Part 1: An Unlikely Alliance (World and races based on Warcraft/World of Warcraft)

The air is still, the forest quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your ears ring, makes every hair on your body stand on end. The slightest of sounds makes my ears feel hot, and effectively "perk up" -- a reminder of our more primal origins. My breath is ragged, difficult... and visible. This isn't right, this isn't right, this isn't right, is all I can think. Otherwise, for once in my chaotic life, my mind is blank. Those three words keep echoing, bouncing around, mocking my plight with their repetitiveness.

"Okay... relax," I admonish myself, trying to see through the darkness that I can feel pressing up against my eyeballs. The sensory deprivation is overwhelming. My body is attempting to go into sensory overdrive to compensate, but it's having the opposite of the intended effect, making more skittish than focused.

A twig snaps over my left shoulder, and I whirl around recklessly, bringing my bow to the ready. There's nothing there.

At least nothing that I can see.

Keeping my arrow nocked, I turn around more slowly this time, wishing with all my heart the moon would miraculously show, and aid my vision.

Nothing.

Just me and my lonely self, making a lonely trek through a lonely forest. I finally allow myself to relax some, bringing my bow down to my side, but not daring to sling it over my back, or quiver my arrow.

The night remains unusually cold as I continue my journey, along the path, but not on it -- I need to be as difficult to track as possible. I make sure to double back every now and then, and to stray as far as a mile or so away from the main path.

Even whilst taking these precautions, being as careful and as alert as I need to be, I can't help but get lost in thought. I find myself thinking about the most arbitrary of things: how many steps I may have taken by now, how many weeks must have passed since I left home, how many years may still pass before I return... if there will be anything left to return to....

Suddenly I am confronted with a familiar smell, and a slight haze. I look up to see a small camp ahead, occupied by at most four people. I rush to the nearest tree and peer out from behind it, hoping that I haven't made enough noise to betray myself.

There is a particularly tall woman, dressed in blue and pale yellow robes, dirtied by what must be months, if not years, of traveling along paths, but not on them. She's looking at another woman -- this one petite, like me -- and laughing, her long, thick mane of green hair fluttering and shining in the firelight with every movement of her head. Even sitting and laughing, her grace and poise are evident. Her eyes, though, surrounded by beautiful markings, betray a deep sadness. The kind of sadness that becomes a part of you. Not in a consuming fashion, but in that it is so deeply engrained, it has been with you for so long, that it has become a constant partner -- a friend, even. It's absolutely breath-taking.

The petite woman is telling what seems to be a humorous anecdote, or perhaps a joke. Her own laughter is such that she can hardly get the words out, and tears are starting to break free from her eyes' waterlines. The tears glisten in the light of the fire, little diamonds on her knuckles and fingertips as she wipes them away.

They don't seem to be cooking, or even preparing to do so... and they seem oddly comfortable with being as exposed as they are and having a fire so openly burning. Where are the other two people? I ponder, turning so my back is against the large tree.

Thanks to the firelight, I can just make out the outline of a huge wayward pine. I decide to make camp there for the night. At least if I'm close to what seem to be friendly people, I may be within help's reach if I get into any trouble... or if trouble finds its way into my tree while I sleep. If I sleep....

Not five minutes into my finally lying down and staring at my roof of bark and branches, contemplating the difficult journey ahead, I am brought back from the abyss of my thoughts, and sitting bolt upright in my bed of leaves. I frantically reach for the knife at my hip, staring pointlessly into the absolute darkness. No more firelight.

"See? Did you hear that? Somebody is in there!" A male voice, with an accent that I've never heard.

"Oh, Rolf, it's probably just some poor animal you've scared half to death." Even not seeing her face, I can tell that's the tall woman I saw earlier. Her voice is as graceful and smooth as the way she carries herself -- no... just the way she is. Looking at her, it's clear there is no intention behind it, it's just her nature.

Despite my trying my best to quiet my breathing, I fail to hold in a startled gasp when there's a sudden sniff behind me. A different, gruff male voice says "It's no animal. I smell elf."

"Oh, thanks, Brophy. You'll just have to deal with it until we get to Silvermoon." A dry, sarcastic tone to this one. I can practically hear her crossed arms. There's a light slap against leather, and the sound clothe makes when it's whipped through the air.

"Shh!" The graceful one starts whispering, now. "Well whoever they are, they're probably sleeping! Let's leave them alone!"

The gruff voice comes back, closer and louder this time, "I don't trust elves...."

"You trust us, don't you?"

There is a long silence while Brophy considers. "I can't trust someone I don't see." It's like he's speaking directly to me.

I'm sweating, and my heart is racing. I don't know what to do. Can I trust these people? I just wanted to be close to other people... I didn't want them to find me....

"I know you hear us, elf," Brophy says in an almost sing-song tone. "I can hear your heart beating in your chest!"

Before I can process what's happening, I'm being picked up by my collar, like a lynx cub being picked up by its mother. I flail and yelp and reach again for my knife, regretting not having taken it out when I had the chance.

The huge beast turns me to face him, and I scream in horror, flailing more than ever. He is half again taller than the tallest man I have ever seen, and at least ten times as hairy -- no, furry. He has actual fur. That, and ears and a snout and hind legs like a wolf. How is this possible? His breath is hot and humid as he sniffs at my face, and I scrunch my nose and turn away in involuntary protest to the smell. "Hmph. You don't smell so pretty yourself, blood elf." And like that, he drops me. It feels like I've dropped from an upstairs window. I get up as quickly as I can and finally free my knife from its sheath, brandishing it wildly about.

"Come now, little one," says the voice with the strange accent. I back into the source's barrel of a chest as my eyes frantically dart around, looking for him. "We are not going to hurt you," he says in what I imagine is his sweetest voice. I snap around to face him, holding my knife more like a wand than a knife, pointing it toward his face.

"What are you?" I yell, taking in the mass of this... man? Demon? Where a normal male might have facial hair, this... person... has what appear to be tentacles -- no, tendrils. The hair on his head is... odd, and his forehead has a large, rough-looking protrusion that juts out from his hairline. His frame is hulking and imposing, and his legs are... they're hooves? I think incredulously. What in Azeroth...?

"Calm down, child," comes the graceful voice. I shift my posture to face it, lowering my knife, but keeping it out and poised to strike. "I am Eluna," she says, making sure to make eye contact with me. The effect is as desired -- calming and comforting. Now that we're closer, I can see that she is a full head taller than I am.

"Eluna." I'm almost whispering. She nods. I lower my knife a bit more, but jump when I remember there is a fourth person among them. "Hey!" I spot her rummaging through my pack and rush toward her, raising my knife.

"Relax, sunshine, I'm just making sure you don't have anything else that can hurt us." Her dry, sarcastic tone is apparently not reserved for those she's close with. She whips her wild, brown hair off of her face with a single flick of her head as she hoists my pack onto her shoulder and thrusts my bow and quiver into my chest. She uses another quick movement of her head to indicate that she wants me to follow her.

"Wh...? And I'm just supposed to go with you?" I ask, completely taken aback by the entire encounter. I turn to Eluna, slinging my bow and quiver over my back, but keeping my knife in hand.

"I suggest you follow Sita. She's not one to lead friends astray." She winks as she walks passed me to follow her small companion. The one called Rolf offers a small smile as he turns to follow his friends, and Brophy bumps my shoulder roughly, knocking me forward a bit, as he does the same.

I have half a mind to run, to get away from these strange people and continue along my way without my pack, but something tells me to stick with Eluna. I finally free myself from my state of shocked paralysis and trot up to Eluna's side. "What are you all doing out here?"

The one called Sita turns around and stops in her tracks, looking me dead in the eye with an intensity like no other and a crooked smile, like someone in on a mischievous plot. "Saving the world, sunshine."