A/N: Random idea I had while my sister was running me through DM the other day.
Basically, I was wondering what it would be like to get inside the head of one of the trash mobs, and this is how this was born.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft or World of Warcraft; if I did, I'd be a billionare. I'd also have better customer service.
Deadmines
Defias Pirate
A blast echoed throughout the cavern, reverberating off the wooden sides of the large ship balanced upon the water that covered the entire area. The blast was inseparable from a distinct, roaring shout that registered in the minds of every sailor, mage, and foot soldier as an order, something they instinctively responded to. As the words became distinguishable from the resonating bang of the blast—"You there, check out that noise!"—the group of sailors around me ran to obey, our leather-clad feet pounding upon the wet, wooden slabs of the pier that connected the ship to grey, rocky land.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, filling me with a fire that was unmatched in its ferocity. I drew my curved, glinting sword, mentally preparing myself for the unavoidable battle as I ran with my companions to the source of the blast. There had been a moment of almost undetectable shock while as one we had stared at the cloud of dust where the thick, strong doors had once stood, serving as a seemingly impenetrable barrier, before the fierce order had registered in our minds and we had leapt to obey. I heard the shouts of my comrades, as I saw them, like me, draw their swords; I felt the rush of cold air blown towards me from the powerful strokes of my faithful macaw's wings as he flew alongside.
A shout from our small band's unofficial leader brought us to a halt, balanced warily on the balls of our feet at the junction of pier and rock, ready to attack at a moment's notice. We heard them before we saw them—before the dust settled the sounds of fighting could be heard from beyond the gaping hole in the cavern's wall. The metallic ring of steel on steel as swords clashed, cries of pain and yells of triumph as what increasingly seemed like a one-sided battle continued to rage. The dust thinned, and some things became visible—the flickering light of fire, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared; the flash as a shining blade caught the light; the glint of armour and weaponry; silhouettes, both of our comrades and those they fought.
The small shiver of fear that ran down my spine was soon swallowed in the haze brought on by a righteous, fiery anger that filled me completely. I was confident in our cause. From our initiation, we had had one mentality drilled into us, so much so that now I placed all my courage in those strikingly similar courageous statements. The Brotherhood will prevail. We had all heard stories, of course—tales of groups of adventurers intent on destroying us. Throughout Westfall, it was said our numbers were diminishing, that the Alliance had finally taken a stand against us. We knew the snippets we managed to hear had been passed through a long gossip chain, such that they were warped beyond reason by the time they reached our ears, yet there was enough truth left in them that the rumours and speculation filled us with anger.
The Brotherhood will not tolerate your actions.
I felt the familiar weight of my companion settle on my shoulder, and took comfort from the sting of his claws digging through my loose, linen shirt into my flesh. His feathers brushed up against my skin, tickling my neck, while he, like us, peered through the dust to the intruders beyond. I felt not fear, but hatred, as the dust cleared enough for us to see the last of the fight, see our fellow Defias fall to the ground, lifeless, victims of the sharp blades and raging spells of their adversaries. There was a moment where both groups stared at one another, the air crackling with the force of the charged gazes.
Their stride was confident, the grip on their weapons sure, the intelligence shining behind their eyes unwavering as they basked in the glory of their victory, convinced that we would fall as easily as their last opponents. I clenched and unclenched my hand upon the hilt of my sword, glancing to the pirate who had been voted our unofficial leader, hating the way he stalled, prolonging the moment of truce before the inevitable fight. The moment they stepped over the threshold of the tunnel and the cavern, however, the silence was shattered, as the first attack was launched, eliciting shouts of surprise from the remainder of the group. I allowed a somewhat smug smirk to tug at my lips, as I realised that for all their confidence, this band of would-be adventurers were no more co-ordinated than the freshest of Brotherhood initiates.
As a blistering, raging, ball of fire flew through the air toward us, narrowly missing us by an inch, a roaring command echoed around the cavern. "We're under attack!" the monstrous shout could only have come from Greenskin's first mate, the half-bull half-man beast, Mr. Smite, known for his ferocious temper and quick, cruel punishments. "A vast, ye swabs! Repel the invaders!"
We needed no further encouragement. Behind us, we heard the drumming of footsteps on wood as our fellow pirates charged to our aid, obeying without question the orders of the half-breed. My macaw flying from my shoulder to claw at the invaders, a savage cry tore from my lips as I raced forward, brandishing my sword. I was met by a pair of quick blades, the wielder's face twisting into an expression that was a mix of anger, concentration and desperation as she stabbed and parried, kicked and slashed. The elf looked young and inexperienced, but she was quick, and sooner rather than later I had collected any number of shallow wounds from her slicing blades. I cursed the thickness of her leather armour, but grinned with grim satisfaction when my sword found its mark, sliding between hardened breastplate and thick leggings to leave a deep gash in her side.
Around me, my comrades were engaged in their own battles, and I dimly noticed that a large number of them had converged upon the leader of the invaders' group, a large male fitted out in shining chain mail, their sword-strikes bouncing uselessly off the strong wood of his shield. My attention quickly turned back to my own struggle, as out of the corner of my eye I saw a large golden bolt of magic zoom toward the elf, the gash I left in her side sewing itself back together with nauseating speed, the blood on her armour drying instantaneously. I cursed my rotten luck. Priests. The word left a foul taste in my mouth.
I called out, shouting for aid, for I could feel my strength waning in the face of the fresh onslaught. The elf faltered under the increased pressure of not one, but three of our Brothers relentlessly pressing her backward, forcing her strategy to change from offensive to defensive as she strove to fight us off. The panic became evident in her vibrant, glowing eyes and in the expression across her tattooed face as it dawned upon her that she would not win the fight. With a sense of triumph, I watched as she crumpled, her limp form slumping to the ground unnaturally, the result of a well-placed blow to the head from the heavy hilt of a sword. My macaw cawed his pleasure gained from our small victory, diving on a fresh target in a flurry of red and green.
However, my triumph was to be short-lived. Around me, I heard panicked cries and realised they were not coming from the band of fighters, who instead seemed embodied with a relentless courage only fuelled by the seeming loss of one of their own. It was members of the Brotherhood that were crying out, as they fell to the ground with a sickening finality. A white-hot rage filled me, blinding me. I realised then that while we may have outnumbered them, they had held the advantage all along—infinitely, unfairly, stronger, undefeatable. With a grim determination I summoned the last of my strength, slashing out toward the leader of their group, hoping that I could help finally bring him down. In my folly, I left myself open. Another member of their group, in a swirl of golden light, slammed his hammer into the side of my chest, and pain shot through me. I staggered backward, gasping for air, each breath feeling as if knives were being plunged into my tortured lungs, realising the blow from the hammer had most likely crushed most of my ribs.
I felt a heart-wrenching sorrow as I saw my faithful companion engulfed in roaring fire, and then the hammer collided with me once more, striking the side of my head. I cried out as pain consumed me, and my eyes fluttered closed. I dimly felt my body collapse with a sickening thud to the ground, felt myself slipping away, before into the welcome abyss I fell, sweet, sweet blackness swallowing me whole.
A/N: Chapter One was Deadmines, obviously. In the following chapters I'll either do a trash mob from a different instance, or switch around and go with the perspective of someone in the instance, not sure.
Hope it was fun to read; it was fun to write. :P
- Naranne