Big Game Hunter: Wetlands
Khaz Modan. That’s what the dwarves called this land. Arthur Matthews had never left Kul’Tiras before. He made his living hunting the wolves, bears, krolusks and saurolisks. Selling pelts or weaving them into unique clothing. Of course, he kept trophies of his greatest hunts. But now the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms called. With the Alliance reconnecting with the navy kingdom once more, this seemed like the ideal time to hunt new and exotic beasts.
After arriving in Stormwind, Arthur heard talk of the northern region of the dwarves and thought they might have interesting beasts to track. The wetlands was his first stop on his hunting safari. He had heard talk of other monstrous reptiles that stalked the marshes of Khaz Modan. Creatures called Crocolisks. Apparently they were rather common in the old world. Why they never migrated to Kul’Tiras was a mystery. Though he had heard rumours of such creatures in Tal Dagor prison.
After a few days in the wetlands, Arthur managed to hear talk of a massive croc; bigger and meaner than the rest. It had pale, alabaster scales and bright red eyes. An old man at a run down homestead had mentioned the last place it was seen was a solitary pool in the northern reaches of the delta.
He spent the night just outside the homestead. Debating with himself on the caliber of bullet to use from his rifle. The rifle seemed like the best choice for game like this. Long range, high power, he wanted to take the beast down before it had a chance to charge at him. Tides know he didn’t want his first hunt on the mainland to also be his last.
An hour or so before dawn, Arthur packed up his camp and headed for the last known location of the beast. Rifle armed and loaded. He coated himself in a mixture of wetlands mud, grasses, and water, and set out. Just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Arthur found the tracks he was looking. Large, reptilian footprints in the soft mud along side a wavy indent, presumably the beasts tail dragging behind it. As he got closer to the pond the croc was said to be, the huntsman noticed the mostly devoured carcasses of raptors and smaller crocolisks littering the area. He followed the grisly trail until the pond itself was within view.
But there was no sign of the beast. The water was calm and quiet, save for a single piece of sun-bleached driftwood sitting at the surface. So he took up his position and waited. His eye lined up with the scope of his rifle as he watched the area for any signs of movement. That’s when his eye caught sight of a raptor approaching the pond from the far side. It seemed intent on getting a drink. Thanks to his home made scent block, absolute stillness, and distance, the other predator didn’t take notice of him. For a moment, he considered taking the raptor as a trophy. They surely didn’t have those on Kul’Tiras either. But he had a prize in mind and wasn’t about to give it up on the first shiny new beast that crossed his path. Too much work had been put into this one.
That work was about to pay off. Just as the raptors snout leaned in towards the tranquil pool, the pale driftwood seemed to be launched out of the water. That was the moment Arthur realized it wasn’t wood at all. The whole body of the crocolisk had been hidden under the surface of the water, only it’s head peeked out to watch and wait for dinner. With a powerful swish of it’s tail it had thrown itself up and clamped it’s massive jaws around the skull of the drinking raptor. It was an awe inspiring thing to witness. Until the croc began tugging the dinosaur back into the water. He needed to take the shot now before it submerged again!
A deep breath. The click of the hammer being pulled back. His eye focused through the scope on the beasts head as it adjusted it’s grip on it’s dinner. As he exhaled, his finger squeezed the trigger of his rifle and the bullet was sent flying with a loud bang. The steel shot screamed through the air and found purchase in the skull of the beast. A single shot. A swift kill.
Arthur smirked as he took a sigh of relief. It was an incredible first hunt. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder he made his way over to the body of his trophy. Brandishing his knife, he began to skin away the scaly hide. This would surely fetch a good price at the next town. Or, perhaps he’d make something with it... A new hat. Maybe a vest. Boots? He’d take the day to think on it. But for now, it was a long stroll back to the campsite. Turns out, crocolisk hide was heavy.
