Chapter 25

Jungle Fever, Part II

When Stefan had emerged from the darkness of the cave to be greeted by the bright sun and startlingly green jungle of the Sholazar Basin, it took him several minutes to believe they were still in Northrend. The thick grass and lush plant-life was such a drastic change from cold winds and chilling snow. The colors dazzled their eyes, a full spectrum of bright hues that contrasted greatly from the darkness of the tunnel.

But unlike the jungles of Un'Goro, the familiar sounds of apes and raptors were absent. Strange bird calls and loud howls pervaded the thick jungle atmosphere. They seemed out of place, but so did a lush, green landscape in the middle of Azeroth's coldest continent. Stefan stared at the alien flora, and the random critter that skittered across the jungle floor. Mae was dragging a quill across a leaf of parchment, hastily drawing sketches and jotting down ideas and observations. Molgoby and Fineus were entranced by a multi-colored lizard Lyra had caught as it attempted to dart by. Haydric was helping Geraldros put his light contraption back into the proper compartment.

"It's a bit nostalgic, no?" Iyana had sneaked up on Stefan.

"There you are! I was wondering where you had gone, sneaky Elf," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Aye, if I hadn't just crawled out of a century-long tunnel, I wouldn't believe we were still in Northrend."

"It is as alien as Un'Goro, yet bares little in common. The world is strange, Stefan."

"Correction: Northrend is strange. How could such a lush environment exist surrounded by miles of snow and frozen waters?"

"Perhaps a fate similar to Un'Goro has befallen Sholazar?"

"Possibly."

Something screeched with the utmost urgency. It was a loud, shrill, displeasing sound. It jolted everyone, forcing them on their knees, their spines shivering with sudden fear. It sounded again, and Geraldros let loose a faint whimper. They waited for a third shriek, but it never came. Slowly, they got to their feet.

"What the hell was that?" exclaimed Stefan.

"I don't think I want to know," said Molgoby. The Human was content with that answer. If it had their muscle-bound Tauren ally going passive, it might be too much to handle.

As another screech resounded, the source of the horrid noise emerged from behind a line of trees. It wasn't like anything Stefan had ever seen before. Its arms were long and bulky like a Stranglethorn gorilla. Its head was a large, shortened version of a raptor's, with larger teeth. Spikes stood prominently along the creature's spine, leading onto a long, slimy tail. The creature crawled along on a pair of short, stubby legs, utilizing the strength in its arms to carry its weight more efficiently. Its bright yellow eyes settled on them, and did not avert.

Not a good sign, thought Stefan.

"Mr. Dreis?" whispered Geraldros.

"Yes, Geraldros?"

"You're thinking aloud."

Also not a good sign, thought Stefan, this time silently as he nodded to the Dwarf.

The monster turned and began to lumber towards them at an excruciatingly slow pace, placing one giant clawed fist in front of the other in a methodical advance. No doubt, if they turned and fled, it would speed up and overtake them. Standing still, and thinking of what to do instead, seemed to be their best chance.

"What do we do?" said Iyana. She sounded more baffled then afraid.

Stefan shrugged, and unclasped his maces. Following his example, everyone began to brandish their weapons. Even if they couldn't defeat it, they would die here with their weapons in their hands. It was the warrior's way.

The ground began to thump each time the creature's fists came down. Geraldros grew a bit antsy, but was able to stop himself after a moment of unsettled bouncing.

"On thr--"

"Stefan," cut in Iyana, her voice in his ear.

"Love?" replied the Human.

"If we fall here and now..."

"Don't talk like that," said Stefan, turning to direct his attention to the others. "On three, we rush it!"

He turned to look upon their advancing foe with utter contempt. The ugly beast left a nasty taste in the mercenary's mouth, forcing him to spit a wad of saliva. His grip slackened, letting the rush of the moment overtake him.

"One..."

He tightened his fists, feeling the extension of his maces.

"Two..."

He felt the anticipation running through his muscles and everyone around him. But he never got to three. As the word began to form on his tongue, something exploded from the jungle to their right flank. It could have been another strange creature, unleashing its deadly stalks of poisoned quills at the giant-fisted monster. But as a handful of wooden sticks tipped with notched blades impaled the creature in multiple places, Stefan knew there was no second monster. Following the spears, a quintet of figures emerged. They were covered in war paint, dark green hues and bright yellows and oranges. The colors seemed oddly contrasting, but such was the jungle of Sholazar Basin. As a result, the ambushers had been nearly invisible to Stefan, the others, and the large creature as well.

The skirmish that followed was a blur. The figures darted around the beast before falling upon it like a pack of hungry wolves. They moved swiftly and precisely, striking out with wicked blades and crooked daggers. The creature fought back with intensity, but its slow speed was little match for its lightning-fast attackers. The creature's flank was sliced open and its ear lopped off before one of its giant fists connected with a single assailant, lifting the figure into the air. It landed with a crunch, and did not stir thereafter. The death of one of their own did not stop the attackers; if anything, they fought with renewed vigor. As the creature made a second swipe, a sword lopped off two of its fingers. It roared in pain as one of its opponents latched onto its arms and repeatedly stabbed it with a dagger. Slowly, the beast was losing. It fell to its knees, tail lashing about and catching one of the figures in its swipe. As the creature slumped over in defeat, the fire gone from its eyes, one of the figures climbed atop its back; with a dramatic wind up, it drove a sword into the creature's skull.

The death rattle of the monster was far more terrifying than its war call. It toppled over in a cloud of grass and dried dirt, dead. Four figures emerged from the settling dust, their bodies now caked in blood along with their war paint. Up close and personal, there was no mistaking their tribal gear, their long limbs, their prominent tusks. Trolls.

And Stefan could not have been more happier or surprised when he saw their leader. Devoid of the loud, boisterous ceremonial armor of the Darkspear, he was barely recognizable. But the way the Troll's eyes glowed with a radiant hunger, the constant search in his pupils that Stefan shared as well, was unmistakable.

"Guro'jintal," Stefan's spine shivered with excitement as he spoke his old friend's name.

"Stefan Dreis," replied Guro'jintal in heavily-accented Common. They laughed heartily as they embraced in a warrior's hug.