Hello! Welcome to the third installment of the Delroy Chronicles! This one will probably be the longest out of the stories I have planned, as this is supposed to span the entire Cataclysm expansion. I'm also playing with a new story format, so please tell me what works and what doesn't work for you! I would love to know! If everything goes as planned, every chapter will be from a different sibling's point of view.

It would mean so much to me if I got some feedback from you guys about anything! From formatting to dialogue to a scene that may (or may not) work! Or just a word of praise! That works just as well!


My Dearest Sister,

Darkshore certainly lives up to its name. It's dark, cold, and utterly destroyed. I was told, when I arrived, that it was much worse a month ago. They had it pretty much handled up north, so I was sent to the southern half, with many other of our countrymen, to assist in a refugee camp outside of the ruined town of Auberdine. I arrived there first, as many of them got drafted for other tasks along the way.


The whoosh of rushing water filled Ammon's ears. The rogue peered down his nose at the swirling dark water with distaste. He'd heard reports that the land was broken, and even witnessed it back at Lor'danel, but he wasn't prepared for it being literally shattered this far inland. His disgruntled gaze darted about the cliffs across from him, seeking a way up, and spotted a ramp-like formation in the rock about ten yards downstream from him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered irritably, hoisting his waterproofed bag higher on his shoulders and braced himself. "Why can't anything be simple for once?"

With that last complaint, he threw himself into the water. The shock of the cold stole the breath from his lungs and he gasped for air. Teeth chattering, he forced himself to swim towards the cliff. His gloved fingers scrambled for purchase on the slimy rocks and, for an instant, he was afraid he would be swept away with the current. Relief flooded his heart when his fingers found the edge of the 'ramp' and he scrambled out of the freezing water. Ammon took a moment to regain his breath, pushed his soaked bangs out of his face with a shaking hand, and clambered to his feet.

It was only when he got to the top that he realized that he was on an island and that the water on the other side looked just as cold.

"Fuckin' hell!"


One cold plunge later, Ammon found himself jogging along the path towards a small grouping of bright purple tents. These had to be the refugees. One of the elves—a female with short magenta hair—hailed him when he got close enough.

"Are you here to help us?" she asked on a warm voice, the voice of a priestess.

Ammon nodded. "Aye."

Her weary features softened in relief. A small smile graced her lavender lips. "That is wonderful news! Come, sit with us while we discuss what needs to be done."

Ammon nodded again absently and followed the she-elf, settling into a place as close to the meager campfire as he could. There was shuffling behind him as some of the elves joined him, including the priestess who pressed some bread and water into his shaking hands.

Despite that he wasn't super famished, he still took a bite out of the slightly stale bread and a swig of the cold water. He observed the small camp, taking note of the tired droop in their posture. A grunt of pain brought his gaze to an injured Sentinel sitting gingerly across the campfire from him. The priestess from earlier knelt beside her and moved some of the armour covering her dusky purple skin to expose a bloodstained bandage covering her upper thigh.

"It's looking better, Selarin," the priestess sighed, gathering up a glowing ball of golden magic and pressing it to the wound. It started to close and, with another spell, healed all the way. The priestess tossed the bloodied bandage into the fire and pulled out a roll of clean linen out of her robe.

"Thank you Alinya," Selarin murmured, lifting her leg a little to ease the process some. Her face twitched uncomfortably as the priestess pulled a little too sharply on the bandage. Her glowing silver eyes flickered to the human rogue watching them and a hard edge tightened her features.

"You're here to help, yes?" She asked briskly. Ammon nodded, setting his face into a politely neutral expression.

"Good." Selarin jabbed a finger to the dense forest on the other side of the path. "What's left of Auberdine is just beyond there. The Twilight's Hammer summoned elementals to keep us from reclaiming our dead. Kill the cyclones, take their bracers, and cleanse them in the moonwell. I don't expect you to retake the city alone, but we need you to soften them up while we heal."

The rogue blinked in surprise but nodded his agreement.

"That will not do much if the summoners still live," a deep, soothing voice added. Ammon glanced up at a silver-haired elf as he rounded the fire. His aura combined with his armour told Ammon that this one is a druid. The druid's golden gaze flickered between the rogue and the downed Sentinel before it settled on him.

"There are three Twilight's Hammer cultists that are responsible for the elementals. Upon further investigation I discovered their identity. They are Cloudtamer Wildmane, Windmaster Tzu-Tzu, and Skylord Braax. If Sentinel Selarin and her forces have any hope of reclaiming their home, they need to be slain."

Ammon nodded yet again and stood. He stowed the bread and water in his pack and glanced around the camp.

"If that's all of your requests, then I will get started. I will be back shortly."

He paused, waiting for someone else to speak their request, before jogging down the branching path towards the city. He passed a wandering refugee on the trail and pulled up short when the city revealed itself to him. His heart ached at the once inhabited town, destroyed by an obviously violent upheaval.


Auberdine... was truly in ruins when I got there. It reminded me eerily of Duskhaven when it fell into the ocean, just without so much water. There were cliffs jutting where they shouldn't be, collapsing so many buildings, and trenches that were filled with water. The few buildings that still stood housed the Twilight's Hammer cultists, the ones responsible for summoning the air elementals. Let me tell you, Joanie, they were tough bastards to take down. I don't know how someone can kill beings made out of air, but I did it somehow.


Ammon heaved an armful of the elementals' bracers to a familiar ring of stones, grunting under the effort. He dumped them right outside of the large stones and shook his burning arms out.

"Gold," he grumbled under his breath, snatching up a pair and tossing them into the glowing water. He watched as they sparked up a bright bolt of arcane magic and bent down to retrieve another pair. "Why in the ever-loving hell do air things carry bracers made of enchanted gold?! These buggers are heavy!"

He ignored the sting of his injuries—all minor enough be cured by one of his healing potions—and concentrated on throwing the heavy bracers into the moonwell. When his pile finally dwindled he took a moment to glance around. A good portion of the town was cleared of elementals, courtesy of him and some of the others that were sent with him. He noticed that a good portion of them were worgen, intermixed with a few night elves. He'd already taken care of the hard part—killing the cultists—and he turned back towards the camp to report back. As far as he was concerned, he was done. The others could clear out the remaining elementals.


It's odd to see our people do the Alliance's bidding with the utmost humbleness. Even odder to watch the elves accept us with open arms, as if they weren't responsible for the Curse in the first place. Speaking of curses and such, I was sent to Archdruid Malfurion after I reported back to the refugees. He'd apparently heard of my presence in the area and needed my skills. He'd taken it upon himself to keep the land together as best he could... with a giant cyclone... You'd probably understand more, but it made no sense to me. Anyway, he needed the help of three 'humanoid' leaders to keep the twister up. It was... interesting... to say in the least...


"Sooo... You want me to take this totem and..."

The short bear-man gave him an impatient glare. "Sooth the fire elementals' remains. Bring it back here when it is full, human."

Ammon lifted a brow and examined the softly glowing totem. To him it looked like nothing more than an intricately carved plank of wood decorated with twine, beads and feathers. He could sense the magic in it—it felt rather cool—but he was still confused on how exactly he was supposed to 'sooth the remains'.

A bear-like roar tore Ammon out of his musings and he immediately tucked the totem in his belt. With a weary huff, the rogue ran out to engage the fiery blobs of conscious fire.

It didn't take him long to figure out that he merely needed to touch the totem to the elementals' bracers—again golden; What was with elementals and gold?—and the magic would do the rest. The rogue tried his hardest to kill them quickly. The ground was covered in cooled lava that still radiated heat like no tomorrow; many of the trees caught in the area were going up in flames like tinderboxes. Ammon wished that he had armour that let his skin breathe better; he was cooking in the Gilnean leather. Not to mention that the leather of his gloves and the soles of his boots were starting to burn.

Dancing over the black patches of lava, Ammon engaged the last elemental he felt he needed. He kept his feet moving to avoid burning holes through his boots, slashing and parrying the elemental's attacks with his twin daggers. He still had no idea how he was doing damage to it but soon enough it howled in agony and dissipated, leaving only its flaming golden bracers. With a tired sigh, the rogue tugged the totem, now thrumming with magic, out of his belt and prodded the metal with it. Almost immediately the flames were doused and the totem hummed louder with the intake of fresh magic.

Hissing at the uncomfortable heat in his soles, the rogue swiftly picked over the dead earth. He hummed in relief when he felt the cool grass beneath his feet and jogged over to the furbolg camp. Ammon was tired of dealing with the elementals and he was eager to move on.


Malfurion had apparently recruited some other adventurers to his cause while I was dealing with the furbolgs. The other two 'leaders' were already with him when I showed up with Elder Brownpaw. One was one of those 'moonkin' that you were telling me about back in Darnassus and the other an Ancient. They were waiting for a green dragon to be freed, I was told, so I stuck around to see it.

Bloody hell, Joanie, those things are HUGE! The thing just zipped out from out of nowhere and landed right next to me! I was told that her name was Thessera. I didn't get a chance to ride her, though. The bugger that freed her got the chance to deal with the other dragons (there were MORE of them circling above me and I didn't even notice!). Malfurion sent me ahead to the Grove of the Ancients, promising that he'd send the other Gilneans to assist me when they came through. It starts getting stranger from there...


Ammon huffed as he clambered out of the water for the millionth time that day. He glared at the rush of water just below him as he squeezed water out of his drenched hair.

"'Help the Alliance', they said! 'It'll be fine', they said! Bloody prats, the lot of 'em!"

The rogue kicked a small stone into the rapids and turned away, clambering up the rocky cliff with sore fingers. He hissed as a slight breeze stung the exposed parts of his skin with a biting cold, wishing more than anything to curl up next to a warm fire within the next half hour or so.

After only a few minutes of walking Ammon stopped short, gawking at the sight before him. Where the rest of Darkshore was dim and muted hues of green and brown, this area bloomed with health and bright hues of green and purple. He followed one of the purple leafed trees and discovered that they weren't trees at all, but rather Ancients frozen in place.

"Must be the place," he murmured, glancing up at the small patches of sky above him. "Just in time. Sun's setting."

With a sigh, Ammon trudged on, his pace faster now that he's so close to that warmth. He barely spared a glance to the hippogryphs penned outside the ring of Ancients and rushed inside. His heart sunk when there was no campfire set, only a pedestal holding a small brazier. With an irritable huff, Ammon slunk to it and started to pull off his gloves to warm his hands.

"Are you the rogue Archdruid Malfurion sent ahead?" one of the elves asked and he nodded absently.

"Yeah," he muttered, flexing his fingers to try and regain feeling in them. "Said something about talking to someone named Balren of the Claw."

"That is me," the elf replied and the rogue glanced up, noting his long, deep blue locks. The elf looked him up and down, a furrow angling his long brows. "Are you well?"

Ammon sighed. "Cold and tired. Nothing sleep and a warm fire can't cure."

Balren gestured to the immediate area. "Anywhere is a good place to camp."

The rogue nodded, grabbed his gloves from where they sat near the brazier, shuffled towards a relatively clear spot near one of the frozen Ancients and settled down on the slightly springy ground. He worked on peeling his wet armour from his body and, after several minutes of struggle, set them off to the side while he worked on getting a proper fire started. He was struggling with his technique when a guttural voice burred at him from out of the darkness.

"Need help with that?" The voice revealed itself to be a male worgen dressed in muted blue robes and Ammon eyed him suspiciously. The newcomer snorted, shrugged off his own pack, and shook back his sleeves. "I've got fresh meat I'm willing to share if you're willing to share your fire. How 'bout it?"

Faced with the prospect of getting a fresh meal, Ammon nodded his acquiescence and sat back on his heels. "Fine by me."

The worgen gave him a slightly startled look but waved his clawed hands in the air. A bright ball of fire materialized in his hands a moment later and he shot it into Ammon's rough pile of wood. The rogue flinched back when the pile splintered everywhere, many of the pieces caught in flames. The elves around them hissed in disdain and glared at the pair as the mage dashed around to extinguish the small blazes. Ammon pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, noting that what was left in the makeshift fire pit was merrily crackling away.

"Sorry, sorry!" the mage whined, sounding much like a kicked puppy, "Didn't mean to make that happen!"

"What did you think would happen?" Ammon said in a tight voice, though a bubble of entertainment threatened to rise out of his chest. "Truly you've done this before with similar results."

The worgen sighed and dropped heavily across from him, a fierce frown on his lupine lips. "Aye... But I thought I had the power just right this time!"

The rogue searched his companion's features for a long moment before rolling to his feet. "No matter; no harm done. The fire needs more wood before it's hot enough to cook on."
"Right!" The mage hopped to his feet again, "I'll gather some more firewood!"

Before Ammon could utter another word the worgen bounced off into the dark woods. The rogue exchanged a wide-eyed stare with one of the elves nearby and set to gathering the smoldering remains of the wood pile. It would make some use as fuel until the strange worgen came back.


The mage's name was Orrin and he was as truly strange as he sounds. He was back quite quickly, a bundle of sticks under one arm and a nasty claw wound on the other. He'd apparently run into the infected bears roaming the area and barely made it out whole. The meat he provided was well worth his incessant questions though, so I was happy.

Some others made their way there near dawn, much to the relief of the elves there. One pair was sent off to search for the source of corruption in the area. A priestess was sent off with Orrin to go assist the furbolgs, which left me to the assignment Balren gave himself.


"Rogue," Balren called, beckoning Ammon over. As the red-head strode over, he noted that the elf had something clutched in his large orchid-hued hand.

The druid gestured to the southwest, the direction Orrin and his quest partner had taken just moments before. "We've noted an increase in Twilight's Hammer cult activity recently, which means something is terribly amiss. They worship beings that are known as the Old Gods, or Old Ones by some, and the Master's Glaive is a place where a corpse of something related to them lies." Balren pressed an amethyst coloured figurine into Ammon's hand. "Take this and spy on their activities; this figurine is enchanted to keep you hidden from most of them."

Ammon looked at the small yet heavy gem feline in his hand. "Enchanted how, exactly..? Shouldn't my own abilities be enough for this..?"

"Perhaps, but we cannot take any chances. Go, before we lose this chance!"

With a grumble, Ammon tucked it into his hidden belt pocket and spun on his heel. Without another glance to the assembled elves, he marched out and down the road.

It didn't take him long to traverse the worn cobbled path, especially when it abruptly ended right as he got to where he needed to go. Ammon wrinkled his nose at the broken path jutting awkwardly out of the earth and turned his gaze to the monsterous... carcass that was slowly but surely being unearthed. The rhythmic tink-tink of the pickaxes chipping away at it filled the air, punctuated by the occasional grunt or sharp voice. Ammon wondered how exactly something like that could get there.

Sighing through his nose, Ammon pulled the figurine out of his belt and examined it in the dim light. It resembled a feline, much like the nightsabers that roamed here, and thrummed with infused magic. He hummed in intrigue and prodded it, just to see if that what was needed to activate the magic.

"Brilliant. Gave me the bleedin' thing but never bothered to tell me how to use it when I got there! Great idea, druid, give the rogue that doesn't have a smidgen of magic a thing that needs magic to activate! Do I need to be closer or what?"

Ammon took a large mocking step towards the pit and yelped when his body shifted and changed. He stared in absolute disbelief at the shadowy paw that was just his right hand and lifted it to his face to examine the very feline pads on his paws.


I don't know how you do it, Joanie, be so damned comfortable with your body changing its shape into one that's not yours. I'm still in shock. Is that how it felt when you first shifted your shape back in Gilneas?

After that, the recon mission was quite dossy. I only had to avoid these...things that didn't have eyes. They, somehow, could see me, as I learned when one of them came after me. They are really, really creepy to look at.

Anyway, what the Twilight's Hammer was doing was digging up a herald of the Old Gods, Soggoth the Slitherer. At that point I had to report back and, after I told them what I had overheard, sent me back out to go seek out this camp of dwarven archaeologists to see if they had more information. Of course, I had a certain mage tailing me...


"Ammon! Wait up!"

The rogue bit his lip to restrain an exasperated groan and turned to watch Orrin's charge through the trees. The mage's robes had more damage to them than they had that morning and Ammon could make out the distinct patterns of magically induced wounds on the cloth. His deep brown fur seemed a little dustier but his brown eyes danced with life.

"You need somethin' Orrin?" the rogue called when the worgen was close enough and he got a lively snort in answer.

Orrin slid to a stop in front of him and got to his feet. "I got done with the furbolgs and was just coming back when I saw you leaving. I wanted to go along with you and asked what your assignment was."

Ammon gave a short nod of understanding. "So you know what information we need to collect?"

Orrin grinned and one of his ears folded. Ammon thought he looked like an overgrown puppy; cute but a little dim. "Something about a Soggoth. Well, we can't keep everyone waiting, can we?"

The rogue sighed and waved for the worgen to follow. The mage easily kept pace, chatting about anything he could think of to Ammon's growing annoyance. At the very least the worgen kept his voice low as they trudged close to the Twilight's Hammer camp.

"How old are you?" Ammon finally asked as they got to the shore and turned south, more to derail the mage from his current topic than anything.

"I just had my twenty-fourth winter," Orrin said, as if he was ready for the question.

Ammon lifted a crimson brow at that. "You seemed much younger..."

The worgen laughed at that. "Many say that. It's my optimism and my 'bouncy' qualities, isn't it?"

Ammon hummed in agreement. He gave his companion a sidelong look and asked, "How can you remain so..."

"Happy?" Orrin interjected, his smile dimming slightly at the word. Ammon nodded.

The mage sighed and stopped entirely. The rogue paused himself after a few steps, turning to the suddenly pensive worgen. Ammon realized that he may have broached on a topic that had a deeper meaning to his companion.

"Someone has to be," Orrin said after a weighty silence, giving Ammon a serious stare. "With everything that has happened to us; the Night of Affliction, the breaching of the Wall, the death of our prince, the fall of Gilneas... Someone has to bring some light to people's lives. Otherwise we will fall into despair and, if that happens, everything will be lost. We would loose our will to fight, to live, and then we'd be nothing more than rotting lumps of meat. I've seen it before, when my father lost his business and ran away from it at the end of a rope. I made a promise to me mum that day to stay positive, no matter what happened, and then she wouldn't have to lose another beloved to her.

"My advice to you, Lord Delroy, is to look for the good in everything. I find that, if you keep a positive mindset, things won't seem as bad. And it'll be easier to find joy in circumstances that are otherwise not."

With that, Orrin gave him a small smile, turned and trudged on. Ammon watched him go with a perplexed look on his freckled face; he had not expected the lively mage to have such a deep philosophy nor recognize him. With a start, Ammon realized how far away his companion was and sprinted to catch up.

"I'll keep that in mind," Ammon informed Orrin when he caught up to him. The worgen gave him a bright smile in answer.


"Hail the camp!" Ammon called out when the figures of the dwarven archaeologists came into sight.

"Hail!" one of the dwarves answered, waving a broad hand in greeting. "Are ye here to help wit' reclaimin' this here excavation?"

Before either of them could answer an angry gurgling had them spinning around. Ammon had to dance to his left as a spear struck the ground right where he'd been.

"What the-!"

Orrin shot off a ball of fire and struck a frog-fish-like thing in the side, stunning it. A fierce clicking near Ammon's feet caught his attention and he danced back as a bright blue crab snipped at his ankles. He huffed and kicked it as hard as he could, sending it sailing out of sight just as Orrin finished the other creature with a blast of arcane magic.

"What was that thing?!" Orrin panted, staring at the smoldering remains of the viscous creature with a look of horror.

A bleat of laughter came from the camp as they cautiously approached it. One of the dwarves was using one of the only wooden tables as support as he guffawed.

"Those?" he choked out, wiping fat tears from crinkled grey eyes, "Those be murlocs. You better git yerself antiquated with them! They be your next assignment!


I can tell you with the utmost confidence that I bloody hate murlocs! They are the most viscous, annoying things that have ever walked on this earth! They never attack alone either! They either have a pet, one of those crabs, or they bring three of its friends over to kill you! Orrin and I had a hell of a time trying to clear the excavation of them for it to be useless in the end!

Orrin went back to the Grove to report what the dwarves had told us while I stayed to help them. After the murloc thing, it wasn't too bad... They deduced that the reason why they were there in the first place was because the giant tidal wave wiped out their homes... So Archaeologist Groff had me collect driftwood and such from the beach and build them homes. I'm just thankful they decided I wasn't a threat anymore after that and let me go freely.

The most fun I had was when Archaeologist Ferd had me find and collect the fragments of this ancient device that hadn't made it in the tidal wave. He had me use this machine that could detect metal and I dug wherever it sensed something. This device was connected to the Titans, a subject I really want to learn more about, and when it was all put together showed us a really brief image of a being. I want to assume it was one of the Titans, but I really don't know.

They sent me back then, as they had no more work for me there. It didn't seem like it, but a lot more time had passed than I thought. It'd taken me all day to do the archaeologists' work and, by the time I got back, it was nearing evening. A lot had happened while I was gone...


"Ammon!" Balren shouted in greeting. There was an urgent look in his citrine eyes. "You've made it just in time!"

"In time for what?" the rogue replied cautiously, his hands slipping to the hilts of his daggers.

"Your companion has retrieved what we needed to stop the Twilight's Hammer here!" The elf pointed to where the Master's Glaive was. "They were forced to hasten their ritual and only summoned naught but a remnant of Soggoth! We are needed to help destroy it!"

Ammon's shoulders slumped at the prospect of more work but he straightened out as resolve retook him. He rolled his tired shoulders and popped his neck.

"Well, when do we leave?"


The battle was already in progress when Balren, Ammon, and several others arrived. Ammon gaped at the amount of tentacle-things—as he so eloquently calls them—in the pit. The huge red-tinged one beating on one of the largest Ancients he'd ever seen was the one that seized his attention, more specifically the small-in-comparison worgen darting around its feet.

"Orrin," Ammon breathed and he sprinted to join his side, ignoring the warnings Balren shouted after him. One of his countrymen was in danger and that's all he cared about.

"I was wondering when you'd get here!" Orrin laughed as he readied another spell, shooting it at one of the smaller tentacle-things charging towards them.

"Well, you know how murlocs are!" Ammon shot back, launching some of his throwing knives at it and grinned when it wailed in pain.

"Too true!" The mage shot off another fireball and watched the monster fall over, clutching its burning chest. "But, quite frankly, I'm getting real tired of this rubbish!"

"You don't say." Ammon widened his stance when the ground shook. The big red thing had driven the Ancient down to its knees and was striking its leaved head. "I hope you have a plan to take that thing down!"

"I do!" Orrin pulled out a very ancient looking horn and took a deep breath. A great ringing peal sang out of it a moment after, giving many of their enemies pause. A few moments passed with no change. Just as Ammon opened his mouth to suggest another course of action when the earth started to shake, a deep rumbling accompanying it. Fear gripped his heart and he looked wildly around him, hoping against hope that it wasn't what he thought it was. Movement caught his eye and the rogue spun around to gape at the herd of Ancients barreling towards them and, more importantly, the big ugly thing.

Orrin whooped from beside him, releasing a short victorious howl and slapped Ammon's back. "I told you I had a plan!"

"So you did," the rogue replied as he watched the Ancients slam into the red tentacle-thing and tear it apart. "So you did. You didn't need my help at all."

"Maybe not," his newfound friend quipped, a wide grin on his lupine lips, "But it was fun, right?"

Ammon glanced up at him and a small smile slipped onto his own lips. "Very."


It turns out that it was the Ancients that ringed the Grove of the Ancients that came to our aid. I should've seen it coming, but it was quite the sight seeing the otherwise benevolent beings tear that avatar from limb-to-limb. They left as soon as he was dead and were back in their frozen state when Orrin and I got back. To my surprise, Balren had a letter waiting for me. It was sealed with Stormwind's official seal and that was why he held it for me instead of leaving it in the Void for me to retrieve later. Well, that's what he said the postman had told him, anyway.

It was from Tess. She wrote that Cerd was making some progress but he wanted to see me as soon as I could manage it. I'm sure he would've written you if not for your duties to Prince Anduin. I may ask to peruse the Royal Library while I'm there, just to see if they have any information on the Titans. They intrigue me, Joan, more than any other subject I've heard of. Perhaps I'll find some of my answers there. I'll write when I find something interesting or when I'm back on the road. Whichever comes first I guess.