Concentrated Firepower (Warcraft SI) by Gold_

Words: 45k+

Link: -https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/concentrated-firepower-warcraft-si.1037490/

( Thrown into the World of Warcraft during the Reign of Chaos, a young man makes a smart if a selfish decision to follow Jaina Proudmoore to Kalimdor. )

Prologue

The crack of a gunshot echoed through the gloomy woods of Silverpine Forest. Birds burst through the canopy of trees, echoing their startled cries across the sky.

"Damn good shot, Jackson!"

"Thank you, m'lord."

"Truly! Damn good bloody good damn good shot."

"As you say, m'lord."

Two men carrying rifles trudged through the overgrowth; one bore a top hat and fine, dark grey and brown clothing. It seemed to combine a petticoat and a more functional woodsman's outfit.

The other was far less affluent. His balding pate open to the elements, a dark beard, and ordinary cloth clothing underneath a rugged set of overalls marked the man as someone of lesser status.

"It's good to take pride in yourself, man! There's no way I could have hit the bear from that kind of distance; truly, I'm not sure I say it enough, but I appreciate you teaching me." The man in the top hat said as he traversed a fallen log.

"T'weren't no trouble Lord, just doing as the Lord bids." Said Jackson, waiting patiently for his student.

The Lord sighed, "I've said before, my friend, can't we do away with this lordly business when it's just us men?"

"T'wouldn't be proper, Lord," Jackson said as he bent down to check the comically large tracks of the bear they hunted.

"East, do you think?"

"Southeast methinks, Lord. I must have winged it in a leg; its dragging will pull it that-a-way's."

The Lord looked curious, "How do you figure that?"

"One paw print is shallower than the others, Lord. And there are faint drag marks in the mud, means it can't lift it fully."

"Good eyes Jackson! I knew you were the perfect man for the job, and you keep proving me right!" The Lord said with good cheer.

"Thank you, m'Lord," Jackson said, blushing.

The Silverlaine Lordling is all right in his book, the peasant decided.

"Say, your cousin works as a ship-builder, aye? How does the progress look down at the docks?" Silverlaine asked.

"Going well, m'Lord, last 'e said. Everything's moving all proper on schedule or some such."

Silverpine, though vast, consisted of few civilized men. Most congregate around the Shadowfang Keep, Silverlaine's own home. Though sparse, the forest makes an excellent source of wood for shipbuilding, and logging camps often sell to Gilneas - When they can get through the gates, that is - And Kul'Tiras.

"Splendid! I'm happy to hear that, my good man; I'd even go so far as to say it puts my soul to rest!" Silverlaine said, seeming to mean it indeed. There was a greater pep in his step, and a subtle tension seemed to lift from his shoulders.

They grew quiet again as they approached the lair of the beast. The whimpering sounds of a wounded, cornered animal is both disheartening and frightening. No proper Hunter wished their targets to suffer unduly; unfortunately, this particular creature's death had dragged out.

Both men hefted their rifles, crept into the cave, and soon found the bleeding animal licking its wounds. With a heavy heart, two cracks filled the cavern, followed by a roar of pain, before finally, the creature slumped over, dead.

"A sad end for such a creature, eh Jackson?" Silverlaine commented.

"Yes, m'Lord. Couldn't be around no young'uns though." Jackson said.

"Aye, shame that it is, still better than what could have happened. Oh well, help me get this thing back to the wagons.

They set about dragging the creature off. It was a long and arduous trip back to their camp, not made easier by sudden rainfall. The skies were a typical gloomy grey, and it did nothing to improve either man's mood by the time they finally collapsed back at camp. They caught their breath before setting about cleaning and butchering the beast.

There was plenty Silverlaine didn't know, but Jackson's easy expertise helped him learn quickly. Though a 'mere' peasant, the man had depths of skill most perhaps wouldn't think of.

The meat and hide were safely stored; though short, it would be a miserable journey back to Shadowfang keep.

Just as they had hitched Silverlaine's horses to the wagon, a shrill cry cut the silence. The Lord glanced around, and his keen eyes quickly found the source.

A tiny bear cub came toddling into camp. It was young enough not to be fearful of humans and small enough to need protection still.

Silverlaine jerked at the clicking sound of a readying rifle, quickly reaching out to smack away the barrel of Jackson's rifle. The peasant looked confused, if sad, when he spoke, "T'would be mercy, Lord. Won't survive without its mother."

Silverlaine sighed, knowing the truth of the man's words. There was something heavy in his heart as he looked at the adorable thing. It didn't feel good to deprive anything of its mother, but he couldn't take back his actions now.

"Aye, maybe," Silverlaine said before getting off the wagon and opening his pack. In his hand was jerky, and he slowly walked over to the tiny creature. From his mouth came gentle whispers, assurances of safety.

The bear cub sniffled at his hand after a moment before licking up the meaty offering. Carefully, Silverlaine scooped up the tiny beast, which sniffed at him with confusion, obviously smelling its mother.

They started their journey home in silence. The young lord almost shed tears over the emotion in his chest. It was the lord's duty to keep the people safe, and the bear would have been a threat to the people. And yet, it had been a mother, and it was dreadful to kill an animal while it protected its young. Still, what could he have done? This was not like his old world, where you could tranquilize an animal and drop it somewhere else. What was done was cruel, certainly, but necessary.

Still, it didn't mean he couldn't be compassionate. He would train the creature and take care of it well. It would be his first companion in this world, and hopefully, it wouldn't be a danger to anyone else through magic.

Such were the ways of the Hunter, strange though they may be. Though he found little talent in the druidic arts despite his hopes, the purpose of a Hunter, that of a steward of the land and friend of animals, was perhaps the next best thing.

If he were to be Lord, it would be best to be a friend to all things in his land. And shooting at rampaging creatures and other more deadly beings from a distance is just a bonus.

Perhaps he was idealizing it. Being a Hunter is about being a killer of things, yet he intended to be more than just that once he and his people reached Theramore.

"You'll need the spells then, Lord," Jackson said knowingly.

"Aye, man," Silverlaine said.

"Need a better teacher than me then, Lord."

"Maybe, but you'll always have a place at my said, all right, Jackson?"

The commoner was quiet, looking into the forest.

"I'm just a peasant, Lord."

"You're a man, Jackson. A damn good one, by my measure. I'll need good men by me."

"S'true then? Going to follow Princess Jaina across the sea?"

The woman hadn't yet announced her intentions, yet Silverpine prepared all the same on the word of their lord's son.

"Yes. The Plague will return; I know it."

"It's said Prince Arthas is sailing to Northrend to kill them dead'un's Lord."

Such is months-old news, all that is available in this backwater border province.

"Arthas is a doomed, damned fool."

"Best not speak such things near the border Lord."

"The Plague will return and destroy Lordaeron. Anything not behind the walls of Gilneas or across the bridge into the Wetlands will be killed. Jaina's our best hope."

The Peasant considered while Silverlaine fed more jerky to the baby bear.

"Silverpine's all I know, Lord. Been my whole life. Families 'ere, friends 'ere."

"Convince them to come with us, Jackson; I won't command any to come even though it would save lives. I won't tear a man from his home."

"You're a good Lord, Lord."

"Thank you, Jackson," Silverlaine said with a hitch in his throat.

The bear had snuggled into his side and fallen asleep, full of uncharacteristic peace. The Lord admired the creature's smooth brown and grey fur, gently petting its back as the cart rolled down the dirt path.

Soon enough, they were at the town's gates, meager though they were.

"William, you fool boy, where have you been?!" Silverlaine's mother scolded him, despite him having told her precisely what he was doing.

"I was hunting, mother, just as I said. Speaking of, do you know where huntsman Fairbrooks is? I need his help." William said, giving his mother in this new life a charming smile.

"You are not bringing that beast into our home; it'll scare the hounds!" The matronly woman said firmly.

William sighed, "We killed its mother, mother. It would be wrong to leave it in the wilds alone."

His mother sighed, cupped his face, and looked into his eyes with a proud smile. "You're a damn fool, William, but if this is what you want…"

"It is. It'll be good for me, I think."

"All right, but you're taking care of it. Fairbrooks has gone into the city; you'll have to do with the hound's master."

"Thank you, mother," William said, and with a hug, he was off.

The Keeps kennels were large and filled with Gilnean mastiffs. They bayed and barked as they caught the scent of bear, only for a piercing whistle to quiet them down immediately. A stocky woman approached him with a polite, reproachful look.

"'ow can I help you, Lord?" She asked.

"I've decided to pursue Hunting, and I'll need to learn the spells to help bond with animals. Could you teach me?" William asked politely, doffing his hat.

The woman looked at him skeptically. "Why the sudden rush, weren't you set on them old way's nonsense?"

"Not leaving those ideas behind just yet, good lady," William said amicably. "But the bear we were hunting close to town ended up being a mother. It felt wrong to abandon or kill its child once it found us."

The woman nodded, satisfied. "Process is simple enough; follow my motions and words; we'll practice before we start casting."

And practice they did, several hours going by in the blink of an eye.

Magic is an undeniable force in the world, and despite superstition, many use it daily. Though typically used by adventurers or soldiers, even peasants will learn a cleaning cantrip if they can though not everyone can use magic.

Those capable of its use are a lucky bunch. However, the need to specialize is more than a simple gameplay restriction. Once you start bending your mana in a certain way, more often than not, it will keep turning in that direction until, before long, you can't produce any other results. There might be some overlap, some technically possible combinations, but they grow exponentially harder to achieve the more experienced you become.

And starting combinations early often leads to handicapping oneself in either field—master of neither.

At least, so says William's nightly reading and meticulous notes.

There are exceptions to the rule, of course, but they are few and far between. Most are heroes of legend or blessed with supreme intellect.

William was unhappy to discover that despite some out-of-context knowledge, he was not one of these people. He had to start from the bottom just like everyone else, and with merely middling talent to boot.

And so, late at night, as the White Lady and the Blue Child waxed their full light on the world, William cast the spell, bonding him to the tiny bear cub and setting his life on the path of a Hunter.

*AN*

The plot bug bit me. Here's the prologue to this story, and my experiment with a third-person perspective.

Please let me know what you think. Critiques and ideas are always appreciated.

Thanks for Reading.