Westfall Guest (Excerpt - Opening Scene)

Ben had never anticipated his idyllic life in Westfall to be upturned in such a manner before. Since the end of the First War, Westfall had been a peaceful farmland in the kingdom of Stormwind. Some problems occasionally as with any other region, but quaint and unassuming otherwise. Aside from the Defias Brotherhood making trouble against the crown before they were dealt with, Westfall had been a region where nothing noteworthy ever happened. 

The thirty-year-old veteran of the Third War had grossly underestimated the menace that were gnolls. 

Though mangy vagrant dog-men, the gnolls had proven surprisingly adept at carrying out ambushes. He hadn’t even seen the first gnoll coming until after the first crossbow bolt had struck the side of his wagon. The second bolt came a half away from grazing his cheek as he ducked for cover behind the wagon. 

He drew his sword, hearing the insane cackling and chattering barks draw closer. Though he was out of practice, Ben didn’t miss a beat as the first gnoll raider rounded the wagon and charged at him with axe in hand. The creature no doubt hoped for an easy kill, thinking him to be a weak civilian farmer. 

Ben parried a blow and cleaved the gnoll in two as the gnoll died with a terrified scream and a whine. When their compatriot went down, he heard an enraged chittering from the others as they rushed the wagon. One of the gnolls neared him with a shortsword, swinging at him wildly. Ben blocked the clumsy blow and swung back, easily swatting aside the wooden shield the gnoll held and impaling him against the wagon. Ben then turned and decapitated the next gnoll that rushed him from behind, the creature having hoped to stab him with his knives with Ben’s back turned. 

Though unskilled and clumsy, Ben quickly realized that he was outnumbered, and his injuries from the war prevented him from being able to move as quickly as he used to. As he slew the fourth gnoll, he saw four more surrounding this side of the wagon, all of them with crossbows pointed at him. 

This was it. He had no chance of getting out of this one. He took a deep breath and raised his sword, endeavoring to cut down as many of the vagrants as he could before he was inevitably shot dead. It was an utterly shameful and humiliating end. After all the trials he had endured, fighting against Scourge and Demons at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, only to be brought low by a pack of gnolls. One of the gnolls raised his crossbow and pointed it at him and Ben gripped the hilt of his sword, waiting for the bolt to come. 

Instead, he heard a high-pitched and pathetic whine. Ben opened his eyes and saw the lead gnoll in front of him being lifted completely off the ground. The speartip was impaled through its chest, lifting the creature several feet off the ground before flinging him aside. 

Looming over the group of gnolls was a foreboding sight. A gigantic male tauren - black furred and wielding a massive polearm - stood before them. He glared menacingly at the gnolls, but seemed not to acknowledge Ben’s presence yet. After one of their number was killed, the others turned and aimed their crossbows at him, correctly identifying him as the more dire threat. 

One of the gnolls fired a bolt from its crossbow at the tauren, but the tauren moved with surprising speed to avoid the shot, quickly rushing the beast with its polearm and dismembering the creature. A unified cry went up among the remaining gnolls, and they all moved to overwhelm the tauren stranger. In an amazing display of brutal might, the tauren swung his polearm in an arc, cleaving two gnolls with one blow. 

Ben was no longer idle either. Now that the most unexpected passerby has intervened on his behalf, he was not about to waste the opportunity. He rushed the nearest gnoll, the creature unable to reckon with two foes at once, as Ben thrust his sword through his torso. 

Realizing that they were swiftly losing this fight and that this ambush had not been the easy take they had been hoping for, the rest of the gnolls began to scatter and flee into the hills. That did not stop two of the gnolls from leaning up from behind the opposite side of Ben’s wagon and firing a couple of potshots at the tauren who was finishing off their comrades in melee. Unfortunately, given that he was a larger target and his back was turned, these two bolts met their mark, lodging themselves into the tauren’s back and shoulder. The tauren let out a pained grunt as he was shot, but that did not stop him from killing the final gnoll within reach before the others had all scurried off. 

Now alone surrounded by many gnoll corpses, Ben finally sheathed his sword, hesitantly stepping up to the stranger that had saved him. Of all the strangers Ben would’ve expected to come to his aid, a tauren was probably the last he would’ve expected. It was only recently that they’d come into contact with the tauren - a towering bovine people native to Kalimdor. But Ben had seen their fighting prowess from a distance, when all of the Alliance forces under Jaina Proudmoore had formed a reluctant pact with the orcish Horde at the decisive Battle of Mount Hyjal. After the war had ended, however, the Alliance and Horde had gone their separate ways after the orcs established their new home in Durotar. Back home in the Eastern Kingdoms, the humans had seen very few of them, least of all here in Westfall, this close to Stormwind City. 

Ben was unsure how he would be received by the tauren as he stepped up to him. The war was over, sure, but the tenuous peace between the Alliance and Horde was just that: a tenuous one. And it is possible that the tauren had not been trying to save him at all. He may have just been there to collect a bounty on the gnolls or worse, attempt to rob Ben instead of them. Still, by his reckoning, the tauren had saved him and he endeavored to be friendly. For now. 

“Greetings, tauren,” Ben said with a friendly, measured expression. “I’m humble enough to admit: I owe you my life.” 

He black-furred tauren turned to him, his expression softening as he balanced himself on the pommel of his polearm. “You fought well, human.” 

Ben was surprised at that. The tauren had made even shorter work of the gnolls than he had before he was overwhelmed. It was quite a testament to the bull’s humility to compliment him for his fighting prowess when he was the one who needed saving. 

The tauren grunted with a pained expression on his face. Ben looked over his shoulder, reminded of the two crossbow bolts sticking out of his back. 

“We need to treat your wounds before they become infected,” Ben said. 

The tauren shook his horned head. “Not here. Not on the road. The gnolls may return.” 

Ben looked back at his wagon, thinking for several moments before turning back to the tauren. “My farm is not far. I can take you there, um…”

“Marn,” the tauren replied, realizing that Ben was asking after his name. “I could not impose on your home.” 

Ben shook his brown-haired head. “Nonsense. You saved my life. The least my wife and I can do is tend to the injury you suffered on my account. My hospitality is yours,” he said with a smile. 

Marn nodded graciously. Though he was a big male, a warrior was likely too proud to admit when he needed help, the two bolts lodged in his back were clearly making him rethink that attitude. “I thank you for your hospitality.” He climbed up onto Ben’s wagon as it creaked under his immense weight, setting down his polearm. “What is your name, human?” 

Ben climbed up to the front of the wagon. “Heyah!” he flicked the reins, urging his horses forward. He looked back over his shoulder to the large passenger hitching a ride. “Ben. Ben Travers,” he answered. 

Marn said nothing in response, and Ben realized that the bull had dozed off for a nap. With his newfound injury, he needed the rest. Ben only hoped that the big fellow would wake up again. He pressed his horses, urging them to carry them home as fast as possible.