The metal wreckage ground to a halt. One back wheel spun, free of the ramshackle tank treads the machine used to tear across Arathi. Doom Howl. The large tank was reminiscent of the machines Garrosh had crafted to defend Orgrimmar or the ones the Iron Horde had used to attack all of Azeroth. There were commonalities between all of these mechanical monstrosities, but today it was that they were now destroyed.
The back end of the machine was raised several feet off the ground, a large jut of rocky earth had upended it. Scattered around several members of the Horde acting as guards, mages, and repairmen were scattered, dead or, gasping. Many speared with a single arrow, others crumpled and crushed by some massive instrument.
As the loud sound of the tank’s mechanisms finally fell silent Mosur relaxed his shoulders and lowered his arms. With an exhale he turned to look at the vindicator whose Light still surged around him, crystal maul still held ready to strike anyone that may still cause a threat. An impatient rumbling roar emanated from a tiger pacing around the wreckage followed by a still alert night elf. The years – or perhaps just this last year didn’t appear to have been kind to the man. His hair and beard were scruffy, and at some point, in the recent past, his eyes had taken on a lightless dark hue. Mosur had decided not to ask.
As the silence stretched on Zaanthe relaxed and the three convened amidst the wreckage. “Better than could have guessed,” Mosur commented as they each came to a rest.
Zaanthe nodded his head glancing from the pair to the tank that started to grow cold. “I expected much more resistance than that. Good choice of location for the ambush, Marksman.” Mosur nodded in agreement and looked towards Kanta.
“May as well use the terrain to our advantage, the land does not bode well for that type of… mechanism.” Kanta snorted, the kaldorei having little faith in the engineering machine that came to a grinding halt. “You two held your own well. One less threat to worry of.”
“Mosur did not think this place was still a focus.” He glanced around, it did seems as though the fighting in the area had decreased.
“This was supposed to be the last tank built and stationed in Arathi.” Zaanthe commented. He had more information than the shaman and Kanta’s nodding confirmed that.
“I’ll make the formal report.” Kanta said in a strong tone that walked the line between formal and casual. Mosur noticed the ease with which he carried himself now, there was still a fury there but it was no longer reckless and untethered. Now it seemed a cultivated ember.
The mission had come from outside Templars leadership, but had been sanctioned by Arialynn. “Taking it in person?” Zaanthe asked before the Marksman could turn. Kanta nodded. The vindicator grinned brushing his armor off. “Maybe you should get a haircut before showing up in front of that kind of leadership. Good impression and all.”
Kanta raised his brow and paused. It was a strange comment he thought and raised his hand to rub his scruffy beard. It had been a while since he was concerned over his appearance. Though Teldrassil hadn’t been his home, it had been the home of his people for the better part of three decades and it had stoked a driving fire in him that had blinded him to many aspects unrelated to revenge. It was a sudden realization that would have been dismissed if brought up directly. “Maybe I will.” He answered in slow thought, then turned and clicked his tongue to call his pet.
Comments (3)