Aleros started associating with the Wildfire Riders, much to the chagrin of his fellow druids in the Cenarion Circle. Rank, however, has its privileges. Besides, Ne’er-do-wells are usually more fun, even at the Wrathgate….
Wind whipped at the snowy mountains, causing wisps of snow to drift about. Aleros wore full furs and leathers, bearing the many marks of a Cenarion. He had flown against this wind which seemed to roll off Icecrown, flowed over the Dragonblight and drifted through Grizzly Hills before making its way out towards the eastward coast. Now he stood at the very footsteps of Icecrown. Months ago he would never have pictured himself in a standing army against the Lich King. It wasn’t any of his concern then, or so he’d been led to believe.
“It’s our world too, if we do not stand with the crusade and they fall, where will Arthas go next?”
A soldier with some crudely made leathers strapped on beneath layers of chained and plated armor came to greet the druid at the base of the hill.
“Greetin’s druid, didna expect ta see your kind ‘ere. What business ‘ave you? Here ta see the Arch Druid overseein’–”
“I need to speak with someone who is in charge here.”
The druid’s face was partially covered by the fur hood, displaying half of a grin. The soldier regarded him for a moment.
“Bolvar be busy, but I can answer most things you be needin’.”
Aleros held out a folded piece of paper, on it was red flames backed by a black setting.
The soldier raised a brow, his stance shifting. “You’re lookin’ for them then?”
“Yes, if you could point me in their direction.”
One eye squinted as the soldier pointed off towards the pass. “Up that way.”
He spoke again as the druid turned to leave. “Why keep their company, if I may ask?”
Aleros smirked and didn’t look back. “They are fun.” His voice was carried off by the wind.