The sharp talon dug deep into his shoulder, piercing plate and flesh. Chromwell winced in pain, but quickly recovered and swung his axe in retaliation. A wicked grin revealing rows of razor sharp teeth spread across the beast's face as it narrowly dodged the powerful swing. The grin immediately vanished as Chromwell masterfully used the momentum from his previous swing to follow up with an even deadlier arc.

The young drake roared in pain as Chromwell's axe penetrated its rock-hard scales and dug several inches deep into its now exposed skull. The creature vigorously reared its head from side to side in desperation, but the determined warrior only tightened his grip and forced the weapon deeper into the bloody laceration. The wyrm's acidic blood sprayed onto Chromwell's exposed face, burning him severely; however, this only fueled his rage.

With a ferocious howl, he removed his trusty mace from its holster while maintaining his unyielding grip on the axe. The dragon's reptilian orbs nearly bulged out of their sockets as it became aware of what his opponent was planning. It writhed uncontrollably, but to no avail. Chromwell relentlessly sent blow after blow into the great wyrm's skull while it howled in agony. As the beast began to give way, the Warbringer decided to put an end to the battle.

With an alacrity matching some of the most agile rogues and hunters of Azeroth, he swiftly reholstered the mace and tore the axe out of the wound. Using the head as a catapult, he launched himself several feet into the air and brought the axe over his head. With a bloodthirsty roar, the rightfully titled Supreme Warbringer brought the axe down with every ounce of his insurmountable strength. It easily tore through the supposedly indestructible scale and fragile flesh like a piece of weathered cloth, reappearing on the opposite side of the fallen wyrm's neck.

Chromwell landed on his feet, followed shortly by the drake's severed head and a shower of blood. Casually strolling back to his companions, he let out a hearty chuckle and exclaimed, "I want to see one of you scrawny humans do that!"

The famous redneck paladin, Freehorse, ignoring his comment, replied, "Ya'll better keep it down, Chrommy, that was just a sentry. The Infinites are bound to send more after they reali--"

He suddenly fell to the floor, gripping his neck. He began to thrash about as if he were choking, but Chromwell could perceive nothing superficial causing his suffocation…

And then it hit him.

"Spineless sorcerers, show yourse--" but before he could finish his challenge to the hidden Infinite Agent, he was afflicted by a much more fatal spell. His armor suddenly felt unbearably heavy. His weapon slipped out of his hands as he fell to the ground. He could sense his life force being literally torn out of his physical shell as his mind began to dull.

Right before his vision gave way, he saw a tiny figure appear before him, chanting some sort of spell. However, before he could witness the miniature wizard's incantations come to fruition, he blacked out…

After what felt like an eternal slumber, Chromwell's eyes slowly opened. His gaze was occupied by the same tiny figure. At first, he thought it was just another gnomish caster. However, further inspection revealed peculiar reptilian like features found only in one ancient race…

Dragons.

The tiny figure squealed, "Aah, you're finally up! I was beginning to think you'd never come to."

As if she could read his mind, she dispelled his uncertainties, saying, "Don't worry about your friend, he was just hit with a silencing curse. I lifted it like a feather! He's still asleep, so keep it down a bit."

Although she said this gleefully, Chromwell realized she was no ordinary spellcaster, even among dragons. Before he could further contemplate this, she continued speaking, this time in a graver tone.

"You, however, weren't so lucky. I'm surprised you're even alive. You were afflicted by a rare temporal spell designed to literally tear one's life force to shreds by significantly accelerating the speed at which he or she ages."

As she said this, Chromwell reached for his face. His eyes widened as her claims were confirmed. His skin had become severely wrinkled and his eyes had sunken deep into their sockets. His once thick, fiery mane had thinned and grayed awfully; however, to his relief, his world renowned beard, although now a light gray, remained unharmed. The dragon mage handed him a mirror, with which he further inspected his face. His once radiant emerald orbs had become dull, almost lifeless.

She continued her explanation, saying, "I tried my best to reverse the spell, but the agent must have put everything into this curse. I could barely even counter it; like I said, you're lucky to be alive."

Chromwell gingerly put the mirror down and lethargically dropped back into the bed. Was it over? Could he even fight anymore? How much older could he possibly be? As he mulled over the situation, the tiny sorcerer shouted, "Don't tell me you're going to just give up, even after I found the culprit!

As if the spell had suddenly been lifted, Chromwell shot out of the bed and reached for his faithful axe and mace.

Raising the weapons into the air, he bellowed, "Who did this to me so I can tear his heart out!?! I'll murder him if it's the last thing I do! I'll kill every last one of those infinite cowards! I'll rip them all to shreds! I'll—"

"Keep it down, can't ya see I'm trying to sleep here ya god damn midget!?!" snarled the now awakened Freehorse.

"Everyone, please, just—"

"What did you call me? I'll rip your throat out you dirty bastard, you know I can't stand that!"

"I wanna see you try, you little fu—"

"SILENCE!"

The entire room seemed to freeze in place as the dragon mage summoned a small fraction of her power to stop time for a split second. Aware of this, Chromwell and Freehorse immediately hushed.

"Now, as I was saying, I managed to trace the curse to the culprit. It seems the caster responsible was an Infinite Chrono-Lord known as Epoch. At the moment, he is trying to disrupt the timeline by killing Arthas during his culling of Stratholme. I need some seasoned veterans like you," she nodded at Chromwell and Freehorse," to get in there and stop him. Otherwise, there could be dire consequences; much more dire than that curse, Chromwell." With a slight smirk, she added, "Think you're up to it, old timer?"

Chromwell readied his weapons as if he was going to strike her, but instead, grinned and replied, "What're you waiting for, lassie? Let's have a portal to Stratholme, I don't have all day."

Freehorse, as if showing approval of Chromwell's decision, nodded solemnly, and readied his gear. The delighted mage clapped her hands together excitedly, and began to recite an invocation in an ancient language unfamiliar to the adventurers. Accordingly, a concentrated sphere of magic immediately appeared and began to swirl before their eyes. It eventually transformed into a portal, through which they could clearly see a rural village.

"I'll meet you on the other side with further instructions," squealed the dragon mage. They nodded in affirmation as they stepped through the portal, vanishing from her sight. She immediately opened a new portal for herself; however, she briefly hesitated to enter it. Under her breath, Chromie muttered, "I sure hope the old timer's up to the task…"