Fort Senlac: The Last of Lordaeron

By Piney the Shorter

Foreward:

I am Piney Stoutbarn, to which I lament my family and the lengths to which my parents went to make me sound unique. In the circles of scholars, I am known as Piney the Shorter, mostly due to a number of clumsy accidents attributed to my rather tall height, during an excavation project in Stranglethorn Vale. No, dear reader, it is not lost on me.

An archaeologist by profession, I am also an insatiable seeker of knowledge regarding everything there is to know. History, alchemy, magic, you name it and I have entire bookshelves devoted to the subject. But that is neither here, nor there. A brief introduction is sufficient enough to let you, the reader, know who pens the tale herein.

This tale is about a siege. But more than that, it is about what may very well have been the death of a little known culture on Azeroth. It is also about a man who came to be my friend, and his journey from the brink of extinction, all the way to the battlefields of Draenor.

For the purposes of both focusing on the siege, and the story of this likely extinct culture, the events leading up to it will be largely ignored. Suffice to say that I had arrived in Draenor with two companions, an Elven druid named Cien'wyn, and a Gnome engineer named Drizzick the Tinkerer. Our goal was to study the world and its inhabitants. However, during our journey, we were attacked in Talador by Iron Horde Orcs. It wasn't until after days of running that we found Fort Senlac, somewhere north of Shattrath City and the siege lines surrounding it.

That is where our tale begins. Three desperate people in need of sanctuary...

Part One: Ghost Town

Fort Senlac, as the hastily erected sign proclaimed it, was a sorry sight. It was smaller than a fort, more like a fortified encampment, fit to hold maybe a hundred or so men. Half of the walls were half-built of white stone, as if the builders had suddenly decided to strike. The areas where there had been no walls, a wooden palisade now stood as a makeshift replacement to solid stone. The timbers were fire-blackened and thoroughly saturated with arrow shafts. We could see no one on the walls.

A large perimeter of impaled orc heads set around bowshot range gave us hope that this would be a safe haven. But it looked abandoned. Beside me, Drizzick, my Gnome companion fidgeted, and sent fearful looks my way. I could only shrug in response. What choice did we have?

I approached the gate, and banged on it. "Hello?!" I cried out, unsure of how loud I should be. There were orcs around, after all. No answer. I tried again.

"Is there anyone inside? My friends and I desperately need shelter! We've been running from orcs for days, and if you don't let us in, we might die!"

Silence. Absolute silence. I shuddered as I imagined an enclosure full of dead soldiers, a ghost town of sorts. Men killed at the mess table, knifed in their beds. That thought spurred me to back away from the gate and return to my companions.

Our druid, Cien'wyn glanced over my shoulder at the gate. "Is it abandoned or are they all dead in there?" She was less frightened than the Gnome, but looked on edge nevertheless.

I could only shrug in response. There was nothing here for us, and we must be away soon before nightfall. That is the worst time to be travelling out here. So I turned and started to walk. My friends followed.

We'd only made it a few steps before we heard the gate groan. I turned, imagining terrible ghosts and a torrent of pent-up blood pouring forth from the fort. Instead it opened to reveal a single man. He was a soldier, that much was certain, but unlike any soldier of the Alliance i'd ever seen.

He was tall and wiry, clad in a coat of mail armor that reached to his knees. Splint-mail covered leather gloves, and he wore leather shoes instead of boots. His woolen pants were wrapped tightly from the ankle to just below the knee by strips of cloth. In his hands he held a broad-bladed axe of enormous size. He stared at us from the shadowed eyeholes of a clearly non-standard issue helmet. The only thing denoting him as an alliance soldier was his ragged tabard, and the worn gold chevrons of a sergeant sewn on at the shoulder.

The silence terrified me, for he never moved. He just stood there, staring at us, axe held at his waist. Drizzick squeaked, and muttered that we'd be better off running from the orcs. Cien'wyn merely raised a brow towards the stranger. I went the friendly route. No telling who this man was or what he'd been through.

"Uh, hello Sergeant sir. My uh, uh...name! My name is Piney Stoutbarn, or Piney the Shorter if you'd prefer! It's a relief to see a...er, friendly face around here! We've only seen beasts and orcs for days! Didn't know there were any Alliance folk out this way! My friends and I, see, we're on an expedition an-"

"Are you hostages?" The man interrupted me, which was a relief because I thought he was either some kind of undead monster or some other kind of still terrifying monster. Plus, I was starting to blather like an idiot.

"Hostages? Wha-" I stammered, too shocked by his sudden outburst to understand the question.

"Are you captives? Slaves? Bait? Last folk to come around here were being used as bait. Almost lost the fort when we opened the gates for them." The soldier hefted his weapon and took a step forward. Those shadowed eyeholes scrutinized the three of us.

I shook my head emphatically, and put my hands up. "Captives? No! Fugitives of a sort, maybe, but we certainly aren't working for the orcs!"

He nodded, but kept his axe at the ready. "Edmund?"

The three of us looked between each other, confused. Maybe he was crazy. Like a lone survivor talking to ghosts. Then a tangle of bushes to our left shook. Out popped a man in similar woolen clothes to the sergeant, wearing a large green cloak. The man walked past us, not even sparing us a glance. To his commander, he nodded.

"He's telling the truth, sir. They've been on the run for days, not captive."

I spluttered, almost indignant. The man had been following us for days and never once thought to aid us?! The Sergeant must have seen the look on my face and guessed my thoughts.

"We don't have enough men to risk lives rescuing three people, Stoutbarn." Cold.

I merely nodded, and bit down on my anger. "I suppose I can understand that, Sergeant, but he could have at least directed us here..."

Another shake of the head. That damned helmet was intimidating. A faceplate flanked by hinged cheek plates, with a skirt of chainmail protecting the neck. Knotwork tear trails ran from each eyehole. The steel was of a blue hue with a bronze inlaid edging. The crown of the helmet looked like stylized eyebrows that led into a nasal guard rich in ornamentation. Certainly a personal piece, and designed to frighten.

"And risk getting himself caught with you? No. Edmund here is my best scout and hunter. Without him we likely starve. Speaking of which..."

Edmund hiked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the bushes. "Game is back there sir, should be enough for tonight and tomorrow."

The sergeant nodded and gestured. Suddenly, half a dozen men in similar armor-though all with slight differences-and dress filed out to collect the slain animals hidden in the brush. As they walked in, the sergeant handed his axe to Edmund and removed his helmet.

Like most of the men not wearing helmets, he had long, fair hair. A well-groomed beard framed thin lips drawn into a semi-permanent scowl, and brilliant eyes rested above sharp cheekbones. He didn't look as ancient as I did, and I doubt he'd yet broken 45 years, but there were lines there about his eyes that spoke of hard living. Lifers in the military typically had that look.

"I'm Sergeant Wraecwulf Ranulfson, of the 323rd Irregulars." He eyed the men hauling food into the fort. "What's left of it anyways. Come on, we don't need this gate open any longer than it needs to be. Then he turned and stalked back into the compound, growling at the men about him to hasten their pace.

After a moment's hesitation, my companions and I followed. When the gate closed behind us, it sounded like doom.

Part Two: Good news? Never heard of it

Inside, the fort looked ramshackle. Only one fully built building stood. Everything else was a tent of one kind or another. In the center of the enclosure sat a battered standard. It was the blue and gold of the Alliance, but featured a rampant lion clutching the crest of Lordaeron. That piqued my curiosity, but our host seemed short on words at the moment. Instead, I inquired about his commanding officer. Surely he would be easier to deal with.

Wraecwulf offered me a sardonic smile and pointed to the wooden building. "Probably out back, resting. Go ahead and speak with him, he's probably got better news for you than I do."

I wondered what that meant. I didn't have to wonder long. The sergeant had detached himself from us to assist in some menial task, leaving us to find the commanding officer. 'Out back' was a graveyard behind the building. There were dozens and dozens of hastily made graves, each with a totem-like grave marker carved from wood. They were crude-certainly the mark of time constriction rather than a lack of skill. One, towards the front bore the name Aelfric the Yellow, and the rank of captain. It was the highest rank amongst the dead. Gallows humor, indeed.

I wandered about camp, looking for the sergeant, who I now assumed was the acting CO. As I searched, I began to pay more attention to the men around us. Up to that point, I was panicked, and hadn't noticed much other than their strange uniform (or lack thereof) and dress. But now I noticed that they spoke with an accent I couldn't place. It was harsh sounding, with noticeable emphasis on hard sounds. Likewise, they were using words here and there that I understood as Common, but not of any dialect i'd ever heard.

I glanced at Drizzick as we passed a man having a rather heated argument with another. The little gnome had more knowledge of dialects and accents than I did. But he only shook his head and squeaked.

"Can't tell you, Pine. Sounds like it comes from the north. Far north, but I don't know any more than that. Certainly don't know the dialect. "

That made me inquisitive, and when I get inquisitive, i'm told I can be quite the bother. But I wouldn't ask these random soldiers. They were by and large giving us the evil eye. Well, Drizzick and myself. Cien'wyn was getting rather...seedier looks. All of which she resolutely ignored. My worry began to creep in. These men barely had a commanding officer, and they looked fit to set upon my druid friend! Who would hold them back? Me? I'm no soldier. And Drizzick can make weapons, but isn't much for using them.

Our host found us before my worry turned into panic. "Eyes off the knife-ears! Edmund! Get over here and keep an eye on the woman." Wraecwulf gave his soldiers a baleful glare. "I hear of any trouble with the woman, i'll personally geld the men responsible. Publically! Do you understand me?!"

A chorus of affirmatives and half-hearted apologies followed. Satisfied, the sergeant beckoned for us to follow. And so we did. He offered us a grin over his shoulder. "Did the Captain have any good news?"

I gave him a sharp look. "Only countless praises of the life beyond." I replied dryly. Our host chuckled. Strange man, you would have thought he'd be upset.

We wound up in the only building, which was a sparse affair filled with a number of military cots, a desk, a few chairs, and a table with a map. Wraecwulf gestured for us to sit at the table. Before us was a hand drawn map of the fort with the surrounding land. Arrows and indicators of movement were scribbled along with notes regarding force disposition and other military figures. To my untrained eye, it looked like the fort was completely surrounded. I inquired about the situation, and the sergeant gave us a rundown.

Apparently, Fort Senlac was supposed to be bigger, enough to hold a couple companies. Their orders were to establish the fort and use it as a base of operations, to work in tandem with other forces to help break the siege of Shattrath. What command hadn't anticipated was the strength of the orcs in this particular region of Talador. Before it was complete, one of the units-regulars as Wraecwulf described them-had marched out. Their commander was impatient, and wanted a fight. According to the sergeant, they got one. One they couldn't win.

Edmund had found the massacre only a day later. A day after that, and the unfinished fort was under attack. The 323rd fought the orcs off, but without completed fortifications, they took many casualties. But the time they bought with their pyrrhic victory allowed them to decrease the size of the perimeter and erect a palisade wall large enough for them to man effectively. That was thirteen days ago. Ten days ago, the aforementioned trap had been sprung on the garrison, which ended with all the commanding officers and many of the men dead. That left sergeant Wraecwulf with barely forty men to hold the fort. It looked bleak.

"How many orcs are out there?" I asked, already knowing I wouldn't like the answer.

Wraecwulf shrugged, and circled his finger around the fort. "Who knows? Hundreds? Thousands? Hard to tell. They haven't hit us in a few days."

Cien'wyn asked why.

The sergeant shrugged again. "I don't know the answer to that either. Just like how I don't know how you managed to stumble through their lines. Best guess? They're cruel and they want to starve us near-to-death before they kill us. It's not like they're pressed for time. But they will come to kill us. We do have an idea of who leads the forces surrounding us."

We waited whilst he got up and began rummaging around in his pack. After a moment, he returned to the table with a deck of cards. Wraecwulf began looking through the deck, and after a moment, pulled out a card and slid it towards us. Upon the cross I saw a vicious looking orc with an unkempt mane and most of the skin on his lower face missing. Drizzick squeaked, and Cien'wyn made a disgusted noise.

"The four of swords, or as we know him, Skoggr the Skinless. Don't ask me how he lost his skin, I don't know. He's a minor chief of some kind who decided our small fort was worth more than Shattrath city. So he's here, and not there. Which works well enough for us. Less the rest of our forces have to deal with."

I studied the card a bit longer, before sliding it back towards Wraecwulf. Without looking at it, he slipped the card back into the deck and put it to the side. "Are you going to be relieved? What about reinforcements?"

A grim smile was his reply. Seeing the despairing looks on our faces, he spread his hands in a gesture of futility. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but that likely isn't happening. The bastiffs shot down all of our gryphon riders, and we haven't been able to get a messenger owl through either. Sending Edmund might work, but even if he makes it, he won't return in time to help. No, folks, there's no leaving this place. Even if we die, it benefits our side more than it does theirs. Plus, I don't think forty battered men will turn the tide of anything south of here. You're welcome to leave though, just understand that I can't spare an escort for you."

At least he was nicer this time around. Truly, he did seem to take pity on us more than himself or his men. I guess to him it was their duty, but for us it was an unfortunate circumstance. I talked it over with my companions while the sergeant went off to attend to some minor matter. Cien'wyn wanted to leave, thinking she could guide us to safety. When I asked her how certain she was of her abilities, I saw her eyes falter. Drizzick, on the other hand, wanted to stay despite his earlier reservations. It was better to be behind walls, he said, than out with the wolves.

I concurred, holding on to the faint hope that command would sooner, rather than later, realize no one had been in contact from the fort. Perhaps a relief force was already on its way. The sergeant returned several minutes later, and we gave him our decision.

"Well you're welcome to stay. But only under two conditions: The knee-high and the knife-ears are being temporarily," He chuckled at that. Gallows humor at its finest. "...being requisitioned by the military. I'm sure I can find a use for both of you. And you-" He pointed at me, and I straightened in my chair. "I need you to write something for me."

Blind sided with the request, I could only nod, and stammer. "Y-yes sir, of course sir." I had expected to be drafted for some kind of manual labor. "Write what sir?"

For a brief moment, Wraecwulf had a faraway look in his eyes. "To write the story of the 323rd, the story of the Sais."

Part Three: Homeless and Homebound

I had never heard the word Sais before, but I figured it had something to do with his company of soldiers. I would have to wait though, as he took my two friends outside and set them to work. Cien'wyn was instructed to construct traps strengthen the walls with her magic, as well as heal some of the light wounds that had been suffered prior to our arrival. Drizzick was shut away in a large tent for a purpose I could only guess at.

It was nightfall by the time Wraecwulf returned. Edmund, who I guessed was his second in command, brought us a meager meal of meat stew and apples. There was only water to drink, but I was grateful for the food. He was clearly being generous where he had little room to be. For himself, he ate hardtack and a small bowl of stew. I imagined he was eating the same as his men. I felt embarrassed, but wouldn't turn down his gesture of kindness.

An empty journal and writing materials were brought to the table for me. I'm no mage of great power, but I knew a spell that enabled the quill to write for me, I merely needed to ask the questions and it would record for me. My old hands were too worn out to do the job myself. Nevertheless, I was excited. Here was a chance to learn of what the sergeant had hinted was a culture on the brink of extinction!

But where to begin? Between bites of food, Wraecwulf would look up at me expectantly. I decided to ask questions more in the present, deciding that they would lead into the past. "You said the 323rd were irregulars, what does that mean?"

The sergeant cleared his throat, and leaned back in his chair. "We're...how would you say...an ethnic unit. Foreigners recruited into the Alliance military and allowed to stick with each other and retain our culture. We also don't operate like your standard unit."

I raised a brow. "How so?"

"We're light infantry, light calvary if we have to. We don't traipse around in tin-can suits of armor because that's not how we fight. Raids suit us, so do ambushes and playing fire brigade. We march fast, light, and can still pack a punch. But the military has many of those units. We're also Sais, and that's what makes us truly irregular."

There was that word again. "Sais? I've never heard of you."

He smiled, and I realized that as grim as he looked most of the time, he was quick to expressions of warmth. "You likely wouldn't have. Most haven't. We're refugees of Lordaeron, fled from the Scourge that destroyed our kingdom."

"But if you're from Lordaeron, you're just from Lordaeron."

In response, my host scoffed, and shook his head in disappointment. "I would have imagined a man as learned as you would realize that kingdoms and lands are made up of many different peoples. Have you ever noticed that customs and traditions can differ even between villages? And the further away you settle from the heart of your kingdom, the bigger the differences. The Sais were a small, small group of people who fled with everyone else when the Dark Portal first opened. We threw our lot in with many others and became a part of Lordaeron. We settled in the northernmost region of what we now know as the Eastern Plaguelands."

I whistled. That was indeed a long ways away from Capital City. The sergeant continued. He explained a little to me of their dialect. The language was the same, though some words were different. But they were by and large easily understood, even by someone who had never heard them before. Gast was their way of saying ghost, and how they referred to spirits for example. Bastiff, was bastard, for another example. Many of the samples he offered me were crude and vulgar, like as not owing to his life as a soldier. Some of the men, he explained, had now lived outside of Lordaeron long enough that they'd largely forgotten their own words. This he regarded with a great sadness.

He also explained the grave-totems outside. There was no obscure religious practice attached to them. Instead, they were supposed to be likenesses of the deceased, a way to keep them tied to the living in memory. I remembered the Captain's totem being a heavily bearded man with only one eye. The poor quality of the ones outside were regrettable, but better than nothing. As he talked about the totems, he showed me some small hand-sized ones he kept in a pouch on his belt. These were of much higher quality. Those were his personal momentos. They were his good friends and family, as good as a portrait in his eyes.

I mused on the quaint folkishness of the tradition, imagining it as something more in line with other races on Azeroth, such as the Trolls. To the sergeant, I exclaimed that his people seemed very salt-of-the-earth. It was as good a way to put it as any other he'd heard, he had replied.

Next we talked about their hierarchy. They made up barely a handful of villages, each overseen by an Erl, who not only maintained the administrative aspects of the people, but also their protection. Occupied as much as they were most of the time, the military didn't exactly have a permanent presence that far north, so Housecarls were raised as local military forces capable of fighting off bandits or most anything else of moderate threat. These house guards, roughly translated, were few in number, but highly trained and well equipped. Although their duties largely rested on the home front, they could and had seen combat during the second war as well as later on. Wraecwulf himself had been a housecarl, as had the vast majority of the men in his unit.

When I asked him about his own personal story, he waved dismissively, but gleaned some light on it anyways.

"My story isn't important. Suffice to say that I was the son of Ranulf, a farmer and son of another Ranulf, whose father was also Ranulf...there are a lot of Ranulfs in my family tree."

I gave him an inquisitive look. "Yet you're not named Ranulf. Why?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't the first child my mother squeezed out."

I nodded. Naming conventions like that existed in other cultures. It took me a while, but I prodded more out of him.

"My brother would work the fields and inherit the farm. Which meant I had to find alternative ways of making a living. So I took an oath to our Erl, Herewald and became a housecarl. Best decision I ever made. It's the reason i'm still here."

"Becoming a soldier saved your life? How?"

And so came the tragedy of the Sais, tied to the greater tragedy of Lordaeron. Wraecwulf hadn't been in the far north when the plagues hit, and by the time news had hit further south in the kingdom, unrest was already underway.

"Those were uncertain times. Men argued with men, the crime rate skyrocketed, high-borns were at each other's throats. All you heard were horror stories from the north, brought by wild eyed refugees. We saw little of our own people. As far north as they were, I don't imagine many made it out. For us, we had been attending some function in the south. We never got a chance to ride north, because as things became worse, they put us to work trying to calm things down. They never did."

Indeed. We all know the story of Lordaeron's fall. Though I had never spoken to an eyewitness to the events. Wraecwulf looked haunted as he recounted the Scourge and the flight.

" My Erl, another, their men, and a number of the regular military units made it out. Best as we could tell, the only way out was south. But the Scourge...have you ever seen them, Stoutbarn?"

I couldn't say I had, at least not in any capacity that saw me in danger. Instead I shook my head.

"You smell them first. Putrid skin, leaking and distended bowels, rotting teeth. They smell like a battlefield, only worse. Then you see them, out of the fog or out of the twilight. Pits of blackness where eyes should be, sometimes a malevolent glow. Ragged claws grasping to drag you into the night, screaming at horrors you can't even begin to imagine. And there are thousands of them. I'm only talking about the basest scourge."

A shiver ran through my body.

"I was a young man then, barely into manhood when we had to run. Can you imagine it? Day after day of barely any sleep? Only to have nights dashed because horrors worse than your nightmares swarmed from the trees and the hills, intent on tearing you to pieces."

Wraecwulf shook his head and looked out one of the windows. Outside, his men were hard at work. All of them had been through that hellish flight. "We made a good accounting of ourselves. But that wasn't enough to protect the civilians. Many died. After weeks we arrived at Stormwind. I don't know how many civilians there had been when the escape began, but there were only a few hundred left. Our estimated military strength when we left Lordaeron was roughly 1,200 men. When we reached Stormwind, roughly four hundred remained."

I whistled low, still trying to imagine the actual journey. My quill scratched away beside me. Already, a journal had been filled by our long conversations, and I guessed we were only a couple of hours from daybreak. "And that's when you..."

"That's when we all enlisted. We requested that we remain together, fight in our way, and supply our own gear. As it always is, the military is starved for warm bodies, so they had no problems meeting our requests. Since then...all the Sais I know of are in this fort.."

The quill stopped. Wraecwulf looked very tired, and as ancient as I when I looked at him. With a grunt, the sergeant got to his feet and offered me his hand. Surprised, I shook it, and the soldier offered me a grateful smile.

"Thank you Stoutbarn, it makes what's coming more comforting. Now get some sleep and we'll talk more to-"

Outside, something began bellowing, impossibly loud.

Part Four: Goldi-Orcs

Outside the night was deafening. And bright.

"Looks like our friend has a mage out there...or a warlock." Sergeant Wraecwulf snarled as he stalked towards the ramparts. He beckoned me to follow. At the top, we could see out into the dead zone between the surrounding trees and the fort. There was nothing. If anything, the darkness looked unnaturally impenetrable.

In the sky leered the gruesome face of Skoggr the Skinless. The illusion was so good you couldn't see through him.

"I AM SKOGGR THE SKINLESS! Know me, and despair!" It boomed, the ground quaking with the force of the voice.

Below, the men of the 323rd looked on, aghast. Wraecwulf ground his teeth. There was an intense hatred in his eyes. "Stoutbarn, you got a little magic, aye?"

It took me a moment to understand him, spellbound as I was by the terror in the skies. I had a inkling he was going to ask me to interfere. But what could I do? I considered that quill trick difficult! Father always said i'd spent too much time in books, and not enough actually practicing magic.

The sergeant pointed at the illusion above us. "Ruin it."

He walked away before I could protest. I was left standing there, mentally rummaging through my trick bag. I couldn't destroy the image. Whoever had the power to conjure something that large was far beyond my meager talents. But I had been given a command.

So I began making gestures, and muttering incantations. I was piecing together parts of small spells as I went. There was zero confidence within me, but the men in the fort looked fit to break. All the while, Skoggr's moon-sized face continued to bluster and threaten every manner of pain on us.

"...and it will be AGONY! EVEN IN DEATH YOU WILL WRI-"

I finished my incantation and flung my hands out towards the illusion. I think, had the orcish mage been more alert, he would have sensed what I was doing. But arrogance or simple thick-headedness made him blind to my efforts.

The Skoggr-face shed it's black hair. Reddish skin began to pale and turn unnaturally white. Then there was a poof! and a cloud of white smoke obscured everything.

When it cleared the orcs screamed in the distance, furious. The men of Fort Senlac went helpless with laughter. For hanging in the air was Skoggr...in makeup, and with the prettiest goldilocks hair you've ever seen. The image hung there for only a few seconds longer, the face itself looking somewhere between confused and thunderously angry.

When the clamor from the tree line subsided, the laughter continued. I worried I may have inadvertently won the battle for our enemy, as men heaved in desperate air, only to burst out laughing again.

Edmund arrived a few minutes later, wearing his heavy cloak. A handful of similarly dressed men were behind him. The Sais assured me that there would be no attack tonight, and that I should get some rest. It would be the last good night I could count on getting. I agreed, suddenly weary. I dared a glance over my shoulder, and watched Edmund and his followers disappear over the ramparts.

My sleep was better than any i'd had in ages.

I awoke to find that the men had raised an effigy above the gates. It was a crude recreation of my version of Skoggr, complete with mop-head hair. My back was sore from friendly claps and pats by the time I found Wraecwulf.

"Fel of a job you did last night Stoutbarn, you saved my men. They got their heart back, and that's just what we need." He greeted me with a sly smile and a firm handshake.

"Uh, thank you sir. What's the plan now?"

Drizzick interrupted us both. We hadn't noticed him there, as short as he was. Tired of being polite, the little man tugged at my robes. "Pine, sergeant, i've done what you asked?"

I was sure what that was, but Wraecwulf seemed pleased. "Take me to it, knee-high."

We were led by the energetic gnome to the largest tent in the encampment. It was full of odds and ends, mostly supplies for construction, and spare armor and weapons. A workbench stood at one end. I walked over and eyed the objects laying there. One was some kind of mechanical box, with a number of wires trailing out of the back. I couldn't guess its purpose.

The other looked like a miniature set of armor, painted storm-grey and made to fit some kind of creature. Wraecwulf ignored the box, and picked up a piece of the armor. "Will it be too heavy?"

Drizzick managed to look insulted. He takes great pride in his work. "Too heavy? Bah! It's just right! Guaranteed to protect against any and all small arms fire!"

Wraecwulf shuddered. "The last time a Gnome guaranteed something, I had all the hair on my head burnt off. In Northrend." He shuddered again, and gained a thousand-yard stare. "It was so cold..."

The Gnome shook his head. "I don't know what poor representative of my people you ran into, but I can assure you that I am the utmost professional. An artisan if you will!"

Breaking out of his nightmares of frigid baldness, the sergeant set the armor piece down. "We don't have a choice. It'll have to work. Get it on Swithun as soon as possible. Find a man to write for you if you don't know how."

Drizzick disappeared, and the sergeant took me out of the tent. "We have one shot left. It's fortunate you people arrived when you did. None of my men could have cobbled something like that together."

Out of another tent, a messenger owl was brought forth. This was Swithun, I assumed. To the bird's credit, it allowed the gnome to roughly apply the armor with almost professional calm. I made a noise as I watched the bird attended by his tiny squire.

Wraecwulf heard me and commented. "If your little friend is right, the armor should be light enough and it only needs to stop one or two hits. Those things fly fast enough that those Orcs only get a couple good chances at most. We'll be sending it out east to find the nearest outpost. Hopefully we'll get some help within the day."

I grimaced. "That soon?"

He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Aye. Your little stunt pissed them off something fierce. They won't wait until we're weak with starvation. I'm assuming they'll come tonight. Easier to reach the walls when bowmen have trouble seeing. Now come, there is a little yet to be recorded."

And so we went back to the house, I acquired a fresh journal, and the sergeant dictated the last of his story. I won't bother you with many other details in this writing. I would rather do his people justice and publish a more elaborate history separate from this tale. Suffice to say that much of what he dictated regarded names, common phrases and words unique to his dialect, and place-names of their old homes. Surprisingly, it took only a couple of hours. When we had finished, he produced a thick cloth sack and offered it to me.

"For now, gather these books, put them in the bag and bury them deep in the graveyard. I'll detail a man to help if need be. Someone will stumble upon them some day if we don't get out."

He left me then. Before I left the house, I noticed a leather pouch laying on top of a letter with my name on it. I opened it, ignoring the pouch for the moment. The script was cramped and hard to read. Whoever wrote it never received a formal education. It read:

Stoutbarn,

I want to thank you and your friends for your help. And I want to apologize for being unable to promise your safety. If at all possible, my men and I will try and get you three to safety. If we cannot, I apologize.

Above all, make sure those books are kept safe. They're all that's left of the Sais after we're gone. I hope we get out of this, and I can expand more upon my tale. Regardless, my men and I owe you all a lot. You are a friend of the Sais, and welcome where ever you may find us.

Wulf Ranulfson

PS:

Take these as a gift for your troubles. You'll not find any other like them in all the worlds.

I smiled, touched by the words within. Folding the letter with one hand, I picked up the pouch. There wasn't much in it, and it didn't feel fragile to me. So I dumped it out. Three small wooden pieces clattered across the table. I picked each one up and inspected them. Each one was a small likeness of my companions and I. A tear welled up as I stuffed them into my pouch.

Part Five: End of the Line

No one knew what had become of the bird. It was early afternoon when I had returned from burying the chronicles in the graveyard. Cien'wyn looked sad as she recalled the flight.

"They wrote a letter demanding reinforcements, airborne specifically. It said there were civilians here in desperate need of evacuation. When the owl went over the dead zone, the orcs began shooting at it. Drizzick did his work well. It deflected a couple of arrows..."

My heart sank. "But?"

She looked sad, although I wasn't sure whether that was over the bird or our dire circumstances. Probably the bird. "But an arrow found it in a chink between the armor plates. It dropped several feet, but we saw it fly out of sight. But no bird could have made it much further...that was a big arrow, Pine."

I felt like crying at the futility of the situation. Our luck had only gotten worse since we had arrived in Talador. Was there any end in sight? At least one that didn't wind up in slavery or decapitation?

We both sat outside the building for a while, despairing over our imminent doom, when we saw a commotion brewing near the gates. Men were up and at-arms as they sped towards the entrance. I exchanged a look with my druid friend, and we both decided to join our guardians.

When we arrived at the gates, I saw Edmund and the group of men he had disappeared with the night before. Between them they were carrying a very large crate of crude construction. It had what looked like orcish markings on it. Wraecwulf was there, growling at the gathered men. "Get out of the damn way, or help you worthless bastiffs!"

The sergeant and the new arrivals shuffled the heavy load towards the center of the camp, where they set it down next to the standard. I could not see what they were doing, for most of the garrison not on the walls chose to cluster around. I noticed Drizzick was missing, and wondered at that.

I only had to muse about him for several minutes. The smug look on his miniature face could almost be considered adorable. When I asked him what he looked so pleased about, he gave me a shit-eating grin and walked away. The sergeant passed our way moments later, and when I asked him the same question, I received another shit-eating grin for my troubles.

When the rest of the men had dispersed, I saw that the company standard had been lowered, and draped over the crate. I wanted to look under it, but one of the men standing guard politely told me to sod off. So sod off I did. My companions found me grumping around the compound, angry at not being let in on the secret. Drizzick must have told Cien'wyn, because she started to laugh when she saw me. In fact, everyone else in the garrison must have made a pact not to tell me. Grins followed me everywhere. The Sais are a band of devious scum.

Once I had cooled off, I went and found the sergeant on the ramparts, staring intently at the tree line. I had no idea what he was looking at. I decided not to ask, but stood watch with him in companionable silence. After a time, he broke the silence.

"They'll come tonight. And they won't be sneaky about it. Torches, illusions. Ladders first. The gate'll get hit too, but they'd rather the walls. Less of a bottleneck once they gain a footing there." He looked around the encampment and sighed. "We can hold for a few hours that way...maybe a couple extra if we're lucky. But any more than that? I don't have the men to hold any longer."

I remained silent. I assumed the man just wanted someone to listen. "I'm pissed off Stoutbarn. I've been through the fall of Lordaeron, and wallowed in the frozen gore of the Scourge in Northrend. I stood against the Cataclysm, and even saw the fabled land of Pandaria. I've killed just about anything that walked on two legs and many others that haven't. I've seen great victories and terrible losses."

The sergeant curled his lip at the orcs that must be swarming out of sight. "But this is how I die? This is how my men die? To a petty chief in a dump of a fort that no one will remember? Hrrmph."

I saw he was frightened-what man wouldn't be? But his anger was far more potent. I sensed that it wasn't so much death that he feared, but the thought of being forgotten. I put an awkward hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about that sergeant. I'm sure the bird got through, right? If we hold them for a couple hours, help is sure to find us!"

Wraecwulf did not look convinced. I persisted. "No matter what, sergeant, those books are well hidden. Eventually someone will find them and your tale will live on..."

I was rewarded with a tight smile. "Perhaps. Thanks Stoutbarn." He was snapping out of his melancholy. "When they come, I want you and your friends in the building. When the walls become too much to hold, we'll make our stand there. Don't worry though, i've got Edmund working an angle to get you three out of here. You won't find a more clever son of a bitch than him...well, and myself."

The grin he gave me as he left me was grim, but full of dire promises for the enemy who would be coming.

Horrible things are ever on-time. As the sergeant predicted, nightfall began the festivities. At first, it was probing attacks. Small bands of orcs ran ladders at the walls, testing the strength of the defenders. Almost none of them made it to the walls. When they did, they were mercilessly hacked to pieces as they attempted to mount the walls. I stood on a stretch of rampart-I had not yet been told to head for shelter-and stared into the darkness. Hundreds of fires moved about in the trees. The sight was strange, as I knew they were torches, but could not see their bearers.

A man at my side pointed his sword at the lights. "Don't worry sir. They're just using magic to mask their numbers. Probably the same bastiff you depantsed the other night." He grinned at me and I asked him his name.

"Aethelstan sir, private Aethelstan. If you don't mind me saying sir, that stunt you pulled last night was the greatest thing i've ever seen in my life."

A couple of the soldiers nearby chuckled, and I bowed mockingly. "Perhaps i'll retire when I get out of here. Take up a career as a tavern illusionist." I won some laughs, despite the poor joke. They were all looking for a reason to smile. A horn sounded in the distance and the smiles disappeared. Aethelstan advised me to head for cover. I wished them the best and offered what encouragement I could before I went to safety.

Wraecwulf met me at the doorway. He was dressed in war-glory. The mail coat he wore had been polished to a mirror shine, as had his strange helmet and axe blade. I could not see his expression behind the fixed faceplate, and so I was once again looking into the black pits of the eyeholes.

"Get inside Stoutbarn, your friends are already inside. I've left weapons for each of you, should the need arise."

I nodded. Strangely, there was a calmness in me, perhaps because I hadn't quite come to terms with what was about to happen. I offered him my hand, and he took it. "Best of luck to you, Sergeant Wraecwulf Ranulfson."

"Just Wulf, Pine."

We went inside as he left for the walls. I felt a profound sense of sadness as I watched him go. To a scholar like myself, it was like watching the extinction of a species. As there was nothing for us to do, we watched from the door and windows. The horn was getting louder, closer. I heard someone on the ramparts yelling, and I saw the bowmen put arrows to strings.

Cien'wyn began muttering in her own language. Drizzick squeaked. I gripped a the window sill till my knuckles were white.

I could begin to hear the roar of the approaching orcs. Over that I could hear another shout. The bowmen drew back their bow strings. Outside the walls, the orcs shouted something in unison. The bows loosed their shafts. And the roars became mingled by anguished screams.

Part Six: Senlac Hill

For a long time, it was hard to tell how the battle was progressing. I barely saw any hint of the orcs outside. All I could see, excluding the occasional meaty red arm, were Sais hacking, spearing, and shooting downwards at their enemies. It stayed that way for a while. I spied the sergeant stomping from one side of the fort to the other, constantly. He would climb one rampart, kill a few orcs, exchange some words with a man, and then head back to the other side.

It went on for so long, that I thought we would actually win the battle. And perhaps we would, for Wraecwulf was directing men off of one wall over to another. I assumed he could spare them to finish off the remaining attackers on the other side. Instead, those men made an abrupt turn, and ran for the gate. When they arrived, they picked up stout timbers and began bracing them against the entrance.

So much for hope. They were hitting the gate now. It rocked under serious pressure, and I noticed that the wall Wraecwulf had taken men from was starting to lose it's fight. A handful of massively muscled orcs in black iron armor had planted themselves on the ramparts, making room for their comrades. This was it, I thought, the end.

The sergeant was standing in the middle of the fort, next to the standard-draped crate. Two men came to him and they exchanged quick words. Wraecwulf gestured and they began running to the walls, shouting messages to those still holding them. Immediately, they collapsed, sliding down ladders and jumping down stair ways. I started to feel fear then. They were abandoning the walls. So too were the men at the gates. In moments, men began to gather directly in front of the building. Cien'wyn went outside despite my protest to mend what wounds she could. A good number of Sais were still making their way to the rally point-mostly those who had been holding the gate-when the earth began to shake.

I yelped and grabbed hold of a timber support to keep myself upright. Drizzick squealed, hanging onto the window sill. Outside, many of the men stumbled. Out of the ground sprouted several machines in great plumes of earth. Each one was a large cylinder capped by giant whirling drill bits. I gasped. Drizzick exclaimed he'd never seen orcs use tunneling machines before. Despite his terror, he began babbling about what he could technically glean from the contraptions.

Hatches on the machines swung open, and more orcs poured into the fort. Wraecwulf was caught by himself in the center of the encampment. The first two orcs out of the machines rushed him. The sergeant reacted like he was going through a weapons drill. He sidestepped a powerful downward swing and tripped his first attacker. While one orc when sprawling, the other fell for a short feint and wound up doubling over a massive axe blade in his guts. Wraecwulf withdrew the blade with no small effort, and a welter of blood and intestine came with it. By that point, the other orc had regained its footing, and was rounding on the good sergeant. It never had a chance to attack, because the axe blade found its forehead first.

More orcs were coming, so Wraecwulf kicked the corpse off of his axe, and into his trailing foes. That bought him enough time to open enough distance to safefly arrive at the rally point. The men at the gate were not so lucky. They fought well, and killed their share, but were quickly overwhelmed and hacked to death by an enthusiastic enemy.

The sergeant stuck his head inside. He was awash with blood, and his Alliance tabard was even more ragged then it had been when I met him. "Pine, change of plans. Get the books. You two help him."

There was no time for any explanation. He was back out the door yelling. "SHIELD WALL! SHIELD WALL! WE HOLD THEM HERE! YOU, CENRED! THAT SHIELD BETTER BE DAMNED OVERLAPPING OR I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!"

My companions and I slipped out the backdoor and began digging up the books.

As we hit pay dirt, and retrieved the books, we were confronted by Edmund and two other men. The soldier was clad in dark leather armor, and wore that same cloak as always. Two long knives were sheathed at his belt. "We have a plan to get you three out of here. We're going under the wall."

He gestured to the palisade only a few feet away. As I looked, I began to notice that a small hole had been scraped beneath the walls. A man could squeeze through there-albeit uncomfortably. Edmund didn't wait for questions. He gestured and one of his men removed his cloak and began to shimmy under the wall. "I just came from under there. The orcs have rerouted to the other walls where their foothold is established. We move quick, quiet, and we should be relatively safe in a couple of hours."

We moved towards the wall as he talked. "What about the rest of your friends?"

Edmund shrugged. "I'll miss them, but this is the sergeant's orders. We're getting you o-"

The man crawling under the wall began screaming. He was halfway through at this point. Edmund shouted, and both he and the remaining man tried to pull their comrade back in. Trapped, the man continued to scream, until a nauseating crunching sound cut him short. Blood spewed and collected in the hole. Our two protectors fell backwards, still clutching the lower half of their friend. Drizzick vomited, and I followed suit a moment later.

Edmund as expected, looked furious. A leering orc peered through the hole, and the soldier slammed his boot into the creature's face. It howled and disappeared.

"Looks like that idea is out. Back to the building, friends. We'll have to figure something out."

So we went. I was still gagging as we got back to the building. I had never wanted to see a battle, and now that I had, it was worse than anything I could have imagined. That was reinforced in me as I looked out one of the front windows. The line of Sais was holding firm scant feet from the building. I saw orcs battering at the wall of shields the men had formed. They hacked and they pushed. Every once in a while, the line would take a half step back, giving out under the pressure of the assault. When a man fell, another would take his place almost immediately. At the rate they were going though, they might not have any men left to fill the gaps hewn by their bloodthirsty foes soon.

Hands and blades rose and fell above the heads of the combatants, spraying blood like a downpour. It was, in a sense, like watching field hands reaping crops with their scythes. We could not see the sergeant, and so assumed he was in the midst of the formation.

Edmund and his compatriot had exhausted any ideas they had, and instead had taken position by the back door of the building, waiting. I began to search the structure for a hiding place suitable enough to hide my precious tomes. Only, I was interrupted. That was starting to become a thing around here.

A large explosion brewed up somewhere outside. I stumbled to the window and peered out. Something flashed over the heads of the fighters. A split second later, another explosion bloomed in the orc ranks. Another thing flashed by going the opposite direction, followed predictably by yet another explosion. Orcs were cartwheeling through the sky, some whole, others missing limbs. More explosions, and the 323rd began taking hard steps forward. Edmund had also come to the window.

"Who-or what-is doing that?!" I gasped, my eyes wide at the carnage being wrought on our enemies.

Edmund watched intently for several seconds, and just as another blossom of fire ripped apart a brace of orcs, he pointed at a silhouette flying just above head level. "There! Gryphons! We're being reinforced!" Uncharacteristically (I'd gathered that Edmund was usually a very quiet and grim fellow), he whooped and shot his hands into the air.

The gryphons flew by to drop more explosives on besiegers, and after that last attack, the orcs retreated. In their wake they left the broken and pulverized corpses of at least two to three hundred of their compatriots. Men removed helmets and collapsed to the ground, too tired to celebrate their good fortune. Others crawled and screamed for help. Some, the ones least fatigued, walked around the immediate area and executed wounded orcs with blows to the spine.

Wraecwulf appeared, breathing raggedly, and thoroughly soaked with blood. The tabard he'd worn was all but gone, mere scraps of blood-mottled blue. His chainmail was torn, and I noticed several lacerations on his arms and chest. But he remained alive, and Cien'wyn offered her healing abilities to our friend, before moving out amongst the others.

A few minutes later, the gryphons landed, mounted by tough-looking men in Alliance garb. The leader, who looked to be a Captain by the insignia on his tabard looked appalled at the sight of the battlefield. "Which one of you is the CO?!" He shouted.

Every man in the 323rd looked alike in their battered shape. The captain repeated his question.

"I am, sir." The sergeant replied, his voice ragged with exhaustion. He didn't bother to salute-he was too tired.

If the Captain was annoyed by this, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he stopped just short of our friend and sized him up. "What the fel has been happening here?"

Wraecwulf cocked his head to the side. "Sir? Didn't you get our message, sir?"

The captain blinked, and shook his head. "I don't know anything about a message, sergeant. Me and my boys were scouting you out. We hadn't heard word from your encampment for days, and command sent us looking for you."

A flash of barely repressed anger swept across Wraecwulf's face, but discipline stifled it as quickly as it had appeared. "That would be, what, 15 days Pine?" He looked at me, unsure of himself.

I couldn't be either. Had it only been two days? Events had accelerated so quickly since our arrival that I had lost track of time. After a moment of piecing the events at the fort together, I nodded. "Yes sergeant, fifteen days."

I felt bad for the captain. He looked guiltier than a man at the gallows. Averting his eyes, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Fifteen days...by the light...sergeant, i'm sorry. If I had any idea...we...see, me and my boys just arrived in Talador a couple days ago." I thought the man was going to beg forgiveness for a moment, though for what, I could not guess. Military command, perhaps?

The sergeant waved the man quiet. "It ain't your fault sir. Don't go making apologies, you and your men don't owe me any. In fact, I owe you my thanks for saving us."

Instead of looking relieved, the captain only managed to look guiltier. "Saving you?"

I did not understand, but Wraecwulf did. He sighed quietly, and shouted for a man to check on the 'package' in the center of the encampment. To the captain, he offered a smile. "You don't have enough gryphons to airlift us all out, sir." It wasn't a question.

"No, sergeant. Like I said, we're only a scouting party. We had some bombs to cause havoc where we saw fit, but we weren't equipped for a rescue mission. I can have my men dismount and add to your strength if you think you can hold out for another day or two?" I felt like patting the captain on the shoulder, he seemed like a good man.

"And get you killed too? I don't think so, sir. This place ain't worth holding anymore anyways. Too many orcs in the area, too isolated from the rest of our forces. Just do me a favor."

Now the captain looked embarrassed. "Name it, sergeant."

"These three-" Wraecwulf indicated my companions and I. "-are civilians. They were unlucky enough to wind up here, and I owe them safe passage out. Do you have room for them?"

Finally, a task he could accomplish! The officer nodded, and smiled wide. "Of course! We'll be happy to get them to safety. We can fit a couple others. What about yourself, sergeant? I'm sure you're tired of his felhole."

Our friend shook his head, and slowly rose to his feet. Despite looking dead tired, he began tightening the straps of his armor, and scooped up his helmet from the ground. "Not while my men remain, sir. But..." He looked around. "Edmund!"

The Sais appeared at his shoulder a moment later, quiet as usual. "Our friends here can't get us out. But they can fit a few people. I'm sending our three charges with them, and i'd like you and a man of your choosing to go with. Keep an eye on them until they're absolutely safe."

Edmund, for his part, protested strongly. It had nothing to do with my companions and I, but rather that he felt the same as his sergeant. He did not want to abandon his kinsmen. There was no winning an argument with Wraecwulf however, and finally-reluctantly-he agreed.

The soldier wandered off to find a man worthy of salvation, saying goodbyes here and there to the others. By now, most of the gryphon riders were getting ready to take off again, having off loaded literally everything they could spare to the 323rd-including personal rations and contraband alcohol.

"Best get moving Sir, I don't think the orcs will take long figuring out you blew your load on that attack." The sergeant said, in between sips from a small flask he'd produced from a belt pouch. "They'll be back soon."

A soldier shuffled up to Wraecwulf and whispered in his ear. It was the man who had been sent to check on the mysterious cargo they'd brought in during the day. Whatever he had to say, it evidently pleased the sergeant.

Edmund had returned with his man, who quietly said their goodbyes to their commander. Then they split off to take a seat on a gryphon each. The captain instructed us to make our goodbyes quick.

Drizzick offered Wraecwulf a tiny hand. I had the feeling he disliked Gnomes, but given the situation, he overcame his dislike and took the engineer's hand. "You're 0 for 1 so far. I hope your other contraption doesn't fail us. Goodbye little man."

Cien'wyn offered her thanks and a hug, which the sergeant took awkwardly. "Thanks for the patch up, knife-ears, my men and I appreciate it."

My two friends shambled off towards the gryphons. I was the last man to leave. Wraecwulf offered me his hand, I took it. "Wulf...are you really going to just let them kill you?"

He grinned at me. "I'll certainly try not to, Pine. But odds are they will. Be certain it'll cost them dearly." He let go of my hand, and I backed up a step, turned to leave.

"Remember Pine, those books are all that's left. Keep them safe. And tell the tale of what happened here."

I felt a tear perch on my eyelashes. "I will Wulf. When you get out of here, come visit me in Stormwind. We can finish your tale." A horn sounded in the distance, followed my far away roars.

"I will Pine, I will. Now get the fel out of here before I change my mind and take your seat."

The gryphons took off a minute later. I saw the 323rd heft their weapons and scream defiantly at the broken gates of their fort. The last I saw of Wraecwulf, he was hefting his axe and taking position at the center of their formation. Strangely, the formation was moving forward. And as it moved, it began to shift shape, coming resemble an arrow head.

Our gryphons were gaining altitude fast. Despite that, some arrows found a couple of the beasts. One found Edmund's gryphon, though it remained airborne. The other tumbled and fell, taking the other Sais and the rider with it. Once we were high enough to escape arrows, the captain ordered the men to circle for a time. I observed the final moments of Fort Senlac.

The arrowhead formation began to quicken its pace across the encampment. Orcs poured through the gate, led by a figure riding a massive wolf. Both sides met three quarters of the way to the gate. Wraecwulf's formation cut deep into the orc ranks, but the sheer numbers they faced meant the enemy began to surround them. I wasn't sure what the point of this was. It almost seemed like the men were making for a specific point. The gates, maybe?

Then the world blew up. The camp detonated in an explosion large enough to cause our mounts to falter, and my beard to singe all the way up in the air. I began blinking rapidly. I'd been looking at the fort when whatever it was detonated, and could see nothing now in the darkness. The captain took that as a signal to break for it, and we did. I looked behind us at the flaming wreckage of the fort, and continued to do so until its orange glow disappeared over the horizon.

I don't know where, or when, but Edmund's gryphon died. Though it was a gradual one, and looked at least remotely survivable. I fervently hoped the man lived. For all I knew, he could be the last of his people.

We took a rest stop somewhere along the eastern border of Talador. There wasn't enough time to do anything more than stretch our legs, before we were back up in the air. Long hours later, after the sun was up, we reached our safe haven of Ashran.

Memory after that is hazy. I know I found room and board, and had my cuts and scrapes tended to. After that I remember nothing. I'm sure I found my bed. Cien'wyn told me that I had slept three straight days. Then there was the food. I shoveled it into my mouth as fast as plates could be brought. My companions were no different, and I marveled at Drizzick's ability to pack so much into his tiny body.

As the days wound on, I became a regular at the military headquarters. Every time I would come into the building, the clerk at the front desk would rolls his eyes. Usually he would just answer me before I even had the question out of my mouth.

"I can't tell you any more Mr. Stoutbarn. If anything new develops, i'll make sure you're the first to know. Now if you haven't noticed, there's a war going on. So if you don't mind..."

What he had told me was that the same patrol that rescued us had flown straight back to the fort as soon as we were safe. I assumed the captain of that outfit felt some obligation to go back and save who he could. There was no one to save. The fort itself was rubble, and the human bodies they did find had been burnt and shriveled beyond the ability to identify. Still, they brought the bodies back and held a military funeral for them. All three of us attended, and I can't say I was dry-eyed by the end.

I was also told that apparently Skoggr still lived. That was the worst news of all, and it left me with a hollow feeling about the whole event. And try as I might, there were no new developments. My friends and I decided to head back to Stormwind.

On the eve of our departure, I found Drizzick alone in his room, tinkering with one of his little gadgets. He had been quiet ever since our rescue, and I wondered at that. We were all sad, but he seemed to have taken the whole situation harder than Cien'wyn and myself.

"It was the box, Pine." He explained to me, reluctantly at first. "Edmund had caught wind that the orcs were going to blow the fort, deliver the explosives using one of their tunneling machines. So the sergeant had them steal the bombs."

I had figured, after our departure, that something along those lines had taken place. But why was that the cause of the guilt he evidently felt. I gently pressed him.

"When the box arrived, there wasn't any kind of detonator. The sergeant had been planning something like that since before they even caught wind of the explosives. When we arrived, he figured he had the resources to make his little plan work. Hearing about the bombs only made it easier to come up with something that would go boom."

The little man swiped at his eyes like a sullen child and grimaced. "Remember that other thing I built?"

Understanding dawned, and I gave the Gnome a hug. He choked as he talked.

"I built the detonator, Pine. I didn't know that was what he was planning on using it for!"

It took a while to calm him down, and assure him he wasn't at fault for anything that had happened. When I left him to his quiet sorrow, I had a vivid image of all those shit-eating grins i'd gotten that day. They had all known, except perhaps Drizzick, Cien'wyn and myself. And Drizzick had only assumed they would use the bomb in some other, less self-destructive way.

If suicide could be noble, or heroic, I suppose that would have been a fine example. I found it to be a waste of good men, personally.

Whatever the case, I still have the books and the little totems. I intend on compiling all that I have been told, so that the histories of the Sais and the 323rd can be available. Memories and deeds outlast life, some undeserved. But for the men in Fort Senlac, they deserve that.

Addendum:

This has been added only hours before the first printing of this tale, as new developments have come to my attention. At the time of this writing, it has been roughly three months since the battle of Fort Senlac. I remain in Stormwind, contemplating further expeditions in my future. Those events have made me rethink my passion for studying abroad.

A letter arrived two days prior from Ashran. I recognized the name of the clerk at the headquarters on the envelope. I assume that you, the reader, will find it as intriguing as I did. The letter reads as follows:

Mr. Stoutbarn,

As I promised to let you know anything as soon as I found out, I figured you would like to hear this. I have no word of sergeant Wraecwulf, and as we have not identified him among any of the remains, he remains at POW/MIA status in our records.

But, we've received reports that some orcs in the area of Talador that Fort Senlac once occupied have gotten riled up. What has been verified is that Skoggr the Skinless is dead. Apparently someone went and lopped his head off, then sent it to his underlings.

I hope that brings at least some measure of peace to you. I wish I could tell you more, but that's officially all i'm allowed to tell you.

For the Alliance,

Corporal Barley, 48th Logistics Corps

PS,

Unofficially, rumor has it the head was done up in makeup and a wig. One can only wonder why.

((For anyone who has read my previous Wraecwulf story, you might notice some story differences. This is because the character is largely the same, but this Wulf is a new incarnation of the previous one. His flight from Lordaeron happens much as it did in the other story, although I may rewrite that particular tale. The biggest changes are his former Lord (Was Aelfric, is now Herewald), and an added cultural component I never quite had with the old character. This is just a heads up in case any former readers are wondering at the inconsistencies.))