Bernie watched as the tauren's cloak billowed out towards the three humans while he strode purposefully ahead. The crossed scabbards over his back housed the enormous truesteel sword with its pleated leather-bound hilt and jewelled pommel, and a keenly honed axe slept in the second scabbard, its blade glinting from what little light was afforded through the murky clouds above. As he had already demonstrated, they were extremely lethal weapons.

While unnerved by the sheer size of their captors, Bernie nonetheless wanted to know their plans for the three strangers. "Who are you?" she boldly asked.

Mick, while noticeably on edge, still managed to glare at her and utter a warning that it was not her place to ask. 

Unperturbed by Mick's agitation and refusing to give way to his sense of rank, she kept her gaze forward, watching the tauren as his long, steady strides carried him onward. The fastenings of the tauren's armour and the scabbards creaked and moaned as his arms moved back and forth in military fashion.

The giant hirsute beast inclined its head to the side, nostrils flaring. Just the hint of a glistening eye looked in her direction. "I am Waquro Proudwalker of the Ragetotem tribe," he replied, his voice rich and deep. Warm.

"And why did you save us?" Bernie persisted.

A low rumble of laughter made the tauren's shoulders quake. "Save you? What makes you think you are saved?"

"We are human," she started. Her statement of the obvious caused the orcs to laugh gruffly. She merely glanced at them before continuing to speak with the tauren. "We are more commonly affiliated with the Alliance because of our race. You belong to the Horde. They are opposing factions."

Again, the tauren laughed, but the sound was now hollow. "We belong to no one, except the Earthmother. We fight alongside the Horde, but they do not own us." He turned round to glance at the rear of the group. "I cannot speak for the orcs, however."

Flicking her red hair over her shoulder, Bernie attempted again to assess their situation. "Alright! Still, should you not have killed us with our being on opposite sides?"

Mel gave Bernie's arm a hard push. The look of horror on his face and sharp shake of his head told her he thought she was practically offering them up as an aperitif, and he, for one, did not wish to become sushi.

Bernie grinned at him, mouthing, 'Don't worry,'  and gently rubbed his arm for reassurance.

"You are right, human, we should kill you..." Waquro turned and, raising a hand above his head, he reached for the sword strapped to his back. 

Both Mel and Mick blanched, but Bernie stood her ground, defiant to the last.

The orcs grunted, flexing their oversized muscles and clasping the keen axes they held even tighter. One of them taunted Mel as he turned to look at them. 

The musician almost fell as he tripped over some dry grasses forcing their way up through cracks in the stone. Bernie caught him by his elbow, helping him regain his footing. 

The tauren snorted and lowered his arm. Chortling, he turned to face forward again.

"What do you plan to do with us then!" Mick asked, throwing an arrogant look in Bernie's direction before turning resentful eyes to the tauren.

Waquro made a sound deep in his throat, like a growl. With one long stride, he was directly in front of Mick. The sculpted hair was instantly misted in vapour from the tauren's nostrils as he snorted at the human. 

Mick flinched and craned his neck to look up at the enormous bull beast, trying to show he was not afraid of it. With Waquro so close, the humans could feel the heat emanating from his fur- and plate-covered body. It definitely implied a threat. Oddly, Bernie sensed it was for show.

"Know this, human," Waquro said, his voice even deeper than it had been before. "I do not like you. You were the one hiding from the spiders while these two fought," he jerked his huge, horned head in Mel and Bernie's direction. "Yet, your tone suggests you consider yourself superior?" 

He snorted again, making Mick's coiffure even damper, causing it to separate and go limp. Unexpectedly, the plate armour shuddered as the tauren gave way to low mocking laughter in his chest. It did not last long. "Be not mistaken, I could simply tread on you and wipe you out. As long as you are in my captivity, she..." his huge plated, fur-lined arm lifted, and he pointed to Bernie, "...is the leader of your group."

Mick sneered and opened his mouth to protest, but Waquro held a warning finger in front of his face. "Do not! She had bigger balls than you, human, and I can separate you from your puny ones in an instant."

All that could be heard was the orcs' snorting and the low moan of the wind through the canyon. The tension surrounding the group was almost tangible.

The tauren waited a moment to ensure Mick would not give him reason to make the threat a reality. With a grunt of satisfaction, he threw an enigmatic look at Bernie before turning and moving forward again. Soon, he had resumed his steady stride. 

The three humans felt the flat of the orcs' weapons on their backs, pushing them onwards. The procession continued.

Bernie looked sideways at Mel, gauging how he was handling their situation. 

He seemed to be holding it together, even though his eyes occasionally darted behind them to check on what the orcs were doing. 

As a rule, Mel was easy-going, never one to look for trouble. Over the years, he had happily stepped up to help with anything Bernie needed. He'd been a true friend to her. 

He was good at whatever he turned his hand to, whether it was work-related or music, such as his jamming sessions on his guitar. And socially, Mel was liked by everyone. 

The same could not be said for Mick.

Looking askance, she let her gaze settle on her other flatmate. 

Mick had pulled his collar up tighter around his neck. A habit he adopted, she noted, when he was irked by something. 

She could see the flush of anger rising on his cheek from beneath the edge of his collar. His eyes glistened, raging from the humiliation he had just undergone.

She could not help but wonder what had caused such a change in him. He had always been a confident individual, well aware of his own capabilities across various aspects of his life. Inclined to be arrogant now and again, he was still bearable - normally. Inclining towards the dramatic, he made bold entrances from time to time, but usually in good humour. 

However, when he went into his quiet, dark moods, which thankfully, weren't too frequent, Bernie and Mel knew just to leave him well alone. Sometimes he would rally hours later; occasionally it took days. He could be volatile, yes, but she'd never known him to be vile, which he was seriously bordering on now.

Music: Heroes Never Die composed by David Chappell

https://youtu.be/0U1Brgpn_mw

Focusing back on the tauren, and now aware of what he would not tolerate, she took a deep breath before pursuing her line of questioning. "Waquro of the Runetotem, earlier I implied you were under the Horde's rule, for that I apologise."

She could see Mick sneering from the corner of her eye. He could stew all he wanted in her opinion. There were more important things than his bruised ego at stake here.

Waquro merely grunted in response, rolling his shoulders.

She persevered. "Can you tell us where you're taking us, and what you intend to do once we get there?"

After a moment, the tauren answered her over his shoulder. "We go to our camp at the edge of the Pass. We will rest there."

"But, it is merely early afternoon. Why would we rest so early in the day? "

"We have been tracking since before dawn."

Bernie wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer to her next question, but she asked anyway. "Tracking what?"

Waquro grunted. "You ask many questions, woman."

"I like to plan ahead," Bernie said, trying to sound bold.

At that, the tauren bellowed with laughter. The three flatmates stopped at the sound of his rolling laughter. It was so deep it reverberated on the stone ground. Wide-eyed, they stood stock still as the beast turned and stepped up to meet them.

His laughter ceased as quickly as it had erupted, and he glared down at the three humans. "In this environment, planning ahead can be one's folly. Focus instead on the present, for there are many eyes watching you as we speak, and many teeth that can snap and bite. Claws will rake and slice you open from your core to your throat."

His words had all three trembling. The corners of his bovine mouth curled, a satisfied grin on the hirsute face of a bull. "The only planning that matters in this Pass is how to survive, here and now."

Mick swallowed. The remnants of his once confident persona had just floated away on the mists that still swirled around the rocky crags. "Then – then may I ask why you camp at the edge of the Pass? Why do we not continue through the Swamp of Sorrows?"

The orcs started laughing. Their sound was raw, rough and menacing. 

The biggest one took a step towards them. His eyes narrowed to mere slits, the reddish-brown irises looking almost like lasers behind the hooded lids. Four-inch-long tusks protruded from behind his globular lips, and a long string of saliva swung from the corner of his mouth, dribbling over the course plaited beard as he spoke in the rambunctious orcan tongue. 

Only a few words were recognisable to the humans. Uruk meaning 'kill', lak-tuk – 'suffering' and of course lok-tar ogar – 'victory or death'. They all looked towards the towering tauren for a full translation.

The basso profundo seemed to make the very pebbles underfoot dance on their stone floor. "Belmar says this place is a potential stone sarcophagus, where if you don't kill, you will be killed. But the Swamp of Sorrows is adequately named, for there you hover between life and death, never knowing true suffering until you walk its length. Victory or death was never truer than when you cross the swamp and emerge either as you are, or as something ethereal."

Music: Let's Kill Some Crows composed by Ramin Djawadi 

https://youtu.be/x8jyQwUemNM

Silence fell as he let the humans digest his words. 

Waquro then glanced at the orcs, and all three of the giants erupted in laughter once more.

It was unclear whether they had just spun a yarn to scare them or were laughing at the fear on their faces. Either way, the humans were unsettled and quietly, quickly resumed the trek to the camp Waquro had mentioned.

The journey to the camp was punctuated with more creature kills. Spiders, vultures and wraiths lay mutilated in the path of the tauren and his orc companions. Even a couple of stray ogres, which had left the safety of their brethren in an area of the Pass known as The Vice, fell victim to their melee expertise.

Mick, Bernie and Mel were unceremoniously pushed aside, slammed against rocks as their giant captors rained fatal blows on their attackers. 

The sickening sounds of flesh being rent, steel kissing off bone, and innards hitting the stone were imprinted on the humans' ears and eyes. The thrumming whack of axes being wielded on dry, toughened carapaces, causing them to crack and split, and the ear-piercing screeches of dying vultures and wraiths alike, echoed in the canyon. With death, followed the acrid stench of steaming guts and the coppery taste of blood permeating the air.

Blood spatter, along with a gelatinous substance, covered Waquro's breastplate and cuisse; similar residues clung to the orcs' skins and leather armour. Their weapons were coated in thick, deep red ooze.

The reality of where the flatmates found themselves finally hit home. This was no game. This was terrifyingly real. They could really die here.

☸

Waquro's camp was a welcome sight for the three friends. Minimalistic, yes, but it still conveyed a sense of safety. 

Nestled in a wide fissure within the rock face, sealed at the far end, it promised shelter from the elements. A collection of animal hides, thick canvases, and tightly bound pelts lay scattered under where the unforgiving stone bridged overhead, forming a natural roof. The space offered ample room not only for the humans to take shelter but also for their three gigantic captors.

A large circle of stones in the centre bore the remains of last night's fire. Paw prints leading away from it evidenced that the blackened, charred wood had been rifled through by some bold, hungry scavengers. No doubt they were searching for scraps of meat stuck to animal bones discarded in the fire.

Mick took himself to the back of the fissure, pulling the collar of his overcoat up round his ears and wrapping the rest of it firmly round his body. He remained silent, withdrawing from even simple conversation with his friends. 

Mel and Bernie shivered; the temperature had dropped drastically within the last hour, and they, unlike Mick, hadn't brought a coat. Bernie's thin hoodie offered little warmth against the near morgue-like temperature of their shelter. Mel's skin was covered in goosebumps, having sacrificed his overshirt earlier and now left with only a t-shirt.

The orc named Belmar busied himself making a new fire within the stone circle. He threw down some chopped wood, dried-out ferns and moss. Pulling a dagger from his belt, he struck it against a flint, and the kindling took hold. As he bent down to blow life to the embers, his eyes locked with Bernie's. His reddish brown orbs held menace.

Mel watched the exchange between the two of them and was surprised to see Bernie defying the muscle-bound orc. Her stare was feisty, determined and without even a hint of apprehension. This was unlike her. Although not incapable of looking after herself, Bernie also had a very vulnerable side. She was not typically a courageous person and often shied away from confrontations. But she had surpassed herself here, in Azeroth. The change in her was good, unlike that of Mick's evolution. But it left Mel wondering, what change, if any, would he himself go through?

Belmar's eyes suddenly widened, and unexpectedly, he broke contact with Bernie. He stood and moved deeper into the enclosure, mumbling something in orcish.

Shunting over on his backside to be closer to her, Mel asked Bernie, "What did you do just now?" He was curious how she deterred such an enormous hulk from eye duelling.

Bernie shrugged. "Nothing. I just wasn't going to let him intimidate me."

The tauren has slid down the far wall, seating himself on the cold stone floor. He was cleaning and honing his weapons. Mel glanced over at Waquro. "What do you think they plan on doing with us?" he asked Bernie under his breath.

She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, resting her chin on her forearms.  She stared into the growing flames before answering. "I don't know, Mel. But intentionally or not, they have protected us, so I am hoping that is..." she tried to think of some appropriate Warcraft dialogue, but could only come up with fairly common fantasy verbiage. "...a good omen, that the spirits favour us." She smirked.

"What?" Mel grinned. "We are in Azeroth for real, scared shitless with three monsters as bodyguards, and still you go into roleplay?"

They glanced at each other, then laughed. After today's events, it felt good to have such a release.

Their mirth was brought to an abrupt end, however, when Belmar's feet scuffed to a halt beside them. 

They looked up at him, involuntarily huddling closer together. In one hand, he held three animal pelts, the fur of which looked soft, luxurious and warm. In the other, he held a large bag tied with a leather thong. 

He handed them to Bernie with a grunt. Tentatively, she accepted. The orc remained standing, waiting for her, it seemed, to open the bag. Once she and Mel wrapped the furs around themselves, she loosened the leather that held the bag closed. Its corners fell open to reveal food. 

She hadn't realised how hungry she was until she looked at the contents. Crusty bread, thin cuts of cold meat, cheese, and fruit. She looked back up at the orc and said thank you.

"Zug-zug,"* Belmar replied, then moved away to take the third hide over to Mick. 

They watched as he tried to get Mick to move to the fire. But their stubborn flatmate was not for budging. At least not until Belmar grabbed him by the shoulder of his coat and literally dragged him to where his friends sat, already tucking into the food. 

He was dumped, unceremoniously, beside Mel. A grunt of displeasure from Belmar indicated the orc's obvious intolerance of Mick's behaviour. 

The orc then moved back nearer the entrance, where the other one sat already tucking into his food.

Bernie pushed the open bag along in front of Mel so all three of them could reach it easily. Mick snatched some meat and cheese but then turned away from his friends and stared moodily into the fire.

 The clank of metal connecting with stone made Mel and Bernie look back towards Waquro. His weapons on the floor, he stood and took down a waterskin that hung from a jagged projection in the rock. He approached the group around the fire and offered the waterskin to Bernie.  

"Thank you," she said with a small smile.

"Eat your fill, then get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead tomorrow." His voice ricocheted off the fissure walls.

"Don't tell me you are planning ahead, Waquro," Bernie said. "I thought that was a bad idea here."

The tauren snorted, vapour streaming from his wide nostrils. With a low rumble of mirth, he answered, "You learn quickly, human."

She smirked. "May I ask where we are going now?"

The tauren studied her for a few moments and then trained his eyes on Mel. "Frostfire," he replied.

Mel gasped while Mick flinched, but said nothing.

"Draenor?" A nervous edge tinged Bernie's voice.

Waquro looked back at her. "You are familiar with it?"

"Quite," she replied without explaining that her knowledge of the place stemmed from a computer game.

Waquro continued. "We head for the Dark Portal. There, we will meet with one of my tribesmen, and he will teleport us to our base in Frostfire." He moved away, returning to the loving care of honing his blades.

Mel nudged Bernie. "We - we are going to time travel too?"

"So it would seem." Bernie breathed. She was being taken even further away from the one person she desperately wanted to be closer to. Drew. 

What chance now? she thought miserably. Not only was distance separating them, but also time? 

Her heart sank. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Zug-zug - an acknowledgement, such as "okay"