Ilea had spoken a lot of curses today, against the titans, against the Alliance, against her own foolishness... It had seemed like such a simple plan, sneaking through Alterac and down towards the Hillsbrad Foothills. The rogue had already spent several unpleasant weeks braving the cold and snow of the mountains, her leathers proving quite inadequate against the biting winds and furious storms, and now that she'd arrived in the foothills on the other side, the area was crawling with Alliance of all types.
When Ilea had departed the Undercity, glad to leave the stench and constant undead behind, the Horde had been primarily in control of Hillsbrad, but the tide had turned since her departure, and now she was quite a bit deeper in enemy territory than she would have liked. Not only were the Alliance common, but they were watchful too, expecting the Horde to make a push to take back the foothills any day now, and more vigilant for that expectation. They patrolled constantly, and more than once she'd been forced to hide away, spending entire days avoiding the motley squads of men and women rather than making her way forwards as she should have been.
This was one such day, hidden in the dried stump of a lightning-struck tree, listening to them pass in and out of earshot constantly. She was sure that their rogues were tracking her in some fashion, though perhaps it was simply Alliance paranoia when they referred to the possibility of Horde infiltrating the area. She doubted she would be so lucky; she hadn't been so far.<|im_end|>
In the time since the Cataclysm, the Alliance had lost their stronghold on Hillsbrad Foothills, Southshore. The damn sea might as well have opened up and swallowed the whole settlement with the way that the tidal wave created by Deathwing's emergence had come over the small town. Fortunately, there was a recent demand by King Varian Wrynn to reclaim a foothold in the foothills and Alliance heroes from far and wide had answered the call. One such 'hero' was Ivan Raelthorne. Ivan was far from a real hero, though. In fact, before Gilneas had closed down her ports and shut the great wall, Ivan had been a pirate captain. His ship had been docked in Gilneas when the ports were locked down and he had become trapped there during the spread of the worgen curse.
He didn't answer to Varian Wrynn, or any king for that matter. He did, however, answer to the sweet jingle of the coin that was offered in compensation for aiding the effort. If he happened to find anything nice on the dead Horde then that was a nice bonus too. What? You can't possibly think that looting a couple of bodies was below an old sea dog like Captain Raelthorne. In fact, he had been rummaging through the coin purse of a dead orc when she caught his eye.
There, darting between the trees below the ridge upon which Ivan stood, was a blood elf woman. Her beauty was almost hypnotizing, as was the way her leathers hugged her womanly form and the way that her stark-silver hair blew in the gentle breeze. Normally, a live captive would be a lot of trouble and not much worth the effort, but Ivan was prepared to make an exception if this woman looked as good up close as she did from this distance.
"Well aren't you a tasty little treat," the human mused to himself. The irony of the remark brought a smirk to his lips as he slipped into the shadows of the trees and began to make his way towards the elven woman. As he grew near, it became obvious that she would stand little chance against him in a direct confrontation. Even in his human form, Ivan was about six feet and four inches tall, which was several inches taller than the tallest elven women - well, of this kind of elf, anyway. He was about a foot taller than 'average' high elven and blood elven woman.
Aside from his height, he was just much more muscular. Overpowering this woman would be an easy feat. He just needed to wait for the most opportune moment to strike...<|im_end|>