 9th cup of black coffee. It was still early in the day.
After I have me fill, I walk up to one of the camps in Felpaw Village hoping to warm me aching feet by the campfire. Naturally the corrupted inhabitants aren’t so pleased to see me. The deadwood avengers charge at me, enraged, and wail on me while the shamans stand back, shocking me with their lightning bolts. I then blast the furbolgs with holy nova, the golden lights repeatedly bursting outwards all around me, until they drop to their knees and keel over.
Rustling through their clothing, I look for loose change and pluck any feathers I find from their headdresses. These will come in handy later.
I pull out me canteen and update the tally in me notebook. Six more furbolgs down, which brought the total to roughly 1,500 defeated. I figure I have about 6,000 to go. Maybe less. Depends on how many deadwood headdress feathers I salvage. Ending the suffering of corrupted brethren of Timbermaw Hold isn’t enough. Their representatives want actual proof that I am thinning their numbers. Fair enough.
I rub me tired eyes and pour me 10th cup of black coffee.
It is going to be a long week.
“Our victory in Sun’s Reach is absolute!” Captain Theris Dawnhearth yelled. “The naaru bless us with their presence!”
A blue light poured from the upper level of the conquered building overlooking Sun’s Reach Harbor and the distinctive hum of a naaru could be heard between the yells and cheers of the assembled Shattered Sun Offensive soldiers.
Beli Flinthammer looked up.
“Aren’t there still demons and Dawnstrider loyalists and such-like?”
“Aye,” Ringo said, tugging on his beard. “Let’s see what this runt’s on about.”
“This … is Mount Hyjal?” Ringo said, breathing in the smell of grass warmed by the sun, listening to the song of hundreds of grasshoppers.
“Yes,” Widge said, adjusting his goggles. “Hyjal Summit was warmed by the presence of the World Tree. The snows of Winterspring are far below us.”
Ringo glanced around at the newly built buildings around him. The Alliance worked fast when building forward bases during the war. Past the lumber mill he and Widge stood beside, he saw knights of Lordaeron checking their mounts’ armor and could hear the familiar sounds of dwarven riflemen preparing their weapons for battle.
“Not much time then, aye?”
“No,” Widge said, frowning. “Lady Jaina Proudmoore will call everyone to form up in a moment and then the word will come down that Rage Winterchill’s undead troops are on their way.”
“No time like the … well, whatever. Got to get to it, Ah reckon,” Ringo said, leading Widge around the corner.