Timeline: Shortly after Lord of the Clans and before Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos

Chapter I: Law and Order

Setremedes rolled up his paper and turned to Jarte, his dwarven companion.

"Can I offer you a smoke?" he asked the dwarf, who regarded him through his black, beady eyes.

"Ah, just fer this once then," he said, grinning through his tasseled beard. Setremedes handed the dwarf the freshly rolled tobacco, who lit it using a nearby torch. Both were part of the Southshore militia, defending the popular coastal town from the constant threats in the wake of the Second War. Orcish warbands were still fairly common, and while they were not as much of an imposing danger as they used to be, Setremedes and Jarte were as alert as ever. It seemed that as soon as they began to subside, another problem sprung up - in the aftermath of the war, with many left homeless or otherwise, bandits had begun to sprung up, and common crime was on the rise.

"Heard anything from Ironforge, then?" Setremedes asked the dwarf as he rolled a second tobacco for himself.

"Not much," the dwarf grunted, puffing slightly, "but it sounds like they're clearing out the last of the orcs in Khaz Modan, which is good."

"You might be returning home soon, then?" said Setremedes. The dwarf gave a second grunt, and Setremedes nodded. Jarte originally lived in Khaz Modan, like many other Bronzebeard dwarves, but the Horde's invasion through Khaz Modan made him one of the many refugees in the Second War. Of course, the gates of Ironforge were never breached by the Horde, but many dwarves had chosen to migrate to Lordaeron, at least until the war was over. Now that things were calming down, many of those dwarves were preparing to return home.

"Have you ever considered staying in Lordaeron?" Setremedes asked nonchalantly. Jarte gave a shout of laughter at that.

"What, yer gonna miss me, are ye?" he said, clapping the human on the back and nearly knocking him over. "Sorry, me friend, but I miss me old home. The snowy peaks of Khaz Modan, the great anvils of Ironforge... Nah, I'm 'fraid that I'll be goin' home wit' me brethren."

Setremedes nodded, feeling slightly crestfallen at his companion's decision, yet not entirely surprised. Dwarves weren't known for being overly-adventurous, and didn't often venture far from their homelands of Khaz Modan; Jarte was no exception, and only moved out of necessity. Many dwarves were in a similar predicament, and now that the war was nearing its conclusion, many were migrating en masse back to Ironforge.

Nonetheless, Setremedes had grown to like Jarte a lot; they had fought several battles together, and Jarte was a reliable, if a bit of a rugged, friend. When he had arrived in Southshore, Jarte thought he had escaped the Horde's massacre, only to find they were proceeding to invade Lordaeron. Not content with running, the dwarf joined the Lordaeron Alliance and met Setremedes there. After the war began to die down, both were assigned to the Southshore militia. They had been steadfast friends since.

Now that his companion was possibly going to leave, Setremedes was rather disappointed indeed.

The dwarf eyed him closely. "You ain' gonna get all teary-eyed on me, are ya lad?" he asked gruffly. Setremedes shook his head and smiled.

"Heh, I'm not THAT much of a sissy," he laughed, "we'll still be able to send each other mail, after all."

The dwarf nodded and clasped Setremedes' hand with an almost crushing grip; Setremedes winced, even with the thick leather gauntlets he had on, but accepted the handshake nonetheless. Dwarves, after all, weren't known for their subtlety.

"Come on, then, we got to go check out the nearby woods to make sure there aren't any bandits hiding out nearby," Stremedes said, rubbing his hand slightly. Jarte nodded, and the two followed their patrol route away from the town.

Four cloaked and hooded figures skulked on the outskirts of Southshore, hungrily watching the port town and eyeing open and lightly guarded carts of fruits, vegetables and other produce.

"What say we get ourselves some lunch?" one of them growled, and two of the others nodded in agreement. The fourth one raised his head slowly, carefully eyeing the town before them. As the other three started forward, he suddenly flung his arm out, knocking two of them over.

"What'd ya stop us for, eh?" the third snapped, batting the arm out of his way and glaring at his companion. In silent response, the fourth merely nodded in the direction of the road. The other three followed his gaze and saw a small patrol, a human and a dwarf, passing by the carts they were intending to steal from.

"Okay, okay, so there was a guard patrol..." mumbled the first, "Doesn' look like they're headin' to where we are though. Wait 'til they pass, eh?"

The group all nodded in agreement. When they were certain that the guards were gone, they all darted down the hill for a free lunch.

A minute or so later, a fifth hooded figure emerged - much larger than the first four. He stared at the bandits both angrily and disappointed.

"Damn... they beat me here."

"Okay, so our bandits have apparently been preying on caravans leaving Southshore via the north road," Setremedes said, consulting his orders, "and apparently they've been very bold, attacking not long after the caravans have left the town; attacking this close to us... I can't believe the levels of thieving and banditry there is now."

"Aye, crime is definately on the rise now," Jarte agreed solemnly. He puffed one last time on the tobacco Setremedes had given him earlier, then tossed it aside. "All the more reason for us to hasten our patrols, to see if we can catch the little buggers."

Setremedes nodded. They were just about to quicken their pace, and then -

"STOP! Thieves! My fruit!"

Both human and dwarf whirled around on the spot, looking in the direction where the cry had come from. But it was certainly not a human cry; low and guttural, it was almost a savage roar.

"Thieves? Here? IN Southshore?!" Jarte growled, unsheathing his hammer.

"That was no human," Setremedes said, frowning, looking around cautiously; but there was nothing suspicious, save some folk looking around for the cry.

"What, ye think there be an orc in Southshore? Selling fruit?" Jarte asked incredulously, "Come on, we better go check it out!"

The dwarf ran off, surprisingly swiftly for one of his height and build. Setremedes hesistated momentarily, then followed after his companion.

"What? Who said that?" said the first bandit, startled. Someone had cried out; they had been spotted.

"Nevermind that, the militia will know we're here if we don't beat it!" cried the second, stuffing a couple of apples into his cloak, and sprinting away.

"Hey, wait for us!" the others yelled after him, running for the relative sanctuary of the nearby woodland. All the while watched by the fifth figure, who smiled, satisfied.

"There!" yelled Jarte, pointing to farmer's cart up ahead; sure enough, four cloaked and hooded figures were sprinting away, a couple of them dropping some fruit and vegetables.

"Damn thieves!" Setremedes growled, pulling out his sword, in case they were armed, "Jarte! You stay here and alert the militia! We may need to subdue them if they fight! I'll go ahead and try to head them off before we lose them!"

"Are ye sure?" Jarte said, frowning slightly.

"I can handle them, they're probably unarmed!" replied Setremedes, increasing his pace to keep the bandits in his sight, "Just go and alert the militia! Get backup, just in case!"

"Alrighty, good fightin'!" cried the dwarf, turning and heading towards town. Setremedes followed the bandits into the forest; he could hear their panting and the sound of them ploughing through the undergrowth only a short distance ahead. He held out one mailed arm out in front of him to protect himself from the dense undergrowth that might try to claw at his face. Ducking and weaving through the forest, he had lost sight of the bandits, but could hear the pounding of their feet up ahead, and their heavy breathing.

And then they were gone. Setremedes burst into a small clearing, his sword held at the ready, but the figures were nowhere to be seen. He couldn't even hear any breathing. Already he knew something was wrong.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when all four thieves leapt into the clearing, all armed and looking quite vicious. Two were wielding daggers, a third was wielding a mace, and the fourth had a shortsword. All evidently stolen.

Setremedes swallowed, his eyes darting from thief to thief. They didn't look very strong, and he suspected he could overpower any of them, but there was four of them and only one of him. He could flee back into the forest and find the backup Jarte was getting, but he would leave his back open then, and they would easily be able to cut him down on his retreat. No, it seemed he would be forced to fight.

Again, he had barely made his decision when they made their move. One of the ones with the daggers and the one armed with the sword moved forward while the other two moved into a better position, to stop Setremedes escaping. The one wielding the sword approached first, bringing his blade down; Setremedes deflected it using his bracer, and then swung the same arm out to shove the bandit away. At the same time he moved aggressively towards the dagger-bandit, who did not expect him to move such, and stumbled momentarily. Setremedes pressed his advantage and swung his sword several times, causing the thief to duck and dodge, unable to swing his daggers.

At this point the mace-wielding bandit decided to make his move, the other dagger-wielding bandit staying back for the moment. Making a cowardly blow, he struck Setremedes in the small of the back. The Southshore guard shouted in pain, turning around awkwardly to meet his attacker. He brought his blade up to parry the next blow, but was still stooped from the blow to the back. The mace-wielder took full advantage of this, aiming for Setremedes arms while kicking out at his less-defended legs.

At the same time, the first dagger-bandit took a swing at Setremedes' legs. Fortunately, it glanced off the chainmail, and Setremedes reacted instinctively, kicking out behind him. Judging by the resounding crack and cry of pain, he had fractured his opponent's shin. However, this put him in an even worse position in his fight with the mace-bandit, as he was now very much off-balance. To make matters worse, the thief with the shortsword had risen and was advancing, and the second dagger-bandit, seeing his prey had fallen, was also moving toward the outnumbered Southshore guard. To Setremedes, he could see the situation was quite hopeless.

Nonetheless, he was not going to be cowed by mere bandits. He attempted to draw himself up to his full height, only to double over after another blow from the mace. Keeping his head raised, he futilely swung his sword, trying to keep his attackers at bay, but they all knew, Setremedes particularly, that he was lost, and their malicious grins drove it home. Glaring at his attackers, Setremedes waited for the killing blow to fall; or would they simply pummel him to death?

Before any of them could advance, however, there was an enourmous, enraged bellow. Everyone looked around, alarmed; and suddenly, with a mighty crash, a huge figure burst through the trees. Like the bandits, he too was cloaked, but unlike the bandits, this figure was quite massive. Easily the breadth of two men and just as tall, everyone present could tell it was an orc. No human had a stature like that.

With an angry bellow, the orc charged at the thieves. He collided with the nearest two, sending them flying. The other two gave angry shouts, advancing on their huge opponent, weapons raised. Undetterred, the orc merely raised his arm to block the strikes; the thick cloak and his thick skin were more than enough to block the weaker strikes of the thieves. Reaching out, he grabbed one by the neck and threw him bodily across the clearing; he crashed into a tree and didn't rise, clearly knocked out. The orc picked up the shortsword the thief had dropped and faced the second thief, one of the dagger wielders.

The dagger-bandit weaved towards the orc, hoping to remain mobile enough to keep the orc off guard and target. However, his opponent had clearly fought more than once, and with a precision strike, managed to sink the blade into the bandit's shoulder. The thief collapsed to the ground with a yell, trying to stem the wound.

At this point, the other two bandits had risen and were advancing from behind. The orc, aware of this, swung around with astounding agility that Setremedes could do little but gape. Swinging the sword with such force, the orc knocked the mace out of the hands of his first opponent. The force of the blow sent the thief spinning. The remaining thief advanced, hatred in his eyes. He lunged forward, hoping to sink both daggers into his opponent. The orc merely grunted, dodging out of the way and picking up the fallen mace. As his dagger-wielding opponent span around to meet his attacker once more, the orc swung the mace brutally - it crunched into the thief's head, knocking him cold.

The remaining bandit surveyed his allies, taking note of his mace, which the orc was now twirling threateningly. Wide-eyed, he glanced at the orc, then fled into the undergrowth.

Setremedes had regained some of his strength now, and managed to pull himself to his feet. He was ready to meet this orc in battle - at least it was a one-on-one fight now. They approached each other warily, prepared for battle; and then, with surprising swiftness, the orc literally snatched Setremedes' weapon straight from his hands! So surprised was the human that he reacted a moment to late as the orc raised a huge, meaty fist and it collided with Setremedes' head.