Azeroth Chronicles (a collection of stories)

[Zarithar]

An ongoing story of sorts about my WoW character! Hope it isn't too boring! EDIT: Actually its more of a random collection of stories...

Chapter 1: R&R

The reek of burning bodies no longer bothered him… strange how sensations which once seemed horrific, even incomprehensible now seemed so mundane and even normal. Perhaps that was true madness then. No one should ever become accustomed to such carnage… it deadened the soul.

Theadrick pitched the corpse of yet another twisted creature into the fire pit. The fact that it had once been human no longer even entered his mind; it was just a body… and another potential foe. The bodies had to be burned, and quickly or they would simply provide another soldier for the Lich King’s Scourge.

A hulking figure approached the opposite side of the smoldering pit, and Theadrick unlimbered his weapon out of shear habit… there was no need. The tauren regarded Theadrick with fleeting suspicion across the veil of black smoke, but quickly turned to the task at hand. Several corpses in various states of decay were slung over the back of the large reptilian kodo which served as mounts for the tauren. Methodically, the bovine humanoid burned the bodies as Theadrick looked on. It was over in moments and the tauren favored Theadrick with a grim nod as he mounted the kodo, which seemed relieved to be rid of its grisly burden.

Theadrick smiled sadly as he turned away from the pit and mounted his own steed, a fierce, armor-clad war horse trained by the Silver Hand back in Stormwind City. Most tauren had cast their lot in with the orcish Horde, which made them potential enemies to Theadrick, a member of the human Alliance… part of a war which the paladin now recognized for the folly it was. No… the Horde was not the enemy… the true enemy made its home here in the Plagues, in what once had been the human kingdom of Lordaeron and was now a festering wasteland haunted by the mindless dead and the sick and twisted living creatures which had been diseased and maddened by the corruption in the very air. Unchecked, the Scourge would spread all across the known world, heedless of the petty squabbles between orc, human, and their allies. All would fall before the Lich King’s army… and so few recognized this simple truth.

Theadrick gazed numbly at the blighted landscape, the sickly trees, and the greenish haze which tainted the air and said a mute prayer to the Light.
“Let us leave this hell old friend” he whispered to his charger, which whickered softly and twitched his ears in reply, as if in agreement.
The paladin removed his gauntlets and reached into a saddlebag, withdrawing a smooth, polished stone which radiated a faint arcane light. As he clutched the stone tightly, a warm bluish glow enveloped man and horse, until they both seemed to vanish into thin air… thus was the magic of the hearthstone.

The sensation of teleportation never failed to disorient Theadrick, even after these many years. Suddenly he was an ocean away from the Plaguelands, and he breathed in the crisp, clean air with relish. The ever present scent of the towering pines of Ashenvale combined with the salt spray of the nearby sea was both welcome and re-invigorating to man and beast.

The village of Auberdine was an outpost and small seaport on the edge of the great forest, a miniscule spark of civilization on the northern shore of untamed Kalimdor. Most of the buildings were of night elven construction, blending and complementing the landscape rather than seeming to intrude upon it, as human or dwarven structures would. Small though it was, Auberdine had a bustling aspect to it as night elf, human, and even a few dwarves went about their business. If any were startled by the presence of an armored knight and his steed suddenly appearing in their midst, they didn’t show it. Magic in the world of Azeroth was a commonplace thing… perhaps too common according to those who studied such things, and perhaps even part of the cause of the world’s many troubles.

Theadrick dismounted and led his horse to the stable yard of a nearby inn which he frequented when in Auberdine. Most respectively gave way as he threaded his way through the crowd. The paladins of the Silver Hand were well regarded by all as protectors and fighters for the Alliance. Some of the night elf sentinels nodded in greeting as Theadrick passed. He was a frequent visitor to these lands, and had a love and respect for the elven people.

An elven youth approached as Theadrick entered the stable proper, and quickly took the reins of the great beast.
“See that he is well taken care of, he’s been through a lot”
The chestnut gelding was caked in mud and dried blood, his coat matted and plastered with dried perspiration where the barding had been. If he was tired, the noble creature showed no sign of fatigue, and calmly followed the boy into the wash rack for a much needed bath and combing.
Knowing that he needn’t have even asked, Theadrick pressed a gold crown into the elf’s hand and made for the inn itself to see to his own comfort.

“Theadrick… Theadrick you big lug it’s about time!” A piping voice cried out from somewhere in the crowd as he made his way towards the inn. With a smile, the knight turned towards the source of the interruption and beheld the strange, diminutive figure of Dennen the Warlock… or Dennen the Engineer depending upon whom you asked…

[Zarithar]

Chapter 2: Auberdine

The gnome was covered head to toe in full sorcerer’s regalia. Flowing robes of some dark material covered with arcane symbols complete with a heavily ornamented hood. In his right hand, the gnome clutched an eldritch staff which gave off a faint, unpleasant luminescence of its own. It was meant to look forbidding and mystifying no doubt, but to Theadrick, the effect was comical. Dennen drew himself up to his full three foot height to meet the paladin’s half-smiling gaze.

“Glowing red eyes no less… nice touch!” He said with a laugh, the memories of the Plaguelands and the horrors they held beginning to fade at the sight of an old companion.
With a sigh, Dennen lowered the hood revealing bushy white hair and the bulbous nose and large merry eyes associated with the gnomish race.

“Hmm not quite the effect I had intended!” he muttered.
“Not the effect intended… what exactly did you intend oh magnificent one?” a mocking voice sounded from behind the gnome, and some of the passerby drew back in superstition as Krak’don the imp appeared in a puff of sulphurous smoke.
Dennen spun angrily and gave the little demon a sharp crack with his staff, sending Krak’don running for the cover afforded by a nearby water barrel… cackling madly all the while.
With a deeper sigh, the gnome turned back to Theadrick and raised his hands in defeat.
“I just don’t know why I put up with him… honestly!”

Theadrick’s tone bordered on the serious when he replied… “Nor do I my friend, nothing good can come of it. Full of lies and deceit; fit only to be purged by the Light. There’s no bargaining with the denizens of the Twisting Nether…”
Now perched atop the barrel, the imp made a face and a less than complimentary gesture to the paladin. “Bah what do you know mortal… my master has need of my talents! Why he can scarcely get dressed on his own the bumbling…”
This earned a sharp look from Dennen which sent the imp back behind the relative safety the barrel afforded.
“Lies and deceit…” continued Theadrick, doing his best to ignore the repugnant little demon. “You know not what dark master the fiend truly serves. You claim control over them… but I see you slipping closer and closer to darkness year after year…”
The paladin’s thoughts were once again troubled as he thought of another who followed the path of the warlock… his long time companion Kristale…

The reverie was soon interrupted at the approach of a pair of night elf sentinels. Moon-blades at the ready, the lithe pair approached Theadrick and Dennen, but their less than hospitable gazes were fixed on Krak’don, who quickly ran to cower behind his diminutive master.
One of the night elves, a graceful woman with a stern voice favored Dennen with a reproachful look. “Banish it warlock… we’ll not suffer demons in our midst, and know that should it be summoned again, you’ll be expelled from Auberdine.”
“Bah, he’s harmless I tell you! And firmly under my control…” yet the gnome dismissed the creature with a snap of his fingers as the other sentinel raised his weapon with deadly intent toward the small demon.
“Knowing the troubles our people have been through at the hands of the Burning Legion, I am surprised that you… a champion of the Alliance, would let the foul beast walk amongst us…”
Dennen had the grace to look admonished. “Forgive me lady, it won’t happen again!”
Theadrick merely nodded apologetically and shrugged… “Gnomes!” He said, as if that explained everything.

“What’s THAT supposed to mean!” piped Dennen indignantly as the pair of guards strode out of earshot.
“Really my friend… you know the night elves can’t abide demons… and those who practice your art are regarded with suspicion at the best of times, regardless of their intent.”

The pair made their way into the comfortable surroundings of the inn’s common room, seemingly shaped out of some massive tree and seated themselves at a table which actually seemed a part of the same tree, a living piece of furniture. Soon they were relaxing over pints of elven mead, troubles forgotten for the moment.

“Sorry about that back there…” began Dennen, “but I have been preoccupied as of late with my latest invention!”
Theadrick smiled broadly, it was a tune he had heard the gnome sing many a time before. Nodding, the paladin took another long drink and settled back in his chair.
“I have traveled broadly the past months my friend… yes to the icy shores of distant Northrend itself! There I discovered a creature of such power and majesty… it inspired me to begin work on a new clockwork companion! A beast fit for battle against any manner of foe!”

Without further ado Dennen brought forth a small metallic figure from one of the pouches at his belt and set it on the table for Theadrick to see. It appeared to be a squat, ungainly, flightless bird of some sort… crafted in intricate detail and painted black and white. Dennen clapped happily as he wound up the little creature and watched it waddle around on the tabletop.

“This is simply a prototype you see! The actual battle penguin will come equipped with twin dragon guns and smoke bomb launchers… it will be amphibious you see, the perfect stealth weapon!” He went on without taking a breath… gone was the warlock… this was Dennen the Engineer!
“Umm… ‘battle penguin’…?” Began Theadrick. “That thing looks about as fearsome as a duck…”
“EXACTLY!!!” Shouted the gnome, rising to his feet and making grand and flourishing gestures. “And like duck, it is graceful and streamlined in the water… both above and below the surface!”
“Right.” Said Theadrick, clearly unconvinced. “I’m sure it will prove most useful indeed.”

Before Dennen could show disappointment, Theadrick quickly changed the topic.
“So… heard from Kristale lately? The last I heard she was in the Felwood vicinity investigating the Legion’s taint there.” Despite the offhand nature of the question, Theadrick couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.
Dennen grew quiet for a moment, and more serious. Theadrick knew that magic-users had non verbal means of communicating over great distances, and hoped for some news.
“And in Felwood she remains… though I’ve not heard from her in some weeks. She is very resourceful and powerful Theadrick, you need not fear for her. Few know more about demons and the powers of the Legion than Kristale.”
“Aye gnome… and that’s what worries me more than anything…”

[Zarithar]

Chapter 3: Echeyakee

Zograth crouched low behind a tumble of boulders and subconsciously swiped at an irritating fly that seemed to love the tast of orc blood. Inwardly, he cursed himself for a fool. Though he was downwind, he sensed that somehow the lions had been alerted to his presence. They were wary beasts in the best of circumstances, and dangerous prey.

Slowly, he knocked a flint tipped arrow and drew back the sinew string of the compact shortbow carved of kodo horn and dared to move from cover. There were three of them lounging under the shade of a large acacia tree... a pair of tawny lionesses and Zograth's true quarry, the beast known as Echeyakee. The lion was a large male in his prime, and a striking sight to behold. His glossy coat was pure white in color as was his thick, regal mane, his eyes a deep blue. Those eyes were staring right into the reddish brown orbs of the orcish hunter....

Zograth's powerfully muscled arms suddenly went limp, bow and arrow clattering to the cracked reddish brown earth at his feet. The lion's eyes, such an unnatural and vivid blue, held the orc hunter transfixed. At the sound of the weapon falling to the ground, the lionesses rose immediately to confront the intruder. Ears laid back, fangs bared, they could tear the orc to shreds within moments... but something unseen passed between Echeyakee and his mates, and they warily backed down. The great lion rose to his feet, eyes never leaving Zograth. He was a magnificent sight to behold, easily out sizing the largest adult male Zograth had ever seen. Distantly, he thought to reach for the hand axe and dagger at his belt, but he just couldn't...

Slack jawed, Zograth held his ground as the beast approached him slowly, making not a sound despite his massive size. Echeyakee... not Zograth... was the true hunter here. The lion stopped less than a foot away from the orc, who strangely felt no fear...
Something akin to approval passed through Zograth's consciousness then like a wave. With stunned amazement, the orc realized this came from Echeyakee himself. The hunter had found his bond-beast... a partner who would share in his sacred hunts... but such a beast. The elders would have much to say about this... but first, he must confront Sergra Darkthorn.

Sergra was one of the most highly respected huntresses of the new Horde, and something of a custodian of the land. She had tasked Zograth with several duties meant to test him as a hunter over the past few weeks, and slaying the great lion had been the latest. Would she see this as a failure?

Echeyakee let out a low, rumbling purr and Zograth placed a knotted hand in the lion's thick mane. It was an innexplicable feeling, two beings who suddenly felt as if they had known one another for years. The lionesses seemed puzzled, and approached to investigate this strange turn of events. They seemed to know that somehow their mate had accepted the orc and no longer saw him as a threat.

It was a strange sensation for Zograth, though he had been hunting dangerous animals most of his life, he had never felt or experienced anything such as this. Perhaps an hour passed in this manner, though Zograth could not be sure. The lion seemed to understand when Zograth communicated with thought alone that they must make for the bustling Horde outpost known only as The Crossroads.

Orc and lion set off northward across the dusty savannah known as The Barrens, a deceptive name for a region which teemed with life. Although there were few settlements or vestiges of civilization, the area was home to a large and varied amount of wildlife... much of it dangerous and well adapted to survive in the harsh terrain. Lions, hyenas, raptors, the scavenging and sometimes predatory flightless birds known as plainstriders all roamed the plains in search of prey, which varied in size and shape from the lowly prarie dog to the massive kodo.

In addition ravaging centaur tribes, officially at war with the orcs and their tauren and troll allies, were a constant threat. The quillboar who had once controlled this land had been all but pushed out by the Horde, but still maintained some encampments in the dense thornbrush thickets and other hard to reach places. Harpies still dwelt upon some isolate mesas and hillsides as well... and then there was the ever present threat of Alliance raiders out of Ashenvale or Northwatch Hold.

Zograth and Echeyakee encountered none of these dangers as they made their way towards The Crossroads however. Once, they spied a small pack of hyena, but the scavengers gave the dangerous pair a wide berth. Zograth felt as secure as he ever had with the lion by his side, and paused from time to time to simply admire the beauty and wildness of the scenery around him... from the vast blue sky, to the towering acacia and thorn trees, to the roaming herds of zevhra and gazelle. The Barrens had a beauty and wildness to it that Zograth could not deny, and he always felt most alive when deep in the bush... far from civilization or his fellow orcs.

The sun was sinking over the high, craggy hills, casting a reddish glow on the arid terrain as orc and lion approached the outpost several hours later that day. The Crossroads was a vital outpost for the Horde, straddling the intersection of a pair of strategic roads, one with connections to the neutral city of Ratchet, and the Horde outposts along the borders of Ashenvale forest. The western road lead to Camp Taraujo on the edges of Tauren controlled Mulgore, and beyond where it would eventually reach distant Gadgetzan, another neutral trade city.

A caravan of goblin merchants was just arriving along the southern road, and Zograth stopped momentarily to watch the spectacle. No less than half a dozen lumbering kodos made up the procession. The huge but docile reptiles were laden down with all manner of trade goods and they plodded along at a snails pace despite the curses and shrieks of their diminuative drovers, a party of goblins. The lead kodo was rigged with an elaborate, cushioned saddle where the lead merchant sat in comfort, shaded by a colorful parasol and sipping from some sort of iced drink.

Even from this distance Zograth could feel the conniving creatures appraising eyes pass over Echeyakee. The value of the albino lion's hide was no doubt great... and Zograth realized that even such a fearsome creature as this would be in danger. He wondered fleetingly what Segra's true motives concerning slaying the lion were...

Rounding out the caravan were four fearsome bodyguards... ogre warriors covered with tattoos and decorated with necklaces bearing the skulls of slain enemies... naked save for loincloths of hide. All swaggered proudly, flanking the caravan and bearing their massive weapons with practiced ease. These one-time allies of the Horde in times past shared the distant homeworld of the orcs, and they had once fought side by side with them... but with the release of the demon taint, that alliance had faded as ogre tribes parted ways with the orcs to make their own destiny in Azeroth. Many took up the mercenary's calling and served whomever paid them the most coin.

[Zarithar]

Orphans

“What is it Theadrick…” The girl’s voice was hushed and tinged with fear, but also an unmistakable curiosity.
The boy called Theadrick shook his head in wonder. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

The children were crouched low behind a thick, concealing hedge. Behind them in the distance lay the reassuring sight of the strong stone walls of Northshire Abbey and the collection of outbuildings which comprised the village of the same name. Ahead of them… a derelict goldmine, abandoned sometime after the Second War. What held the attention of the two orphans however was the diminutive rat-like creature which stood sniffing the air some twenty yards distant.

The odd creature walked upright, though in a hunched position. It wore clothes of a sort, a collection of filthy rags and an odd little hat with the melted stub of a wax candle perched on top. In one hand it clutched a crudely fashioned mining pick of some sort, which it brandished as a weapon. Whiskers quivering, it turned it’s snout in the direction of the hidden children and began a cautious approach towards the hedge.

“Thead… we’d best get out of here!”
“Shh… Kristale, lets see maybe it means no harm!” Boldly, the boy stepped out from concealment; a heavy stick held loosely at his side and hailed the creature, trying to deepen his boy’s voice as much as possible.
“What manner of creature are you and why come you to the Kingdom of Stormwind!”

Behind the hedge, Kristale couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle and slap her forehead. Theadrick and his dreams of brave knights and valorous deeds…
The dirty little humanoid froze momentarily and fixed its beady little rodent eyes on the human child, baring teeth in a snarl as its whole body began to quiver and shake.
“NO! “ It shrieked in a shrilly voice… heavily accented common. “It’s mine! Mine! You no take candle!”
Theadrick was momentarily taken aback and he stammered “Um… I don’t want can..”

But at that moment the creature raised the pick with both hands and charged the boy with a snarl.
The youth jumped back avoiding a clumsy swing from the pick as Kristale stood and let out a scream. It was not a scream of fear however, but of anger as she saw the little beast attack her best friend. The girl reached down and grabbed the nearest stone she could find, launching it at the little fiend. Her throw went wide but startled the creature, giving Theadrick time to recover his senses and lash out with his stick. He struck the beast a glancing blow to the head, which succeeded only in knocking the melted lump of wax from its hat.

“YEARRRGHHH!!!” It fairly screamed, now frothing in rage as its precious candle went sailing off into the undergrowth. It swung the pick again, this time catching the boy in the leg, tripping him up and knocking him off balance. Theadrick let out a cry of pain as he went down hard, landing on his back with the wind knocked out of him. The creature snarled in triumph and aimed the head of the pick at the boy’s unprotected head just as Kristale hurled another rock… this one striking the creature solidly in the chest, causing it to yelp and lose its grip on its weapon. Theadrick took advantage of the distraction and scrambled to his feet and together the children began to run back towards the abbey... only to have their path blocked as three more of the little creatures appeared on the scene, alerted by the shrieks of their companion.

All three bore an assortment of weapons and had the children surrounded. They both put up a brave front, Theadrick balling his fists in defiance and Kristale prepared to hurl yet another rock... but the situation was fast deteriorating. One of the creatures, larger and burlier than the rest drew a jagged blade from a tattered leather sheath and brandished it with deadly intent as it advanced on Theadrick, who began to feel fear in spite of himself.

“Come on then you little wretches… you’ll not kill us easily!” He shouted with bluff and bluster. In reply, the creatures snickered with menace and closed in around the children.
At that moment all six beings became aware of the sound of thundering hooves approaching rapidly, and turned as one to see a mounted warrior bearing down on them.

It was none other than one of the famous paladins of the Church of the Holy Light. Often they could be seen at the Abbey on various tasks or duties for the Church, and fortune had brought this one to the scene just in time.

As the creatures scattered, the paladin caught up to the nearest and brought his gleaming long sword down in a swooping arc, nearly slicing the unfortunate being in twain. Another was trampled beneath the thudding hooves of the paladin’s warhorse, and a third cut down by the deadly blade. The fourth managed to escape, scurrying off in the direction of the mine as the knight stopped to see to the children… who stood mouths agape in astonishment at the deadly carnage they had just witnessed.

The armored man dismounted with surprising speed considering the weight he bore and removed his helm. “Are you hurt, what are you doing this far from the Abbey?”
Both orphans were still too shocked to reply after what they had just been through, but Theadrick was beginning to feel the pain where the pick had scored his leg, and looked down for the first time to see ripped trousers and seeping blood. Suddenly, the pain was too much to bear and he collapsed to the ground.

[Zarithar]

Blackfeather

Blackfeather erected a simple cairn and gently placed the body of the fallen shaman atop it. No time to burn the lifeless husk and commit the spirit to the winds. The shaman would soon be a meal for the vultures and hyenas that were already gathering. Blackfeather offered a simple prayer to Aggamagan and placed a precious bloodstone, believed to come from the demigod himself, inside the mouth of his fallen comrade.

"May the boar-god welcome you home my friend" grunted Blackfeather as the scavengers grew bolder. With a last glance at his fallen companion, the quillboar warrior took up his spear to continue his journey alone.

Blackfeather was an imposing creature, a humanoid boar of sorts, and one of the indigenous races of Kalimdor. Believed to be descended from mighty Aggamagan himself, the Quillboar had roamed Eastern Kalimdor for time immemorial. They were a people on the decline, along with several other native races they were being driven from their ancestral lands by the coming of the Orcs and their allies. The hated tauren, also native to Kalimdor, had joined the orcs and thus secured their future so it seemed... but the Quillboar fought a losing battle besieged on all sides by enemies.

Standing nearly six feet in height, and more than half that in girth, Blackfeather was a giant among his people. His tough hide was scarred and pitted, and covered in places with rough armor of hide and bits of metal taken from fallen foes. A kind of half-helm adorned his head, a cap of rawhide studded with iron spikes through which his bristling black mane protruded. His ivory tusks curled proudly above his long snout giving him a truly fearsome visage. His namesake, ebon feathers taken from a harpy princess some years past hung on a chain of gold around his thick neck. His weapons were all trophies of battle. A long spear with a jagged steel head taken from a troll warrior a mere month ago was his current weapon of choice. He liked the reach it gave him as well as the dual purpose. If a thrust from the weapon didn't kill his opponent, the cruel barbs would do severe damage as he yanked it from his foe.

Additionally, an orcish handaxe hung at his belt, and a dagger... this one purchased honestly from an enterprising goblin merchant, was sheathed and strapped to one of his legs. The goblin had told him the dagger was of human crafting, and a fine piece of steel for close combat.

Blackfeather had never seen a human, but it was humans he sought. Along with the now dead shaman, he had been sent by his clan in search of allies in their struggle against the orcs. Thus he now journeyed alone and ever southward... his destination the forbidding swamps which lay beyond the Barrens. It was said that beyond the swamp, a group of humans had constructed a settlement on the coast. More importantly, these humans were no friends of the orcs and their allies.

It seemed a desperate measure to Blackfeather... the quillboar had ever stood alone, even warring with each other... but times were truly desperate not only for his clan, but indeed the entire race. The chronicle of battle against the orcs had been a sad story of one defeat after another, forcing the quillboar to resettle in only the most remote and desolate areas... yet still the orcs came. It was apparent nothing short of extermination of the entire quillboar race would sate them. Grudgingly Blackfeather was forced to admit that the orcs were not only fiersome warriors in their own right, but also better organized and possessing an endless supply of steel weapons and armor... and greater numbers.

Blackfeather stayed well clear of the Gold Road, an artery of trade which bisected the Barrens and continued on into lands known only in legend to his people. To the North, the mysterious forests of the night elves, and to the South, his destination... Dustwallow Marsh. He travelled through rocky ravines and followed the coarse of dried streambed and open savannah, intending to avoid detection by other travellers or bands of enemies. His cloven hooves were well suited to the harsh terrain and he could travel for many miles without stopping for water or food.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully and Blackfeather warily approached a small stand of acacia trees, knowing that large predators, particularly lions, often rested in their shade. Luck was with him however. He saw many signs of the great cats presence in the not too distant past, but for the moment he had the shelter to himself. He used the orcish axe to cut several of the lower branches from the thorny tree. With these he encircled his campsite as was the habit of his people. It was a crude but effective protection that would at least keep out lions and the like. He lit no campfire, for to do so was simply to attract unwanted attention.

Finally, he was able to settle down for some needed rest and reflection on the events of the day. The death of the shaman Fargaze was only now beginning to sink it. It was a cruel twist of irony really... Blackfeather had been sent to protect the shaman, and die for him if need be. In that he had failed grievously and would now have to carry on alone.

As it was so often in the Barrens, Fargaze's death was sudden, violent, and utterly pointless. An unfortunate encounter with a huge kodo matriarch and her pair of calves had made a swift end of Fargaze. Blackfeather had been able to avoid the sudden charge of the protective beast, which the pair of quillboar had thought to be a safe distance away and of no immediate threat. Fighting had been out of the question... it took a band of skilled hunters to bring down one of the great beasts. Fargaze was trampled into the dusty ground, a victim of misguided maternal protectiveness, and Blackfeather could do nothing but watch helplessly from a distance until the great beast and her offspring moved on. Such was the way of things in the Barrens, and the will of Agammagan who doubtless had another purpose for Fargaze in the next life.

Morning dawned gray and overcast as a rare summer storm threatened to break at any moment. Thunderclouds darkened the sky as Blackfeather pushed on into the lands controlled by the Razorfen tribe, one of the last bastions of quillboar strength. The warrior knew he would have to be cautious here, for rumors had come to the north of the Razorfen sealing pacts with ancient and dark powers to bolster their own strength. Extremely aggressive and a one time enemy of Blackfeather's clan, the Razorfen quillboar were unpredictable at best.
[/b]

[Zarithar]

Hogger

Theadrick fidgeted uncomfortably as the rift widened, allowing the voidwalker into this world. No sooner had it manifested than the temporary portal to the Twisting Nether collapsed inward upon itself, leaving behind only empty air and sulfurous smell. The young paladin had seen it before, yet it never failed to make his skin crawl beneath his chainmail. He knew that there were many in his order who would attack a practitioner of such dark magic on sight, but the warlock who had completed the summoning was none other than Kristale, his friend since childhood and an orphan of the wars like himself.

Kristale had grown into a striking woman, and a promising student of the dark arts... though she intended upon using such power for the good of the Alliance. The voidwalker took up a defensive position near it's master and stared at Theadrick with baleful eyes.

They were near the river, and within sight of the great bridge which marked the division between Elwynn Forest and Westfall, once the bread basket of Stormwind. The distant road was strangely deserted, with only a pair of guardsmen to be seen standing watch on the Elwynn side of the bridge. Truly the kingdom seemed to be falling into an ever increasing malaise and decay.

Banditry was rife and small farms and villages had been abandoned the further one travelled from Stormwind itself. Wolves and other wild creatures multiplied unchecked, and dark things had begun to creep from their holes into territory once too dangerous for their like. Guardsmen were corrupt or simply inadequate against the growing chaos, and the army was nowhere to be found.

Thus the task of maintaining any semblance of order was often given over to adventurers and mercenaries such as Theadrick and Kristale. There were many like them due to a shortage of honest work... many of todays bandits were yesterdays farmers. Theadrick and Kristale however were sworn to Stormwind, and faithful to the Alliance despite the difficult times.

Their latest task concerned an encroachment of gnolls, a vicious and barbarous race of canid humanoids who had plagued the frontiers of the Kingdom for several years now. No one was quite certain of their origins, but the largest numbers of them could be found in the Redridge Mountains and the edges of Westfall. Any attempts to contact them peacefully had ended in disaster, though rumors persisted of gnolls serving as thugs and killers alongside the Defias bandits and the unscrupulous Venture Company.

Theadrick had seen the wanted poster outside of Westbrook garrison as he and Kristale were travelling to Westfall to aid the Kingdom in retaking the farmlands. A huge brute dubbed "Hogger" by the small contingent of soldiers had moved his band of gnolls across the river and into Elwynn itself.

More organized than most gnolls, they had wasted no time burning farmsteads, killing travellers, and becoming a general nuisance to the already beleagured guardsmen. The poster had promised a reward, but Theadrick was uninterested in such trifles... it would be satisfaction enough to slay the creature and bring about some measure of safety to the area once more.

The creatures had grown bold indeed, prowling within sight of the garrison. Theadrick and Kristale soon came upon the remains of one of their crude campsites. The stench of gnoll was nearly overpowering, that of unwashed dog amplified tenfold. Refuse had been strewn about carelessly, smashed crates of foodstuffs and various sundries, and bones blackened and split by poweful jaws so that the marrow could be sucked out. Theadrick recognized the remains of both man and beast, and his resolve hardened. There was to be no negotiating with these creatures.

[Zarithar]

Visions of Pandaren!

Yes, i'm a freak and a geek in the worst way... I actually dream about WoW sometimes.

Last night was one of my "in-character" dreams. I was Theadrick, somewhere in Elwynn Forest near Goldshire for reasons unknown... Suddenly, I spied a strange figure approaching from down the forest road. It was in fact a Pandaren wearing robes and an Asian-style farmer's hat. He was armed only with a bo-staff and wore wooden sandals reminiscent of a Japanese monk.

He bowed as we met on the road and asked directions to Stormwind. I pointed south down the King's Road and he thanked me, saying he was an emmisary from distant Pandaria, an island located somewhere off Kalimdor's Western coast. His people had lived in isolation for too long he proclaimed, and recently had come under attack by undead and demons, which arrived on their island seemingly out of nowhere... and for no discernable purpose other than genocide.

He introduced himself as Lo Pan with a bow and I immediately blurted out... "Lo Pan the evil Chinese sorcerer?!"
The pandaren laughed and said "No, I am a brewmaster by trade... what is this Chinese anyway?"
"Umm... never mind" I looked around self-consciously, unsure of what to say.
He simply smiled and produced a tankard of ale as if by magic, offering it to me I drank it eagerly. It was rich and dark, better by far than even the finest Ironforge Lager. I offered him a handful of silver for the brew, which I could already feel going to my head.
"No friend, this one is 'on the house'"

For some reason I found that amusing, perhaps a result of the oncoming buzz I was experiencing.
"Well, good luck to you sir." I proclaimed, and prepared to summon my warhorse, but he put a paw on my shoulder, interrupting me.
"Wait friend... I have a tale which may interest you, though it may take some time to tell."
"In that case, there's an inn not far from here... I was headed that direction in any case" I said affably. The potent ale had me in good spirits you see, and in the mood for a good yarn.

Rather than summoning my steed, we walked the mile or so remaining to Goldshire. Travellers and farmers stopped to openly gawk at Lo Pan as we passed, clearly amazed and taken aback by this creature known to most only in legend.

As we reached the village, situated at a major crossroads, I realized that the Darkmoon Faire was in town. I could see the colorful tents set up in the distance just outside town and could hear the noise of the crowds and strains of music as we walked the dusty road through the center of the village.

I decided to bypass the Lion's Pride and head for the Faire itself, thinking that Lo Pan would find it more interesting than a commonplace tavern. He seemed to take in every new sight and sound as a child might... with wonder and amazement, seeming to truly enjoy what he was seeing, and not at all mindful of the stares. Rarely had I witnessed a being so at peace with his surroundings.

Revellers and drunks swirled around us as we entered the fairegrounds proper, and we made our way to a rickety table near one of the many tents serving alcohol. We had barely taken our seats when The crowd seemed to part as a massive ogre shoved people out of the way, bearing down on our table. I stood and reached for my sword, but Lo Pan stayed my hand, the smile never leaving his face as he pointed to the gaudily dressed gnome which preceeded the ogre... it was none other than Silas Darkmoon himself, mysterious purveyor of the exotic and arcane... and master of the Faire.

"Are my eyes deceiving me! An actual... Pandaren! Forgive my bodyguard..." he indicated the ogre with an offhand wave. "I know his presence can be unnerving to some."
In reply, the brute grinned toothily and let out a deep belly laugh, which would have been frightening in different circumstances.
Lo Pan offered them drinks and again produced tankards as if from nowhere. The gnome asked endless questions of Lo Pan, all of which he answered patiently and happily. For my part, I mainly stayed silent and nursed my ale... until I was quite drunk.
Eventually, Silas and his hulking bodyguard left us and the pandaren began his tale...

He spoke of travelling through a desolate wilderness, dry and barren, where the very air reeked of sulfur and no plant could take root. At first I thought he spoke of the Blasted Lands or perhaps the Burning Steppes, but as he spun his yarn I realized that this was a place unknown to me... despite my considerable travels throughout Azeroth.

The pandaren told of a mountain of demons and a portal to another world. It was all very strange and when I asked where this region was located, Lo Pan got vague and his words seemed muddled somehow. I was never able to pinpoint exactly where this realm of demons could be found, nor what threat it might indicate. We spoke long into the night and finally he took his leave for Stormwind, leaving me to ponder what I had learned alone...

Deepwater Tavern: Eastern Kingdoms

The dwarven prospector who had shared his table and more than a few ales had retired to his room, leaving Lo Pan alone with his thoughts. The fire which had blazed merrily in the hearth hours before was reduced to smoldering embers, and most of the tavern's common room was now empty. A drunken sailor here and there, one passed out head down on the table, a tired serving wench and barman... these were all that remained at this wee hour.

Lo Pan was not tired, the ale actually seemed to invigorate him and heighten his senses, a peculiarity of his race. Additionally, the pandaren could go for days without sleep if necessary and feel none the worse for it. He began to go through the documents which he would present to the Emperor's court when he eventually returned to his distant homeland.

Stormwind had been strange and alien to him. The humans had no sense of harmony in their architecture. All was sterile stone and wood, and throngs of people going about their business. The only place he had felt at peace was in the small night elf quarter. His audience with Anduin Wrynn, the young ruler, had been bizarre to say the least.

The boy had been far more interested in Lo Pan himself than any talk of treaties or alliances, and there was much tension in the court. The King's two principle advisors, a Lord Bolvar and Lady Prestor were quite obviously at odds with one another, and it made for an uncomfortable audience.

Then there was Lady Prestor herself. Her icy gaze never left Lo Pan as he spoke of his people and their plight. She was as haughty and arrogant as anyone Lo Pan had ever come across but there was something more that the pandaren couldn't quite place... something "wrong" about the woman. Her eyes held an alien malevolence that sent chills up the normally tranquil brewmaster's spine, so much so that he actually feared for the child King, even with the formidable Lord Bolvar at his side. When the man spoke to Lady Prestor at all, it was in clipped tones... and he rarely met her gaze.

The hate emanating from the man was almost a tangible thing, and Lo Pan was relieved to depart the human metropolis, feeling somewhat dissapointed and unsure of the outcome. The humans had pledged little support, mostly flowery words and empty promises.

His journey to Ironforge had been fascinating... such wonders the gnomes were able to construct with the help of their dwarven allies. The Deeprun Tram was a marvel, and he wrote much about it in the journal he carried.

King Magni Bronzebeard of the dwarves had been a far more affable host. Together the two of them shared much fine ale, laughed and exchanged stories... but in the end the dwarves were unable to lend much support either. It didn't take long for Lo Pan to discern a deep and profound despair which lurked in the Dwarf King's heart, hidden well underneath the happy banter. The pandaren learned later that Bronzebeard's own daughter had betrayed the kingdom by going over to the Dark Iron clan, evil dwarves who worshipped Ragnaros the Firelord. Additionally, King Magni's brothers were both lost and presumed dead in parts unknown.

The next day Lo Pan had travelled by griffon to the seaport of Menethil Harbor. These Eastern Kingdoms were besieged by conflicts both from within and without, and he was not sure what the Emperor would decide. Perhaps the pandaren would end up fighting their own battles, as they always had in the past. One thing Lo Pan knew for sure... there would be no peaceful solution to the current situation.

Perhaps he would have more luck with the peoples of Kalimdor. Famed brewmaster Chen Stormstout had once been an honored guest of the Orcs, and had even played a role in the founding of their fledgling kingdom of Durotar. The orcs would have to wait however, for Lo Pan sailed with the morning tide to the night elf holding of Auberdine, where he would then take ship for the shrouded isle of Darnassus. He dared not let hope fade... all was not lost... yet.

[Zarithar]

Hogger: Continued

Kristale stifled a shout of surprise as a quarrel narrowly missed her head. The camp wasn't as abandoned as it had seemed. Theadrick raised his shield and unlimbered his warhammer in a fluid motion, turning towards the sound of the loosed bolt.

The voidwalker reacted even faster, with uncanny speed the creature of shadow let out a chilling moan and charged the now revealed gnoll scout who was now frantically attempting to load another quarrel before the demon reached him.

At the same moment, Kristale drew a slender wand from her belt and let loose a burst of arcane energy at the gnoll, which yelped in pain and dropped the crossbow. The creature pulled a long knife just as the voidwalker stretched out a shadowy claw towards him. The previous cry of pain caused by the wand's unleashed energy paled beside the soul wrenching scream of pure agony accompanied by terror at the touch of the demon's vile hand. To Theadrick it sounded like a dog being beaten to death by a cruel master, and for a moment the paladin had to make himself remember just what these gnolls were capable of. Another blast from the wand silenced the scout forever...

"Well that's done it for sure Kris..." said the paladin in a half-whisper.
"Aye, they know we are here now." the warlock quipped back. She looked unconcerned, almost eager for battle. Certainly the voidwalker seemed to enjoy the soul it had just consigned to the Nether, and Theadrick found himself wondering if Kristale somehow shared in that pleasure. It was a discomforting thought.

They barely had time to collect their thoughts as the sound of cackling voices reached them... half laughter, half snarl it seemed. This time there were four gnolls, and these made no attempt to conceal themselves. With barely a glance at their fallen comrade, they attacked in unison. Another crossbow bolt was fired, this one glancing off of Theadrick's shield. The sharp crack of musket fire met the voidwalker's charge to meet the gnolls. The bullet was however consumed by the demon's shadowy bulk and it showed no signs of slowing the fiend in the least. The two remaining gnolls took a more direct approach, rushing the humans with spear and rusty flail.

Theadrick leapt out to meet the spear wielder, deflecting an ill-aimed thrust with his shield while simultaneously caving in the gnoll's skull with his hammer.
A bolt of shadow from Kristale's outstretched hand slammed into the chest of the other gnoll, sending it to it's knees. This was immediately followed by a blast of eldritch fire which set the creature's fur alight. It yelped and writhed on the ground as flames consumed it, and the warlock turned to aid the voidwalker, which had dispatched the gnoll with the musket and was finishing off the other. The demon was weakening however, its movements slower, its form somewhat less substantial than before.

The battle seemed won... when another gnoll appeared. The brute was nearly twice the size and bulk of the others, and he was clad in boiled leather armor complete with a spiked collar around his neck. With a howl, he swung his two-handed battleaxe in a deadly arc at the voidwalker, and it dissipated in a puff of black smoke. Without a moment's hesitation, the big gnoll charged at Theadrick, while it's wounded companion began to reload the crossbow.
"I would say we just found Hogger...." remarked Kristale as Theadrick prepared to meet the beast's charge.

[Zarithar]

The Plaguemist Ravine

The wounded moonkin was proving to be stubborn prey indeed. Genjiru knew he had scored a lethal hit... had seen the poison-coated javelin strike home, embedding itself deep in the creature's flesh. The troll hunter had braced himself for the inevitable angry charge of the beast, readying his spear as he had on countless other hunts, yet the moonkin had instead turned and fled... uncharacteristic behavior for the easily provoked and powerful creatures.

Genjiru sighed and resigned himself to following the bloodtrail left behind by the moonkin's hasty retreat. Hopefully this was not one of a mated pair, else he might turn into the prey himself. The troll doubted this possibility though. He had been stalking the old beast for several hours and had concluded it was a bachelor male, likely near the end of life in any case. Hopefully by the time Genjiru caught up with his quarry, the beast would already have succumbed to the poison, but he readied another javelin all the same.

An ear piercing screech sent the troll diving for the cover of some nearby trees... not the cry of a moonkin, but the higher pitched call of a hunting griffon from high above. He hoped he had not been spotted. Crouching low, Genjiru watched with relief as the great beast flew overhead and continued onward in the direction of Aerie Peak. It was well that he had not been seen, for one of the hated Wildhammer dwarves could be seen perched on the griffon's back. Alone and on foot he would stand little chance against griffon and rider.

The others of his clan thought him a fool for his insistence on hunting alone, and yet he was respected as well... for alone Genjiru could take down prey that two or three of his brethren could not. He was recognized among his people as one of their best hunters.
Satisfied that the griffon and rider would not be returning, Genjiru once again set off following the moonkin's clumsy progress. The terrain grew rockier as the trail led him out of the valley and into a more mountainous area. Why hadn't the poison taken it's inevitable effect yet? The chances of returning to the village with a fresh kill before nightfall were looking slim indeed at this point.

Genjiru stopped dead in his tracks as a narrow pass through the mountains opened before him in the distance. The towering mountains made it impossible to see very far into the pass itself, but Genjiru didn't have to see to know that he should not even be near this particular route. The moonkin had fled blindly into the Plaguemist Ravine...

Genjiru hesitated for a long moment at the mouth of the ravine. Elven refugees had passed through it fleeing the Scourge during the last war bound for their small outpost in the Hinterlands. Some had been captured by the local trolls and under torture had revealled horrors undreamed beyond the pass.

Genjiru had almost pitied the ancient enemies of his people... they actually seemed to welcome death at the hands of the trolls over the terrors they had already experienced. Clearly he remembered how one elven ranger had laughed maniacally as the trolls had emasculated the elf and flayed the skin from his body. All the while he had ranted of the risen dead that would soon arrive in the Hinterlands. It had been unnerving to all involved... they were used to cries for mercy, cries of fear and pain, but this insanity was something new and different.

The Plaguemist Ravine was to be avoided at all costs. Thus far, the Hinterlands had been spared the ravages of the Plague, but there had been sightings of spectral figures and tales of the restless corpses of fallen warriors in the vicinity of the pass. Genjiru made a sign to ward off evil spirits and set off into the ravine. He vowed not to return empty handed this eve.

Somewhere deep within the ravine, where towering canyon walls choked out the light, and a sickly mist eveloped everything in a perpetual haze, a mortally wounded moonkin took it's last steps. It was indeed an elderly male, long past his prime. His feather were dull, his antlers cracked, his body scarred from past conflicts untold.

The creature shuddered and collapsed, wracked with convulsions as the poison ran it's lethal course. Then the pain began to pass and a strange sense of peace filled the creature as a voice whispered "come back to me my child... your suffering is over..." the voice of Elune, somehow the moonkin knew this... yet as quickly as it had come, the feeling of peace was ripped away by one of bone chilling cold and the comforting voice faded. A faintly luminescent apparition loomed over the prone moonkin, clad in tattered robes, a gnarled staff clutched in bony fingers.

"No peace for you... only eternal service..." The dread voice issued from the lich's dessicated skull.
As the final spark of life left the moonkin's body, the creature rose again, shambling to clawed feet and bowing awkwardly before the lich.
"We will claim this land for the Scourge... all Azeroth shall fall before the might of the Lich King..." The eye sockets of the skull shone with a fel and unholy light as the moonkin lurched into place behind it's new master.

Creeping through the mist and darkness like a rising wave, the undead army continued it's inexorable march on the unsuspecting lands beyond.

[Raya]

I would have loved to read your stories, but the volume of text with little paragraphing defeated me. If you ever had time to make all the paragraph breaks instead of just an occasional one, I would enjoy plunging into these tales. Just the names of the stories conjure up adventure and fun.

[Zarithar]

I pm'd you Raya just in case you missed it in your inbox! Also, I welcome feedback (positive and negative) about my little ramblings. If I fix the paragraphs will you read them? :)

[Raya]

I pm'd you Raya just in case you missed it in your inbox! Also, I welcome feedback (positive and negative) about my little ramblings. If I fix the paragraphs will you read them? :)
I pm'd you back - will give feedback and will read your ramblings (not necessarily in that order :p)

[Raya]

Nice stories, Zarithar. You have an easy "story-teller" approach to your writing which enhances the story itself. I can visualize you as a bard or an elder who is charged with the history of the tribe, telling your stories around the campfire. It is a comfortable feeling.

I was momentarily sidetracked when you described the kodo as reptilian. I wonder if you meant something else, since IMO there is nothing at all reptilian about them...they are more like some prehistoric rhinoceros-type animals (http://www.kidsplanet.org/factsheets/rhinoceros.html) than anything else.

My thanks for separating most of the paragraphs. It made reading them so much easier. I am sending you a PM with a couple more comments :)

[Zarithar]

Thanks for the feedback, it means alot! I describe the kodos as reptilian because I was under the impression they were related to the thunder/lightning lizards of the Barrens. However I could easily be wrong!

[Zarithar]

A new story to add to the mix:

The Foundling

Darkshore, true to its name, was a perpetually cloudy stretch of coastline on Kalimdor's northern tip. Despite the ominous sounding name however, it was also a region of stark beauty. Ancient pine forests met the rocky coastline with stately grace as whitecaps crashed against jagged cliffs and stretches of sandy beach. The melancholy cries of countless seabirds provided a symphony to accompany the incoming waves.

For Tiberias, Darkshore was home in many ways. He had been born centuries before in the port of Auberdine, which had at the time of his birth been nothing more than a distant outpost on the edge of night elf lands. His long youth had been idyllic and untroubled through the many years before the Burning Legion had come. It had seemed to pass in a haze of complacency which had all been suddenly shattered some five years hence.

Since the war, Auberdine had become an important seaport and a stop over point for elves and others journeying to the new elven homeland on the isle of Teldrassil and the settlements which dotted the vast Ashenvale forest... which was slowly but surely slipping from elvish control after long millenia.

The hardened elven hunter bore little resmeblence to the elf which had witnessed the horrors Archimonde had wrought, the corruption of Nordrassil, and the greatest devastation of all... the loss of his immortality. Where once his features were smooth and unmarred, he now bore the scars of many conflicts, including the disfiguring loss of nearly half of one of his ears, a trademark of his race. He wore a broad-brimmed and battered leather hat which cast half of his face in shadow and a hodge-podge of clothing including a light chainmail hauberk and trousers of supple but travelworn leather. His boots were of similar material, of the style preffered more often by the buccaneers of the South Seas than those worn by his own people. The outfit was completed by a greatcloak in similar disrepair to guard against the elements. Tiberias was also armed to the teeth. A pair of matched and perfectly balanced hand-axes of orcish make hung at his belt, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from one boot, and his favored weapon, a finely crafted double-barrelled dwarven blunderbuss (which he had nicknamed "Gutbuster") was slung over his back in a scabbard. This was just another one of many things that alienated Tiberias from his people somewhat, given their preference for more "natural" weapons, such as the longbow in particular.

Tiberias' companion of the last year or so was an unusual creature, and a stranger to these northern forests, and certainly not the typical companion of an elven hunter. Most of his fellow hunters preferred great cats, which were common to Ashenvale and the surrounding regions, or the slightly less common wolves or bears. Tiberias' own bond-beast however was a hyena akin to those which thrived in the dryer climes to the south. He had named the animal Barumbado, which rougly translated meant "reckless one". Though certainly not a beautiful or graceful animal, Barumbado was striking nonetheless. The size and bulk of a small bear, he was covered in thick crimson fur interspersed with black spots. The vivid and unusual red coloring darkened to black on his legs, muzzle, and the tips of ears and tail.

The inseparable pair had ventured a good mile or more from Auberdine along the shoreline before the dawn. Tiberias often liked to fish the rough waters, and early mornings usually proved the best time for such pursuits. Barumbado as usual ranged a good distance ahead, harassing the large crabs which frequented the area, but carefully avoiding their potentially lethal claws. When the hyena suddenly froze in his tracks and pricked up his ears, Tiberias new something was amiss.

"What's wrong boy..." said the elf as he unlimbered his shotgun. Barumbado simply growled and whined in response, continuing forward along the beach with hair standing on end.

Focusing his energy for the moment, Tiberias linked souls with the animal and was able to utilize Barumbado's considerably more developed sense of smell. What he discovered caused him to quickly break the link and increase his pace to a run. He regretted leaving his mount behind in Auberdine, but a leisurely fishing trip close to town hardly required the presence of the spotted frostsaber cat, who would doubtless happily eat the majority of whatever fish Tiberias was able to bring in.

The unmistakable odor of corrupted furbolgs tainted his nostrils, intermingled with a fishy smell which could mean several things. Soon, Tiberias' suspicions were confirmed when they rounded a large outcropping of rocks and came upon a murloc village, which consisted mainly of primitive dwelling made of driftwood and thatched with pine needles and seaweed. Tiberias arrived just in time to witness a trio of murlocs retreating into the relative safety provide by the sea from a band of marauding furbolg. The bodies of a good dozen murlocs and the odd furbolg lay bleeding in the sand, and the raiders were now intent on feasting on the remains of the fish-men and ransacking their crude dwellings.

In his time Tiberias had slain members of both races, and had little love for either. He pittied the furbolgs of course. The one-timef the night elves had suffered even more when the Burning Legion had invaded. Most of the kind remained corrupted with the demonic taint to this day, and the formerly peaceful ursines were maddened and dangerous. Despite the best efforts of the druids, the furbolg remained corrupted and the only cure seemed to be their demise.

Murlocs however were an enigma. While they had been seen sporadically in the past, usually on remote islands, they had not ventured onto the mainland of Kalimdor or Azeroth until a scant few years ago when they had appeared suddenly up and down coastlines, and even far inland as bands of them followed rivers to inland lakes. Apparently they were at home as much in fresh water as they were in salt. They could erect their simple villages overnight and dissapear and move on to a safer location just as quickly. They were a xenophobic race and either hostile or fearful of all land dwellers. Attempts to make peaceful contact with them had all ended in violence. The speculation was that some malignant force had driven them from their ancestral homelands deep in the ocean and forced them to relocate, though what this force may be was unknown.

The half dozen furbolg were taken completely by surprise as Barumbado came rushing headlong into their midst, snapping, snarling, and emitting that peculiar cackling bark. Jaws with the crushing power of a dozen dwarven hammers sunk deep into the leg of the nearest furbolg, easily splintering the thick bone beneath. It howled in pain and went down as its companions rallied and turned to confront the crazed beast... and then a blast like a thunderclap rent the air as twin barrels fired from close range, shredding the face of the unfortunate furbolg on the receiving end and killing it instantly. Rather than take the time to reload, Tiberias resorted to axework accompanied by Barumbado's attacks to deal with the four remaining furbolgs.

The battle was over in moments and the gulls began to descend to pick at the corpses. Tiberias took no satisfaction in the killing, but allowed Barumbado to feast in obvious pleasure. The hyena seemed to prefer the murlocs to the tainted flesh of the furbolgs... which he ignored.

As his companion engaged in the grisly feast, Tiberias examined the small village and the scattered murloc possessions, which consisted of a large number of ornaments made from shells and coral, some of which were woven or tied together with seaweed. Additionally there were a disturbing number of bones from various creatures... apparently like Barumbado, murlocs were not picky eaters.

He was about to leave the scene when a movement from within one of the huts caught his eye. A small grayish colored creature with large eyes peered out fearfully at the elf. It was in fact a murloc child, which gurgled pathetically as Tiberias drew near. His intent was to kill it immediately, but he was overcome with a sudden surge of pity at the sight of the small creature which continued to gurgle in distress. This drew Barumbado's attention as well, and the baby murloc shrank back further as the fierce hyena approached curiously. Tiberias reached into the fishing creel he had been carrying with him and pulled out a fair sized Darkshore grouper, tossing it at the feet of the now orphaned creature, which immediately stopped gurgling and began to tear into the fish with frightening intensity.

Satisfied that the creature would be fine, he prepared to leave, whistling for Barumbado. The battle had effectively killed his desire for a relaxing morning of fishing, and he intended to immediately head back to Auberdine to report the battle and the raiding furbolg who doubtless came from a larger encampment somewhere close by. The duo had not made it more than a few yards away from the destroyed village when an inquisitive "Mgurggl?" came from close behind. Hunter and hyena both looked at one another and then the small murloc.

Scratching the hyena behind his ears, Tiberias smiled wryly. "Well my friend... I found you in similar circumstances if you will recall."
Barumbado cackled in reply, perhaps recalling that distant day.
"Alright little guy... come on..." He said, addressing the murloc, and although the tiny creature could not understand the words, the meaning was clear.

[Zarithar]

Another new one... kind of a continuation on Zograth the orc hunter's storyline:

Interlude: Hillsbrad

Zograth turned away in disgust. He had only recently arrived in Lordaeron, a place that had haunted his nightmares, and found things worse than he remembered.

The forsaken rogue who accompanied him, one Janos Hearthwell, was brutal and cold beyond imagining. Zograth, Janos, and Echeyakee, the lion which had been Zograth's loyal companion for many months now, were on a scouting mission out of the Forsaken town of Tarren Mill. Their mission had been a simple one of scouting and reconnaisance. Lately the tough and persistant human holdouts of Hillsbrad had become more organized and had strengthened their ties with the nearby Alliance port of Southshore, an ever present threat to Tarren Mill.

Of greater concern however were reports of cooperation with mysterious Dalaran, which had suffered a devastating blow during the last war but survived nonetheless, and was apparently rebuilding at a steady pace. A coalition between the three cities could be troublesome indeed to the Forsaken, and would effectively cut Tarren Mill off from the lands firmly controlled by the free-willed undead and the Horde. Tarren Mill could then be attacked from all sides. Dalaran, Hillsbrad, Southshore, and even the dwarven settlement of Dun Garok would all be able to send troops virtually unopposed. Though the nearby Frostwolf Clan of orcs were allied to the Horde, they were engaged in a war for survival of their own and could not be counted on to send aid.

Zograth had volunteered to come to this land of conflict, and had boarded a zeppelin barely a week past, leaving Kalimdor behind for the time being. He came as an official representative from Thrall's branch of the Horde, which consisted of the Darkspear Trolls and the more numerous orcs. He had been warned that although the Forsaken were allies, they were not to be fully trusted. In truth, Zograth had been sent not only to aid Tarren Mill, but also to watch it's undead inhabitants.

The presence of the walking dead had been hard to adjust to, and Zograth had spent his time camped under the stars in the company of a jovial orcish axesmith named Ott. This had been a far more welcoming prospect than taking a room in the decrepit, and decidedly eerie inn within the newly constructed palisade which encircled Tarren Mill. The lion Echeyakee was positively petrified of the Forsaken, though this manifested itself as barely controlled rage rather than the urge to flee. It was all Zograth could do to keep the great cat in check around the unatural creatures.

He had reported to High Executor Darthalia, a banshee and confidante of Lady Sylvanas herself. Somehow this ethereal, wraithlike creature was more terrifying than the zombified Forsaken. Zograth could also since her great power and malevolence, and did his best to guard his thoughts. Upon their first meeting, the banshee had favored the orc hunter with a bonechilling smile. She knew his true purpose, of this he was sure. She had assigned Janos Hearthwell to "accompany" him on his first mission for Tarren Mill, and from that moment on Zograth was accutely aware that the mistrust the rest of the Horde felt towards the Forsaken was a mutual thing.

They had set out towards Hillsbrad, Echeyakee keeping a good distance from Janos, who's withered hands never strayed far from the pair of daggers at his belt. The rogue spoke very little, and Zograth couldn't help but feel that under different circumstances Janos would have plunged those daggers into his back or cut the orc's throat in his sleep without hesitation.

The surrounding countryside they passed through was vaguely familiar to Zograth... for he had been here before... many years past. His memory was hazy and fleeting, for he had at the time been under the thrall of the Burning Legion, his mind not wholly his own. He remembered being consumed with boiling rage and bloodlust, and later a profound lethargy as the Burning Legion finally lost it's hold on the orcs. He had experienced a "rebirth" of sorts when Thrall had liberated the interment camps and led the orcish people to their destiny in Kalimdor. Zograth had been among them, and now he had returned to confront this dark past. Perhaps Janos himself had been one of the humans Zograth had faced all those years ago... before the coming of the Scourge and the undead plague.

The mission had been fairly uneventful their first day out of Tarren Mill. They saw no sign of the enemy as they passed through abandoned farmland which had been reclaimed by the surrounding wilderness. The presence of Echeyakee kept wild beasts out of sight, and they saw little life other than birds and insects. Janos of course never experienced fatigue of any sort, and would wait impatiently as Zograth or Echeyakee paused at a stream to drink, or to eat dried rations.

The rogue did stop once however as they came upon the burned out remains of an isolated farmstead, now overgrown with nettle and kudzu. Without explanation the Forsaken entered the ruins where the front door to the farmhouse must have once stood. For a long moment he stood within the broken walls in silence. A shattered fragment of crockery, perhaps a plate or bowl, caught his eye and the rogue stooped down to pick it up, brushing the dirt and grime off of it with surprising care. To Zograth's astonishment, Janos carefully placed it in his pack before leaving the forlorn ruin without a word. A strange feeling of pity suddenly washed over the orc, and he felt himself warming somewhat to the Forsaken. Whatever loss the orcs had experienced in their long years of servitude at the hands of the Legion, the plight of the Forsaken was far more lamentable and tragic.

As they drew ever closer to Hillsbrad, signs of habitation began to appear. Distant farmsteads which seemed more along the lines of fortified camps were given a wide berth. These became a more and more common sight. The mission however was not to engage the enemy, but to report on his doings, so the stealthy trio avoided detection for as long as possible. This good fortune was not to last however. They were hastily crossing a stretch of open and exposed wheatfield, making for the relative cover of a copse of aspen, when a pair of human outriders appeared from the other side of the trees. For a moment, both parties froze before springing into action.

The horsemen did not attack but immediately split off in opposite directions, spurring their mounts savagely. With surprising grace and fluidity for such a burly individual, Zograth knocked an arrow and fired. Although he missed the rider, by a good margin, the feathered shaft embedded itself deep in the neck of the unfortunate horse, sending it cartwheeling forward to fall thrashing on the ground, throwing the rider clear in the process. The second horseman however was now well out of bowshot and fast dissapearing.
"Echeyakee after him!" Zograth roared in desperation, knowing that unless the horse stumbled and fell, the lion could not possibly catch up despite his considerable speed. Nonetheless, the cat obeyed with a roar of his own and darted off in pursuit.
As for Janos, he drew both daggers and charged the fallen horseman, who was now struggling to his feet and tugging desperately at a scabbarded shortsword which had become entangled in his belt. The man managed to draw the blade just in time to parry one of the thrusting daggers. The second however caught him in the stomach and he fell to his knees as Zograth covered the distance between the combatants.
The man had dropped his blade and was now trying to hold his guts in as Janos stood above him, one of his daggers dripping with gore. At the sight of Zograth the man spat blood on the ground cursing.
"May all the hells take you orc...!" the man gasped, struggling for breath at this point.
Zograth moved to finish the man with a quick stroke of his axe, but Janos held him back. The dying human focused his gaze now squarely upon Janos, and his eyes began to widen as the Forsaken smiled slowly.
"Thomas my friend... have you already forgotten me?"
"Janos... but... they killed you all..." the man gurgled as his lifeblood left him.
"Yes... so they did... so they did. Farewell my friend, perhaps we will meet again soon." Janos finished the job with a savage slash which opened the man's throat from ear to ear.
Zograth could stand it no longer, and laid a large hand on the Forsaken's shoulder, spinning him around as Echeyakee returned panting heavily. The other rider had escaped.
Janos brandished both daggers. "Is there a problem orc? Don't have the stomach for it eh?" He hissed with menace.
Zograth made no move to fight the Forsaken, and with a mental command he also managed to calm Echeyakee.
"You knew this man!" he shouted accusingly, in a voice that would have sent most creatures cowering.
"Aye... and what of it?" replied Janos, sheathing his blades. "I left my humanity behind when they buried me in the ground! Friendship... it is a concept as dead to me as I am in fact! What would you have me do? Now, I suggest we find a place to lay low... and quickly before that man alerts a garrison and we have all of Hillsbrad hunting for us!"