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Experiment
Prologue: Test Subject
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"Grok, what are you doing with that?" "Uh… foolin' around?" "Idiot! We're on a schedule! You can't be wastin' time all the time!" "We're always on a schedule!" "Damn right we are. Now hurry up and get back to work!"
Grumbling beneath his breath, Grok the Goblin put down the bits of piping he had been messing with and went back to his part of the bench. Here, more piping awaited, only this had purpose to it.
Grok was but one cog on a much grander machine. A machine that would produce another machine. The ultimate machine. The machine that would finally replace all that hokey voodoo magic, which was what Warchief Thrall had ordered them to do. They would have done it themselves eventually, anyway, but Thrall came along and exited the process.
A lot of other experimental technology had gone into this machine, much of it untested, or not tested enough. Normally, with something this big, the Goblins would have spent all their time testing; an arduous process, yes, but they usually didn't care to kill their allies. This time, however, Thrall had said, "Hurry. I don't want the Horde to be so dependant on our Shamans in the future. I had a vision the other night, and it showed a future where the magic is dry. That future may or may not come, but all the same I don't want to take chances. So hurry." And hurry they did.
The machine, like the magic, would enhance the performance of whoever took it on, or so they hoped. They were currently working overtime to complete the prototype; it was Grok's job to assemble the steam pipes, and he had done so. But he worried about it; the pipes were arranged in a fashion he hadn't ever done before, with more bends and flexible bits then he would call safe. But he wasn't doing the testing, or the Quality Inspecting; he just put them together as the vague Instructions told him to. What the Instructions didn't say, he simply filled in from experience.
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Enough of Grok, though; let's move on, move ahead. Ahead to where the Prototype is complete; allForeman needs nowis a test subject…
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Foreman was worried about the Prototype; it was too gangly, too fragile. Also, to attach it to the body, they needed magic, which Thrall had said they were to avoid. Thrall had been told of this, and he wasn't worried too much; they had time to figure out a way around it, his vision wasn't going to come true tomorrow. So for now, the Prototype needed a tiny amount of magic to run. Not much, just a little, but still; magic was magic.
A scuffle from behind caught Foreman's attention; he turned, and saw that the Scouts had captured someone. He rubbed his hands in anticipation; here was a test subject!
The Scouts- big mechanical contrivances built for patrolling and defending limited territory, and driven by Goblins- had captured an Undead. Not just any Undead, but Ulfgalin Thek'Rogar, former Orc Blademaster. He had been awakened by Arthas one fell night, and on a whim Arthas had let this one keep his memories and his body. He was still enslaved as surely as any, but he suffered beneath it, knowing that he served the one he had been sworn to oppose.
Thek'Rogar had been his old name; Ulfgalin was something Arthas had attached to him after a while. He said it was more appropriate: "Ulfgalin is a graceful name, and a graceful being needs a graceful name. So, from now on, you are Ulfgalin, Blademaster." Thek'Rogar had hated it at first, but over time he came to grudgingly accept it; it was a lot easier to say, especially with his tongue the way it was.
And now, here he was, in the clutches of the Horde. He knew these Goblins had no way of knowing whether or not he was Forsaken or Scourge, so they were as likely to let him go as keep him for a prisoner, to bargain with. Or so he hoped.
Those hopes were dashed, however, when Foreman took one look and exclaimed, "Ah-ha, it's Ulfgalin Goblinsbane! You killed my cousin, and for that, you get to be the test subject!" The other Goblins cheered at this; part of Ulfgalin cheered too, but this was smothered by his obedience. Outwardly, he thrashed about. "No! You can't just use me in your twisted schemes!" He struggled mightily, but he was no Abomination; the Scouts held him fast.
They took him to a building, and down a long set of steps, while before and behind him Goblins celebrated; months of work and toil were about to be tested. It might blow up in their faces, but then again, it might just work. If it blew up, oh well; it wasn't like the test subject was of the Horde. If it worked, great; they'd shoot the subject and start working on version 1.1.
Underground, the testing arena awaited them. At one end, the Prototype sat in the center of a magic circle; standing at the five points were five Shamans. A gathering of Horde representatives, mostly Orcs and Goblins with a few Trolls, two Tauren, and a single Forsaken fighter, were also clustered about.
One of the Orcs looked Ulfgalin straight in the eye, gasped, and ran over. "Thek? Thek, is that you?" Ulfgalin couldn't believe it; the Orc was his former brother, Thalik'Rogar. "Thalik… look what those Scourge bastards have done to me…" "I know, I can't believe it either. But get this, the Shamans said that if we caught one of the Scourge, the ritual might break the binding, and you'd be free!" What was left of Thek's soul rose. "Really? But it wouldn't be the same. Look at me! I'm… I'm… I'm dead!"
Thalik looked sad for a second. "Yes, and so are our allies, the Forsaken. You can join them, if the ritual really does break the binding… and if you live. Either way, you'll be free, right?" Ulfgalin looked down, shamed. "Yes, but… I'm not Thek'Rogar anymore. Arthas named me Ulfgalin, and Thek'Rogar is a secret surname." "That's alright. You're still my brother, even though you're dead, right?" "Yeah… yeah, I am." An emotion Ulfgalin hadn't felt in a long time rose up within him; that emotion was love, love for his brother.
Right then, the binding attempted to reassert its dominance over Ulfgalin. But he fought it off with the strength this new love gave him. It passed, and his hands dropped to his sides. And for the first time in an equally long span, he really felt his sword again.
Before he could explore these new things, he was dragged forward, and he got a look at the Prototype. It was like a suit of armor, but it looked too tight to be a normal suit. Steam pipes, little winches and pulleys, and wires ran all about it, and the helmet was a strange thing. It had been a helmet before, but now strange prongs jutted out of it, and between these prongs arcs of power jumped. Where the faceplate would have been, there were now strange eyepieces. On the back was a steam generator and engine, and all about it were lots of straps, snaps, and buckles
The Scouts thrust him forward and onto a stool. Technicians scrambled about him, attaching the strange armor to him; it fitted very tightly, and odd little jolts ran through him as the technicians stuck sharpened wire ends into him through tiny holes in the suit. He couldn't really feel pain, but he could feel energy, and those little jolts worried him.
Then the helmet came on, and he couldn't see anymore; the eyepiece blocked out all light. He felt them remove his sword and belt, and tried to stop them, but by then it was too late; the armor was stiff and unmoving, as well as very, very heavy. He was dragged to a standing position, and he felt the leg pieces being attached. Then there were odd snapping and buckling noises, and he felt the suit tighten about him even more.
Then the stool was taken away, the Scouts and the technicians backed off, and he was alone in the middle of the circle. He heard the Shamans begin to chant, and about him energies gathered. The suit began to hum.
Suddenly, the tightening became worse, much worse, and it felt to Ulfgalin like it was trying to… fuse with him, become one with him. Too late, he panicked, and that made it worse, as for some reason it reacted to the sudden mental activity and hastened.
The jolts of energy became great surges, and he felt his body begin to melt. Strange fluids coursed through him, and for the first time since his death he felt pain. Such pain, he passed out, trying to scream from the sheer immensity of the pain…