World of Warcraft
The Siege of Uldaman
Chapter 2: Into the Darkness
Blackrock Spire, a month earlier…
Smog Clawsmasher gazed out into the night sky just outside of the halls of Blackrock Spire. He felt the cold wind breezes from high up brush up against his grey skin before replaced by the rising heat from the Burning Steppes below. He sighed as he scratched his black beard idly, staring off at the Redridge Mountains in the distance to the south.
Smog Clawsmasher was a lieutenant of the Blackrock Clan Orcs. Amongst the Dark Horde, he was considered one of the most ruthless, the most deadly of his class. Even the Black Drakes admired his ferocity and tenaciousness in battle. He was compared to Orc leaders such as Orgrim Doomhammer, Rend Blackhand, even the mighty Gul'dan himself. He was proud of the fact that he was considered so highly by his superiors, though he was even more proud of all who he had killed and murdered in order to get this high in the ranks. Being a Blackrock Orc wasn't without its trials, though it was probably more so if you had to deal with murderous and ambitious Black Dragonflight as well as having to kill hundreds of Dark Iron Dwarves in order to be expected to go far.
Smog sighed, taking out his sword from the sheath in his back. He stared admiringly at the blade, gazing at its polished surface as it reflected the moonlight. Smog had managed to snatch the blade from a dead Dark Iron Dwarf just before murdering the Dwarf's vengeful mate and kinsmen. The Dwarf must have been pretty high in the ranks in order to get so many of his kind to fight in his name after his death. It didn't matter to Smog; as long as the blade replaced the damn peon axe that he had carried beforehand.
Smog heard footsteps behind him. Sheathing his sword, the Blackrock Orc turned around and looked into the entrance of the great tower of Blackrock Spire. Standing in front of him was another Orc, wearing the signature armor of a Lieutenant similar to Smog's. The Orcs saluted each other, and Smog waited patiently as the intruder of his privacy began to speak.
"Overlord Wyrmthalak has summoned you, Clawsmasher," the Orc said, "He says it's urgent. Something about your next assignment."
"Good," Smog said, "It's about time that damn bunch of scales gave me something to do around here."
The other lieutenant didn't reply in agreement or disagreement to Smog's remark. Though Smog was a great warrior, the reason why he hadn't ascended further into the ranks was mostly because many of the Black Dragons believed that he should remember his place. That didn't stop Smog's hatred for the winged lizards, however, and it certainly wouldn't stop him now.
The other lieutenant led Smog down the steps back inside Blackrock Spire. Much different than the outside of the chamber, the inside of Blackrock Spire was always hot, a dry heat that made its way through the halls and chambers of the mighty fortress. The darkness in the Spire was always pervaded by a glowing red light, one that seemed to remind all about the frail and unstable state of the mountain under the fortress's feet. Dark Iron architecture seemed to shine in the stones throughout the fortress, a reminder of the original masters of Blackrock Spire before the Black Dragonflight and the Orcs of the Dark Horde took the fortress for their own, with the promise that the rest of the mountain would soon follow.
Smog walked alongside the other lieutenant as Orcs of many ranks saluted the two officers. Smog nodded his head to them all, thinking smugly to himself about how short of a time it was when he was just like them, and how his ambition kept him from remaining as one of them. Smog knew that, while the Black Dragons appreciated the alliance between the Dark Horde and their Dragonflight, the Orc peons were little more than disposable trash able to be sent to and fro in battle; sent throughout the lands with little care about what happens to them. This, coupled with his hatred of the Black Dragonflight, was what fueled Smog's ambition to become a high ranking officer, so that he could show them all that he wasn't going to be disposed like some Black Whelp too stupid to be considered a worthy Drake.
Smog straightened up as he and the other lieutenant entered Overlord Wyrmthalak's chamber. The mighty Dragonspawn's back was turned as he tended to what Smog immediately recognized as Black Dragon eggs. Smog knew that Black Dragons were very touchy when it came to guarding their young, especially in egg form. Nefarian, lord of the Black Dragonflight, desired more than anything to create an army of Black Dragons that would be able to sweep across the earth and destroy all that the other Dragonflights, as well as the mortal races, held dear. Part of it was inspired by his father's memory, seeing as Deathwing, the former lord of the Black Dragonflight, had similar goals in mind before he disappeared after the Second War. The mighty dragon lord had commanded that his highest ranking individuals, mostly Dragonspawn, were to guard these eggs with their lives. Anyone other than them caught anymore than three yards from the eggs would be slaughtered and fed to the whelps that hatch when the eggs were ready. Smog had seen it happen, and he didn't intend to get any closer than necessary.
Smog and the other lieutenant stood and saluted, holding their position as the Black Dragonspawn continued inspecting the eggs, almost completely oblivious to their presence. Smog was very tempted to say something to get the beast's attention, though he knew that the Dragonspawn had felt their presence long before entering the chamber. Experience and common sense told him to hold his position and remain silent. Many a peon had met their untimely death at the hands of the Overlord and his kind by simple lack of patience and brainpower to stay quiet.
When the Dragonspawn finally turned, Smog got a good look at the beast's face. The creature stared at the two for a moment, before returning the salute, his tail thumping on the ground in mild annoyance. Smog relaxed; privately glad that he didn't have to stand like that any longer. He may have been a lieutenant, but next to one as high ranking as an Overlord one might as well consider themselves a peon and save the accusers the trouble of mistaking them for one to begin with.
"Smog Clawsmasher," the Overlord said, his voice mixed with the guttural growls made by the vocal chords of all Dragonspawn, "Your success has attracted the attention of many high ranking officials amongst the Dark Horde and the Black Dragonflight. You should be proud, for we have a great and secret assignment for you sent in by Nefarian himself. Are you interested?"
Was the Overlord kidding? To have an assignment requested by the head of the Black Dragonflight himself? Smog may hate the Black Dragons, but he knew that there was always reward for obeying their orders, especially when they came straight from the head Wyrm himself. Such an honor was given to only a select few, mainly those of the highest rank. To be treated in such a way…
"Absolutely, Overlord," Smog said, saluting the Black Dragonspawn to show his enthusiasm. Wyrmthalak snorted once before continuing.
"News has come from our spies that the Dark Iron Dwarves have received information about a recently discovered Titan City, far to the east in the land known as the Badlands," Wyrmthalak said, "Our spies report that they seek an interesting artifact called the Discs of Norgannon, said to contain information of some kind that could involve the creation of an army of living stone. Nefarian is interested in this artifact, as acquiring it may ensure that we will not only stop the Dark Irons from acquiring new forces, but gain some for our own armies as well.
"However, evidence claims that the Alliance and the Horde also have knowledge of this object. Our evidence points out that both groups are on their way to try and retrieve the Discs, and that they and the Dark Iron Dwarves have been fighting to get this artifact at all costs. However, Nefarian sees that the Discs of Norgannon do not deserve to be the property of these...unworthy mortals. Do you agree?"
"Absolutely, sir," Smog said. He agreed with the Dragonspawn's logic. Any item worth having loses its worth at the hands of the enemy.
"Here's your task," Wyrmthalak continued, "You are to take five of our finest warriors, and three great Black Drakes. The nine of you are to make your way to this Titan City—this…Uldaman—and capture the Discs of Norgannon for yourselves. If you find Alliance or Horde members with it, you must steal it. Any hostiles in the area must die for the glory of Nefarian and his Black Dragonflight! Am I understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!" Smog said, saluting once more.
"Good," Wyrmthalak hissed, "I took the liberty of selecting your Drake partners for this task. They shall be ready soon enough, but you need to get your own men yourself. Be quick, or be dead."
"Yes sir, Overlord." Smog said, wary about the Dragonspawn's words.
"You are dismissed," Wyrmthalak said, "Leave this place. I have eggs to attend to."
Smog obeyed; his conversation with the Overlord over. Questions began to fill his mind about this strange place, this Uldaman that Wyrmthalak had spoken of, as the Black Orc left the chamber and made his way to the nearest barracks in the Lower Spire. Though he didn't care about ruins, he did happen to hear stories spoken by the Drakonids in Orcish (the Drakonids being drunk enough to say almost anything) about the glory that was the Titans, and how these mighty beings had helped shape the world into what it was today. If that was true, then whatever artifacts that they left behind, as dusty and old as they were, would prove to be very valuable in the hands of almost anyone. These Discs of Norgannon, for example, would be very valuable to the mighty forces of Nefarian, but priceless under the eyes of Dark Iron Dwarves.
They'd probably give enough money to buy Blackrock Spire—no! The whole of the Burning Steppes! I would have a fortune in my hands, Smog thought.
Smog admitted to himself that, while he was ambitious, he wasn't all too loyal. His hatred to the Black Dragonflight was just an example of how he disliked the current leaders of his kind. However, he could care less about the forces of Rend Blackhand, whether he had control of the Blackrock Clan or not. No, Smog's ambition went beyond any ties to his race, as did his hatred. True, he had no liking to the Dark Iron Dwarves, but should, somehow, the Black Dragonflight discovers the Discs in pieces, and if some of those pieces somehow managed to get into the hands of the Dark Irons…
Smog would get filthy rich and promoted all at the same time! What's more, no one would be the wiser. Sure, there were the three Black Drakes to deal with, but that could be easily done. Dragons may have long lives, and they also may have protective armor and flaming breath, but no one, not even a Demigod, is immune to a blade to the throat or poison in one's food. After all, dragons aren't immortal. His choice of soldiers under his command wouldn't be a problem; Smog happened to have an inner circle of warriors fanatically loyal to him, as all lieutenants in the Dark Horde did.
Smog made it to the Barracks, addressing the names of his most loyal Orc Warriors. He had complete confidence that he was going to succeed with this plan. The prospect of having a lot of money, a chance to find a means to leave the Blackrock Orcs and their Black Dragonflight allies, was too great a temptation to overcome. Perhaps with this much he could find a means to produce his own army, or even buy his own fortress. He'd love to see the look on all the faces of those who were once his commanding officers when he managed to create an army big enough to pound on the doors of Blackrock Spire and be considered a sizeable threat to the entire Black Dragonflight and Dark Iron Dwarves combined!
Smog shook his head and sighed. His mind was getting a bit carried away at the moment. For now, he would focus on the present; finding his men, getting suitable gear, rendezvous with the Drakes and flying east to the Badlands. From there, he would find the so-called Titan City, and then get the Discs under the noses of them all.
This should be easy enough, Smog said to himself.
Present day…
Brock wasn't exactly in the best of moods. Who wouldn't be when they had to go side by side into battle with a stinking Undead?
Brock didn't exactly like the idea of working with the Horde. It was bad enough that King Bronzebeard requested him to help explore Uldaman, a city underground and away from the fresh air and sunlight of the outdoors, but doing it with members of the Horde was something beyond his job description. Sure, he didn't mind the Horde, but he preferred them at a distance, one where they wouldn't cause problems and trouble…
…or, in the Forsaken's case, where Brock couldn't smell them.
Thor wasn't in a good mood either. Being a bear, his natural instinct of hunting prey was aroused at the smell of carrion, though the fact that the Forsaken was a walking and living piece of overripe meat was upsetting for the big Grizzly bear. Brock had to keep a close hand on Thor's harness just to make sure that the bear didn't try and attack the Forsaken, mostly because Brock was afraid that the Forsaken would bite back.
Brock had eyed his fellow teammates earlier before Prospector Darian sent him and the rest of the team into the gigantic tomb-like city. The leader, a strapping young man by the name of Tyrian Stormbreaker, was a Paladin under the direction of the Church of the Holy Light. He seemed like a good enough guy, though Brock could tell that, despite the man's military record, he was still, strictly speaking, wet behind the ears.
The Night Elf was a different story. The guy looked like any average 30-year old male, but could easily have been older than all the redwood trees in Dun Morogh. Brock could see that, seeing as all elves were once immortal beings, this guy could easily have much in the way of wisdom. However, while some would say 'don't judge a book by its cover,' Brock could easily have also said, 'don't judge the beast until his insides are cooked.' He would rather have the Night Elf out of his way instead of guarding his back unless he knew for sure that he was worth his salt in skill.
Brock next eyed the girl; the priestess. She looked alright; her figure was enough to probably make even the Forsaken back there eye her in ecstasy. Brock also knew that he could trust her if she came from the cathedral. Once, he had been gravely wounded after trying to take out, of all things, a Furnace Salamander cow while she was trying to protect her eggs. Thanks to the Priestess that came by, an angel he wanted to call her, he could at least say that he still had skin instead of the tremendous scar that would have formed as a result of the third-degree burns he would have suffered.
The final person in their group was a Mage of the Kirin Tor. Brock knew this fellow; he had helped King Magni Bronzebeard once back in Ironforge. His name was Garadin, if Brock could remember correctly. Garadin was an expert in mostly Pyromancy, though his arcane expertise extended beyond his preference to fire magic. Garadin was a trustworthy fellow, even though he…lacked in social skills.
Brock then began to look over the Horde team, who had decided it was best to stay at least a yard or two to the left of the Alliance team. The first of their group was an Orc. Brock couldn't say that he didn't mind Orcs; that would be lying. However, he didn't seem to think of this one as a bad sort. Then again the Orc didn't even speak, much less give Brock a chance to make an opinion of the green-skinned warrior.
One of the two Tauren, the Shaman, was walking beside the Orc and conversing with him in low tones. Brock knew from experience that Tauren weren't a bad bunch…if a little overzealous of their loyalties. Tauren in general were like Night Elves in the sense that they felt one with the earth. However, their loyalty to the Orcs and their Horde made it so that few Alliance individuals managed to see their good side over the raging bulls that they could be in battle. It was a good thing that the Tauren weren't deciding that the Alliance members were enemies right then and there; Brock didn't like the prospect of the mess they would make.
Towards the middle was the Tauren Druid girl. She didn't seem so bad; the Cenarion Circle were legendary for accepting members of both races, and having those members easily become friends just as easily as if they were a part of the same race. Brock could see, however, that the Tauren female was more used to open-air environments. The way she glanced at the walls and the ceiling, one would think that she was in a tight box the way she was acting. It proved just how innocent she really was. Though Brock didn't mind innocence, he knew that it would get her nowhere once she was needed to help heal the wounded.
The Forsaken guy…gave Brock the creeps. It wasn't just that he was undead and his stench carried from all the way at the back of the party, but he was also a Warlock. Brock had seen Warlocks amongst Gnomes back at Ironforge, and he knew for a fact that messing with demons was no way to go. He wasn't a real servant of the Holy Light, but he knew enough that meddling with demonic powers was frowned upon by almost everyone in the Alliance, and for good reason. Some of them still carried the scars of the Third War across their shoulders…like himself, for example.
The Troll didn't seem too bad, but he was secretive. The fact that he was a rogue was an obvious explanation to his behavior. Brock had heard stories about how Trolls used to cannibalize and had blood sacrifices made for their heathen gods. Though the Darkspears; the Troll tribe belonging to the Horde; hadn't eaten anyone in years, it was still enough for Brock to give suspicion.
"How much farther until we reach the city?" Brock decided to ask aloud.
"I thought we were already inside of it," the Night Elf said aloud.
"We're only in the main entrance hall," Tyrian said, "Dig one isn't far away from us. The main city extends just beyond it."
"The sooner we get there, the better," the Orc said, speaking for the first time since he had arrived outside of the gates, "I want to get this over with as soon as we can."
"Don't we all?" the girl, Kara, said aloud.
The teams remained silent for a while once they made their way through the first dig. Tyrian and the Orc called their teams for a halt so that they could gather what supplies they needed from the dig sight. Brock and his bear, Thor, made their way over to one of the farther areas, examining a bunch of boxes that should have contained food.
"I wood'ent touch 'dat if I was you."
Brock turned around. The Troll stood behind him, his arms hung down from his shoulders and hanging awfully close to a pair of daggers in his belt. Brock mentally made sure that his knife was nearby in case if he needed it before he replied back.
"Why's that, lad?" Brock asked, "Is there somethin' wrong with it?"
The Troll came closer. Thor growled. The Troll stopped at first and raised a hand to signal he didn't mean any harm. Brock reached up and stroked the bear's hide to calm him down, and backed away to give the Trolls some room.
The Troll made an interesting sight as he came up to the boxes and began sniffing about like an animal. Though Brock would have to admit that the Troll looked comical, he knew better than to say anything aloud. From all his time hunting, Brock knew from experience that anything with a nose could easily sniff something out no matter the distance. Given the fact that Trolls have noses as big as Brock's hand, he assumed the Troll knew what he was doing.
Finally, the Troll stopped, backing away from the boxes before fingering his nose as if to get rid of the smell. "Just as I d'ought," the Troll said, "D'ere's some kind o' fungus growin' on 'dis. Food go bad. No good ta' eat. Make poison dinnah."
Brock got what the Troll meant. The food inside of the crates must have grown bad and rotten over since they were left here. Poison fungus would have to mean some kind of mold or mushroom growing on the food.
"Thanks for warning me," Brock said hesitantly, "What else can you smell. Anything good in here?"
The Troll took another sniff, poking around and pawing at the different boxes.
"Not'ing 'ere," the Troll said. His ears suddenly rose. "Wait a secon'…"
The Troll pushed aside several boxes and crates, causing a ruckus as he did. Brock did his best to help him reach his goal by tossing some of the boxes aside. Even he could smell now how bad the food was. Thor just glared at the boxes that landed near him once before pawing them away, disgust etched across his snout.
"'Ere we go!" The Troll reached back and heaved as he lifted a big barrel from behind the crates. Setting it down on a table near a tent, he brushed off the dust before he sucked in a big whiff from the outside of the wooden barrel. This time, Brock knew for sure what was inside of it; any dwarf could recognize that smell even if it was in a marsh!
"Ironforge Beer," Brock said aloud, "She smells as if she's about four decades old!"
The Troll took another sniff. "Five decades," he said, "I tasted Dwarf beer b'fore. 'Tis good stuff."
"Good stuff?" Brock said, grabbing a couple of mugs from the pack strapped around Thor's back, "It's the best, lad! You'll find that you don't get quality stuff like this over in the Horde's ranks, that's for sure. Here; wet yer' whistle."
Brock filled both mugs to the brim of the stuff. Handing one of the frothing drinks to the Troll, he happily struck his mug with the rogue's before taking a big gulp of the brew. The Troll did likewise, moving the mug past his tusks as he swallowed down a portion of the brew.
"You know," Brock said as he leaned on the table, "I've just had a premonition. This is the first time I've actually sat down to have a drink with a Troll."
"Not mah first time drinkin' with Dwarf," the Troll said, "Explorah League make many trips to Azshara b'fore. Mah name's Narzan."
"Mine's Brock," Brock said, "My walking carpet over here is Thor. Raised him as a cub. Don't mind his growling; he doesn't exactly warm up to strangers too fast."
As if to emphasize Brock's words, Thor growled once more. Brock and Narzan looked up as they suddenly noticed that they weren't alone.
"Quit fooling around," the Forsaken Warlock growled. His voice sounded like rasping sandpaper. "We didn't come here to get drunk."
Both Brock and Narzan stood silent and watched the Undead trundle off. They both looked at each other, at a loss for words.
"Dat's da first time I hears 'im speak," Narzan said.
"You know, no offense to the Horde, lad," Brock said, "but I still can't understand why you have those guys on your side."
"Me neithah," Narzan said, "Dey all smell funnay ta' me."
"Now that I can agree on," Brock chuckled, draining the rest of the beer in his mug.
Caggar rummaged through some old maps left behind from the League's evacuation of the first dig. Hidden inside of an old, worn down tent, the maps were the only means of navigating within the depths of Uldaman for the ten adventurers. The maps were dusty and worn down, and were written in the tongue of Dwarves of all things. Nevertheless, Caggar was an expert of deciphering different languages; even those he had never heard or read before. The good thing was that, should he feel that he couldn't understand a word or two, he could ask the Dwarf, Brock, for a translation.
From what Caggar could see, the map was based upon what the members of the League explored and dug through before sending in their expedition into the deep tunnels. According to the map, several hallways spread out from the main entrance into the city, and from there they circled about until they came together to form a complete circle, near the area hastily marked "Dig 2 site." Whether the note was made before or after the discovery of Troggs deep inside of the Titan city was to be seen.
"Wise Bladehoof, I wish to converse with you."
Caggar recognized his native tongue of Taurahae instantly. He spoke without looking away from the map. "What knowledge do you seek, young Tauren?"
Selvan Ashenfur walked up, running her fingers through the leaves in her hair in her nervousness. "I fear this place," she said, "A stench of death reeks through here. The absence of life chokes me, and what life I can sense is perverted and transformed out of darkness. I cannot connect to the Earthmother in this place."
"Strange," Caggar said as he ran a stubby finger across the map, "It would appear that my connection hasn't wavered since we left. I suppose it is because of your Druid powers. It is odd that the Elf hasn't felt it yet."
"Either he has and does not speak of it," Selvan said, "or the Alliance has poisoned my powers."
"Come now," Caggar said, straightening up and looking into Selvan's deep green eyes, "You are of the Cenarion Circle. How could you say such words, especially since these people are to be our allies?"
"Forgive me," Selvan said, "I have been…paranoid of late. The Forsaken, Necrus, speaks very poorly of these people. His words must have rubbed off on me."
"Pay no attention to that pile of bones," Caggar said. He looked up as he heard Necrus' voice in the distance. The Forsaken was chiding the Dwarf, Brock, and the Troll assassin, Nerzan. The two of them were leaning against a table, sharing a drink of something from within a barrel that sat next to them.
"I think I shall join those two," Caggar said, noting their two companions, "Perhaps a drink can clear my mind enough for me to figure out the puzzles that lay ahead of us."
Selvan bowed her head in respect as the Shaman made his way out from beneath the ruined tarp of a tent. As she watched Caggar go, she turned in the direction of their leader, Gamar Rookfist. Perhaps he could enlighten her about their current situation. Any talk that could distract her mind from the closeness of this place was good talk.
As she left, she didn't notice the pair of empty eyes that looked between her and the tent she left behind.
Gamar stared at the long hallway that led into the Titan City. The fate of hundreds, perhaps the fate of the world, lay just beyond the rocks that lined the walls, floors, and ceilings of the tremendous cave. Just beyond a dusty atmosphere, he could see the checkerboard floor that was the lobby to the great city of Uldaman.
Somehow, he knew he wasn't going to like this.
Gamar remembered when Thrall himself addressed him for this mission. Thrall had chosen Gamar of all others because of his early accomplishments back in Ragefire Chasm. Deep beneath the city of Orgrimmar, a network of volcanic caves and old passageways had led to the opening of an ancient Titan vault, exploited for the use of the infamous Shadow Council in an attempt to destroy Orgrimmar and restore the original "order" that was the first Horde. Gamar had led the first team, and proved himself victorious overall. It was the first time that adventurers were chosen specifically to deal with high-level threats in such a manner, which was why it was recommended to the Alliance for this very purpose. Gamar received many a reward when he and the others emerged in victory; amongst those honors was the respect of a mighty leader.
Though Gamar appreciated such attention, he preferred it if he was left alone. Gamar wasn't exactly a hero in his mind's eye; the only reason why he even went into Ragefire Chasm in the first place was because he needed the money and a means to break away from the boundaries that life presented him. Ragefire was sort of a testing ground for him…though he didn't know what the test was, or whether or not he passed it.
Perhaps I should have followed my mother's advice and become a Shaman, Gamar said to himself, At least then I would have some kind of guidance for help…
"You know, I always found caves kind of foreboding."
Gamar spun about. When he saw the man standing before him, he tensed up a little, but steadily lowered his tenseness as he remembered that they were supposed to be allies in this fight.
"What do you want, Human?" Gamar asked.
"I came to see a bit of what we are up against," Tyrian said, "and also to converse with you…if you don't mind, that is."
Gamar snorted. He turned back to the hall and sat himself down on the rock and dirt floor. "Since you are here, I don't see why not," the Orc warrior said, "I'm not much into conversation."
Tyrian nodded. He stared out towards the dark hallway in the same direction that Gamar was staring. He seemed tense, just like the Orc. Whether it was because of their racial past or because of something else, Gamar couldn't tell. It was hard to read the emotions of the warriors known as Paladins.
Finally, Tyrian spoke up. "Do you…remember me at all?"
Gamar's ears and eyebrows both rose in confusion. "What do you mean, Human?" the Orc asked, "Do you suggest we met sometime in battle?"
"Not in battle," Tyrian said, "but battle did come as a result of the two of us."
Gamar was even more confused now. "Don't jest with me, Human," he said gruffly.
"So you don't remember that time in our youth?" Tyrian said, "During the Second War…I think you were a young toddler like myself when we met…Kara was with us, remember?"
Gamar's confusion was starting to ebb away. Come to think of it, Gamar did remember something of his childhood that involved humans. Two human children, in fact. Their significance in his life and who those two were, he couldn't recall.
Gamar was about to ask Tyrian a bit more about how he knew him, when he heard heavy footsteps approach. It was the Tauren woman, Selvan. She approached the two of them with an air of caution about her body. Her nervousness was like a mist that emanated from her very fur. It was obvious that she didn't like it here.
"Good day to you, Human," Selvan said, "Good day, Gamar Rookfist."
"What is the matter, Ashenfur?" Gamar asked.
"Nothing is wrong…as far as I know," the Tauren female said, "I was just curious as to what our plan is going to be. I feel that the sooner we get done with our quest, the better."
"You aren't far from the truth about that," Tyrian said, "The Dark Irons are already two months ahead of us. We're going to have to find those discs quickly."
"I had taken a look at the map that Caggar had found," Selvan said, "I couldn't read it though…it was all in Dwarven."
"Well, it shouldn't be too hard to translate," Tyrian said, "We've got at least one good Dwarf in our company, right?"
Gamar didn't respond. He simply stared down the hall towards the checkered floor of the city. Tyrian suddenly noticed how intent the Orc's gaze was. Confused, the Paladin turned to the direction the Orc was glaring.
"What the—?!"
Tyrian had no idea what it was, but he thought he saw someone, or something, off in the distance. Whoever or whatever it was, the figure was hunchbacked and had arms that reached down to the ground. Tyrian couldn't see its face save for the gleam of what he guessed was a pair of eyes. The figure just stared at the interlopers for a while before lumbering off to the right, disappearing into the gloom.
"Troggs," Gamar said as he stood up, "I'd say at least a foot taller than a Dwarf. That thing's a lot bigger than the ones I faced."
"You've seen those things before?" Tyrian asked.
"A year or two ago," the Orc said, "It was down in Ragefire Chasm. They were about a half a head shorter than Dwarves when I first saw the damn beasts, but real nasty. I was hoping we wouldn't spot one until deeper into the city."
Tyrian wanted to know all that he could about this enemy. It was either good luck or sheer coincidence that the Orc knew about what they were going to face. Perhaps that was why he was picked to lead the Horde team.
"What were they like?" Tyrian asked, "How do they fight? What can we expect from such creatures?"
The Orc cocked an eyebrow at the Human. Tyrian felt kind of uncomfortable being stared down by someone who was supposed to be his enemy. The Orc sized Tyrian up for a few minutes before giving a reply.
"It's not what one can expect," the Orc said, "It's what you know not to expect. Troggs aren't smart, but they are as cunning as wolves. They can hide amongst the stones and camouflage themselves easily in the dirt. Their ambush tactics killed many men when my team first found them deep in Ragefire…only I and Caggar made it out alive…or at least, with our sanity intact."
Tyrian felt his blood chill. These beasts sounded a lot like the Undead Scourge, only with a more deadly advantage. To think that they were going to drive those beasts out…and in the Troggs' home territory, too.
"An old Orc proverb passes through my memory," Gamar said, "The deer should not sit idly while the wolf gathers its pack."
"I think I get what you mean," Tyrian said, "Let's get the others…I want us to get a plan of action set up before we move on."
Brock peered through the copy of the map, reading through the words easily and examining the drawings and the etchings that identified the different landmarks of the simple map. As he did, he stroked his mustache, piecing together what he could find.
"Well, I've got to admire yer translating skills, Bladehoof," Brock said as he examined the map, "You translated it all into almost perfect Common. Ye must have been quite a scholar when ye was but a little lad, eh?"
"Something like that," Caggar said, a small grin forming on his wide snout. Gamar snorted.
"Well," Brock said to the small crowd gathered around, "From what the map says, and what's rather obvious right from the start, we're in Dig One. Most of the work done by everyone other than the main expedition was done here in this spot. However, there's something I can't seem to get…"
"What seems to be the problem?" Kara asked.
"Well," Brock said as he fiddled with his beard, "From what I can reckon, this isn't a full map. Though it's kind of obvious at the start, the map itself looks as if it was shabbily made, as if someone had traced a piece of the original. In other words, we got ourselves a copy. I'm guessin' that when that Gnome lad, Oggy, made a mad ditch over to the camp, he must have brought only a piece of the original map."
"That means that there's more pieces inside," Tyrian speculated.
"Correct, lad," Brock said, "Either that, or they are destroyed. Either way, unless we can find the other pieces we don't really know what's out there, which means all we need is a wrong turn or some dumb mishap and the lot of us will get lost, probably for good! Since we only have a month's deadline ahead of us, I'm guessin' that the best thing we can do is explore what we can without going too far out. There is some kind of a chance that we could probably find a piece of the map somewhere and use it to get along, but until then we're stuck with this copy. Now, any ideas?"
The ten individuals sat back, pondering what the group was going to do. Both Alliance and Horde members had no clue how to take on this puzzle. In the end, most of them were stumped.
"Perhaps if we were to enter the main lobby, the place that's called the Hall of the Keepers, and attempt to split up from there."
Nobody had ever heard Garadin speak before. Most of them were kind of surprised that the Mage had kept quite a silence. However, not all of them were so shocked as to not notice the obvious flaws in Garadin's plan.
"What part about us gettin' lost don't you understand, lad?" Brock asked, "We'll never know where the hell those tunnels will lead us once we get inside!"
"No," Garadin said, "but whoever wrote this map did." He pointed a finger at the parchment. "From what I could gather, the map has a pretty clear depiction about where we should go. It has Dig Two scribbled up towards the end of this circle, so why don't we just go in that direction? It should solve our problems of getting lost; once we find the second dig, we could find survivors and maybe the rest of the map."
"That notion is correct, Mage," Caggar said as he approached the map table, "However, I'd like to point out the rest of the map we have. What of this shaft that leads to this dead-end? According to what I was told, the Gnome and his companions holed out in a single camp that they used as a base of operations that they would come to before the attacks. What if, per say, the reason why Dig Two was closed off was because the dead-end ensured that those inside were trapped, and that those outside couldn't reach safety?"
The Tauren's logic was undeniable. It put all the other teammates back to thinking. How were they to know that travelling down the different tunnels of Uldaman was safe? Some of the group, most notably Selvan, were more nervous than others about the prospect of getting lost forever in the depths of Uldaman. What were they to do?
"Well, I for one am not going to just sit here," Tyrian said as he gazed over to the main entrance, "I know that, whatever the risk, the source of all our answers is in there. If we keep waiting like this, it might already be too late."
A couple of the team members, such as Nerzan and Asterian, the Elf. However, there were a couple of individuals who didn't like the plan at all.
"We shouldn't head in there recklessly," Caggar said defensively, "If we descend too deep into those tunnels, we may never return. We have to make an appropriate plan of action!"
"What plan of action is more appropriate than going in?" Tyrian asked, "If we don't, we'll be likely mauled by those Troggs. In my mind, I think it's better that we simply go in and explore while we still can."
The group argued for quite a while. It seemed that everyone had different opinions about where they were going to go. Finally, Brock raised a hand to his mouth and made a sharp whistle, causing the two Tauren and the Night Elf in their company to cover their ears from the sharp noise.
"Alright, lads," Brock said, "We aren't gettin' nowhere while we're sittin' here arguin'. Now, I think it's time we brought it down to a vote. Since both of our sides are almost even in opinion, I think it's only wise that I withdraw my vote and let the rest of you decide for yourselves. Let's just hope it won't get us killed in the end."
Each of the members of both teams gave in their vote. In the end, it was a fifty-fifty split; Caggar, Kara, Gamar, and Selvan were all against exploring off of the map, while Tyrian, Garadin, Nerzan, and Asterian were for it. In the end, only one vote remained.
"Necrus," Brock said, "What say you?"
The Forsaken was silent at first. His pale, empty eyes looked over the nine individuals staring at him from across the table. The Forsaken drew in a deep, rasping breath, his decaying skin moving about in a sickening manner as air filled in his ruined lungs, before releasing the breath and speaking.
"I believe the best call of action would be following Garadin's plan," Necrus said, "It seems to me that it is the only plausible course of action. It would be…preferable if we face the unknowns while we still can. It is better to be blind and have a sword than to see and be defenseless."
Tyrian and the others couldn't help but smile. Caggar, Gamar, and the others who wished to play it safe frowned at the Forsaken, but kept their silence.
"Alright then," Brock said as he grabbed the map and folded it up, "Now that we have that settled, we should get ready to head out."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Tyrian said, "Alliance team; pack up what you can and head to the entrance. We're done here."
Asterian was good at controlling his emotions. Almost all Night Elves had much in the way of physical and emotional training to help them guard against foul magics. However, while his face did not show it, he could not help but feel as nervous as the Tauren Druid was when he felt his connection with the life above diminishing in the depths of the city. Whatever life that existed in the darkness below was dark and dim, and the city gave off a strange feeling of foreboding and emptiness.
The Night Elf wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew that there was definitely something wrong.
The good thing about being a Feral Druid was that one didn't need to have a strong connection to the life above in order to use one's powers. As long as he had the aura of a druid remaining around him, he would be more than capable of surviving whatever trials awaited them. However, he knew that his "battery" wasn't permanent, and that it would eventually run out if he wasn't careful. He guessed that he had only a week's worth of power or more before his reserves would end and he would have to return to the surface to replenish.
Asterian stood by the entrance and waited for the others to be done. Though he wanted to complete this quest as fast as he could, he had to agree that Caggar's plan had logic. What if they managed to get themselves lost? He didn't really want to think about it, but the whole prospect of being lost deep inside of an ancient vault covered with monsters was too foreboding to keep out of his mind. The best thing he knew he could do was just pray to Elune that they could succeed in this mission.
Asterian couldn't help but keep a close eye on the Troll, Nerzan. He was a shady character…and too friendly. Most Trolls would rather carve off their tusks than talk to an Alliance member, and yet he was already making friends with the Dwarf, Brock. There was something up. Either the Troll was planning something, or he wasn't right in the head.
Asterian felt a rather strange presence nearby. He knew right away to recognize the ebbing life force of Necrus. To Asterian, the Forsaken were an affront to nature. When a life ends, the soul bound to the world should remain in peace in the next world. However, that did not stop the Lich King from accomplishing his dark and vile deeds. Even though the Forsaken had their free will returned, perhaps that alone was a darker existence than even being a part of the Scourge.
"What do you want, Necrus?" Asterian asked as he waited patiently for the others.
"You shouldn't use that tone of voice with me, Druid," the Undead whispered, "It isn't wise to upset a Forsaken."
"The good thing is that it's hard to upset something without emotion," Asterian said, "Speak and be gone. I do not have time for foolish talk."
"You do not have any time, Elf," the Forsaken whispered, "None of us do. Uldaman is a dangerous place, and it is dark and dank deep inside…away from the life above."
"I do not need to listen to the obvious," Asterian said.
"Oh, I think you do," Necrus said, "It is obvious that both you and the Tauren girl have lost connection with your powers above…it's also obvious that you are very frightened about it. You may be guarding your emotions well, Night Elf, but we of the Horde can smell even the smallest bit of fear…"
Asterian froze. Necrus knew of his apparent weakness.
"What is it that you want?" the Night Elf said glumly.
"A small alliance," Necrus said, "Since we both know you are low on magic, I'll do you a favor. I'll keep an eye on your back; make sure that you…stay alive for as long as possible. In return, you do me a favor. Deal?"
The Night Elf sighed. Making deals with anyone on the Horde was considered treason. Even if both of them were on the same side in all of this, it was still never a good idea to accept a deal when you don't know the terms of the opposite end. Nevertheless, the Night Elf didn't exactly have any choice…the others would likely ridicule him or leave him and Selvan behind, and he wanted to use his powers as much as he was able. The chance for him to hold off until later would have been worth it.
"Fine," he said, "Just don't stab my back while I'm not looking."
Necrus grinned as Asterian shook his grotesque hand. "Now why would I want to do that?"
The two teams began to slowly make their way down the long hallway towards the Hall of the Keepers. Gamar was cautious as they went inside. With his axe, the Rook, at the ready, he kept a very close eye on the end of the tunnel, almost daring anyone to get close.
"Stay close, and pray to whatever Gods that command your life," Gamar said aloud, "Once we get inside, there's no going back out…those damn Troggs won't let us leave once the blood's spilt."
"That's the good thing about Orcs," Brock said aloud, "They're always optimistic about things."
"Dwarve's is just as bad, mon," Nerzan said, "Dey's only fun when drunk."
"Point taken, lad," Brock said.
With Gamar and Tyrian in the lead, and Nerzan, Brock, and Thor in the back, the group continued their journey downwards. By now, the dust was starting to clear up, and the haze revealed perfectly polished checkerboard tiles, their surface only blemished by piles of dust and sand. Stone walls, carved into the mountainside, stood as tall as at least two giants inside of the tremendous hall. The silence that met them as they went inside was only broken by the occasional sound of a bat's cry echoing through the caverns, or by the bellow of some beast hiding deep within the halls. The ten adventurers kept their weapons up. Garadin and Necrus both began to charge their magic as their staff ends began to glow with red or green light respectively.
"It's quiet in here," Kara said as she looked about, "Too quiet."
"It is just the calm before the storm, lass," Caggar said as he silently prayed to the Elements, "I fear that the Troggs know of our presence; otherwise, we'd hear them making quite a bit of noise."
"How so?" Asterian asked as he prepared some of his morphing spells.
"Troggs love to fight amongst themselves," Gamar said, "When they aren't eating the remains of their victims, they are usually eating each other, damn cannibals."
"That's just gross…" Tyrian said.
The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Both Horde and Alliance teams just stood in the middle of the entrance hall, staring at both ends as they waited for whatever ambush was being expected for them. They stood there for at least ten minutes as they waited for the silence to break.
"I got a bad feelin' 'bout this, lads," Brock said.
The silence continued.
"We should get moving," Tyrian said, "I say we move east; to the left."
Since no one objected, the group went to the east. They followed the hall until they reached a corner. Gamar pointed to Nerzan and had the Troll go first. Hugging the wall and becoming virtually invisible, Nerzan silently moved with all the stealth of a hungry predator. Turning the corner, he looked around to check to see if the coast was clear before vanishing from sight.
He was only gone for a few minutes before he returned, moving quickly to the others. He wasn't moving quite as stealthfully as before, which was probably a good sign.
"Da coast is clear," Nerzan said, "Dere' be's a big chambah ovah 'der. It look safe."
"That's what I was afraid of," Caggar said, bringing his staff into a defensive position.
"Follow me," Gamar said, "We should keep moving. Everyone, stay on guard. Swords in front, casters in the middle. Make sure the healers are kept in the middle as well; if they go, then we go."
The group turned the corner and moved deeper into the city. Past the first corner, they saw the huge chamber that made up the center of the Hall of the Keepers. With a ceiling at least twice as high as the main halls, and with a small crack of light coming from the roof, the effect the dust cloud had made it seem like the roof opened up to the top of the mountain.
All that seemed out of place in the room were the large boulder-sized stones…
The silence could make one hear a pin drop. It didn't stop the intruders from approaching the large chamber. The ten adventurers were making their way towards the center of the room, when suddenly…
Gamar, Brock, Caggar, and Tyrian were the first to break the initial shock of the sudden transformation that the stones took. Each of the beasts had three-toed feet, pebbly and grotesque skin, with lanky arms that ended in four-fingered claws. Hair that took the appearance of thin mineral-like pieces of rock grew from the arms and down the back and necks of the creatures. Their heads were monstrous, with wide lips that revealed a mouth full of sharp teeth. Hair covered their heads in the form of a scraggly beard and a crop of hair atop their heads. Their eyes, though dim, gave off a cunning that seemed to defy the lack of intelligence made on their faces.
The four adventurers were quick to defend the group. Each attacked and counter-attacked the onslaught of at least a hundred Troggs with their weapons. Gamar felled many of the beasts with The Rook, slicing it about and even leaping upon many of the creatures before completely immobilizing them with a blow to their powerful backs. Tyrian used his mighty sword, combining his attacks with prayers to the light that caused his blade to glow with a burning frenzy. Brock used the butt-end of his gun to knock aside one Trogg full in the chin before blowing it clear to the other side of Hell with his gun, while Thor barreled through the beasts like a rampaging monster, clawing them and biting whenever he could. Caggar's approach was more delicate; knocking aside attackers with his staff before suddenly launching bolts of lighting from the tips of his fingers.
The others were quick to follow up on their defense. Flaming infernos cascaded from all about as Garadin launched bolts of fire from his staff. Two Voidwalkers suddenly appeared from the ground at their feet and went into the fray alongside Brock's pet bear, followed closely by powerful destructive blasts from Necrus's warlock hexes. Nerzan's blades flashed about as he cut through the monstrous Trogg invasion force, and Asterian suddenly transformed himself into a panther; striking at the Troggs as best as he could while keeping himself between the enemies and the two healers, who were busy giving aid as best as they could to the others.
"Damn it, this is gettin' nowhere!" Brock shouted, "We need to get out of 'ere!"
"Took the words right out of my mouth, Dwarf," Gamar shouted, "Caggar! Let's say we wrap this up, aye?!"
The Tauren shaman nodded his head. Knocking aside a Trogg that was attempting to gnaw at his staff, the Tauren raised his weapon into the air and struck it into the ground. He closed his eyes, focusing as much energy as he could in the short amount of time they had; praying that the elements would accept his pleas.
"Storm, Earth, and Fire…heed my call!"
When the Tauren's eyes opened again, they glowed. His staff suddenly shook as energy erupted from their surroundings. Troggs on all sides began to scurry in fear as rocks cascaded from the exposed roof of the city, as fire began to flow from the cracks in the tile floors, and as lightning bounded and cascaded from Caggar's staff, electrocuting all that was still near.
As suddenly as it came, however, the attack suddenly died. The Shaman looked about in confusion as he suddenly realized that his connection with the elements were waning.
"We had best withdraw," the Shaman said.
Wordlessly, the adventurers complied. At first, they tried to go back the way they came, but discovered that Troggs had started to pour out of a fissure near the entrance; they were trapped. There was no choice but to go forward; deeper into the Titan city.
With Tyrian in the lead and Gamar trailing behind, the ten adventurers made their way through the tremendous Hall of the Keepers. The Troggs that were beat were starting to get up, clutching at their wounds and howling when some found that they lost their limbs. Garadin made a face when he saw one Trogg get up, grab the dismembered arm of one of his comrades, and swallow it whole. The Trogg suddenly appeared rejuvenated, and began to renew the chase.
"These guys just don't die, do they?" Garadin asked.
"Does it matter in the grand scheme of things?" Necrus asked in his dark voice.
There were fewer Troggs as they came closer to a second set of hallways. As they ran, Brock, Thor, and Nerzan suddenly got ahead of the others, taking out any Troggs between them and the hallway to the right.
"What the hell are you doing?!?" Asterian shouted.
"What's it look like we're doin'?" Brock shouted back, "We're clearin' a path for you! Come on, now! Hurry up!"
"For 'da Horde!" Nerzan shouted as he plunged his daggers inside of a Trogg's neck, "Hurry up, mons! We needin' ta hurray!"
The other adventurers attempted to catch up. Troggs attacked on all sides, proving it difficult to even remotely get close. Gamar quickly wiped Trogg blood off of one end of his axe before hacking viciously at another Trogg, their bodies quickly piling up around the bloodthirsty Orc.
"Got to…control…my…rage..." the Orc said.
Kara suddenly noticed Gamar's sudden increase in attack power. She turned to Caggar, who was busy dealing with a Trogg that had promptly decided to plant itself on his staff.
"Caggar! Gamar's going into a blood rage!" she shouted.
The Tauren Shaman gazed at the Orc. He could see that there were no lies in Kara's words. Gamar suddenly began frantically attacking Troggs with all his might, his axe flashing silver and red as he cut through each and every Trogg that tried to swarm over him.
"We must act quickly to get him out of here," the Shaman said, "We need to find a safe place, and quickly!"
By now, Nerzan and Brock had managed to disappear behind a corner in the hall. By the sounds of gunshots and bear growls ahead, it was obvious that there were more Troggs. Tyrian was the first to start running in their direction, making sure that all the Troggs in their way were dealt with before continuing.
"Come on!" he shouted, "Those two need our help! For the Ligh-AAH!!"
Tyrian was suddenly knocked backwards as a huge fist came out from in the ground. The others immediately came to his side, making sure that none of the Troggs took advantage of his knockback. Surprisingly, the Troggs stayed well away, as if well aware that the danger did not just focus on the adventurers.
The arm that the fist was connected to bent down and began to push on the ground. A second arm shot out after its brother, pushing up as a huge creature suddenly appeared from its resting place beneath the floor. The mighty Trogg that crawled out of its hole towered over all the others, its mouth open wide to reveal row after row of sharp, jagged teeth.
The beast was at least twice as big as any Dwarf. Unlike the other Troggs, who were brown and black in color, this one was light blue with flecks of brownish stone covering its body. Its hair was pure white, covered in minerals and revealing that this creature was at a very old age. Its stubby toes revealed long, serrated nails, and its claws were curved and pointed inwards towards its titanic fist.
The monstrous Trogg stared at the eight intruders with its stupid, yet cunning, black eyes. It breathed heavily, its breath coming out in bursts of dust and grime as it just stood there, blocking the path between them and their two comrades. By now, the gunshots had stopped. Tyrian wondered whether this meant that their two friends abandoned them…or if they were killed already.
"Me Revelosh," the beast growled, "You bad…me kill you…"
"So, this thing can talk?" Asterian queried.
"I'm surprised it could even have the brainpower to do such a thing," Necrus said.
"Me Revelosh," the beast growled again, "You bad…me kill you…"
"Likes to make a point, doesn't he?" Garadin said.
The initial shock of the creature's brainpower was erased when they heard a roar coming from behind them. Turning around, the party suddenly ducked when a red-eyed, enraged Orc suddenly rushed up and leapt with amazing speed and strength, completely flying over the adventurers and raising his mighty axe into the air.
"LOK'TAR OGAR!" Gamar roared as he brought the axe down.
Revelosh, if that's what the creature's name was, raised what looked like a metal shaft in his hands and deflected the blow. Gamar was suddenly knocked aside by the beast's powerful arms, flying away until he crashed into the eastern wall. The Orc suddenly went limp, though he breathed heavily and tried to move as best as he could.
"Revelosh…hungry…" the giant Trogg said.
The giant Trogg attacked first, swinging his huge arms around and attempting to claw at the adventurers. Tyrian immediately faced the challenge, keeping his sword and shield between himself and the monster's claws. As he distracted the beast, the other came up around, attempting to get into position to deliver the harshest attacks possible. Kara and Selvan kept close to Tyrian, ready to heal him should the time come.
Blow after blow, the mighty Trogg found it increasingly difficult to knock the human over so that he could deliver a hefty final blow. His Judgment Armor did the trick; it's magical defenses as well as its physical ones kept the Paladin from becoming easy prey to the beast. For ever attack Revelosh made, Tyrian counter-attacked it by hacking at one of its arms or near the belly. Revelosh was just as cunning as Tyrian feared; he purposefully allowed Tyrian to hack at his arms, knowing full well that they were too tough for his sword to get to. As for his stomach, he kept that well defended, always keeping at least one arm between himself and the Paladin's blade.
"NOW!"
As soon as Tyrian made the mark, the four magic wielders made their blows. Bolts of lighting shot from Caggar's staff. Flame coursed and weaved from the hands of Garadin the Mage, and beams of green, enchanted energy were launched through the mystical body of Asterian the Feral Druid.
It wasn't until Necrus used a powerful Chaos Bolt that the beast actually began to reel backwards in pain. Tyrian took full advantage of the opening the beast made. With a forward thrust, he stabbed his blade through the creature's gut, rending it's belly as he brought his weapon into an upward slice. The creature's stony guts and organic flesh spilled out of its body, and it stared dumbly down at it's own body parts as it stood in pain.
"Revelosh…got…ouch…"
Tyrian jumped aside as the huge Trogg fell to the ground. The beast gave one last breath of despair before it closed its eyes in death. Pretty soon, the adventurers ran to Gamar's side. Selvan reached first, putting her hand over his head and placing a finger on his neck.
"He lives," Selvan said, "He's going to be out though for a while. We need to take him somewhere safe."
Garadin was about to inquire about Brock and Nerzan, but then the sound of Troggs suddenly coming in droves made him change his mind.
"Time to go," he said.
Caggar brought his staff up into a guard position as he saw the first wave of Troggs, but suddenly noticed that the Eastern Hall had a pass that led in deeper to the mountain. Light came in from the end of this pass; torchlight…
The second Dig! I knew it was here! Caggar thought.
"Come, we must make haste," the Tauren said as he grabbed Gamar's body. Lifting the Orc up easily over his shoulder, he went down the hall towards the torchlight.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?!?" Tyrian shouted, "We don't know what's down there!"
"We certainly have a better chance of survival down there than we do in here," the Shaman said, "Whether it is by your dictatorship or not, I am going. Remember…I am not under your command, human."
Tyrian was about to retort, but the sound of the Troggs getting closer kept him from thinking of anything. He finally growled, kicking aside a rock as he followed the Tauren.
"Come on, this way!" he shouted.
As the others left, Asterian ound that he and Necrus were the last ones to follow. The Night Elf began to make his way down the tunnel, but was suddenly stopped in his tracks by a bone-laced hand.
"Remember our deal," the Forsaken whispered.
"What are you doing?" the Night Elf asked tensely, "The Troggs are coming! We must run!"
"No, you must run," the Forsaken said, "I doubt that Troggs care much for something that does not live."
Asterian suddenly felt himself being picked up by the scruff of his neck, being carried by something of great strength. He immediately felt his strength get sapped, as if his powers were slowly being…drained…
The Night Elf felt himself get thrown a great distance by the Warlock, landing hard on the ground some 20 feet away. By now, the others were well out of sight, and the Troggs were getting close enough that they could be seen.
"Katra zil shukil. Galtak Ered'nash!!!" the Forsaken shouted.
Twirling his staff and then striking the ground, the Forsaken launched deadly fel energy through the rocks of the beginning of the tunnel. Asterian could only watch as, suddenly, the walls of the tunnel began to cave in, sealing them off from the rest of the city and providing a barrier between them and the Troggs. Asterian was astounded by the energy caused by such a spell…
The Forsaken must have borrowed my energy to use such an attack, Asterian said to himself, How and why would he do such a thing?
To be continued…
Kerian: Wow...it's been months since I last updated this. It's a good thing that I did too...otherwise I'd probably have to start a new Warcraft fanfic and have the same thing happen all over again...lol.
Well now, as you can see we have quite a bit of character development that was missed out in the last chapter. Nerzan the Troll is probably my favorite Horde character; I actually can make a real good Jamaican accent in real life, so trying to get his accent on paper was real easy. It's doing Scottish accents that's hard...I pretty much gave up on Brock's accent and decided to make his accent a bit in-between so that he could be easier to understand...otherwise my spellchecker would probably die of being overworked...lol.
Something's going wrong with our Druid and Shaman friends and their magic. I bet you didn't have that happen to you in the instance. All will be explained in due time; and even more will be explained about Necrus and what he's got to do with all of this. I may not play World of Warcraft myself, but even I know that a Warlock can't exactly absorb random sources of magic and use it to give his own powers a boost unless he's special...or unless he has something sinister in mind...muahahahaha!!!
Well, Brock and Nerzan are missing, we learn a bit about Gamar and Tyrian's past, and we might see a bit more about them in the future; and why Gamar got a bit of the Blood Haze. I'm hoping that I can develop these guys a bit better...I'll admit that my knowledge about Orc behavior is a bit...um...lacking. However, the next chapter is going to take a while to create, so hopefully I can fix that up. Until then, I guess it's time for my catch phrase: Me, out!
-Kerian, Dwarf Troggbane