As the flying ship docked into Warsong Hold, I stepped off the platform and stamped my feet on the cold stone floor. My comrades had mentioned Northrend was cold and I’d prepared accordingly. Still, the bone numbing freeze that penetrated my skin was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
“You! Hunter!” A gruff voice shouted in a commanding tone. “Zaytsev, right? Lord Saurfang and Commander Hellscream await you in the War Room! On the double, soldier!”
I snapped a quick salute, slamming my fist into my breastplate, before running down the stairs toward the War Room. My faithful wolf, Ulric, was on my heels, his thick fur ample protection against the cold.
“Hunter Zaytsev reporting as ordered, sir!” I saluted even as Saurfang and Garrosh looked up from a pile of maps in the center of the room.
Garrosh’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, you’re that hotshot hunter everyone’s been talking about eh? Able to hit a robin’s eye at two hundred paces, they claimed. Unless you can shoot right into the Lich King’s helm, I’m not impressed.”
Saurfang sighed, obviously used to such words. “Welcome to Northrend, Zaytsev. It heartens me to see young and brave Horde soldiers taking up arms against the Lich King. First things first, soldier, here are your orders. The way to Icecrown Citadel is long and difficult. When the time is right, I’d dearly want to be there when you do shoot right into the Lich King’s cursed helm. Until then, hunter, lok’tar ogar! For the Horde!”