A Savage Nature (Warcraft)

“There, on the tree line! Undead sighted!”
 
Rognak immediately whips around, an orcish huff leaving his flared nostrils as he draws Wolfsong from his back. This wasn’t unexpected though. In fact, it was downright anticipated.
 
They’d barely just made landfall on the cold, frozen shores of Northrend after weeks of travel at sea. A small fleet of rowboats had deposited the first portion of their forces on the grey, sandy beach and then turned around to collect the next group. Of course, that was when the Scourge made themselves known. Heh… predictable.
 
Rognak’s lips curl back into a big orcish grin as he thrusts Wolfsong up into the air.
 
“Forward!”
 
See, none of the Expedition Leaders were idiots. And they’d had plenty of time in the past several weeks of sea travel to plan for their landing on Northrend’s shores. Indeed, it was all too expected that the Scourge would likely meet them. By this point in time, Detheroc’s demise, if not known, had to be suspected. And Northrend was, if not the Scourge Stronghold it might have become in the future, still the resting place of the Lich King all the same.
 
Honestly, watching the wave of ghouls and zombies and other shambling undead rush onto the beach at them, Rognak’s eyes narrow a little bit. He was expecting… more. That said, a force of even this size would need to be commanded by a- there!
 
“Necromancers, lurking by the trees!”
 
Rognak’s words do not fall on deaf ears. Warsong Druids alongside their Night Elf counterparts have already begun rushing forward. Behind them, Sentinels and Priestess of Elune also move into position, bows notched and the Moon Goddess’ blessings radiating from glowing fingertips.
 
At his warning, attention diverts to the Necromancers that can be seen leading the small army of shambling undead from the back. Rognak reaches out, fully intending to turn the very trees they’re using as cover against them. They underestimate his range and-
 
His eyes widen as he’s suddenly hit by something he doesn’t understand. A spell, perhaps? One moment he’s standing on the beach, Wolfsong in hand and his connection with Nature singing in his veins. He’s just made contact with the trees when it happens… and suddenly he’s no longer on the beach at all. Suddenly, he’s in some sort of foggy, ephemeral place made of mist and shadow and snow.
 
“Ah… the Outsider’s Champion, at long last.”
 
Rognak goes to bring Wolfsong in front of himself in a defensive posture… only to find it’s not in his hands. Rather, HE isn’t in his proper body. His own form right now is as vague and indistinct as his surroundings. His very self is flickering in and out of existence.
 
“What… what is this? Show yourself!”
 
A soft, purring chuckle resounds around him and the feminine voice that spoke before hums for a moment.
 
“Mm, very well. Peace, Chieftain Rognak. I am not your enemy.”
 
Quite suddenly, she’s in front of him. Not just in front of him, but damn nose to nose. Of course… considering he’s just one single orc and she’s an utterly massive Snow Leopard, her nose alone is easily five times the size of his head. Blinking as he finds himself with FAR too good of a view up her left nostril, Rognak takes a stumbling step back… and finds himself looking into a pair of glowing, icy blue eyes.
 
“Hello.”
 
Immediately, Rognak knows exactly who he’s speaking with.
 
“Har’koa. Loa of Snow Leopards.”
 
He finds himself reeling for a moment. Why was she contacting him? HOW was she contacting him? It hits him just as she chuckles again, tilting her massive head to the side and studying him with feline amusement.
 
“Mm. You are well-informed, aren’t you? Or does the part of you that is me recognize its origin; I wonder?”
 
A shudder runs down his spine. Her earliest words come back to him then. She’d called him ‘the Outsider’s Champion’. And he’d only heard that identifier used in reference to him once before.
 
“You were there, weren’t you? You were one of those that… he contacted?”
 
Nodding her massive head, the Snow Leopard Loa finally pulls back. Sitting on her haunches, she towers over Rognak, gazing down at him somewhat impassively.
 
“Indeed. Before we were Loa, we were Wild Gods after all. Kin to the likes of Malorne, Ursoc, and all the others. The Outsider approached us and showed us what might come. In return, we agreed to empower you. A fair deal. A good deal, as it’s turned out.”
 
Rognak slowly nods at that, his mind whirling with more questions than he could hold. But before he can ask any of them, he’s reminded of what he’d been doing before this.
 
“I was in the middle of battle. I apologize, but I really need you to put me back now please.”
 
Rather than acquiescing to his very reasonable request, Har’koa just laughs again. Rognak grits his teeth, wondering if he might be completely at the mercy of this fickle creature. His second set of memories assured him that the Snow Leopard Loa was honorable and easily one of the most personable of the Loa that ‘players’ tended to interact with. But before he can grow any more antsy, Har’koa shakes her head.
 
“You need not worry, young one. This is a moment frozen in time. We can converse for a while yet before the first heartbeat lapses out in the real world.”
 
Oh… huh, he didn’t know she could do that. Hopefully she wasn’t lying. But, assuming she was telling the truth…
 
“So you and the other Drakkari Loa all partook in making me the druid I am today? You’re all my patrons?”
 
Har’koa nods her massive head up and down.
 
“Mm, indeed. We are but some of your patrons, young druid. In exchange for fragments of our power, instilled in you at birth… the Outsider showed us what might become of us if we allowed certain… individuals within the Drakkari Empire to remain in power.”
 
Rognak’s own memories of the downfall of the Drakkari Empire flash through his head. By the time all was said and done, Har’koa was literally the last Loa of the Drakkari Pantheon left standing. She was the only survivor… after the Drakkari Trolls decided to slaughter their animal gods in order to sup upon their power.
 
“You need not worry, young orc. The treachery that the Outsider showed us will not come to pass. We have made sure of THAT.”
 
A shudder runs through Rognak as he finds himself imagining just what that might mean. But then, he doesn’t need Har’koa to spell it out for him, does he? It’s obvious that there’d been a cleansing. Probably pretty much every Drakkari Prophet had been removed and replaced with more… tractable individuals.
 
“… I’m glad to hear that you and your kin will not be slaughtered for your power, Great Loa.”
 
Har’koa snorts in amusement at that.
 
“You need not be so formal with me, young one. There is a reason I was chosen of all of my kin to speak with you. Yes, it is good that the Drakkari no longer consider slaughtering us for our power. But the root of the problem still remains, doesn’t it?”
 
Rognak’s jaw clenches at the reminder and he nods.
 
“The Lich King. He and the Scourge are why we’re here in Northrend. I know the undead have been harassing the Drakkari’s borders for some time now… but if all goes to plan, then that won’t be a problem for much longer.”
 
There’s a pause and then the massive Loa almost seems to slump in relief. Rognak blinks at the sight of the huge Snow Leopard dropping forward onto her belly before him, letting out a sigh that seems like it SHOULD blow a massive gust of hot air across his entire body. But it doesn’t, because whatever this place is, it isn’t the real world and doesn’t operate by the real world’s rules.
 
“Good. Very good. You will be happy to know that that’s why I’m here. The moment you reached out to Northrend’s natural splendor, you reached out to us. And so I reached back, to gain your measure… and to let you know that we shall support your endeavors.”
 
Rognak narrows his eyes at that, half-imagining a fully mobilized Drakkari Empire marching out of Zul’Drak and onto the Frozen Throne. That would certainly be nice… but then, when something sounded too good to be true, it often was.
 
“Unfortunately, the Empire is still in a state of… turmoil. And the undead ceaselessly nip at our borders. We cannot push for our followers to provide you with direct physical aid. But you are a conduit for pieces of our power, Rognak. And so, for as long as you walk the lands of Northrend… you may call upon our forms as your own.”
 
Wait, what? Rognak’s eyes widen at that declaration, once he fully processes what she’s just said. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask for clarification, but Har’koa suddenly gives a cat’s shrug.
 
“Mm. The heartbeat has passed. Goodbye, young one. And good luck.”
 
In an instant, Rognak finds himself back on the beach, holding Wolfsong aloft, reaching out to the trees with his connection to Nature. However, he pivots at a moment’s notice, no longer reaching for the trees… but rather, for something else. Sheathing Wolfsong on his back, Rognak begins to move forward, walking at first… and then running. And as he runs, he shifts.
 
His fellow Warsong Druids have already reached the front of the small army of undead that have been sent after them and are tearing into them alongside their elven brothers while Sentinels and Priestesses support them from the back.
 
But Rognak… Rognak doesn’t stop at the front. As he fully transforms, taking on the appearance of Har’koa, Loa of Snow Leopards, he coils himself up… and leaps. He’s not quite as large as Har’koa herself. But he IS larger than any other form he’s ever taken before now.
 
As such, his leap takes him PAST the entire army of undead that have been gathered up to ambush them. He lands instead behind their lines, at the trees themselves where their Necromancer masters hide.
 
The look of wide-eyed shock that he sees in the barely visible eyes of one of the cloaked, hooded Necromancers is truthfully all Rognak needs to feel a surge of satisfaction rush through him. But that sense of pleasure is further compounded when his new claws, glowing with icy blue power, tear through body after body mere moments later.
 
He makes short work of the Necromancers in charge of the undead army, all while his students and their Night Elf allies deal with the actual undead themselves. With the leadership beheaded, the already mindless zombies, ghouls, and shambling horrors become even more mindless, making it all too easy to take them down.
 
They were already ready for this first battle, to be fair. Having expected some sort of ambush the moment that their rowboats turned back to the fleet to get the next batch of troops; they’d frontloaded the first landing party with as much power as they possibly could.
 
Still, Rognak and his new form make it even more of a one-sided slaughter than they’d anticipated, and by the end the number of casualties on their end can be counted on one hand. The casualties on the enemy’s side of things by comparison are complete. Rognak doesn’t allow a single Necromancer to slip away and report back to their superiors.
 
Licking his chops as the battle comes to a close, Rognak makes his way back to the beach, slowly pulling away from Har’koa’s power. It’s not like other animal forms he’s taken, truth be told. There’s something undeniably intoxicating about holding onto Har’koa’s form. He’s almost reluctant to return to his own body, having lived for a moment as the Avatar of a Wild God.
 
Har’koa’s purring chuckle echoes in his ears as he finally manages it, fully transforming back into himself and shaking his head to try and clear it of thoughts of grandeur. Best if he didn’t become an egomaniac just because he had access to some serious firepower at the moment.
 
After all, while the fragments of power that the Drakkari Loa had granted him at the behest of his mysterious benefactor ‘the Outsider’ were his to keep and not something they could take back… their forms were another matter entirely. They were a temporary boon, a gift that Har’koa had made clear would be rescinded when he finally departed from Northrend again. He shouldn’t get too attached.
 
Arriving at the makings of their first base camp, Rognak is met with stares from his fellow orcs and their elven allies alike. Everyone is giving him some serious looks after what just happened… but only one among them has the balls to actually say something. Which is funny, considering her gender.
 
“The fuck was that?”
 
Maiev Shadowsong is looking at him with her head tilted to the side, as though she really doesn’t know what to make of him. Feeling a little self-conscious, Rognak rolls his shoulders and sort of shrugs.
 
“… A boon from a nearby Wild God. Kin to the Lord of the Forest. They have… great reason to want the Lich King dead and the Scourge disorganized if not completely defeated.”
 
Eyes widen at that explanation, but thankfully no one questions him further. Even Maiev seems to accept that at this point, Rognak just does things like this. Which isn’t really fair! He doesn’t DO things like this… rather, THEY happen to HIM more often than not!
 
Regardless, soon enough, everyone is together and the base camp is constructed, which means it’s time to buckle down, send out scouts, and make plans for how they were going to journey to the Frozen Throne to end this once and for all.
 
In all honesty, for all that Rognak’s new form had trivialized the battle… the welcoming party to their little expeditionary force had been startlingly weak, he realized after the fact.
 
But then… it made sense in a way, didn’t it? This was not a Northrend that Arthas had years to build up. There would be no Icecrown Citadel to besiege, no massive sets of fortifications to fight through. The Scourge were a very real threat to be sure, but Ner’zhul had to be growing weaker by the second if he was being forced to work alongside Kil’Jaedan. Frostmourne’s destruction was likely killing him even now.
 
Hopefully, this would all be a walk in the park. But that didn’t mean Rognak wasn’t going to take it all seriously. The Lich King was going down. Even if he had to use his new forms to make sure of it personally.

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