Lucretia awoke in a black space. A quick look around told her that she was
trapped in a bag, clearly made of twigs softened over many seasons. She
took out an arrow and began stabbing the bag in pure rage, but it was to no
avail. However, after the shifting of her weight to reach the arrow, the
bag began to tip off whatever it was on. In seconds, she was on the
ground, and the bag splintered, leaving her opened to the night sky above.
"Where are we?" Lucretia demanded to Ardon, who was now looking at her with apprehension.
"We are about five leagues from the Darkshore. We will be there by noon on the morrow," Ardon replied.
"Wait, why aren't you attempting to recapture me?" Lucretia demanded to Ardon.
"You could beat our whole force, yes, you alone could beat all of us. We realize this." Ardon smiled to her. "However, we also realize that, given the right incentive, you may be willing to help us defeat the undead."
"And what exactly would that 'incentive' be?" Lucretia asked Ardon.
"Tyrande telling the orcs to lay off their assault on you," Ardon replied with an almost mocking smile on his normally emotionless face.
"Very well, I accept. However, how can I know you are telling the truth?" Lucretia asked Ardon.
"A good question. Name your price."
"I want my bow back, and I also want one of your troop as a bodyguard."
"Very well. Although, who will be your bodyguard?" Ardon looked around to see his entire troop either away getting food, or looking at the ground and shuffling their feet in apprehension. "Very well," he sighed, "I will do it. How dangerous can she be?"
At this moment, an unfortunate Night Elf screamed in agony and fell down, dead. A green mist hovered about three feet above her corpse, not moving. "What was that?" Lucretia said.
"Something of pure evil," Ardon said. "Everyone, don't touch it. This thing is the pure essence of death."
Lucretia strung her bow with a magically enhanced arrow and fired it at the cloud. It parted, and the arrow flew through, hitting a tree and freezing it down to the lowest roots. The cloud darted at another elf, but she dodged, and the cloud hit a vine, immediately disintegrating it. Soon, the Night Elf band was geared and began their attack on it. Arrows flew, bears roared, and the winds tore ferociously at the cloud's heels as it tore away from the volley of death thrown at it by the elves. Soon, the cloud darted at a storm crow flying high, and it fell to the earth in a mangled heap.
Lucretia realized that this battle was impossible to win and called to the group, "Retreat, this thing cannot be beaten. We must-" Her yell was broken by an earsplitting screech high above them. A dark shape dived at the group with its talons facing down. Closely following it were dozens more. On the other side of the band, a group of small beetle-like creatures swarmed to the ground. Closed in, the Night Elves realized that they had to stand and fight. They drew their bows, magical staves, and deadly claws, to fight the oncoming menace. However, during this commotion, nobody noticed the green cloud slip away into the surrounding forest.
* * *
A wandering Pandaren Brewmaster named Juribon, was out for his afternoon stroll of the forest to find new herbs for his brew, when he saw a strange green gas a few hundred feet away. He furtively approached it, but when it moved toward a tree, immediately killing it, he decided to back off. However, the gas came toward him, forcing him further and further back. Soon, he heard a sound, a scream of pain from beyond the trees. Then, as he backed off further toward the scream, a steady buzz reached his ears. A few more paces back found his back against a tree and the gas still steadily moving toward him. He pulled off his cask from his right shoulder and sprayed a small, concentrated blast of beer at the gas. It moved to the left, stopped, but after the blast passed by him, it continued it's slow approach.
Suddenly, an arrow flew through the trees, an inch from Juribon's face and flew straight and true at the gas. A blue trail flew behind it, ripping off a part of the gas as it flew by. The arrow pinned to a tree, with a small glob of goop on the end, which slowly dribbled of down to the ground, killing everything it touched. The rest of the gas zipped off into the forest, touching and killing odd things as it passed by. A lone figure stepped out from behind the tree and faced Juribon.
"Hello, I am Lucretia Stormsinger, the wandering Naga Sea Witch."
"A pleasure. I am Juribon, the Pandaren Brewmaster. Is there anything I can do to repay the debt of you saving my life?" he asked.
"Yes, we are under attack by.things and we need all the help we can get.
"Very well. I shall help fight with you. Even if I die in the act."
"Thank you; my friend," Lucretia said with a smile. And the two ran off through the forest to help the rest.
* * *
"Where did that witch go?" Ardon yelled amid the uproar of battle.
"Into the forest. She said she heard something," Urvon yelled.
"A likely story," Ardon muttered to himself. "Urvon go and fetch her. And this time, I don't care for her safety. Just bring her back." With this, Urvon gave a last morale-boosting roar and charged off into the underbrush of Kalimdor. "We shall see if her story was true, if we all live that long," Ardon added as an afterthought, firing a blast of red fire at one of the dark creatures. "Give them all you have. The future of Kalimdor depends on our survival. If the undead are preparing for another invasion, we must warn Tyrande. Fight for all of Azeroth! We will wi-" With this, he was cut off as Urvon, Lucretia and a Pandaren Brewmaster came out of the forest, claws, bows, and kegs of ale at the ready.
"She was telling the truth," Urvon said, "She found this brewmaster in the woods. He is here for our aid," he said, a tad unnecessarily as Juribon incinerated two approaching bugs with a blast of flaming ale.
"At your service, lord Ardon," Juribon said with an elegant bow that looked impossible for someone of his stature and gait.
"I am sorry for doubting you, Lucretia," Ardon said, "You are truly loyal to us, as you said."
"Apology accepted. I hope that from now on, our relationship can be more developed. And now, allow me to introduce you to my squad that I have boasted of." Lucretia sang a beautiful song and called upon the waters miles away. A tidal wave soon approached, picking up dark shapes and creatures, most of whom decided they did not want to be there. As it reached the group, which was slowly losing morale, as the seemingly endless swarms of creatures picked off the elves one by one, it slowed down, releasing the creatures down except for a few. Then, it came upon them and sloughed off the last bit, revealing a group of about fifty myrmidons. They began to blast streams of rock-hard water at the creatures, slowly decreasing their numbers. However, they were not without losses. The bugs would fly down and those not blasted by water, exploded on the myrmidons' skin and the elves' armor.
Lucretia, after firing a frozen arrow, put up her bow, and once again called on the spirits of wind to invoke their power. The winds picked up and blasted the flying creatures away into the night. A few remained that were easily picked off by the archers with their great marksmanship.
The group cheered at their victory, but after taking a look around, saw that one could hardly call it a victory. Corpses of elves, myrmidons, and bugs alike were strewn across the battlefield. The elves mourned for their dead and buried them, while the myrmidons picked them up and carried them off to the sea for an undersea burial.
"Well, we won, but the cost was grievous," Ardon solemnly said.
"Yes, and now we must continue our trek to Darkshore before whoever sent these sends another wave and before that green gas catches up to us. I took a bit off, but it's still alive.or.dead.or whatever it is. It's still there ready to attack."
"You are right. All right everybody, move out! We'll get to Tyrande's camp before noon on the morrow." The elves moved together and began the final stretch to Darkshore. A full moon hovered over the battlefield, illuminating the corpses of all those who were slain, as small creatures came to pick up any weapons left over.
* * *
Razmur slammed his fist into the table the three were seated around. "They failed. The chosen one called upon her comrades to help her. She has now also used two of the elements: wind and water. We cannot allow her to go an further."
"She also hit Sop. It is not dead, but a touch is no longer death, only terrible sickness for weeks," Gruszom said with distaste.
"She is a worthy adversary," Wozran said with a sneer.
"Yes, but she cannot stand up against our full strength," Gruszom replied.
"What is your plan?" Razmur asked them.
"We send our mightiest minion, the Loamripper to destroy her. She is too strong for our mind magics to enslave her. Both sides must go without the power of the Chosen One and the sword of the Eredar."
"This may be wise, but what if the Loamripper fails?" Razmur asked.
"Then we must prepare a backup plan for that oh so unlikely scenario," Gruszom replied without concern.
"Because we are guaranteed to wound her far enough for one of us to go and finish her off," Wozran said.
"We must set our plan in motion before the third elemental stone is found," Razmur said, "The final hour of our conquest is at hand!" With this, he opened his eyes, revealing two fiery green orbs that seemed to penetrate even the darkest darkness. "Loamripper, come to me. Destroy the chosen one. Your hour is at hand! Go fourth and decimate her!"
A huge shape rose from the corner and opened wings larger than the three at the table combined and flew out the window out above the raging sea and winds that howled around it.
* * *
"Where are we?" Lucretia demanded to Ardon, who was now looking at her with apprehension.
"We are about five leagues from the Darkshore. We will be there by noon on the morrow," Ardon replied.
"Wait, why aren't you attempting to recapture me?" Lucretia demanded to Ardon.
"You could beat our whole force, yes, you alone could beat all of us. We realize this." Ardon smiled to her. "However, we also realize that, given the right incentive, you may be willing to help us defeat the undead."
"And what exactly would that 'incentive' be?" Lucretia asked Ardon.
"Tyrande telling the orcs to lay off their assault on you," Ardon replied with an almost mocking smile on his normally emotionless face.
"Very well, I accept. However, how can I know you are telling the truth?" Lucretia asked Ardon.
"A good question. Name your price."
"I want my bow back, and I also want one of your troop as a bodyguard."
"Very well. Although, who will be your bodyguard?" Ardon looked around to see his entire troop either away getting food, or looking at the ground and shuffling their feet in apprehension. "Very well," he sighed, "I will do it. How dangerous can she be?"
At this moment, an unfortunate Night Elf screamed in agony and fell down, dead. A green mist hovered about three feet above her corpse, not moving. "What was that?" Lucretia said.
"Something of pure evil," Ardon said. "Everyone, don't touch it. This thing is the pure essence of death."
Lucretia strung her bow with a magically enhanced arrow and fired it at the cloud. It parted, and the arrow flew through, hitting a tree and freezing it down to the lowest roots. The cloud darted at another elf, but she dodged, and the cloud hit a vine, immediately disintegrating it. Soon, the Night Elf band was geared and began their attack on it. Arrows flew, bears roared, and the winds tore ferociously at the cloud's heels as it tore away from the volley of death thrown at it by the elves. Soon, the cloud darted at a storm crow flying high, and it fell to the earth in a mangled heap.
Lucretia realized that this battle was impossible to win and called to the group, "Retreat, this thing cannot be beaten. We must-" Her yell was broken by an earsplitting screech high above them. A dark shape dived at the group with its talons facing down. Closely following it were dozens more. On the other side of the band, a group of small beetle-like creatures swarmed to the ground. Closed in, the Night Elves realized that they had to stand and fight. They drew their bows, magical staves, and deadly claws, to fight the oncoming menace. However, during this commotion, nobody noticed the green cloud slip away into the surrounding forest.
* * *
A wandering Pandaren Brewmaster named Juribon, was out for his afternoon stroll of the forest to find new herbs for his brew, when he saw a strange green gas a few hundred feet away. He furtively approached it, but when it moved toward a tree, immediately killing it, he decided to back off. However, the gas came toward him, forcing him further and further back. Soon, he heard a sound, a scream of pain from beyond the trees. Then, as he backed off further toward the scream, a steady buzz reached his ears. A few more paces back found his back against a tree and the gas still steadily moving toward him. He pulled off his cask from his right shoulder and sprayed a small, concentrated blast of beer at the gas. It moved to the left, stopped, but after the blast passed by him, it continued it's slow approach.
Suddenly, an arrow flew through the trees, an inch from Juribon's face and flew straight and true at the gas. A blue trail flew behind it, ripping off a part of the gas as it flew by. The arrow pinned to a tree, with a small glob of goop on the end, which slowly dribbled of down to the ground, killing everything it touched. The rest of the gas zipped off into the forest, touching and killing odd things as it passed by. A lone figure stepped out from behind the tree and faced Juribon.
"Hello, I am Lucretia Stormsinger, the wandering Naga Sea Witch."
"A pleasure. I am Juribon, the Pandaren Brewmaster. Is there anything I can do to repay the debt of you saving my life?" he asked.
"Yes, we are under attack by.things and we need all the help we can get.
"Very well. I shall help fight with you. Even if I die in the act."
"Thank you; my friend," Lucretia said with a smile. And the two ran off through the forest to help the rest.
* * *
"Where did that witch go?" Ardon yelled amid the uproar of battle.
"Into the forest. She said she heard something," Urvon yelled.
"A likely story," Ardon muttered to himself. "Urvon go and fetch her. And this time, I don't care for her safety. Just bring her back." With this, Urvon gave a last morale-boosting roar and charged off into the underbrush of Kalimdor. "We shall see if her story was true, if we all live that long," Ardon added as an afterthought, firing a blast of red fire at one of the dark creatures. "Give them all you have. The future of Kalimdor depends on our survival. If the undead are preparing for another invasion, we must warn Tyrande. Fight for all of Azeroth! We will wi-" With this, he was cut off as Urvon, Lucretia and a Pandaren Brewmaster came out of the forest, claws, bows, and kegs of ale at the ready.
"She was telling the truth," Urvon said, "She found this brewmaster in the woods. He is here for our aid," he said, a tad unnecessarily as Juribon incinerated two approaching bugs with a blast of flaming ale.
"At your service, lord Ardon," Juribon said with an elegant bow that looked impossible for someone of his stature and gait.
"I am sorry for doubting you, Lucretia," Ardon said, "You are truly loyal to us, as you said."
"Apology accepted. I hope that from now on, our relationship can be more developed. And now, allow me to introduce you to my squad that I have boasted of." Lucretia sang a beautiful song and called upon the waters miles away. A tidal wave soon approached, picking up dark shapes and creatures, most of whom decided they did not want to be there. As it reached the group, which was slowly losing morale, as the seemingly endless swarms of creatures picked off the elves one by one, it slowed down, releasing the creatures down except for a few. Then, it came upon them and sloughed off the last bit, revealing a group of about fifty myrmidons. They began to blast streams of rock-hard water at the creatures, slowly decreasing their numbers. However, they were not without losses. The bugs would fly down and those not blasted by water, exploded on the myrmidons' skin and the elves' armor.
Lucretia, after firing a frozen arrow, put up her bow, and once again called on the spirits of wind to invoke their power. The winds picked up and blasted the flying creatures away into the night. A few remained that were easily picked off by the archers with their great marksmanship.
The group cheered at their victory, but after taking a look around, saw that one could hardly call it a victory. Corpses of elves, myrmidons, and bugs alike were strewn across the battlefield. The elves mourned for their dead and buried them, while the myrmidons picked them up and carried them off to the sea for an undersea burial.
"Well, we won, but the cost was grievous," Ardon solemnly said.
"Yes, and now we must continue our trek to Darkshore before whoever sent these sends another wave and before that green gas catches up to us. I took a bit off, but it's still alive.or.dead.or whatever it is. It's still there ready to attack."
"You are right. All right everybody, move out! We'll get to Tyrande's camp before noon on the morrow." The elves moved together and began the final stretch to Darkshore. A full moon hovered over the battlefield, illuminating the corpses of all those who were slain, as small creatures came to pick up any weapons left over.
* * *
Razmur slammed his fist into the table the three were seated around. "They failed. The chosen one called upon her comrades to help her. She has now also used two of the elements: wind and water. We cannot allow her to go an further."
"She also hit Sop. It is not dead, but a touch is no longer death, only terrible sickness for weeks," Gruszom said with distaste.
"She is a worthy adversary," Wozran said with a sneer.
"Yes, but she cannot stand up against our full strength," Gruszom replied.
"What is your plan?" Razmur asked them.
"We send our mightiest minion, the Loamripper to destroy her. She is too strong for our mind magics to enslave her. Both sides must go without the power of the Chosen One and the sword of the Eredar."
"This may be wise, but what if the Loamripper fails?" Razmur asked.
"Then we must prepare a backup plan for that oh so unlikely scenario," Gruszom replied without concern.
"Because we are guaranteed to wound her far enough for one of us to go and finish her off," Wozran said.
"We must set our plan in motion before the third elemental stone is found," Razmur said, "The final hour of our conquest is at hand!" With this, he opened his eyes, revealing two fiery green orbs that seemed to penetrate even the darkest darkness. "Loamripper, come to me. Destroy the chosen one. Your hour is at hand! Go fourth and decimate her!"
A huge shape rose from the corner and opened wings larger than the three at the table combined and flew out the window out above the raging sea and winds that howled around it.
* * *