A different kind of hunt.

[Sven]

<< This was a little longer than I expected it to be, you don't have to read it all. I'm not a good writer but I was bored today and thought I'd give it a shot :/ >>


The sun had set a few hours ago and the dip in temperature was already noticeable, Northrend was always cold but at night the chill in the air would be enough to grip your bones and shakes your body right through until the dawn, you could feel the freezing air right down into your lungs. Sven had hunted here a few times before; in truth it was one of his favourite spots. But hunting at night was a completely different ball game to hunting in the day, it wasn’t only the cold that could kill you but everything that crawled through the snow or swept through the skies was also a potential predator from the savage wolves to the unholy gargoyles that circled above him like vultures looking for their next easy meal.

He takes a sip from his hipflask as the brandy burns the back of his throat and sets a fire in his belly, it was no secret that he was dependant on it everyone back in the city knew that if Sven was around he’d be found in a local tavern, normally whoring it up with the women of the night or unconscious on a bar table somewhere. But on the hunt his mind was focused, it’s the only place he feels free and he’d make sure to only drink enough to steady his failing alcoholic hands and try to keep himself warm for the night. Keeping warm might have been near impossible for him, especially as he had decided against lighting a fire tonight and risking alerting his prey, however keeping warm didn’t seem to be a problem for Tyson who was currently rolling on his back in the snow with his long tongue lolling from his mouth, he had been Sven’s loyal companion for years and one of the best Gilnean Hounds that Sven had ever hunted with, he was practically family.

“You’re an idiot, Tys” Sven muttered quietly, the dog replied with just a twist of his head, he never was one for conversation. “I know, I know. You think we should have started in the Plaguelands. I’m not having this argument again” The pair had dug a little shelter into the snow and covered it with branches from the few spare trees around them, it wasn’t the luxury the tavern had previously given them but with a little luck it would keep them both warm through the night and most importantly hidden from anything that might want to kill them. “I did tell you, you wouldn’t like it there. It’s much better here” Sven nods knowingly to the hound, he’d been there once or twice normally just passing through but it was a disgusting and rancid place and he had no intention of travelling there without good reason. “Besides, the Argent Dicks weren’t giving me anything to work on.” He had spent the better part of the morning asking around the local outposts for anyone that might have seen her, she certainly stood out against the crowd but everyone was suspiciously tight lipped about it. Even the promise of bringing back some venison wasn’t enough to get them to speak, whatever the reason for her disappearing she certainly didn’t want anyone following her. He wasn’t sure if that made the hunt more exciting or if he felt ashamed for going against her wishes, truth be told he was too cold to feel or think anything right now. “Come on, let’s try and get some sleep. We’ll start out again tomorrow morning with the sun” with that Tyson pulled himself from the snow and hopped over to Sven’s side, he didn’t think the dog actually needed to share any of his body heat but he was thankful to have something warm next to him for the night.

The night had given him no real rest, a few hours here and there but before he knew it the sun was creeping up over the horizon, the snow glistening and blinding his sleepy eyes. A sip of brandy and a bite of the stale bread they had packed two days ago was breakfast, a quick piss and a check of the remaining supplies was all they had time for before setting off again. “Weather isn’t bad, we’ll make good progress in this” Sven gestures ahead of them to the sun and sky, it was a clear day and the wind was gentle, he hoped there wouldn’t be any more snow today. “Right, let’s take a look at Commander Tristeen’s map” Sven chuckles to himself as he pulls a tattered map from a pouch on his leggings, he’d like to think Tyson would laugh too if he could, he had fond memories of watching Tyson chase the commander around his camp giving him a distraction to pocket the map. When unfolded what he held in his hands was a map of recent undead activity in Dragonblight, there were four areas marked with crosses which indicated the largest and most dangerous pockets. “That’s not bad, should make the first one before nightfall. Who knows if we’re lucky we might bag a deer on the way and we won’t have to dine on this shit bread anymore” at this Tyson’s ears perk up and he begins bouncing up and down in the snow.

Most of Dragonblight was a vast wasteland, miles and miles of snow with nothing to be seen do not make for an interesting journey so as usual in times like this the pair try their hardest to keep occupied, an hour spent throwing a ball for Tyson, an hour taking note of how many different birds they could spot, how many different trees they came across, eventually an hour of seeing how many steps they would take and then comparing it to the next hour. Anything to keep their minds off the cold and off the boredom. In the sixth hour Sven eventually breaks the silence with a question “You think she’ll be angry?” Tyson as ever has very little to say on the subject peering back at Sven momentarily before shifting his attention to a finch that had landed on the snow to rest. “I hope not, but it’s hard to tell with her.” Tyson ducks down into the snow, his movements careful and deliberate as he slowly stalks towards the little bird. “She’ll probably be angry, you’re right” Sven nods as he stops walking for a moment to let Tyson have his fun. “You’re never going to catch it you know” and with that Tyson launches into a sprint, his legs hammer against the snow causing a miniature snowstorm for the tiny bird, fortunately for the finch however Tyson is a clumsy beast who ends up with his head embedded in the snow as the bird simply takes flight, Sven has always been good at reading animals and if he had to guess he’d say the bird was a lot like him, laughing at Tyson right about now.

Eventually the pair reach a large hill, in the distance the faint but familiar noise of battle rings out into the air. “That would be our pocket of undead activity then.” Sven clicks his fingers and immediately his faithful hound is at his heel, they both crouch and slowly begin to climb to the top of the hill. “Remember, we’re just looking now, no getting involved.” As they reach the summit as if on queue the sky cracks open releasing a torrent of snow upon the combatants below, it looks as if the battle has been raging for quite some time as what was no doubt pristine white snow at one point is now a thick red sludge boiling beneath the feet of a hundred or so soldiers. Blade hits bone and arrows fly, screams of pain and bloodlust mix around them as the battle rages. Undead forces with no more purpose but to kill push onward with sword and shield against a wall of unyielding Argent soldiers, their holy magic’s turning the foul beasts into dust and fire. Sven lowers himself into the snow and pulls an spyglass from his pack, he places the glass to his eye and watches the battle. “Where are you?” he mutters quietly to himself looking through the fighters and the dead. Minutes pass before he lowers the spyglass and rolls onto his back looking up at the sky he exhales a large breath watching the cold take it up into the air. Sven wasn’t a soldier, he’s not used to this onslaught and the sight of dozens of men being butchered in combat takes its toll on him. “We sang songs and drank mead” he mutters to himself “We celebrated, the scourge are defeated, the lich king is dead. I remember it like it was yesterday. The speeches and the medals, the brave soldiers back from war who survived it… I knew there were still undead here and the fight would still go on but this is …” he leaves the sentence unanswered turning back once again to look through his spyglass. “She said that she didn’t think the undead would ever truly be gone, that means … this? Forever?” he shakes his head a little looking through the glass once more. “Where are you?”

The battle raged for around an hour, he took regular breaks to stop himself from vomiting at the carnage. As expected the Argent soldiers were victorious and at the end they burned their dead alongside the scourge corpses that remained. The whole time he watched he caught no sight of her, her sword or her armour. For all he knew she could be a thousand miles away, it was just a gut feeling that brought him here. The battle had been exhausting on him even if he was just watching, he had wept for the first time in years, most probably for the first time since Gilneas fell. “We’ll camp here tonight, I can’t be bothered to move” and with that he drew the pipe from his pocket and began to fill it with tobacco. “Theres another three locations in Dragonblight at least, then maybe Icecrown or … I don’t know, we’ll see.” Tyson had walked over and collapsed in his lap, he suspected it was boredom that was draining the dog’s spirit rather than exhaustion. Tyson was used to chasing and flushing prey, not sneaking around all day. Sven rubbed his head “We’ll do some hunting tomorrow, I promise. I’m sick of this damn bread anyway” he lights his pipe and takes a long and deep breath of the soothing smoke. The sky was filling with stars now and for a moment the bloodlust behind him faded into the beauty of this land. “Let’s set up camp, we’ll see what tomorrow brings us.”