Linguistics


Serra sighed as she looked at the table she shared with her present companions. The human Erich was hard at work learning the script she had drawn for him. Every few moments, he would slowly mouth another letter as he traced his hands over the unfamiliar script. Common had the same amount of letters that Reikspiel did, funnily enough. The languages seemed to have evolved in roughly opposite manners however. While Reikspiel had large numbers of dwarf loanwords, this Common language on the other hand seemed to have evolved words from it's own once primitive vocabulary. It was certainly an intriguing thought. A loremaster or a scholar who was interested academically in the language of the younger races would be far more interested in this hypothesis. After a century or two of studying these languages, maybe the scholar would be able to explain just how the languages evolved so differently.

A heap of small children's books lay on the human's side. Hopefully, within the next hour, he would be able to remember the letters and move onward to understanding simple words. The other person sharing the table with them was the long eared elf. Caledra Dawnbreeze was her name. She was proving to be only slightly better than the human as far as being a companion to talk to went. Not for lack of trying. Serra had sensed that she was shrewd. The kind of shrewd a gamekeeper of Chrace or a sailor from Eataine was, not the scholarly knowledge of a Loremaster of Saphery. She was trying to collect information about them. The elf's attempts were hobbled by the fact that most of the Company had only leared the words for 'Drink', 'food' and 'fornicate'. That was all they needed know – for the present. At least Erich was trying to learn the language in an organised manner, even if his presence was painfully slow.

As he finished reading the last letter, tracing his fingers over the last letter, Caledra smiled at him before telling Serra in Thalassian. "Your human seems determined." Serra bristled at that. A month and a half ago, she had hardly known the man, and now they were associating the human with her. Biting back an angry retort, she just stared at the elf until the other one looked away. Her human. What a preposterous idea. She loathed the idea of owning humans, an idea that was somewhat quaint by Asur standards.

Ever since Bel Shanaar had sent the then young Finubar to open diplomatic and trade relations with the humans that inhabited the old world, a large number of them had flooded Eataine. Traders for the most part, humans were cheap enough to hire on extended leases – often a lifetime for the poor creatures – and set to work as menial labourers and servants in the homes of the Asur. Despite what Teclis believed, there was a world of difference between slaves and paid servants. Humans that lived in the shadow of Lothern were free to leave once their contract was up. It was the difference between that what the Druchii did to their plundered slaves that defined them. The Asur had taken upon themselves to be the guardians and stewards of the world, while their fallen kin plundered it.

And now she was cut off from it, from the world that was her home, and her true kin. Explaining their predicament to Caledra would take too much of Serra's precious time. She doubted that long-ears would understand. Serra should be focusing on finding a way back home. Instead she was teaching a human how to read a language she herself had learned a day ago. To be honest, learned was not the appropriate term for it. She had put Caledra out of the reaches of time while she had worked her experience. Every memory that she had, analysed and stored. To say it was an invasive procedure would be an understatement. When starting, Serra had felt pangs of remorse. This was something theoretical that she had practiced on non-sapient creatures before. But moral qualms fled in the face of the enormity of the threat had surrounded her then. Now that she knew roughly what place she was in, Serra was confident in the right course of her action. They were far away from home. An ocean of time and space separated them from the Old world. It was up to her to find a way back, or they would be stuck here forever.

To her somewhat pleasant surprise, the human was showing something that vaguely approached initiative. He had opened a children's picture book and was trying pronounce the words. Even Caledra was helping him, correcting his pronunciation and helping him read the words. His eyes were lighting up with a somewhat childlike wonder as he slowly began to pick up steam. For Serra his progress was still too slow. How long would it take the human to actually learn the language at this rate? A month, two? She sighed. It was going to be a long day.


After hours of being shut in the room, Erich emerged, beaming at everyone else. He and lieutenants had been assigned, or rather helped themselves to, the best rooms in the tavern. Everyone else was billeted in the town. They would be about drinking or whoring themselves silly. Good lads. A taste of the better things in life made fighting far more worthwhile. Serra, and the long eared elf Caledra walked after him, talking in a strange lilting language that he was sure different from the one he was trying to learn. It didn't matter. One battle at a time. Erich was now confident that he could order a drink.

In contrast to the dingier drinking holes that he preferred to frequent in Tilea and Nuln, the parlour of the tavern was very well lit. The windows were open and a fresh sea breeze wafted in, driving out the less wholesome spells that would have been otherwise present in the room. It was half full, with some of his boys and some soldiers from the town. To say that drinks were flowing would be an understatement. The barmaids were rushing from table to table, much to the joy of his men who would fill their empty tables with gold coins before clamouring for drink. After the events of the last week, Erich had forgotten that the men had not been in something like this tavern for over a month. Now, fresh with the gold from a new contracts and loot off the battlefield, they were spending money like young nobles who had more money than wits. Even as one group left after enough grog, another would come in and fill the table. Erich did not need to understand the language to see the gleam behind the innkeeper's eyes.

He stood there for a moment, taking in the surroundings, reminded of his younger days. Days filled with promise. Days long gone into the ash heap of memory. His smile had dimmed. Just then, a group of pikemen entered the tavern. "Its El Capitan. Eh Signor, would you like to join us for a drink?" A young man, scarcely out of boyhood was the speaker. Erich could see he was trying to grow a full set of facial hair. Maybe if he kept at it for a year, it would be somewhat respectable. As it was, Erich was filled with the urge to get the boy to shave. It would be a hilarious wager.

"I do not see, why not. Find a table for us will you, lad? And tell me your name while you are at it."

The man, his glinting said, "Erico, Capitan."

Erich smiled. They had similar names. What a coincidence.

"Be a good land and find me and my friends a table. I will get us all a drink."

Erich waved and ducked through the crowd, moving towards the bartender. He sat down on a stool between two soldiers of the guard. The bartender gave him an expectant smile. After a moment of thinking, Erich managed to say, "I want drink." The man smiled and replied something to the effect of what Erich assumed was "What drink?" It was a fair question. Erich didn't know how to respond. Of course. He didn't know the words for any particular kind of drink. The silence was starting to get awkward.

Thankfully, Serra came to the rescue. She had been following him down to the parlour while talking with the long eared elf, Caledra. Almost surreptitiously, she had followed him to the bartender and slowly stood behind him, taking in the scene. She said something to the bartender and the man nodded before going to what Erich assumed was the cellar.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him you wanted rum. That is what you always drink is it not?"A correct observation. If anyone else had done it, Erich would not have minded. However, the way the elf framed the question told him that she was singularly uninterested and bored. She really had a way of getting under his skin.

"I also like to drink other things. You think they will have Bugman's beer?" Serra rolled her eyes at his question before replying

"The chances that they have that dwarf poison in these parts is minuscule. Stick to Rum."

"I was just trying to make conversation." He said somewhat sheepishly. She stared daggers in return.

The man returned with drinks. Meanwhile Erico and his friends had already settled down and were chatting with each other. There was enough space for Erich at the trestle table. Even as he sat down, Serra and Caledra joined him. While he wasn't sure they were invited, no one seemed to complain. They were both incredibly attractive, if elven, and Serra was something of a very useful ally now. As it was, both of them never needed to pay for their drinks as the soldiers who left or entered were buying them new rounds. Serra seemed to be extremely off put by the attention she was getting, even though it was far less predatory and more welcoming. Caledra on the other hand seemed to enjoy it. In a way they were polar opposites of each other.

The pikemen meanwhile were trying to roll some dice. Inebriated as they were, no particular game was being played or wagers struck. The men were just happy that they were living under a roof and with beds for a change. Erich would probably need to make sure that they didn't steal things from the houses they were billeted in. It was a bother. Even at the best of times several things would go missing, ranging from doorknobs to family plate. On the other hand, the town itself didn't seem particularly rich. Apart from the well maintained harbour, it seemed to be largely provincial. The land around it seemed to compare favourably to Bretonnia at it's best.

Von Peiper's Regiment had campaigned Bretonnia less than a year ago as spring had started. Compared to the dark and forested lands of the empire, Bretonnia was a land of gently rolling hills and valleys with ample farmland and the trees too far away. The peasants there on the other hand seemed like a wretched blight. It seemed to him that all the vitality had been drained from them and transferred to the land itself. His contract was to herd sheep, and to drive away orcs who would often raid the lands of some petty nobles from their fortresses in either the Vault or the Massif Orcal. It had been a simple, if dangerous job.

Greenskins held a particular place of hatred for him. He assumed that must be part of his Sollander heritage, or the many books he read while he grew up. They were a threat to humanity. The few dwarfs he had made acquaintances of during his stay in Nuln had been something akin to sympathetic to him. Not that dwarfs felt sympathy the same way humans did. To them ancestral wrongs were something to drive them forward, not as chains that held them back. They knew that the Umgi of southern Wissenland had fallen into ruin when a WAAAGH had destroyed their land. The sacred symbol of Elector counts, the mythical runefangs had been borne away by the orc warlord never to be held by true Sollanders again. It was now wielded by the Reiksmarshal as a symbol of his land had been crushed, physically and spiritually. From this malaise there would have been no recovering. Still, dwarfs lost their holds to Greenskins and the Skaven from time to time. They at least had been able to empathise with the suffering his people held close to their chests.

This land on the other hand seemed filled with people that were well fed and largely happy. He could see it in their physique. They didn't have to crawl through the mud for a day to find snails to eat. No lord would take nine-tenths of their harvest as taxes. It almost seemed idyllic in comparison to the things he had seen in Bretonnia, the Empire and even to a lesser extent in Tilea and Estalia. This could very well be a place where he could live out the rest of his days in comfort, with enough food in his belly. After years of fighting in distant lands for coin, the thought of it was something Erich cherished. Home for him now was something with four walls and a roof, with a log in the fireplace.

"Capitan, you seem awfully quiet." Erico's voice rang out. The man was sitting at some distance from him. Nearly everyone at the table was watching him, conversations stopping as they turned to look. Even Serra and her companion turned their head to look at him. For a fleeting moment he was the centre of attention. "Just thinking Erico." Just thinking

"What are you thinking about Capitan? Are we to get a raise?" The man was half joking and half hopeful. He could hear Serra translate the conversation to Caledra who looked quizzically.

"No, Erico. I was wondering how long you had been growing that fuzz that you call a beard. It is a most vexing problem."The roar of laughter that greeted him told Erich that he was now in control of this conversation. Taking the initiative, he continued. "How about a wager gentlemen? We are all flush with plunder and our salaries."Erich held a single coin in his hand now, glimmering in the half light of the room. "I say we bet on how old that fuzz on Signor Erico's cheek is, and the man who is the closest wins. What say you?" An encouraging roar went up from the table. The men were bored. Idle distractions like these would keep their spirits up. His cap was filled to the brim with coins and then some. Soldiers from the surrounding table wanted to join in the wager. It was the kind of harmless fun that bonded them together when they were not fighting or on the march. Much to his surprise, even some of the soldiers from Southshore came to look.

"Serra, if you could please translate the terms of our wager to these fine ladies and gentlemen, I would be happy to include them in the betting pool."

It seemed that they were not too different from the Tileans after all. At the prospect of a bet, their eyes lined up and they threw in a few copper and silver coins as well. Erich did not need a translator for that. All in all, nearly two dozen men and women were going to bet a small fortune on Erico's facial hair.

The next fifteen minutes were some of the most hectic and fun memories of the past week. Men and women in various stages of inebriation tried to guess a time from anywhere from 'an hour ago' to 'thirty years'. Drinks were passed around and jokes were made at the different wagers. Finally, the time came to find out. Erico was now standing on the table along with Erich, both with mugs in their hand. Erich's was empty and he felt like he was swimming. It felt like a good time to stop drinking. Erico said something. Erich didn't quite catch it. The table was silent.

Serra translated it for the benefit of everyone else. A young woman in the armour of the local militia clapped her hand to her mouth. They had found their winner. She babbled something while her comrades clapped her on the back. Serra translated. "She said that her brother always looked like that if he did not shave in the morning." Erich beckoned her to get up onto the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner! This young lady gets to make off with all our gold earned. Not that we would mind. A wager is a wager, and we alas that we must be poorer on this fine day." A few good natured grumbles from his men. They knew how this game went. "And what you would spend it on, my good sir? More drink eh?"

The man laughed. "I would rather spend it on a woman."

"What a strange course of fate it must seem to you my good man. As it turns out, you already have."

"Where's my sense of satisfaction and pleasure Capitan?" The man seemed to be enjoying this as much as him. He was an older fellow with a dark bushy moustache was the only thing noteworthy about his face. His flushed cheeks and smile were proof enough that the man wanted nothing more than to engage in some friendly banter.

Taking on the air of a noble with a falsetto voice that was now the raging fashion in Tilea, Erich placed a hand on his hip, and the other on his forehead. It was a popular pose used by actors and playwrights, who more often than not were as drunk during their performances than they were now.

"Alas my friend, I can only advise you to be satisfied in the fact that you bet but a single golden coin instead of your entire fortune, and be pleased that you still have your left hand to tend to your needs."

The wave of laughter that crashed into him was sweeter than all the clink of gold in the world, sweeter than the caress of a lover lying next to him, sweeter than the bugles announcing victory on the field of battle. Right now Erich felt that he could do anything. Then a small voice in the corner of his mind whispered, it's voice solemn and sad. "What would your father think if he saw you now."

Suddenly the laughter turned hollow. Erich, surrounded by people who trusted him enough to put their lives in his hand, felt alone in the world. For a split moment, his showmanship had gone. Then the moment passed. Erich slowly got down from the trestle table, smiling all the while. As his men enquired after him, he shook his head and managed to say. "I am too tired lads. You have a fun time without me. And see to it that the young lady who won the wager gets her gold."

His rooms were upstairs, and Myrmidia willing, he would find some solitude to think.


Caledra watched the human leave upstairs. There was something off-putting about his posture. One could excuse that with the amount of drink he had. That amount of Rumsey Rum would have floored a dwarf adventurer. Living in stormwind, she had seen her fair share of drunken humans. They could not speak at all, and could barely stand upright. At the same time, the way his shoulders hunched bespoke of sorrow. It was as if he was a different man than the one marching at the head of a victorious army. She turned to the half elf and asked in Thalassian. "Is he all right?" Serra turned a cursory glance at the figure before saying. "He probably drank too much. Foolish man."

The rest of the room seemed festive enough. The young woman, Private Amanda seemed happy enough. After all, she had spent a single silver coin to win a month's salary. They were all congratulating her. Even as Caledra watched the soldiers ordered a drink. It seemed that they were quick enough learners when it came to ordering food and drink. The barkeep was happy enough. Their knowledge of Common was too rudimentary to ask for change, and he at the very least was not returning them. She wondered if by the end of the week he would have enough money to open a tavern in Goldshire or Redridge.

After about an hour, the crowd began to thin out. To her, it seemed that most of the men had enough to drink. There was little else to do in this provincial backwater. She had spent the time conversing with Serra. To her frustration, the half-elf knew what Caledra was up to. She had been rather charming but at the same time frustratingly difficult to get information out of. The woman had drunk enough that her face was now flushed, much the same as Caledra had, but her mind seemed lucid enough to dodge any pointed questions. She said that she was from the province of Cothique and studied magic at the White tower of Saphery. She had joined the mercenary band for some adventure before she returned home to settle down. To Caledra, the names were meaningless without any geographical or spatial underpinning to them. Making matters worse, she was sure that Serra was not lying. Not completely anyway. She seemed certain that the places she mentioned existed.

Deciding there was not much left to do, Caledra decided to retire for the day. Her report was finished and she needed to send it to Stormwind. General Garrick would be very interested in this mercenary company that he would be working with during the incursion into Silverpine forest. Despite their largely foreign nature, they seemed genial enough as people. If not for the language barrier they would do great to complement the Stormwind army was coming to take the war to the Horde. From what she had seen of Serra, the half elf was dismissive about the Forsaken threat. Caledra supposed she would be too. After all, this mercenary regiment had crushed a forsaken army and destroyed a major Horde settlement without even taking any significant losses. In a way, the dismissive attitude of Serra reminded her of Quel'Thalas before it's fall. They were a mighty power then, and the years since had all but crushed them. Now the Quel'Dorei were torn apart by civil war and unrest. Their kin had turned their backs on them, and they were outcasts from their own home. It was a terrible fate for a people once so proud.

Brooding on it would do nothing. Caledra got up to leave, before noticing the cap. It was still lying on the table, but now empty of every coin. At least the feathers were still intact. Despite the outlandish design, she could appreciate it's work. It was embroidered with gold, the designs showing simple curling shapes that seemed to blend into each other. Single threads stark against the black backdrop of the cap slowly entwined each other as thy reached the centre of the golden band. Like streams that coalesced into a river, they continued onward towards the forefront of the cap. It was an embroidered etching of the sun, gleaming in the rapidly decreasing light of the room. She sighed. It would soon be time to light the lanterns in the tavern.

Taking the cap, she got up to return it to the human captain. Serra had left a few minutes ago, saying her goodbyes. She was a tolerable if somewhat frigid companion. The human on the other hand seemed fun to be around when he was somewhat tipsy. He also seemed to be eloquent enough to string together complex sentences without losing lucidity. And he was also probably wondering where his hat went.

She made to knock on his door when she heard a soft sound coming through it. Someone was inhaling and exhaling rapidly. Caledra knew what happened when people had too much to drink. Their nervous system would depress and their muscles would relax. Lungs would not be able to pump air, they would try to breathe heavily, and die choking on their vomit. By the Sunwell, was this what was happening to the human?

The door was unlocked. She pushed it open and rushed into the room. The object of her search was sitting down on the table muttering to himself in a language she did not understand. She took the entire scene for a moment. No innkeeper would find a fault with this room. It was immaculately kept. Even the towels next to wash basins were folded.

The human turned to look at her. In the dim light of the room, his grey eyes glittered. Had he been crying? She walked up to him softly. His eyes were unfocused for a moment before recognition dawned. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve before saying something. While she could not understand what he said, his voice was steady enough. Despite herself, Caledra was impressed. The man had downed enough rum to kill someone, and he could still make conversation – if he knew the language.

She handed him back her cap. He looked at it for a moment, and then back at her, thinking. Then slowly he managed to say, "Thank You." His pronunciation was atrocious, and he used the wrong pronoun, but it was a start. Caledra could not help but stifle a laugh as she responded with an acknowledgement.

The man gestured her to sit. Having nothing better to do, she took the seat opposite to him. He had taken a feather from his cap and was using it to write something. He passed the parchment to her. To her surprise, she could read it just fine.

Thank you for bringing my cap back to me. I forgot about it in the commotion while I was leaving.

He passed her the quill and gave her a fresh sheaf of parchment. No sooner had she put the quill to the paper, her hand moved on it's own accord, scrawling meaningless symbols on the paper. To Caledra's surprise she could read it perfectly clearly

It is fine. Were you crying?

The man smiled. It was a sad smile.

No, the soot from the candles makes my eyes water. Having a magical feather write my thoughts is however makes me want to cry.

That explained it. The quill was enchanted.

It is quite a novel magic trick, I have never seen anything like it. You seem like a broken person. I wish I was back home.

Damn. It seemed to put on paper whatever she had on her mind. She had to be careful to focus her mind as she put her quill on to the paper. Meanwhile the human was scribbling something even as his eyes were unfocused.

I do not know much about magic. However it seems to solved our communications problem rather fetchingly, don't you think?

She had to admit that it did. The man's smile now was less sad.

Miss Dawnbreeze, if you do not mind, I would like your help in learning this language. I find that doing something lets me focus away from more pointless thoughts and ruminations.

Caledra nodded and started to teach the man the basics of Common. Sheaf upon sheaf of parchment was filled with scribbles that the two of them could understand. Bit by bit, she taught the human words and how sentences were formed, with their proper tenses and cases. Much to her surprise, the human seemed to catch it quite quickly. It was surprisingly enjoyable too. As he sobered up, his mind seemed to pick up the pace. Humans, even the brightest were not this fast.

Caledra wondered what kind of strange land had bred this person who seemed to stay focused even after drinking enough to make a dwarf go blind. Part of her found this to be incredibly fun. When she was just an archer learning how to aim her bow, five centuries ago, she had spent long hours learning the secret signs that allowed Farstriders and rangers to communicate with each other without making a sound. In time, she would have taught it to a new generation of elves. The Scourge had taken away that sacred task from her. In a strange and roundabout way, what she was doing to help this foreign human mercenary from a distant lad learn common was an echo of that sacred task.

After a few hours, Caledra sat back tired but pleased. The human's progress was phenomenal. A day ago, he was barely able to ask for a drink. The past half hour, they had been conversing in common. His accent was harsh, but he was an eloquent speaker. He had told her much about himself in his eagerness to show her the newly found mastery he had of her language. He was of noble blood from a distant land called the Empire. Of course – leave it to humans to be dramatic. At least that explained how he was able to speak eloquently enough to catch the attention of his soldiers.

Interestingly enough, right now the human was scribbling something on a piece of paper. Strangely enough, it was not with the enchanted quill but a regular one. After he finished with it, he picked up the enchanted quill and wrote something down before passing the note on to her.

The parchment was filled with a script she had not seen before. Underneath it was what the human had been thinking while he had made it.

Milady, I thank you teaching me the language of this land. I am honoured to have been your student. Furthermore, I would like to return the favour to you by teaching you the language of my people. It shall not be too difficult for me. Doubtless, you are an excellent student as you make a fine teacher. I can only ask you to accept my offer and hope that you do.

Caledra had nothing better to do. The fleet from Stormwind was still en route to reinforce Southshore. Once it arrived and her paperwork signed by General Garrick, she could leave. At the same time, any stray intelligence she gathered from the soldiers would be of service to the Alliance. And they would never even know that she understood their language.

The man began with the letters.

They went at it for hours, communicating the intricacies and grammatical structure of the language with their thoughts. The two of them were racking up an awful amount of parchment for the most part, but Caledra had to admit it worked just as well on her as it did on the human. Perhaps that was the secret to learning a language. If people could understand each other's thoughts they could understand how they expressed them with the help of sounds and words.

The hours seemed to fly by. They spent most of the next day shut in the room, learning each other's languages while trying to converse with each other. The human seemed to be getting better at common by the hour. Most of his accent had disappeared, and instead of sounding like something spoken by a creature of the burning legion, he simply sounded more like a foreigner speaking a language he was not very used to. Her own foray into the language known as Reikspiel had not been as smooth. She could converse with him perfectly, but more often than not, Caledra called Erich a she, or a they. The rules of grammar for the language seemed even more arbitrary that Common.

Still, it was good to see her tutoring bear fruit. When Erich went down to eat on the next day, he was able to order the local speciality, a turtle bisque, and successfully ask for change. Not bad for two days of hard work and sharing thoughts.

They were in the room conversing about life in general. Currently, to increase their proficiency in their newly acquired languages, they were trying to continue a conversation in each other's tongues. Erich would say something in Common, and Caledra would respond in Reikspiel. It was an arduous task, but it seemed to be bearing fruit. Her knowledge of cases was becoming more solidified and she had even begun to pick up common phrases and dissect their meaning. A more scholarly mind living in Dalaran would have been fascinated. As it was, she was getting more frustrated.

They had been conversing about their homelands. She had told the human that she lived in Stormwind. He had asked if it was a city populated by elves like her. Caledra had explained that it was a human city that had a significant dwarf and gnome population. The human had corrected her word gnome to be halfling. Apparently that was the word in Reikspiel for the little fuzzy critters that were sapient but smaller than dwarfs.

The human was from a land called the Land of the Sun. To hear him speak of it, in all the Empire, it was perhaps the most beautiful and rugged land to ever have existed. The way he described it, reminded her of the northern reaches of Lordaeron where it met Quel'Thalas. In years past Rangers often passed into the lands between the two nations to keep an eye out for trolls. His descriptions of his homeland matched with her experiences there. Pine forests in rocky terrain watching over quaint farms and castles of petty nobles. Far away from the largest cities of their kind.

"What happened to your houseland?" She asked.

"'Home', my dear. 'House' is what you refer to when you are dealing with the structure. The concept is referred to is 'Home'. It is quite similar to Common." He paused. He was speaking Reikspiel. He continued in common.

"Anyway, we lived under the shadow of the mountains. Orcs would always attack in greater numbers year after year, decade after decade, and century after century. Over five hundred years ago the Greenshins attacked. They years prior had slowly whittled down our numbers and our fellow provinces were led by rulers who would rather bicker with each other than send help against a larger threat. We fought valiantly in the trees, in the farms, by the rivers and at last in our very capital.

We lost. The symbol of our ruler was borne away by the victorious monsters for decades. Our land was in ruin, and the only symbol that defined our place in the greater world had been stolen. The land lived, but the Land of the Sun had gone down over the mountains and into shadow."

His tone had shifted from conversational to melancholy as he finished his anecdote. Caledra looked at him. His eyes were wistfully staring at the candle flame, and he was wringing his cap in his hands.

"Ever since then, we, the people of Solland have spread far and wide across the lands of the empire. Our lands were absorbed into a nearby province. Our ancient capital is now a market for wool, and the few of us that remain now cling more firmly to our pasts, holding on to our trappings even as the world begins to leave us by. It is a sad thing, to cling on to the scraps of memory reminiscing about the glory days long gone. How fitting that it applies to my kin perfectly."

Caledra was about to say something, when the bugle from the docks went out. Almost as fast as her, the human was on the alert, his hand on his pistol.

"What was that?" He asked in Reikspiel. The half dreaming scholarly man talking about his long lost homeland was gone. A cunning soldier remained asking for a reconnaissance report from his scout.

Caledra waited with baited breath. Then a bugle played the welcome refrain sung at ports. Southshore was closed to all non military vessels. This could only mean one thing.

The Stormwind Army had arrived.


CaptnDetergent: The major advantage that a veteran mercenary company would possess over most Warcraft forces is the fact that they can co-ordinate and act in unision in pitched battles. Warcraft as a setting doesn't have too much of actual thoughtful warfare going on, given the nature of the MMO game. WHFB on the other hand was all about the battles instead of an ongoing story. On an individual level, A Pikeman is going to lose to a Stormwind guard, especially as heavy armour is far more easily accessible in warcraft. So far Erich has defeated an undead army that he managed to flank and entrap with his men, and sacked a largely empty town because Serra is a mage from Saphery and can handle necromancers on the level of Helcular. He also has not faced an actual army led by a general yet. The leader of the Forsaken is just that.

LordofBones: Why? are pro alliance warhammer crossovers uncommon?