We of the Order of the Chronicles live beyond Azeroth, even beyond the Outlands itself. We chronicle anything we believe to be historic and worth being written. Here is the second of what will be many of the given stories we at first vowed to never bring to light.

Chronicles of Azeroth #2: Sarkoth's Sting

Written by Hank Garretson

My name is Ghalali. I am a skilled hunter of Ironforge, capitol of Dun Morogh. I was not always a hunter, though. When I was ten years of age, I would spend most of my time with my best friend, Riven. He had a real Hunter's Rifle, which we would use to retrieve our food for, not only ourselves, but also our family. Then, one day, we spotted a massive Scorpid. He was mostly black, but his tail had a poison green tip. I had learned about him from my reading in Anvilmar. Its name was Sarkoth, the most poisonous Scorpid in all of Azeroth. His poison was slow enough you would die slower and more painful than any other kind of death.

"Let's kill it!" whispered Riven. "No! That is Sarkoth! He's quick on his legs, and his stinger will no doubt go right through your chest!" I warned. "Fine," said Riven. "I'll use my best shot!" Riven raised his gun, and loaded his Heavy Shot. He was quiet to cock the gun, but he managed to do so without Sarkoth noticing. Riven aimed carefully, and took the shot. The shot hit Sarkoth through the ribs, but the creature still stood. Sarkoth turned, and charged.

Riven pulled out his axe. "RUN, GHALALI, RUN!!!" He screamed. He went into a defensive stance, and fought with Sarkoth. I ran a reasonable distance from the fight, and hid behind a tree, but not so much I couldn't see what was happening. Riven had strong armor on, so he had good defense. Sarkoth was quick, though. He didn't use his stinger; his pincers did most of the combat. I wanted to go out to get help, but I was too nervous to move. Suddenly, Sarkoth used his stinger to cut the armor off of Riven's torso. Riven's face went from determined to shock. Sarkoth thrust his stinger through Riven's chest. I felt as though I swallowed my heaviest axe, and it caused my internals to sink. Riven stood for five seconds as Sarkoth scuttled away. Then, he fell to the ground.

I ran forward to Riven's side. I tried to tend to the wound, but Riven took my hand. "No," he said. "It is… too late…. I should have… listened to you, Ghalali." "It's not too late," I whispered, tears streaming in my eyes. "I'll go get help. Just hold on." Riven nodded, tears flooding his eyes as mine were, and I ran back to Anvilmar. I spoke to the city's First Aid trainer, Gaialim. He and I ran back to Riven, the snow surrounding him was now as red as the sun at dawn. Gaialim crouched down, trying to find a way to tend to the wound. After several intense minutes, Gaialim stood, with a tragic expression on his face. I knew that it was too late for Riven.

It was a beautiful ceremony. It was held at the western coast of the Eastern Kingdom. Riven was placed in a coffin, and then sent to float at sea for eternity. I paid to have his name engraved onto the memorial in Ironforge, just at the base of the massive statue at the entrance. I then took Riven's rifle, and undertook hunter training. After becoming a master hunter, I took a vow to use his rifle to slay Sarkoth, whom I heard to have fled to Durotar in Kalimdor. Though I will have to be incredibly stealthy in Horde territory, I will avenge my best friend, and pin Sarkoth's stinger to the wall of my home in Ironforge. So it is written, so it shall be.

Though this was written by Ghalali, he died when killing Sarkoth. The two struck each other simultaneously, each blow being final. We of the Order managed to retrieve this piece of information, and it holds an honor as part of the Collection of the Order of the Chronicles.