Feralas, while pretty, was a bust. I moved onward. North into Desolace. I didn’t stop there, a cursory glance from the air told me everything I needed to know. Squire wouldn’t have come here, the grey sandy plain hid no secrets and certainly offered no adventure to a small orc boy such as Squire.
North of Desolace lay Night Elf territory. Alliance dogs prowled the forests and mountains ever vigilant. A territory I didn’t care to visit. I invoked the magicks necessary and removed myself to the Swamp of Sorrows. Days passed as I drank myself into a stupor while I considered the options.
A passing goblin merchant mentioned seeing an orc boy wandering north, beyond the Badlands. So I took to carpet and rode north. Over the swamp’s thick miasma and creeping foliage. On the coastline, at the edge of the swamp I passed Bogpaddle. A goblin ‘village’ teeming with business and activity. On the shoreline just outside town I spied a party. Mental note was made to visit this venue once i’d found Squire. He always was one for a good party.
North into Badlands, along the mountainous cliffs that faced the sea, I rode. Wind whipped my face and lashed my body, chastising me for my search. My thoughts darkened with the weather and I fought to remain focused before the oncoming melancholy I was feeling.
I rode north along the coastline. I didn’t need to venture inland to the Badlands. If I thought Squire wasn’t in Desolance for it’s barrenness, then I could be assured he wasn’t in the Badlands. A dry bowl-shaped valley teeming with hostile wildlife and ogres. Kargath was the only refuge to one such as myself and Squire was smart enough to know better than venturing someplace so dangerous.
So I rode North, into the Hinterlands..