A Little Too Close to Home.

[Mr_Teatime]

Hey there, everypeoples. This is a story I'm writing mainly for my guildmates. It might be a bit long: what I'm posting now is only chapter 1 of a planned 9. It basically introduces the characters: Selquist, Dwarf Rogue; Thragh, Dwarf Priest; Imra, Night Elf Hunter; and Rhonse, Human Paladin. Together these 4 will be thrust into a perilous adventure of magic, mayhem, dragons, and way not enough beer. I hope everyone can enjoy it.


Stormwind could be called the city with no nickname, but that’d just be silly.

While it did not have a nickname, per say, it did have several different titles, one of which being The Last Outpost of Humanity. But try to think of ‘humanity’ in very broad terms. Although the city was mostly occupied by Humans (for whom the term humanity was named after), the streets were also filled with blathering Gnomes, shouting Dwarves, and stoic Elves. They walked and ran along the paved roads, meeting friends, selling goods, or preparing to head out on some grand adventure.

That was one thing the world of Azeroth had no shortage of: adventurers. For in a world torn apart by dragons, orcs, trolls, undead, and other unpleasant creatures, chances are if you threw a stone in Stormwind it’d hit an adventurer.

Among the streets a lone Human woman walked by herself. Stormwind was divided into several different parts, one of which was called Old Town, and was the preferred hangout for thieves and ne’er-do-wells of any sort. The twilight sky twinkled down on her, lighting her path.

She was a bread seller, a none to glorious profession, but a profession that needed to be done nonetheless. She was heading back home for the night, yawning and stretching her arms into the air. It was more morning than night at this time, but she had been visiting with a friend she hadn’t seen in a while. The only light besides the stars spilled out of the tavern windows, the fires inside still burning brightly as rowdy Humans and Dwarves sloshed alcohol onto each other and occasionally drank some of it.

Knowing the taverns could be trouble at this time of night, the woman intelligently steered clear of it, taking another pathway back home. Her coin purse jangled against her hip as she walked, quickening her pace as an eerie sensation fell over her. She turned a corner, and found a blade happened to be sticking out of the shadows at approximately neck height.

“Your money or your life,” hissed a voice the owner of which she couldn’t see.

She pondered her options very carefully. “Has anyone ever chosen their money?” she gasped.

“One person did. I killed him and took the money anyway, but I imagine you saw that coming, hmm?”

“Yep.” She slowly and carefully shook the purse off her shoulder, and dropped it on the ground in front of her.

“Thank you,” answered the voice. “Normally I’d let you go now-” there was a very, very brief sensation of agonizing pain, then there were no sensations at all. “But this wasn’t a normal robbery.”

A figure ran off down the street, a cloak wavering after him, and all that was left on the ground was a Human woman, her throat slashed.

Across the city from where these unpleasant events were transpiring, was another district known as The Dwarven District, because Dwarves don’t mess about with fancy titles. The air was dirty and the buildings were short and crude compared to the rest of the majestic city, but the Dwarves loved it and they called it home.

The Dwarven District was, without a doubt, home to the most rowdy, loud, and above all, pub-like pubs in Stormwind. For no other race quite knows how to drink like the Dwarves do. Some have tried, but they have all by and large died out.

Inside the pub were all Dwarves, short yet stout humanoids with long beards and muscular arms. Some were fighting, others were drinking, quite a few were passed out and bleeding on the floor.

One figure stood out quite a bit, for he was the only one not a Dwarf. He was much taller, for one, taller than even most Humans. His skin had a majestic blue tint, and his ears flopped downwards all the way to his neck. He was a Night Elf, and by no means should a Night Elf be in a Dwarven pub.

But this Night Elf most certainly was in a Dwarven pub, and not only that, but he was challenging a Dwarf to a drinking contest. For any race other than Dwarf, this was suicide. But the Elf was holding his ground. Well, he was swaying back and forth and if asked to point at the ground would probably miss.

The Dwarf he sat facing at the counter had a gray beard and a lightly colored, cheerful face. He too was swaying, and seemed to be on about an equal level of drunkenness as the Elf. A few other patrons were paying close attention to them, mostly to the strange Elf who was downing Dwarven ale as if it was water.

The drinking contest raged on, neither contestant willing to back down. Off to the side sat another Dwarf, also very noticeable as the only stoic and completely sober Dwarf in the building. His skin was dark and gravelly, his beard black as soot. He was reading a newspaper at a dark table in one of the tavern’s corners barely lit by the roaring fire. He sighed and shook his head. So many troubles were going on in the world.

Here on page 1, huge story on the Orcs moving into the Swamp areas, known as the Swamps of Sorrow, thus severing ties between the Alliance outposts in The Badlands and Redridge Mountains.

Oh, Redridge Mountains. There was a sorry area. The city of Lakeshire was under constant siege by Dragons, the Humans and their allies who lived there in constant fear of their lives. The whole Alliance had so many threats from all sides, it was amazing that they were still managing to survive at all.

On page 7 there was a small paragraph on the Dark Iron Dwarves, a group of terrorist Dwarves who had separated from the Alliance. They were making small scale attacks, but compared to all the other threats, were considered unimportant for the time being.

“Alright,” belched the Dwarf at the counter in the drinking contest. “You win.”

There was a round of shocked applause, as the Dwarves stared in wonderment at how a pansy, tree-hugging Elf could possibly out-drink a Dwarf. The Elf raised his mug, a stupid grin on his face.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said.

“You’d drink to anything, you bum,” laughed his Dwarven friend.

“I’ll drink to that,” repeated the Elf, and he collapsed, very gently, onto the floor. He began snoring peacefully.

The Dwarf rather unsteadily got off of his stool and hobbled over to the Dwarf reading the newspaper. “Hey, Selquist, wan’ beer?” he mumbled, bubbles floating out of his mouth as he spoke.

“You know I don’t drink, Thragh,” responded the gravelly skinned Dwarf, flipping pages in the newspaper.

“And that worries me deeply,” sighed Thragh. “Yeh don’t even talk like a normal Dwarf.”

“That accent makes you sound idiotic. I actually took the time to learn proper common.” He sighed and lowered the newspaper. “If you’ve had your fun for the night, I recommend we get heading home.”

“Aye aye, cap-ee-tan,” giggled Thragh, waving a mug around jovially. Selquist stood up, straightened his leather tunic, and strode to the door. A long, curved blade was hooked to a sheath on his right hip, and a small, twisting dagger was sticking out of his belt on his left side. Thragh hobbled out the door as well. He was dressed in a dull gray robe, with no noticeable weapons on him. The two stepped out into the crisp evening air. Selquist inhaled deeply.

“Can you walk straight?” he asked, looking at his friend in concern.

“Aye, I can…aye,” Thragh muttered, holding his head. “Tell the world to quit movin’…”

Selquist sighed and headed off. They lived in Old Town, which was a bit of a walk from the Dwarven District. Selquist didn’t mind the exercise, but he feared Thragh might get lost somewhere along the journey.

“Shut up,” shouted Thragh, pointing angrily at a trashcan, when Selquist grabbed his arm and pulled him off.

They headed along the roads and over bridges, the robed Dwarf pausing on one to throw up into the river. By this time of night, no one in their right mind was out on the town. Technically it was getting well into the morning. Selquist squinted and saw the sun starting to peek over the horizon. He hated when Thragh took him out to drink and meet friend. Selquist didn’t have friends. Thragh was one of the most popular Dwarves in town, but Selquist couldn’t get used to other people. He kept finding himself annoyed at how stupid they were.

He paused, and Thragh, though his head was still groggy, paused as well. Selquist sniffed the air, and drew his long sword with his right hand, his dagger with his left.

“You smell that too?” asked Thragh.

“Yes,” answered Selquist. In these troubled times, everyone was all too familiar with this smell. “Blood.”

This startling revelation made Thragh sober up a little bit. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Selquist crouched down with both blades help before him. Walking like he had a bad rash, Selquist quickly disappeared from sight.

Having grown up in the roughest part of Stormwind, Selquist had learned how to…not be seen. His gravelly skin blending in with the shadows as he stealthily walked along, he turned a corner, his nose leading him. Half expecting to be attacked by something – he didn’t know what – he was surprised with what he did find.

A Human female was laying on the ground. Selquist could tell she hadn’t just collapsed from exhaustion, mainly by the large bleeding gash where her neck should have been.

Thragh stumbled up behind him, and nearly threw up again at the sight combined with the awful smell. Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps, and Selquist hurriedly ushered Thragh to hide. Nervously, the robed Dwarf complied.

A Human figure came walking around a corner. He was dressed in black garb, which covered his face. A scarf fluttered behind him in the wind. Thragh had taken refuge behind a building, and Selquist was still hidden within the shadows. This new Human scanned the area, the nodded contently to himself.

“No one,” he muttered, relieved. He walked over, picked up the woman’s body, and dragged it off back the way he had come.

“What the bloody ‘ell…” muttered Thragh, scratching his beard as he came out of hiding. He received no reply. Selquist was hurrying off after the strange man, his weapons at the ready.


In a deserted back alley that no one, even the normal thugs of Old Town, ever traveled into, were a group of Dwarves pacing around nervously. They all wore very dark garments and had that gravelly look to their skin that Selquist had. The mysterious Human came into the middle of them, dragging the bloody woman along with him. He went passed all the Dwarves to a seemingly empty space. He dropped the body, showing no care whatsoever to its well-being.

“Good,” said a voice that emanated out of the shadows. “You almost ruined everything.”

“I am most sorry, my Lord,” said the murderer graciously, getting down on one knee.

“I imagine you are. Ah, get out of the way, whelp.” The Human took no offense from this, or at least showed none, as a Dwarf with a dirty face and hands and oil splatterings on his vest came running up, panting. “Ah, Master Fireforge,” said the nothing.

“Sir,” panted Fireforge, getting on his knee. He quickly stood back up. “Everything is in place. My men are waiting for first light, and then…well, then the fun begins.” Fireforge grinned and rubbed his hands together.

“Yes. That it does,” said the shadow in a monotone voice. Fun seemed something he was incapable of having. “Mr. Flint, are you still here?”

“Sir!” said the Human in response.

“Might I ask why?”

“Sir? Oh! My post! Right!” Bowing apologetically, the Human named Flint ran back off the way he had came.

He was almost back to his post, when suddenly a Dwarf dove out of the shadows and knocked him to the ground. Flint gasped in surprise, to find the face of Selquist pressed against his.

“What? Lieutenant Celebundin? But…but you’re dead!” babbled Flint, looking with shock at Selquist.

“What?” asked Selquist. He quickly shook his head, ignoring this. “What the hell did you do to that girl?”

Regaining his senses, Flint used his superior size to stand up and dislodge the angry Dwarf. Selquist quickly righted himself, and dove in again. Waving his long sword in an arc, he went straight for his opponent’s neck. He was surprised at how nimble this Human was, however, as he dodged out of the way and a hand holding a dagger shot out of his robes. Selquist brought his left hand around with his own dagger and parried the blow.

“What the hell is going on?” spat Flint. “I’m one of you! I may be Human, but I’m for your cause!”

“Cause? What bloody cause?” responded Selquist. He ran in to attack again, but was hit with something heavy from behind. He felt as if his brain smashed into his forehead, and collapsed to the ground.

A group of Dwarven guards came running past them. Thragh had stepped out of his hiding place, and gulping down whiskey from a water skin in his robes, waved his arms. Suddenly every opponent who went near him ran off in an inexplicable fear. Flint was the only one who kept his senses, and he tried to attack the robed Dwarf when suddenly a yellow shield popped up, and his dagger bounced off harmlessly.

“Damnit,” he cursed. “A Priest.” More guards were rushing in from all sides, however, and both Thragh and Selquist were quickly apprehended. Both were beaten into a state of unconsciousness, and dragged back to the dark-skinned Dwarves’ base camp.

Master Fireforge scuttled over to Flint, rubbing his hands nervously. “Human,” he said, not unkindly, but clearly acknowledging he was the superior being in this conversation. “The show is about the start. Will you join me at the Chapel for a front row seat?”

“Absolutely,” grinned Flint, putting his dagger away.

[Mr_Teatime]

(chapter 1, part 2)

Imra woke up, and instantly wished he hadn’t. His head pounded, his body ached, his mouth tasted like bile, he was laying on a lump of chewed bubble gum, and there was a giant pink Kodo dancing in front of him.

The Night Elf blinked furiously, and eventually the Kodo disappeared. Which was a relief, because Kodo are notoriously bad dancers.

He had survived a drinking contest with a Dwarf. Surely he would go down in Night Elf history for that. Slowly and steadily he stood up, clutching a nearby stool for support. The sun was starting to peek through the windows, which hurt his eyes. His head pounded as if a little man was sitting inside of it hitting his skull with a hammer repeatedly. He wanted the little man to go away.

Imra wasn’t like most Elves. Mostly because he found them…boring. Elves didn’t know how to have fun. They sat around all day and brooded about the war, and their fate, and talked about the past a lot. Dwarves, now. That was a fun race. Imra fully wished he had been born a Dwarf. Then he could have all the fun of last night, without all the pain of right now.

Most of the Dwarves had gone home, wherever they considered that to be. His friend he had met last night…Thrash or something…had gone without so much of a congratulations. The only people still there were those Dwarves who were still unconscious on the ground, bleeding and twitching slightly. Dwarf pubs could get violent.

Bracing himself, Imra took a step forward and collapsed again. He stood up once more, dusted himself off, and prepared to walk for real this time. He took one step, and though his legs shook, they held. He took another step and another, until he made it to the pubs door. Clutching to it for dear life, he opened it, and squinted out into the morning sun.

The world around him promptly exploded, which he was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to happen.

Flames erupted from every side. Shocked and pained screams erupted, hurting his already aching head. The bright flames burned, even though they were somewhat far away. He wanted to wake up, leave this horrible dream caused by too much drinking. He slapped himself, but nothing happened. The flames and screams were still there.

Everyone safe from the fires was rushing out of their homes to see what was going on. Some of the city guard was getting a water chain going, but the fires were too plentiful to be put out. Bells were being rung, voices of the city’s leaders called out for order.

Now getting increasingly nervous that this was not a dream, Imra ran over to the nearest area that was on fire, the Cathedral. The whole building was decimated, with guards running around helping people out of the fire. A couple guards were leading off one man wearing chain mail armor who had dark skin with a flattop haircut. He was badly singed, and had a look of utter horror and rage on his face. He looked over and locked eyes with the Night Elf, then continued on. Imra shook his head awkwardly.

“Excuse me,” he called out to a guard. “What happened?”

“Bloody terrorists!” he cried. “Every major building in the city was rigged with explosives and set off at the same time.”

“Who’s responsible?” asked Imra, horrified.

“We’re not certain, but this looks like the work of the Dark Iron Dwarves.”

The guard rushed off, hearing a woman scream from a burning building. Imra stood there, dumbfounded. Dwarves? There was a group of Dwarves dedicated to hurting the Alliance? Well, they had succeeded. This would be a blow not soon forgotten.

Suddenly his large, Elven ears perked up. There was a noise he could hear, voices that nearly blended in with the hissing of the fire. He squinted, and could barely see the outlines of a Human and a Dwarf standing amongst the burning ruins of the chapel.

“Don’t worry!” he called, bracing himself. “I’ll save you!”

“What was that?” asked Master Fireforge, looking around. Flint shrugged.

“Look,” replied the Human. “Here comes an Elf. To save us, no doubt.” He laughed grimly. Fireforge shook his head.

“Think you can take this one? Or are you too weak from the other 2 ass-whoopings?” scoffed the Dwarf.

“Hey, that Dwarf did not whoop my ass. And I…wasn’t prepared for the Human.”

“Sure, sure. I’m gunna go check with The Overlord. He’s probably issuing the evacuation out of the city by now, might get worried about me. You know your way out, right?”

“Right,” insisted Flint. “Just go. I’ll kill this Elf and meet up with you somewhere along the line.”

“Aye. Good luck, my friend.” Fireforge headed off through a gap in the flames.

“Stay there!” coughed Imra, the smoke chocking him. He entered the clearing with the Human. “I’m here to save…wait…was there someone else here, too?”

“Vile scum,” laughed Flint. “Your heroism will be the death of you!”

The garbed Human ran forward, pulling his dagger out of its hiding place. Imra was slow to react, but managed to launch himself to the side as Flint ran past him. Picking himself up and turning to face his opponent, Imra found that the nimble Human was already next to him again. There was a piercing feeling under his right ribcage, but the wound was minor. Imra lifted his foot and kicked the Human in the chest, knocking him backwards. The Elf wished that he had a weapon, but had never seen a reason for one before. He backed up nervously as Flint recuperated himself.

Growling angrily, Flint snarled, “I will not lose again today!” He dove, his dagger zigzagging through the air. Imra easily dodged it, grabbing the Human as he dove past. He used his superior size to hoist the murderer, spin him around, and fling him to the ground. The dagger went skidding out of his hand.

“No…” he gasped, trying to crawl over to it, but Imra was quicker. He grabbed it and aimed it at the Human’s neck.

“What the hell is going on? Who are you?” snapped the Elf. “Are you one of those…whoever it was that did this to Stormwind?”

Flint looked around nervously. Fire was enclosing from all sides. He was trapped. “You will…learn nothing,” he gasped.

“Tell me or I’ll slit your throat!” snarled Imra. He was in a bad mood. He had a hangover, his home city was destroyed, someone had just tried to kill him, and damnit, he wasn’t gunna take it anymore.

“Telling you would be a much worse fate. The Shadow would find me. A slit throat would then become much preferable,” grinned the Human. He kicked outwards, hitting Imra’s ankle and sending the Elf tumbling to the ground. He bounced back to his feet at the same time as Flint. His arm shot out, and, without knowing what he was doing, stabbed deeply through the Human’s robes, hitting his unprotected flesh.

Flint gasped, and stumbled backwards. “I lost…again,” he mumbled. “Not my day…”

He collapsed backwards into the raging fire, which soon engulfed him. Imra shook his head in sorrow and bewilderment, and then rushed out the ever-closing gaps between the fires.


The previous evening had been another unhappy one for Rhonse Darius.

As most Humans and humanoids his age were out partying at pubs or wooing females, Rhonse was in front of an altar in the grand cathedral of Stormwind. Candles were lit all up and down the altar. Rhonse was down on one knee, the candlelight flickering off his dark skin. His head was bowed in prayer, and his hands were folded in front of him.

“My father…” he muttered. “Where is he…show me the location of my father…” his eyes slammed shut even harder, he looked as if the effort of keeping them closed might make him pull a muscle. But nothing happened. “Damn,” he cursed. “Oh, sorry. Dang,” he said. “Not supposed to swear in church.”

“Rhonse,” called an elderly voice from across the cathedral. Rhonse turned and spotted a middle-aged man wearing a great abundance of plate armor. Across his back was strapped a giant, glowing axe. The man emanated an aura of holy energy. He walked up to the young man.

“Uncle,” acknowledged Rhonse, bowing his head.

“It’s almost morning, Rhonse,” ticked his uncle. “Get some sleep, will you? Your father is not worth this.”

“My father is my father,” snapped Rhonse. “I will find him, no matter the cost.”

“I wish you would just think of him as dead,” scoffed uncle Darius. “Like I have.”

Rhonse’s uncle was the Grand Paladin of Stormwind. One of the most influential figures in the city, he was a clear thinker, a clever strategist, and a magnificent fighter. Rhonse had been living under the guidance of his uncle all his life.

“I can’t do that,” argued Rhonse, shaking his head. “He’s out there, somewhere. And I just know I can find him, and…and change things.”

“You’re an incredibly stupid lad, Rhonse. But stubborn. And I think you get that from me.” He sighed, and sat down. “You remember that night, don’t you? Sure, you were young, but…I know you remember. How can you forgive your father?”

“I don’t,” responded the dark skinned Paladin. “But-”

He was suddenly brought to silence by the sound of scuttling feet and hushed voices. Rhonse and his uncle both stood up and looked around. The noises seemed to be coming from the walls.

“By the light, what is going on?” asked Rhonse’s astonished uncle. The Grand Paladin paced over to a wall where the noises were emanating from. “Who’s back there?” he shouted, and the noises instantly stopped. “Odd…”

Both Paladins backed away from the wall, staring intently at it. A light suddenly appeared in the middle of it, and extended upwards. It left a crack in the wall wherever it went. It made a sharp turn, went horizontal for a bit, then dropped down. By the time it finished, there was a rectangular door-shaped hole in the wall, with smoke pouring out from behind it.

“Rhonse,” mumbled the Grand Paladin. “Run.”

“No,” defied Rhonse.

“Rhonse, listen to me-”

Out of the smoke entered a small retinue of short figures. A Dwarf entered, draped in plate mail and holding weapons to rival the Grand Paladin in sheer awe-inspiring factor. He was flanked by about 10 guards, all much less important looking.

“You…” gasped the Grand Paladin. “Ragnaros!”

“Lord Darius,” bowed the lead Dwarf. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“For me, maybe. But I get the feeling this was no accident,” mused Darius. Rhonse growled at one of the Dwarven guards, who was looking at him with distaste.

“We have important business to attend to,” announced Ragnaros, as his men began to flank the two Humans. “I’m afraid you’re in our way.”

“That’s a pity,” sighed the Grand Paladin. He hefted the amazing battle-axe off of his back, and held it in front of him. “I do not enjoy shedding blood. Alas, I realize that in some cases it is the only way.”

“Aye, that it is,” laughed Ragnaros. Four guards rushed the Paladin at once. With one might swing of his axe he decapitated two of them. Raising his arm to the heavens, a bright light emanated out of him, and he sliced through a third. The fourth, who had yet to even reach him, backed up nervously.

“You’ve not lost your talent,” said Ragnaros, sounding genuinely impressed.

“That I have not,” agreed Lord Darius. “Have you?”

“Is that a challenge, my Lord?”

Rhonse looked nervously at his uncle. The Grand Paladin looked down at him and said sternly, “leave. I will not tell you again.”

“But-”

“Go!”

Rhonse backed up nervously, making sure to keep all the Dwarves in his line of sight, and headed for the exit.

“Oh no you don’t,” laughed Ragnaros. With sudden ferocity, he lunged at the Paladin. At the same time, all his guards charged Rhonse. Gulping, he realized this was a 6 against 1 battle. He backed up further, but the Dwarves reached him with startling speed. One threw an axe at his head, but he shot out an arm and caught it by the handle. Swinging around, he chopped into the underbelly of another Dwarf, sending it gurgling to the ground. Kicking out, he knocked over another Dwarf.

Lord Darius swung his axe at Ragnaros, but the Dwarf pulled out an impressive sword that gave the appearance of being on fire. It effortlessly parried the axe blow, and he went in for a swing of his own. Darius dodged, and the sword sliced off part of his armor, but missed any of his actual body.

Rhonse grabbed one nearby Dwarf by the scruff of its shirt collar, and used it as a shield against an incoming crossbow bolt. Dropping the now dead enemy, he used the same axe to cleave the head of the weapons’ former owner. Another crossbow bolt flew out, and pierced into his shoulder. His chain mail shirt lessened the blow, however, so the wound was ignorable.

More voices were coming from the tunnel behind the cathedral. A Human dressed in mysterious robes and a scruffy, dirty Dwarf entered the room.

“Bloody hell,” sighed Fireforge. “Yeh haven’t cleared out the place yet? This room is crucial to our whole operation!”

“I don’t know what the hell you bastards are planning,” snarled Darius. “But as long as I live you shall not harm my people.”

“Flint,” said Fireforge, pointing towards Rhonse, “kill that whelp back there.” Flint saluted and ran off, as Rhonse charged forwards and killed the last of the Dwarven guards. Panting, he wasn’t ready for Flint’s sudden attack. His dagger bounced off the trainee Paladin’s armor, however, so Rhonse charged forward and knocked this new enemy over with his shoulder.

“Rhonse!” screamed Darius, still in fierce battle with Ragnaros, neither one seeming to grow weak or weary. “Why are you still here? Leave! Quickly! These are Dark Iron Dwarves! They’ll kill you!”

Rhonse prepared to heed his uncles word and flee, when suddenly his eyes widened. Ragnaros feigned to the right, and attacked to the left. His burning sword pierced straight through the Grand Paladin’s armor, hitting his chest, and bursting through his back. The Paladin gasped in surprise, then when the sword was removed, sagged to his knees.

“Our city…” he mumbled, “…will never fall.”

Ragnaros brought his sword up once more, and severed the Grand Paladin’s head from his body.

Rhonse screamed in anger. He kicked outwards, hitting Flint, who was just now standing back up, right between the legs. The Rogue squeaked pathetically, and collapsed to the ground. Rhonse wanted to blindly charge the lead Dark Iron, kill him with his bare hands, but some part of his mind stopped him. He knew that anyone who could slay his uncle would rip him apart effortlessly.

“Heed your dead uncles advice,” said Ragnaros, staring right into Rhonse’s eyes. “Leave this place and do not turn back. It is too late for you to stop us.”

Rhonse, shivering uncontrollably, ran as fast as he could out of the cathedral. He just exited and was out into the crisp morning fog, when a great explosion lifted him off his feet and hurled him through the air. Wood crashed around him and fires suddenly raged, spreading from building to building. Shrieks filled Stormwind, and he feared he would die there, crushed under debris or burnt by the fire.

A member of the city guard came along and found him, burnt and bleeding, laying on the ground. Helping him to his feet, the two Humans left to a safe area. Rhonse wasn’t aware of much going around him, his head buzzing with hatred for the Dwarf named Ragnaros, anger at the death of his uncle and mentor, and fear at what was going to happen to Stormwind.

The only thing he became aware of was a Night Elf, who he locked eyes with on his way out of the cathedral. He wasn’t concentrating, though. Only one thing rang out in his mind:

He would destroy the Dark Iron Dwarves.


(end chapter 1. chapter 2 out...whenever.)

[Inquisitor7]

I am impressed. You have a nice mix of action and humor here, and only a handful of grammatical mistakes. More importantly you have an enjoyable style and an interesting story. My only major complaint is that you didn't quite space your paragraphs correctly. For future reference, hit return twice instead of indenting new paragraphs (I will edit the current posts to fit this system). Also, I think your fighting scenes are pretty good. They have a good flow to them, and you don't go overboard on details. A general piece of advice I have for fight scenes is to give approriate emphasis to the critical actions of the event. I am not saying you aren't doing this, but it is something to always keep in mind. As it stands, I think you have done a good job so far, and I regret not having the time to give you more in depth feedback.

I look forward to more. Thanks for posting!

[Fatness Almighty]

Great job Teatime, Imra is the best. All others should bow down and pay homage to his brilliance which radiates like the fire of a thousand suns.

[Mr_Teatime]

Thanks for the comments, Inquisitor7, I appreciate it. I appreciate all constructive critisism, and of course I'm glad you enjoyed it. Glad you enjoyed it too, Fatness...whoever you might be :uhhuh:

A Little Too Close to Home: Chapter 2

Imra burst out of the flames and into what remained of Cathedral Square. Stormwind City smoldered around him. It smelled vaguely like barbeque ribs.

He had just killed someone. Granted, that someone had tried to kill him first, but he still didn’t feel good about it. It didn’t make any sense. He wanted to save a Human trapped in the fires, but the man had snapped and attacked him…

“I really, really, really need a beer,” he announced to the world in general.

He approached a guard who was helping a group of injured people sitting on the ground. He had a bottle of whiskey and was trying to feed it to a dazed-looking, dark-skinned Human. The Human was wearing chain mail, and a holy symbol in his chest plate signified him as a Paladin, one of the crusaders of truth and justice that often fought at the forefronts of the Alliance.

“Come on, buddy…” muttered the guard, but the Paladin gave no response. Imra stealthily sidled over.

“If he’s not gunna drink that…” he muttered, pointing at the whiskey flask.

“Sorry, this is for injured and traumatized people only,” said the guard. “You seem fine.”

“For your information, I just killed somebody!” snapped Imra. He paused for a minute, and then quickly added, “but I was provoked.”

The guard raised his eyebrow at the Elf, and then went over to another injured civilian. Imra dejectedly plopped himself onto the ground next to the Paladin.

“Hey there,” Imra said conversationally.

No response.

“Hello?” Imra waved his hand up and down in front of the Human’s eyes, but got no acknowledgement to his existence. He snapped his fingers a few times. Nothing.

“Strange,” muttered the Elf, slumping back and closing his eyes. Maybe if he put all his willpower into it, the headache would go away… “Note to self,” he said to no one in particular, “no more binge drinking the night before a terrorist attack.”

He was rather startled to find himself suddenly grabbed by the neck and spun around. The singed Paladin glared at him, seething angrily.

“I’ll kill them all,” grunted the Human.

“Oh,” gagged Imra, struggling to get free from the mans grip, without much success.

“Every last one,” continued Rhonse Darius, sweat drops forming on his face. “Every last Dark Iron Dwarf. I’ll kill them.”

“Can I have my neck back, please?” panted Imra.

“Kill them all. Kill them. Every last one. Kill…”

Imra closed his eyes and brought his arm around in a great sweeping arc. He slapped the Human across the face. Not a very honorable move, but it got him to let go. Rhonse blinked furiously, shaking his head.

“Where am I?” he muttered. He brought a hand up to his head and wiped some sweat away. “I feel…ugh…oh God, my uncle…”

The Elf watched helplessly as Rhonse began weeping into his hands. Unsure of what to do in a situation like this, he feebly reached out and gave his companion a pat on the back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” sniffed Rhonse, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Where are my manners? I didn’t even get your name. I’m Rhonse Darius.”

The Human extended his hand. Imra shook it, saying “Imra. I’m…Imra.”

“Do you have a last name?”

“Um…no.” Imra rubbed the back of his head nervously, then coughed and changed the subject. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you want to kill all the Dark Iron Dwarves.”

“Oh…yes…yes,” muttered Rhonse, shaking his head sorrowfully. “They killed my uncle. They tried to kill me. They blew up our city…”

“So it was them,” responded the Elf. “Well…how many of them are there? Might be difficult for you to kill every last one.”

“Did I say all this to you?” asked Rhonse.

“Yeah. I think it might’ve been one of those…episodes certain people have.”

“I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re getting at,” snapped Rhonse. “But I will destroy them all. I will destroy the Dark Iron Dwarves.”

“Yeah, ok, have fun with that…” dismissed Imra. He prepared to stand up, but found himself tugged back down.

“Wait!” urged Rhonse. “I need help.”

“I’ll say…” muttered Imra under his breath.

“I can’t take on an entire terrorist organization by myself. Will you join me?”

“I’ve got news for you,” the Elf said, pulling himself out of the Human’s grip and standing up. Rhonse stood up as well. “I’m not gunna help too much. I just had my first fight today. I won, but that’s beside the point. You need, like, an army. And wouldn’t the Stormwind army go out there anyway? Why not just join them?”

“You don’t understand,” Rhonse snapped. “My family…we’re in politics. I know how it works. A bunch of old men sit around and discuss all the events going on, until they eventually decide we can’t expend the manpower so they can keep the soldiers here guarding their fancy mansions.” He sighed. “We need to take action, and quickly. Who knows when the Dark Iron’s could strike again?”

“Well…I suppose that’s why I’m here,” shrugged Imra.

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing. Fine. I’ll help you. Ok? But only because I’ve got nothing better to do. And there better be beer. Lots of beer.”

“Alcohol? Mottles the senses,” scoffed Rhonse. “Come on. Let’s get you a weapon.”

The two new companions marched off through the debris of Stormwind City. Activity was going on all around them as guards and safe civilians helped put out fires and rescue those in danger. Rhonse and Imra found a weapons shop that was unharmed by the fires, and entered. There was no one inside, but after a moment a Dwarf came rushing in, panting. His beard and face were black as soot.

“My goodness,” he breathed. “By Magni’s beard, all Hell’s broke loose out there.”

“Aye,” agreed Rhonse. “We’d like to buy some weapons, for that reason.”

“What reason would that be? Yer not looters, are yeh?” inquired the Dwarf suspiciously.

“We’re adventurers,” piped in Imra. “We’re gunna find the ones who did this and, erm, bring them to justice, or whatever it is adventurers do.”

“Well, Mr. Elf, lemme find a nice sleek bow for yeh back here…”

“I’ll pay for it,” offered Rhonse, pulling out a coin purse. He emptied out a pile of gold coins onto the counter. “Keep the change to help your family and friends in these troubled times.”

The Dwarf stopped in his search and stared in awe at the money. “That’s…that’s a lot, lad.”

“You’re damn right that’s a lot,” snapped Imra, his jaw open in awe. “You’re loaded!”

“I told you, we’re in politics,” explained the Paladin.

“Scratch the bow,” ordered Imra. “I want the best Dwarven rifle this man’s money can buy.”

“Get him an axe, too. Big one. And a mace for me. Also big.” Rhonse dictated his requests as the Dwarf rummaged through his supplies.

He found a large, two-handed hammer that towered over his squat figure. It wasn’t very ornate, but the edge was hard as rock and infused with tiny spikes. He nodded it and handed the weapon to the Paladin, who sheathed it on the back of his chain mail vest. The Dwarf then pulled out what looked like a large buzz saw on a stick. The handle led to a disc that was cut into a jagged circle, points erratically sticking from all sides. That was handed to Imra, who cut his finger on it, then strapped it onto his back. Finally came a beautifully crafted blue rifle that shone in the morning sun. He placed a medium sized pack of bullets next to it.

“I wish you boys the best of luck against the monsters who did this,” he snapped. “Can’t believe they were Dwarves…”

“You too heard this was the work of Dark Irons?” asked Imra.

“Of course. Only they could’ve executed such a plan. If you’re interested in a tip, I heard a few guards talking about them leaving through a secret tunnel they blasted in the northeastern edge of town. Apparently they dug here through the huge mountain range, making an effective shortcut from their base at Blackrock Depths.”

“Thank you very much for your kindness, sir Dwarf,” said Rhonse, bowing. “I wish you the best of luck in these times.” He rushed off, Imra following behind. The Dwarven shopkeeper pocketed the gold, staring at it happily for a moment, then rushed off to tell his masters they could expect two new healthy-looking slaves.

“That was nice of him,” Imra said conversationally as they walked off.

“Yes. Maybe we can mess up the Dark Iron’s plans of leaving the city so the guard can rush in and cut them up. And if we really play our cards right, maybe we can get out alive.”

“That’d be preferable.”

Human and Elf rushed as fast as they could along the various roads, the Human flinching in horror at every scream or a woman or child who got caught in the fires. Imra’s legs pumped underneath him at a rapid pace, and he continuously had to pause and wait for Rhonse to catch up to him.

“Wait,” called out Rhonse, pausing for a moment. Imra turned back to see what was wrong.

“What?” he asked.

“There’s something on your side,” pointed out Rhonse, as he approached the Elf. Imra flinched as Rhonse put his hands against his thigh.

“Stop that,” snapped Imra. “You’re not to touch me-”

“You’ve been wounded. Not badly, but it could get infected.” The Paladin brushed his hands over the minor stab-wound Imra had gotten before, during his fight with the strange Human.

“I’ll be fine. That’s a baby scratch. Babies get worse scratches than that,” laughed Imra, trying to brush the matter aside. He stopped and watched in amazement, however, as the Human closed his eyes and began muttering something the Elf couldn’t make out. A small golden light glittered in the air for a moment, settling on the wound. Almost immediately it healed up, leaving no signs that there had ever been an injury.

“What the…”

“I’m gunna need you in perfect condition for whatever lays ahead,” announced Rhonse, and he headed off again. Imra shook his head in amazement and surprise, then followed, quickly striding past the Paladin.

“Think we’re almost there?” asked Imra.

“Yes. Hold up a moment…”

The two stopped and looked around them. It took Imra a moment to realize what was different here, then it hit him: nothing was happening. There was no screaming, no running guards or panicked civilians. There were fires in the distance, but they were being repressed, and it looked as if this area wouldn’t be hurt too badly. Then where was everyone?

“Careful. This is Old Town. The inhabitants around here aren’t overly friendly.” Rhonse unhooked his war-hammer and held it in his hand, squatting his legs into a fighting stance. Imra fumbled with his weapon, nearly beheading his partner, but managed to get a good grip on it eventually.

“Just one question. What inhabitants?” muttered Imra, seriously freaked out by the distinct lack of people.

“Shh!” hushed Rhonse. He motioned for Imra to follow, then silently padded over to the entrance of an alleyway. The two peeked their heads around a corner, and Rhonse had to stomp on Imra’s foot to keep the Elf from gasping.

Stormwind city had been built at the base of a mountain range, making it so there was only one real way for an invading army to get in or out. The Dark Iron Dwarves had improvised. One small area of buildings had been completely demolished. There was now a cave where they should have been, leading downwards into an eerie darkness. Inside the cave and all around the outside of it were tents and posts of Dwarves, all heavily armored and well armed. Imra and Rhonse pulled themselves back before they were seen.

“Ok, we found them. Let’s go get the city guard so they can-” started Imra.

“Alright, men, pull out immediately. What yeh can’t scoop up in yer hands, leave behind. We’re takin’ too long as it is and we cannot by any means risk getting caught,” snapped a deep, Dwarven voice. There was the hushed sound of work, the Dwarves not wanting to make their noise noticeable.

“We don’t have time to get the guard! We’ve got to stop them now!” hissed Rhonse, trying to keep his voice low.

“Are you bloody insane?” hissed back Imra. “We’ll be torn to shreds and then our shreds will be torn to shreds!”

“Ragnaros, sir,” called another Dwarven voice. “They’re waking.”

“Good, good. Bring them to me. Keep them under heavy guard, though. Trust me. They’re dangerous,” called back the first voice.

“Stay here,” ordered Imra. He stepped around the corner. Rhonse nearly screamed out in horror, but soon the Elf faded from sight. Rhonse squinted and saw his comrade, squatting down and blending in with his surroundings. He brightened up, having forgotten that Elves could do that. Imra would never be seen unless someone knew he was there.

Most of the Dwarves were finished cleaning up, and heading off down the tunnel. There was still a group of the most heavily armored guards standing around, though, and among them was a Dwarf who looked…Imra couldn’t find a word for it. He knew, however, that this one must be Ragnaros, the leader. His eyes burned with fire.

“I could destroy this city with one swoop of my hand,” snapped Ragnaros to no one in particular. “I hate this body. Damn The Shadow and damn his plans.”

“You’re as terrified of The Shadow as everyone else and you know it, lad,” laughed another Dwarf that was walking up. This one wore no armor. He was, in fact, dressed in dirty overalls and filthy gloves. Imra had to bite into his lip in horror, for this was the Dwarf who had sent them here. But why?

“Where are those slaves you promised me, Fireforge?” grumbled Ragnaros angrily. “They’ve not yet arrived and I don’t intend to wait for them.”

“They must’ve lost heart and headed home to their mothers. Not surprising. Elves, Humans. Pfah.”

“Be that as it may, our miners are dieing off faster than we can replenish them. We managed to grab a few hostages during all this chaos, but not nearly enough.”

“Sir!” announced a new guard who was approaching from out of the depths of the cave. “May I present to you…Lord Celebundin and his whelp of a friend.” The guard snapped to attention, and shoved forward two more Dwarves. One looked like all the others, black as soot and with a gravelly beard. The other bared a very slight resemblance, but his skin was much lighter, as was his beard. The first wore a black leather outfit, like that of an assassin. From looking at him, Imra wouldn’t have been surprised if that were exactly what he was. The other wore white robes that were cut off around his ankles. A priest, perhaps?

“Shut up,” snapped the former. “All of you, shut the hell up about me. I don’t know how the hell you know our last name, but I’m no Lord. Especially not for you bastards.” He lashed out and kicked his nearest guard in the knee, but another smacked him in the back of the head with a pike. The second flinched.

“Selquist, don’t,” he pleaded. “You’ll get us both killed.”

Not heeding his companion, the Dwarf known as Selquist spat in the eye of another guard. Ragnaros laughed, and motioned for the guards to leave.

“You’re feisty, my friend,” chuckled the lead Dark Iron. “Just like your father was.”

“Shut up!” screamed Selquist. He looked about to charge Ragnaros, but the other Dwarf grabbed his arm. “Let go, Thragh. I can take him.”

“The hell you can,” snapped Thragh. “Look at his eyes!”

Selquist shuddered, apparently doing just that. “Alright,” he conceded. “What the hell do you want? How do you know our father?”

“Are you two brothers?” asked Ragnaros. “You look nothing alike.”

[Mr_Teatime]

“Same mother, different fathers,” answered Thragh. “I’m the younger and better looking one,” he continued. Selquist sighed. Only his brother could make such a lame joke in the face of certain death.

“Ah, yes. I am, sadly, not surprised that an Ironforge ***** would go and remarry after her people murdered her husband,” snapped Ragnaros, his eyes glowing even more.

“I hate pointless banter,” snapped Selquist. “Get on with it.”

“Alright. Your father was a Dark Iron. He was murdered by the people of the Alliance.”

“So?”

“So…he wasn’t just a Dark Iron. He was Lord Selquist Celebundin I. My chief lieutenant. Third in command of the Dark Iron Dwarves. You are Lord Selquist Celebundin II. By birthright, you now have his title. You are the third in command of the Dark Iron Dwarves.”

“And do you expect me to accept this title?” scoffed Selquist. “I’ll never join you bastards.”

“Yes. You will.”

Imra fell backwards, his hands grabbing at his skull. A voice filled his senses, but one that did not exit from someone’s mouth and went into the recipient’s ears. This voice started and ended inside the brain.

“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself,” continued the voice. Selquist and Thragh frantically looked around, also apparently shocked by the strange voice. But aside from Ragnaros and Fireforge, no one was there.

“I…am The Shadow.” And then, suddenly, he was there. In the center of everyone, as if he had been there all along. Imra tried to make out any discerning features, but couldn’t. He couldn’t actually see anything, but he undeniably sensed a strange pulsating aura in a Human-like shape, standing there in front of everybody. The aura was so powerful, it squeezed his heart and brought him to his knees. He recalled the dieing words of the Human who had tried to kill him. ‘Telling you would be a much worse fate. The Shadow would find me. A slit throat would then become much preferable.’
The others fell to their knees as well, even Selquist and Thragh.

“My Lord,” intoned Ragnaros, his head bowed. “So good of you to join us.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is. I just arrived. I certainly wasn’t here to hear you damn me and my plans.” Ragnaros gulped at this, but said nothing. The Shadow continued on, “Selquist, you and your Alliance have the nerve to call us terrorists. We are the ones who have been wronged. Us and countless others. You who bind yourselves to this allegiance destroy all others. No matter their race, you strike out against them, seeking to eradicate them from this world. And you call us terrorists?

“Almost 50 years ago a small force of my men went into the town of Thelsamar, in Loch Modan. They were led by your father, all willing to die under his command. He was a brilliant leader, your father was. And he was not a terrorist. His plan did not involve the single death of a civilian. In fact, quite the opposite happened. During the operation, he was discovered by a Dwarven woman, one of the civilians of Thelsamar. And, from what I’ve been told, it was…as they say…love at first sight.” He said love with an especial amount of spite. “That night they…made you. And then he was slaughtered, along with all his men, as they attempted to leave the city. No one died that day but them. No one would have died if it had not been for those…valiant warriors…of the Alliance.”

“Might I ask what your business was in an Alliance town?” asked Selquist, seemingly nonplussed by this being of shadow energy. The Shadow shrugged.

“There is a great difference between theft and murder. We are denied resources because our views differ from yours. We make what we can from mining into Blackrock Mountain, but it is not enough. We are not the thieves here, Selquist. The Alliance puts on the front of being the valiant defenders of truth, justice. The only things they’ll even attempt to defend are their own interests. They don’t want to eradicate evil. They want to eradicate all who would oppose them. They have started this. We simply intend to finish it.”

The Shadow waved his hand over Selquist. The Dwarf blinked, then shook his head. “I…see,” he said. “I…had no idea.”

“He’s a damn liar, Selquist!” snapped Thragh.

“I’ve always felt…superior to the people around here,” Selquist continued to muse.

“That is in your blood! Your heritage calls for you to lead us!”

“No! No!” shouted Thragh.

“Noooo!” screamed a new voice. The Shadow and all four Dwarves turned to see Rhonse come running around the corner, swinging his hammer madly. “Beast! I shall end you here and now!”

The Shadow did not turn to him. He waved his hand nonchalantly, and Rhonse flew backwards. He crashed into Imra, knocking him out of his stealthy position. The two crashed to the ground.

“Come, Selquist. We must be heading off.”

“Selquist…” whimpered Thragh, but The Shadow was gone. Selquist began heading off into the cave.

“It really is a pity that you can’t join us as well,” pouted Ragnaros sarcastically. “Different fathers, though. It’s out of our hands, I’m afraid. And now…”

“Sir!” said Fireforge, saluting. Ragnaros turned to him.

“What?”

“That Elf, there. He’s the one who killed Flint. My favorite Human,” explained Fireforge.

“You say Human as others might say dog,” spat Rhonse, standing up.

“I see what you’re getting at,” Ragnaros said to his friend, ignoring Rhonse. “You may kill him and his companions. Take care of this waste of a Dwarf while you’re at it.” Ragnaros waved towards Thragh, who was standing there motionless, no expression on his face. “Make it quick. You know we don’t wait for anyone.”

“Aye, sir.”

As Ragnaros left, Fireforge turned towards Thragh, Rhonse, and Imra, the latter who was now standing up and rubbing his head. “You’re gunna kill all 3 of us? You don’t even have a weapon!” he laughed.

As if on cue, Ragnaros reached into one of the last departing wagons of the Dark Irons and pulled out a giant gun. He threw it effortlessly to Fireforge, but the latter Dwarf had great difficulty holding onto it. The weapon was almost as large as the Dwarf, with a tremendously long muzzle, the back part large and spherical. Fireforge hefted it over his shoulder, aiming it at Rhonse and Imra.

“That looks like the most inconvenient rifle ever,” pointed out the Paladin. Fireforge laughed.

“Rifles shoot bullets, lad.”

Without another word, the Dark Iron pulled a large lever at the back. There was a ‘chink’ noise, and after a moment a bright flash accompanied with a deafening ‘bang’ shot out of the muzzle. Fireforge was launched backwards from the recoil, as a mine the size of a Human head flew through the air. Imra and Rhonse instinctively scattered in opposite directions, the mine hitting the pavement and exploding in a fiery blast that would’ve consumed both of them. Cracks extended along the ground from where the blast had hit.

“By all the Gods!” shouted Rhonse, diving out of the way of another blast.

Fireforge turned towards Thragh. The Priest was still standing there, emotionless. He didn’t seem to notice any of his surroundings. Fireforge pulled the lever on his weapon, but at the last moment Imra flew through the air and pulled Thragh out of the way.

“Now is not the time to be lethargic,” snapped the Elf. When Thragh did not reply, Imra decided to try a tactic that had worked on Rhonse, and slapped him across the face. Thragh blinked.

“Urgh…what?” he muttered. “Selquist…my own brother…”

“Yeah. He’s a bastard,” agreed Imra. “Now let’s move, shall we?”

Elf and Dwarf turned to see another mine come hurtling through the air at them. Imra slammed his eyes shut, certain this was the end, for real this time, when the air erupted in flames around him. He opened his eyes to see a golden shield erected around him and Thragh.

“That’s…convenient,” he mumbled. The shield soon dissipated, however.

“Lads, this has gone on far enough,” growled Fireforge. “No one interferes with the Dark Iron Dwarves. Nobody!” He brought his hand up to the lever-

When Rhonse charged into him, knocking him to the ground. The gun shot upwards, and a mine launched into the air. It curved slightly, then went to head back towards the ground. Rhonse, cursing gravity, quickly crawled away. Fireforge grabbed onto his leg, attempting to pull him back over. Swinging his mace around, the Paladin smashed his opponent in the side of the head, loosening his grip. Rhonse flung himself away and brought his arms over his head, as the explosion landed on top of Fireforge.

When the smoke cleared, there was very little left of the Dwarf. The large gun rolled off to the side.

“Gods know we don’t need one of these in the world,” panted Rhonse, as he picked up the weapon. He opened up the back, unloading a huge pile of powder onto the ground. “Odd…that such a gun would work…those Dark Irons are on to something…and that scares me greatly…” Now devoid of it’s explosive substance, Rhonse threw the weapon onto the ground and smashed it with his hammer.

“I knew you guys…” muttered Thragh, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re new to town. You were in the bar last night…drank me right under the table, yeh did,” he laughed half-heartedly, pointing at Imra. “And you…I always see you at the cathedral, studyin’ and prayin’. I marvel at your conviction, but can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever took the time to have any fun,” he continued, this time talking to Rhonse.

“It’s…I…there’s no time for fun,” snapped Rhonse. “Your brother betrayed the Alliance. He’s a Dark Iron now. He’s our enemy.” Thragh said nothing.

“Give him a break, Rhonse,” snapped back Imra. “Listen, buddy…how about you join us?”

Thragh perked his head up a bit. “Eh?” he asked.

“I am Rhonse Darius,” announced the Human. “And this is Imra…um…he doesn’t have a last name, apparently. We’re on a mission to destroy the Dark Iron Dwarves. Would you like to join us?”

“Yes,” agreed Thragh without even taking a moment to think about it. “If it’ll help me get Selquist back, then yes.”

“Alright then!” cheered Imra. “Let’s get going, and-”

They were all knocked to the ground by another deafening explosion. The mountain path the Dark Irons had used fell in upon itself, rocks tumbling from the rest of the mountain to fill up the gaps. Rhonse slapped his forehead.

“Stupid…of course they wouldn’t leave their escape route wide open for anyone to follow.” He sighed. “Looks like we’ll have to take the long way.”

“And that is…?” asked Thragh.

“Um. Let’s go to a cartography store, shall we?”

And so the three companions did just that. Unfolding a map Rhonse had bought with his abundance of gold, they traced a line along where they needed to go.

“We’re here, in Stormwind,” pointed Rhonse. “We need to go out through Elwynn Forest, through Deadwind Pass, into the Blasted Lands, up through Horde territory in the Swamp of Sorrows, Redridge Mountains, and finally into the Burning Steppes, where Blackrock Mountain is.”

“Is that all?” asked Imra sarcastically.

“Come on, it’ll be easy,” chuckled Rhonse. “We’ll cut through all those places like a hot knife through butter.”

“I could’ve sworn Selquist was talking about some of those areas a couple days ago…something about a mafia, and Orcs, and Dragons, and-”

“We can handle it,” snapped Rhonse darkly.

As they prepared to head out, Imra and Thragh fell behind Rhonse.

“He seems a bit…edgy…” muttered Thragh.

“He’s been through a lot, apparently,” commented Imra, “but yeah. Might not be too fun with him around…”

“This isn’t about fun,” snapped Rhonse, turning to face them. “This is about…vengeance.”

He turned back, walking over the bridge out of Stormwind and into Elwynn Forest. Imra shrugged, winking and Thragh, and bolted past both of them, kicking up a trail of dust as he went. Thragh laughed and ran as fast as he could, which wasn’t nearly fast enough. Rhonse did not laugh, but took to running, and all three were soon out of sight of their home, Stormwind City.

In the recesses of Rhonse Darius’ mind, several thoughts were bouncing about. One was that Imra and Thragh weren’t taking this seriously. Their light-hearted disposition put his mission in jeopardy. He didn’t need them. And Thragh’s compassion for his brother…hah.

Selquist would not get redemption. He did not deserve it, nor did any Dark Iron Dwarf. They would all die by his hand.

[Inquisitor7]

Another good chapter. I especially liked the first exchanges between Imra and Rhonses:


“Wait!” urged Rhonse. “I need help.”

“I’ll say…” muttered Imra under his breath.


That was particularly good.

Plot-wise, things are moving in an interesting direction, and the description of The Shadow's aura struck me as another good example of writing skill.

I don't have any major complaints, though I noticed one egregious grammatical error:


When Rhonse charged into him, knocking him to the ground. The gun shot upwards, and a mine launched into the air.

You have a sentence fragment in the first part of the quoted material. All that is needed to fix this is a comma after "groud" such that the second sentence becomes one with the fragment.

Otherwise, I enjoyed this update, and I look forward to more. Thanks for posting!

[Mr_Teatime]

(chapter 3, part 1)

Imagine a babbling brook cutting through a beautiful forest in the evening time. The light of stars is reflecting out of the water, forming an eerie light. Imagine a small deer slowly approaching the brook to take a quick drink and be on its way. Imagine a Dwarf in white robes stumble up and vomit into his own reflection. The Dwarf wiped his mouth, glad to have gotten that out of the way, and headed back towards where he had come from.

The Goldshire pub, almost exclusively visited by Humans, was proving to be a fun place this evening. Normally Humans aren’t nearly as renowned for their drinking parties as a race like the Dwarves, but tonight they had help. Thragh walked back in the back door of the bar.

Humans were crowded around, clapping, talking, dancing, and having more fun than they remembered having in years. A bunch of tables had been pushed together, and on top of them all was Imra, dancing in everyone’s food without a care in the world. And surprisingly no one seemed to mind that their food was being stepped in and their drinks were being knocked over.

In the corner of the bar, a few Humans were playing on simple wooden guitars. They were playing for money that Thragh had offered them. He had gotten this money from Rhonse, insisting he would spend it on orphans. As far as Rhonse knew, this was exactly what he had done.

Imra was singing a Dwarvish drinking song, and badly at that. At one point he attempted to rip off his tunic, but couldn’t tear through the tough leather. He shrugged, and continued on fully clothed.

Several women in the crowd were swooning nonetheless. Night Elves possess a strange charm that enthralls just about every creature of the opposite sex, no matter the race. Imra reached down and grabbed the hand of one of these females and pulled her up onto the table with him. She was stunningly good-looking. She giggled and looked around nervously, obviously unsure what to do on a table in a bar. Imra started dancing with her, still wailing his song in a high-pitched voice.

There were very few people not having fun. A group of large Humans, covered in more hair than is considered normal, were sitting in a dark corner far from everyone else, heads bent together and talking in hushed whispers.

Sitting at a table near the action was Rhonse, staring furiously at a book but unable to read a single word due to the noise. He had reluctantly agreed to take off his ceremonial chain mail armor, which was sitting up in their room with all their weapons. He was clad in a loose red tunic with no sleeves and loose blue pants. He felt completely naked. He rubbed his arms self-consciously, and tried to pick up something, anything, from the page in front of him.

“Excuse me, sir, but I can’t concentrate on my studies,” stated Rhonse politely, tapping the man on the shoulder. “Could you please clap a little quieter and ask everyone to calm down?”

The man glanced at him slightly, but continued clapping nonetheless. In this instance he cared so little that he actually broke the record for being most apathetic to someone’s plight in the history of Azeroth.

Rhonse growled and slammed the book shut. He finished the last few sips of his glass of water, then stood up and walked over to Imra.

“Imra!” he called. The Elf ignored him, continuing to dance with the dark-haired Human. Rhonse drew in the breath to call out again, when suddenly he had all the breath knocked out of him. He locked eyes with the female on the table, his heart jumping up so sharply it nearly punctured a lung. He coughed, and climbed onto the table with them.

“Ah, Rhonse! So good of you to join us!” shouted Imra, laughing. The girl giggled too, staring deep into Rhonse’s eyes.

“Um…good day, Imra,” coughed Rhonse, not paying attention to anything he was saying.

“Is this where the party is?” called up Thragh, who was attempting to climb onto the table. He was having difficult, however. Rhonse had to half-heartedly reach down and pluck up the Dwarf.

“My dear girl, this is Rhonse Darius – he’s a Paladin, one of those hard-ass fighters who pray a lot,” announced Imra. Rhonse scowled at this introduction. He extended his hand to shake with the lady, but Imra continued on heedless to this. “And that figure standing at about knee height is Thragh Celebundin. You ever hear those lame jokes where a priest walks into a bar? They were written about him.” Thragh, Imra, and the girl all had a good laugh about this, while Rhonse stood there impatiently.

“I do not think you should be swearing in this company, Imra,” said Rhonse. Imra blinked at him.

“I did?”

“Yes, you commented on my…behind.”

“Your ass?”

“Imra!”

“What?”

Rhonse sighed, putting his head in his hands. Shrugging, he pulled himself back together.

“What’s your name, my fair lady?” he asked.

“I’m Sallie,” she replied.

“Why, that’s a beautiful name…”

“Hey Rhonse, you got the hots for her or something?” asked Imra. Rhonse growled, almost ripping a tuft of his hair out. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll let you two dance.” Imra pushed Sallie forwards into Rhonse. The Paladin hadn’t exactly been expecting this, so he toppled over backwards.

The back of Rhonse’ head hit a beer bottle and sent it splashing backwards into the person who had been holding it. He collapsed to the ground. He looked up to see a very angry, very wet man seething down at him. He was one of the very scary people who had been sitting in a dark corner, ferociously avoiding the fun. Rhonse slowly stood up, and bowed before the man.

“My deepest, most sincere apologies, sir,” he said. “Here, let me…um…” Rhonse brushed at some of the spilt beer on the man’s shirt, to no avail. The man growled, bearing a set of horribly mistreated teeth.

“Daddy…please,” muttered Sallie, climbing off the table and approaching Rhonse’ side. Rhonse’ eyes widened in shock.

“This man is your father?” he gasped. He caught the thug’s angry glance, and quickly added in, “of course, I mean, you’re both so...good-looking…”

“Listen, bub!” shouted an angry voice. The thug looked around in confusion for a moment, before the voice shouted, “down here!” Thragh locked eyes with the man. “Move along, it was a bloody accident.”

“…You spilt my beer,” rumbled the man. “This does not make me happy.”

“Alright, buddy, you want trouble? I’ll give yeh trouble.” Thragh grabbed a stool and smashed it with all his might against his enemy’s kneecaps. The big man growled, but showed no sign of pain. Thragh gulped, backed up, and gave Rhonse an encouraging pat on the thigh. “He’s all yours, pal.”

“Now, I don’t want a confrontation,” began Rhonse, when the empty beer mug smashed against his forehead. Rhonse flew backwards, crashing into the table Imra was on, knocking it and the Elf over. Rhonse nimbly jumped back up, raising his arms in fighting position.

“I demand you apologize to the barkeep for denting his mug on my head,” snarled the Paladin.

“Don’t,” pleaded Sallie, grabbing Rhonse’ arm. “They’re under Jerod…”

“Who the hell is that?” shouted Imra, picking himself back up and trying to fix the table.

“He runs the Defias Mafia in this region,” whispered Sallie. “You’re getting in over your head…just leave now, please.”

Rhonse put his hands down, and straightened his jerkin. “Imra, Thragh,” he called, as the two lined up next to him. “We’re leaving.”

“Just like that? No bashing heads, pulling out a can of Paladin whoop-ass?” asked Imra, obviously disappointed.

“I don’t like unnecessary violence. We can sleep under the stars tonight. Builds character.” Rhonse stepped out of the building. Imra sighed and stepped after him.

Thragh stood there a moment longer, obviously torn. Finally he went to the barkeeper.

“How much for an entire keg of beer we could take with us on our travels…?”

Outside, Rhonse inhaled deeply the fresh forest air. Imra gave a long, over-exaggerated sigh. “We could’ve kicked all their asses.”

“Yes, but we didn’t need to.”

Thragh exited the building head first, crashing into the grass. He picked himself up, and approached his two companions.

“You know, I’ve never slept under the stars…I say we do it…far, far away from this bar.” He rushed past, his stubby legs taking him as fast as they could. Rhonse and Imra unanimously agreed that a hasty departure would probably be a good idea, and followed into the woods.

The three set up camp out of sight of the town, the moonlight shining down in between the tree branches. Rhonse attempted to make himself a bed of leaves, shivering in the chill night air. All his armor was still at the inn; he’d have to return for it later.

“Why don’t yeh go sleep in a tree, yeh Elf,” taunted Thragh playfully. Imra laughed.

“Why don’t you bury yourself a hole in the ground, Dwarf.” The two giggled like little kids, causing Rhonse to scowl in annoyance.

“You’re both drunk,” he snapped.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way,” returned Imra.

[Mr_Teatime]

(chapter 3, part 2)

Imra and Thragh were soon snoring peacefully, but Rhonse found himself laying awake for a few hours. He finally drifted off, but only managed to sleep for an hour or two before he woke up to rain dripping on his face.

Opening his eyes, he realized it wasn’t rain that was dripping on his face. It was the saliva of a bear that was dripping on his face.

“Gnnk,” he gasped. He could still hear Thragh and Imra snoring. Rhonse squirmed backwards, inch by inch, until he bumped into the sleeping Elf. “Imra,” he hissed. “Imra!”

“But mom…” moaned Imra, still sleeping.

“Imra! Wake up!”

He muttered groggily, shaking his head. He sat up and looked at Rhonse. “What?” he asked.

“We’ve got company,” motioned Rhonse. Imra looked at the bear, who was lumbering over to them, his massive set of teeth showing.

“Holy crap,” shouted Imra, jolting upright. Rhonse flinched, fearing the bear would take this as a threatening motion, and attack. There was a strange gargling noise, but it was only Thragh, who rolled over onto his side, still sound asleep.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” cautioned Rhonse, when Imra grabbed a stick off the ground and threw it at the bear’s head. “That was a sudden movement!”

“Don’t worry, I know how to handle these things. My, erm, mother used to tame animals as a hobby. She taught me how to calm them down,” explained Imra.

“Why did you throw the stick at its head?”

“That was a nervous reaction.”

The bear took a few more steps forward, a deep growl emanating out of its throat. Imra approached it, his blue skin almost disappearing into the dark night. Rhonse had to strain his eyes to see what was going on.

Imra reached down and picked up another branch. He held it in front of the bear, drawing its attention to it. He slowly brought the stick towards his chest, and the animal stepped closer. Imra slowly reached his hand out and rubbed the top of the beast’s head. It growled for a moment, then calmed down. When the Elf began scratching behind an ear, the creature rolled over onto its back.

“That…that was amazing!” gasped Rhonse.

“We Elves are good with animals. Not nearly as cool a trait as being able to drink your own weight in alcohol, but it comes in handy.”

“Aaaahh! Bear!” screamed Thragh, who instantly called forth two healing prayers to cast on Rhonse and Imra. They blinked at him, as the bear curled up at Imra’s feet and fell asleep.

“…Yeah. I’m going back to bed,” commented the Elf, as he curled up next to the bear.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? He might attack us in our sleep,” cautioned Rhonse.

“But he’s warm,” was Imra’s argument. Thragh walked over and curled up on the other side of the bear.

“Oh, he is,” agreed the Dwarf.

Rhonse looked over, seeing no more room, then sighed and got back onto his bed of leaves. “Yeah, well, leaves are warm too,” he snapped. This time he fell asleep rather quickly.

But it was much too soon that the sun was shining in his eyes, signifying that it was time to hit the road. Rhonse stood up, and was quite surprised to see that his two companions were still not eaten, curled up peacefully with the bear.

“Idiots,” he muttered, standing up and brushing leaves off of his clothes. He found himself in a foul mood, probably from lack of sleep. “Wake up,” he snapped.

“wha?” muttered Imra, waking up. The bear jolted up, too, and growled menacingly at Rhonse. The Paladin flinched and backed up.

Thragh grumbled something unintelligible, rubbing his eyes as he woke up. “Hey Imra, hey Rhonse, hey bear.”

“Let’s head back into town and grab our equipment,” said Rhonse, already heading off. Imra and Thragh took a few moments to fully wake up, then followed in the Human’s wake. When they caught up with him, they turned around to see that the bear was also following.

“I think it likes you, Imra,” commented Thragh.

“It’s so cute, isn’t it? I mean…once you look past the huge dripping fangs. And I suppose it could use a bath.”

“It’s a bear,” snapped Rhonse. “Dispose of it before it follows us into town and scares someone to death.”

“I think I’ll name him Jahova,” mused the Elf.

“Imra!”

“What?”

“We are not taking that with us!”

“Why not?”

“Because…it’s…a…BEAR!”

Rhonse growled, shaking his head. “We’re almost in town, and you’ll cause a panic with that…him.”

He was prepared to yell at his companion more, when he looked into town and saw Sallie. All other thoughts instantly left his mind. He ran forwards, calling her name. She turned to greet him.

“Hey! Rhonse, was it?” she asked.

“Yes!” he answered, deeply pleased that she remembered.

“The hard-ass,” she giggled.

“Um…yeah…” Rhonse’ dark skin blushed. “Listen, about last night-”

“No, please,” she started. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault. I wanted to know if you could tell me anything about this mafia. Who was that man you mentioned? Jeremy?”

“Jerod,” she whispered. “Perhaps we better…go for a walk.” She grabbed the Paladin’s arm and pulled him off down a dirt path. Imra and Thragh entered the town and looked around, saw the two head off.

“Well, certainly don’t wanna disturb those two,” laughed Thragh.

“I wouldn’t want to go after Rhonse no matter what,” snapped Imra. “May he by eaten by fat rabid bears. Um…totally unlike handsome, skinny Jahova,” he added, nervously glancing at his new pet.

“I don’t think he can understand what you’re saying,” pointed out the Dwarf. “And if you and Rhonse hold such obvious contempt for each other, why’d you agree to work together? Why are you both on this adventure?”

“I…I have my reasons, ok?” snapped Imra, suddenly very defensive. “Grah. I need a beer.”

“But we just woke up…”

“I know, I need to drink off this hangover.” Imra headed for the bar, and Thragh shrugged and followed.

“The Defias Mafia is a growing power all around the Eastern Kingdoms, but Jerod is the head of operations in Elwynn Forest. He knows about everything that goes on in here. His thugs – including my dad – terrorize the people, making them pay protection money and keeping tabs on everyone, making them stay in line. He probably already knows about you and your friends,” Sallie explained as she and Rhonse walked out of town.

“I can’t let this go on. My friends and I will get Jerod out of power,” assured Rhonse. “Would you happen to know where I could find him?”

“I tracked my dad one night. He went to the docks that I believe are Jerod’s headquarters. If you wanna find him, I’d look there first,” explained Sallie.

Imra and Thragh came walking down the road towards them, Jahova trailing right behind. Thragh was carrying all of Rhonse’ armor, and having a difficult time walking with such heavy weight. Imra was throwing the Paladin’s war-hammer up and down in the air, giggling with amusement when he successfully managed to make it summersault and still catch it.

“Got yer stuff,” the Dwarf panted, unceremoniously dropping all the armor onto the ground. It clattered against each other, making Rhonse flinch.

“Hope you didn’t dent anything,” he muttered. As he began fastening his breastplate back on, he sighed with relief. “Feels so good to get this stuff on again.” He sat down and began putting on the rest of the armor. “Boys, we’re going on an adventure.”

“I thought we were already on one?” asked Imra.

“Well, yes…we’re going to find this Jerod person and get him out of power, so the people of Elwynn can sleep a little easier.”

“Aww, is that your pet?” Sallie cooed, reaching out to pet Jahova. “He’s so cute!” The bear closed his eyes in happiness, tilting his head so Sallie could scratch it better. Rhonse sighed.

“It’s just a stupid bear-” he began, when Jahova turned towards him and growled. “Why does it only do that to me?” he snapped.

“I think he just doesn’t like you,” laughed Imra, taking great amusement out of this.

“Alright…let’s head to these docks,” ordered Rhonse.

“I’ll show you the way,” said Sallie, as she headed off. Man, Dwarf, Elf and bear followed.

The only building on the docks didn’t look like the base of operations for a mafia. It actually looked rather peaceful.

“Alright, so let’s go in and-” began Imra, heading for the front door, when Rhonse grabbed him and twirled him around.

“Are you insane?” he snapped. “We can’t just waltz in and politely ask them to stop being mean.” The Paladin looked around, and spotted a tall tree that went over to a window on the second floor of the building. “You’re an Elf, go climb that tree and sneak inside.”

“That is racism. Not all Elves are expert tree climbers,” mumbled Imra, but he went over to it anyway. He deftly climbed up, easily balancing on an extended branch near the top. “The window’s too far away!” he called.

“I’ve got an idea,” piped in Thragh, who grabbed the tree and began climbing up himself. He had much more difficulty, Dwarves by nature not liking the idea of high places. While Imra had made it up unscathed, Thragh was covered in leaves and scratches from branches he had been unable to bypass. “Throw me over there,” he said when he reached his friend.

“What?” asked Imra, baffled. “Are you kidding?”

“No, no, it’ll work. Then I’ll grab something to throw back to you so you can reach it.”

“This is insane…” muttered the Elf, but he grabbed Thragh anyway and hurled him through the air. The Priest grabbed onto the windowsill and pulled himself up, disappearing inside the building. After a moment he popped back up, holding a bed sheet. He threw it out the window towards Imra.

At that moment Imra leapt from his branch in an attempt to grab the sheet. He just narrowly missed it, and it fell backwards into the side of the building. Gravity pulled Imra down as well, but he reached out and grabbed it as it was against the wall. The Elf brought up his feet and dragged himself to a stop just at the last moment, his hands grabbing the very last few inches of rope.

“It doesn’t reach down all the way,” Thragh called down to Rhonse and Sallie. “You’ll have to wait out here. Come on Imra!”

“Hnnrgh,” gasped Imra. He bunched his muscles and put every ounce of energy he had into pulling himself up to the window. Finally he accomplished this, falling into the same room as Thragh, panting heavily.

“Hello boys,” said a voice next to them. Imra wearily lifted his head to see a small green man with half a dozen large Human’s behind him.

“A Goblin?” asked Thragh. “Who are you?”

“Why, I am Jerod,” laughed the Goblin. “Do you have any idea how loud you’ve been out there? You men,” he pointed to five of his thugs, “Go outside and kill whoever else is out there.”

When they left, all that remained with Thragh and Imra were Jerod and one thug.

“Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” laughed the Dwarf. “We’re here to kick yer ass, and I plan to do it. Ain’t that right, Imra?”

“Just a minute more,” gasped the Elf, still breathing heavily.

“Hah!” chuckled the Goblin. “I’m not much of a fighter, you know, but I’ll gladly take you in any manner of fight you’d like.”

“What about a drinking contest?” inquired the Elf.

“Hah! A drinking contest with a Dwarf? That’s suicide!”

“No. With me,” insisted Imra.

“Ahh…then it’s on,” agreed Jerod. “But none of your sickly Elven wine. We drink real beer.”

“Oh no, the horror,” mumbled Imra sarcastically.

“You there,” Jerod said to his final thug, “go get as many kegs of beer as you can carry and bring them back here. You’re going down, Elf,” he snarled.

The final thug went downstairs and came back up, a keg under each arm. He placed them down in between Imra and Jerod. Each contestant was given a cup.

Jerod filled his first cup and downed it in one gulp. Imra did the same. Their arms became blurs, flying back and forth between the kegs and their mouths.

“Come on, Imra, you can do it!” cheered on Thragh.

Imra turned his blurry eyes to his companion, and saw a beautiful female Night Elf standing there. He shook his head furiously and turned back to drinking.

Outside Rhonse and Sallie stood nervously, unsure of what was going on inside. When the door burst open and five thugs surrounded them, they knew that Imra and Thragh had failed.

“Leave her out of this,” snapped Rhonse. “You can all fight me.”

“That hardly seems fair,” laughed one of the thugs.

“You’re right. You can go get some reinforcements if you’d like.”

One of the thugs standing behind him charged. Rhonse spun around and belted his fist outwards, punching into his adversary’s gut. The thug gasped and fell to the ground.

All the others attacked at once. Rhonse ducked under one punch, spinning around and rising with his elbow connecting into someone’s chin. He reached out and grabbed another arm coming his way, spinning the whole person around into someone else. The two clunked heads and collapsed. One thug was wielding a sharp piece of wood, and came at Rhonse with it. They grappled for a moment, before Rhonse finally managed to wrestle the weapon free. He jumped backwards, waving the spike, when he heard a gurgling noise and felt blood splash onto him. He turned to see that he had inadvertently impaled one of his enemies in the throat.

“Oh…no…I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to kill any of you…” gasped the Paladin, but it was too late. The other thugs started backing up, as Rhonse lowered the dead body onto the ground.

“That…was my father,” whispered Sallie behind him.

Out of the building came Jerod, wobbling visibly. “He cheatsh!” he babbled, his voice slurring. “The Elf cheatsh!” Jerod turned and was very surprised to see that one man had single-handedly beaten most of his thugs. He was even more surprised to find a bear jump out of nowhere and pin him to the ground. Imra hobbled out next.

“Good Jahova,” he praised, then fell onto the ground. Thragh came out next, dragging the last thug.

“I swear, once you get your kneecaps bashed in, you Humans fall right to pieces,” he announced.

“I’m sorry,” Rhonse said quietly to Sallie. He backed up and picked up Jerod. “I…better take him to the authorities,” he said. He walked off, not looking back at Sallie. Thragh gently prodded Imra awake and the two followed. Even Imra felt bad for how obviously sad the Paladin was.

“Rhonse…it wasn’t your fault,” he mumbled, still hazy from the alcohol. The Paladin smiled, one of the few times he had in front of his companions.

“Thanks, Imra,” he said, and meant it. “Let’s go.”

[Inquisitor7]

This was definitely a solid chapter, and I think that the general content of it was good. You are gradually fleshing out your characters while keeping things light with humor. Comic relief can make a longer chapter easier to get through. Not that this was hard reading. There are some problems I picked up on in the text, and I will point them out below.

Part I:



Imagine a babbling brook cutting through a beautiful forest in the evening time. The light of stars is reflecting out of the water, forming an eerie light. Imagine a small deer slowly approaching the brook to take a quick drink and be on its way. Imagine a Dwarf in white robes stumble up and vomit into his own reflection. The Dwarf wiped his mouth, glad to have gotten that out of the way, and headed back towards where he had come from.


Now, I realize you were going for a humorous transition here, but it felt a little weak to me, I'm sorry to say. Also, I think you meant to say a "bubbling brook" and not a "babbling" one.

Anyway, the first part of the chapter struck me as interesting and quite entertaining. I am, though, sensing a trend in regards to the group's drinking habits :P

Oh, and I noticed a tendency in your writing: you use the verb "snapped" a lot. I suggest trying to use it less.

On Part II, I found it quite good. The situation with the bear was quite colorful, and the later fight scene with Rhonse and the thugs was brief but well detailed. My only major complaints are these: why did they not have somone at watch while they were sleeping outisde? and the scene where Sallie's father died did not have much emotion (at least in my estimation).

Nevertheless, I am still very interested in this story and I look forward to more!

[Mr_Teatime]

Just a slight change in plans from what was posted at the beggining of the thread that I'd like to let you know about. Instead of 9 chapters, this story will now have 12 chapters. Same amount of plot, I've just decided to divide up the longer chapters so that I can post more often and in doses that are easier to stomach. So here's part 4 of 12:



Everyone had their bad days.

If Imra’s vocabulary were good enough, he would’ve described his past day as abysmally horrifying.

It had started off fine. He woke up on the floor of a bar. Not glamorous, but it suited him just fine. He then went outside to be caught in the middle of an explosion that had devastated his home city. After killing someone through self-defense, getting caught up with a group of adventurer, taking down a mafia leader, and having to put up with Rhonse Darius, all he wanted to do was curl up in his nice warm bed.

Why did I leave home? He shouted to himself. I may not have liked it there, but it was better than this! Mom is so gunna kill me…

He wanted to scream out, yell at the world for all the horrors it had inflected upon him. He wanted to call it quits, tell his companions he was done.

But somewhere along the path between his brain and his mouth, all those words became “bluh.”

“You say something?” asked Thragh.

“No.”

Thragh was next to him, riding on the back of a large grizzly bear who had refused to leave Imra’s side ever since they left Elwynn. The bear seemed to like Thragh, as well. The only one he didn’t like was Rhonse.

Rhonse new none of his other companions particularly cared for him, and he didn’t particularly care for them either. But at the moment he just couldn’t keep up his macho appearance. His shoulders were slumped, his feet were shuffling, and he was staring down at the ground, not acknowledging any of his surroundings. He had been that way for the past hour, after having accidentally killed the father of a girl he had fallen for. They had left quickly.

He knew now that was a cowardly thing to do. He should have stayed there, helped bury him, apologized to Sallie and properly said goodbye…

Thragh was the only one who seemed content with things. No matter where events took them, he tried to remain jolly and light-hearted. It caused him physical pain to be serious for more than a few minutes. But in the darkest recesses of his mind, he was more hurt than either of his friends.

His brother had betrayed him. The whole reason he was on this adventure was to either win him back…or kill him along with the other Dark Iron Dwarves.

Not wanting to think about it, he quickly tried to start conversation.

“So, seriously, what’s the deal with Tauren? They’re, like…part Orc, part cow…”

“Mreh,” mumbled Imra.

“Shut up,” snarled Rhonse.

In the shadows of the trees, a creature growled, not liking that comment too much, and continued following the companions.

“Why is it so dark?” continued to ponder the Dwarf. “It should be mid-afternoon, shouldn’t it?”

There were canyons looming up on either side of them. The whole area had a dead gray look to it. No wind stirred.

Rhonse, still staring at the ground, walked into something. He jolted to attention, as Imra, also staring at the ground, continued walking and knocked him over. The two untangled themselves and stood up, as Thragh surveyed the tree in front of them.

Multiple Human corpses were hanging from the boughs. There were no leaves, as if the tree itself was the symbol of death. Carved into the trunk were the words “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.”

“That’s…foreboding,” commented Thragh.

“Yes…rather ominous indeed,” agreed Rhonse.

“And spooky, too,” said Imra. “Maybe we should take a different path.”

Rhonse took out his map and studied it for a moment. “This seems to be the only way. Deadwind Pass. Geez, who names these places? It leads to the Blasted Lands. Once there, we can rest at Nethergarde Keep.”

“Maybe all those people hung themselves,” said Imra, tossing out ideas in an attempt to calm himself down. “Maybe there’s nothing in this Deathwind Pass to worry about.”

“Deadwind,” corrected Rhonse.

“Oh, silly me, how dare I confuse to different tenses of the word die,” said Imra sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Will you two stop this?” screamed Thragh. His voice echoed throughout the canyon, and Rhonse and Imra instantly stopped bickering to turn to him. “Listen,” he hissed, softer but just as hearable, “you two have been at each other’s throats ever since we left Stormwind. Now if we’re going to work together on such an important adventure, I’m really gunna need you to start being nice or at least not be so bloody loud in your hatred, before I go and throw myself off the nearest cliff.” Thragh stopped to catch his breath, then went on, “now shake hands, you too. Go on. Shake hands.”

Rhonse looked around awkwardly, then sighed. “Fine, I’ll agree to be friends if you do.”

“Damnit,” cursed Imra, none-too-subtly. Nevertheless, the two grudgingly shook hands.

“Good,” nodded Thragh. “Now let’s RHONSE LOOK OUT!”

All three looked up to see a gargantuan vulture swoop down from above the canyon walls. It cawed violently, the noise echoing up and down the valley. Rhonse and Imra unsheathed their weapons, as Thragh stepped back and prepared a spell.

Rhonse swung out with his mighty hammer, but the vulture reared its head back, dodging the blow. It bolted back in and brought a claw down on Rhonse’s shoulder, raking across his flesh. Rhonse screamed and fell to his knees.

Imra took his place and brought his axe around, but his fighting skills were not nearly as honed as Rhonse’s. The swing did nothing but disorient him, as the vulture cawed again and clawed Imra across the face. He fell to the ground, unconscious before he had the chance to scream.

During that moment, though, Rhonse had managed to heal himself, as Thragh lashed out the spell he had been working on. A bolt of dark energy launched forth, and hit the creature dead on. It screamed in pain, instantly deciding the Dwarf was the biggest threat. As it turned towards him, Rhonse crawled under it and brought his weapon up with all his might, hitting the soft underbelly.

The creature grabbed Rhonse’s shoulders with its claws, and threw him off to the side. Thragh knelt by Imra and quickly waved a hand over the wound on his face, muttering an incantation of healing. Jahova got up on his haunches and roared menacingly at the vulture. Thragh found himself oddly moved by how the bear seemed willing to die to defend Imra.

The vulture brought its back legs forward, knocking the bear to its side. Thragh summoned a ball of pure light and threw it at the monster. The light was so bright that the vulture screamed in pain, it’s eyes searing under the intensity. Rhonse ran back over and grabbed the beast’s tail while it was disoriented, and began pulling backwards. The vulture fought vehemently, madly flapping it’s wings and cawing. Rhonse bunched his muscles and pulled as hard as he could, dragging the monster away from his companions.

Imra felt his cheek where the wound was and was surprised to find it healed over, although the skin felt rough and caked with blood. He rushed to the Paladin’s side and aided in dragging the vulture away from Thragh. The priest summoned every ounce of magical energy he had in him, launched attacks of light and darkness at the beast’s mind. It screamed in agony, a hideous noise that seemed to pierce the sound barrier. The noise was so agonizing, Imra and Rhonse had to struggle just to remain standing.

When Thragh had no more energy left in him, he collapsed onto the ground, lacking the strength to even remain upright. And yet the vulture still seemed able to fight. Rhonse grabbed his mallet and rushed forwards suddenly, smashing the vulture’s beak as hard as he could. He summoned up all his strength and holy energy to add to the final blow, and when he attacked again the creature’s neck snapped, killing it instantly.

Imra kept pulling for a moment, though, and when suddenly there was no tension pulling back, he launched backwards, tripping off the ledge of a cliff he hadn’t noticed was there.

He screamed as Rhonse bolted forwards, grabbing the Elf’s arm. Imra dangled off the ledge, Rhonse laying on his stomach, straining to hold on.

Thragh, his legs seemingly turned to gelatin, crawled forwards, latching himself onto a rock with one hand and grabbing Rhonse’s leg with the other.

As they hung there, no one saying anything, hoping they could even keep the strength to hang on, never mind pull back up, Thragh couldn’t help but wonder what Selquist was doing at that very moment…



At that very moment, Selquist didn’t care in the least what his brother was doing. In fact, Thragh had not crossed his mind once since they had parted ways.

The Dark Iron caravan was arriving back within Blackrock Mountain. The path they had taken, directly through a mountain range leading all the way to Stormwind, had been carefully lined with explosives to very precisely collapse the path back so no one could follow them.

On the very back of the caravan along with Selquist was Ragnaros, second in command of the Dark Irons. The leader, a mysterious being seemingly existing as pure shadow energy, had teleported straight back to Blackrock Depths from Stormwind.

Selquist had been quite intrigued with “The Shadow.” Ragnaros explained what he could, which wasn’t much.

“We don’t think he’s a Dwarf,” commented the second in command, “but then again you hardly need to be to be a Dark Iron Dwarf…” he added as his eyes flared with fire. “The Shadow is…well, a shadow elemental. While most elementals are hardly even Humanoids, this one possesses…well, amazing intelligence in addition to his almost unending magical energy. He is an amazing general, tactician, and leader. I believe he simply wanted to find an organization worthy enough to help him achieve domination over the world. The Dark Iron Dwarves were who he chose.”

“I must admit, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle suddenly jumping into the position of third in command,” said Selquist hesitantly. “I’ve never had much military experience. I know how to fight, but that’s just from growing up in the slums of Stormwind.”

“Don’t worry about it, The Shadow has put me in charge of personally overseeing your training,” insisted Ragnaros. “Leading us is in your blood. I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion.”

As they stepped off the caravan, Selquist looked around in awe. Inside the mountain was an entire city carved out of the stone. It was as if millions of architects had started digging out the mountain, chiseling out streets and the insides of houses. What was left were fortified into guard towers, houses, markets. As Selquist and Ragnaros passed through the main gates, Selquist’s head darting around in awe, two guards saluted.

“Sir Ragnaros! Sir…Celebundin?” the guard blinked in bewilderment.

“This is his son, whom you will also address as Sir Celebundin,” instructed Ragnaros.

“Do I really look that much like my father?” asked Selquist.

“It’s remarkable, actually,” commented Ragnaros. He paused, and turned to the guard who had welcomed them. “Seargent Bloodshade, I’d like to speak with you after I’ve shown Sir Celebundin around.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

Selquist blinked, and when he opened his eyes The Shadow was standing there in front of him.

“You are relieved, Mr. Ragnaros,” he said. “I would like to personally show Mr. Celebundin around.”

“Oh…um, of course,” acknowledged Ragnaros, startled. He had never quite gotten used to his master suddenly appearing in front of him. The Shadow put his hand on Selquist’s shoulder and led the Dwarf into the city.

“You are loyal to us now…” Ragnaros heard The Shadow tell Selquist, before they blended into the hustle and bustle of Blackrock Depths. The second in command turned to Seargent Bloodshade.

“I’ve got a task for you,” he said. “Three people are attempting to reach our base, a Human Paladin, a Dwarf Priest, and a Night Elf with a pet bear. Kill them all.” Ragnaros waved his hand, and the air in between them opened into a portal of fire. Through it they saw Imra hanging off the edge of a cliff, Rhonse on his stomach trying to hold on to him, and Thragh laying on the ground, trying desperately to help pull them back up.

“Looks like they’re gunna kill themselves,” commented Bloodshade.

“They look incompetent, but they are not. I’ve been scrying on them since they left Stormwind. They’re idiots, yes…but capable of causing damage to us. Stop them at all costs.”

“Sir, yes sir!” saluted Bloodshade.



“You’re gunna have to pull me up sometime!” screamed Imra, his feet dangling over hundreds of feet of nothing.

“We’re trying! What, do you think I’m stalling here just to freak you out?” shouted back Rhonse.

“I wouldn’t put it past you!”

“Children, stop fighting!” snapped Thragh.

“You stay out of this, Dwarf!” hissed Rhonse.

“Leave him alone!” defended Imra.

“You know, I could drop you at any moment.”

“That wouldn’t be very Paladin-like, now would it?”

Darn, he’s right, cursed Rhonse in his brain. As much as they bickered, Rhonse would never actually let Imra die. Besides, if he did, that would be one less person to help him defeat the Dark Irons…

It took a while, to the point where Imra lost all feeling in his legs, but they eventually managed to pull back up onto solid ground. They lay there panting for several more moments, then began heading off again.

It was another two days before Deadwind Pass was finally behind them. The dreary caverns gradually turned into an equally dreary desert. Lightning was crackling in the distance. It looked to be night, but it was difficult to be certain.

“Come on, can’t we go somewhere without any stupid ominous signs?” asked an exasperated Imra.

“We’re about another days journey from Nethergarde Keep,” insisted Rhonse. “We can rest up there for a day or two, then make our way up to the Swamp of Sorrows.”

“Of sorrows,” continued Imra. “Why can’t it be, I dunno, the Swamp of Candy? Or the Swamp of Hot Chicks?”

“It is supposedly very humid there.”

“You…obviously don’t get what I mean by that.”

“Hey guys…” muttered Thragh, drawing the attention of his two comrades. “I thought this place was supposed to be full of, you know, monsters and beasts and other unpleasantries? Isn’t it a bit odd that ever since that giant vulture,
we’ve been left alone?”

“I try not to question what is obviously divine intervention,” said Rhonse. “You shouldn’t either, as you too draw your powers from the Gods.”

“Yes, I do, and as such I have no qualms in saying that we’re not worth the trouble of keeping everything around here at bay. No, something else is up…”

“Oh, will you quit worrying?” laughed Imra, as he kept walking ahead. “If nothing wants to attack us, then that’s fine with meeeeeeee!!!!”

The others watched in shock as Imra suddenly plummeted through the sand and disappeared.

“Ow…” came his echoing voice from the bottom of the pit. Rhonse and Thragh rushed over and looked down. Imra had fallen a good twenty feet. He landed on his butt, and was largely uninjured.

“This hole looks man-made,” commented Rhonse.

“I don’t care who made it, get me out of here!” screamed the Elf.

Suddenly Jahova growled menacingly. Rhonse and Thragh looked around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“What is it, boy?” asked Thragh, stroking the bear’s back. “What’s wrong?”

Jahova growled again, staring towards a small rise hidden in the shadows of a larger mountain. Thragh strained his eyes to see.

“I think that’s…Rhonse, look out!”

The Priest and Paladin simultaneously called forth shields of holy energy. Something small came zooming out of the shadows at lightning speed and bounced harmlessly off Thragh’s shield. Bending over to pick it up, he recognized the smell of gunpowder.

Rhonse was already charging. Thragh came behind, Jahova with him.

Imra called up helplessly from the pit. “Hello…? Are you still there…?”

Rhonse quickly made his way up the small hill into the shadows, finding nothing.

“Gentlemen, I suggest you put your hands behind your heads,” came a new voice from behind them.

Rhonse twirled with lightning speed, bringing his hammer around in a wide arc. Their adversary put his weapon out, a fairly small axe, with equal speed. He effortlessly parried Rhonse’s blow, then went in himself, punching the Paladin hard in the chest, knocking him back.

Thragh saw that the fighter was a Dwarf. He had two axes, one in his hand, the other strapped across his back. A long Dwarven rifle was on one of his hips, a burlap bag probably filled with ammo on his other.

Thragh noticed the rifle was of Dark Iron design.

“Hey, listen, no hard feelings, but I’ve been sent to kill yeh,” grinned Bloodshade. “Not even sure who you are, but yeh’ve got my bosses worried.” The Dark Iron shrugged. In one swift moment he brought his axe back down as Rhonse tried to stand back up. The blade bit into his arm, slicing down his flesh. Rhonse gasped in pain, fell to the ground as he cradled his limb.

Thragh dove at Bloodshade, and the two fell to the ground. Thragh was at a significant disadvantage, though, because he had no weapon while Bloodshade had several. The Priest immediately began trying to wrestle one of the axes away from the Dark Iron, but Bloodshade was strong. He kicked Thragh back, then grabbed him by the neck.

Bloodshade twirled around and threw Thragh into the side of the mountain. Rock cracked behind him, as the Priest slumped to the ground.

“I dunno why ol’ Ragnaros was so nervous,” laughed Bloodshade. “I hope I don’t have the wrong guys…”

Rhonse shouted and charged. Bloodshade looked in vague amusement to see that his wound had mostly healed, but it had been too deep for holy magic to completely cleanse. There was a deep scar there, and it looked as if there would always be one.

Bloodshade ducked under the hammer, and this time his axe bit into Rhonse’s thigh. As the Paladin stumbled over to Thragh, Bloodshade pulled a Dark Iron bomb out of one of his pouches. Activating a switch on it, he hurled it up towards the top of the mountain. It impacted, and rocks came cascading downwards. One crushed Thragh’s chest. Rhonse dove out of the way, but a sharp fragment bounced and impaled his head.

As the two lay twitching on the ground, their blood collectively forming a pool by them, Bloodshade walked over to the pit. Looking in, he saw Imra.

“Pah, an Elf,” he spat. Imra looked up in confusion, wondering what was going on, as Bloodshade hurried off.

[Inquisitor7]

Sorry for taking so long to reply, but I haven't been able to find the time to read it (until rather recently that is). Unfortunately, I am a little short on specific comments and suggestions, in which case I will say this: I am pretty much hooked. I like the story and I hope you continue it.

[queuequeen]

I enjoyed reading your story! I mean, you can play with words and have them act on our minds!




_________________

take me with you (http://dl.qj.net)

[Mr_Teatime]

Thanks for the comments, guys. They're always appreciated and really help me want to keep writing. Here's chapter 5 of 12: The first encounter with the Horde.



Darkness. There was darkness everywhere.

He was too young to understand what was going on, but he knew it was bad. Very bad.

For one, he was underground, and it was dark. He was terrified of the dark, but without knowing what was going on, he knew whatever was up there was even scarier. It was a primal feeling, one that had evolved in creatures a long time ago.

“Shh, lad, it’s alright,” whispered his uncle soothingly. The boy couldn’t see him, but knew he was there just a few feet in front of him. He also knew that he was wearing his ceremonial armor and held his long sword in two hands. He was pivoted towards the door, waiting for the slightest sign that it was about to open.

There was a soft, rhythmic bumping noise. At first Rhonse thought it was someone knocking on the door, but after a few moments he began to realize that no, that’s not how it had happened…there had been no knocking…

The Paladin was only barely conscious, his head against the ground as pain wracked through his body like electricity. The thudding was reverberating through the desert sand. He wanted to see what it was, but couldn’t move so much as an inch. It felt as if a mountain had landed on him, which, in fact, is what had happened, although he didn’t know this.

The thudding noise got fainter and fainter, as Imra’s feet beating on the ground got farther and farther away. Nethergarde Keep, the only safe haven for the Alliance in these appropriately named Blasted Lands, was visible in the distance, maybe an hour or two away. But Rhonse and Thragh didn’t have an hour or two. They might not even have had two minutes. But Imra ran as fast as his legs would take him, which was impressively fast.

His bear, Jahova, caught up behind him and fell into stride with the Elf. Imra was covered in dirt from head to toe, having just scaled up a ninety-degree dirt wall after several failed attempts. He had no idea what had happened, other than that it had left his two companions on the very verge of death.

He ran and ran until he felt as if his legs would just say “screw you, we quite” and he would collapse onto the ground. But he forced them as much as he could, and was in sight of the guards patrolling in front of Nethergarde Keep when he finally hollered for help and passed out.

He jolted out of a surprisingly comfortable bed and looked around. He gasped, realizing he had passed out before he could tell the guards where Rhonse and Thragh were. Looking around, however, he found both lying in beds in the shame room, heavily bandaged. Two Human soldiers approached him when they noticed he was awake.

“Greetings, Elf,” one of them said, and saluted. “Your pet bear led us to your two companions after you lost consciousness. Both are recovering, although it’ll take a while before they’re back to good health. What happened out there? Were there any others with you?”

“No, good, and I’ve no idea,” answered Imra. “Although not in that order.”

Imra explained what he knew, that he had been stuck in a manmade hole when he heard the explosion that apparently dropped half a mountain on his friends. The Humans, who served as medics within the keep, informed him that the Dwarf suffered a few broken ribs, but they could be bound fairly easily. The Human, however, had sustained head damage, which would require stitches and put him out of commission for a good couple of weeks.

Imra sighed and lay back down in his bed. So much for the adventure. Looks like they’d be making a temporary home here…

But when Rhonse woke up, he kindly declined at the top of his lungs.

“Absolutely not! No! It is direly important that we get on with our travels post-haste!” he screamed two days later, when he had finally woken up.

“Sir, please, calm down,” cautioned one of the soldiers. “A high blood pressure will only hurt things more!”

“I AM CALM!” countered Rhonse, spit flying from his mouth. He panted, and passed out again.

Imra began helping out the soldier’s of Nethergarde, cooking what he knew and helping patrol. He was greatly disgruntled to find the keep did not hold any alcohol.

One of the first times Thragh was awake, Imra say by his bed and spoke with him about their predicament.

“It’s not that bad,” insisted the Elf. “I kinda like it here. Better than always running around and people constantly trying to kill us.”

“Selquist,” said Thragh, and Imra realized he had forgotten why the Dwarf had even wanted to come on this adventure. “I will not rest until I find my brother.”

Imra nodded solemnly. “Aye…if I can’t stop you, then I’m with you every step of the way.”

Rhonse grunted, half awake. Imra and Thragh ignored him.

Much to Rhonse’s dismay, it was two weeks before they left the keep. The soldiers insisted they rest longer, but Rhonse and Thragh agreed that they had wasted enough time already.

And so it was then that they stood at the entrance of Swamp of Sorrows.

Immediately the heat was unbearable. The air felt so thick it seemed to suffocate them. But worse than that were the bugs, which swarmed in such high numbers Imra shuddered from childhood nightmares of being dragged off in the night by evil mosquito monsters. The three had to repeatedly slap themselves in the face and arms from all the bugs landing on them.

“Well this sucks,” scowled Imra.

“It’s not that bad,” assured Rhonse.

“Is too. It’s the Swamp of Sorrows, remember? Although I wouldn’t describe myself as sorrowful exactly. More like seething with rage. But yeah, Swamp of Seething doesn’t quite have that ring to it.”

“Hey, guys, did you hear-” started Thragh, but was ignored.

“Look, this is a small hurdle compared to taking down the Dark Iron Dwarves.
If you can’t handle a few bugs, why don’t you just leave?”

“Because I-” started Imra, but he stopped himself. “Alright, fine. But I give it ten minutes before someone is trying to kill us.”

In fact, it was only six minutes and forty-three seconds before they found themselves suddenly surrounded by pointed weapons. The weapons were held by a half dozen Orcs and Trolls.

“I’m not going to gloat because I am a better person than that, but for the record-” Imra began.

One of the Orcs snapped something in a guttural language, cutting him off. Imra quickly shushed.

The Orcs and Trolls were all dressed in primitive leather vests and leggings. Their weapons were mostly crude spears and swords. Two Orcs began conversing in their language.

“I’ve studied a bit of the Orcish language before. They’re saying something about…a stadium? A coliseum? They keep saying ‘Zharon,’ but I’ve no idea what that means.”

“Why’d you study the Orcish language?” asked Imra.

“Just in case anything like this ever happened to me.”

“My God, you’re paranoid.”

The Orc who seemed to be in the lead snapped again, and the three quieted down. The Alliance travelers had their weapons confiscated, then the Orcs and Trolls behind them began jabbing with their spears, so the Human, Elf and Dwarf figured it was time to start moving. Imra saw that one of the Orcs had grabbed Jahova by the neck and was attempting to fit a harness around it. The great bear was fighting vehemently, but the Orc took him down.

They soon came to a small village nestled in the middle of the swamps. The townspeople, predominately Orcs and Trolls, were coming out of their huts to see the captives. Rhonse noticed an Undead among the crowd, and nearly spat in disgust. Twisted husks of what were once Humans, stopping the Undead were one of the predominant focuses of the Paladins.

The Undead scurried off, Rhonse glaring at it’s back all the way. He turned back to see the leader of the band, an Orc wearing badly beaten metal armor, addressing them.

“He says…I’m not sure, but I think the closest translation is, ‘sucks to be you.’”

They were stabbed in the backs some more, and ushered into a rather small cage on a risen platform. The three stepped in, and the door was closed and locked behind them.

“I tried to tell you I heard something before,” said Thragh.

“No one likes a gloater, Thragh,” muttered Imra. He turned to Rhonse, and yelled, “I told you! I TOLD YOU!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this like we’ve gotten out of everything else.”

“Oh, yes, we’ll break out of this cage and the three of us will fight our way through dozens of Hordies out into the forest and then brave crocodiles and more of these DAMN BUGS and and…augh…aaarrgh-” Imra took a few deep breaths, and wobbled over to a mound on the ground. “That was weird…” he gasped, as he sat down. “Felt like something was squeezing the life out of me…”

“Er, excuse me, sir…”

Imra jumped up and screamed, his seat having just spoke. The three companions were rather startled to find the mound was actually a dirty and ragged, but still living, Gnome.

“My! You three are tall ones!” he said cheerfully. He extended his hand. “Greetings. I do apologize, but I’m afraid I’m not a chair. Very much not one, actually. Chairs generally have four legs, whereas Gnomes only have two. Chairs are actually quite ingenious, though. I mean, if it weren’t for them, we’d all be sitting on, what, stools? That wouldn’t do at all. Those aren’t good for my back, although possibly just because I’m getting old. Well, not that old, I mean I’ve still got a few more good years in me, I’m not nearly as old as, say, my grandfather, but I’m not as young as, say, my nephew either. I don’t have any kids myself. My name is Doriver.”

Imra, Rhonse and Thragh blinked and shook their heads, unsure of what had just happened.

“Um…Rhonse Darius,” introduced the Paladin, stepping forward and shaking hands with Doriver.

“How long have you been in here?” asked Thragh. “More importantly, how’s the food?”

“I’m not sure, only a couple weeks, I think. The food isn’t that bad, but they give meals few and far between. This whole experience is quite fascinating, I must admit.”

The companions stood there, baffled. Only a Gnome could describe being caged by Orcs as ‘fascinating.’

“Oh no…he’s back,” gasped Doriver, the cheerfulness suddenly gone from his voice. “If anyone asks, I’m just a chair.”

“Who’s back?” asked Imra, turning back towards the main bulk of the town. Walking towards the cage was another Orc. This one was smaller than most, but he had a look of power about him. Rather than the leather or mail armor of his comrades, he was dressed in flowing black robes covered in arcane runes. Across his back was strapped a glowing staff, ending in a crystal rod.

“Greetings,” he said in common, the word hissing out of him like a snake. “I am Zharon.”

“You speak common?” asked Rhonse. “Good. You listen to me, you monster. I am Rhonse Darius of the Silver Hand, and I will not rest until every last one of you is nothing more than a rotting-”

Zharon waved him into silence, seeming completely uninterested. He turned as a wizened old Troll approached him. He was dressed in ceremonial garb and used a crooked staff as a walking stick. Zharon bowed before him.

“Lord Maningo, come to see the prisoners?”

“Yes…” responded the Troll, nodding slowly. “I much look forward to the arena match. We’ve not had a Human in it in a long time. Young Zeshinel is eager to prove his worth to the Horde.”

“Arena match?” asked Rhonse.

“He said Human, right?” asked Imra. “Like, specifically Human? As in, Rhonse will be going, and not us?”

The cage was opened and the guards came in, grabbing Rhonse by his arms. They hoisted him out and locked the cage with Imra, Thragh and Doriver still inside. Zharon grinned at them for a moment, then turned to a female Orc beside him. She was staring with interest at Thragh, though the Dwarf did not notice her.

“Come, my darling,” hissed Zharon, putting his arm around her. “We don’t want to miss the festivities!” The two left. Elf, Dwarf and Gnome were soon alone, everyone in town off to the arena.

The guards poked, jabbed, and thrust Rhonse into a series of underground tunnels. They walked for several minutes, every few seconds a spear tip sticking rather uncomfortably in his back.

“I can walk without your help,” he snarled, but these Orcs and Trolls didn’t understand common.

He eventually found himself in a small, circular area. Bars made up the walls and ceiling, while outside the bars were rows of seats filled with Orcs, Trolls, and the occasional Tauren. Rhonse looked around, but couldn’t see the Undead anywhere.

Out from the other end of the arena came the Orc who had led the party that had captured them and brought them into the Horde town. He was grinning, holding a two-handed axe that was so sharp it gleamed in the sunlight.

Rhonse looked at his own weapon, a rusty one-handed sword the guards had given him for the match.

The two contestants stepped towards each other. Zeshinel hefted his axe, put one foot before the other in a traditional fighting pose. Rhonse, scowling, threw his sword off to the side and stood there, nonchalantly. This action caused gasps and whispered mutterings throughout the crowd.

Zeshinel simply laughed and charged, his axe aiming right for the Human’s neck.

The blade bounced off as if Rhonse’s skin was suddenly made of stone. Shouts of shock and excitement rebounded throughout the arena, as Rhonse, without pausing, rushed forwards, bringing his shoulder into Zeshinel’s ribs.

The Orc jumped backwards, attempting to regain his composure, but Rhonse was already spinning around him and grabbing onto his arm. He stuck out his leg and tripped the Orc from behind, and in the process Rhonse grabbed his axe out of his hands. However, rather than use it, he flung it off with his sword.

Zeshinel brought an uppercut to Rhonse’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The Paladin regained his senses in time to block a blow coming straight towards his face. With lightning speed his right arm came around in a circle, catching his opponent’s nose from the side and breaking out. Zeshinel howled, blood spraying all over his face.

The crowd was screaming in outrage now. Zeshinel wouldn’t quite go down, and charged Rhonse, his war cry filling the air.

There was a bright blast of light from where Rhonse stood. The holy energy flew outwards, blinding the Orc, as Rhonse took the opportunity for a final, solid blow to Zehsinel’s head. The Orc hit the ground, motionless.

The Human didn’t have much time to celebrate, however, for the audience was forming a mob and was preparing to rush him.

“I could get us out of here, you know,” Doriver said to his new friends back in the cage. “I have a teleport spell that takes a couple minutes to cast. I could never get it off before because of all the guards watching me, but they’re all at the arena now. We’d have to leave your Human friend behind, though.”

“Spell?” asked Thragh. “You’re a mage?”

“Why, yes! Didn’t I mention that? Oh, where are my manners? I’m an Archmage of the Kirin Tor, 401st Gnome Division. Well? Do you want to make an escape attempt?”

Imra was about to scream yes at the top of his lungs, but Thragh spoke first. “No. Not without Rhonse.”

“Grah!” cried the Elf.

The noise from the arena turned into a deafening roar. The people didn’t sound happy. “Think that means Rhonse won?” asked Imra.

“Look!” shouted Thragh, pointing. The female Orc Zharon had been with before was approaching the cage. In her hands she held a key.

“You’re freeing us?” Imra asked, baffled.

“I’ve…never seen a Dwarf before,” she responded. “I didn’t know they were so handsome.”

“Uhh…” muttered Thragh.

“We need to find our Human friend,” Doriver spoke up. “What happened in the arena?”

“The Human one,” assured the female Orc, “but the crowd now wants to kill him for cheating. He used…great lights…”

“That’s a Paladin for you,” chuckled Thragh. “Now let’s-”

Their savior was suddenly encased in a strange green glow. She was as still as a statue. Zharon turned a corner towards them.

“You’ll not be going anywhere.”

“Doriver! Start your spell!” ordered Thragh. “I’ll take on this guy. Imra, go get Rhonse and bring him back here!”

Imra nodded and ran off. Rhonse was running towards him, but there was a good distance between them still. The mob was close on Rhonse’s heals.

And out of nowhere, there was Maningo, the old Troll with the walking stick.
“What, are you gunna whack me with your cane?” laughed Imra. “Step aside,
old-”

Maningo brought his staff around, crashing it with amazing force into the Elf’s chest. It quickly shot up again, cracking Imra’s jaw. He flew backwards, landing on his back. As he attempted to stand, the Troll extended his arms and a blast of unbearable cold wracked through Imra’s bones.

Maningo gurgled before he could finish the Elf off, however, a rusty sword embedded in his back. Rhonse stepped over his limp body and helped Imra to his feet.

“It looks like this is the end, old friend,” sighed Rhonse. “We’ll never escape this swamp with half the Horde on our tail.” He sighed again, when a rock whizzed through the air and hit him in the back of the head. He collapsed onto the ground, his stitches from the battle with Bloodshade busting open. Blood began to pool under him. Imra scooped the Human up in his arms and ran back towards Doriver.

Thragh and Zharon were in a deadlock. Zharon was a warlock, his shadow powers bouncing off the light energy of the Dwarf Priest. Thragh panted, out of magical energy. Zharon just snapped his fingers, and seemed to gain more magic from that. Shrugging, Thragh simply did what any Dwarf does in a corner: go for the kneecaps.

Zharon howled, his physical frame weak and frail. He made a grab for Thragh, but the Dwarf ran under his legs and was no behind him. Zharon was mostly bald, except for a long ponytail going down the back of his head. Thragh grabbed that and pulled, the Warlock falling to his knees.

Imra ran past him, carrying Rhonse. The Elf and Dwarf exchanged nods, and headed over to beside Doriver.

“Ready!” he shouted.

The four hurtled forwards into the halls of magic, the mob closing around where they had just been.

[Jondar]

Great story, Teatime. I like your style. You use a good blend of humor and seriousness. The only critique I have is to perhaps slow it down; describe things more. But then again, this is the WoW forums... I can see this maybe isnt a full-length novel :wink: Keep it up! Im eager to see more.

[Fatness Almighty]

Marvelous, a work of pure literary genius. Your name with be spoken with the likes of Shakespeare, DaVinci, and Jk Rowling.:grin: Bravo! Bravo!:rolleyes:

[Mr_Teatime]

Consider this a short little filler chapter:


“Give me the boy.”

“You will not touch one hair on his head. You have caused enough suffering already!”

“I have? I have caused the suffering? I am simply giving the people want they must surely want – release from the torment you and yours have brought upon them.”

“By KILLING them? You’ve truly gone mad!”

“My sanity does not factor into it. Give me the boy, or you will just be another body in this city, lost and forgotten.”

It was then that the boy in the shadows cried out, a shrill scream filled with all his anger, torment, and fear.

He had vowed from that moment on he would never show weakness again.

Imra watched as Rhonse, still unconscious, twitched in his arms.

The Elf tried his hardest to hold on, but the magic in the air was distorting everything, pulling each of his particles in a million different directions. He watched helplessly as Rhonse expanded and contracted, his image scrambling and rearranging. Finally Imra was aware of nothing but a blue haze. He looked around desperately, tried to wave his arms in an attempt to see them, but he was thoroughly not there.

He was on the verge of absolute panic when suddenly there was bright light and he was diving head first into water.

“Blech! Blargh! Doriver! You teleported us into the middle of the ocean!” he screamed, flailing his arms desperately in an attempt to remain afloat.

“You blasted idiot, just stand up!” shouted Thragh’s voice. “The water is only chest height. Knee height for you.”

Imra hesitantly agreed to take the Dwarf’s advice, and found that they were merely in a small lake. A quaint-looking village was situated on the edge of it.

“Well, my shoes are wet now,” complained Imra, finding himself in a foul mood.

“Um, guys…” called Doriver’s hesitant voice. Imra and Thragh looked over to find an expanding section of water turning dark red. Rhonse was laying there, his head bleeding freely.

Thragh bent down beside the Paladin and expected the wound. “I can stop the bleeding,” he announced. “But I suppose him getting into fights that soon after the last injury was a bad idea.”

Muttering a small holy word, Thragh waved his hand over the Human’s head, and the wound closed, but only slightly. As Imra bent over to pick up Rhonse, he realized how badly he was fairing. A scar going down his arm was still highly noticeable, and now his head had a scar nearly encircling his entire forehead. And yet the Paladin had never once complained.

Imra smiled grudgingly. Rhonse was a complete prick, a spoilsport, a party-pooper and an elitist, but the Dwarf-wannabe found himself admiring him.

“Come on, let’s take him to the local medic, she’s quite good. She’ll have no trouble-” started Doriver.

“You’ve been here before?” Thragh asked, cutting him off.

“Oh, my, yes, this is where the 401st Gnome Division is stationed! I wonder if they miss me…” the Gnome rattled on to himself for a while, wading onto the shore. The water went up to his chin. The others followed him.

“So why is an entire Division of Archmage’s stationed here?” asked Imra.

“Wait…” Thragh gasped, his voice so horrified Imra didn’t recognize it as the jovial Dwarf’s. “Doriver…what…what is the name of this town?”

“Lakeshire,” answered Doriver. “Not very creative, if you ask me. It’s named after the thing it’s right next to. Imagine how boring that would get if all the towns did it. ‘Mountainshire, forestshire-’”

“Lakeshire!”

“No, see, that one’s already taken. That’s where we are.”

“This is one of the towns Selquist was telling me about a while back! He was well-read on the events of the world.”

“Will you guys stop bantering and tell me what the hell is this town’s deal?” screamed Imra. “It seems peaceful enough, albeit a few houses are burned down, but that’s common enough.”

“Yes, even more common when there’s a Dragon living nearby,” commented Doriver cheerfully.

Thragh sighed. He rather wanted to be the one to announce the dragon, and he would’ve done it a bit more dramatically.

“D…dr…dra…” muttered Imra.

“Dragon!” shouted Thragh as spookily as he could, but the moment had been ruined.

“But don’t worry,” assured the Gnome, grinning. “Me and my fellow Gnome pals are experts at dealing with Dragons. Every few weeks he comes around, and the 40 of us conjure our most powerful spells to fight him off. He licks his wounds, then comes back in a few more weeks.”

“I don’t know which is more horrifying, a Dragon or 40 Gnomes,” whined Imra.

By this time they were in the main village square. Very few people were walking around. It seemed as if most of the townsfolk were too terrified of the dragon swooping down at any moment to even leave their houses.

“Are things normally this…eerie?” asked Thragh.

“No, it’s very odd…normally they have absolute trust in us Gnomes to save them if the need arises.” Imra and Thragh exchanged glances, both doubting this was entirely true. “Oh!” exclaimed the Gnome. “That’s where the town healer lives.”

“Doriver!” cried the woman when they entered. “Thank goodness! Are the others alright? Who are these people?”

“What others?” asked Doriver. “These are the only ones I came with…that’s Rhonse, he needs help badly.”

“Yes, yes, put him on the bed in the back room,” instructed the healer distractedly. “But by ‘others’ I meant the Gnomes!”

“Oh. I dunno, I haven’t seen them in weeks. I was being held prisoner by some very fascinating-”

“Oh, that’s right, you went missing right before them!”

“More stupid bantering while the Elf has no idea what’s going on,” grumbled Imra.

“The rest of the 401st was captured by the dragon,” explained the woman.

[XxSHADExX]

nice story are you gonna publish this?

[Mr_Teatime]

lol yah publish :laugh:

*Ahem* anyways...sorry I, uh, didn't update for a month and a half. But I've got a doozy of a chapter now. Hope everyone enjoys it.


The great dragon Emeriss slumbered peacefully in his lair.

But while his body rested, his mind was roaming. He was fully aware of everything that was going on for miles around. He could sense the birds flying over his mountain’s cave, he could sense their fear at knowing such a powerful being was nearby. He was aware of four new figures entering the town of Lakeshire, on the very edge of his realm.

He was aware of a Dwarf entering his caverns.

He knew, however, that no mortal Dwarf would ever make it this far alone. They would not stomp into his cave as if they owned the place, unless they did, of course, own the place.

“Rise and shine,” called the Dwarvish voice.

“Greetings…Ragnaros,” drawled Emeriss, yawning with enough force to sink a continent. It opened an eye the size of a Human to stare up at the figure.

Even though he wore his guise at all times, Emeriss was able to see through the magic. There was no Dwarf standing in his cave. In front of him wavered a mighty flame, with vague arms and a head protruding from the fiery torso. The bottom half of the fire elemental descended into a wispy tail.

“Come on, wakey wakey eggs and bacon,” insisted the Firelord. “The Shadow wanted to come down himself, but I insisted-”

“The Shadow?” Emeriss was now fully awake. “What do you two want?”

“You know we never bother you unless it’s for something important.”

“Yes. And the last time was years ago.”

“Hundreds of years ago, but what’s time to a guy like you, eh?”

“Tell me what to do so I may complete this task and get back to sleep,” sighed the Dragon. Nothing was a challenge to him. Nothing was exciting anymore. All he wanted to do was sleep…

“Wake up fully NOW,” hissed the Elemental. He did not shout, but his voice rang out inside the dragon’s head, set his brain on fire…

“There is a small group of adventurers. They have just entered Lakeshire.”

“How many?” asked Emeriss, slowly and quietly, his head still pounding.

“There are four now. A Human of the Silver Hand, a Night Elf vagabond, a Dwarf cleric and a Gnome archmage of the Kirin Tor.”

“Four?” Emeriss nearly burst out laughing. “I do not understand, how could four gnats-”

“The Shadow fears them. They have overcome every test we’ve put before them. The Shadow made deals with the Defias Mafia, The Horde, sent one of our best assassins after them. And yet they still live, continuing onwards to topple the Dark Irons.”

“The Shadow fears them?” asked Emeriss, baffled. “In all of my hundreds of years, I’ve not known anything that could warrant an emotion from him.”

“Well, these four do. And so you are not to dilly dally.”

“Dilly dally?”

“Sorry, I’ve been hanging around mortals a bit too much…don’t slack. Don’t get overconfident. And do not stop until you are positive they are dead and will remain dead. Kill anyone else in your way if you have to. They must be stopped.”

Ragnaros paused and added, “if you fail, I can assure you, you better hope these adventurers kill you.”

“And why does the mighty Shadow not just wave his hand and obliterate them himself?”

Ragnaros laughed, and disappeared.

Emeriss sighed, turning away from the entrance to the cave. Something else was at work here, something that Ragnaros wouldn’t tell him.

If The Shadow truly wanted these bugs dead, they would’ve been a long time ago.

“Then what is he planning? And what am I supposed to do?” mused the dragon to itself.

“I recommend letting us go and taking a nice long vacation. Have you ever been to Stranglethorn? Beautiful beaches down there.”

Emeriss, taken off guard, looked down at the magical cage he had constructed. Inside were 39 Gnomes, packed together like sardines. The leader of the 401st Gnome Division, Zezima, was the one who had spoken.
“Maybe you could catch a boat, go on a short cruise over to Kalimdor and back…”

“Do you find yourself amusing, little Gnome?”

“What? I’m just trying to be helpful,” began Zezima, sounding genuinely hurt. “If you don’t want to take my advice, that’s fine.”

"You know, I think I will,” said the dragon, bringing a boulder-sized fist up to scratch his chin. “I’ll let you free, then go on a nice vacation.”

The Gnomes began chattering hectically among themselves, wondering what he meant by this. Emeriss was not known to have a sense of humor.

The dragon reached out a claw and pried open the door of the cage. In one swift motion he plucked out Zezima and slammed the door shut again, knocking back several Gnomes who tried to run out.

Opening his great maw, Emeriss tossed the screaming mage into the air and swallowed him whole.

“And now I think I’ll head to Lakeshire,” he announced to the world at large, his wings unfolding. Time to see what The Shadow is up to…

He stepped out of his cave, leaving the shocked and horrified Gnomes alone in their cage. He had no fear of them escaping from their cage, for they had nowhere to go if they did. The cave was at the top of the second largest mountain in the area; shorter than only the infamous Blackrock Mountain. The Gnomes would have a hazardous trek down, and would likely not get far before Emeriss returned.

His wings beating out strong every few moments pushed him effortlessly through the wind. With his good eyesight he saw the town of Lakeshire forming in the distance. From here it looked as if he could eat the entire village in one bite. He wished to do just that…he longed for the days where he could go where he pleased, do what he wanted…but his elemental bosses kept him in check. They claimed they didn’t want him drawing too much attention to himself and getting an army sent after him.

Let an army come, hissed Emeriss in his mind. I will never be defeated!

His shadow loomed over the town. He was supposed to kill four people, a Dwarf, a Human, a Gnome and a Night Elf. But there was something else…think, Emeriss, think!

“Who am I kidding, acting is my strong point, not thinking.” The dragon opened his mouth and unleashed a gush of boiling flame onto the first building he saw. The screams were like sweet music to him.


Rhonse stared into the mirror and sighed deeply.

He was twenty-one. Twenty-one for Gods sake! He looked upwards of fifty. Aside from the deep scar going down his right arm, and the multiple lairs of cloth keeping his head in place, his face was wrinkled like a prune. He knew they were caused by spending all his years worrying, working, studying…

"I’ve never had fun in my life,” he realized, quite startled. And for a moment he would’ve given up anything to be like Imra – to be carefree, to be able to put his cares aside and drink himself silly until the unicorns carried him home.

The moment passed and Rhonse berated himself for such thoughts.

He was in the process of shaving the stubby beard that had grown on him when the deathly bellow of Emeriss rang out, mingling with the tortured cries of the people of Lakeshire. The small blade cut his cheek, as he whipped around, and ran out the door.

A moment later he ran back in, put his clothes on, and ran back out again.

He had been in the bathroom of the town healer, the kind woman who had restored him back to health. She was a cleric, but used interesting concoctions of herbs and powders as well. Rhonse felt refreshed, ready to take on whatever the world threw at him.

His swift stride took him outside in a few heartbeats.

The shadow of the dragon loomed over him as the death count quickly hit the double digits. Those who got caught in the dragon’s breath were charred beyond recognition of anything Human. Rhonse’s heart sunk to his stomach.

He reached behind him for his weapon, only to remember that it had been confiscated by the Horde.

Emeriss’s gigantic head swiveled towards the Paladin. His knees shook. This was the end…

“What?” bellowed Emeriss. “What are you?”

It took Rhonse a moment to realize the dragon was speaking to him.

“You…aren’t Human…” he gasped, his clawed feet stepping slightly closer to inspect Rhonse. “But how-”

He was interrupted by a bolt of ice launching up his nostril. He snorted out a gust of flame to clear his nasal passage, and turned to see what new nuisance had arrived.

There before him was a Gnome, a Dwarf and a Night Elf.

The mighty four, he thought.

“Guys! Get back!” screamed Rhonse. Weaponless and virtually defenseless against the dragon, Rhonse charged forwards.

He soon found himself craning his neck to see the head of the dragon. This is the most pointless thing I’ve ever done, Rhonse thought to himself.

He looked over and, to his vast surprise, found Imra next to him, charging forwards with just as grim a determination as the Paladin had.

A giant claw rose up and smashed down into the ground in front of them. The ground rippled outwards, knocking the Human and Night Elf backwards. Rhonse struggled to stand up, still feeling woozy, but Imra jumped to his feet with the agility of a cat and pounced forwards, grabbing a claw of the dragon attempting to pull it off.

“Imra! What are you-” Rhonse began, when it hit him. “Oh God…you’re completely drunk, aren’t you?”

In fact, Imra had celebrated their first time in a town in weeks by ordering his own weight in ale and greedily slurping it all down, stopping every now and then to yell at the unicorns that wouldn’t leave him alone, or sing a rousing song in Dwarvish, to which he didn’t know a single word.

“Back, you vile beasht! You shtole my wallet!”

“Imra, you fool, you’re going to get yourself killed!” screamed Rhonse, but it was too late. A claw swooped down with a menacing whoosh, there was a scream-

Emeriss clasped his paw around Thragh, his wings beating out a gust of wind. The strength from his liftoff knocked everyone in the vicinity back, and brought a few houses to the ground. His tail lashed out, hitting Imra firmly in the chest and knocking him through the air.

“I know not who you are, nor do I care,” snarled the dragon. “If you ever want to see this Dwarf again, alive…you will come find me.” I need time to think…consider what I’m really supposed to do…Emeriss mused to himself as he flew off.

The surviving townsfolk watched in horror. Half of their town was in rubble. A dozen or more were dead, not including the few dozen who had been injured.

Rhonse turned to where Doriver was helping a woozy Imra get to his feet. When the Elf was standing, Rhonse slapped him across the cheek, sending him back down.

“Rhonse!” snapped Doriver in horror.

Imra stood up again, and moved to slap Rhonse back. The Paladin caught his hand in mid air, firmly crushing his wrist.

“You are a fool,” he said coldly. “Your drinking habit nearly got yourself killed. Again.”

“Why are you so worried about me? You were just as hasty as I was to tackle the dragon!” snarled back Imra.

“You are not me!”

“And you love making sure everyone knows it, don’t you?” screamed the Elf.

The two locked gazes for a few long moments. Imra’s gaze was not threatening nor intimidating, but the effort was there. Rhonse sighed and let go of his wrist. Imra held his ground, until the Paladin turned away, at which point he yelped and massaged his arm.

“I don’t get it. Why are you two working together?” asked Doriver.

“I have my reasons!” screamed Imra. He stormed off back into the pub. Doriver sighed, looked around, and decided to go after Rhonse.

“What do you want, Gnome?” he asked in an unfriendly tone when Doriver had caught up with him.

“Are you going to go after Thragh? Are you gunna stop the dragon?” he asked innocently.

“Yes,” responded Rhonse without hesitating. “I will save Thragh. Even if it means fighting the dragon again.”

“Then I’m with you!” announced Doriver.

“You don’t need to,” assured Rhonse. “It is almost certain death-”

“I can take care of myself,” laughed Doriver. “Besides, you saved my life in that swamp, and, admit it, I saved yours. Whatever crazy adventure you’re on, I want in on it.”

Rhonse smiled. “Alright,” he agreed. “You can come. We head out in the morning.”

“What about Imra?”

“What about Imra?” echoed Rhonse, as if he didn’t know who Imra was.

“What’s his role in all this? What could possibly make you two work together?”

Rhonse pondered the question for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “He never gave a reason for wanting to come with us.” Suddenly the Human’s eyes went wide. Then he shrugged.

“What is it?” asked Doriver.

“Nothing…nothing. I’m gunna go talk to Imra…patch things up with him.”

“I saw him head into the pub,” offered Doriver. This did not help Rhonse’s foul mood, it seemed.

As the Paladin entered the pub, he saw Imra standing off by himself in the corner, facing away from the door. He held a mug in his hand. As Rhonse approached him, he stopped in shock, seeing something he never expected to see.

Imra brought the mug up to his lips…then stopped. He put the mug down on a counter, turned, and left without acknowledging Rhonse.

He had just entered an inn and left sober.

[Mr_Teatime]

The following morning came too soon. The Elf woke up, and experienced the lack of headache he had grown accustomed to during their travels. But he missed the headache. It was like that annoying friend no one really liked when he was around, but as soon as they told him to get lost they felt bad and realized they missed him.

He would show Rhonse. He would never drink, again.

Outside the inn, Rhonse was already preparing to head out. Doriver was trying to strap on a pack with all his spell components and concoctions, but the pack was considerably larger than the miniscule Gnome. He scratched his chin for a moment, and then muttered a few words. The pack levitated off the ground and began floating in front of him. When he waved his hands, it went in the direction he wanted.

“Fascinating!” he exclaimed to himself.

“There you are,” acknowledged Rhonse, nodding at Imra. “Ready to head out?”

“Aye,” responded Imra solemnly. He hefted his pack over his shoulder, and the three left the town of Lakeshire.

Although the enormous dragon was able to fly to Lakeshire from his mountain and back in a half hour or so, it took the three companions several days to reach the base. It would be another day of excruciating hiking before they reached the top, where Thragh was – and Emeriss.

Doriver attempted to strike up conversation, to determine the drive behind his two new friends. But neither were very cooperative. Rhonse informed him of their mission to destroy the Dark Iron Dwarves and avenge those who had died in the Stormwind attack.

He could hardly get a hold of Imra. Every chance he could, the Elf slinked off into the forest, to look for water or firewood or shelter. Whenever he was around them, he seemed tense to get away.

And then they stood, looking upwards at the imposing mountain Emeriss called home.

“After you,” Doriver offered to Rhonse, who started the climb up without saying anything. Imra followed, with the Gnome taking up the rear.

“If we’re lucky, not only will we save Thragh, but the rest of the 401st Gnome Division as well,” Doriver piped up cheerfully.

“If they haven’t been cooked alive,” reminded Rhonse.

“And if we don’t get cooked alive before even making it close,” added Imra. Doriver’s mood was promptly squished.

“How about a rousing adventure song?” he offered, ever persistent. “Oooohhhh……actually, I don’t know any. What about you, Rhonse?”

“Shut up, Doriver.”

“You, Imra?”

“Shut up, Doriver.”

They prodded on in silence.

“Hey, Doriver, how’s it going?” the Gnome asked himself. “Oh, pretty good. You? Good. I’m with a couple of people here who don’t know how to have any fun. Really? Me too! Wow! What a strange coincidence. Maybe they should lighten up and-”

“SHUT UP, DORIVER,” Elf and Human screamed simultaneously.

Frowning heavily, they continued on. The silence, once again, did not last.

“Uh, guys, I think I heard something…” insisted Doriver.

“You mean your endless prattling?” asked Rhonse sarcastically.

“No, besides that. It sounded like a…rustling.”

“Actually, I heard it too,” agreed Imra.

“Alright, be on your guard everyone,” ordered Rhonse. He took the mace off his back that had been supplied by the Lakeshire weaponsmith. It was not as good design or as sturdy as his last one, but it would get the job done. Imra also had a new axe, while Doriver insisted he needed no weapon.

“A dragon certainly can’t hide very well,” mused Imra, “and nothing else would dare come onto the mountain of a dragon. What could be up here?”

“Well, we dared come here,” responded Rhonse.

“Yes, but we’re sentient and courageous and-”

“Well, maybe this thing is too.”

They plodded on in silence, even the Gnome knowing to keep his mouth shut.

He soon lost track of the time. Minutes went by, perhaps hours. It was well into the afternoon when something caught his eye.

“Guys, look!” he shouted.

“What is it?” asked Imra, following the Gnome into some brush.

“Guys, be careful,” warned Rhonse. He followed behind, looking over his shoulder nervously.

“It’s a crystal!” gasped Imra in glee. “It’s huge! Look at it glow!”

“Looks familiar…” muttered Doriver, scratching his chin.

“Yes…I’ve seen it too,” agreed Rhonse. His eyes narrowed, as his heart started beating faster. “Only then it was on the end of a staff…”

Before they knew what was happening, magical bars of pure energy were sprouting out of the ground around them. It entwined on all sides and above them, forming a neat and perfectly symmetrical cage.

“What is this!” shouted Imra.

“Well, well, well…what have we here…” hissed a voice from behind them.
Whirling around, the three locked eyes with a rather scrawny Orc, dressed in elaborate robes.

“Once again, the Human, Elf and Gnome find themselves caged by the Orc. And you so proudly proclaim you are the more civilized species.”

“Zharon!” gasped Doriver.

“Zharon,” snarled Rhonse.

“But wait,” Zharon suddenly cried, looking around. “The Dwarf. Find and secure the Dwarf!” he shouted.

From out of the shadows behind him emerged a Troll and an Undead. The Troll looked similar to the one called Maningo who had ruled the Horde town in the Swamp of Sorrows. The Undead was the one Rhonse had seen.

The hideous sight of the abomination caused his blood to boil. The Paladins of the Silver Hand revered all life. An Undead was the life twisted and mutilated beyond any recognition. It was horrendous. This particular undead had some of his face melded, so he could not open his left eye. His jaw was slack, his hair wild, dirty, and untamed.

“The Dwarf is not with us,” responded Imra. “He was captured by the dragon.”
“Ah, that would explain it…” mused Zharon.

“Explain what? What is going on? What do you plan to do with us?” asked Rhonse, sounding cool and calm. Imra already felt himself sweating, while Doriver studied the runes on Zharon’s robes, finding them quite fascinating.

“Simple. The Horde does not take dishonor well. After you wounded our leader, Maningo, I promised him I would bring you to justice,” explained the Orc. “Dasmi here is Maningo’s brother.” The Troll did not acknowledge the conversation; he apparently did not speak common. “Drolectra here –” this time pointing to the Undead “- is my personal assistant. He accompanies me on all my endeavors.”

“How did you find us? And how so quickly? We had a teleportation that took us the bulk of the distance, you couldn’t possibly have traveled that far without magic in such a short time,” insisted Rhonse.

“And who says we don’t have magic? You’ve seen my power,” laughed Zharon. He waved his hand, and Imra fell to his knees, chocking. When the Orc waved his hand again, Imra stood up, panting. “Years ago, there was a battle between forces of the Horde and a large sect of Kirin Tor archmages.”

“I remember it,” muttered Doriver softly. “I was there.”

“I personally was not, but after ransacking their stronghold the Horde acquired much of their magical knowledge. Many members of the Horde, such as Dasmi here, practice the same schools of magic you do.”

“Sickening…” gasped Doriver. Imra found it very disconcerting that the cheery Gnome could be so horrified.

“I used a bit of my own magic to track you down. During my final fight with the Dwarf, Thragh, I cast a spell on him that would allow me to track his presence wherever he went in this world. You could not have possibly sensed it, but a dragon could have. When he was captured, as you say, the dragon must’ve dispelled it. We then got here, the last location before the tracker went dead, using a teleportation spell of Dasmi’s, the exact same you used to escape from our clutches last time.”

Zharon laughed, a shrill, sickening laugh. “If you think we of the Horde are a crude bunch, easy opponents – you are sadly mistaken.”

“What do you plan to do with us?” asked Rhonse. Imra’s knees were shaking, and Doriver was staring at the ground, in a depression uncommon to Gnomes.

“Nothing fancy. Just kill you for the glory of the Horde.”

“Striking us down while we’re trapped in a cage hardly seems honorable,” commented Rhonse.

With a wave of Zharon’s hand, the cage dissipated into thin air.

“Go,” he hissed, grinning.

Rhonse screamed a word, and waved his hand. A bright light flashed, striking at the three opponents. Dasmi was blinded and stumbled back, but a dark shroud covered the two warlocks. Rhonse, his hatred for Undead greater than anything else, charged Drolectra. Imra went for Zharon, while Doriver, enraged by the misuse of his precious magic, attacked Dasmi.

Zharon nimbly dodged Imra’s first blow, uttering a few words. A dark bolt shot outwards, striking Imra and knocking him backwards. He felt his life force drained, as the bolt left him and went back to Zharon. The Orc seemed to grow stronger with the energy Imra had lost. Standing up again, he charged and brought an uppercut to the Orc’s chin. He stumbled backwards, but all Orc’s are hardier than other races. Grabbing Imra’s tunic, he spun the Elf around and slammed him into the edge of the mountain.

Imra gasped, his eye catching the cloak Zharon wore.

“Yes,” grinned the warlock, nodding. “Your pet bear. Quite comfortable, I must say.”

With a holler, Imra brought up his knee, doubling over Zharon. The two fell to the ground.

Drolectra sensed an unsettling power within his opponent. Something was…not right about him. The Paladin struck him with mind-boggling physical force, and his ability with light magic was unmatched by anyone he had ever seen or heard of. Panicking, the trainee warlock fled off down a small path on the mountain. Rhonse refused to let the Undead escape, however, and chased after him.

Doriver unleashed a series of arcane missiles at Dasmi while the Troll was still blinded. He shouted in pain, falling backwards, as the Gnome brought forth his other hand and shot a quick gust of flame, scorching the hair off his opponent’s head.

Zharon dislodged the Elf, and stood up, kicking Imra while he was down. He backed off, then suddenly all animosity ended between the four of them.

They turned, no longer able to fight. A great, sinking horror had overcome them.

Emeriss floated down from the top of the mountain, and began hovering next to the plateau the fight was taking place on.

“What is this going on on my mountain?” he snarled, small cinders sparking out of his nostrils.

Alliance and Horde fell to their knees. Death was imminent.

“My…my liege,” begged Zharon, bowing down. “I dedicate myself to service for you, if you kill this Elf and Gnome, and spare my life!”

“Are you…trying to negotiate with me?” The dragon laughed, a great bellowing laugh that shook the mountain. Then, with hardly a transition in between, unleashed a gout of flame that engulfed the Orc. Imra, Doriver and Dasmi scrambled out of the way, the heat scorching burning them. They took refuge behind a rock cropping the dragon could not reach.

The Troll risked a glance around the rock, to see Zharon crumble to the ground, nothing more than a pile of ash. His eyes narrowing, he leaped out and launched a powerful blast of ice at the dragon. It hardly irritated the great beast, who prepared to retaliate, when Imra rushed out, grabbed the Troll, and dragged him back behind the rocks. The flames hit the boulders, the heat excruciating.

“You fool! You can’t take on a dragon!”

“There is no honor in hiding from a foe,” responded Dasmi. Imra blinked. Apparently the Troll could speak common.

The Dragon had lost interest in them, however. It turned its attention to the Undead and Human, scuttling along down the side of the mountain. Rhonse made a lunging tackle and brought Drolectra to the ground. Raising his mace, he shouted a prayer to the Holy Light, and brought his weapon down on the head of his foe. As it connected, a blast of holy energy exploded, instantly destroying the consciousness of the Undead. It was dead, and would hopefully stay this way.

Rhonse stood up, grateful one more menace was no longer in this world, when the dragon batted the side of the mountain. The Paladin looked up in time to see a great cascade of boulders shook free.

Imra, Doriver and Dasmi watched as several tons of pure rock completely crushed the life out of Rhonse. The dragon, seemingly satisfied, flew off.

The three stumbled out of their hiding place. Imra and Doriver looked with horror at the grave sight of Rhonse, as Dasmi shook his head pitifully at the pile of ashes formally known as Zharon.

“These are no ways to die,” the Troll commented sadly. “Destroyed without hope of victory by such a foe.”

“Your common is quite good,” Imra responded slowly, prying his eyes away from where Rhonse was buried.

“Zharon required all his agents to learn it,” responded Dasmi. “He let the people think the shaman Maningo, my brother, was leading our tribe. But he was the true puller of strings. Him and his demonic magic.” He paused for a moment. “I hope you do not think his actions represent those of the bulk of the Horde.”

“Well…what now?” asked Doriver quietly. He was sobbing.

“We go get Thragh,” answered Imra. “And with Ronse’s death, I hereby declare myself leader of this group.” He looked at Dasmi. “And I would appreciate it if you came with us.”

The Troll seemed taken aback. “Are you sure you can trust me?” he asked.

“No. But we need all the help we can get. You know the old saying – the enemy of my enemy…”

“Is my friend,” finished Dasmi. “Yes, I will aid you.”

Imra made a final glance towards Rhonse, but said nothing. They headed onwards.

Unfortunately, there way was soon blocked by a sheer cliff face. A quick search of the area revealed no way around it.

“We’ll have to scale it,” announced Imra. He grabbed a small handhold and hoisted himself up. Doriver came next, with Dasmi taking up the rear.

The climb up was slow and excruciating, especially for the feeble Gnome. Imra reached the top and hoisted himself over, when Doriver’s arms turned to Jell-o. He couldn’t hold on anymore. He fell backwards down the thirty-foot drop, waiting for the crack of his body hitting the bottom-

A hand caught his arm and held him fast. Doriver opened his eyes and saw the Troll grabbing onto him.

“Don’t let go, little one,” he grunted, and pulled himself to the top of the cliff face, where he deposited Doriver. Imra then helped him up.

“Thank you,” Doriver panted. “You…saved my life.”

Dasmi did not respond. He was staring ahead. Imra and Doriver turned, and the three stared into a deep, dark, cavern.

Inside, the dragon waited for them.

[Neri]

More more more!

[Jondar]

Get back to work, punk. I don't like waiting for months at a time. :smiley: Yours is among the best work I've seen here. Keep it up, and post some work.

[Mr_Teatime]

Heh, now that's what I call motivation. Sorry for the wait, folks.

Darkness. Everywhere. Again.


But not complete darkness this time. He could see a light…a light at the end of the tunnel. Rhonse tried to move towards it, but his body was weighed down, as if the air around him was all pushing inwards, crushing him.

The Paladin grunted, and managed to break an arm free from the weight. Panting from the exertion of moving, he broke his other arm free, then his legs. He still couldn’t see anything except for that distant, shining light. His eyes never left it.

Perhaps I’ve finally died, mused Rhonse. The light at the end of the tunnel…I have completed my mission here on Azeroth. I’m being beckoned…beckoned into the afterlife.

Now freed, Rhonse tried to run towards the light. But before he got far enough, he felt the air stiffen again, and he was trapped once more.

No! Damnit! Let me reach the light! But he noticed that the light was no closer. Is this a cruel trick!?

Suddenly Rhonse felt the strength within him to let out a mighty bellow. He screamed in fury, disappointment. “Let me die!” he screamed. “I want to die!”

The air around him exploded. A light brighter than anything he’d ever seen before pierced his vision, brought him to his knees.

Finally the light dimmed. Rhonse could not lift his head from the ground. There was a hole in front of him. It appeared to be the mark of a powerful explosion through pure rock. Standing up and getting his bearings, Rhonse noticed he was on top of what appeared to be an avalanche site. Trees were crushed around him by giant stones. There was no one around for as far as he could see.

“How did I survive?” Rhonse asked himself. “How? …Why?”

He stumbled off of the avalanche site and onto a dirty path. Vaguely he began to remember…remember…the dragon! The Horde!

And then he noticed the footprints. One pair Elfish, one pair Gnomish, and one pair Trollish.

His mind quickly piecing events together, he cracked his knuckles and ran after the trail, to go save Imra and Doriver.

Up near the very top of the mountain, the two of them, accompanied by their unwilling partner Dasmi, waited outside the cave of the dragon Emeriss. They waited for one of them to devise a plan.

“We can’t take on a dragon by ourselves,” snapped Dasmi. He wasn’t comfortable being outnumbered by these Alliance members. He knew there was no other choice, but he also felt that these two wouldn’t have any qualms about throwing him to the dragon if they needed a moment to escape.

He wasn’t entirely correct. While Imra was just as uncomfortable as Dasmi was with being paired up with someone they were technically at war with, Dasmi had saved Doriver from a possibly fatal fall. The small Gnome viewed Dasmi with true respect.

“No, we can’t,” piped in Doriver. “But we and 39 mages might be able to take him down.”

“And where are we gunna get 39 mages? Wait…NO!” shouted Imra. He quickly clasped his hands over his mouth, not wanting to alert the dragon, but then hissed, “No! Absolutely not! We are not teaming up with 39 Gnomes!”

“It’s either that or die,” commented Doriver.

“Death! Any day of the week I’d pick death over Gnomes!” Doriver flushed a dark red, and Imra sighed. “Except for you, Doriver.”

“I don’t see what’s so bad about Gnomes,” murmured Doriver. “We’re actually a very friendly race. In fact, did you know – ”

Dasmi, having never met a Gnome in person before, still knew enough to quickly cut them off before they got onto one of their long-winded rambles.

“I think it is the only option,” nodded the Troll. “We must sneak in and free the other Gnomes. Only then do we have a chance of defeating this beast.”

Imra, beaten, sat down moodily. “Well, how are we gunna get in there and free them? It’s not like any of us can turn invisible…”

He realized both of them were staring at him. “Damnit,” he moaned. Apparently they both knew as well as he did that Night Elves innately had the ability to blend in with their surroundings, becoming virtually un-seeable. Knowing further arguing was useless, he slipped off his cumbersome leather boots, and crept into the doorway of the cave.

“Should we have some sort of signal?” asked Dasmi.

“The signal can be the sound of Elven flesh being ripped apart and a dragon belching happily,” muttered Imra sarcastically.

“Don’t worry about anything,” assured Doriver cheerily. “You’ll be in good hands with the 401st.”

Without another word, Imra began to slowly creep into the cave, soon fading into the shadows so well that Dasmi and Doriver, who knew where to look for him, could hardly see him. Shadowmeld, being a non-magical ability, would also go undetected by the dragon.

Yet Imra was not confident he would be seeing another morning.

Finding the prison of the Gnomes was not difficult. It was along a wall of the cave, and Imra was lured right to it by the chatter of the gaggle of Gnomes…and by the sound of it…one rather flustered Dwarf.

“Get away from me!” barked a voice that was undoubtedly Thragh’s. “No, for the last time, you may not experiment with my beard! Hey! Give me my shoe back!"

“Fascinating!” echoed half a dozen Gnomes, who were inspecting the shoe with a careful eye, measuring it and writing small calculations on the dirty floor.

Imra crept pashed the dragon, who appeared to be asleep, though Imra knew enough not to let his guard down. He edged as close to the bars as he could, and whispered Thragh’s name out of the side of his mouth.

“Shut up! I’m done talking to all of yeh!” shouted the flustered Dwarf, brushing them off and heading to go slump in a corner.

“No! Thragh! It’s me!” hissed Imra as loudly as he dared, but Thragh could not hear him across the room of politely chattering Gnomes. How does the dragon tune it out? he wondered.

“Who goes there?” called out a new voice. Imra burst out in a cold sweat, thinking it the voice of the dragon – but then realized a small, wide-eyed Gnome had managed to spot him. The Gnome had a pointy green beard accompanied by a bald head. Imra nearly giggled, but something menacing about the Gnome kept him from it.

“My name is Imra,” called out the Elf. “I’m friends with that Dwarf in there. Do you know a way out of the cell?”

“Of course, us Gnomes are just staying in it for the low rent and good food,” snapped the Gnome.

“No, that’s not how I meant it,” amended Imra, flushing. “Of course we’d get you out two. I’m with a friend of yours, Doriver. The name sound familiar?”

“Of course, he was our number two man,” responded the Gnome. “We assumed he was dead a while ago, when he went to investigate a Horde outpost and never returned. I’m Squiggles,” the Gnome extended his hand through the bars, which Imra shook. “I…replaced him. And then I replaced our leader, Zezima, when he was eaten by the dragon.” Squiggles shrugged. Taking the position of dead superiors didn’t seem to bother him much.

“He never mentioned he was the number two man,” responded Imra, astonished.

“He probably wouldn’t have. He’s a tad forgetful, as our most Gnomes, I’m afraid.” Squiggles sighed. “They do not realize the potential we Gnomes have if we could just stay focused on one task!”

“Shh!” hissed Imra, and Squiggles put his hands over his mouth. He had been getting a tad loud, and Emeriss’ ears had twitched.

“Sorry…anyways,” amended the Gnome, “we’re Gnomes of the Mageocracy of Dalaran. Of course we could get out of this cell if we wanted to! But it would take time, too much time, to summon all of us out of here. We would be slaughtered quickly and helplessly.”

“Why hasn’t he killed you all already?” Imra couldn’t help but asking.

“There’s a Dwarf,” explained Squiggles, a confused frown appearing on his face. “I can’t explain it, but the Dwarf expulses such power that even the Dragon cowers before him. The Dwarf…gives Emeriss orders. He doesn’t want us dead, not yet, though I’ve no idea why.”

Imra gulped. Being a hero had soiled his mind. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say...

“I’m with Doriver and a friend of ours,” he explained, deciding to leave out the fact that he was a Horde mage that had taken part in a ransacking of the Dalaran headquarters. “What if we were to aid you in your escape? What if we could distract the dragon long enough for you guys to complete the spell?”

“Three of you?” laughed Squiggles. “I’m sorry, I don’t see what help you’d be. Trying to make a distraction would seal our deaths for sure!”

On queue, Dasmi screamed, the Dragon woke, and Imra, panicking, faded out of shadowmeld.

[Mr_Teatime]

Doriver hollered in alarm after Dasmi fell to the ground with a thud. As Rhonse readied his hammer to deal a killing blow to the Troll, Emeriss jolted it’s head upright, and in an instant was mobile.

Imra acted as quickly as he could, lunging at the Dragon’s tail and grabbing onto it with all his might. It was, of course, pointless, and the Elf was flung into the bars of the cage.

Thragh, now fully alerted, pushed his way across the room of Gnomes, and stuck his hand through the bars to help lift Imra to his feet.

“Good to see you, my friend,” smiled Thragh, a sigh of relief escaping him. Imra could tell he had been shaken by the experience.

“We’re getting you out of here, don’t worry,” grunted Imra, holding his aching ribs from being flung across the room.

“I don’t know the meanin’ of the word worried!” cheered Thragh. “I’d join you in some Dragon arse-kicking, but I’m kinda trapped…”

“Alright everybody, into formation!” shouted Squiggles over the crowd of blathering Gnomes.

Imra put his trust into the Gnomes, whether he liked it or not, and ran over to his companions. Doriver was standing defensively over the fallen Dasmi, while Rhonse tried to shove the Gnome out of the way. They both turned and looked up as the Dragon reached them, Rhonse shouting a valiant battle cry as Doriver took up a defensive stance behind the Paladin’s left leg.

Emeriss inhaled deeply, intending to charbroil these pests. But then he caught that sensation again. The strong aura from the Human…something…not right…

His pause gave Imra time to get behind him again and unsheathe a small sword he had been given in Lakeshire. He thrust it into the tale of the Dragon. At first the strong scales repelled the blade, but after several blows, the blade struck. Blood splashed out as Emeriss flinched slightly in minor pain.

“Are we starting a mass teleportation?” asked one of the Gnomes to Squiggles.

“Yes…no,” Squiggles shook his head. “Everyone! Attack formation! We’re blasting those bars right out of the wall! You might want to stand back,” he informed Thragh.

39 Gnomes stood together, hands extended, faces contorted in concentration. Thragh, quite smartly, put his hands over his ears.

“Arcane missiles!” ordered Squiggles, as a huge stream of purple began flowing outwards from the gathering of Gnomes. Blow after blow of pure arcane energy rattled the bars, until they flew out of the mountain wall, crumpled and scorched. “Company, halt!” shouted Squiggles once more.

Thragh nodded in approval. He wasn’t aware Gnomes were capable of such things. The other members of the Alliance had always viewed them as almost a pity race.

Emeriss turned at the noise to see the ocean of Gnomes descend upon him. They unleashed magical energy of all kinds at him; bolts of ice froze his joints, balls of flame scorched his skin, and volleys of energy disoriented him.

For a moment, Emeriss couldn’t tell the ceiling from the floor. Enraged, he began sweeping his massive paws in a wide arc, his claws disemboweling several Gnomes. Far from discouraging the little ones, however, Squiggles ordered his army to attack even harder.

Doriver rolled Dasmi onto his back, waving his hand over the Troll’s face. “Dasmi…wake up! Dasmi, are you ok?” he asked, genuinely worried.

“I…will live…” gasped Dasmi, clutching at his back. “Though my legs are…numb…”

“Don’t worry, I know this Dwarf, his name is Thragh. He knows how to heal people, he’ll be able to make you as good as new!” assured Doriver.

“Doriver…prop me against…a wall,” panted Dasmi.

“Why?”

“I will not lay here…while others die around me. I still have my magic…and that is all I need.”

Doriver couldn’t help but comply. He had been raised, like all members of the Alliance, to fear the Horde as horrible monsters that ate their children if they were too weak. But left propped upright, even wracked with pain and his spine nearly snapped in half, Dasmi muttered the words of magic, adding to the damage caused by the Gnomes.

Doriver spotted Thragh on the other side of the cave, adding his shadow magic to the fray. Imra was beside him, nursing what appeared to be a broken arm from the tail hitting him hard. He waved to them, and Thragh acknowledged him with a nod.

The Dwarf, normally jolly and light-hearted, was once again somber in the heart of battle. He saw Gnomes he barely knew die before his eyes, the horror as unbearable as if they had been his best friends. The Dragon appeared weakened, but he was losing hope fast.

“I need healing over here!” Doriver called. “Man down!”

Thragh said something to Imra that Doriver couldn’t hear. Imra nodded, still massaging his arm. Doriver guessed that he had asked if Imra would be alright. Apparently in the heat of battle he didn’t have time to stop fighting and heal…maybe it was too late for Dasmi…

No! There had to be hope! The 401st Gnome Division had fought this Dragon away from Lakeshire time and time again! It was time to end it! They would slay Emeriss!

Thragh made it through the battle and was running across to Doriver…

There was a boom so loud that all noise dimmed for a moment in Doriver’s ears. One of the claws several times bigger than himself had landed in between him and Thragh. When the claw lifted, Thragh was standing there, a great red gash running down his chest. The Dwarf’s eyes lost focus, his face turned an ashen grey.

Doriver felt his innocence draining faster than he could comprehend.

Thragh fell to his knees, and managed to stay upright for a moment, seeming to stare into Doriver’s soul. Then he hit the ground, dead.

“No…you…you have to help Dasmi…you…no…” Suddenly Doriver lost the will to remain conscious, and he fell limp among the bodies of dead and dieing Gnomes.

Rhonse saw this, as did Imra. The two let out cries of anguish at the same time, cries that seemed to rise above the din of the battle. And suddenly Emeriss was afraid. Not afraid of the Gnomes; his innate magical resistance could protect him from their barrage all day.

He turned to Rhonse. Everyone else in the room saw a Human. Emeriss gazed upon an Elemental of pure light the size of himself.

“I knew it…” hissed the Dragon.

Imra didn’t have a chance to reach him by the time Rhonse struck. The Elf and the Gnomes saw a Human Paladin swing his war hammer and hit the Dragon in the leg. But what Emeriss felt was the fist of an Elemental the size of a small mountain pummel him in the face. The Dragon staggered backwards in agony, his mind reeling.

“Keep pushing forwards!” screamed Squiggles. “We’ve got him now!”

The searing light of the Elemental melted the Dragon’s eyes. He couldn’t see. His feet tangled and he slipped forwards, his momentum carrying him to the edge of the mountain. Imra panted, trying to keep up with Rhonse. His arm flopped limply at his side, but he felt no pain anymore. He felt only rage.

Emeriss feebly stood, and unleashed a breath of flame upon Rhonse. Imra watched the Paladin become engulfed in the sulfuric breath. When the flames cleared, however, Rhonse was still there, perfectly unscathed. He raised his arms to the heavens and screamed something unintelligible.

His hammer connected with the Dragon’s skull. Emeriss collapsed under the pain, and fell backwards over the side of the mountain. He rolled on his back, rocks and trees crashing into him, breaking his bones, tearing his flesh. He hit a bump, flipped over, and landed on the ground, snapping his neck.

Rhonse turned and faced Imra. The two stared at each other for a moment, then Rhonse asked, “what…just happened?”

Imra’s jaw slowly dropped. “What are you?” he responded.

“We did it!” cheered Squiggles and the surviving Gnomes. About half were left standing, and the Elf and Human found themselves surrounded by them. “Saviors! Heroes! Friends!” cried the crowd.

Imra scanned every last Gnomish face, and did not see Doriver among them.

“Rhonse…I think…we’re the only two left,” Imra said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Rhonse broke from the crowd, Imra following close behind. Imra found Doriver twitching slightly, rubbing at his face in his sleep. The Elf shook him slightly, waking him.

“Thragh! He…” Doriver could not finish his sentence, choking off in tears.

“I know,” answered Imra, emotionless.

Doriver turned to look at Dasmi, who was still lying against the wall. His chest heaved up and down occasionally, so Doriver sighed with relief. The Paladin…had nearly killed him.

“The Paladin…” muttered Doriver to himself. For some reason the thought of saying his name sickened him. “Where is he?”

Imra turned to look. Rhonse was bent over Thragh, his hand resting on the chest of the Dwarf. Was he trying to heal him? Imra asked himself, baffled. He’s dead!

Suddenly the bright light once more erupted from Rhonse. He looked upwards into the cave ceiling, his eyes glazed over. The light that emanated from his body began dimming, as it grew brighter on his arms, and then over Thragh. The light soon dimmed on both of them, and Thragh choked, his arms twitching slightly.

“He…he brought someone…back to life…” Imra mumbled, unable to believe what he saw.

Life…must…cling…thought Emeriss, his mind erupting in pain. He knew just about every bone in his body was snapped, yet still he lived.

And then before him was the Dwarf and fire Elemental, Ragnaros.

“You succeeded,” grinned the Firelord. “Surprised? Oh, we knew you were a gonner as soon as we gave you the mission,” cackled Ragnaros.

“You…” growled Emeriss, but he did not have the strength to say more.

“You can’t kill them. Not those four,” explained Ragnaros. “Nor do we want you to. But you passed with flying colors. You see, Rhonse’s spirit is nearly broken. His true heritage is taking control. Soon the Elemental Lords will be united once more, and the mortal world will be torn asunder.”

Then Ragnaros was gone, and Emeriss slipped off into death.

[Mr_Teatime]

Odd bit of foreshadowing here: The next story I'm planning on writing will center around Squiggles, his fall from grace as he becomes a warlock, and his attempt to conquer Azeroth with the Gnomes still loyal to him. Too bad no one takes the little guys seriously :sad:

Also, last night Rhonse, Imra and myself (Selquist) were bored and decided to three-man Deadmines. About halfway through we got bored again and took some screenshots, so:

Somewhat of a cast pic (Thragh and Doriver were not here) (http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a161/MrTeatime/closetohomecast1.jpg)

Come on, you've GOT to have dancing. (http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a161/MrTeatime/closetohomecast2.jpg)

[Furiad]

Man this is simply incredible, Not only should you publish this but make it a movie man with an imagination like yours, you'll be bill gates in no time keep it up

[Mr_Teatime]

Thank you. I really love all the amazing comments guys. The more you make, the more I want to write, and the quicker these chapters will come out! However, as is we're almost done...I present to you, chapter 8:


Their cart rattled along the ash-covered path. Looming in the distance was their destination.

Blackrock Mountain.

With the Dragon, Emeriss, dead, Squiggles and his twenty or so surviving Gnomes teleported the group back to Lakeshire. There they were hailed as heroes. Rhonse, Imra, and Thragh were given all the supplies they could carry, and a wagon with two horses to make the rest of their journey easier.

During the celebration of the end of their torment at the hands of the Dragon, Doriver found Squiggles and brought him off to the side.

“Sir,” saluted Squiggles.

“At ease,” said Doriver cheerfully. “I have a request I must ask of you.”

“Yes?”

“I want you to lead the 401st Gnomish Division.”

“What?” asked Squiggles, baffled. “But…you’re the rightful leader! I’m…I’m not as powerful as you!”

“You most certainly are. I see big things in your future,” smiled Doriver, “bigger than most Gnomes. And that’s not a pun.”

“But…what about you? Why can’t you lead us now?”

Doriver looked over to where he saw Imra beaming as he shook hands with all the admiring townsfolk. “I’m going to travel with them. I’m going to Blackrock Mountain.”

“But…what’s at Blackrock Mountain?”

“Rhonse wants to avenge the death of his uncle. Thragh lost his brother to them.”

“And the Elf?”

Doriver paused. He wasn’t quite certain about that. Imra had continuously dodged the question whenever Doriver approached the subject.

“He has his reasons as well,” assured Doriver, attempting to placate both Squiggles and himself.

“Why not take the whole division with you? We can supply all our aid!” insisted Squiggles.

“No, no…if we were to attack with a full force, we’d attract the attention of the whole Dark Iron army. We’d be annihilated. Our goal is to do as much damage as we can without being noticed.”

“I see…” mused Squiggles. “I commend you, Doriver. And I hope you come back to us when your mission is complete.”

“Of course. There are always more Dragons to slay!” Doriver cheered.

Now Doriver sat in the back of the cart, chattering away to Thragh, who had his hand pressed against his chest, which ached slightly. Up front, Rhonse held the reigns of the horses. Imra sat next to him, rubbing his mended arm.

Dasmi had his back mended by the combined efforts of Thragh, Rhonse and the Lakeshire healer. For his bravery and honor, he had been awarded a position within the Kirin Tor, the first Horde member every offered such a position. Dasmi graciously thanked Doriver and Squiggles for the offer, saying he needed a night to think about it. The next morning, he was gone. His true loyalty was still to the Horde. While some worried he would report the town’s location to the Horde, Doriver knew he never would.

Imra had approached Rhonse during the festivities, too.

“What…happened to you back there, Rhonse?” the Elf asked, a mixture of fear and concern on his face.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Rhonse gruffly. “I’ve no memory of the end of the event…I think I was knocked unconscious during the battle.”

Imra sighed, and hadn’t brought up the subject since. But the words of the Dragon… “you aren’t Human!” …rang in his mind.

With Lakeshire under the capable hands of Squiggles and the remaining Gnomes, the companions entered The Burning Steppes, a charred, ashy wasteland at the base of Blackrock Mountain, which shot upwards into the heavens.

“Whooo,” whistled Imra, craning his neck up in an attempt to see all of it.

“We’re nearly to our last stop before we reach it,” announced Rhonse. “A small outpost named Morgan’s Vigil. We’ll drop off the cart here, rest up, take our final supplies, and get ready for the final trek.”

Imra gulped. “So this is it…the big finish,” he whispered, almost to himself more than anyone else.

“Morgan…” muttered Thragh. “Morgan!” he shouted, startling the other three. “Uncle Morgan! Rhonse, hurry! I know this town!”

“What? How is that possible?” asked Rhonse.

“My mum…mine and Selquist’s mom lives here. Morgan isn’t really my uncle; he’s a Human that’s a close friend of the family.”

“Why would your mom wanna live way out here?” asked Doriver. “Doesn’t seem like an ideal location.”

“When Selquist and I were young, she used to take trips out there a lot…to go visit ‘Uncle Morgan,’ she said. I had no idea Morgan’s Vigil was here, though. I think…I think she was looking for Selquist’s dad.”

“But according to The Shadow, he was killed by Thelsamar guards the night they met,” piped in Imra.

“Yes…there must be more to this than we currently know. I have to speak to her.” When the wagon pulled up the small dirt path leading into the town, Thragh leapt over the side and began running. Imra and Doriver ran after him, while Rhonse reigned in the horses and tried to park the cart properly.

Thragh was surprised to feel a strong hand press onto his shoulder. He whipped around to see a dark-skinned man looking down at him. He was old, into his 70s it seemed, and his weathered face showed one who had seen many things in his life, both knowledgeable and horrible.

“Thragh…” smiled the man grimly. “It’s been a long time. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Uncle Morgan!” gasped Thragh. “It’s good to…wait…expecting me?”

He heard a weapon drawn from its sheath, and turned around again, to see Imra looking up the path further into the town.

“I smell blood,” he muttered.

“Me too,” agreed Doriver, straightening his robes and entering a state of concentration.

Morgan nodded. “Your mother is waiting for you up there. Please, be careful.”

Unsure of what was going on, but the sense of urgency growing on him, Thragh ran up the path to his mother’s house, Imra and Doriver behind them. Rhonse soon caught up, and the four reached the door.

Thragh knocked hesitantly. There was no answer. Trying the doorknob, he discovered it was unlocked.

The four jumped backwards when a Human body tumbled down before them. It was dressed in guardsmen armor. A small, spherical wound was in the dead center of his forehead, and a large gash went down his chest.

“Mom!” Thragh called.

There, sitting at a small table in front of them, was Ms. Celebundin. She was pale and shivering strongly. Slowly she turned her head to regard the companions.

“Thragh…” she gasped. Thragh ran forwards, his friends following.

“Mom, what-” he started.

“Why did you have to come?” she moaned. “Why?”

“I don’t understand! What’s going on?” Imra snapped.

“Backup, boys, hands on the backs of yer heads,” ordered a strong, Dwarvish voice. Everyone turned to see the Dwarf come out of the shadows, his rifle pointed directly at Ms. Celebundin, his two axes strapped to his hips. Seeing that it was her life that was in danger, not theirs, they did as he said and put their hands behind their heads.

“Excellent, excellent,” nodded Sergeant Bloodshade. “You boys are far more resilient than I thought. I would’ve sworn I took care of yeh back in those Blasted Lands. How’d yeh survive that?”

“We can handle whatever you can dish out,” responded Rhonse smugly. “You’re after us, I assume. Not her. Let’s go out back and settle this.”

“Pride is not to factor into things,” growled Bloodshade. “I am not to get cocky! I am to do whatever it takes to prevent you from reaching Blackrock Mountain, and just plain fighting you is not ‘whatever it takes’… not anymore.” He poked Ms. Celebundin in the back of the head with the rifle, and ordered her to stand up. Turning to the companions, he ushered everyone outside, through the back door.

“Any plans?” Thragh muttered to Rhonse, but Bloodshade shouted at them for silence before Rhonse could respond.

They reached the backyard, where Rhonse, Imra, Thragh and Doriver lined up single-file. Bloodshade turned to face them, Ms. Celebundin still by his side.

“Now what?” Rhonse dared to ask.

Bloodshade grinned. “Now this,” he answered. He reached into his vest and pulled out a remote. Pressing it, the house they had been in detonated.

Flames burst out of every side, as flaming hunks of wood flew into the group. In the confusion, Bloodshade charged forwards, bringing his axe Rhonse and knocking him back. Spinning around, he grabbed a burning plank and waved it at Imra, fending the Elf back.

Thragh ran past, ignoring Bloodshade entirely. He picked up his mother, inspecting her with worried eyes.

“Thragh, what have you gotten yourself into?” she asked.

A shot was fired, and Thragh cringed nervously. Turning, he saw Morgan had entered the fray. He was now falling backwards, clutching at his bleeding stomach.

A wave of frost washed over Bloodshade, causing him to shiver. But he shook it off, and charged Doriver, bringing his elbow up into the Gnome’s chin.

Thragh’s face twisted in rage. Without thinking, he unleashed a blast of light at Bloodshade, knocking the Dark Iron backwards. Charging forwards, the two Dwarves collided and fell backwards into the burning rubble.

Bloodshade lashed forwards with both his blades, Thragh nimbly jumping backwards to avoid them. There was a crackle, as more flames exploded sideways, in between them.

Thragh was reminded of the burning of Stormwind. The Dark Irons destroyed his home…his mother’s home…

It was not until that moment that he realized the true evil of this group.

The flames licking at him from all directions, he strained to see Bloodshade amidst the fog. The Dark Iron was about to lunch towards him, when a wall of fire shot up between them.

Thragh looked over to see a teetering power of melting wood lean over Bloodshade. Bloodshade noticed it as well, bringing his hand up to his face in horror. Thragh suddenly gasped, realizing what he had to do. For a moment he wished for Rhonse’s thirst for vengeance, or Imra’s detachment from his foes. But he had neither.

Running forwards, Thragh pushed Bloodshade out of the way as the last bits of the house collapsed around them. The two rolled out onto the ground, singed and bleeding.

Imra ran over and brought his knee down on Thragh’s windpipe.

“Alright, you damned Dark Iron! Prepare to die!” he snarled.

“Imra! Wrong Dwarf!” gasped Thragh.

“What?” Imra peered to see through the smog. “Oh…my bad.” He stepped sideways and brought his knee into Bloodshade’s throat. “Alright you damned Dark Iron!” he shouted, considerably less heart-felt this time, the moment having been lost, “prepare to die!”

“Wait,” panted Thragh, sitting upright. “Don’t kill him. Not yet.”

“And why shouldn’t we?” asked Rhonse, walking over.

“He’s more useful to us now…perhaps he can get us into the stronghold,” suggested Thragh. He had no reason. This Dwarf deserved to die. He had nearly killed him, his friends, his own mother for Gods’ sake. Yet murdering him now would solve nothing.

“I’d never help you,” spat Bloodshade.

“Then you will die!” bellowed Rhonse.

Bloodshade suddenly grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it into Imra’s eyes. The Elf staggered backwards, blinded, as Bloodshade jumped up and dove backwards into the smog.

“Ooh, where did he go?” called out his mocking voice. “You are strong, you four…but I will alert The Shadow of yer comin’. You will never make it to Blackrock Mountain alive.”

They heard footsteps going off into the distance, but could not distinguish which direction it was that he fled.

Thragh went to heal his mother, while Rhonse dealt with the wounded Morgan. As they all went to settle down in Morgan’s home, which also acted as Town Hall, several guards reported hearing the Dark Iron run by, but being unable to see or catch him.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, pounding his fist on his wooden table. Fixing his gaze upon the four companions, he said more loudly, “I think I deserve an explanation.”

“Morgan,” cooed Ms. Celebundin calmly. “Allow me to talk.”

“Ma, your too weak…” Thragh began to protest, but she waved him into silence.

“Approximately…oh, around fifty years ago…my how time flies,” she sighed, her eyes staring off at an unknown object in the distance, “I was living in the town of Thelsamar, near the famous Loch. There had been reports of Dark Iron activity in the area, but there were reports of Trogg activity in the area and Horde activity in the area…in this day and age, no one gives any attention to activity in the area.” She sighed, this time sadly, not wistfully.

“The Dark Irons attacked one night…a well-organized, non-violent attack. They were led by…a man. The most dashing man I had ever seen. And though I knew he was a Dark Iron, we locked eyes, and…he sought me out.”

“Can we skip the part where you, you know, make Selquist?” Thragh asked uneasily.

“Certainly,” laughed Ms. Celebundin. “But that night was not all about passion…apparently Sir Selquist Celebundin the First had been planning to leave the Dark Irons for some time…unfortunately, his leaders were not the type who approved of retirement. So when I convinced Selquist…the first…to run away with me, he was found by a higher-up…”

“I thought you said he was leading the group?” Rhonse asked, confused.

“Yes…I did too…this one just seemed to appear out of nowhere…and his eyes…they…burned…”

“Ragnaros,” Thragh snarled. Imra, Rhonse and Doriver nodded.

“He killed my beloved on the spot…murdered him for considering to leave, to stop his life of war, of suffering…” Ms. Celebundin could go on no longer. She broke off into sobs as Morgan went over to comfort her.

“We…should probably head off soon,” Rhonse announced. Imra nodded in agreement, but Thragh and Doriver did not hear him. Doriver because he had become enthralled by a piece of jewelry over Morgan’s fireplace that he just had to inspect and promptly broke. Thragh because he now understood the blood that ran in Selquist’s veins.

“The Shadow lied,” Thragh said, his eyes widening. “The blood to lead the Dark Irons does not flow in his veins. Noble blood does. Blood that knows the evils in the world, and knows how to resist them.”

He didn’t care about Bloodshade’s threat. He didn’t care if the entire Dark Iron army was at the gates of Blackrock Mountain to meet him.

“We’re going to bring Selquist home, mom.”

[CheeseitsGorath]

Ah Mr_Teatime, I enjoy the story and hope to read more. Especially since I'm sitting in your house and talking to you as you type this. :D

[Thragh]

Keep up the sweet fanfiction goodness.

:afro:

[Mr_Teatime]

We're reaching the climax, folks. Here's chapter 9 of 10....


“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow,” moaned a truly miserable voice.


“Er…Imra? You ok?” called out a second voice, this one gruff, asking more out of annoyance than worry.

“My feet…are…killing me! All this damned walking!” called back the first voice angrily.

“We’ve only been walking for a few hours,” the second voice reprimanded.

“But I’ve got all these blisters from the months of walking before now!”

“Months? You mean weeks?”

“Listen, Rhonse, I haven’t exactly been keeping track of my calendar during all this-”

“Confound it, will you two pipe up! If you keep arguing so loudly, we won’t have to worry about Bloodshade alerting the Dark Iron forces, they’ll hear you from on top of the mountain!” screamed a third voice, one that sounded gruff and older than the other two.

“Actually,” piped in a fourth voice, this one sounding high-pitched and nasally, “the Dark Irons don’t live on top of the mountain. They occupy Blackrock Depths, a series of caves and tunnels carved deep into the base of the mountain. Dragons inhabit the upper layer of the mountain, known as The Blackrock Spire.”

“…How do you know this?” asked the first voice, sounding sly and slightly nervous.

“I read books,” responded the fourth voice cheerfully.

And so, four heroes prepared to destroy an evil empire.

“I need to rest my feet,” panted Imra. Plopping down on the ground, he began to wrest off his leather boots.

“We can’t rest here! There’s no cover!” snapped Rhonse.

“We’ll be fine,” assured Imra.

“How can you be so sure?” persisted the Paladin, looking around nervously.

Like most of the areas they had trekked through, The Burning Steppes was named by someone largely uncreative. The ground was covered in a dark ash, expelled from the nearby volcano. Cracks ran through the ground, lava running through them. If they had continued on with their caravan, it wouldn’t have been able to proceed much further along the charred ground. Occasional hills stood up along the plains, but there were no trees. No plant life at all managed to survive in this area.

“Imra’s right,” agreed Thragh, sitting down next to the Elf. “We’ll be in no shape to deal with the Dark Irons if we don’t rest up.”

“So what exactly are the details of your plan?” Doriver asked.

“Well, I’ve been thinking, and perhaps Bloodshade sending forces out after us will be a good thing,” answered Rhonse. “As you know, this is a stealth mission. The four of us simply can’t take on thousands of Dark Iron soldiers.”

“Not even the mighty Rhonse?” asked Imra in a mocking voice. Thragh and Doriver chuckled, while Rhonse frowned.

“This is hardly a time for jokes, Imra,” he said solemnly. “By the end of today…some or even all of us are likely to be dead.”

At this his companions promptly stopped laughing, their faces turning stern and serious.

“Now then,” continued Rhonse, pleased to have gotten the desired effect. “While the bulk of the Dark Iron soldiers are out here looking for us…we will head into their city, Blackrock Depths. There we will search for the two leaders…Ragnaros and The Shadow…who are bound to be there, waiting for us.”

Imra shivered. “Even though we out number them four to two…I must admit, I wish we had more…”

“Yes…but the more we’d have with us, the harder it would be to get inside the city.” Rhonse shook his head. “No. We can do it. We’ve overcome every obstacle so far.”

“Some or all of us will die…” muttered Doriver, repeating what Rhonse had said. “I’ve dealt with death before. Half of my platoon, my friends…died at the hands of that dragon. Yet…I can’t grow used to it.”

This, more than anything, caused pity in the hearts of the other companions. A depressed Gnome was more heart wrenching than an injured kitten.

“It is simply the statistics of war,” nodded Rhonse.

“I feel like I hardly even know you guys,” muttered Thragh. “When did we meet? Two weeks ago? Three? And we’ve been with each other ever since…you’ve all saved my life more than once, yet we’ve never sat down and just talked.”

“We’re sitting now,” suggested Doriver.

“This isn’t really a good time…” muttered Rhonse.

“We’re about to charge into certain death. No better time I can think of,” said Imra.

“Fine. You guys can have your tea and crumpets and chat about the weather. I’m going to devise some more strategies,” insisted Rhonse.

“The weather here is quite terrible…” muttered Doriver, looking up into the dark, smog-filled sky, but the others ignored him.

“Why’ve you constantly got to be worrying, Rhonse?” asked Thragh, true concern in his voice. “We’re not just your foot soldiers, your mindless henchmen. We’re your friends. Why don’t you go first? Tell us about yourself.”

“This is stupid!” he shouted.

“Now I’m no therapist, but it seems to me you’ve got something bottled up inside,” piped in Doriver. “It can be good to share these things, get them off your chest.”

“There’s nothing to share, nothing to get off my chest. You guys are reading too far into me. I just…want to get this over with. I’ve got to defeat them!” Rhonse grit his teeth, and rose to his feet. “I’ll go alone if I must!”

“Sit down,” said a deep voice. “Now.”

Rhonse was so shocked that he nearly fell back onto the ground. The companions turned to look at Imra.

“You’re not going in there by yourself,” he said, his voice sounding unnaturally calm and controlled. “We’re in this together. Now tell us what happened that shoved a rod so far up your ass you can’t even share the time of day with the only three people in the world you can possibly consider friends.”

Rhonse’s jaw slowly dropped open. Thragh had to cover his mouth to hide his grin. Doriver was bent over, putting all his attention towards an incredibly interesting insect that had crawled out of the ash.

“I think…I’m sure of it…The Shadow killed my father,” muttered Rhonse so softly the others could barely hear him.

“How? Why?” asked Imra.

“I didn’t know it at the time…all I remember is…when I was a young boy, no older than 7 or so…I was hiding in the cellar, with my uncle. Something…horrible was going on outside, but my uncle couldn’t help. He had to guard me…because I couldn’t take care of myself. And I nearly destroyed everything, nearly got my uncle and myself killed, because I screamed. I couldn’t control my fear, and my loved ones paid the consequences for it.”

Rhonse was nearly in tears. “My father…the last time I ever saw him was earlier that day. My uncle would never tell me what happened. He took care of me from then on, and I never saw my father again. I’ve spent every night in the cathedral praying for the safe return of my father, refusing to believe he was really dead.”

“How do you know it was The Shadow?” wondered Thragh, enthralled by the story.

“Ever since we saw him in Stormwind…right after the attack…I’ve been having a recurring nightmare of that terrible day. And each time I sleep I become more and more certain of it. It was The Shadow that was there, The Shadow that killed my father. He wanted my uncle dead. He wanted me dead.” Rhonse shivered, faltering in his story. He paused a moment, then continued on.

“Before the attack, Ragnaros and a group of Dark Irons came into the cathedral where my uncle and I were. And…they knew each other. I don’t know how, but they knew each other. Then he killed my uncle, and I barely escaped with my own life. Then they set off the explosions all around the city, and I ran into Imra-”

Rhonse stopped again, this time a puzzled look crossing his face. He shook his head, seeming to dismiss the thought.

“Somehow my family is intertwined with the Dark Irons. For some reason they want every one of us dead. I know that I’m next, as I’m the only one left. Which is why I’ve got to get them first.”

Imra continued staring at Rhonse, his face relatively emotionless. Thragh shook his head sadly, as even Doriver managed to look up from the insects he had been trying to examine.

“C’mere, buddy,” called out Doriver, reaching over to hug Rhonse. “Let it all out.”

“I told you my story, but hugs are a bit too much to ask,” responded Rhonse, though not harshly. “I’m fine. I’ve been carrying that weight with me all this time, and I could’ve carried it a bit longer.”

“No you couldn’t have,” reprimanded Thragh. “You can’t let your emotions get the best of you. You’re a damn good Paladin, lad, and I’m glad to have you on our side.”

“Hah!” laughed Rhonse. “Damn good Paladin? Am I? What have I done that’s so great?” This time he actually smiled as he continued on. “I’ve done nothing but act irrationally! I have the zeal of a Paladin, that’s for sure…but I’ve been so captured in my own ideas of revenge!

“Sallie…” he muttered. “In all my time in Stormwind, I had never let a girl get to know me enough to actually like me. But Sallie…I could see it in her eyes…she enjoyed my company, as I enjoyed hers. What did I do? Kill her father!”

“That was an accident,” assured Thragh, but Rhonse shook his head.

“Yes, sure, that’s fine. But I didn’t even stay around to help bury him! I was too ashamed! I fled instantly! I couldn’t…I couldn’t face another person I had let down!”

He looked up at Imra. The Elf seemed to have changed dramatically from what he remembered. This was no longer the drunken, partying, happy-go-lucky wannabe Dwarf he had met in Stormwind.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” Imra said. “You’re Human. You, quite sadly, make mistakes like every other being on this planet.”

Rhonse paused for a moment.

“Am I Human?” he finally asked.

There was silence for a moment. In all honesty, his friends were not certain.

“Do you have any idea what the dragon meant?” Doriver finally asked. “When he said you weren’t Human?”

“And when you went ballistic and knocked him off the mountain single-handedly?” added in Imra.

“I swear on my honor…or at least what’s left of it…that I’ve no idea.”

The others nodded. “I believe you,” assured Thragh.

“Thank you,” Rhonse said suddenly. “Thank you. I feel as if…I can now truly say I have friends.”

“See? I told you you’d feel better.” Imra laughed good-naturedly. “Now let’s go kick some Dark Iron butt!”

Thragh stood up excitedly. “Aye aye!” Doriver, too, cheered.

“I think first we should talk a bit more,” Rhonse insisted slyly. “Imra. I must admit, I’m curious. Why are you with us? I’ve explained myself, and Thragh is looking for Selquist…so why do you persist that you have your reasons to be here, yet never tell us?”

The others sat back down, staring expectantly at Imra. Doriver conjured up a glass of water to sip on, the ash getting in his throat.

“Aha,” Imra muttered nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

“Well?” insisted Rhonse.

“I…didn’t want this. I didn’t intend to get myself into all of this,” he muttered. The others looked at each other, confused.

“What do you mean, lad?” Thragh asked.

“I…” Imra sighed. “I’ve got no noble reason. I’m not looking to rescue family, or avenge family…I’m looking to run away from my family. I’m eighteen years old.”

Doriver spat out a mouthful of water into Thragh’s face.

“Eighteen!?” shouted Rhonse. “By the light! That’s no more than a baby in Elven years! I’m surprised they even let you out of the cradle!”

“They didn’t,” assured Imra. “Hence why I escaped. The Elves…blech. They’re so stuffy! They’re always reading their books, and brooding silently, and shunning the other races. It’s sickening! That’s why…I ran away. I made it to Stormwind, but I began to fear that my parents would be looking for me. That same day I met up with you two, and realized that if I traveled around I’d have something to do while never having to return home. I…never expected things to get this serious.”

“I…see,” responded Rhonse. “Well then…”

“I can see now I was incredibly stupid,” continued Imra. “In a way I’m glad I met you, Rhonse. You’ve taught me a thing or two about the world. A thing or two the Elves never could’ve taught me.”

“I’m glad to have you with us,” Rhonse said. “I think…now we can go.”

The four of them stood up.

“Selquist…we’re coming,” Thragh said to the open land in front of them.

“You too, Shadow…brace yourself!” Rhonse grinned eerily.

[Mr_Teatime]

“Sorry to spoil the moment, but I have to use the little Elves room,” Imra piped in.

“Just go behind that hill,” Rhonse said, pointing. Imra nodded, and headed off.

“Eighteen…my my, he doesn’t look it,” Thragh said, more to himself than to his companions.

“Yes…that is true. But, you know, Elves, they…age weird.” Rhonse shook his head. “No, it…no…”

Thragh looked up at him with concern. “What is it, lad?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just…I have to go use the bathroom myself. Be right back.”

Rhonse jogged off to the distant hill where Imra had disappeared behind. His pace increased, a sense of urgency stealing over him. No! Why? He had just begun to trust him!


“Oh, I’m sorry,” sniffed Rhonse, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Where are my manners? I didn’t even get your name. I’m Rhonse Darius.”
The Human extended his hand. Imra shook it, saying “Imra. I’m…Imra.”
“Do you have a last name?”
“Um…no.” Imra rubbed the back of his head nervously, then coughed and changed the subject.

“We don’t think he’s a Dwarf,” commented the second in command, “but then again you hardly need to be to be a Dark Iron Dwarf…” he added as his eyes flared with fire.

Imra nodded solemnly. “Aye…if I can’t stop you, then I’m with you every step of the way.”
Rhonse grunted, half awake. Imra and Thragh ignored him.

He could hardly get a hold of Imra. Every chance he could, the Elf slinked off into the forest, to look for water or firewood or shelter. Whenever he was around them, he seemed tense to get away.


He turned the corner of the hill, looking back at Thragh and Doriver in the distance.

Imra had not noticed anything. He was hunched over on the ground, writing feverishly in the ash. The message was a strange formation of letters, in a language Rhonse didn’t recognize. He had spent time studying Horde languages…but had never expected to need to learn the languages of the other races of the Alliances! That was what common was for!

But as he stared at the writing, he got the distinct feeling it was Dwarven. Imra was muttering to himself in the same, clicky language.

“Ahem,” coughed the Paladin, making himself known.

Imra perked up, instantly scattering dust over the message. He whirled around, standing up, his hand on his weapon.

“Rhonse,” he panted. “Just you. Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Rhonse answered, a look of sadness on his face. “Something is wrong, Imra.”

The Elf’s hand did not relax off of his weapon holster. “What is it?”

“There was one thing you didn’t tell us in your little speech. Your last name.”

“So? It’s…um, it’s…”

“I believe you when you say you don’t have one. Maybe not an official one that you know, anyway. But what do you go by? Fireforge? Ironbeard? What clan took you in?”

“You’re a lunatic,” snapped Imra, backing away, his eyes not straying away from the Paladin’s penetrating gaze.

“You just showed up in Stormwind one day. Never entered the town before. Just happened to come in. Happened to come in the day of a Dark Iron attack. You, Imra. A Dwarf lover. You were hanging out at a Dwarf pub, weren’t you? Drinking Dwarven ale?”

Imra said nothing.

“There was a Human working for the Dark Irons, working for them happily,” Rhonse continued. “You certainly aren’t required to be a Dwarf to join the Dark Irons, it’s just generally assumed. And for someone like you, I imagine it was an honor to join them.”

Again, Imra said nothing.

“You claim you wanted to escape? Liked the idea of travel? Not quite. You certainly planned to follow us as long as we were heading after the Dark Irons, but you continuously attempted to persuade us away from going on. You’ve been trying to stop this from the beginning, yet have refused to leave.”

Nothing.

“You’ve slunk off far too many times, too. Throughout our travels you’ve liked the idea of being alone off by yourself. An Elfish trait, but you don’t have any of those. You’ve been writing messages the entire time to your Dwarf friends, haven’t you? Leading Bloodshade and any other Dark Irons after us? That’s how Zharon and his troop managed to catch up with us. It’s how Bloodshade knew where we were heading.”

A low growl began to emanate from deep in Imra’s throat.

“I’m saddened, Imra. I was just about to consider you a friend. Yet now you see why I’m so paranoid. Now you see why I take every precaution!”

Imra screamed and charged forwards, unsheathing his one-handed axe the people of Lakeshire had given him. Rhonse, too, pulled out his finely crafted mace, parrying the blow.

“You are an idiot, Rhonse!” roared Imra. “A fool!”

Rhonse, his face grim, charged forwards again. The two locked weapons, neither gaining any ground. Rhonse realized that the Elf had been feigning incompetence the entire time. He had been making it seem like he wasn’t a threat. And now Rhonse was quickly being pushed back by his assault.

Rhonse jumped back, causing Imra to stumble forwards. But the Elf caught himself before Rhonse could gain an advantage. Swinging his axe upwards, Rhonse fell back, narrowly avoiding the blow.

Looking over, Rhonse saw that Thragh and Doriver were too far away to see what was happening. He was on his own. He quickly turned, parried an incoming blow, and in the same motion, smashed his mace into Imra’s chest.

The Elf had managed to tense his stomach muscles right before this, softening the blow. He nimbly jumped sideways, on top of a small slope of the hill. He now had the higher ground on Rhonse. The Paladin backed away from the hill, swinging his mace to keep Imra at bay. The Elf dove downwards, hitting Rhonse straight in the chest. They fell backwards, rolling over, Imra pinning Rhonse down.

Rhonse struggled to get up, but Imra had him down fast. With his arms pinned to his sides, Rhonse reared his head up, his forehead connected with Imra’s nose. The Elf’s grip weakened slightly, allowing Rhonse to roll to the side, pushing Imra off. Going for the same weak spot, Rhonse brought his knee around, hearing the snap of Imra’s nose breaking.

Imra refused to relent, however. Ignoring the pain in his nose, he continued to push forwards, swinging his axe wildly. The blade cut into Rhonse’s hand during an attempt to parry, and he had to switch his mace to his left hand.

As Rhonse continued backing up, unable to gain an advantage, he nearly lost his footing as he stepped against the edge of one of the small rivers of lava. Looking behind him, he could feel the heat on his face. The molten lava bubbled and surged onwards, away from the volcano.

Imra charged forwards, with the intent of pushing Rhonse in. Rhonse bent to his left, dodging the blow. He had to push forwards, gain some ground. But every time he brought his mace in, Imra parried it and counterattacked. Rhonse tried this again, and this time dodged the counterattack, spun around and hit Imra in the back with his mace.

The Elf stumbled forwards towards the lava. Unable to stop himself, he tensed his legs and leapt forwards. He came just sort of his mark, grabbed the opposite edge of land, and dangled downwards. His left foot dipped into the lava, searing into a charred, black lump. At this, Imra screamed in agony, the noise echoing throughout the area.

Finally Thragh and Doriver came running. They saw Rhonse standing there, battered and bleeding, with Imra about to fall into the lava river.

“This is absurd!” screamed Thragh. “Rhonse, Imra, how could you fight like this? After patching up all our differences!”

“Imra is a Dark Iron!” panted Rhonse. “You’ve got to believe me!”

“Rhonse has gone crazy!” pleaded Imra. He was scrabbling to maintain hold of the land, his face and hands sweating profusely from the heat. “Save me!”

“A Dark Iron?” gasped Doriver. “How?”

“I don’t believe it!” huffed Thragh. “If anyone here is a traitor, it’s you, Rhonse!”

“He’s dangerous! Be careful,” warned Imra.

“Listen to me! I know Imra is more likable than I am! I know you want to believe him! Hell, I’d want to believe him too!” Rhonse cried.

“You nearly killed Dasmi,” accused Doriver. “Even when I tried to tell you he was a friend. You were delusional.”

“Face it, Rhonse,” Thragh said sadly, “I dunno what snapped in you, but you aren’t fit for this mission. Not mentally.”

Thragh and Doriver turned to Imra. “Hang on, buddy!” Thragh called.

Just then a slab of molten rock floated by on the lava. Imra jumped to it quickly, hurling his axe at Rhonse in mid-flight. It imbedded itself into his chest. Imra hit the rock, landing on his gammy foot and stumbling forwards. He clung to the rock, as it bore him off into the distance, glaring evilly at Rhonse.

As Rhonse hit the ground, the Dwarf and Gnome gasped.

“I’m ok,” panted the Paladin. “My armor cushioned most of the blow…”

“Imra…a traitor…” muttered Doriver in disbelief.

Thragh bent over Rhonse, pulling out the weapon and healing the wound. “You better tell us what the hell went on here, Paladin,” he growled savagely. “Why couldn’t you have been the traitor? Why did it have to be Imra?”


The Human, Dwarf and Gnome headed onwards. They were less than a day’s journey from Blackrock Mountain.

They were all silent, contemplative. Rhonse had explained the story to Thragh and Doriver, and they knew it made sense. They didn’t want it to, they wanted it to be a deranged fabrication of this zealot Paladin. But they saw it for themselves.

Imra had been working for the Dark Irons since the very beginning.

“I’m…sorry,” Rhonse finally said. “I wish this weren’t true just as much as you two.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” scoffed Doriver.

“Don’t worry about it, lad,” Thragh insisted, his head down. “The only one to blame here is Imra…I hope, for his sake, we don’t run into each other again.”

“Shh!” Rhonse suddenly hushed. He motioned for the others to get down, and they hid behind a nearby dust mound.

A group of voices came closer. They spoke in common, but in a distinct Dwarven accent. Rhonse held up three fingers, to indicate how many voices he estimated. Thragh and Doriver nodded in agreement.

“We can take ‘em,” whispered Thragh.

“We can’t risk that they’ll escape and alert others, though,” insisted Rhonse. “Hold on a moment.”

Rhonse grabbed a rock out of the dust mound and threw it to the side.

“What was that?” one of the Dark Irons called out. His voice sounded firm and in charge, and upon hearing it, Thragh gasped.

“I’ll go check,” offered one of the other Dark Irons. Rhonse motioned for his companions to get down, then when the Dark Iron turned the corner, he reached out and swiftly snapped his neck. The Dwarf never had the chance to scream.

“What is it?” called out the leader again.

“Doriver, can you take down one of them without being noticed?” asked Rhonse.

“Certainly!” cheered Doriver. “Gnomes are good at not being noticed.”

On his hands and knees, Doriver crawled to the top of the mound, remaining flat on his stomach. The two Dark Irons were looking for their third companion, and did not notice him. He began softly muttering the arcane syllables of magic, his hands circling around each other in a strange formation. A small ball of fire began to glow within his hands, slowly expanding as he continued to mutter the words. He slowly spread his hands apart to allow for the expanding fire. Then he launched it outwards, hitting one of the Dark Irons square in the chest. He flew backwards, engulfed in flames.

Doriver quickly slid back down the hill, as the remaining Dark Iron looked around him, baffled.

“One left,” the Gnome announced.

“Good. Let’s get him, quickly, before he can escape!” shouted Rhonse, charging around the hill. Doriver and Thragh followed.

The three quickly faltered and came to a halt. The Dark Iron stood there, nonplussed, arms crossed. His cold gaze swept across each of them.

“I order that you surrender yourself immediately!” called out Rhonse. “By the Order of the Silver Hand, you will be brought to justice for your crimes against The Alliance!”

This did not get the desired effect. The Dwarf strode towards them, as if he were the one who ought to be ordering their surrender.

“Stop where you are!” ordered Rhonse.

“Rhonse,” Thragh said softly. Rhonse stopped, putting his weapon down. Thragh stepped in front of them, staring face to face with a Dwarf that looked vaguely like him.

“Thragh,” the Dark Iron intoned, his voice and face emotionless.

“Selquist,” responded Thragh, chocking slightly.

“It is good to see you again,” Selquist said in a businesslike fashion. “I must wonder, why is my baby brother all the way out here? I hope not for me.”

“Yes. For you,” responded Thragh. “We’re bringing you home. I don’t know what The Shadow has done to you, but you don’t really want to be here!”

“The Shadow is unstoppable,” replied Selquist. “Those who stand against him will die. He is ageless, immortal. You will join him or fall beneath his heel.”

“I will never join him,” growled Thragh. “What has gotten into you?”

“I must follow in my father’s footsteps. I must honor his bloodline. The blood of kings flows through me!”

“The Shadow lied!” shouted Thragh. “Your father was held in the Dark Irons against his will! Ragnaros murdered him, not the guards of Thelsamar!”

“I will not listen to this filth,” spat Selquist. “Come with me! Now! The war is almost here…The Dark Irons will surge out into the land! We will crush The Alliance scum, and anyone else in our way!”

“We will not let that happen,” assured Rhonse. “Your cause is evil. The light will always prevail over The Shadow.”

“You are lucky I am giving you so many chances,” snarled Selquist through grit teeth. “Come now, or leave this place!”

“…Goodbye, Selquist,” Thragh said sadly.

With lightning speed, the Dark Iron pulled a dagger out of his vest and thrust forwards. It cut through robe, flesh, muscle. Thragh gasped in agony as the blade withdrew.

There was a shocked moment where everyone paused. Thragh fell to his knees, his face ashen, then collapsed to the ground. Selquist began to back up.

“Those who stand against us, will die,” he repeated.

“You…bastard…” muttered Rhonse, grabbing his mace. “You…BASTARD!!!”

Rhonse charged forwards, smashing his fist into Selquist’s face with all his might. The Dwarf flew backwards, his nose bleeding. The Dark Iron stood up, rocking back and forth. He drew a crossbow from his vest and fired a bolt at Rhonse, who dodged it, still charging forwards.

Doriver unleashed a bolt of ice at Selquist, but he pulled out a second dagger and waved it at the incoming magic. The dagger radiated red and orange, like fire.

“Like it?” he asked innocently. “Ragnaros gave it to me. It is a mystical artifact, infused with powerful fire magic.”

“Much good it’ll do you against my fist!” screamed Rhonse, preparing to send the Dwarf reeling once more. But the Rogue nimbly ducked and ran in between the Paladin’s legs. Reaching around, he sliced into the back of his legs. Rhonse screamed and fell forwards.

A blast of arcane knocked into Selquist, hurtling him forwards. He struggled to stand up, as Rhonse, recovered once more, kicked him in the ribs.

“I can not kill you gruesomely enough,” snarled the Paladin, salivating at the mouth. “You murdered your own brother!”

“Thragh is still breathing!” Doriver called out, as he inspected the Dwarf. “He’s badly wounded…” The Gnome quickly tore off a piece of his robes and used it to cover the wound.

Rhonse watched in anticipation to see if Thragh was ok.

“Never take your eyes off your enemy, lad.”

Rhonse looked down to see a fistful of ash rocket up into his face. He shouted, blinded, and stumbled around. Doriver looked after him, but Selquist reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of powder. Before anyone could react, he threw it at the ground, and it rocketed around him in a bright flash.

It soon faded, but Selquist was gone.

“Get back here!” Rhonse screamed. “COME BACK HERE! SELQUIST! YOU BASTARD!”

The Paladin ran around the area, unable to locate the sneaky Dwarf. Finally he gave up, and stumbled over to Doriver.

“Thragh?” he asked.

“He’ll live…” responded the Gnome. “Physically…”

Rhonse nodded. They both looked down at the comatose Dwarf, and knew that emotionally, he was dead.

[Halarion]

great work!!!!
will there be a printer friendly version so i can have it on paper?
I dont like to read on screen but this one i just had to :))
but please a printer version with name and all so u get the credit.
thx

[Chells]

Top of Page, under Thread Tools

[Halarion]

hehe stupid me :))

[Tor varr]

I enjoyed your ploy of making Imra evil. One thing I've always noticed is that people have an unnerving habit of assuming that all elves are noble and good, or that they're arrogant and have the intelligence of an inbred noblemen.

I give you every bit of credit. I did not suspect for a second that Imra was the villain. This has been a very enjoyable story, and I'm looking forward to the conclusion.

[Jondar]

Ditto. Your work has been continually impressive. Now hurry up and give us the rest!

[Chells]

Very cool story Mr Teatime. Can't wait to see what's next.

[Thragh]

Wow. I wasn't expecting that at all...and I thought I knew the entire plot. I guess you left that one out on purpose though, eh Teatime? Keep it up.

Lets all talk and share are feelings!!! < Fight scenes.

[Grubblies]

Fantastic writing!

A couple of little points though:

As a proud member of the Horde, I am vexed that you choose to label our equipment as 'primitive', and characterise us as bloodthirsty brutes. Please understand that we also see the Alliance as 'defending their own interests', ie. we're different therefore evil, and that we fight only in defense of our own interest - which is to exist.

On behalf of the Horde,

Grubblies.

Seriously though, great writing - I've really enjoyed it. Great plot twists and elements and I never know what to expect next!

[Mr_Teatime]

Wow, tons of comments. Thanks all you guys!

To Grubblies - My main character is actually Zharon, the evil Orc Warlock. Selquist is an alt, albeit on a roleplaying server, so he already had the background story, as did the others I decided to write this about. So in writing this from an Alliance point of view, they are indeed biggoted and horrified by the Horde, simply for not understanding them.

That's also why I put Dasmi in there and made him a temporary member of the group a few chapters back - to show that honor is one of the most important things of the Horde, to some above this vendetta the two factions have. Doriver, willing to see things from a new angle, became emotionally attached to Dasmi, while Rhonse, blinded by a zealot hatred of things 'not normal' could never see Dasmi as anything but a monster.


Whoa, sounds deep when I say it like that :shocked:

Anyway, work on the final chapter has begun, hopefully to be out within the next two months :rolleyes:

And is it just me, or does anyone else see a bunch of weird symbols up in the first post of this page...?

[Grubblies]

I thought that may have been the case, in which case you've written the way I would have done, if I were writing from the same point of view ;). I was happy to see what you did with Dasmi.

Yeah I can see all the weird symbols, I'm not sure what does it but I'm guessing it's to do with character encoding, and it turns apostrophes, commas and periods into other ascii characters by the looks of things. I'm guessing you wrote your chapters in MS Word or Notepad or something? Try saving it to a different format or using a different editor or something.

[Mr_Teatime]

That fool! That blasted fool! That damned fool of a Paladin!

Imra seethed heavily to himself, his blind rage numbing the pain in his ruined foot. He didn?t feel the heat wavering around him from the lava river he was riding on.

He had been on this mission for years! Finally the time to strike had come, and that stupid, stupid Paladin had ruined it! His act, expertly perfected, was ruined. His hope of completing what he had set out to accomplish was dashed. There was nothing left for him now. He could not return to his order with his mission failed. There was nothing left?

Deep within his soul, Imra was far from the idiotic, jovial Elf his companions had known. He longed for revenge. Rhonse Darius destroyed him.

He would destroy Rhonse Darius.


Groups of small Dark Iron patrols wandered back and forth around the base of Blackrock Mountain. Just barely hiding out of sight, Rhonse and Doriver watched for an opening. Behind them, Thragh sat on the ground, staring at nothing, his face expressionless. The Human and Gnome looked at him pitifully. The heartbroken Dwarf had lost all will to continue on. He had not said anything or even acknowledged the presence of his companions since the attack from Selquist. They had to literally drag him to where they were now, for they had not the heart to leave him alone, dead weight as he was.

?It?s gunna be hard work getting in there undetected,? Doriver said. ?Looks like Bloodshade alerted the forces??

?We can do this,? insisted Rhonse. ?But we?re going to have to push ourselves to the absolute limit. How much magic can you use before you have to rest??

?A fair amount, but it expends a lot of energy. The more magic I use, the physically weaker I?ll become,? responded the Gnome.

?Don?t worry, I?ve got you protected.?

?What about him?? Doriver nodded his head towards Thragh.

?We may have to improvise, there,? Rhonse said sadly. ?His mind is gone. Keep an eye on him.?

A patrol of three guards stood at the corner of the gateway into the heart of the mountain. They chatted casually in Dwarven. They had their rifles in hand and various weapons on their belts, but they seemed lax, not paying 100% attention to their surroundings.

They were thoroughly shocked when one of them suddenly became a fluffy white sheep. As the two still standing looked down at it, mouths agape, it began gnawing at the leather boot of one of them.

One managed to get to his senses, but a bolt of light hit him in the eyes, blinding him. He fell to the ground, twitching violently. The other, staring around dazed and confused, was hit in the head and knocked out cold before he grasped what was going on. Rhonse and Doriver stealthily ran past them, around a corner, into the mountain.

The path down into the Dark Iron city was a spiral, with crisscrossing chains forming paths to various tunnels and alcoves. There were no fences, and far below them, the lava core of the volcano bubbled menacingly.

It was not until this moment that Rhonse and Doriver realized that Thragh had not followed them.

?Wait here,? Rhonse sighed. Doriver nodded, crouching into some shadows, as Rhonse ran back out. The Paladin hurried over to the small hiding place they had been in initially, to find Thragh still sitting there, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

?Oh, come on,? muttered Rhonse irritably. He grabbed Thragh by the shoulder and ushered him up. He pushed the Dwarf as fast as he could, without noticing a patrol coming right at them.

The two groups practically collided. There was a shocked moment as they stared at each other.

?Sir,? one of the Dark Irons finally saluted. ?Glad we found you, sir.?

Rhonse looked from Thragh back to the Dark Irons. ?Um, yes?? the Paladin muttered, baffled.

?Not him, sir,? the same Dark Iron responded, looking straight into the Human?s eyes. ?You. Rhonse Darius, innit??

Rhonse blinked, backing up. ?How do you-?

?We were all given your description, sir. The Shadow himself gave the orders that you be taken straight to him as his honored guest.?

?The Shadow!? spat Rhonse. ?I would sooner die-?

?Those are your options, sir,? the Dark Iron replied, deadly serious.

Rhonse looked behind the patrol, back into the mountain. Doriver was being held by a large group of Dark Irons, with Bloodshade at the head, staring straight at Rhonse, grinning madly.

Rhonse stepped forwards, still grasping Thragh by the arm. Bloodshade nodded.

?Yer to come with me,? he ordered. ?We?re to treat you with the utmost politeness, but please do cooperate as yer friends lives are forfeit.? He gave Doriver a menacing shove, while nodding his head at the patrol. They forcefully separated Rhonse and Thragh and hustled the two over.

Rhonse wished he could convey a message to Doriver, but the Dark Irons had effectively separated the three companions. He wanted to tell the Gnome to get ready to fight, that they could do this, that they had faced worse odds.

But they hadn?t, the Paladin realized, hope draining from inside his soul. They were completely at the Dark Irons mercy. He was alive because The Shadow wanted him to be alive.

The question was, why did The Shadow want him alive?


They were ushered into a large, dark room. A cold, stale air wafted around them. Rhonse shivered, but not from the chill wind. He shivered knowing that whatever came next spelled their doom.

?The Shadow will be with you shortly,? Bloodshade said gruffly. ?Until then, Sir Celebundin will be yer host.? Bloodshade turned around to order guards onto every wall, then walked out.

?Selquist?? Thragh gasped. Rhonse and Doriver turned to him, startled at the first word he?d said in hours.

?Yes, yes,? Selquist muttered almost impatiently, walking out of the darkness towards them. ?The Shadow asked me to watch over you until he arrives. He?s taking care of other business right now, but will be back shortly.?

?Selquist!? Thragh said again.

?You bastard,? Rhonse snarled. ?I should gut you right now-?

?But you will not,? Selquist replied, glaring at him. ?What I did was strictly business. You saw my attempts to have Thragh join me. He turned me down again and again, and was thus an enemy open to attack.?

?He?s your brother!? Doriver said. ?I never had a brother, but I?m sure that if I did I would never attack him?no matter what. Shouldn?t family go before political alliances??

?What do you know!? Selquist snapped. ?Rhonse is the only one I must keep alive. I might make myself a nice roasted Gnome for dinner??

?Bloodshade, let me in. This is important.?

Rhonse, Doriver, and Thragh stiffened at the voice. It came from outside the room they were in. There was some muttered arguing following it, then?

?Alright, sir?I hope yeh know what yer doing?? Bloodshade said, as the door opened, he and Imra standing in the light, the Elf leaning against the wall on the support of his one good foot. They entered the room, an eerie pattern of three feet thumping against the ground irregularly, Imra not-too-subtly acknowledging the foot Rhonse destroyed.


?Imra!? Rhonse roared, all reason leaving him. He pulled out his weapon, as Dark Irons guards ran in to separate them.

?Leave us,? Imra told the guards. ?Not you, Bloodshade.?

?You?I have no words for you, traitor,? the Paladin growled.

?Traitor! TRAITOR!? Imra fumed. The room emptied of guards. Bloodshade, Imra, Rhonse, Doriver, Thragh and Selquist were the only ones still inside. ?I worked my ass off for YEARS! I tried to PROTECT you! I knew right from the beginning you would be my undoing!?

?So we made it to Blackrock Mountain despite you trying to stop us. Boo-hoo.? Rhonse eyed the Elf coldly.

Simultaneously, Imra and Bloodshade reached into their vests. Rhonse tensed, expecting any manor of weapons.

Instead they pulled out badges.

?Agents Imra Whisperwind and Bloodshade Longbraid of the Blood Stained Angels.? Imra responded. Bloodshade nodded.

?The?the BSA?? Rhonse gasped. His knees nearly gave way in his shock.

?I?ve heard of you guys!? Doriver giggled. ? The secret society that works undercover to manipulate enemies of the Alliance! I thought it was just a myth! I can?t believe I actually know a member!?

?We?ve been working for half a decade to politically unravel the Dark Irons,? Imra explained. ?I figured tailing you guys might open up new opportunities, but you alone had no chance of stopping this force. You?ve been in far over your head since the beginning. Although,? he scratched his chin, ?you made it far further than I thought you would.?

?We?ve effectively sealed our expulsion from the BSA now,? Bloodshade muttered, glaring at Imra. ?It?s so secret, we?re not even supposed to acknowledge each other as other members. Certainly not tell other people!?

?That?s why when you misinterpreted my signals to Bloodshade and other BSA members, I had to let you assume I was a traitor rather than tell you the truth,? Imra added.

?And I had to attack you, despite us workin? fer a common goal,? nodded Bloodshade.

Rhonse, Doriver, and Thragh exchanged glances, this being all too much to comprehend.

?Did you say?whisperwind?? Rhonse finally asked. ?High Priestess of the Night Elves??

?Yes,? snapped Imra unpleasantly. ?I am the illegitimate child of Her Majesty. She figured a secret organization would be the best place to hide such a bastard child. That, above all, is why I wouldn?t tell you my last name.?

Suddenly there was laughter.

?Your little organization does not scare me!? Selquist cackled. ?It cannot so much as dent the might of the Dark Irons! You will all die! You will all die!?

As he laughed, an unholy presence filled the room.

?Greetings, my guests,? announced The Shadow.

Selquist?s insane laughter continued as Imra, Bloodshade, Rhonse, Thragh and Doriver found themselves unable to move an inch. Thragh once again felt Selquist?s blade pierce through his chest. His brother had never laughed so much before. Now he laughed at this mass slaughtering.

?Selquist!? Thragh cried, all his emotions in his voice. His sorrow, rage, confusion, all pent up in one scream. The laughing stopped.

Selquist blinked and shook his head. He looked as if he had just been kicked by a horse.

?Celebundin, leave now,? The Shadow ordered.

Selquist stood there, unresponsive.

?Celebundin, that is an order!?

?No,? Selquist said.

?Selquist?? Thragh muttered.

?Thragh?what happened to me? I don?t?I know what I?ve done, but I don?t remember?wanting to do it. I don?t remember feelings. I?it?s like I?ve woken up from a strange dream that started ever since that day in Stormwind??

?What?? The Shadow boomed. The emotionless voice contained a hint of shock. ?How? How did you break my mind control spell??

?Mind control!? Selquist gasped.

"Mind control?? Bloodshade asked. ?Wait?you mind control these Dark Irons? That?s why they commit these acts of terrorism, not because they want to??

?I do not control all of them, only the leaders. The leaders send my orders down, and the subordinates act them out. They need no minds.?

?I knew no self-respectin? Dwarf would ever pull such evil stunts!? cheered Bloodshade.

?Yes, yes. The Dark Irons?I must be honest. They mean nothing to me. My dear partner Ragnaros believes I chose them because they showed promise, power, ambition?no. I forged them to have as much power as I wanted, as much ambition as I wanted. They were simply an army without a leader, and I was a leader without an army.?

?Ragnaros!? Rhonse gasped in remembrance of The Shadow?s fiery partner. ?Where-?

?Do not worry about him. He will not be joining us tonight.? He looked at their confused, pitiful faces. ?I suppose it is time I?explain myself, isn?t it? Very well then. You are all firmly entrapped, so you might as well listen.?

He began to roam around the room, his presence shifting locations all around the companions. Their brains began to hurt if they tried too hard to comprehend where he was.

?Ragnaros and I made plans. Plans to re-unite the Elemental Lords. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Shadow, and Light. I am, of course, the Elemental Lord of Shadow, and he the Elemental Lord of Fire. His job was to continuously push you-? he materialized in front of Rhonse, his death aura nearly suffocating him, ?-to me. You, Rhonse Darius, are the Elemental Lord of Light. He is now out trying to gather the Lords of Water, Earth and Wind. However, I told the other three Lords ahead of time that this alliance of his was insane. They agreed, and will only come together to destroy him, then go their separate ways. Ragnaros has fulfilled his purpose in my eyes, and is now to be eradicated.?

All was silent. The group alternated staring at Rhonse, and at the mass of power that signified The Shadow.

?No?? Rhonse muttered. ?No, you?re wrong. I am not the Elemental Lord of Light! How can I-?

?How? How, Rhonse Darius? It was a cruel blow dealt to me. I could have conquered this world long before now. But no. The Holy Light, Rhonse Darius, that you and your members of the Alliance love so very much, The Light did this to you. You are my child, Rhonse. You were supposed to succeed me as The Shadow, but The Light cast his aura upon you when he died. He brought you to the Grand Marshal of the Silver Hand, your ?uncle,? that blasted Paladin. I tried to get you back, but was repelled. Yes, yes. We live, we die. We have children. And you are mine, Rhonse Darius.

?And yes, at first I was devastated. This surely spelt defeat for me. With no heir to carry on my legacy, and The Light with a new savior, my time on this mortal realm was almost certainly at an end. But I decided not to give up. You?ve been brought to me, Rhonse! All those nights in the chapel, praying for my return! You are with me now! Join me! The forces of Light and Shadow, the two most potent elements! That is why I do not want Ragnaros or the other Lords! Join me, my son! Come back to me!?

?Why would I?ever join forces?with you?? Rhonse grunted. He struggled to break free from the magical hold, but he and his companions were powerless against this force.

?The trials you have been through, Rhonse! The Defias Mafia force innocent people such as the girl Sallie to live in fear! Lives are lost, like the one you took, her father. Pointless wars are waged between races that are not far different. Those who deserve to die live long happy lives, and those who do nothing but good are cut off in their prime. How can you still want to defend that world? What good has The Light done for you??

?There is always light after the darkness,? Rhonse said strongly, defiantly. ?There is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Even if only a pinprick from this distance, it is shining bright. And the only way to reach it is to keep going.?

?You speak poetically, but idiotically. Perhaps you have not yet realized the unfairness of this world. Perhaps, because of your decision to spite me, I will kill off those you considered friends, one at a time.? He began to spin around, his eyes darting from the Elf, to the Gnome, to the three Dwarves. ?The Elf,? he finally decided. ?I?ve always hated the Elves.?

?But he didn?t do anything! It?s?it?s me!? Rhonse screamed.

?Exactly! Now you see! The innocent will die, and the guilty will live on! Such is the way this world works! It is futile to resist!?

Rhonse began to shake violently. The Shadow, cackling madly, turned to Imra. Without another word, he flicked his wrist. A bolt of shadow fired outwards, straight for Imra?s heart. The Elf stared it down, preparing for the impact, knowing death was imminent. He could not move.

There was a scream that pierced through the air. It echoed throughout the mountain, out across the Burning Steppes, through the canyons of Lakeshire and the trees of the Swamp of Sorrows. It reverberated into the Blasted Lands, hit Stormwind with a soft ping.

A burst of light blinded all in the room, and The Shadow recoiled in pain.

Rhonse burst through the magical bindings, charged forwards, his entire body glowing bright with energy. He hit Imra, knocking the Elf free at the last moment, out of the range of the blast.

The shadow missile meant to fell the Elf in one blow hit Rhonse straight in the heart.

The Light within him began to dim. He collapsed to the ground, his energy fading. He could scarcely lift his head. Imra struggled to get up, as The Shadow floated back to his feet, his shadow aura reverberating with anger and annoyance.

Imra bent over his comrade, grasped his hand to his chest.

?Thank you, old friend,? Imra said.

?Imra?? Rhonse gasped, as The Shadow also came over to them. ?I?apologize.? In his last burst of strength, Rhonse managed to laugh. ?Believe it or not, you?were my best friend??

Imra laughed, a sorrowful laugh that turned into a sob. The Light went out completely, and Rhonse died in his arms.

?I?am sorry that did not turn out as I had hoped,? The Shadow said. ?I have?no more business with you. Leave my territory. Now.?

The Shadow was gone.

There was silence, as they all found they could move once more. They looked over the body of their dead friend, heads bowed in prayer.

Rhonse?s face looked peaceful. His tense muscles relaxed, his nervous mind rested. Although he had died, The Light would live on, forever.

[Mr_Teatime]

The long silence was finally broken by echoing footsteps. The group all turned to see Selquist leaving.

?Selquist!? Thragh called. ?Where are you going??

??I am not a friend, my brother,? he said sadly. ?I am not welcome here.?

?Sure yeh are, lad,? Bloodshade called after him. ?You were under his spell, like all the Dark Iron officials. No one blames you.?

Selquist smiled sadly, shaking his head. ?No, I do not just refer to these past few weeks. Even before the attack on Stormwind, I was?different. Different from all of you.?

He turned to face Thragh. Although having different fathers, they now looked fairly similar. Selquist raised his hand, and Thragh shook it.

?My brother, you have greater things ahead of you. You have other stories to live out.?

?Where are you going?? Thragh asked. ?What do you intend to do??

Selquist seemed to contemplate this for a while.

?I?m going to find The Shadow. I?m going to pay him back for what he did. I?m going to try to redeem myself, at least somewhat.?

?That?s crazy!? Thragh snapped. ?You saw what he can do. He?s allowing us to leave. If he wanted, he could effortlessly smother every one of us. You can?t take him on alone!?

?I know,? Selquist replied. ?But I?m going to at least give him a bruise he won?t forget for a while.? Grinning, he pulled out the fire-infused blade Ragnaros had given him. It gave off an eerie light that illuminated the cavern.

?I?m going with you,? Thragh insisted.

?I forbid it,? ordered Selquist. ?If you do, we?ll both be killed. You have a life ahead of you!?

?Selquist, I am not the baby brother you left behind in Stormwind!? shouted Thragh. Selquist stepped back a pace, shocked. Then he realized that it was true. Thragh was no longer the bumbling, jolly Dwarf who drank himself silly and walked into things. He had been through a lot these weeks.

Without waiting for a reply, Thragh turned back to the others.

?Imra and Doriver, bring Rhonse?s body back to Morgan?s Vigil. Guard it with your lives,? he ordered. The Elf and Gnome dumbly nodded, gently picking up the body. ?Bloodshade, we?ll need you to make sure no Dark Iron guards interfere with us.?

Bloodshade nodded. ?I can help yeh take down The Shadow?that was the eventual goal of the BSA??

?No, if you come with us, then any other Dark Irons could waltz right in. You must be a distraction!? Thragh turned back to Selquist.

?Are you quite ready?? he asked. Selquist laughed once more, but not the maniacal cackle he had made before.

?Thragh, I am quite impressed,? he said genuinely. ?I am ready, my brother.?

?Be careful,? Imra said, gently supporting Rhonse?s upper body. ?Both of you.? He began to walk off, Doriver struggling to keep up.

?Bye guys! Give him a good black eye for me! Although I suppose it?d be hard to tell on him, you know, being a giant shadow??

Thragh waved goodbye to the Elf and Gnome, knowing this was likely to be the last time he would ever see them again.

?Come on,? Bloodshade ordered. ?Quickly. They?re on their own now.?

The three Dwarves hurried off through the series of tunnels and caverns, Selquist?s fiery dagger lighting the way.

It was hard to tell how long they traveled deep into the mountain. They passed by several guard patrols, Bloodshade and Selquist telling them to stand down.

Finally they reached an elaborately decorated doorway. About a dozen guards stood araund it, far better equipped than the rest of the guards throughout the mountain.

?Stand down, gentlemen,? Selquist said, holding the bright dagger up so everyone could see his face.

?Sorry, sir Celebundin,? one of the guards replied. ?Direct orders from The Shadow himself. We?re not to leave these posts unless The Shadow himself tells us. Not even Ragnaros can give us those orders.?

?An army led by the Human, Rhonse, that The Shadow wants alive has attacked the mountain,? Bloodshade snapped. ?We bloody need all the help we can get! The Shadow can defend himself, now can?t he??

The guards looked at each other nervously. They knew they had to do anything possible to stop this Rhonse character and bring him right to The Shadow. These two orders contradicted with each other.

?How big an army?? one of them finally asked.

?Bloody gigantic,? Thragh piped up.

?Come on, we?ve got to hurry. They?ve almost breached the outer walls!? Bloodshade shouted. He cast a last glance at Selquist and Thragh, and then rushed off. The final guards followed him. The two brothers looked up at the giant door. They were alone.

?Come on,? Thragh finally said. He pushed the door open, and the two walked in.

This room dwarfed all the others, pun intended. Shelves and tables were scattered all over, strange artifacts on all of them. Symbols were written in different materials on the floors and walls.

?Creepy,? Thragh shuddered.

?I don?t feel his presence,? Selquist mused.

?Maybe he?s on vacation??

?Shh! Thragh, look at this!?

Selquist rushed over to a giant mirror on one of the walls. Through it they could see all sorts of different landmarks. They watched as Lakeshire passed before their eyes, Squiggles and his Gnomes standing in the main square. The scene changed to Stormwind, with large construction crews working to restore the city to its former glory.

So enthralled were they, they did not notice the doors behind them seemingly shut by themselves, locking.

?I feel him,? Selquist finally said. Thragh, without turning around, nodded.

?Sir Celebundin, and?Thragh, was it?? The voice boomed angrily. The power of it nearly knocked the two Dwarves to the ground. ?I must inquire why you are here.?

Selquist turned around, then Thragh did the same.

?We?re here to end your reign,? Thragh said, trying hard to keep his knees from shivering.

?Oh? I see. I must say, I almost find myself laughing.?

What are we doing? Thragh thought to himself. This is madness. We?re going to die.

No. Rhonse was right. There?s always hope. There may not seem to be now, but as long as we always fight, we?ll reach the light eventually.

?Well, gentlemen? I give you first strike. I promise you, I will not move or attack first.?

Selquist lunged, his dagger slicing through the air. It hit the shadowy aura and deflected effortlessly. His arm jarred, and the dagger flew out of his hand off to the side.

The Shadow made a noise that must?ve been his attempt at laughing, and brought the back of his hand into Selquist?s face, knocking him backwards into a wall. Selquist slumped to the ground, groaning and holding his head.

?Selquist!? Thragh gasped. He felt The Shadow turn to him.

?Thragh, look out!? Selquist called back.

A bolt of shadow energy came right at him. Thragh?s body locked up. He couldn?t move, he couldn?t think. He could only stare in horror.

Then he felt power surge through him. He couldn?t fall this easily! He had to fight back! If not, he would die pointlessly, Selquist would die pointlessly, countless others would die pointlessly.

His arms shot out, and a bolt of light hit the bolt of shadow. Shocked at his own power, Thragh watched as the two bolts of energy cancelled each other out.

?Hmm,? The Shadow mused. ?Interesting.?

He lashed out again. Thragh jumped to the side and attacked with his own power. It struck The Shadow in the side, burning him. And for a moment he could feel that area weakened. His light cancelled out his aura of power.

Selquist apparently noticed this as well. ?Go, Thragh, go!? he cheered, leaping to his feet and charging.

More energy collided, exploding on impact. The magical artifacts kept in the room were knocked over and destroyed. A shadow bolt hit the all-seeing mirror, shattering it.

Thragh felt his energy waning. He couldn?t continue this for long, and The Shadow seemed almost completely unfazed. But he kept up his defense, long after he wanted to curl up and take a nice, long nap?

No! Stay focused! But his lapse in concentration was costly. A powerful shadow bolt skimmed his arm, severely burning his skin. He screamed in agony, clutching at the wound. He had one last opportunity. He shot a bolt of light and hit The Shadow square in the chest. The aura dropped.

Selquist dove in. His magical dagger pierced through the aura, hit the Elemental Lord deeply. The Shadow shrieked in agony himself, the awful howl echoing throughout the room. Selquist withdrew the dagger and stabbed again and again. The Shadow kept screaming, his aura growing strongly in his dieing strength. It suffocated Selquist. He could feel it squeezing the life out of him. But he kept attacking. He looked at his arm and saw his skin was melting off. His heart exploded in his chest from the powerful aura.

The Shadow melded away, too weak to remain on the mortal plane. Selquist hit the ground, laying still. Thragh stood there for a moment, dazed, then he too collapsed, and all was still on Blackrock Mountain.



Cries of pain and sorrow and anger filled the Elemental Plane. The Shadow drifted into it, weakened beyond recognition. Damn those Dwarves! Damn them! He would bide his time here, licking his wounds. He was not dead yet. He would one day soon return to the mortal plane, yes?he would rule?

Then he heard something. There was no need for words on the Elemental Plane. Powerful emotions rang through the air. The Shadow saw a great fiery mass converge upon him. No! Ragnaros was still alive! He had been cheated!

In fact, Ragnaros had played the final trick on The Shadow. The Shadow Lord felt it now, the powers of water, wind, earth, and fire, all converging upon him. They were very angry.

His screams of pain would fill the Elemental Plane for millennia. They would forever mingle alongside the laughter of the other Elements.

And with that, life began anew in Blackrock Mountain.

Bloodshade, running wildly with the elite Dark Iron guards behind him, suddenly realized he was no longer being followed. The guards had stopped and were staring at each other strangely, as if they had just woken up. Bloodshade scratched his head and approached them.

?What are you all doing?? he snapped. ?There?s a battle going on! Come on!?

?Who?are you?? the lead guard asked, staring at him quizzically.

?I?m your bloody superior, that?s who! Come on!? he continued to shout.

?Battle?? one of them muttered. ?I don?t want to fight in a battle. People die in battles. I?m no soldier!?

?Yeah, I hate war. I?d never become a soldier,? another agreed.

?I always wanted to be a dentist,? another one piped up.

?Does anyone remember how we got here?? one asked. ?I can?t remember a bloody thing??

Bloodshade scratched his chin. This was exactly what had happened to Selquist, but?no?it?s impossible!

He turned to see another lone figure come stumbling towards him. Thragh entered his line of sight, his face pale, clutching at his right arm.

?He?s dead,? Thragh said, sitting down next to Bloodshade.

?The Shadow! Dead!? Bloodshade gasped. ?By the Gods, lad, you did it!?

Thragh looked up at Bloodshade, seemingly confused. Then he nodded.

?Yes, we?we did it??

Suddenly Bloodshade understood.

?He didn?t make it, did he?? he asked solemnly.

Thragh shook his head.

??Come on lad,? Bloodshade said, helping Thragh to his feet. The two walked off, leaving the elite Dark Iron guards to stand there and figure out what had happened in the past several years.

Upon reaching Lakeshire, the companions were greeted with eruptions of cheering from the Humans and Gnomes. Squiggles saluted Doriver, then bowed before Imra, Thragh and Bloodshade. Doriver returned his salute as the others bowed back. They continued on, heading all the way back to Stormwind. Home.

The city certainly looked better than it did after the attack, but it still had a lot of work to be done. That famous Human spirit was not dented, however, as a celebration greeted them. Word had traveled fast from Morgan?s Vigil and Lakeshire. These were the heroes that had defeated the Dark Iron Dwarves. This day would become one of legend.

Doriver was first to jump off the cart, waving excitedly at his new fans, blowing kisses into the air, catching flowers thrown at him. He had proved that a little Gnome can go a long way.

As he walked through the cheering crowd, a voice caught his ear.

?Good job, my little friend. I admire your honor.?

Doriver whipped around quickly to see Dasmi the Troll standing near the back of the crowd. But he disappeared as quickly as he had come, his magic whisking him away to his home.

Bloodshade stepped off the cart next, Imra close behind. They were met by a group of fellow BSA members and taken aside.

With the deaths of The Shadow, Ragnaros, and Lord Celebundin, leadership of the Dark Iron Dwarves fell to Bloodshade. Treaties were already being made with The Alliance, the secret core of the Blood Stained Angels making sure to keep peace on all sides.

For their outstanding efforts, Bloodshade and Imra were not expelled from the BSA. They were in fact promoted.

Thragh stepped off the cart slowly. At first he did not smile. He looked around at the cheering people incomprehensively. Then slowly it dawned on him.

These people are cheering for me.

Political leaders of the city and from all over the Alliance territories came to shake hands with him. He already heard dozens of conversations being whispered in the crowd, about how he had single-handedly defeated an Elemental Lord. He absentmindedly smiled and nodded to all being said to him. He was to be knighted as a member of the Silver Hand, famous artists wanted to sculpt him, children asked for his autograph.

No one asked about Selquist. He was only referred to as one of the Dark Iron leaders who had been slain in the scuffle. The bards and storytellers were already crafting their own stories of the events. Thragh tried to tell them the truth, but was not so much as listened to.

Sighing, he managed to make his way into the Old Town district. Being the slums part of town, no one partied or celebrated there. He went to his old house, sat down on the steps leading to the front door. Even if others never remembered Selquist, he forever would. Yet he found that he no longer felt sorrow when he thought of his brother.

?My brother, you have greater things ahead of you. You have other stories to live out.?

?This seat taken?? Imra asked, sitting down next to him.

?Hm?? Thragh asked, turning to him. ?Oh. No, no. Help yourself.?

?I notice you?ve been getting less and less of an accent,? Imra pointed out.

?Oh. Hm. Selquist?never liked the accent. He said it made us Dwarves sound idiotic. I think I kept it up because I wanted to be?normal. A normal Dwarf with a normal life. Drink ale, eat steak, mine gold, hit things with an axe. How did I get sucked into all this??

?That I cannot answer,? Imra said, staring into the horizon. ?I can only say that you did excellently. For an amateur adventurer.?

They sat in silence for a while more. The celebrating died down, and more solemn rituals came up as the sky darkened.

In this time of war, the loss of lives was not an uncommon thing. With the attack on Stormwind, dozens of innocents had perished. More had died in the weeks between that and the fall of the Dark Irons. Some guilty, but most innocent.

Thragh, Imra and Doriver each made speeches about the deaths in the war. In a mass funeral session, all those lost in this battle were mourned.

But one was not mourned as an innocent.

One was celebrated as a hero.

As their speeches came to an end, the people of The Alliance stood in silence, some crying, sniffling, grabbing the hands of their loved ones.

The three heroes stepped up to the grave of Rhonse Darius.

On his casket were engraved the words, ?light give me strength.?

?Farewell, my friend,? Thragh said, casting a single flower into the grave. He stood there for a moment, said a small prayer, and continued on his way.

Doriver stepped up next, incoherent from his crying. He babbled something amidst his tears, dropped his soaking wet flower he had been using as a handkerchief, and walked off.

Imra stepped up. He looked up to the sky, contemplating. ?Rhonse,? he finally said. ?You big, stupid fool. Why did you save me? I should have been the one who died. I owe you one?? he dropped his flower. ?I wish you were still alive, so I could repay you.?

He began crying, and walked off.

Others stepped up to pay homage. The girl from Goldshire, Sallie, spent a while there, wishing her best.

Imra, Thragh and Doriver finally found some time alone, as for the time being they were forgotten.

?He was the best of all of us,? Thragh finally said. ?Yet he died. I?m a drunken fool who?s now a Knight of the Silver Hand, Imra?s a high ranking official in a powerful organization, and Doriver?s the hottest bachelor on Azeroth.?

He nodded to a group of three female Gnomes who looked over and waved slyly at Doriver. Putting on a big cheesy grin, Doriver waved and walked over.

?Perhaps The Shadow was true, to a degree,? Imra said. ?He didn?t deserve to die, yet he did. We easily could?ve died instead, yet here we are.?

?Salutations, females,? Doriver was saying. ?Would you be interested in exchanging pleasantries??

?That?s a nice x-chromosome you?ve got there,? one of the females said, eyeing him up and down.

?Why thank you. I?ve got some nifty inventions back at my place if you?re interested?I?m working on something that?ll change bread into toast?I call it?a grain-heat-transmogrificationator.?

He walked off, a lady under each arm.

?After all I?ve seen, I still can?t even begin to understand Gnomes,? Thragh said.

?Beautiful sunset tonight,? Imra mused, looking up.

?Aye. I could go for a drink?? Thragh said, scratching his beard.

?You know, I may have just been acting before when I seemed like an incompetent fool,? Imra said, beginning to grin, ?but it certainly wasn?t hard for me to get used to Dwarven ale. And I just seem to remember that when we first met, I handed you your ass in a drinking contest??

?What?re you trying to say?? Thragh growled, his eyes glinting mischievously.

?I?m just saying, that if a Dwarf can?t beat an Elf in a drinking contest, the world is in pretty sorry shape??

?Oh, it is on, blue skin!? cheered Thragh.

?Bring it, doughboy!? laughed Imra.

The two walked off, the final rays of the sunset illuminating Stormwind in beautiful light.

Beautiful, beautiful light.

[Mr_Teatime]

Ugh ugh ugh. Well, I tried pasting it in from several different sources, but I can't shake those stupid question marks that are packed in there. If anyone has any ideas, please serve 'em up.

As is, I hope they don't overly disrupt anyone's reading. This is the grand finale, the final kah-pang. I hope it was enjoyable, and nicely wrapped up the story. I thank everyone for all the comments that kept me going through with this. I certainly plan to write more Warcraft stories in the future, that may tie in somewhat with this story.

Well, thank you all and goodnight. Morning. Afternoon. Whatever.

[Halarion]

/bow /clap
great story man! Nice twist with Imra and the whole plot.
And i like the "No dance on the roses", every one lives happy ever after adventure, it brings a element of real life to it.
Thank u

[Tor varr]

The applause can be heard from Europe to North America. This was easily the finest piece of work. Period.

[Thragh]

Wow...amazing finish.

Your skills as an author often amaze me, as they have just done now, Mr. Teatime.

[Grubblies]

This calls for a standing ovation ;).

Great work, enjoyable read! I had to be sneaky to finish reading it at work because I had to know what happens :D

[arcamedes]

This is definately the greatest story I've ever read (involving WoW). You are an amazing author and I would really enjoy more stories from you in the future (preferably horde based lol). Congratulations on a fantastic story.

[Niderin]

Man i loved your story you should grab some of the other authors here and make a book containing short stories and make millions. I hope to see your next story soon.