Aaron had only just escaped death when he saw an enormous black dragon winging in from the horizon, swiftly closing in behind Rhonin. Before Aaron could even call back, he saw Rhonin snatched away by that damned iron-jawed Deathwing.
"Rhonin!" Aaron cried, steering his gryphon upward as he wondered whether he could get close enough to Deathwing to strip off the armor on his back and make him fall apart on his own.
But Deathwing was a little faster than Aaron's gryphon. The black dragon, several times the size of the Red Dragonflight, beat his wings and dove at the Red Dragonflight that had lost its rider. A single collision was enough to draw a mournful cry from it.
The two enormous beasts then began crashing violently into each other in midair, but the Red Dragonflight was clearly no match for Deathwing.
Just as the others tried to close in on Deathwing and reclaim Rhonin, the Black Dragonflight tore the Red Dragonflight apart and flew off into the distance. They followed urgently behind him, but the enormous black dragon still left them trailing in his wake.
By nightfall, the Black Dragonflight had shaken off all the gryphons. The gryphon beneath Aaron had no problems with stamina, but the cunning Black Dragonflight kept using the clouds as cover to evade Aaron whenever he approached, until this time, he lost Aaron completely.
"Human lad, we have to rest. The darkness works against us, too," Falstad shouted from behind Aaron.
The dwarves had all pursued Deathwing on their gryphons, but after several chases, everyone had become scattered. Only Falstad was still following Aaron now, and his gryphon was indeed the strongest of the lot.
As for the poor fellow who had carried Rhonin, his gryphon had been injured by Deathwing, so Falstad had sent him back to Aerie Peak. After all, it was a little too dangerous for an injured gryphon to travel through an area crawling with orcs and the Red Dragonflight.
Aaron could only follow the dwarf in search of a suitable place to land. Falstad suddenly pointed at a hill below and said, "The terrain there looks just like my grandmother's beard. Let's land there."
After landing with Falstad, Aaron suddenly registered what he had said. Whose beard did Falstad just say it looked like? Do even the women among these dwarves really have beards?
The exhausted gryphon landed, and the three dismounted. The bearded dwarf began removing his gryphon's saddle, after which it gave a shrill cry and flew away. According to Falstad, a gryphon could feed itself in the wild, so there was no need for anyone else to worry.
Worried that firelight would attract orcs, the three could only drink cold water and eat dry rations. It was truly miserable.
Aaron felt somewhat tired. The day's experiences had been rather too thrilling for him: first fighting an orc in midair, then nearly plunging into the sea to his death, followed by a long flight chasing Deathwing. It had left him exhausted both physically and mentally.
Just as Falstad had said, while they were eating their dry rations, the gryphon returned on its own after having its fill of food and drink. Falstad patted the gryphon crouched beside him and praised it. "A fine fellow, isn't he?"
"Although we didn't see any orcs earlier, this is still Khaz Modan. We'd better arrange watches for the night."
Vereesa volunteered for the first watch, and Falstad decided to take the second. Aaron simply said, "I'll take the last one. I'm dead tired. I'm going to sleep."
To be honest, sleeping out in the wilderness was hardly a pleasant experience, but the day's frighteningly eventful experiences had left Aaron past caring about much else. Still, sleeping in unfamiliar surroundings had some effect on him. When a jumble of noisy voices woke him and he opened his eyes, his whole body ached. After a moment's thought, he cast the Holy Light on himself a few times before he felt a little better.
When Aaron finally shook off his grogginess, the creature before him gave him a fright: a filthy, stinking goblin. Aaron could even faintly smell sulfur on the fellow.
"What's going on?"
Vereesa and Falstad were holding the goblin tightly. Hearing Aaron's question, the bearded dwarf answered loudly, "This little green-skinned thief says he saw where Rhonin and Deathwing landed. The elven lady wants it to lead us to Deathwing."
"Can we trust what a goblin says?" Aaron recalled the various goblins he had encountered in the game. He had absolutely no fondness for these fellows. After all, these creatures were so thoroughly obsessed with money that they would do anything for it. Their trustworthiness was highly questionable.
"This poor wretch will guide his mistress properly, he will, he will." Hearing Aaron's doubts, the goblin hurriedly spoke up in a loud, shrill voice.
"What's your name?" Aaron crouched and looked the goblin straight in the eyes.
The goblin's eyes kept darting about as he said, "My name is Kreel. Kreel."
"Kreel... Never heard of you. Do you know Gallywix?"
"Of course I do. He's a Trade Prince. Kreel has dreamed of being as rich as him since he was little!"
"Well, never mind. I don't know what to ask anyway." Aaron waved a hand. He remembered very little about goblins. Beyond barely recalling the names of a few Trade Princes, he only knew a mad scientist called Boom, who might not yet have gone to Outland and become a quest mob.
Aaron stood and turned to Vereesa. "Vereesa, do you really intend to trust him?"
"We have no other choice." Vereesa seemed to have a basic understanding of the goblins' reputation as well, but as she said, they had no other choice at present unless they gave up looking for Rhonin.
"Now that's enviable luck," Aaron muttered, then asked, "When do we leave?"
"I want to go tonight. Every moment we delay could put Rhonin in greater danger," Vereesa said.
Falstad objected. "No. You haven't rested yet, and the night gives the Black Dragonflight cover, too."
"All right... I'll rest for a little while." Vereesa hesitated, then chose to heed Falstad's advice.
Aaron yawned and said, "Go get some rest. I'll take over the watch."
Gazing at the stars twinkling overhead, Aaron tried to find any familiar constellation, but soon realized he was wasting his time. This was Azeroth, not Earth.
Ever since waking in the wilderness, Aaron had been in a state of inexplicable excitement. Only after his brush with life and death today did the hot blood burning in his chest begin to cool. Only now did it truly sink in that he had transmigrated to a world that was somewhat familiar yet utterly strange.
"I can't go back, can I? I wonder if the Bronze Dragonflight has a way. No, they can only manage Azeroth's timeline. They probably can't... Forget it. There's no point thinking so much." Aaron shook his head, casting the useless thoughts from his mind. Perhaps there would only be hope of returning home once the titan who had granted Nozdormu power over time was rescued. But could he survive until then?
Azeroth was a very dangerous place. Even though Aaron had mastered the Holy Light for some unknown reason, had there been any shortage of paladins dying in the wars? Just look at Tirion Fordring, who had ninja-looted countless Invincibles from Highlords. How powerful had he been? With the Ashbringer, he had cut his way from Naxxramas to Northrend and even shattered Frostmourne. Yet hadn't he still died on the Broken Shore?
But he was already in this world... Aaron pondered his future. In a world that could hardly be said to have a single peaceful year, he truly had little confidence that he could stay alive until he met the titans. He might die when the insect swarms awakened, when Nefarian stirred up trouble, when the Burning Legion descended, or when the Lich King woke up on the wrong side of the bed...
"Nothing for it. I'll just have to do my best to stay alive." Aaron lowered his head to look at the armor he wore and the greatsword in his hand, then gave a determined smile. Whatever lay ahead, he would live his life as best he could until he found hope of returning home.