Warcraft : Shackles of Fate
First off, it may be prudent of me to mention again that while this is a Warcraft story, it is also a crossover with another game. If you can't guess which game it is as the story advances, don't worry! I will give plenty of insight so that it could be just as enjoyable to those who don't know. Good readings to all!
-Prologue-
-Off the coast of Jaguero Isle. Several years after the latest war-
The team of goblins finished assembling together their makeshift flare, the early morning sky still a purplish orange haze from the view of Stranglethorn Vale. No other race could have attempted such a daring feat, nor could any other race even stand the blazing sun and humid atmosphere. In Stranglethorn, even late nights and early mornings were heated from the sun's work during the day. It was the best time to work, especially without the shade of the jungle's tropical trees to cool them.
One goblin, most likely the team's supervisor, shot the flare up into the sky, the dull sizzling sound of the launch preceding the high whining whistle of the signaling device, waking the lethargic oceanic surroundings. For a couple seconds, the vapid skies became alive and bright above the five-man vessel that wavered in the clear waters. Then, it died back down to its usual dark hue. There was a shout from the shore of Jaguero Isle. It was the director of the project, Gazlowe. Gazlowe's client advised that he lead the team directly using his skills in engineering. Flattered and, like all goblins, avaricious, he took Wharfmaster Dizzywig's ship from Ratchet to Booty Bay, hit the island with his crew, and began the job posthaste.
Gazlowe took a mental snap shot of the flare's location and took a glance at his map. He shook his head at his realization of their incompetence; they were too far off to the north.
"MOOOOORE SOOOOUUUUTH!" he shouted, his deep raspy voice echoing out at the sea. Again, the tiny vessel buzzed on and skittered south on calm waters. By the next few minutes, yet another flare shot up. Upon looking back at the map, Gazlowe smiled broadly. It was perfect.
The goblins out at sea saw Gazlowe's look of excitement from where they stood. With several cheers, the five small humanoids suited up for the ocean. They were ready to plunder the great seas. Once geared up, they hopped into the tepid water and began their work. They used their tiny backpack-motors to help them swim easier with their supplies; one of Gazlowe's own designs. They were surrounded all over by an assortment of fish, colorful craggy rocks, coral of many types, and the overlaying bluish tinge of the ocean's tropical waters. The sight of the striated fish and wonderful aquatic life would have seemed astounding to perhaps a human or gnome, but to a goblin, it was just another day of work. That and gold.
The supervisor led the group, the lamp attached to his helmet illuminating the darker depths. He paused for a brief moment, taking the time to point at the destination. The others gave him a thumb's up. As long as they didn't take too long, their oxygen tanks would save them from asphyxiation. And this particular job wouldn't take too long. Using Gazlowe's newest development, a special stone that slightly resisted gravity although stronger on certain parts of the world, they would finish in about an hour. Just the other day they had transfused those special stones into the opposite side of their destination, farther south of the island. Compared to that time, this was cake.
The supervisor fluttered about when he reached the destination. The others behind crashed clumsily against the walls of rock that soon surrounded them, sending them scrambling frantically as several boulders tumbled where they should have been. It wasn't unusual for a goblin or two to die during their arduous, and sometimes abusive, jobs. Still, they pressed forward, marveling for just a second at the giant heap of rock before them. It looked like a chunk of earth jutted from the ocean floor. Almost like an underwater island. The most mysterious aspect of it, though, was the impossibly enormous oval "covering" of the crag. It was the same color as the rock, but it made a different noise than the rock when knocked on, or so the goblins noticed. It spanned nearly three times the size of Jaguero Isle, from what they remembered, possibly the size of southern Stranglethorn Vale.
Taking out their tools, they fused in the stones, melting rock and ore. After an hour of utter hardship, it was complete.
Gazlowe saw their heads pop from the sea, bringing yet another great smile on his goblin face. In the time it took for the small engineers to drive their vessel back, a sound of internal implosion rang in their ears. Soon the sound became liquid, the sound of water being pushed aside. The same giant crag with the oval dome over it rose up from the water's surface, rising and leaving its slumber in the ocean. Streams of seawater gushed down from its sides, sounding like giant waterfalls. Gazlowe and the team of engineers cheered and whistled as the underwater wonder drifted not just afloat, but into the air. It hovered above water, the view so magnificent, the goblins couldn't keep their eyes off of it. The bottom of the crag was like an inverted mountain, only smaller and less steep. It was by far larger than the island they stood on, which was fairly spacious. The mysticism didn't stop there. The dome on top seemed to absorb the light from the sun gradually. But instead of a dry rocky appearance, it began to turn translucent, like a thin bubble around the floating island. Was it magic? They really did not care at that point. Soon enough it vanished completely, revealing a landscape like never before seen. It was even more beautiful than Stranglethorn's jungles and rainforests. Live animals actually flew around, unknown plants and trees covered nearly all of the top surface. It was like a whole new world, a new continent. Sort of.
Each goblin shook each other's hand in acknowledgment of their great accomplishment. And for the very handsome rewards. Their client, according to the head engineer, was very mysterious indeed. Never heard of the person. Zeba, Seeja . . . her name was something along the lines of that. She didn't even see him in person, sent a satyr in her stead. It wasn't easy keeping a straight face in front of a humanoid demon creature venturing to Ratchet. She was probably a witch of some sort. But did it matter? Gazlowe just unearthed one of the greatest wonders in all of Azeroth. Not only would he be famous, he could also set up shop on that floating isle for when adventurous souls entered; a natural goldmine. But untrue to his nature(and for all goblins for that matter), he still couldn't stop wondering; why would such a lady ask them for such a job? And how did she know it existed?
-Chapter 1-
Stormwind, sixteen years after the last war. The streets were lit with the fires of elaborate Alliance torches again, carried by well-armored soldiers. The clatter of steel boots marched on and out of the enormous capital city. Aligned and in perfect order, the honorable men and women set out to battle once again. Nervous townsfolk stood outside the doors of their homes and at their windowpanes to see exactly what the commotion was about, cold and silent with fear. Some knew exactly what was happening.
The mighty army stood in their tracks upon order. Their commander, a rather muscular middle-aged man with a short red beard exposed through a gleaming silver helm looked back at his men with a look of incomprehensible bewilderment and fiery espirit de corps at the same time. He unsheathed a mighty sword and pointed it skyward. His men did the same.
"For the Alliance!" he yelled, ardor seething from his very voice and onto his faithful troops. The very next second, the soldiers were shouting, throwing armored hands into the air as they cheered.
"For the Alliance! For the Alliance!"
Those cheers in turn empowered the battle-weary commander, who wasted no time in the defense of his hometown and capital. The bandits, or outlaws, whoever they were, had done quite a number this time around. But enough was enough. For them, death was inevitable.
Each time they invaded, it was done in espionage, denying the Alliance of any clues as to what their intentions may have been. The oddity of their unsuccessful raids, though, was that each one appeared human. In these times, members of the infamous Horde would be suspected of such treacherous. But even more so ruling out the Horde was the manner in which they infiltrated the great city. Yes, there were casualties each of the three times, yet no deaths reported. These thugs were quite skilled . . . and merciful. Definitely not Horde-like. And here they were again. This time, they brought more friends along, and they didn't look as merciful. Whether Horde or any other kind of enemy, they had to be stopped at all costs. And more importantly, their cause brought to light. There was nothing more lethal than getting struck in the back in pitch darkness.
They came at them, dagger-wielding, leather-donning hoodlums who thought they stood a chance against enchanted armor and swords and shields. Against men with years of arduous training. It would be a one-sided onslaught. Yet, something about their weak numbers and poor equipment cried out to the Stormwind commander like the waking of a night terror. There was something greatly amiss.
In mere flashes of moments, swords met puny daggers evenly, the bandits falling by the third and fourth strikes. They fell like rodents against agile panthers, acting as if decoys. The mighty leader paused as his troops created minced meat out of the makeshift army, surveying the surroundings with distrusting eyes. There were additional elite guards within the walls of Stormwind, each backed up by the greatest of spell-casters in all the Alliance; no one was getting inside tonight. Yet, he was uneasy.
In the several seconds it took to wipe out the foolish outlaws, a slightly larger legion materialized from the horizon, darkening the orange-red hue of the sunset. They were equally equipped with the same armaments. They were sliced and pierced in the same manner, emitting their cries of pain.
"Commander Alheid," came a voice from the fields behind him. It was his second-in-command, Roy Hines.
"Speak quickly," Alheid demanded, his voice swift yet soundly patient.
"The enemy forces are falling quickly, but surely you've noticed the wave of attacks?" The sergeant looked quite distressed beneath his still-youthful features, a look that wasn't too different from the one Alheid wore. "We've received reports from messengers of Northshire stating the same is happening there. What should we do, commander? Do we remain and continue to defend the capital or do we call in the elite guards for the defense and help Northshire?" Alheid did not answer.
The commander's eyes sharpened as he witnessed the cause of the never-ending forces. Each corpse on the field vanished after a set amount of time, quickly followed by another thug approaching from the horizon. An arcane spell of trickery so finely crafted, it made it hard to even notice the disappearance of the bodies. Even as he noticed it, Alheid raised his weapon and turned to Hines. They meant to just slow them for a brief moment. He was sure of it.
"Listen carefully, I need you to hold off the battle out here against these outlaws. There is something I must see to in Northshire. Don't let them pass the city gates!" The young sergeant had sparks of doubt in his eyes, but still he nodded solidly and replied with a "yes, sir". The stand-stilled battle ensued.
"Sir," Hines blurted before Alheid took off on horseback. "What shall I tell His Commandership?"
Alheid paused and thought about the newly crowned hero and leader of the Alliance and couldn't help but sigh. He was young, dashing, and inexplicably diplomatic and strategic; a perfect leader. Yet, he acted slowly at times, as if he had motives for every action. The respect for him was definitely there, though. A lot has changed since his ascendance.
"Tell His Commandership and the National Council that I have a hunch what these bandits are looking for lies in Northshire."
-Jargoload Mine, due south of the Alliance capital.-
The sun had finished casting its final rays onto the tanned, rugged land of Jargoload Mine, a savior to the miners within. The bromide-induced miners threw their picks onto the supply carts with sighs of relief, their sweaty bodies in need of long hours of baths and rest.
"G'night, Ralph," said a dwarf miner, his accent thick.
"Same, Vulmer," replied the mid-aged human man, a tired smile on his weathered, dusty face. "Think the wife has a special banquet planned for you tonight?"
The dwarven miner smiled just as tiredly back, shaking his head. "Oh, but of course! Mi'lady always has a banquet waiting fer her ol' hubby!"
The two waved their good-byes, the gruff man moving over toward the stream nearest to the mine. He knelt down beside the calm currents, took handfuls of the stream's clean water, and splashed some on his face. With a brief sigh, he looked up where the valley met the dry, orange sky, a sight that greeted him nearly every day. Always serene, the view lingered in his mind for hours every time, reminding him somewhat of the past. Except this time there wouldn't be that moment of blissful reminiscing. Several figures moved speedily along not too far from the stream, an oddity completely out of the ordinary. Not just the movement of one, but many, breaking the humdrum custom and startling him to his feet. Furious to the point where he had to mutter darkly to himself, the older miner placed his right hand on a weapon he was too familiar with. The sword gleamed from what was left of the departing sun, halfway out of its hilt.
Ralph squinted, viewing a rather nostalgic scene of several horse-back riders, probably merchants, stride past in a hurry. If that was the case, he'd have no need to worry. However, his assumptions changed when he saw their pursuers; a small brigade of knights. They charged angrily after them, hollering dark words at the brigands as they headed off east toward Twilight Grove. Ralph enjoyed his share of the old "knights versus bandits" cliche, but he couldn't involve himself, not anymore. Not at his very ripe age. And the fact that he was told to look after the boy . . .
He gazed for a moment off at the distance near the shore, noticing with tight unease the boy and his goblin companion. Both of them oblivious to the scene, they wandered the shore and disappeared off like before. And thankfully, so did the knights and bandits. If there was anything he wanted more in the world, it was to keep the people he loved as far away possible from the desolate ideals of being a hero in the army. That and to move to one of the many gorgeous islands in Stranglethorn. Regaining his mellow mood again, he silently cursed the nobles in Stormwind for causing such commodities. A young lad as ingenious as Xadek's should not be exposed to such things. Yet, all that those filthy politics knew was how to stir up things for the sake of their selfish desires. In fact, he'd bet fifty gold he didn't have that those bandits weren't even so bad, probably trying to make a living through the diminutive ray of hope they so hung on to. Things haven't improved since that new council assembled either. Ralph was probably the first to admit, though, that the war before that occurred sixteen years back was, indeed, a horrific one. As grateful as he was to the knights, it didn't change his perspective on them as a whole. Plus, the conflicts only died down for a bit. Lately, there was gossip spreading of how rogue agents infiltrated the capital after dusk, and how the Horde planned to secretly plot Stormwind's demise from the inside using those rogues. Some even spoke of a sharp rise in the demon population to the far north. It was all rubbish. Those damn fops with their pretty clothes and pretty armor only meant to ignite more tension for their greedy agendas. He'd seen it occur plenty times before.
Ralph found himself taken by surprise when he heard raging shouts off in the distance. Did it have something to do with the outlaws? The rioting sounds were coming from up north, where the town of Northshire stood. But there were no longer just shouts, but screams and cries of agony echoed through the valley. He felt his stomach tie into knots at the thoughts that began to fill his clouded mind. However, the very next thought that came to him was that of the boy. As the shouts intensified, he broke out into a run toward the two boys. He found himself picking up speed as the sounds of metal on metal rose to a screeching pitch in his ears; at least the guards were lasting. What in Azeroth was going on in Northshire? Did it have to do with those bandits running off? Those questions would have to remain unanswered. He had to help. However, what scared him most was that Xadek was in town to meet with some elfin representative. There wasn't time to think, just act.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
It was getting way too dark and both the human and goblin had been working on the report nonstop for hours that day. The shores off of Westfall were ideal for concentration for studying the heritage of goblins as a whole. And there was always Chappy to help fill in the blanks. Chappy groaned, not content that he finished.
"Why do we have to leave now?" he complained, his raspy goblin voice normally irritating to the average folk. "I was on a roll here! There was also the engineering revolution and the discovery of alkaline modulators."
"Chappy, I've got to get back and take care of things back at home." The human boy wore a look of amusement. He was sixteen years of age, but he had the mentality of a young man. "I really appreciate all this, though."
The goblin nodded, his toothy smile as broad as his face could stretch.
"My pleasure! Helping out a friend is good for business."
"Heh, right," the boy said. He had gotten so used to Chappy's quirks, he never bothered to ask what he meant. After all, he grew up with the goblins, the pleasant creatures quickly becoming his good friends.
"You're welcome to stay over, you know," said the boy, "Xadek wouldn't mind."
"Sure, that sounds like a deal."
He rolled up the project that nearly took them all day. It was on goblin history, so Chappy was the best candidate for it. He was also a good con artist when the need arose. The assignment wasn't due for another whole week, so he had time to spend meanwhile. Perhaps him and Chappy would travel up to Stormwind again.
"You know," the goblin began, "you should really think about becoming an engineer. Has great perks and is highly in demand!"
"Thanks, but no thanks. You need to be good at inventing and marketing for that. Besides, you already know what I want to do." His face became a bit more solemn, if not slightly irritated. "The only reason I'm taking engineering classes is because of my father and uncle."
"Still trying to be a Paladin?" the goblin shrilled wryly.
"Shhh! Don't tell the whole world!"
"Oh, that's right, sorry," he apologized, "forgot your uncle hated them."
"I don't care! One day, I'm gonna be one, just like my father!"
"Incoming!"
At the goblin's warning, the boy hushed, noticing a worried Ralph running in their direction. He wore a look of what seemed like distress. Then again, he trained his eyes on him like a hawk whenever his dad told him to look after him. He probably saw a makruka somewhere off shore and panicked.
Not long before Ralph reached them, they heard what most likely startled him. There was yelling and screaming and, worst of all, dying. He heard it all.
"Is there some kind of play in town I don't know about?" the boy asked nervously.
"I don't think that's what it is," said Chappy with a frown.
"Jedo, Chappy!" his uncle called out. He was out of breath and quite fearful, a look he hadn't seen on his uncle's face ever. It terrified him.
"W-What is it?" Jedo questioned, wiping his hands as he got off the sandy bank.
"Listen to what I say and don't disobey me!" he began, his rugged face wrinkled with fret. "You must go to Saldean's Farm and remain there with Annie. Don't move from there until I return, understood?"
"What's happening?" Jedo shouted, a fiery look in his eyes. "Is something wrong in Northshire? What happened to dad?!"
"Nothing happened to your father! There seems to be a riot up in town, so I'm just taking a look-see. Just to make sure. Don't forget, I used to . . ."
"Yeah, yeah, used to be a soldier," he finished. "But I want to go! If Dad's in danger . . ."
"Out of the question! Your father told me to make sure you were kept safe. Besides, he's a general in the militia of Stormwind! He can very well take care of himself."
Jedo nodded his head, the flaring anger still visible in his eyes.
"Trust me," the uncle said with a forced smirk, "it was probably just a bunch of hooligans at worst. Your father and I will make swift work of them."
Jedo forced a straight face and even managed not to say anything.
"I'll be heading over to Stonefield Farm to borrow a horse. I'll be back before dawn, okay Jedo?"
Without waiting for a response, Ralph dashed off until he became a small dot on the horizon.
"Damn!" shouted the boy, his instincts gripping him and screaming. Something was not right. Hooligans? It sounded more like another country was invading. And it couldn't have been the Horde; Jedo knew that the borders around Alliance territory were heavily guarded with the exception of the farmlands. There was an even larger guard down on the contested territories, like Stranglethorn just south where he stood. In other words, this was a completely unexpected attack by unknown people.
"Um, Jedo," Chappy finally said, afraid to disturb Jedo's thoughts, "shouldn't we head south to the farm, like your uncle said . . . ?" The reply he got was just as he expected from the overzealous and angst-filled adolescent.
"No, I'm not running. I'm sixteen already! Many of my friends are already enrolled to be knights and paladins. I have to prove to them that I am worthy of being one. I've practiced endlessly, but still they act like just a child. It's in my blood!"
"Ugh, but we could sneak off to Stormwind and enroll you again, like last time."
"And I'm still here studying how to be an engineer!"
The goblin ceased to sway his resolve. He had a very mature way of thinking, but it seemed when it came to his idealistic thinking, he was actually very naive.
Chappy sighed in a defeated tone, his shoulders slumping down along with his arms. "Looks like I'd better bring the ionic malachite scopes."
