Author: Janna
approx. 600 Azerothian years ago, Shadowmoon Valley, Draenor
From afar,
theirs looked much like any small procession of pilgrims: there were
women and men clad in robes and striding in quiet thought and a small
number of Elekk burdened with their possessions. At times their
voices would ring across the hills as they accompanied their step
with hymns of faith and hope. And yet, Atrophus thought, once an
observer would be near enough to make out their faces, they would
recognise their mistake; these were no mere pilgrims, and their plans
were far more substantial than to engage in prayer upon reaching the
holy site. The robed figures would reveal themselves as a group of
arcanists, wearing not only the traditional garb, but also the
jewelled accessories which mark those of the highest skill and
learning. Amongst them, others were walking in more practical dress
and outfitted with stacked tool belts: artificers, and again they
were picked by their rank and name, even though one might not have
guessed such from a first glance.
He walked
at the rear end of the group, leading one of the animals by its
reigns. The animal did not strictly speaking require his guidance,
but it allowed him to ease the weight he placed upon his left leg. It
was a long road from Shattrath to their destination, and they walked
many hours each day. They were getting close now, and he did not wish
to slow their progression by asking for a break, thus he had no
choice but to silently bear the sharp pain that would erupt from his
left knee and flare through the whole limb at every step.
“Why so
frowny? Is this not a fine day to walk these beautiful hills?”
