The morning was coated in a veil of mist making the Deadwind Pass even more eerie than normal. Bernie shivered as it seemed to seep into her bones. She felt bad she had insisted on using Mel's shirt for makeshift handles on the shards. He sat chafing his arms trying to stay warm. Waquro threw them a blanket each then saw that the three captives had water canteens for the journey. "We will eat later," he said. "It is not wise to go into the swamp on a full stomach. You will just lose its contents."

Mel and Bernie did not question him, both well aware he would know what he was talking about.

"Belmar, gather the weapons, and Hagus, see to all other necessities and douse that fire," Waquro ordered. The orcs busied themselves doing as he had instructed.

Mick, on hearing the smaller orc's name, started laughing. Angry stares from Bernie and Mel did not dissuade him from his raucous outburst. Waquro towered over him. It almost shut him up, until he looked back at the subject of his mirth.

"What amuses you, human?" Waquro asked darkly.

Mick pointed to the smaller of the two orcs. "His name kills me," he said between gulps of stupid laughter.

"It is an honourable name. You show disrespect."

"Hagus!" Mick laughed again. "Where we come from, something sounding similar is a food to us." He growled the last few words, emphasising his scorn.

Waquro looked at Bernie for confirmation. She nodded and explained, "Sheeps 'pluck' or more commonly known as haggis, made from minced offal with onion and oatmeal. Traditionally it is stuffed in the sheep's stomach and boiled."

A rumble sounded, deep in the Tauren's chest, almost like laughter. Mel nudged Bernie and their fingers closed tightly around each other's hands. There was a distinct lack of humour in his mirth. Mick, however, read it differently and his laughter rose again.

Without warning, Waquro bellowed loudly causing the orcs to drop the items they had gathered. Bernie and Mel slammed against the wall in fright and Mick dropped like a stone to the ground. Scurrying backwards, on hands and feet, Mick kept slipping on the stone floor, hindering his propulsion as Waquro stomped after him, the huge hooves threatening to crush Mick's feet at any moment. Mick's back slammed up against the opposite wall, the wind knocked out of him and his escape route gone. Waquro bent down, his nostril's flaring wildly, breath hot and steamy, coating Mick's apology of a coiffure in a film of moist air. "You think that's funny do you, little boy!"

Mick covered his face with his arm. "N – no," he whimpered. A damp patch spread down his left thigh. He squeezed his eyes closed in utter shame.

"Understand this you little worm, these orcs look on you as food. Their clan eat the likes of you raw for breakfast and use your bones to pick your flesh from their teeth. It has been with great restraint that they haven't gnawed on your limbs overnight, so think carefully before that offensive opening that you call a mouth spews forth any more foul utterings. Or I will personally feed you to them!" With one enormous snort that coated Mick's face in mucus, he turned brusquely and headed back to the opposite side of the cave. As he levelled with the shocked faces of Mel and Bernie he grunted, before collecting his sword and axe that leaned against the wall.

Bernie glanced over to Mick. He was whimpering, but his eyes brimmed with such malevolence that she felt a shiver run down her spine. She glanced at Mel who seemed to have noticed the same look in Mick's eyes that she had. "Think he's well pissed off now?" Mel whispered.

Bernie simply raised her brows. "Which one?" she asked glancing between the raging Tauren and their furious flatmate. The atmosphere had a definite hostile edge to it now. She did not think this day was going to improve. The sound of distant thunder echoed around the canyon. Her fears were confirmed.

https://youtu.be/8myYyMg1fFE

"Follow me," Waquro ordered. He gestured to the orcs to bring Mick up at the rear while he led the way with Bernie and Mel.

They walked in silence until they left Deadwind Pass behind and entered The Swamp of Sorrows. The contrast was staggering. From the cooling mists in the stone canyon to the throat contracting humidity of the swamps, the earthlings struggled to adjust to the overwhelming change in temperature. The thunder was directly above them now, yet no rain accompanied it. Just an oppressive heat beat down.

Now, Bernie and Mel fully understood their captors words about reaching the end of the swamps dead or alive. The heat was one thing, but stench alone could kill you. Having no breakfast made sense now. All three struggled not to retch as they trudged through the malodorous swamp.

Foliage in a million hues of green, with purple, red and yellow flowers dotted in amongst the ferns and grasses surrounded them on all sides. Algae covered water and glossy mud weaved through the undergrowth. They had expected to see rancid corpses, going by the foul effluvium but there were none to be seen; thankfully.

Warped trees, weighted down with their heavy canopies seemed to hover just above the ground perched on enormous sprawling roots. They stood like ancient sentinels. A plethora of knots in their trunks gave the appearance of tormented faces in their bark. Bernie half expected them to lurch forward and swat the troupe with their multi-limbed branches, as they tried to negotiate the fern and moss covered paths.

The road, if it could be called such, rose mere inches above the stagnant murk in places. Serpents winding their way around branches, and along the ground, tasted the air with their forked tongues and their slitted eyes watched, unblinking, as the troupe trudged by. Some of the snakes were writhing in large slithering knots, their entangled mating dance leaving Bernie repulsed. Ripples on the water's surface denoted the troupe were being observed from underneath as well as above in the canopies. There was an uncanny feeling that they were being followed as they navigated their way through the humid environment.

The sounds in the swamp, although distinctly different, were nevertheless just as unnerving as those in Deadwind Pass. In here, the sounds seemed to wrap themselves around you, as if trying to penetrate your flesh and possess you. Hissing, buzzing, screeching, groaning, growling, were all the sounds you simply did not want to hear.

Waquro afforded a sideways glance at Bernie and Mel and laughed inwardly at their nervous faces. "So, tell me your story," he said suddenly.

Without her eyes leaving ground level as she scanned all around for any potential threat, Bernie's voice trembled slightly in response. "Story?"

"Hmm. How you know Khadgar? And how is it you are familiar with Frostfire?"

"Oh!" She quickly glanced at Mel, but like her, he too was nervously looking around as if expecting something to lunge out of the waters or through the ferns at them. "Well, we – we're not from around these parts," she offered pathetically.

Waquro scoffed. "That much I deduced from your manner of dress and the way you talk, as well as your tribal markings and adornments."

"My what?" she was genuinely stumped.

"Your tattoos and the metal in your skin."

"Oh! Those, yeah. A bit like a troll to you, I guess."

"Prettier though," Waquro offered.

"Thank you!" For a moment, she allowed his compliment to ease her nerves until a loud hiss from somewhere on her left had her tensing again.

"He meant the troll, Bernie!" Mick quipped from behind. Bernie sighed with irritation and threw a quick scowl in his direction. His comment resulted in Hagus pushing him roughly forward with the handle of his axe. A disgruntled Mick merely peeled off his overcoat which had began to adhere to his skin. He slung it over his shoulder and scowled.

Waquro turned abruptly and the group halted. Removing a dagger from a scabbard on his belt he handed it, hilt first, to Bernie. "You have my permission to cut out his tongue," he said darkly. "I do not think it would be fair to ask you to separate him from his gender. That is something I am sorely tempted to do, however –" The Tauren eyed Mick. "-Slowly!"

Bernie lowered her eyes. Waquro's dislike of Mick would be amusing if there wasn't a distinct element of truth in that he clearly hoped Mick would push him to the limit so he could carry out the said threat. She lifted her eyes just enough to see Mel stifling a grin. Neither of them dared look at the subject of Waquro's displeasure.

A blood-curdling screech pierced the air and raced towards them accompanied by a harsh, rapid buffeting of wings stirring what little dry soil there was at the troupe's feet. Bernie's hair was drawn up in the draught created by a green drake's beating wingspan. Without thinking she grabbed the cotton covered shards from her belt and prepared to attack. She crouched, poised and ready to spring at her attacker like a lynx. Mel also crouched down, one knee on the dry earth as he reached to the back of his belt searching for his shards as well. The orcs and Waquro had already armed themselves with their weapons, prepared for the oncoming assault from the reptiles.

The drake swooped down. Bernie thrust her shards upwards and out with such force the beast's guts fell onto her head. She shook them off as she continued to slice at the drake's underbelly until, screeching in agony, it fell to the ground. She drove the shards into its throat, careful to avoid the sharp teeth as it snapped at her in desperation. Another one came from the side. Mel spun, ready to stick the shards in the reptile but an axe whooshed through the air with thunderous force and decapitated the beast. Its head rolled into the waters, a welcome snack for what lurked below. Mel glanced up to see Waquro with his axe in hand, rivulets of blood running down its blade.

The orcs' weapons whistled through the air above Mick's head, merely snagging the wing of a third, larger drake. It veered to its right, trying to ascend, but the axes had damaged the membrane sufficiently enough that the creature ploughed into the ferns and undergrowth. Both the orcs stomped towards the injured animal to put an end to its blood-curdling cries.

Mick was hunkered down, pulling his overcoat back up over his head. A loud hiss from his left made him turn his terrified eyes towards its source. A crocolisk was heaving its enormous armoured body up onto the banking only feet from where Mick was crouching, its jaws opened as it neared its potential meal. Rows of sharp teeth, more than capable of clamping down on its prey and dragging it into the waters were on clear display. If they grabbed you it would twist and spin your body violently, separating flesh, muscles and joints before it dined on your carcass.

He knew he had to move, but Mick was rigid with fear. Even his throat contracted, preventing him from calling out to his companions or his captors. The crocolisk surged forward, its head now just a gaping, lethal maw of certain death. The only thing he could think to do was throw his coat in a vain attempt to cover the beast's eyes and prevent it from finding him. The coat fell just short of its enormous head.

Bernie looked round just as the reptile was about to make its final lunge. "Waquro!" she shouted, pointing to Mick.

The Tauren bellowed and grabbing his axe firmly in both hands launched himself to Mick's side and brought the weapon down with implausible precision, decapitating the crocolisk. Its huge jaws hit the ground with a reverberating thud, just inches from Mick. He watched, disbelieving, as slowly the deadly mandible fully closed with a dull click. Just beyond he saw the rest of its body jerking and twitching for a few moments more before it too, stilled. His eyes, wide and terrified, looked where the sleeve of his coat protruded from under the crocolisk's corpse. It was ruined, blood seeping into it mingling with the dirt.

All that could be heard, was the sound of cicadas, lapping water and the rustling of ferns as Belmar and Hagus returned to the path, having despatched the wounded drake. The contrast from the screeching and hissing threat of a horrible death to the serenity of an almost hushed swamp pushed Mick over the edge. He bolted upright, his eyes now glazed, mad. "For fuck's sake! Get us the hell out of this stinking shit hole!" He threw at Waquro.

"Mick," Mel said, a warning tone in his voice.

"Oh shut the fuck up you little runt. You and that bitch stick together like glue. Well, it'll be different when we get home because you two are going to need somewhere else to live!"

Bernie stared at Mick from under her lashes. This was not the same guy she had known for five years. Or was this the real Mick, perhaps? Whatever, she was starting to seriously dislike this version.

"Shut up Mick," Mel was not going to back down now. He watched as Waquro stepped back behind Bernie and himself. The Tauren sensed that this time he should not intervene.

Mick's face was set in a sneer. "Or what? You and your pathetic little man-bun, why you're almost as hirsute as you hairy-assed bovine friend there." He pointed to the Tauren.

The orcs made to step forward, but with a snort from Waquro they stayed their ground.

Mel put his shards back in his belt. Mick scoffed. "I knew you didn't have it in you, you pussy."

Bernie blinked as Mel suddenly vanished from her side. Her eyes turned to see him striding purposefully towards a now laughing Mick. Mel's fingers clenched, knuckles turning white. With a left jab his fist impacted just below Mick's ribs causing the lanky, not-so-well groomed Risk Analyst to fold. Then without hesitation, Mel brought his right fist down onto Mick's face, his knuckles crunching the side of his nose and catching his lip. Mick hit the dirt, clutching his gut and spitting blood from a busted lip and bloody nose. Mel stood over him. "I said shut the fuck up, you stylized prick!" Then, coolly, he turned and rejoined a stunned Bernie and silent Waquro.

"Bring him," the Tauren motioned the orcs to grab Mick and haul him to his feet. Waquro turned and started to lead the way forward once more.

Bernie's face broke into a smile as she looked at Mel. "Remind me not to insult your hair," she said, flicking his man-bun.

He wore a rather sheepish expression. "Needed to be done, Bernie."

She linked arms with him and started after Waquro. "I couldn't agree more," she whispered.

They caught up with the Tauren, and stayed close, anticipating another attack at any moment. Waquro seemed unperturbed by the drakes' assault and steadily made his way through the swamp, sticking to the paths although some were treacherous underfoot due to the wet foliage. The Tauren looked sideways at the two humans. "You hit well," he said, his voice like molasses, smooth and dark.

Mel smirked, inwardly pleased that their enormous captor considered his move was worthy of comment. "Thanks," he managed.

"So, tell me. Where are you from? The – what did you call him?" He jerked his head in Mick's direction.

"Stylized prick?" Mel muttered, grinning.

Waquro chuckled. "Yes. He spoke of when you get home. Where is home?"

Mel cleared his throat and glanced at Bernie. "I'm not sure you would believe us if we told you."

Again, their captor omitted a singular guffaw. "You are talking to one who has passed through a portal which has drawn him back about thirty-five years. I would say I have more disbelieving tales than you."

As Bernie had thought, some of their story was at least feasible in Azeroth. Then it dawned on her. If what Drew had said was all true, perhaps Waquro had heard about it.

"If you spend most your time in Draenor, I take it you do not know what has happened in Azeroth?" Mel met her gaze and instantly understood.

The Tauren was quiet for a moment. "I do not spend all my time in Draenor, I merely go where I may be of use. So I am aware of things here, yes."

"I heard there was war with the Burning Legion. Is that true?" Keeping up the pretence seemed easier to cajole the subject along.

"Yes. I fought in some of the battles, mostly those that affected my home. I lost many friends to that war."

Now, Bernie was at a loss. Waquro's tone was sad and heavy. She had not meant to bring bad memories back and instantly she regretted her approach. At a loss for what to say, she lowered her eyes to the road and just kept walking.

Her silence piqued his interest. "You are avoiding telling me your story, however. Tell me what it is you are hiding."

Bernie stiffened a little at his remark. "I am not avoiding it Waquro, I am just trying to find the best way to tell you what you want to know." She took a deep breath. She had to try again. "Did you hear of a woman who came from another dimension and aided Azeroth in the war?"

The Tauren rolled his shoulders and snorted. "I did yes. And there was a man, too."

Bernie's heart skipped a beat. Drew! She was now encouraged to pursue her subtle transgression. "We are from the same world that they come from. In fact, we followed that man back through."

At that, the Tauren halted causing Bernie and Mel to stop short for they almost collided with him. He turned and looked down. There was something in his look that made them feel very small indeed. "If you followed him, then how come you were all struggling to survive on the Pass and there was no sign of him around?"

"You actually know him?" Bernie was now clutching to a very frangible straw.

"Answer me!" he demanded.

The whole troupe had halted now. Mel turned to Mick, expecting some snide comment from him as the Tauren's tone had changed now towards Bernie. Mic, however, remained quiet, still nursing his split lip and bloodied nose.

Bernie swallowed before answering. "He was not best pleased that we followed him. Matters were not helped by our friend back there," she jerked her head at Mick. "And I think he headed for Stormwind." Admitting that saddened her, and served as a reminder of the fact that she was now far from him. "He fights for the Alliance. We are for Horde."

The Tauren's black eyes flitted between her and Mel with only the briefest of glimpses at Mick. "Bah!" the Tauren scoffed then immediately turned and resumed the trek through the swamp. Bernie looked at Mel, confused, and quickly fell into step with Waquro once more.

"You are mocking us?" she asked guardedly.

"Ha! You mock yourselves," he answered. "'We, are for Horde,' you say. Whether Horde or Alliance, it is a thing of honour, of commitment and loyalty. It is not a pretence or something to be spoken of lightly. It is not a game, Bernie."

Mel bit the bullet. "That's the thing, Waquro. Where we come from, all of this is a game. Literally."

A few heavy raindrops finally fell, splashing off the Tauren's broad skull. Waquro looked up at the threatening sky through the canopy then glanced back at Mel from over his shoulder. His voice held an air of menace. "We need shelter. We will talk more of this when we are at Stonard."