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:

Originally Posted by Mr_Teatime

“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:

Originally Posted by Mr_Teatime

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:

Originally Posted by Mt_T

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!