Prelude to Part V:
(Written by Rynarth)
The harsh wind struck Rynarth�s bare face quickly as he turned in the direction of the blowing, cold breeze. It felt like nails and ice directly pushing into his skin and pulling back his skin by how harshly it pulled at him.
The fact that Rynarth was scaling down the mountains by hand and foot was also something that took his breath away. The path that lead down the mountains by foot would have taken weeks for the group of Templars, and it had been a group decision that they would make their ways down by scaling the ledges.
Rynarth was one of the few that had disagreed with the idea at first, and had later been convinced that the food and little supplies they had would continue to dwindle, not to mention their need for warmth.
Zul�drak was the land below, and there it promised the Argent Crusade camp that the other Templars spoke of. He personally had never been to Northrend before and knew nothing of the terrain or land it offered, merely from ear of what terrors the land could have.
Jarrick Mason shouted something to Rynarth. He had been lagging behind the other three men and had been taking his time, his hands feeling numb and cold as the ice and stone they latched onto, slowly scaling the mountain.
Rynarth was unsure of what the warrior had said, merely thinking it was along the lines for the Gilnean to hurry his ass up.
Slowly, but surely the men made their ways closer to the bottom. From the dangerous peaks of the mountain down towards the half way mark, they continued to near the land.
His hands bled from the harsh climate, his face carrying signs of frostbite on it and his mane of hair was riddled with the snow and wind that blew towards his face.
Suddenly, his grip slipped, and he began to plummit. Past Sigmar, past Sielic, and passing by Jarrick.
The fall left little time for anything, and immediately flight or fight took over, his blood running hot suddenly as his bones began to creak and shift, sounding as though they broke in the midst of his plummet towards his death, mouth to snout and maw, teeth to fangs and canines and skin to fur.
Quickly and well timed, Rynarth dug his claws into the ice, forcing his eyes to remain open as pain shot through his hands and up to his shoulders, pain riddling his body as he could feel his claws and hands being mangled in their attempt to hold onto the ice and stone, and finally catching a cleft in the wall.
Rynarth panted, breathing heavily. The warmth of blood running down his wrists and down his arm as he hung there by his claws. Adrenaline shot through his body, not feeling any of the pain that had mangled and broken several of his fingers in the process of saving his life.
�Rynarth! RYNARTH!� Called from above, the voice of Sielic ringing and echoing down the side of the mountain. He looked up and realized he had plummeted well over two hundred feet down before he finally caught something.
�I-I am fine!� He called back, a more gruff voice now as he had taken to his worgen form. �Fingers and hands may be broken… But I am fine. I will wait here until you get here.� He said a bit weaker this time, knowing very well with his fingers possibly being broken, it would be harder for him to scale down.
What felt like hours passed, and eventually the sight of Jarrick, Sielic and Sigmar came closer. Rynarth began to carefully move along beside the three now, working more as a team to spot rocks that pushed out further and clefts in the mountain side, spotting what they needed to in order to keep from any of them falling a second time.
And soon enough, within a few more hours the group would meet a flat footed area, finally having downed the day�s trip of the mountain they had chosen. The warmer, but not by much, embrace of Zul�drak was now amongst them, the ruins of the once great troll empire before the Scourge had ruined it.
Rynarth collapsed to the slushy mix of snow and mud below him, holding out his hands as he began to shift out. Skin and bone were mangled on his hands from his last attempt save for his life on the mountain side, pain had returned as his adrenaline dropped.
Makeshift bandages were made after what Sigmar could manage in his attempt for healing, while Sigmar was a Paladin, his specialty came in using the Light as a weapon, not as one to grace, heal and bless upon others. He offered what he could, numbing what little pain he could as well as making sure the leathers they used for makeshift bandages would last.
�Thank you…� Rynarth said, standing up slowly.
�Will you be alright to keep traveling?� Jarick spoke, looking over to Rynarth.
�It may be best for us to rest for now, Jarrick.� Now Sielic spoke up, the look of exhaustion that painted his face was similar on all of theirs.
�Aye… It may be best for us to rest.� Rynarth replied, looking between the three.
The vote was decided, and camp was made, lumber was managed to be found from the area where they remained, the smell of undeath still plaguing the troll lands despite it being years since the Lich King�s defeat.
The one-eyed rogue rested his head to the bundle of leathers below him, eye closing slowly as he quickly faded into rest.
The travel through Zul�drak would be another day.