Sententia Ortus

[Ron_Lugge]

I know I haven't posted anything on this story in a while, but I managed to break through my writers block recently on it (hence the odd formation of what will be part 2...)

Any critiques welcome.

Part 1

Angrily, Rilbur reached out and grabbed the handle of a sword hung on the wall. Drawing it from its sheath in one swift motion, he spun away from the wall and slashed outward in a killing stroke. Gliding back, his sword flickered as it danced in his hands, smoothly shifting from attack to defense and back again in a display that many sword-bearers would envy. His small hand clenched the handle, while his left remained outstretched, for balance.

Suddenly steel crashed on steel, and Rilbur instantly adjusted to the fact that his opponent was not three feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier than himself. Another gnome was the perfect sparring partner for the mood he was in right now, assuming he was skilled enough to survive.

And at the moment, Rilbur really didn’t care if his opponent had the skill to match him.

Steel matched steel in an intricate dance of blade and legwork. Rilbur’s jaw relaxed a little, and the red faded from the corners of his mind as he lost himself in the dance. He allowed his breathing to deepen, and struck out with greater precision. No longer did his blade flicker, a shining gleam here then there, half seen, half sensed. Now it was a shining blur, steel crescents carving the air before stopping in a shower of sparks on another blade and sliding aside. With a sudden shift, he shoved past his opponent and grabbed a second blade off the wall. His opponent faltered for the barest instant before adjusting, ducking and weaving with a speed and agility that could only be called inhuman.

Rilbur still hadn’t gotten a good look at his opponents face, but the feel of the sword work was as good as a signature. Only one individual used that slight twist of the blade there or held his blade at that angle during a parry. Rilbur smiled darkly. It had been a long, long time. He’d learned a lot since the last time they’d dueled. Including a neat little engage-and-twist that sent your opponent’s blade flying...

When he didn’t counter it before you were halfway into it, of course. Rilbur contemplated how well decorated the ceiling was even as he let the pain in his gut subside. Someone loomed over him and put a blade at his throat. “It will be a long, long time before you can pull a fast one on me, Corporal Sententius.”

For a fraction of an instant, Rilbur stiffened as his old mentor, unknowingly, threw salt in the wound. “It was worth a try, seeing as how I couldn’t hope to win otherwise. And... its Corporal Vacuusnomen, now.”

Sandrang flopped down beside Rilbur. “You have a name. Its Rilbur. And some day your father will remember what he has forgotten.”

Rilbur jerked over to his side, facing away from Sandrang, ignoring the pain from the kick in the gut. For an instant, he looked even more the child than gnomes usually did. Of course, being a mere twenty years of age, he really was a child amongst his people.

Sandgrang frowned. “Alright then, enough sulking. Up!” Flipping up, he waited for a fraction of a second. “Rilbur, you are not going to stand around sulking – or lie around, that is. Not in the training salle. And in the mood you are in, you are not getting another sparring partner. You’d be far to likely to cut their head off.” Rilbur lay there, motionless. “Up. Now.” Sandrang’s voice still held the high pitch that made gnomes sound like human children, just as they looked like them, but there was a harder edge to it. “I. Said. Up.” Sandrang shifted his feet around. “Now.”

For a fraction of a second he waited. Then a fraction more. Then in a sudden, swift blur he kicked out, aiming for Rilbur’s kidneys. Even as he moved, Rilbur snarled and rolled away, grabbing one of his discarded blades and rising in a single motion. Crouching for a fraction of a second, Rilbur held himself ready. Sandraing beckoned him closer, and Rilbur struck out, a whirlwind of rage, fury, and confusion. This time he held the blade with both hands, and tried to chop his way through his old mentor’s defenses. With a frown, his mentor simply deflected one of his strikes and kicked him in the gut, hard. Rilbur gasped, and forced himself back into the attack.

Sandrang’s jaw hardened. Rilbur saw a slight opening in Sandrang’s defenses and struck, hard, for it. Only to find out that the hole was a nugget of fool’s gold. Rolling with the blow, he snarled and came back again.

“This is going to be a long night,” Sandrang muttered.

***

Rilbur groaned as he settled into the hot water. The searing heat washed into his muscles, soothing away his soreness and pain. Sandrang settled into the tub beside him, slipping into the water with barely a ripple. “Alright, now that you’ve worked the anger out of your system, what happened, corporal?”

Rilbur closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. “I went to see my father today,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Sandrang replied.

“’Oh’ is right.” Rilbur’s voice trembled, on the verge of tears.

“That was... not the brightest thing you could have done.” Sandrang probed.

“Mother died ten years ago today,” Rilbur answered the unasked question.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

”So, what did your father say?”

”He threatened to get my enlistment revoked, railed for a while about my ‘perverted practices’, and then chased me out of the house.” Rilbur gasped as a cramp finally relaxed. “He tried to hit me, but... he’s not as fast as he used to be.”

“At least you didn’t draw your sword.” Sandgrang commented. Rilbur didn’t reply. “You didn’t!” Sandrang exclaimed.

“I didn’t press charges,” Rilbur replied flatly.

“Huh,” Sandgrang frowned, confused by the non sequitur.

“He drew first.”

“I should have predicted that.” Sandrang looked at Rilbur. “Someday he will remember you’re his son.”

Rilbur stayed silent. This time, Sandrang respected his desire for a little bit of privacy and remained silent as Rilbur left the tub.

Part 2

The bitter wind drove the cold rain into his face. It was a perfect punishment for his "horrific" and "abominable" crimes. Not to mention being horribly annoying. Drawing his cloak closer, he hunched over his horse, feeling rediculously small bunched over its huge back. Oh, for a proper mechanostrider! Alas, his orders precluded either his regular mount or mechanostrider.

A fresh spray of sleet darted past his hood, stinging his face with its freezing touch. Rilbur laughed. His father could not have devised a better torture had he tried. And oh, how he had tried! For a moment, Rilbur's mind fell back...

***

Rilbur, strolled down the dark corridor, the smoking torches gleaming through the haze. He’d never liked the back alleys of Ironforge, with their poor lighting and its accompanying smoke, but sometimes they were unavoidable. He needed some rare spell components, and there were very few places that sold them -- all less than reputable. The one up ahead was more reputable than most, however, with its only claim to ill-fame coming from being a hub for warlocks. Its darkened door was right ahead, its tightly sealed door glowing with scrolling runes glowing with a soft green.

“Excuse me,” a voice behind him queried, “are you Rilbur Vacuusnomen?” Rilbur turned around and looked up at the stranger. The tall human smiled at Rilbur. “I have a message from Seltar Sententia.”

“What does my father want from me?” Rilbur asked suspiciously. The messenger smiled and reached beneath his vest for a scroll.

“Your father wanted me to give this to you,” the messenger said. With a sudden lunge, he pulled a dagger from its sheath and slashed at Rilbur’s throat. Rilbur backflipped away, legs snapping up into his attacker’s hand, knocking the dagger away. Landing lightly on his feet he drew his swords and leaped forward in a single, smooth motion.

“What makes you think you can-“ he began angrily, before an bolt whistled past his ear. Rolling sideways, he slashed out with one of his blades and slit the first assailant’s throat, even as he analyzed the three approaching from behind. Instincts screamed “danger” at him, unnecessarily. Three blades slashed down at him, even as the archer behind them cursed at them for blocking his line of fire. Dodging backward, then leaping forward, he slashed outward with his blades, striking down two of his opponents even as he planted his feet in the center ones face, pushing off in a spin even as all nearby doors slammed shut with the click of closing bolts. All, that is, but a few that slammed open to disgorge groups of men rushing into the fight.

“By the light!” Rilbur swore fiercely, even as he spun away from an “innocent bystander” who’s hand suddenly sliced outward with a hidden dagger. Taking advantage of his superior speed and agility, Rilbur darted amongst his assailants, rolling and jumping to shield himself from them, often sheltering from one behind the legs of another. All that kept him alive was years and years of training in how to use his natural agility to best effect, and the precision and vigor of youth. Soon he was coated in blood, even as guardsmen started bellowing for aid in quelling the “riot” before being carried off by the flood of fleeing civilians.

Constantly under attack, Rilbur was unable to find even an instant to draw on his powers to create a shield, leaving him dreadfully unprotected from mystic attack. Despite that he was able to use some of his weaker cantrips to devastating effect, causing agonizing pain on some of his assailants while still other were afflicted by a vague, uncertain fear. Still other began to trip over their own feet, or burst into tears, but they still pressed on.

Then Rilbur saw an opening in the mass of bodies and leapt upward, several feet into the air before bouncing off a wall and propelling himself still higher. Grabbing hold of a pipe, he paused a second to reach out and seize the strength of the shadow, forming the raw stuff of darkness into the stuff of darkest, deepest nightmare through sheer strength of will. Opening his mouth, he released that energy in a howl even as he dropped down. A shadow ripped away from his body in an ever-expanding sphere that rippled through the crowd. No longer focused on him, his nearest opponents instead ran in fear, hampering their allies attacks even as it opened a hole in the crowd, buying him a few precious seconds. Hooking his blades to his belt for the moment, he drew a dark blue gem from a pouch at his side, and with his other hand sprinkled salt, drawn from a pocket, into the air. “Etario systery esto dumoral. Etab dunak threntag!” he intoned, switching between the two languages with ease. A soft roar seemed to echo from the rocks themselves, a deep chuckle from an inhuman voice, even as the dim shadows cast by mere torchlight twisted and lengthened, deepening in color. With a sudden snap, the shadows ripped away from their sources, flowing together to twist around an unseen figure, leaving behind the shadows that normally would be there.

The shadows twisted and writhed around an unseen frame, until settling together to reveal what could only be called a giant purple blob with two arms. Its skin seethed like some seething liquid barely contained, while its eyes glowed an unearthly blue. It seemed to cock its head and smile, a gesture more sensed than seen, and then it charged headlong into the crowd, leaving Rilbur to spend his last few seconds raising defenses and summoning a magical armor from the shadow.

Darting back into the fray in the way of the chaos he’d unleashed, Rilbur let his void walker unleash wave after wave of terror, agony, and fear into the minds of those around it. Inevitably their minds gave way under the impact of that force, twisting their attention to the void walker against their wills. The better part of half the crowd turned to focus on it, leaving Rilbur with half the problem he’d had. “Not a great improvement, but better than nothing,” he muttered.

This time he fought offensively, a miniature tornado ripping through the ranks of his opponents. His short, eighteen inch blades were barely even short swords for a human, but wreaked horrible carnage in his hands nonetheless, reaching out and slicing through any cracks in his opponents’ defenses. And this time he had no need to worry about his being armor less, as his magic had summoned up his armor for him, deflecting away any but the most direct, strongest of blows. And while his small stature blunted the force of his blades, he didn’t need to penetrate deep or lop off entire limbs to slash arteries and tendons, to stab just far enough in to open veins, or to slash the occasional throat that came low enough for him to reach. Only the most skilled of warriors could hope to survive within two feet of him, and his opponents were street scum. Well equipped street scum, but street scum nonetheless. Enough street scum to swarm him over if he’d been taken by complete surprise, to be sure, but his father’s name was more than sufficient to ruin any surprise.

Add to that the unorthodox nature of his magic, and he became an unstoppable killing machine. With one final leap, he slashed two throats and kicked a third man in the face, knocking him unconscious. A little bit of rope, and he had one living prisoner. Turning around to face the other half of the fray, he watched amusedly as swords passed right through his void walker even as it unleashed burst after burst of psychic energy. Concentrating, once more he reached out into the aether and grabbed hold of shadow energy. Twisting it with his mind, he concentrated on the scene before him. Tendrils of black energy ripped outward from an outstretched hand, streaking forward and into the mass of bodies in a terrible display of raw power. Whips of power lashed through the crowd, searing off limbs and blasting holes in bodies. With a scream of fury Rilbur advanced, power coursing through him in one endless, blazing wave of rage. Several of the bodies turned to run and he flicked a finger at them, slicing their legs of below the knee. One turned and threw a knife blade at him. Turning the lightning streaking from his hand, he shattered the blade in mid air, molten drops of metal smoking on his clothes and the floor around him.

Stomping down on hi/s rage, Rilbur shut down the flow of power. Red anger coursed through his being, demanding satisfaction, but he ground it under his heel and brought himself back into control. Looking at the corpses around himself, he felt his gorge rising even as a ring smoked and dropped off his finger, band twisted beyond recognition as if by a great heat, and the jewel burning into a dark blue gas. The shrill whistles of constables approached quickly now, with the deep rhythmic thudding of booted feet a counterpoint. Turning around, Rilbur watched a platoon charge in, blades unbarred, and kneeled down, laying his swords on the ground beside him. “Rilbur Vacuusnomen, Corporal,” he identified himself.

***

Rilbur's horse walked along contentedly, ripping up the occasional piece of grass from the side of the road. Neither of them was in much of a hurry, and Rilbur saw no need to press the beast when he may need the speed more later. Besides, he was so small that the idea of him forcing her to move faster than she felt like was more than a little silly. He controlled her because she was willing to be controlled, and no other reason.

Looking up at the greenery on the rock faces on either side of him, he frowned. A trickle of instinct brushed down his spine, then disapeared as his alertness rose. Sighing, he stretched a little. Would the humans ever learn? For a moment, his mind brought forth the image of the bigoted, half-brained ass of a general who had had the pleasure, or lack therof, of debriefing him.

[Ron_Lugge]

<continued>

***

“I’d like to know how exactly you survived, corporal, and I’d like to know now,” a harsh voice grated. The soft wood tone paneling of the room failed to soften the tension.

“Sir, the attack began with a person claiming to be a messenger from my father attempting to cut my throat with a concealed dagger,” Rilbur barked out, maintaining perfect bearing with his hands behind his back, chin up, and legs spread to shoulder width. “As soon as I saw the blade I disarmed my attacker and drew my swords-“

“You are a mage, are you not?” the general demanded roughly.

“Sir, I am assigned to arcane support, however-“ Rilbur began.

“Then its true, you filthy pervert!” the general thundered to the agreement of a few others. “You’re a warlock! A servant of the Burning Hells!”

“Excuse me, General Glyndor, but that is not what he said,” Colonel Mylyen interrupted. “I have personally reviewed his magic with Father Dregnor, and he is no more a servant of the Twisting Nether than you or I.”

“Oh really? Then how did he command a demon to do his bidding?” the general snarled, twisting to face his subordinate.

“I never said he didn’t consort with demons-“ Colonel Mylyen began.

“Oh, he doesn’t deal with the Hells but he does deal with their denizens? What a meaninglessdistinction you rotten turd!” General Glyndor thundered, half rising from his chair before sitting back down. Colonel Mylyen’s eyes took on a spark of fire and he half rose back.

“With all due respect, sir,” he sneered, “the distinction is very simple. The creatures he deals with come from other dimensions and planes, just like the orcs, and while many of them are descended from the Burning Crusade they are not aligned with it!”

“Sit down!” the general snapped, “Or I’ll have you up for insubordination!”

“No you will not,” a voice stated flatly from the other side of the table. “Nonetheless, Colonel, sit down and avoid antagonizing the general, however… offensive he might be. He is your superior- er, I mean he does out-rank you.”

Rilbur suppressed a snicker as the general missed the blatant insult from the priest. “Thank you for reminding me, Father Dregnor,” the colonel smiled. For both reminders, seemed to whisper itself in Rilbur’s ears as the colonel tapped into the mystic weave which the general had willingly blinded himself to.

Your welcome, the father whispered back. Be careful Rilbur... I sense another’s hand in this, the father sent directly to Rilbur.

My father’s... Rilbur sent.

Of course his hand is stirring the pie young man! But I mean another hand past his, the father sighed.

The general, meanwhile, had completely missed this split second byplay. “Now, lets get back to my original question. There were over a hundred attackers in that crowd, most of them sell-swords that would have slit their own mother’s throats for a few coppers. How did you survive?”

”Sir, they were humans one and all, and not trained in dealing with a highly skilled gnome such as myself,” Rilbur said blandly.

“What does their race have to do anything? Heck, wouldn’t humans be worse for you than other races?” the general demanded. Father Dregnor stiffened at the implied insult to his dwarvish heritage, while the colonel’s face took on a slightly wry cast.

“Sir, humans are the easiest opponent for a properly trained gnome, especially half or poorly trained humans,” Rilbur smiled slightly. “No offense, sir, but humans are arrogant. They look on gnomes as children, and only see the slowness of the dwarves. They miss the fact that gnomes are deadly dangerous in a fight, fast even if not strong, and dwarves make up for their lack of speed with a strength and stamina neither of our races can manage. And hired street scum wouldn’t realize that.”

”Hired?” the general snorted. “Exactly what evidence do you have that they were hired?”

”Lets try the dozen or so assassination attempts prior to this, sir,” Rilbur said, leaving the others temporarily speechless. “I reported it each time, but no one’s paid any attention.”

“Assassination attempts. On a mere corporal,” the general snickered.

“And son of Seltar Sententia,” Rilbur reminded him.

“I thought you surname was Vacuusnomen?” the general asked, confused.

“Correct sir, my father disowned me recently,” Rilbur’s light tone hid the depths of pain in that simple statement.

“Then why would someone want to assassinate you?” the general asked, bemused.

“All the other attempts predated my father’s disowning me.”

”I see. How about a slightly more pertinent question. If someone could afford to hire all those street scum, why not save some money and just hire a competent assassin?”

“Because Rilbur can sense danger,” the colonel butted in. “I’ve tested it with him, and he can sense any real danger to his person. That’s why we don’t even have evidence enough to prove the other attempts, he evaded them with such ease that they came nowhere close to success. There have been at least 3 attempted poisonings that I can prove, and all look accidental.”

”Then what good would hiring street scum be?”

“Individually they were no threat to Rilbur,” Father Dregnon explained, “so he wouldn’t sense them. If only one or two knew their target, and the rest were simply told to attack whoever they saw attacked, the group as a whole wouldn’t know they were attacking him, ergo they weren’t a direct threat to him. And then, when the first one attempted to kill him the trap sprang, they all came boiling out and as a group were a threat, doubly so because they’d have the element of surprise.”

“I see,” the general replied in a tone that said otherwise. “And how, exactly, did he survive their overwhelming numbers?”

“I don’t think you understand, general,” the colonel replied. “Gnomes are fast. We aren’t just fast by human standards, but inhumanly fast. Perhaps a demonstration would be of use.”

“That’d be ah guud ideah, Sah,” one of the guards at the door commented, barely comprehensible through his thick accent. “My compahnyun an’ I coo’ use da pracdice. Moh him dan me, tooth be tohld. He nevah face a nahm befoh.”

“Fine then, a demonstration it is,” the general laughed. “The corporal will try to walk out the door, and you will stop him with extreme prejudice.”

“Vahy guud sah,” the guard smiled. “Ready whe’ yo ah, Rilbah.”

“I suppose you want to me go at it weaponless, general?” Rilbur asked.

“Lets, if you’re so fast,” the general ordered. Rilbur turned around, and bowed to each of the guards in turn. The one who had done the talking so far lowered his weapon to guard position, while the other pointed his straight at Rilbur.

Rilbur directed a grin at the first guard, who just shrugged beneath his armor. "He ih new ah 'is johb. Taych hehm foh me?" For a second the tablue held, then Rilbur seemed to blur as he ran right at the second, newer guards weapon. At the last second he leapt up over the spear's head and ran up the shaft, flipping around to kick the guard in his face and draw a dagger from his belt. In a swift blur, the dagger imbedded itself in the walk behind the first guard, even as Rilbur landed outside the door.

"I win," he said unecessarily. The general, needless to say, was speechless. "Care to try again with three guards, general? Maybe this time, one of them will live."

"Ah dunno 'bout dat. You kahlled us ahfally qwaick," the guard laughed. "Jrendan's ganna be all night repaying 'is helmet, too."

"What do you mean, he killed you?" the general thundered. "Your friend there is going to have a sore face, but nothing worse happened!"

"Had I meant to harm either of them, they would be dead General," Rilbur stated flatly. "I'm a dead shot with knife, bow, or gun, and that knife would have gone right into his throat. And as far as Jrendan goes..." looking at the guard, he smiled. "Take off your helmet boy. Or just give a little tug on the strap at your throat."

Jrendan reached up and did so, and the strap broke cleanly straight down the center, leaving two strips connecting the buckles. If the blade had gone any deeper, it would have drawn blood.

***

Shaking his mind free of the interview, which had gone downhill from there, Rilbur straightened in the saddle. "You might as well come out. I know you're there," Rilbur called out. "I mean you no harm unless you mean me harm. I am on bussiness of the Alliance. Come forth and be known."

A racous laugher drifted down to him as the bushes at the top of the gorge swayed. Suddenly, a large number of bows were visable, and pointed at him.

"I think we mean you no harm, kid, so long as you get off the horsey and let us take him. And all the stuff on him, of course. Give us no trouble and we won't even turn you over to the slavers, like we promised 'em," the lean, roughset man lied.

"Oh good sir," Rilbur dissembled playfully. "prithee tell me you are not a bandit!"

"Cut the crap, kid," the man swore. "This is no story, I am a raider, I will cut your throat if you provoke me, and the slavers would offer a fine price for the likes of you! With a face like yours, you'd likely avoid the general labor sale... and even I hate what happens to... special labor."

Rilbur laughed, and undid the clasp on his cloak. With a shrug, he let it drop to the ground, allowing his blue tabard to show through. By coincidence -- for once unaid by his powers and sense of drama -- the sun broke through the still grey clouds at that very convienient moment.

The crossed wand and staff burned on his sleeves, and below them a hand, outlined in flame, reached out as if to grasp something. "I think not!" Rilbur's voice boomed, aided by his powers. "In the name of the Alliance and by the authority vested in my by the exiled court of Gnomeregan and the military might of Ironforge, I take you prisoner. Resist and you will be slain, comply and I will plead with the judge for mercy. Set aside your weapons!"

The leader of the raider band laughed. "Ooooh, a little boy found a few toys some day and thought he was a big bad wolf! Herer, let me give you another!" Reaching into his belt, he tossed a small ball at Rilbur. Catching it adroitly, Rilbur dropped it at the side of the road as it began to releash a sickly yellow smoke into the air, and laughed, suppressing a cough at the pungent smell.

"Laugh all you want mage," the raider continued, but your spell casting days are over. Boys, shoot'im!"

Rilbur's arms shot out as he screamed a word of command. A few inches from his palms a golden glow arose, surrounding both him and his mount in a shell of protective energy that the arrows bounced off of. "I travel prepared, deadman." As the raiders gaped, Rilbur rose to stand on his saddle. "As sole present representative of the Alliance, I hereby charge you with violence against a soldier doing his duty, attempted murder, slaving, raiding, and intereference with the King's Highway. The penalty for all five is death, and I so sentence you. Do you have anything to say before I carry out the sentence?"

"But... the dust..." the leader stammered.

"You made three mistakes, deadman. One, you either assumed I was a little child, or that a gnome was a helpless target. Two, when you saw the emblem of arcane support on my sleeves, you assumed that a mage. That is forgiveable, I suppose, as few follow my path and amongst those that do most would find their powers canciled by that artifact. Third, and most deadly, you assumed that magic was my only defense. You were wrong. Dead wrong." Drawing the blades at his side, Rilbur's grim voice thundered, "as I shall now prove!"

***

"You are a fool! Thrice-damn it Rilbur, don't you see that its a trap?" the elder gnome shouted.

"Of course its a trap, Sandrang!" Rilbur shouted back angrily. "My father is always setting traps!"

"You idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Your father isn't the only one laying traps for you!" The entire armory was very carefully not listening to their coversation. Sandrang had stormed in as Rilbur had begun packing various items he might need on his journey.

"Escorting a messenger -- that messenger, at least! -- through ogre controlled land is suicide! And after that you face dragons, felbeasts, and demons with the ocasional cultist thrown in! And your companion is the very last person you should be traveling with!"

"Agreed, but alas I have alreeady been given my orders and my obedience is not optional!" Rilbur shoved a few daggers into his belt and tucked another pair into his boots. Thanks to his noble ancestry, no one would complain about him overstocking himself, disowned or not, so he went ahead and grabed a second set of of throwing knives and adjusted a belt to act as a baldric. Grabbing a second set of swords, he shoved them in his pack next to his first set. Considering, he decided not to bother with a third set.

"General Gethric is trying to kill you and you know it," Sandrang responded. "Go to your division head and ask him to intervene! This mission-"

"Is vital for the security of the Alliance, and unfortunatly the General is right, Rilbur is our only hope of success," the Archmage Wasanabi interupted. "I don't like it very much, and would prefer to detail two or three more people in support, but the general is right in that Rilbur is the only one with a chance at this point."

"And its a light-be-damned slim one!" Sandrang thundered. "Courier Gethrash is a fool, a bigot, and an idiot all in one!"

"I am well aware of the couriers... flaws. Unfortunatly, Courier Gethrash is the only one available to us at the moment. How the hell that happened we're still sorting out, but the idiot is our only choice," the archmage smiled. "Even if he does require orders in triplicate to wipe himself after he ****s."

Sandrang laughed. "And how is it, exactly, that he's our only choice? What about Mrandin, or Heredar, or Serephen or-"

"All the couriers currently in Ironforge and Stormwind are either injured, or too new to the job for a mission of this importance. All the others have been sent off, carrying varius missives, and don't even ask me how that happened. Someone dropped the ball, but so far we haven't figured out who." The archmage laughed, "By the Twisting Nether, Gethrash is too new for this job!"

"What exactly happened, sir, that made it necessary for us to go by ground from the Duskwood Aerie?" Rilbur asked.

"You weren't told? Of course you weren't, silly question. The General is a complete idiot!" the archmage cursed. "The fact is, there are no Gryphons available that have been taught where Netherguard Keep is, and every attempt to fly one in at low altitude has been driven back by hostile action of one kind or another."

"What kind of hostile action can interdict a keep that is built into a mountain!" Sandrang exploded.

"A siege," Rilbur said softly, eyes vacant. "Troops arrayed before the gate, hundreds deep, and blood both red and black stains the ground. THe skys themselvs burn with unholy fire as the mountain trembles. The gates have fallen... and the mountain burns... burns... all is fire..." Rilbur shuddered spasmodicly and fell to the ground, twitching.

"Damn it, not now!" the archmage cursed. "Someone get a priest!"

A paladin shoved the archmage aside and laid his hands on Rilbur's chest. "May the Holy Light drive out what ails you, and-" he began. A brilliant flashh of light erupted from beneath his hands, and exploded outword, knocking he paladin back.

"A priest, damn it!" the archmnage shouted. "No one else can do him any good!"

"I'm here, my child," a voice whispered in Rilbur's ear. "Let me have your pain."

Coughing, Rilbur tried to sit up. "Who?" he tried to say.

"I am a friend," the voice replied to his unspoken question. "Do not worry, the vision you saw is not from the other."

"How do-" Rilbur spasmed again, the convulsion choking off the rest of the question.

"I know because it is my job to know. I know muuch," the voice replied. "but not always enough," it continued, almost to itself.

***

[Ron_Lugge]

<continued>

Arriving in town at the head of a string of horses and freed slaves, Rilbur caused quite a stir. The local sheriff, calling herself "the Head of the Nightwatch" for some absurd reason, was amased at his exploits.

Rilbur laughed it off, even as he pulled out the pack containing the heads of both the raiders and the slavers. He'd dealt with the raiders with blade alone, but considerate of the risk to the already extensive string of slaves, he'd used his magic to cut down most of the slavers, leaving many of their heads in less than pristine condition.

"fourty-five, fourty-six, fourty-seven, and fourtey eight," the sheriff looked up at him, awestruck. "You killed fourty eight men, all by yourself?" she asked, incredulous.

"I handle'd them in two groups, Sheriff," Rilbur replied. "And as my tabard shows, I'm not without resources."

"Well, you're welcome to come back to Darkshire anytime you feel like it. Any time at all! With Stormwind's troops pulled out of here, we're very short on resources," the sheriff smiled. "If I thought you'd accept, I'd gladly enlist you in the Nightwatch. Heck, if I thought it'd do any good I'd try and conscript you into the Nightwatch!"

"A sheriff can conscript military personel during an emergency, but I don't think being short-handed is an emergency in and of itself, however badly your garrison is short," Rilbur replied frostily.

The sherrif laughed. "My garrison, as you call it, consists entirely of local volunteers with no real authority. The King stripped us of all our soldiers, constables, and sheriffs."

"Then why, exactly, do you remain, sheriff?" Rilbur asked, irritated.

"I'm one of the local volunteers. I got a writ from Stormwind the other day granting me, and I quote, 'Temporary Sherrifal Powers, but neither Titles nor Priveledges assiciatetd with that Position. You may act as Our deputy for the duraion of the emergency, but upon the return of Our Loyal Officers, you shalll yield unto them all Powers, Duties, Rights, and Materials that you gained while acting as Sheriff, restricting only a Reasonable Hire for your services and what you may have used that Hire for.' Its a bunch of mealy mouthed acceptence of what was already fact -- untill Stormwind returns our personell to us, I am in charge of the Law," her voice twisted bitterly. "And I'm the only person in charge of the law, under the ruling. All my 'illegally hired deputies, known as 'The Nightwatch' are to be hereforth disbanded and released from their duties and replaced with the remaining Lawful Deputies within your lands of Responsibility."

"Is there a problem, Sherrif?" Rilbur asked pointedly, looking at a patroling Nightwatchman.

"Aside from the fact there there are all of two such deputies remaining, both of them toothless old men, not a thing!" she snapped. "And if you have a problem with my keeping my Nightwatchmen, I'll go right ahead and declare an emergency and conscript you to replace them!"

"That won't be necessary," a haughty voice proclaimed. "I need Rilbur to take me to my destination, and he won't bother your... arrangements."

"Courier Gethrash, I presume?" Rilbur asked, turning around. The courier was tall, even for a human, and the aristocratic sneer seemed to be imprinted on his face.

"You presume correctly, Corporal. I trust my horse is in good condition?" he sneered. "I certainly hope your... escapades didn't injure him."

"The horse is fine. A very well bred mare, too," Rilbur cut back.

"A mare? But I'm-!" Gethrash cut back a curse. "Of course, I forgot. A mere gnome couldn't handle a stallion, they would have had to send a mare if you were to bring it out." Frowning, he sighed. "I guess I'll just have to make do. Come along boy, the girl has has better things to do than talk to the likes of you."

Rilbur very politely refrained from swearing... but it sounded like this was going to be a very fun trip.

Part 3

Rilbur grunted as the mace slammed into his chest, sending him flying. Tears welled in his eyes, even as he staggered to his feet. A female moan indicated where his Succubus was busy keeping one ogre at bay, even as the thump, thump of an ogre running told him were his attacker was. Grunting, Rilbur dashed tears away from his eyes with one hand, even as he reached out as if to grasp something with the other. A spark, nearly invisible, streaked from his hand, which was suddenly outlined in flames, to the ogre. Upon impact, the flames errupting around Rilbur's hand vanished, and the ogre screamed as he fell to his knees, flames biting deep into his flesh. Spinning, Rilbur faced the clash of swords and swore.

Gethrash was holding his own against one ogre, but two more were preparing to jump down on him from a ledge up above. Gathering a ball of shadow in his hands as he ran forward, he aimed for the ledge, not the ogres. The ball shattered on impact with the ledge, impacting like a giant hammer on the lifeless stone. A hidden flaw gave way with a great crack, and the ogres tumbled limply down behind the courier, who had just run his ogre through.

Twisting around in responce to a roar, Rilbur saw another twenty or so ogres coming down the path. "We need to get out of here, now!" he screamed to Gethrash.

"My horse has run off!" Gethrash bellowed back.

"Then run, and to the Twisting Nether with your light-be-damned nobility!" Rilbur cursed.

Frowning, Gethrash scrambled up the trail even as Rilbur drew his sword across the remaining ogre's neck and dismissed the succubus back to her home. "Thanks for the help," he said, "but I don't think you can help much with the rest of them."

"Anytime, dearie," Ryneth said sensously, and faded away with a flirt of her hips and a smile on her face.

Turning to face the ogres scrampling up the trail, Rilbur reached out with one hand and his mind, dragging forth an unwilling spirit from the Twisting Nether. In his mind's eye, it glowed on the trail before the ogres, even as his other hand crushed a stone. A burst of flame stunned the ogres as the spirit manifestetd, and a second flash of power stunned them again as a meteor crashed out of the sky. It was pulled from its celestial home by the infernal Rilbur had summoned to act as its body.

Rilbur strained, physically and mentally, to control the infernal, even as the meteor cracked open, shatteering into severral small pieces and many larger ones. Arms erupted, terrible bounders forming the clubbed fists of a humanoid figure formed of stone and flame and shadow. The crude, almost malformed body radiated malevolance as it roared and began laying about it with its fists. Rilbur, meanwhile, looked at the cliff up above the path he had been leading Gethrash down.

Raising his hands, he pulled a small portion of his mind and will away from the infernal and began pummeling selected points on the walls with his power, causing cracks to appear and the entire cliff to groan in warning. Soon satisfied, he turned and judged the combat.

As he'd hoped, the ogre's large clubs were effective at shattering stone, and while the infernal was far from defeated they were readily holding their own. Both sides would exhaust each other -- while Rilbur would run away, just as fast as he could. Above him the stone face of the cliffsides groaned and shivered, settling out in a slow decay. Rilbur scrambled after Gethrash, going higher up the mountain as fast as he could. Behind him, the infernal broke free of his controls, leaving Rilbur momentarily stunned as the backlash whipped through him, but he barely paused before continuing his mad scramble. Beneath his hands he could feel the rock tremble and shift. His rockslide was going to become an avalanche, and he had no intention of being a part of that if he could avoid it.

Suddenly, a loud crack announced the final collapse of the cliff face, and it fell down onto both ogre and infernal, dropping them into the depths below, along with the path itself. The collapse continued along the cliff in a devastating wave of destruction. Rilbur scrambled to keep ahead of it, clamring up the steep slope with inhuman agility.

Reaching the top, Rilbur swore several vile oaths. "You bloody idiot you were supposed to keep runnin, not wait for me! What were you thinking?"

The cloaked and hooded figure spoke to the air in front of it, not bothering to turn and face Rilbur. "He makes hasty assumptions." It paused as if listening to something else, while Rilbur blinked in surprise. Whoever it was looked like Gethrash, and wore his clothes, but the voice was a dead giveaway. "True, I suppose. But why clothe me in the figure of his companion if the companion was to run?"

This time Rilbur heard the other voice, as if someone was whispering in his ear, an indistinct jumble of sound that he sensed meant something. It paralyzed him for a few moments, the ineffable sense of rightness nailing his feet to the ground.

"Bleh, forsite is too vague to guide ourselves off of. It-- I don't care if you knew this was the only time the two would be sperated, the fact of how they were seperated should have been-- Now don't you get snippy with me you little-!"

The figure rose to its feet in a single, smooth, impossible motion. Rilbur could never explain how he knew, but that motion alone told him he was dealing with something wrong. Something that should never have been allowed into the material planes.

The only question left was whether he faced an angelic or demonic force.

"Fine, be that way!" the figure snapped. "Finis communica!" Turning around to face Rilbur, the figure guestured at the ground where a fire suddenly appeared. "Sit with me, we must speak."

"By the Light and the Candle, by Sword and Shield, I command you to declare yourself!" Rilbur intoned fervently.

"You have not the powerr -- yet -- to command me in such a fasion, little one," the figure laughed. "But you are closer than any of us realised. Whatever you have done with yourself over the years has changed you more than you know, little one."

Rilbur focused, dredging up another spell, older than the church itself. "Declare yourself, Unkown one; name theyself, Unkown one; be Known if ye be Friend or foe to remain Unkown! I command thee in the name of the One and in that power you shall respond!"

The figure howled, a hissing grunt of pure agony as it denied the command. "I shall not!" it spat. "I will give my name up of my own accord or not at all! Release they spell little one, release it! By pride and honor, let me give you my name unforced!"

Rilbur felt an older magic still call him to mercy, and chose to allow it. "I revoke my command. But fail not in your promise!" Blinking, he shook his head.

"I am Tyreus, lesser angel of the Heavens," the figure told Rilbur, pulling its hood back. It looked just like Gethrash, until it looked down and met Rilbur's eyes.

Inside those, Rilbur saw eons pass, stars birth and die, and entire planets wither away of age. Deeds of untold heroism warred with vile evils unimaginable. For a second he saw the wars on Azeroth in that tapestry, a minor thread that touched upon an unimaginable number of other threads. He saw the stain of the scourge on that thread, and another stain reaching out from a nearby thread. Only the stain of the Scourge was a minor thing, and the stain that now sought entry into Azeroth was a monster, easily a match for any of the other stains on the Great Tapestry.

He saw a single spark detatch from the main body of the Heavens, streaking down to Azeroth to block that stain. He saw the spark reach in and touch a single strand of Azeroth's thread, blackened and seared as if burnt, and that thread glowed from within as powers unimaginable were unlocked.

***

Rilbur woke up with a start, and rubbed his head where a rock had hit it. "What a wierd dream," he mused, and struggled to get up. Beside him, a small warm spot faded away even as he walked away, not noticing the char of a campfire where no campfire had been lit.

[Niderin]

Great story so far please finish it. The only problem I see with the story is that you make him out to be a god sitten there able to take on hundreds of guys and being a master swords man. Other than that its great

[Ron_Lugge]

Great story so far please finish it. The only problem I see with the story is that you make him out to be a god sitten there able to take on hundreds of guys and being a master swords man. Other than that its great

I'm still working on the next part -- finished it and I'm littling it stew for a while.

As far as master swordsman goes, he IS a master swordsman -- trained for years under the very best tutors since he was a child. And don't make the mistake of assuming he can take on hundred of skilled warriors in the open field, he can't. What he can -- and did! -- do was face a couple hundred in a closed tunnel, where only a few could face him at once (and those were all gutter scum, anyone who could walk and hear thunder was considered good, and anyone who could do more than that wasn't).

If your refering to the slaver ambush... a dozen or so men, shocked, with their primary weapons neutralized by his powers (they didn't have swords, just teh bows) I don't think it THAT big a stretch.

In a few parts, he's going to have his weaknesses displayed to him, forcefully.

[Niderin]

The slavers one was not a stretch to me. But yeah my biggest problem washe had no showable weakness's and you said you wer gona show those so It sounds like it will be interesting. Side note, like the angle thing cant wait to see were you go with that

[Anyee]

Ron, you and I know that the "bad dream" motif is overused in the extreme. Come on man!

[Ron_Lugge]

Ron, you and I know that the "bad dream" motif is overused in the extreme. Come on man!

Hey, there's a REASON its a cliche. It works... well!

On a side note... angle thing? What angle thing? :grin:

Seeing as how you want weeknesses, I should probably point out that he is an aristocratic SNOB who's morals I don't particularily care for. Go look at the section about his conflict with the night watch commander again. He simply doesn't consider commoners people... yet. He does believe in noblesse oblige (spelling, sorry) though. Add in his delight in causing pain an agony (hence his being a warlock) and he is NOT a nice person.

He's also going to be the only one strong enough to face down the bad guys. And they are BAAAAD.

Oh, and BTW, I have NO CLUE how the first half of part 3 slipped in there. It shouldn't have.

[Niderin]

This angel "I am Tyreus, lesser angel of the Heavens,"

[Ron_Lugge]

ROFL, I was teasing you.... angle != angel.

edit:

Also, I didn't want the first half of part 3 out yet, I don't know why I added it last time.

[Niderin]

When did angles come in to play in world of warcraft

[Ron_Lugge]

Graghaghaghaghaghagh! /end murloc impression

Angel not angle!

STOP IT!

And as far as when they came in to play in WoW, never... but the implilit connection between WoW and Diablo ("The Light") is very strong IMO, and even if angel's per say didn't exist, "THe Light" would almost have to have some kind of servant -- and by definition, almost, that would be an angel. So he may not be a wings glowing warrior of god (or servant) but he fulfils much the same roll.

[Niderin]

I know I was just giving you a hard time hehe