CHAPTER II
Arthas rubbed His head as He cast aside the lid to the tomb. With His left hand, He rubbed His forehead and appreciated being back in His own body. He slowly caressed the cold, marble frame of the tomb; He admired the figures in front of Him that did not molt and disfigure as things had in the Twisting Nether.
"It is a gloomy day in Stormwind," He finally said, the dark clouds from the summoning just now beginning to dissipate.
"It is a gloomy day, indeed," responded Kel'Thuzad.
Arthas briefly smiled. His majordomo had come back for Him. He exited the tomb and noticed for the first time He had been buried in white robes with blue trim: the official robes of Lordaeron. Varian had been good to Him. Soon, Varian, Arthas thought to Himself.
He turned to see Grizz standing, his eyes wide with delight, focused on Arthas's form. The Codex had fared well, furthermore, it had managed to keep important information from Moordrinar's grasp.
The human eyed Grizz for a brief second awaiting some witty comment to dash through His mind. "You've lost wait," Arthas pat Grizz on the forearm. The Codex had taken its abomination form to complete the summoning ritual and was still in its girthier stature.
Grizz smiled, and a deep sound rumbled in its throat as it looked around, proud. Arthas, truly a man of the people, could make an abomination blush.
"And you," the death knight's eyes narrowed on Chrysoloras.
"You're not mad about me killing You that one time," Chrysoloras quipped.
Arthas laughed haughtily. "The Lich King told Me how our encounter would end. Here, hand Me that."
Chrysoloras handed over Shadowmourne. Arthas admired the fine craftsmanship and held the runeblade tightly in His hands. He shut His eyes and said, "If I close my eyes, holding this feels like running through the streets of Strahnbrad." Slowly, He opened His eyes and handed the weapon back to Chrysoloras, "Take good care of it."
Stormwind City Guards had begun to congregate at the entrance to the Stormwind City Cemetery. None of them dared enter. They stood there, hunched over themselves behind bushes peering on. "It cannot be," one of them whispered. Arthas looked in their direction and the guards froze in terror.
"We must make haste to Icecrown and prepare our trip to Mal'Dridar," He said to His patrons.
"What of the audience," asked Kel'Thuzad.
"Leave them be," Arthas nodded His head in the direction of the Stormwind City Guards. "They won't hurt anybody. Anduin will know we're here soon enough."
But 'soon enough' was much quicker than Arthas remembered. The abundance of magic had surged since not only the Third War, but also His Wrath. The ability to travel instantly throughout Azeroth was a luxury only afforded to little more than the mages of Dalaran when Arthas walked amongst the living. Many thoughts grounded in this era of His life had come to frame the way the Death Knight remembered the world.
Soon the rhythmic marching of troops sounded from the streets on Cathedral Square. Soldiers poured forth onto the dirt path to the cemetery; they numbered in the hundreds. Each one appeared as afraid as the last. They had fought off rogue Horde raiding parties before, but never the Lich King.
"I think it is more than our cold presence that's making them shake," Kel'Thuzad chattered.
The Stormwind troops weren't just trembling, their teeth were rattling around in their skulls. Many of them dropped their swords or shields, some both. The air seemed still, there were no ripples in the water of Stormwind Lake. Yet the candles that served as mementos to the fallen that hovered around the water still blew out. The stench of the grave, and even more so Grizz, filled the stale atmosphere.
"Father, I thought time was of the essence," Grizz rumbled.
"There's someone I need to say hello to before we leave."
The stalemate persisted until finally a phalanx in the back could be seen moving. A holy figure marched through the ranks and the soldiers seemed to draw strength from it. The clouds had now completely dispersed in the air and a single candle in the lake illuminated itself once more.
"Arthas," Anduin sounded shocked.
"King Anduin," Arthas bowed His head slightly.
Stunned, Kel'Thuzad, Grizz, and Chrysoloras followed suit and bowed to the boy-king.
"I…I am surprised to see You," Anduin fumbled with his words.
Slowly nodding His head, Arthas replied, "I imagine there will be many people surprised to see me."
"To what does Azeroth owe Your return?"
"I have unfinished business here." Arthas held His head high and looked down at the small army before Him. Many of the soldiers tightened their grips on their weaponry.
Anduin's mind began to reel. His eyes darted around the Scourge champions before him. "What sort of business," he asked.
"I don't come as Azeroth's villain-unless of course someone gets in my way."
The Light commanded Anduin's attention. His mind clamped tight before it could run amuck.
"The coming darkness seeks to destroy us all. If Azeroth is to survive, she will need all of her champions."
"Then you come as an ally," Anduin's inflection implied trepidation.
Dissent erupted in the ranks of the army behind Anduin. "An ally," one shouted in disbelief. "He's a murderer," shouted another.
"Arthas, they're right. You have much to account for if You wish to return to this world. I may have the capacity to forgive, but-"
The ground began to churn on the small hill that lead down from the marriage gazebo to the cemetery. Iron dwarf mole machines sprouted from the ground and immediately began to vomit dwarves upon the earth. Muradin Bronzebeard chief amongst them.
"Where is he," Muradin bellowed.
Now it was Arthas's eyes that began to swirl with unease. He had not thought Muradin would be here. He looked away for as long as He could until Muradin's stubby legs had carried him to the front of the army.
"You," the dwarf growled. Muradin hurled a storm hammer at Arthas. Chrysoloras cast an anti-magic shield around the death knight's body, Grizz stepped in front of Arthas to absorb the blow, but it was Kel'Thuzad's chains that smacked the magical weapon from the air. Quickly, Arthas held His hands up to calm His troops. Grizz backed away, his misshapen eyes narrowing on Muradin as the abomination belched sludge from the opening on his face in menacing fashion.
"I am not here to weave death throughout Stormwind," Arthas finally said. "There are things I must do to ready the Scourge for battle."
"Like what," asked Anduin.
"I need to travel to the forge Moroz'gorevat, on Mal'Dridar, birthplace of the demons, and reforge Frostmourne."
There was a deafening silence as the words were processed by the living. Anduin didn't know which part of the sentence to address first. His lips mouthed the words 'birthplace of the demons' as his mind raced with questions.
"Argus may have been where the Legion set up camp, but Antorus was far from the only place the demons devised their plans. Sargeras had to scrounge those miscreants up from somewhere."
Anduin looked around warily, "Sargeras-"
"Is defeated, I know," Arthas finished. "There are still demons out in the Twisting Nether powerful enough to draw Azeroth to her knees. Demons that serve the Void Lord."
"More powerful than Archimonde and Kil'jaeden," asked Anduin.
"In their own ways, yes. In other ways, no."
"Don't listen to Him, laddie. He's nothing but lies and deceit," Muradin warned.
For a moment, Arthas debated whether to say anything. His pride clouded His judgement until a familiar voice called to Him. If I had the opportunity to speak to the nobles of my clans after I tore Draenor apart, and apologize, I would. Arthas rolled His eyes and shook His head.
"I'm sorry, Muradin," He breathed heavily.
Muradin couldn't look at the death knight. The dwarf worried if he did, he might forgive Arthas. He tried to train his eyes on Anduin, but the boy-king could not take his gaze off the undead forces before him.
And there, as Muradin stared at Anduin, all the dwarf could see was the shining image of who Arthas could have been. The once-Crown Prince of Lordaeron had been surrounded by mentors who only ever cherished Him. Muradin had swelled with pride every time Arthas bested Anduin's father in combat; and the radiance from Uther's face when giving updates on Arthas's training was second only to King Terenas's.
Arthas was supposed to unite the human kingdoms. He was to rule righteous lands and vanquish wicked foes. All the people of Lordaeron had loved Him and that warmth was not to stop there.
The image of Anduin began to blur. Muradin rubbed his eyes and turned his back to the scene. "I can't even look at ya, laddie," he whispered.
Arthas could feel guilt swelling in the pit of His stomach. We don't have time for that, Ner'zhul's voice called, and the feelings subsided.
"I have to go," Arthas said coldly.
"My father told me You were a great fighter," Anduin called.
Arthas stopped walking and looked back over His shoulder at the small Stormwind army, although it continued to swell in size as more troops rushed to the scene.
"Is that what he told you? Hmm. Interesting. Because it looks like what he told the historians and archivists of Stormwind was something else. Here's my favorite," Arthas could barely control Himself. He turned around and produced a piece of parchment from the air and read aloud, "'Though not outwardly spiteful, Arthas frequently lamented that He was not as physically strong as Varian."
The death knight dropped the parchment and took a step forward, crushing the paper beneath his bare feet as it turned to blight. "Your father may have been the most adroit human in physical combat, but I gave as good as I got. And this," Arthas squished the parchment beneath His toes again, " is only propaganda There is very little truth to it."
"It worked," Anduin remarked.
Arthas smirked. "Did it? I could burn this city to the ground Myself without Frostmourne."
Don't cast a spell your mana pool can't handle, Ner'zhul warned. But it was too late, Arthas's short temper had been set alight. He read Varian's propaganda before and absolutely loathed to have His name besmirched.
"I told you, lad," Muradin whispered, his back still to Anduin and Arthas.
The Crown Prince of Lordaeron heard His former mentor's words. They again inspired feelings of pity on the mortals before Him. His heavy breathing subsided as Arthas's blood quit racing through His veins so heatedly.
Suddenly a soldier in the phalanx stepped forward. "Please don't make me show you," he said. Another soldier stepped forth. She smiled at Anduin and said, "I don't like having to repeat myself. I won't kill anyone unless they get in my way."
"You think I control the Scourge with written orders? Why do you think they run rampant in my absence," Arthas purred.
Now entire squadrons of troops were conversing with themselves over the majesty of the Lich King. "That's true. The Lich King is very powerful," one said. "Truly a great and righteous king," said another. "And handsome," a young lady screamed from deep in the ranks.
Then a dwarf approached Muradin and wiped a tear from his cheek. The mind-controlled dwarf stared into his leader's eyes, and as he did so Muradin felt like he was staring into another set of familiar blue orbs. The dwarf then turned to Anduin and uttered, "Everyone always forgets what they cannot see. You think the Lich King is nothing but death and ice. There is infinitely more to my power than that."
Now Anduin could feel the tug of the Lich King in his own head. The best he could explain the sensation was a cool wind that briefly rushed through his mind. It was not painful nor invasive, nor could Anduin even tell if Arthas or he were in command of his functions. Anduin called upon the Light to free his mind. The Light had always been especially powerful against the undead.
The look of horror on Arthas's face told Anduin everything he needed to know. The Death Knight now held His hand aloft to exert more control over Anduin. The king of Stormwind mustered more power, he could still feel the cool mental wind. Light faintly swirled around his body until his mind felt his own again.
"What is this magic," Arthas asked through gritted teeth.
"It is the power of the Light," Anduin spoke confidently.
Arthas laughed. "It is the power of the Light," He mocked. "You forget I too once wielded such magics." Arthas then brought His hand to His side, "The real question is: did you really decide to do that?"
"Of course, I did," Anduin snapped.
The look of humor quickly subsided from Arthas's face and what was left was the placid expression countless enemies had seen before. "That's what the death knights of the Ebon Blade think too." A portal summoned forth behind Arthas and instantly the cadre of Scourge beings were gone.
Immediately the possessed troops raced to where the portal was and cried out in anguish as it evaporated.
Muradin ran to the dwarf that came to his side. "Lad, you were under a spell."
"No, I wasn't," the dwarf responded. "I wanted you to feel better."
Muradin looked on in bewilderment. How could this man not know what had just happened? Hadn't he felt differently? That his will was not his own?
"Anduin, you need to aid Arthas in His quest," one of the soldiers turned to her king.
Anduin rubbed his head for a moment. "No, I think I would be wiser to send SI:7 to take watch over Icecrown Citadel."
"Let me go with them then," she pleaded.
Anduin and Muradin exchanged worried glances.
Yeah, I'm sure you could bring Stormwind to her knees without Frostmourne, Ner'zhul mocked Arthas once He was back to the Frozen Throne. You know you're not the Lich King right now? You're just a Death Knight.
Arthas shot an annoyed glance at the familiar sight of Ner'zhul and His armor encased in ice. The death knight paced the Frozen Throne stroking His chin. Kel'Thuzad's bony frame hovered above the icy floor in silence while Grizz and Chrysoloras stood in awe of their master.
"I'm ready to see it," Arthas finally sighed.
Don't
No, I'm ready, Arthas responded.
I can tell You that You're not, Ner'zhul warned.
"Show me the shards," Arthas commanded Grizz.
Very slowly, Kel'Thuzad's head spun completely around to face the Codex. The arch lich of the Scourge looked worried for the construct's safety.
Grizz swallowed hard and approached his creator. Then, cautiously, produced a satchel containing the Shards of Frostmourne.
With trembling hands, Arthas squeamishly grabbed the bag and held it away as though it were ridden with putrefaction, and Arthas not the master of Death. He brought the bag close to His body then quickly yanked it away. This process continued until Ner'zhul spoke to Him, I told You, You're not ready.
That only served to embolden Arthas. The Death Knight abruptly spread the satchel open and nervously peered inside. "I'm gonna be sick," He choked. Arthas dropped the bag and pieces of the runeblade spilled onto the icy floor. Quickly, He was taken back to that fateful evening. Arthas could see clearly the Ashbringer colliding with Frostmourne and the sentient runeblade having the clout to sunder itself rather than fall into the wrong hands.
Rage became Him. Arthas, crouched, screamed with the strength of gale force winds that could ground the entire Wildhammer clan. The Scourge below erupted in shrieks that reverberated across Azeroth. The icy chill of Northrend surrounded the Frozen Throne in sub-zero temperatures. Blight extended itself in all directions on Northrend. All matter of undead since the Alliance and Horde campaigns to Northrend crawled forth from the ground - even deep into the subterranean caverns of the Icy Depths.
Ner'zhul couldn't take it anymore. I told you, he said. Over the loud breaths Arthas sucked in, another loud cry rang out in Northrend's skies. Though, this one was human. The dark clouds above the Frozen Throne parted yet the atmosphere only darkened. Gusts of wind beat down upon the Scourge until Galakrond perched its massive frame aside the spire; it was far too large to land anywhere save the cold, snow-covered ground.
"My king," Anub'arak chittered as he scurried from Galakrond's bony hide onto the Frozen Throne.
"Ah. My traitor king." Arthas held His arms out.
"And You, Arthas, a man after my own heart."
"It is good to see you, old friend. But the pleasantries will have to wait. We have work to do."
Anub'arak nodded his armored head.
Arthas briskly walked to the edge of the Frozen Throne and peered out. The Scourge, in its entirety in Northrend, lay below Him. A great cheer sounded as Arthas opened His arms, the chilly Northrend air blowing His robes aflutter. Arthas peered on as their icy eyes lit with enthusiasm. Skeletons clanged their rusted weapons together, necromancers beat their wooden staves upon the frozen earth, and banshees swooned with adoration. Too long had His people languished in their icy graves.
Be quick, Arthas.
You're right, the Death Knight replied.
"Come," Arthas nodded His head to the troop atop the Frozen Throne. They all mounted Galakrond. "Don't go anywhere while I'm gone," He jested one last time to Ner'zhul, and as the winged structure departed Icecrown Citadel, Arthas witnessed Ner'zhul's reply in the Scourge emoting something rude to Him.
Enhanced by Arthas's unholy aura, it did not take long for Galakrond to cross the Great Sea to the Eastern Kingdom. For days the winged beast cast shadows that engulfed entire zones below; and despite the clear and eminent danger, no one dared cross Galakrond's path. There was no waiting army at the Dark Portal, no army of griffon or batriders at their back.
The small regiment before the Dark Portal quickly ran for cover the second Galakrond's enormous frame came into view miles away. Before any of them could send word for help, Ner'zhul, from the Frozen Throne, sedated their minds.
With each monstrous beat of Galakrond's wings as it landed, more and more red clay and rocks were blown from the ground. The whirlwind uncovered not only Iron Horde bodies, but also demon bodies from Illidan's initial assault on Azeroth. One wrong step and the mighty wyrm could have toppled the Dark Portal itself. In fact, Galakrond might have not even noticed.
"I don't think it will fit, my liege," Kel'Thuzad commented as he inspected the deceased bodies that littered the hard earth.
Saddened by this truth, Arthas turned to Galakrond and spoke, "Well done mighty Galakrond. I wish we could take you with us, but the confines of the Dark Portal are no place for you."
The magnificent and horrible wyrm nodded its head and turned to guard the Dark Portal for anyone foolish enough to follow the Scourge through. Before heading inside, Arthas again reminded Galakrond to watch its step.
Some time ago, after the crusade against Illidan Stormrage, but before the assault on Icecrown Citadel…
"There's a lot of stuff here, buddy," Fictious Warpotion commented. Grugg, Fictious's ogre, nodded its meaty head.
Fictious surveyed the bleak fields around Auchindoun as he sat comfortably in a seat fashioned around Grugg's neck. He jostled the healing spray canon fastened to Grugg's right shoulder, checked the intravenous tubes snaked around the ogre's body, then pat the ogre on the back signaling it forward.
The desecrated grounds around Auchindoun had scared away many superstitious scavengers, but Fictious was a goblin. Superstition was not in their repertoire. The Alliance put out a call on all things supernatural in their aid against the Lich King. There was serious money to be made from a monetary mercenary like Fictious Warpotion. He figured every dolt would be out scavenging the frigid tundras of Northrend. Competition would be stiff and the undead would be plenty. Idiots.
Fictious never doubted the potency of undead or the supernatural, but his conquest had always been over the chemicals of Azeroth, the material world. Ghosts? No, thank you. In fact, he was a founding member of one of the most prestigious goblin institutions. It was a goblin think tank: the Conscientious Crusher 3500. Literally a tank that could "think" for itself. That is, if thinking was determining goblins were good and all other races were bad. Or, at the very least, dispensable.
He shook his head, shooing the memory from his mind. Fictious didn't like to think about the old days. He had gone solo-ish now, and that was for the best.
"Alright, Grugg, we're looking for all things ectoplasmy. Got it?"
The ogre nodded his head and set off.
The soil around Auchindoun was mostly compact, hard, and full of bones. Fortunately for Fictious, he had a device that could detect trace amounts of supernatural residue in the ground. Every few yards the duo would come across something that set off beeping, although nothing that ever proved fruitful. The best he found were bones that were used in rituals or were previously summoned skeletons. He didn't know what good it would be, but the Kirin Tor mages of Dalaran always had someone willing to pay for it. Now, had he taken it back to somewhere like Gadgetzan, they could have really made something useful. Yet, Gadgetzan paid very little for all things spiritual.
Suddenly, Grugg grunted. Fictious maneuvered his body this way and that. "What is it, buddy," the goblin whispered. Grugg made more noises. The device designed to detect the supernatural wasn't making any sounds. This was something of the physical world. A rogue, maybe? But Fictious was a neutral mercantilist, who would want to attack him?
A Warp Hunter phased into view only feet before Grugg. The ogre cried out in shock. "Kill it! Kill it," Fictious commanded. Grugg beat the warp hunter repeatedly on the head then took one last stomp of his fat foot for good measure. "Oh boy, I'm already sick of this place," Fictious groaned. Those feelings only worsened as Grugg continued to have to pummel his way through Dreadfang Widows, Infested Root-Walkers, and Bonelashers.
Soon enough, the tree stumps Fictious Warpotion found himself surrounded in gave way to the desolate plains of the Bone Wastes. Toppled structures from a lost empire jettisoned from the ground and in the distance Auchindoun in all its former glory could be seen. The goblin reached into a satchel within his command post and counted all his acid bombs. He'd overpacked as always, which to Fictious meant he had brought enough. Arguably, too few. He snatched one up in his clawed hand and used his free hand to fasten himself tightly to his seat.
They were not alone in the Bone Wastes. There still existed traces of the Ethereal plunderers and nethermancers that plagued the area. Most had been cleared by adventurers, but some remained. Fictious was confident they could make quick work of them.
The goblin alchemist fought his way to the most promising structure, a spire topped with the Alliance flag. Maybe some of the heroes of the Alliance had left behind valuables. Upon reaching the spire, Fictious found nothing of importance but more enchanted bones. This wasn't going to be enough. Especially not if he wanted to cement himself as the go-to goblin when it came to undead and otherworldly paraphernalia as he so wanted. The Kirin Tor and the Valiance Expedition were paying well.
To his right, there was another structure, though this one was surrounded with Ethereals. He probably should have started there anyway. Grugg smashed his way through the mystic humanoid forms until Fictious noticed the demolished building had a basement. Probably some sort of tomb given the previous use of this land.
An open staircase led below the blighted ground. Fictious spied a tiny flag fashioned from a decaying branch and frostweave cloth flutter on the ground next to the stairs. Weird.
The once hypnotic, purple braziers of the Ethereals were all unlit. The goblin withdrew a flashlight of his own creation and flipped it on. "Be cautious," he warned Grugg as the two slowly crept down the flight of stairs. "There's no telling what heebie-jeebies are down here."
Before Fictious and Grugg could descend the steps any farther, they heard groaning. It sounded like the noises the Ethereal plunderers and nethermancers above made before Grugg smashed their energetic heads into oblivion. There wasn't supposed to be anything down here. Fictious heard that these lands had been cleared out of anything dangerous. That was one reason why he was here and not in Northrend in the first place.
He pressed a button within his control station and green fluid pumped into Grugg's veins. The ogre suddenly became alert, stealthy, and snuck his way farther into the tomb. The goblin and ogre peered their heads around as they came into view of a long tunnel that split three additional ways, not unlike a compass. Then, Fictious saw what was making the noise. An injured Ethereal nethermancer was channeling some spell in front of an Ethereal interdimensional gateway.
Although, something seemed off about this Ethereal. It was not shrouded in the typical purple energies becoming of their race, but instead, a green energy that seemed to seep from its bandages. Fictious looked around the room more. The floor, he observed, was littered with bones and skulls. Skulls that seemed to watch him. They did not move in any fashion, Fictious only drew an eerie vibe from them. This was bad. A goblin's sixth sense only went off when an opportunity for money making was afoot.
He waved his hand at the Ethereal nethermancer. It paid him no attention. "Hey," Fictious called out. Still nothing. Grugg shrugged his large shoulders causing Fictious's entire seat to jostle. The goblin edged the ogre forward. Grugg continued to sneak his way into the tomb and still the nethermancer paid them no mind. As they stalked past the Ethereal, Fictious withdrew an acid bomb from his satchel and aimed it at the nethermancer. Just in case.
Then, Grugg made a soft grunt, signaling his master's attention. Fictious whirled around to see a draenei corpse surrounded by candles. Its stomach lacerated and organs removed. The entire ensemble was placed over an icy blue rune on the ground. Frostweave cloth. Blue runes. Fictious didn't need much more evidence.
Yet, there was money to be made here. "Go get it," he hissed into Grugg's ear.
The ogre shook its head.
"Don't be a baby. Go grab it."
Grugg began to back away.
"Don't make me make you," Fictious growled.
Grugg paused. All the goblin had to do was press a button, and Grugg would even more so be subject to the goblin's whims. Begrudgingly, Grugg paced forward to grab the candles, then the corpse.
As they drew closer, Fictious's lantern illuminated more of the hallway. The walls were adorned in blood runes. Smeared this way and that, they painted a grisly scene for the eyes of mortals to behold. "Okay. We're cool. We're cool. There's nothing the undead can do that technology can't do better. I could make my own Scourge with enough Goblin Jumper Cables," Fictious assured himself.
Deeper in the tomb, the goblin alchemist could now hear chanting. But this was no mystery to him. He had heard these ghastly hymns before. Acolytes. Probably the Cult of the Damned variety too. There was little luck these were of the Forsaken kind.
"Okay, grab the corpse and let's get the hell out of here."
Grugg quickly nodded his head and turned. The corpse was gone.
"Oh boy. This keeps getting better. Okay. New plan. Get the hell out of here!"
Grugg raced to the steps but something grabbed his feet. It was the corpse of the draenei. Its spine had been too badly damaged to walk in the ceremony, but it could still use its arms. Grugg smashed its head in with one stomp.
Suddenly the interdimensional waygate sprang to life. A rush of cold Northrend air filled the room and a meaty abomination bellowed forth.
"Bluh! Tear meat," it belched.
"Run," Fictious screamed. It was too late. The abomination hurled its meat hook at Grugg and pulled the ogre toward it. Frantically, Fictious mashed another button in his station. Red fluid coursed into Grugg's veins, and the ogre went ballistic. Fastened to the command post on Grugg's back were blades for each hand. The ogre used them to furiously hack and slash away at the abomination's flesh. Fictious hurled an acid bomb right into the gaping hole in the abomination's stomach.
Stitches burst from the abomination's hide, but it continued to assault Grugg. The abomination, though not much taller than Grugg, was far girthier and stronger. But Fictious's chemical rage fluids were the best in Azeroth. As the abomination brought down a heavy blow from its muscled arm, Grugg grabbed it with only his hand. The ogre, enraged by chemical fluids, crushed the abominations paw in his own. With one titanic yell, the ogre grabbed the undead by the head and squeezed it into a mangled pulp of flesh.
As they ran from the tomb, Fictious continued to mash the button for the green fluid to surge into Grugg's veins, compelling the ogre faster and faster. They reached Allerian Stronghold in a matter of minutes. The ogre collapsed the moment they were within the city gates. Immediately, Fictious grabbed the canon on Grugg's back and began to spray the ogre in green sludge. This was supposed to heal the wounds of all exposed but save the gash in Grugg's back, the ogre continued to writhe in pain.
Exorcist Sullivan and Spirit Sage Zran exchanged curious looks but otherwise said nothing. Fictious was use to Alliance members regarding him warily. It all rolled off his back once the money came in, though this was different. He was clearly in need.
Fictious looked around helplessly as Grugg continued to gasp for air.
"I wouldn't expect you to know how to ride a beast," one of the Allerian Horseman called to Fictious.
"Are goblins tall enough to ride horses," an Allerian Defender asked the Horseman.
"Hang tight, buddy." Fictious pat Grugg on the head and raced through the stronghold to the mage spire. Inside, Andarl sat reading one of his magic tomes and was shocked to see a goblin run in.
"Hello," he asked.
"You're a mage, right," Fictious panted.
"I am."
"Can you teleport me and my friend to Shattrath?"
"Excuse me?"
"Please," Fictious exclaimed, "I need your help."
Andarl hesitated for a moment, then stood. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened on Outland in quite some time, but this event was certainly strange.
"Come on! I'll pay you ten copper," the goblin pleaded.
"Ten copper," Andarl was offended. "The cheapness of goblins knows no bounds!"
"Ten gold!" Fictious reached into one of the many bags fastened to his belt, counted out ten golden coins, and displayed them to Andarl.
"Dear goodness! This must be an emergency!" Andarl leapt to his feet and followed Fictious outside to the gates where Grugg continued to struggle. He looked at the ogre, the tubes that ran into his veins, the mechanical contraption on his back, and the safety goggles secured to his face.
"You're an alchemist," Andarl observed.
"And you're a mage. Now get us to Shattrath!" Fictious dropped the gold coins by Andarl and raced to Grugg's side. "Go! Go! Work your magic!" The goblin grabbed Grugg tightly and closed his eyes in anticipation. Nothing happened.
"I-I've been having some issues casting spells here in Outland," Andarl confessed.
"I got a chemical for everything," Fictious said as he searched another bag on his person. "Here." He flung a radiant vial to Andarl. "Drink that, and you can summon all of us there. Just do it!"
Andarl eyed the vial suspiciously until he decided why would the goblin lie now; he had already paid? The mage drank the potion and felt a surge of Arcane energy. This must be what Lady Jaina feels like all the time, he thought to himself. Finally, Fictious could feel something magical happening. Again, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, he suddenly felt much calmer.
Fictious looked around the Terrace of Light and saw A'dal floating above him. He tried to muster a sense of urgency to find Grugg, but all he could think was, everything will be okay.
"It won't be okay," his logical, goblin side shrieked.
The Light smiles upon you, A'dal warmly hummed in Fictious's mind.
Before the goblin could offer a rebuttal, Grand Anchorite Almonen, a draenei priest, was bolting across the brown, stone floor; his hooves splashed in the streams of water fixed between the geometric patterns on the ground. A sense that this priest was racing toward Grugg filled Fictious. The goblin sprang to his feet and followed. The two raced out from underneath the domed center of the Terrace of Light.
"It wreaks," Captain Dranarus, a member of the Shattered Sun Offensive, scoffed as he wagged his hand before his fine nose. Grugg's body had not made its way to the same spot as Fictious's. The ogre was teleported near Nutral, Shattrath's flight master, and a party of Shattered Sun trainees.
"Stand back," Grand Anchorite Almenon shouted.
"Do what the alien says," Fictious threated, an acid bomb clutched in his green claw.
"The combination of whatever this green chemical is, and the disease cloud are counteracting with your healing spray," Almenon observed after placing his hands on Grugg's feeble body.
"You a chemist," Fictious asked.
"I was a scientist once upon a time. But now," the priest held his hands aloft over Grugg's body and a golden radiance burst forth, "I am a priest."
Uneasy, Fictious nodded his head. Given time to study the chemical reaction, he would have solved it. No need for magic.
Grugg's exasperated breaths slowly returned to normal. The ogre now simply seemed tired and decided to close his eyes.
"Let him rest," Grand Anchorite Almenon suggested as he stood to his hooves.
The goblin eyed the ogre for a moment longer, then turned, put his hands in his pockets, and walked off.
"Northrend is a dangerous place," Captain Dranarus sardonically called to Fictious.
"This happened outside Auchindoun, chump," the goblin alchemist called over his green shoulder.
The Shattered Sun Captain and Grand Anchorite exchanged confused and frightened looks.
Fictious Warpotion continued around the Terrace of Light until he meandered down a ramp to the Lower City. He walked past Battlemasters Mijiri and Jonru and in between some wooden crates. Just ahead was World's End Tavern. Fictious spied Wind Trader Lathrai to his left and wondered how the Ethereal would feel knowing the goblin alchemist had just bashed some of his brethren's heads in. Lathrai probably didn't care. Just like Fictious didn't care when goblin Bloodsail Buccaneers were killed. Good riddance.
The tavern had grown sparse in the time between the crusade against Illidan Stormrage and the voyage to Northrend. The usual heroes and adventurers regaling each other in their conquests over Outland had long since left. Kylene, a barmaid, walked by and asked Fictious if he wanted anything. "Maybe in a minute," the goblin responded.
"We don't see many goblins around here," Kylene said as she walked back behind the bar.
"Oh yeah?" Fictious didn't care, but the calming influence of A'dal put him in unusually high spirits. "When was the last time you had one?"
Kylene nodded her head to the other side of the bar as she swished a rag through a dirty mug.
Fictious's brow furrowed. Another goblin? Here? Now? He began to turn around, yet before he did, he could already hear the other goblin's voice.
"And that's when it came to me: everyone is going to be in Northrend looking for ghoulish gadgets and cadaverous commodities. It's simple economics."
Fictious's shoulders slumped and he sighed. It was only a matter of time, he thought to himself. He wondered if he should say anything at all. It would either lead to a fight or a showboating contest. All he wanted was for Grugg to feel better so he could continue with his scavenging.
A shady night elf dressed in rogue regalia, standing next to the other goblin, mentioned something to the goblin. The goblin froze stiff. Fictious could tell she noticed the trepidation which he looked upon this goblin and had informed him. Her mouth moved, yet undetectable underneath the cloth covering most of her face.
"You're right, Lonika," the other goblin blurted, drunk, or at the very least tipsy. He then sloppily stood in his chair and turned to face Fictious Warpotion. "I should have known you'd show up here."
"Tek," Fictious acknowledged.
Tek Piecetinker was large for a goblin; still small, but, bound in muscle and maybe two inches taller than Fictious. He polished off the last swig of ale then hopped down from the chair and paced toward Fictious. Suddenly, he remembered something. He ran back and grabbed a finely crafted backpack and quickly slung it over his back.
"They let anyone in here," Tek asked.
"It's a bar, Tek. So yes," Fictious quipped.
"Where's Grugg?" Tek motioned his head.
Fictious didn't say anything. There was an awkward silence in the already quiet tavern.
"He's not," Tek trailed off and for a moment and sounded concerned.
"He'll be fine."
Tek nodded his head. "Good. Then I can bust your chops some more. Find anything good yet?"
"Nothing but skeletal remains and," Fictious stopped himself. Tek clearly had not seen the same things in the Tomb of Light. If he'd even been there.
Tek suspiciously eyed Lonika Stillblade then waddled closer to Fictious. The goblin clenched his fists, ready for Tek to start swinging, but, to Fictious's dismay, the goblin leaned in and whispered, "Did you find the ritual candles too?"
The look on Fictious's face told Tek yes. "Something weird is going on around here. Cult stuff. The dead."
"It's Auchindoun," Fictious whispered.
"This ain't just aimless draenei spirits. These are undead that move with purpose."
Tek seemed serious. In all their days working together, Fictious could have counted on both hands the amount of times Tek Piecetinker had been a serious goblin.
"Well then take what you can and sell it to the Kirin Tor," Fictious said as he glanced around the tavern.
"Horde is paying two copper more a piece."
Fictious took a mental note to try and ingratiate himself with the Horde again. He and the red faction had been on shaky ground ever since Fictious proposed the genocidal Conscientious Crusher 3500 to help with their "night elf problem" in Ashenvale. Neither side was serious enough about their eternal conflict to do anything resolute about it in his eyes.
Tek full-fledged put his arm around Fictious's neck and hissed, "It's risky, but there could be some serious coin to be made here."
Fictious forcefully shrugged Tek's arm off. "I told you, we're never working together again."
"Oh, come on. Not even for the right price?"
Fictious thought about it. A goblin was willing to do anything for the right price. "There is no price. It's a gamble. Sure thing price tag? I'm in. Gamble? I'm out."
"I've made some nice modifications to my suit," Tek tempted Fictious one last time.
"Always with the suit. You may be a big goblin, but you'll never be bigger than that orc in Booty Bay."
Hatred swirled in Tek's eyes. He dug his clawed hand into Fictious's shoulder and snarled, "You ain't got your ogre with you. Watch your mouth before I-"
Suddenly, the calming melody of A'dal chimed in Fictious's mind. By the soothed look on Tek's face, he figured he wasn't alone.
"Fictious Warpotion," a strong draenei voice called.
The two goblins turned and saw Grand Anchorite Almenon standing in the doorway to the World's End Tavern.
"Grugg is awake," Almenon spoke.
Fictious brushed Tek's hand away and walked to the entrance. A droplet of blood oozed down his shoulder.
"Don't forget to drug him up nice and good," Tek slurred his words. "You don't give a damn about that fat oaf; you're just another goblin trying to lighten somebody's coin purse!"
Grand Anchorite Almenon walked Fictious to Grugg. The ogre looked, in Fictious's opinion, too cognizant for comfort. The goblin alchemist shamefully eyed Almenon waiting for the draenei to leave so Fictious could dose Grugg up. Tek was right. Fictious Warpotion grit his sharp teeth. No. This was human thinking. Something that prolonged the suffering of others. If Grugg wasn't working for Fictious, then he'd be off harassing adventurers in Tanaris or summoning Old Gods somewhere dark.
"Come on, buddy," the goblin spoke as he checked the nozzles and buttons on the contraption fastened to Grugg's back. "I'm fine. You can go now," he snapped at Almenon. After flipping a few switches, some of the smaller hoses connected to Grugg began pumping fluid into him. Grugg grabbed the goggles on his head and pulled them snuggly over his eyes and smiled like a child.
"Let's go," Fictious motioned away from Shattrath.
Grugg joyfully nodded his head and set off. The ogre traveled back to the Bone Wastes outside Auchindoun. Fictious was lost in thought now, remembering the time spent working with Tek. The two had been on the verge of becoming the most sought-after goblins in all Azeroth before Tek's ego had driven him crazy. All that money. Lost. Damn Tek, Fictious Warpotion thought. It was normally cathartic to remember Tek's face being beaten in by that orc in Booty Bay, but now, after seeing his old business partner, Fictious almost felt sorry. Almost.
Suddenly Grugg motioned his frame to harness his master's attention. "Huh," Fictious looked around. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't realized Grugg had wondered somewhat aimlessly around the Bone Wastes. "Geez," the goblin griped. "I don't know, buddy. That way." Fictious pulled the reins on Grugg to the right. "Let's go to the Shadow Tomb now. I want to see what Tek saw."
Grugg nodded.
The path took them past what had at one point been the old Refugee Caravan. It's once pitiful and dilapidated wagons looked no less depressing, though they were now absent the Skettis and draenei refugees. Fictious figured they better poke around even though he suspected there was nothing of note.
He had at least in part been wrong. There had been something of note, but it had been previously taken. Probably Tek. Fresh dirt betrayed the hard, compact soil all around it. It was probably a cog wheel or something; Tek had always been a hoarder.
A loud thud sounded in the distance. Far enough for Fictious to approach, but close enough to do so cautiously. A Cabal Skirmisher lay in the hard earth as two rogues stood over his body. Undead rogues.
"Shush," one of them hissed at the other, slapping him on the shoulder.
Grugg slowly motioned behind a large nearby bolder. Fictious racked his brain with whether these were Forsaken or Scourge rogues. Why would either be out here? Fictious figured he better play it safe and assume the worst. He stood on Grugg's head and peered around the bolder as he watched the two rogues stand guard over the stairs into the Shadow Tomb.
Moments later a procession of acolytes followed by an undead shadow priest emerged from the shadowy outskirts of the Bone Wastes. The bald shadow priest cloaked in Aboslution vestments carried himself with an air of reverence. His exceptionally bright yellow eyes pierced through the dark ambiance around Auchindoun. Then, the shadow priest knelt beside the fallen Cabal Skirmisher and uttered words of darkness and power. The once-corpse squirmed then stood upright, his fatal wounds now trivial, and followed the procession inside.
Fictious Warpotion mouthed the words, 'cha-ching' to himself. This was the motherload. If he could get to whatever was going on down there, he would be able to afford another vacation. Of course, he wouldn't take it, as he had not taken the litany of vacations afforded to him from his previous exploits. But still. He waited an hour for the two rogues outside to descend the stairs.
"They really gone," he whispered to Grugg.
Grugg stuck his nose around the boulder and quietly inhaled as much air through his nostrils as he could. It wasn't a foolproof method, but the ogre was generally pretty good at smelling the undead given this was his only focus. Grugg turned to look up at Fictious and gave a slow nod. The goblin motioned his comrade forward. Slowly, the ogre trekked toward the Shadow Tomb. Fictious saw another stick bound in frostweave near the entrance.
Suddenly a Cabal Tomb-Raider and Abjurist stalked forth from the tomb. They too had recently received fatal wounds, their clothing soaked with blood. Fictious and Grugg froze. So too did the undead orc and draenei. Quickly, Fictious reached for an acid bomb while Grugg squeezed tightly his blades. But the goblin was taken aback by the undead's refrain. The two beings stood and watched the goblin alchemist. They did not yell for help or take fighting positions.
"This is gonna be like the other tomb. Mark my words. The second we take our eyes off them, they're gonna strike." Fictious threw an acid bomb at the Cabal Abjurist. The acidic concoction drooped down its face, melting away clothing and skin into a single bubbling goop. Still the draenei did nothing. Its empty eyes returned only an uneasy sense to the goblin.
"Go hit him," Fictious pointed to the Cabal Tomb-Raider.
Grugg stomped to the tomb-raider and smashed it on the head. The undead fell to the ground, its brain seeping from its fractured skull. One eye remained fixed on the duo. The draenei slowly turned around to watch Fictious and Grugg descend the staircase to the Shadow Tomb, his face partly melted away revealing his skull.
Immediately within the tomb, Fictious could hear an undead voice. This one was not chanting. Instead, it was preaching something with a confident, booming voice. The goblin mashed the button for the green liquid to surge into Grugg's veins. The ogre's steps became quick and nimble and quiet as he scurried deeper into the darkness.
This tomb appeared precisely as the other had only its northward corridor seemed much deeper. Not only that, but this corridor was lit by the Ethereal braziers although the purple light was much bluer. Fictious could see the shadows of many heads dancing on the walls as the blue fires flicked around. He continued to cautiously search around every crevice, but all undead were assembled into this large corridor.
Once Fictious poked his head inside the room, he saw why. Around one hundred undead compiled the congregation before the shadow priest. Some undead were seated on purple blankets, others sat or leaned on wooden crates scattered around the long room. They were all enraptured by the words of the shadow priest. Even Hathyss the Wicked was leaning against a pylon. Her decayed body from when she was struck down by adventurers smelled putrid.
"I know that my Savior will live," the shadow priest exclaimed, "and at the end He will stand on this earth. My flesh may be destroyed, yet from this body I will see the Lich King."
Many congregants nodded, especially Hathyss as she felt a great need to repent for her sins as a member of the Burning Legion. Resurrection through the Lich King made her more alive than any rebirth from the Twisting Nether ever had.
The shadow priest surveyed his constituents slowly. His blazing eyes under his perpetually furrowed brow scanned from left to right. Fictious yanked his head around the corner and out of sight. His tiny goblin heart pounded in his large goblin ears. Many of the undead seemed unarmed, but the shadow priest along with Hathyss would be a problem.
"You – in the back," the shadow priest called out.
Fictious's heart sank. He gathered his surrounding before deciding to compel the green fluid into Grugg for a quick escape. Though before he could, the two undead rogues from before materialized from the shadows.
"You're safe as long as you don't run."
Fictious swallowed hard. Grugg turned back to the long room and slowly paced inside. The entire undead congregation stared at the duo; their unblinking gaze transfixed. Some were missing jawbones; others had gaping and infested wounds. They were all disturbing.
"Please," with his free right hand, the shadow priest motioned Fictious and Grugg to take a spot amongst the group. "To many people's surprise, the Unholy Congregation accepts both the dead and the living. You are most welcome amongst our ranks."
The shadow priest did not ask any further questions. Instead, the bald corpse returned to reading from his book and the undead around fashioned their skulls forward.
Grugg could feel Fictious trembling within his command post. Normally the goblin wasn't so quick to startle, this made Grugg anxious as well.
"Get. Out. Of. Here," Fictious slowly whispered to his companion.
The ogre took a single step backward.
"Please. Service isn't over yet," the shadow priest called out.
"That's too bad," a voice called from the entrance to the room, "because my engines runnin'!" Tek Piecetinker ripped a cord concealed in the straps of his backpack. Metal components and contraptions of all sorts sprang to life. Metal boxes dropped from the bag and formed boots around his feet, sprockets and gears fastened to his back churned and spun until they raised a robotic torso complete with twist grip adjustable wrench hands. The torso swiveled around three hundred and sixty degrees before exhaust chimneys bellowed smoke from the robotic torso and a tiny robot head with flashing red eyes exclaimed, "You have ten seconds to comply!"
It seemed impossible so much machinery came from such a tiny backpack. But such was the genius of Tek Piecetinker. Fictious observed how Tek had enhanced his carrying capacity by adding the boots for gyroscopic stabilization. The robot torso itself seemed much sturdier, and there were now six exhaust pipes as opposed to two during Tek's initial conception of the suit. Two surely had been added for increased cooldown from the smoke due to all the goblin rocket fuel it no doubt required, but the other two were much larger. Fictious could only imagine what those were needed for.
The shadow priest behind the lectern straightened his back and raised an eyebrow even further. An eerie silence rippled through the tomb before Fictious grinned at Tek then smashed a red button within his post. Grugg let out a bestial roar as red liquid pumped into his veins. The undead returned fire with their own manic shrieks and cries as they raced toward the goblins.
What followed was a symphony of whirring machinery and the sharp snap of bone. Smoke from Tek's machine billowed forth and filled the tomb. Years of goblin work had rendered the alchemist and tinkerer completely immune to smog by now; it was fresh air that made them wheeze. Even more symphonic was the synchronicity the two conducted their fighting. Acid bombs flew precariously close to Tek's suit as the contraption whirled around three hundred and sixty degrees to avoid collision. Tubes yanked from Grugg's veins were effortlessly replaced with a delicate touch unbecoming Tek's massive wrench hands. The purposefully aimed rockets that launched from Tek soared through every gap in Grugg's appendages. It was like Fictious and Tek were back in the lab.
The alchemist and tinkerer were back-to-back within the Shadow Tomb fighting off undead with the type of rigor and efficiency only goblin machinery could provide. This was not lost on Golgotha, highest ranking shadow priest of the Cult of the Damned. The undead spiritual leader watched as Hathyss the Wicked's six arms were clenched in both Grugg's meaty hands and Tek's cold, metallic wrenches. Fictious reared his hand back to hurl an acid bomb into the undead demon's face but was jostled aside at the last minute.
"Whoa, buddy," he called out to Grugg. Again, Grugg jerked around. "Grugg! Stabilize! Stabilize!"
Then Fictious caught the terrified look on Tek's face. The other goblin was staring wide-eyed at the manic ogre. "Grugg?" Fictious tightly gripped his seat and leaned over to peer onto the ogre's face. Grugg's mind was not his own; only the whites of his eyes were visible. Fictious had read about this before: shadow priests could control people's minds with dark magic.
"Get the priest," Fictious called out before he was completely hurled from his command post.
Tek slung a small metal box on the ground at the feet of the lectern before Golgotha. This too sprang forth to preposterous proportions forming what the goblins referred to as a 'technomill': a small red farm with a spinning gear that spit forth tiny mechano-goblin. Each one with a wrench in hand ready to bash whatever lay before it.
The undead began to throw themselves before the mechano-goblins. Some even crawled before the miniature contraptions to make sure they could not attack Golgotha. A quick smirk flicked across the shadow priest's face. His yellow eyes dimmed as he maintained his control over the ogre.
Tek Piecetinker used his free wrench hand to cut Hathyss's arms at the sockets. The undead demon collapsed to the floor for a time and Tek used the freedom to turn his attention to Golgotha. The goblin raced to the lectern, his metal boots crushing the undead on the ground, his wrench hands smashing through those still standing. He clenched his wrenches, freeing them of the meaty giblets and bloody remains before he heaved one at the shadow priest.
But it hung there in midair. Tek pulled the lever harder but it wouldn't budge. The goblin looked over and saw Grugg holding the metal arm. Black smoke choked out of the exhaust pipes on Tek's suit under the strain. The goblin fought back with his free arm but Grugg grabbed this too. Tek didn't feel like he had a choice. Rockets on the suit's shoulder aimed themselves at Grugg's face.
"Don't," Fictious screamed as he ran to his ogre's aid.
"He ain't right," Tek called back.
"He'll be fine! Get the bald zombie!"
"Can't do that with the ogre in my fa-"
Grugg kicked Tek. Metal bars protecting the goblin from physical assault did their job, but another blow like that would surely shatter them.
"Grugg! Buddy," Fictious grabbed the ogre at the ankle. Grugg grabbed Fictious Warpotion by the throat and held him up. The goblin's feet kicked frantically as he scratched at the ogre's beefy hand. Fictious tried to croak his ogre's name one more time but all he could see were the red pulsating veins in its white eyes from the chemical rage fluids.
Tek sighed. This had always been his partner's problem. Too sentimental. And to think the Horde thought he was crazed with his Conscientious Crusher 3500. The tinkerer flipped a cap concealing a large red button on his control panel and mashed it. More gears and metal pieces burst from the suit; the metal wrench arms combined to make a canon. The boots around Tek's feet elongated into caterpillar tracks and suddenly the suit built for a goblin was now a tank.
The smirk on Golgotha's face quickly faded. Grugg dropped Fictious and raced toward the tank. Tek fired a shot and barely missed the ogre's head. Fictious couldn't bare to watch. Grugg had ingested all the chemical rage formula left. His veins were raised above the skin and glowing red. The ogre looked like he could have punched a hole clean through even Cairne Bloodhoof.
Over and over he smashed through the metal coverings of Tek's tank. The dents began to cave in around the goblin within, warning sirens blared inside. "Damage Critical! Damage Critical!"
"Do something," Tek Piecetinker exclaimed.
Fictious had one idea. Slowly, he reached his hand into the last pouch on his belt and withdrew a vial containing radiant, swirling, golden contents. His mind went numb to the chaos around him. The entire tomb was threatening to collapse from all Tek's errant canon blasts, small rubble fell on Fictious's head, but the goblin was enraptured by what he felt he had to do. He clasped the vial tightly in his claw. He knew he could make the throw; he had made throws like this one thousand times before.
Suddenly he felt something wet in his hand. Blood? Had the vial cracked amidst the fighting? Fictious looked down and saw water. Where the hell was water coming from? He sniffed it. It smelled salty. Saltwater? When he brought his hand down there was more of it. Then Fictious realized the water was all over his long, sharp nose. He had read about this too. Other races did it. Not goblins.
Grugg then managed to rend the canon from the tank. It was now or never for Fictious Warpotion. "Sorry, buddy," the goblin whispered to himself. He wound up his arm and released. The vial soared through the air. At the last moment Golgotha withdrew his mind control spell from Grugg, and instead cast a power word: shield around the ogre. Fictious's transmutation potion was still powerful enough to shatter the shield. Golden shards fell onto Grugg's body and the ogre fell to the ground. It grasped its heart and fought for air. Grugg had ingested too much chemical rage formula in one sitting.
"Grugg," Fictious raced over.
Tek leapt from what remained of his amazing tank and came to Fictious's side.
"He's gonna die," Fictious choked out.
"We're all gonna die," Tek commented. His goblin roots not failing in the face of tragedy.
Abruptly, a shadow loomed over the goblins amidst the smoke. Two piercing yellow eyes peered down at them and spoke, "But in Him, death is only the beginning."
"I told you I'd never work with you for as long as I lived," Fictious's blazing yellow eyes looked down at Tek from his command post.
"Well you weren't wrong."
"Can I get that in writing?"
"Take it to your grave," Tek quipped.
The two figures stood in the smoke that bellowed from the hidden steps that lead from the Shadow Tomb to the Bone Wastes. Their lungs now no longer bothered by smog nor fresh air.
"Let's go, Grugg," Fictious motioned the undead ogre eastward. "Twilight Ridge is that way."
"You have any experience with timeway interdimensional travel," Tek asked
Fictious shook his head, "Nah, but nothing science can't figure out."