Disclaimer: If I owned warcraft, why wouldn't I just make this cannon?

Authors Notes: This is Marco Ironflask, and I can almost promise you you've never read a Warcraft fanfic like it. None of these characters are toons I know from the game, or even my own toons-they're all 100% original and unique to this fanfiction. I'm here to tell a proper story, and to do that, I need proper characters... characters I built from the ground up for this story alone.

But I think that's all I need to say about it for now. I hope you enjoy it, and please review!

thanks!

Book 1

How We've Survived

"How do you survive?"

"You become the monster they say you are."

My name is Marco-Marco Ironflask-and I was once one of the certified Beastmasters of Ironforge city- the elite of the elite, so proclaimed my commander, although everyone in my company knew full well that skill was secondary to luck to get that far. Far more skillful men and woman died before they could join the Alliance's foremost defense against the Horde, and we could only be called the best of the best by virtue of the fact that any dead person who could fight better than us probably wasn't on our side.

The light-blue Silithid that was sleeping in front of me was named Tessa, apparently. She was supposed to do all my work for me, in effect. As a beast-master, I had to train it, guide it in battle, tell it when to do what, take care of it, give it support with the rifle, and other such tasks-but she did all the real killing and biting and fighting, I just had to make sure I didn't shoot her in the rear.

Such was the covenant between beastmaster and their beast. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how eager I was to not shoot this strange animal in front of me.

"What's wrong, soldier?" My commander asked, giving me 'the eye'- that same over-the-top cartoonish glare he was fond of giving to those under his command he was picking on. He knew it was less intimidating and more outlandishly quaint, but it was one of the many things that gave him an identity. "Don't like 'er?"

"Well... no. I don't." I quietly defied his expectations, reaching forward to poke at her carapace with the nozzle of my rifle. "I was expecting a hawk, or a bear, like the rest of the Beastmaster's, not... this."

"You should be honored!" He spat, the booze he had just drank not more than a few minutes ago still clinging to his spittle, "This is a very unique animal, brought ta us by our dear ol' general as a trophy from 'er last huntin' trip! 's the highest recognition we can give ya!"

"...you just ran out of bears and hawks, didn't you?"

He leaned forward, his voice suddenly becoming much less robust as he let his rank fall to the wayside. "Yeah, but don' TELL anyone, aye? Specially' not the general, you COULD say we're..."

"Borrowing?" I flatly suggested a word.

"...yeah, borrowing, 'er trophy."

He pulled back and put his facade back on.

"Well! If 'ou 'ave PROBLEMS with this great show of generosity-"

"-Oh, no, no, perish the thought, sir!" I saluted sarcastically. "It's my great honor to accept this overgrown spider as my charge!"

"Damn right. Now... this ere' fella ain't gonna be expectin' you when 'e wakes up, so... you'll 'ave to calm 'er down..."

Joy.

"It's what I'm trained for, sir. Kind of."

To say I was trained to be able to handle this monstrosity was a bit of an overstatement. Hawks and bears? I knew those animals like the back of my hand. They're traditional Beastmaster animals, and we Dwarves are filled with patriotic pride when we get to watch an Orc get torn in half by a giant, pissed-off bear. This... thing, though, would be quite another story... and one fel of a learning experience.

"That's right! Now, unless you have anything ELSE ou'd like to whine about-"

"-No, SIR!"

"...then I'll be on m' way. See ya at th' bar tanight, lad!"

His professional scowl gave way to a stupid grin, flashing what remained of his teeth at me, and chuckling. His entire body relaxed, from shoulders to legs, and with a slight sway in his step, he waved goodbye as he walked out of the barracks.

As a Beastmaster, I'm trained in many, many sophisticated maneuvers and abilities- training that has been reinforced in the battlefield, where failing to perform these maneuvers at a moment's notice would result in my quick, likely painful death. Such abilities include-

-Advanced camouflage to either protect me from being targeted by long-ranged attacks, or for complete concealment against most conventional surveillance.

-The ability to quickly place advanced proximity-triggered traps that have a variety of useful applications in a tight spot on a battlefield

-A powerful leap backwards to put much-needed distance between me and a more melee-focused enemy

-I'm able to will myself into a trance where I could deflect any blow struck at me, for a time

-The ability to fool even the most seasoned soldiers into thinking I've died, with an act so convincing only sustained observation would even hint at the fact that I'm only feigning death.

As one could probably tell, the skills I've acquired are best served when used to keep me from dying. That's probably the best part of my job, as a beastmaster-my goal isn't to kill the most members of the horde, personally. Nor do I have to worry myself with healing others, taking hits for others, capturing flags or anything of that nature. My job is only to survive, so I can continue to direct the beast that creates the real body count.

If you had put a sword in my hand and just pushed me into a mass of angry orcs, I wouldn't of made it as far as I have.

The problem was, none of these life-saving techniques were very useful when it came to taming animals. So I was left to stare at this sleeping creature, sitting on my bunk, rifle resting on my lap, and wonder how I was going to do this.

I didn't know how 'tame' the general had made this beast-was it comfortable around dwarves? Was it only comfortable around the general? Exactly how long ago was this hunting trip? What had it been fed, where had it slept? If I at least had an IDEA, I could work out a strategy, but for now...

She twitched again, and let out a groaning, self-pleased click. I guess it was dreaming. I sighed, and relaxed my guard.

I had no idea how feisty that Silithid was, either. The bunker I was in now, while hardly a place rife with delicates and memorabilia, still had some things we'd rather not find broken in the wake of an angry animal's rampage-naughty posters, some exotic booze we had in storage away from the prying eyes of our commander, more than a few trophies ingloriously scraped off the corpses of fallen enemies... I imagine I'd be skinned alive if any of those should meet with misfortune.

I glanced around- this bunker had been my home for the past few months. The thick slabs of stone that made up the walls and ground were excellent at keeping the bitter, frosty winds out, and reminded me of home, but it was still awfully melancholy. Maybe I was the only dwarf who felt this way, but stone wasn't exactly warming company for the eyes. Between the suffocating white outside and the depressingly bland dullness of gray, being posted here didn't allow for much color to enrich or excite the eyes, except the tattered dark red flag we raised above the gates. The wind lashed at the flag too rabidly to find any grace in the color, however, and oftentimes a curtain of heavy snow prevented anything but the slightest shards of red to peek out.

...looking back to Tessa, I had to admit, it was sort of... invigorating to see such a tropical blue wrapped up next to the hot coals of the furnace. As charming as it was, though, I still couldn't find her presence a comfort. Spiders are scary. Alien spiders like her are scarier still, and what's more, I knew nothing of how to even begin to domesticate such a creature.

She stirred again, and I fumbled to get my gun in my hands- and not a moment too soon, as she released a cranky yawn and began to shake the weariness out of her body. Without a moment's hesitation, rapt with the panic pressing into my forehead, I shot her with a tranquilizing bullet, putting her back to sleep.

"You know," Flo sighed, leaning back on her bunk while she turned the page of her book, "One of these days you'll have to let it wake up."

The tranquilizing bullet, having injected its poison, fell to the ground, making good company with the six other empty tranquilizing bullet shells that cluttered the floor. With a friendly clattering sound, it quickly found its place in their ranks.

"...But not now, I don't."

Since it was a Dwarven camp, it was never so much a question of IF there'd be a tavern in the camp, as much as what it'd allow within its walls. There are tales, whispered amongst the soldiers hungry for the bite of the ale back at home, of camp-taverns overflowing with some of the most intoxicating, nerve-destroying, spine tingling brews ever conceived-ales so potent they double as poisons when not being consumed for recreational use.

Our tavern wasn't quite so legendary- in fact, due to our strategic placing, the strongest stuff you could get your hands on was Thunder Ale- an ale so weak you'd be better served licking the ground at any civilian bar. Although if you were doing that, even dwarves would have to admit you've had one too many.

It was a very humble building- like everything else, it was made of stone, but it was easily one of the most sturdy buildings because it was originally intended to be used as a holding cell for prisoners of war. But now the cages were used to quarantine the drunken brawls that inevitably spawned from our constant boasting and the warden's desk was used as the bar (with the kegs being kept back there as well). The chamberpots were flipped over and used as stools, which wasn't as bad as it sounded as only one of them was ever used in its traditional capacity, although which of the six was a well-kept secret. There wasn't a fireplace, so it wasn't warm, and the tiny barred windows that hugged the ceiling were an invitation for the wind to blow the alcoholic fog away from our bangs as we breathed between swallows.

Seated alongside the bar was what could be called my preferred company within the company: First was my commander, Vyger Anvilthrow, and the one who had given me my special pet. He was a few inches shorter than most dwarves, but he was as sturdy as a cannon. He had flowing orange hair and an ornate yet shockingly masculine beard that shimmered like fresh blood. He was rarely out of his armor, which he always kept polished to a shine, but when he was out of his plate cover, such as now, he made a point of keeping his helmet on- it was a symbol of his command, and a testament to his ferocity in battle. I had said earlier that it was luck that carried most as far as they go-Vyger was the exception.

Beside him was Flo. She was a night elf, so naturally she lorded above us, and wasn't ever especially comfortable on the chamberpot seats. She was gentle looking-sweet and quiet, like a princess. Her skin was as purple as the sky at sunset, and her hair was as richly festive as mistletoe. She had a selfish glow about her: contained within herself, masked to all, but you could still feel it in your eyes as you looked at her... the imprint of that heat, of the light she had locked away. She usually wore a heavy robe and a few jackets to fend off the freezing temperature, but when called to battle, she wore a rather peculiar set of armor (In addition to her Darnassian tabard). She protected herself where it mattered, but when she could afford to, she made a habit of exposing her skin-non-vital areas, such as her hips, shoulders, and butt were largely exposed to the unimpressed elements, and she bore the cold with the grit of a mountain goat. She had a history of proposals, love-letters, and other gifts of admiration from around the camp. They were unrequited.

Sandwiched between Flo and Poppi was Melissa Lingor. She was short, for a human woman, and was only a head or two taller than me, so she didn't look terribly awkward on the seats of the bar. She was a woman bruised-she didn't bear her many battle scars with the pride of some, but simply endured them with the same tired patience of a weary mother. Her skin was dark, her head was shaved, her eyes were as keenly sharpened as the blade of a untested warrior. She wore unrevealing, thick leather, which always had a new patch in it every time I saw it. She preferred fighting as a bear, although she sometimes liked to sneak alongside Flo as a cat.

Poppi Corkcap was at the end of the bar- as a gnome, he was easily the shortest of our group, although he insists he's tall for his race, reaching up to my chin when standing, as he was now. Clean-shaven with a few stray locks of pink hair on his balding head, he was easily the least imposing figure at the bar. His face was wrinkled and well-exposed to the flow of time, and his smile hinted at a wisdom far beyond my comprehension. He was the only one of us to walk into the bar in the same clothing he wore on the battlefield - an elegant robe decorated with a mystical pattern that almost melted off the cloth... colors painted on ice. He was a healer, and like me, he often faked his own death by using his sway over the light to keep his insides barely functioning while his outside was shred to bits.

"So it's agreed." Vyger announced to the group, all four of our heads craned to look over at our leader. "We'd sleep with 'n Orc, Marry a Tauren, and kill a Blood Elf."

"I wanna put it on the record that I'd rather Kill a Forsaken." Melissa interjected, to which Vyger nodded gruffly.

"Aye, it'll be a postscript. Any otha' dissentin' opinions?"

Me, Melissa, and Poppi all turned away and gave it another moments thought.

"Well, I guess I'd prefer to marry a Goblin!" Poppi squeaked, having remained suspiciously quiet during the main body of the conversation. "I'd like to sleep with a Tauren, though~ experience the size difference."

"I'd marry an orc before a Tauren." Melissa amended her previous position some more, her voice growing in thought. "Guy tauren are too... big. Bad for cuddling."

"Um... you know, now that you bring it up, I really like how trolls hips move, so-" I started, but I was interrupted by Vyger's annoyed belch as he finished off his mug of Thunder Ale.

"Awright! Light! F' I'd know ya'll gonna be so indecisive I woulda' stopped alf' an hour ago!"

"Let's just say," Flo concluded the conversation, as was her manner when she tired of them, "We'd sooner kill the lot of them."

"Cheers ta' that!" Our commander soulfully bellowed, and we all finished our drinks- since we were in a mountain range and our supply line had more important things to give us than mugs, we had to bring our own. Vyger and I, being proper dwarves, had antique steel mugs with our family insignia inscribed upon them, weighted with age and slightly rusted from the rich history of drinks contained within them. Melissa used a regular drinking glass, which was smaller than a mug and didn't do much to compliment the flavor of the booze. Flo had a waterskin which she liked having with her in battle she used to hold her drink. Once she let me try how booze tastes when contained in leather- -it was uncomfortable. Poppi, who swore he never drank before he became our friend, used a discarded gauntlet he found on the battlefield- after a blacksmith fixed up the gaps in the plates; it was the perfect size for him.

We passed our makeshift flasks over to the bartender, who took them graciously and began to refill. All eyes were on the man's wounded, scarred hands, and so hypnotized by the humble dignity of his motions, we found ourselves falling back into idle silence for a few moments. The booze in my blood hummed- my tongue ached as I watched each different glass get filled and returned to their owners. When the waterskin was full, thus completing the round, we grasped our drinks, and his hands gave us permission to talk again.

"So!" Poppi started, "I hear you got your proper companion, Marco!"

"It's about time." Flo closed her eyes and leaned over the bar, a malnourished smile growing on her face. "His practice companion wasn't much help in battle."

"It's over! KILL HIM!"

With a unified roar, bound by the thrill of the victory, Mittens sprung upon the ball of yarn with all the ferocity it could muster, snuffing out the last of its life.

"He was a damn good morale booster, though." Melissa lamented.

"Yeah," I continued the original conversation, Mittens capabilities as a morale booster aside, "A spider... thing named Tessa. It's asleep in our bunk as we speak."

"Aye, ain't she a beaut? Brought ere' all the way from Kalimdor, too!"

"...er... I guess a 'beaut' is a way to describe her..." I clenched my jaw slightly to prevent any words I might regret from slipping out.

"Oh? She's in the bunker?" Poppi's eyebrows shot up, and he looked over at Vyger. "Are you sure she's tame enough for that?"

"Don't rightly matter f' she is! She's gonna 'ave to get accustomed ta the cold weather up 'ere- she'll die 'f we keep 'er in the stables! Sides, I 'ave faith in Marco 'ere- she'll be s' agreeable as a puppy when e's done with er."

"His current method is certainly keeping her calm..." Flo almost snorted, managing to restrain herself from actually chuckling at her own joke.

"Oy. You shush." I playfully glared up at the elf. "Otherwise you'll be the first person I practice on."

"Bring it." She allowed herself to smirk.

"...wait, the FIRST person?" Melissa asked, turning to me with a sudden, intense distrust.

"Oh, sure, sure. First Flo, then I'll use her corpse to distract Poppi, and when he's trying to save her I'll 'practice' on him. Then with the healer and the sneak out of the way, you two will be easy to 'practice' on!" I menacingly wiggled my fingers at her while my voice grew progressively darker and mischievous, grinning like a man possessed by the end.

"Oh, stop pokin' fun at the girl." The other dwarf laughed, slapping my back with his iron-hard hand. "We both know Melissa'd eatcha first."

Melissa, who had been on the edge of her seat the whole time I spoke, cautiously eased back onto the chamberpot with Vyger's heavy, heaving laughter, and took a drink from her cup, eyeing me the whole time with a tint of genuine suspicion I hadn't expected to rouse from my little joke.

"But seriously, you'll be careful with her, right?" Poppi continued, "I mean, in the bunker? Light help me, if she ruins one of those paintings, why, I'll... I'll!" he began shaking his fist at the ceiling, apparently feeling it was an antiquate substitution to expressing his anger in words.

"I'll take her outside to train her, don't worry." I reassured the gnome as best I could. "But like Vyger says, if I leave her outside overnight, she'll probably die..."

And that'd be a REAL shame... then they'd have to give me an actual animal, light forbid.

"Alright. I'm holding you to that!"

"You're the last person in all of Azeroth I'd disappoint, Pops."

"'Ey now! Don't be sayin' that in fronta your commandin' officer!"

"You command my body- Pops got my heart."

All five of us politely laughed at our own private jokes, as our feet converse with the straw on the floor

The sun was down, and the stars weren't strong enough to brighten the clouds that enveloped the sky. Outside, the wind whistled, taunting those who escaped the cold it carried, and laughing at those unfortunate enough to be subjected to its wrath. One could barely make out the nearby mountain peaks- heavy black shadows pressed up against the darkness looming over us... almost perfectly camouflaged in the heavens.

Everyone had fallen asleep. The breathing, disharmonious but no less symphonic, reminded me of a thick forest during the heart of summer, but I couldn't really say why. When I closed my eyes, I could see it so vividly- the prickly brush, the crowded trees, the rich, green-heavy pallet, the fireflies bobbing like lures in a river, the sound of a loon in the distance...

And their breathing.

But there was a predator in the forest- its breath was shriveled, edged, and shallow. A strange, omnipresent sound, that followed me no matter how deeply into the forest I retreated.

Tessa's breath.

...It'd take a long time to get used to this.