Advertisements
HiSunglasses.com
Want to advertise with The Three Rs? E-mail SConstantine@TheThreeRs.co.uk or see this post for more info.
08: 42 - I R teh Headband
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Written by: Dee4leeds
Week 2 of the 20 weeks of Avatar goodness. So let's not delay it any futher...
merely faces away from Late at night, Zuko approaches a Fire Nation prison, and looks distantly towards it. As he stands near the entrance, a guard spies him from the roof. The guard shouts demands to know Zuko's identity, but he simply walks away instead.Meanwhile, Aang and the others are taking temporary shelter in a cave, and then go to seek out new clothes to help them better blend into the Fire Nation, with somewhat hilarious consequences. Finally they find an unattended clothes on a line. They steal four outfits. In the Fire Nation town, the fabulous foursome attempts to act natural, which is impeded by Aang claims to be an expert of their customs. When the others go to buy food from a meat stand, Aang declines due to his vegetarianism, and goes off on his own for a bit. However, he is quickly caught by a group of men who grab him and escort him into a classroom, because it seems his clothes are atchully a school uniform. At the school the teacher assumes he is a new student from the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom. Aang calls himself Kuzon and attempts to blend in at the school, with partial success. After dismissal he meets a girl named On Ji, who is friendly to him, as well as On Ji's apparent boyfriend, Hiide, a popular student who is less than friendly. After a brief confrontation, Aang winds up making friends and playing with the other children from the school. Later, Aang returns to the cave at nightfall, relieving Katara, Sokka, and Toph who were evidently worried by his long absence. The fact that he has been attending a Fire Nation school all day shocks Aang's friends, and when he claims to have enjoyed the experience and wishes to return to the school the next day, Sokka strongly objects with a truly perfect Sokka line. Aang manages to convince them to allow it by showing it's a chance to find out information about the Fire Nation, especically a "secret river" that led to the Fire Lord's palace. They agree. Back to the Fire Nation prison where Zuko has returned to the prison. When confronted by the guard, he threatens him not to tell anyone about his visit. He goes into a room in which Iroh is being kept prisoner. Despite pleas from Zuko, Iroh merely turns away from Zuko. He tells Iroh that it is his own fault that he is in prison, and that the two could have returned to the Fire Nation as heroes. Iroh still refuses to speak. This sends Zuko into a fit of rage. The next day at school, in Band class, Aang tries to play the horn and gets chided by the teacher for dancing, which is not considered proper in the Fire Nation. Nevertheless On Ji is amused by the dance, and when Aang offers to show it to her during recess, he incurs the wrath of Hiide, who attempts to hit him. However, Aang pwns him by slickly evading every attempted blow, (Typical Airbender) eventually getting Hiide to overbalance himself and fall over without any bending or even touching him. However, this gets Aang into trouble for "roughing up" a favored student of the headmaster. Back at the cave Sokka is against Aang returning to school. Aang, however, insists that they need to do something for the children in the school, in order to allow them, at least briefly, to have a freedom of expression. He therefore plans to hold a secret dance party in the cave for everyone in the school.
Meanwhile in the quiet Fire Nation hills, Zuko is having a romantic picnic with Mai, before the two are interrupted by Azula, who tries to get Zuko to talk to her. He refuses, so Azula changes tactics and sends Mai away; Mai complies politely, but shoots Azula a quick, venomous look as she passes. Azula then tricks Zuko into admitting that he was visiting Iroh, and warns him not to do so, as his visiting a traitor would make others suspicious. Nevertheless, Zuko visits his uncle in prison again. Once again Iroh turns his back on Zuko. But Zuko attempts to be kinder, bringing Iroh food as a gift. Zuko begs Iroh for his advice; he explains that he believes the Avatar to be alive, and that he has no idea what to do about it without Iroh's guidance. When Iroh is silent, Zuko flies into another rage, then leaves. As he leaves, Iroh remains silent with a tear running down his face. At the cave the children have arrived and the music has begun to play, the children do not know how to dance and are afraid they'll get in trouble. Aang demonstrates some historical Fire Nation dances, and eventually asks On Ji to dance, which gradually encourages the rest of the students to do the same. Sokka states that Aang and On Ji look good together, to which Katara gives a typical unrequited love response. Later, Aang asks Katara to dance, and after she briefly hesitates they perform an acrobatic dance. However, the headmaster and several teachers appear on the scene, having been told of the dance by Hiide. They try to catch Aang, but he hides within the crowd of kids. Because the teachers identify Aang with his headband, they are thrown off when they discover several other students wearing the same headband. Eventually, every student in the cave appears to be wearing a headband, effectively delaying the headmaster's hunt for Aang. The crew manage to slip away in the opening behind the cave. But before leaving, Aang closes the opening behind him with Earthbending and leaving the students speechless. While the party flies off on Appa, Toph compliments Aang on his efforts, which she believes made a serious impact on the students. Katara agrees and kisses Aang on the cheek, which causes him to blush. And finally, in a dark alley, Zuko meets with a mysterious man with a metal prosthetic arm and leg, as well as a third eye tattooed on his forehead. Zuko states his purpose for contacting the man; Zuko has heard the man is capable of doing a job effectively and secretly. Zuko asks the man to track down and "eliminate the Avatar."
CLIFFHANGER!
Episode Rating: 4/5 - Much better but possibly too much dancing.
Next Week - Episode 303 - The Painted Lady
Labels: Avatar Reviews, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Review
Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
23: 59 - One Minute Before You Can Finish The Fight
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Written by: TehProdigy
The game opens with the judgment and torture of a former Covenant Elite Commander, who is being punished by his fellow Covenant for failing to stop the destruction of the ringworld Halo during the events of Halo: Combat Evolved. This is juxtaposed with the recognition ceremony of the humans Master Chief and Sergeant Avery Johnson receiving awards aboard Cairo Station, a MAC gun platform orbiting Earth, alongside Commander Miranda Keyes. It is revealed that the Covenant's interest in Halo lies in the belief that the activation of Halo would bring about the "Great Journey", which would allow them to follow the ancient Forerunners to the "divine beyond".
Soon after the commencement of Master Chief's ceremony, a Covenant fleet jumps out of slipspace near Earth. The Covenant proceeds to send boarding parties towards a battle cluster of MAC stations. These boarding parties are secretly carrying explosives designed to take out the MAC (Magnetic Accelerator Cannon) guns that protect Earth from attack.Master Chief finds and disarms a bomb located on Cairo Station with the help of Cortana, while the flagship of the Covenant fleet speeds past Earth's defenses and heads toward Earth itself. Master Chief and Cortana join the UNSC ship In Amber Clad, which is en route to New Mombasa to deal with the Covenant flagship.
Before reaching New Mombasa, Cortana decodes transmissions revealing that the flagship carries the High Prophet of Regret, an important Covenant figure. The UNSC successfully repels the Covenant invasion force with the help of Master Chief, and the Covenant ship begins preparations for a slipspace jump to an unknown destination. The ship makes the jump, and the city is destroyed in the shockwave. To avoid destruction, In Amber Clad follows and discovers a second Halo installation dubbed "Delta Halo". Despite the Covenant's own ideas about the rings, Master Chief and the crew of the Amber Clad know that the rings are actually weapons that if activated would wreck devastation on a galactic scale. Master Chief is sent to kill the High Prophet of Regret while Keyes attempts to secure the Index to prevent the activation of Delta Halo.
Meanwhile, the disgraced Covenant commander has been given a chance to redeem himself as the "Blade of the Prophets", the Arbiter. His first mission is to silence a heretic who doubts the Prophets' teachings, in turn starting the Arbiter along a path which ultimately results in him doubting his own beliefs about Halo. Seeds of discord are further sown within the Covenant when the Prophets decide to grant the Brutes the job of protecting the Prophets instead of the traditionally favored Elites. During his missions, The Arbiter finally realizes the danger that the rings represent.
The Master Chief and the Arbiter meet upon the release of the Flood, a race of parasitic creatures, from Delta Halo. A mysterious Flood creature called the Gravemind sends the Arbiter and Master Chief in separate directions to prevent The High Prophets from activating Delta Halo. Master Chief finds himself aboard the Covenant Holy City High Charity, a gargantuan space station, and pursues the remaining Prophets. During his mission, he finds himself in the middle of an erupting Covenant civil war between the Brutes and the Elites. After capturing In Amber Clad, the Flood, led by Gravemind, arrive at the city and begin to consume and infect the populace. The only remaining High Prophet, Truth, escapes on a Forerunner vessel hidden in the core of High Charity. The Master Chief stows away on board while Cortana stays behind in order to detonate the In Amber Clad's engine reactors to destroy Delta Halo and High Charity if the Brute Tartarus activates the ring. The Arbiter, with the help of fellow Elites, Avery Johnson, and Keyes, manage to stop the firing. However, the unexpected shutdown causes the ring to send a signal out to the other remaining Halos, sending them all into a "standby" mode so they can be remotely activated from the Ark. Meanwhile, the Forerunner ship that Master Chief has stowed away on approaches Earth. One of Earth's remaining orbital forces contacts him and asks what he is doing aboard the Forerunner ship. He replies, "Sir, finishing this fight," ending the game with an abrupt cliffhanger and setting the tone for Halo 3.
Speaking of Halo 3, I got the game a day earlier than the rest of Europe, and I can confirm its more than worth the hype. Gameplay is perfected, visuals are smooth and beautiful and the story mode is unbelievably engrossing as I hoped it would be. I will be providing a full review and conclusion to the saga before the end of this week. Dee will also be sampling the game tomorrow. Time to finish the fight, then finish the review.
Labels: arbiter, brutes, halo, halo 3, Master chief
Author: Prodigy | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
19: 00 - The Awakening to a new season
Written by: Dee4leeds
Hey Guys! T'is I, Dee! I'm back with brand new reviews for a brand new show. The show is Avatar: The Last Airbender. (Or "The Legend of Aang" in some countries.) Don't worry though fellow Lost-a-hols, I shall return in February with Lost Reviews. So today was a ...
...oh wait. Avatar doesn't have flashback/forwards.
Episode One
The first episode begins with Aang awaking on a Fire Nation ship. Upon seeing the Fire Nation logs above his bed, he panics believing he's been captured. He flees his room and runs into two guards. (Who are actually Pipsqueak and the Duke, two former members of Jet's Freedom Fighters.) Aang attempts to flee, only to find himself crippled by his wounds. He eventually finds himself greeted by his friends, as well as Bato and Hakoda, all clad in Fire Nation uniforms and cloaks. Overwhelmed by this whole situation and weak from his wounds, he faints. Over to Zuko, who is watching the moon until he is approached by Mai. He tells of how conflicted he feels about being changed internally or not, and returning to the Fire Nation. She tells him not to worry so much, and kisses him before leaving. Meanwhile, Aang finds out from Katara about how they had returned to Chameleon Bay after he was injured. They had found her father, and then later captured a Fire Nation ship. Hakoda greets Aang and tells him that though the Fire Nation has captured Ba Sing Se, they would still go ahead with the grand plan to invade the Fire Nation on the day of "Black Sun." Katara then corrects him that it is atchully Sokka's plan. Aang's wounds begins to feel pain once more, so Aang returns to his room with Katara to undergo healing. While she is healing, Aang begins to recall the battle in Ba Sing Se and realizes that he has failed everyone as the Avatar. Aang and Katara return outside again as daylight begins to break, as Sokka explains that the Earth King and Bosco the bear had decided to travel the world in disguise. According to Sokka, although their forces are greatly outnumbered for the invasion, they have one clear advantage - the world believes the Avatar to be dead, and thus will not be hunting for him any longer. Aang does not take this revelation well at all. Back over on the balcony of the Royal Plaza in the Fire Nation, Lo and Li, Azula's instructors, announce to the assembled armies below the capture of Ba Sing Se, as well as the return of Prince Zuko and the death of the Avatar. Both Azula and Zuko appear to the crowd to rising cheers to the armies.
Meanwhile, Aang and the others run into an actual Fire Nation ship. While the others hide, Hakoda and Bato try to talk their way out, but the crew eventually finds holes in their story. The Captain decides to let them think they got away, but sink the ship as soon as they're clear. Toph overhears the order, however, and swiftly drops the captain and his guards into the water by way of Metalbending. Katara then puts space between the two ships with a huge waterbending attack that nearly capsized the enemy ship, and they try to escape. But despite the tremendous efforts of Katara and Toph, the ship takes heavy damage from the pursuing Fire Nation ship. They get away. Meanwhile, Zuko is telling Azula that he doesn't want to see his father yet because he didn't capture the Avatar. Azula assures him that it's alright, the Fire Lord shouldn't care because the Avatar is supposed to be dead. She then asks him suspiciously if he thinks he isn't. Azula gives him a suspicious look and tells him that their father wants to see him. Fire Lord Ozai (with his face FINALLY revealed) congratulates his son on a job well done and even mentions that he feels proud that Zuko showed ferocity in how he killed the Avatar. Zuko asks him what he heard about this, with his father responding that Azula told him that Zuko had slain the Avatar. Later that night, Zuko confronts his sister pointedly as to why she said he killed the Avatar instead of telling the truth. She answers that she wanted to make him feel better, to let him have some of the glory. But she also implies that, should the Avatar be found alive, whoever was responsible for not killing him, would face Ozai's wrath. In essence, Zuko is her scapegoat. SMASH CUT! Back with Aang and co, the group are docking at a port seen in "The Waterbending Scroll", Aang confesses to Katara he feels ashamed that everyone thinks he's dead, that he failed to stop the infiltration at Ba Sing Se. After giving into a burst of rage, he asks Katara to be left alone. She reluctantly leaves him to gather supplies in port. While his friends are away, he flees the ship in hopes of infiltrating the Fire Nation alone. He makes it far, even passing a blockade of Fire Nation ships, before a storm picks up. He then uses a log in the water combined with his glider to make a sail-surfer. Katara returns to Aang's room only to find it vacant, she immediately realizes what has happened and rushes out of the room. She runs to her father telling him, in tears, that Aang has run away to fight alone. She then pours her heart out to her father about the entire situation of the war and how she's missed her father, where the voice is clearly someone else...it's like what the fuck is going on. Hakoda comforts Katara, and tells her that he has missed her and Sokka every day since he left, and not a day went by that he did not think of them. He says that he would sit awake at night thinking about them so much it ached. In the ocean, the storm becomes even more intense, with Aang ultimately losing his glider. Aang feels like a failure, thinking that he won't make it out of the storm, but Roku appears to him in a vision, apologizing for not doing anything to stop the war before it began, and encouraging Aang not to give up. Yue also appears in a beam of moonlight, offering her encouragement as well. With Yue's help, Aang makes a huge tidal wave and heads off, washing up on Crescent Island, where the temple of the Fire Sages once stood. His friends find him lying on the shoreline, having split up with the Water Tribe warriors until the attack. They tell him that they intend to travel with him, as they still need to continue his earthbending (and most likely firebending) training. Toph finds his glider, broken, and returns it to him. Aang decides that if he is to maintain the element of surprise, the world will have to think he is dead for the time being. He then impales the glider into the molten rock, leaving it to burn.
OK!
Episode Rating: 3/5 - Not the greatest episode to start season 3 off with.
Next Week - Episode 302 - The Headband
Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
20: 46 - Nearly Time To Finish The Fight
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Written by: TehProdigy
As many of you will be aware, Wednesday 26th marks a momentous occasion for all, such a momentous occasion as to merit its own holiday in commemmoration. Ok ok but seriously, Halo 3 is looking to be without a doubt the game of the century, and as soon as I get my grubby little paws on it, there will be an uber large review on the story and the gameplay, but its the story that most mesmerises about Halo, so more emphasis will be placed upon it.
Yes, I plan to complete campaign on legendary mode the very day I get it and finish the fight.I'm sad enough and mad enough to be able to, and have the time to actually do it.
So, to refresh your memories of the greatest gaming story ever told, I recite to you the history so far from the first game Halo: Combat Evolved. I was going to try and pry it from my memory but instead I give you the far more detailed wikipedia plot entry...
The story is presented through an instruction manual, scripted events and conversations during the game, and in-game cut scenes. The game begins as the Pillar of Autumn exits slip-space near a mysterious ring-shaped space station, called "Halo" by the Covenant. A Covenant fleet attacks and heavily damages the Pillar of Autumn. Jacob Keyes initiates "The Cole Protocol", a procedure designed to prevent the Covenant from learning the location of Earth. While Keyes prepares to land the ship on Halo, the Master Chief and Cortana escape via an escape pod, which crash lands on the ring.
Captain Keyes survives the Autumn's crash landing, but is captured by the Covenant. In the second and third levels of the game, the Master Chief and Cortana gather human survivors and rescue Captain Keyes, who then orders Master Chief to beat the Covenant to Halo's control center and to discover its purpose. The Master Chief and Cortana travel to a map room called the Silent Cartographer, which leads them to the control room. There, Cortana enters the systems and, discovering something urgent, suddenly sends the Master Chief to find Captain Keyes, while she stays behind. While searching for his commander, the Master Chief learns that the Covenant have accidentally released the Flood, a parasitic alien race capable of spreading itself by overwhelming and infesting other sentient lifeforms. Keyes falls victim to them while looking for a cache of weapons. The release of the Flood prompts 343 Guilty Spark to recruit the Master Chief in retrieving the Index, a device that will activate Halo and prevent the Flood from spreading beyond the facility.
After the Master Chief retrieves and begins to use the Index, Cortana re-appears and warns him against the activation. She has discovered that Halo's defense system is a weapon designed to kill all sentient life in the galaxy, thus effectively starving the Flood.[45] When confronted with this information, 343 Guilty Spark states that the installation technically only has a maximum radius of twenty-five thousand light-years, but that its pulse would trigger other similar installations as well, killing all sentient life in the galaxy.
With Cortana's help, and while fighting the Flood, the Covenant, and Guilty Spark's Sentinels, the Master Chief attempts to destroy Halo before 343 Guilty Spark activates it. Cortana discovers that the best way to destroy Halo is to cause the crashed Pillar of Autumn to self-destruct. However, Captain Keyes' authorization is required to destroy the ship. By the time that they reach Keyes, he has been infested and turned into a Brain Flood. The Master Chief retrieves Keyes' neural implants directly from his brain, and Cortana activates the Autumn's self-destruct sequence. However, 343 Guilty Spark reappears and deactivates the countdown, discovering the record of human history in the process. The Master Chief manually causes the Pillar of Autumn's fusion reactors to begin to melt down, giving him and Cortana only fifteen minutes to escape. The Master Chief and Cortana flee in a UNSC Longsword fighter, before Halo explodes. The ending reveals that 343 Guilty Spark survives the explosion of Halo, and the story is continued in Halo 2.
Tomorrow I will provide the Halo 2 plot myself.
Labels: finish the fight, halo, halo 3, master
Author: Prodigy | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
19: 14 - A Continuation #7
Friday, September 21, 2007
Written by: Melaisis
Two words summarise this chapter:
DRAMA LULZ.
Thanks.
Chapter Eight - Revelations
Just as the first rays of sunlight managed to crest around the higher hills surrounding the Blackrock Mountain and the camp at the base, the zeppelins arrived. Once, they had been a mighty war fleet, assumedly during the goblin alliance with the Orcs during the Second War. But now, the four blimps that floated lazily over the peaks of the Burning Steppes, nothing more than a patch-worked shell of their former greatness. The green-skinned crews aboard and on deck slowly came into focus as they neared. Yet even from ground level, Krathor noted that there were far too few goblins on each to man it efficiently. Supposedly, the many zeppelin accidents that had taken place over the past few years had put any new potential pilots away from the prospect of flying such an airship; the younger generations turning to more modest and wider-used methods of transportation, such via sea. This slow process of elimination – through crashes, deaths and mistrust – left only the most skilful of fliers and the sturdiest of vessels in the skies over Azeroth. But with such lack of man-power, it was only a matter of time before the entire industry was killed off altogether. Or at least, that was the opinion belonging to Krathor.
By midday, the Dwarven camp had been totally packed up into a series of large boxes and shoved onto small carts, wrapped under white, standard-bearing canvas. The only tent that remained standing was the commanders’. It was in here, that the small crew that had departed together from Stormwind were saying goodbye.
“Good luck,” Krathor muttered, shaking Drynn’s hand firmly. Drynn appeared to return the sentiment, and turned to go, starting towards the tent flap, where a group of Dwarf pikemen waited outside, ready to pack the tent away and escort Drynn to the zeppelins, which had landed on a group of barren flats close to the great gates that led to the Burning Steppes. A few of the Dwarves looked up and fidgeted expectantly when they saw Drynn approach the opening – ready to tear the remaining tent down and join their comrades aboard the airships. But Drynn did not satisfy them. Instead, in a fickle act, he turned upon his heel and started back towards Krathor, who had remained within the centre of the tent, flanked by Valentine and Gahalla.
“Can I view the package?” Drynn asked sharply. Raising a curious glance, but choosing not to challenge the spike of curiosity, Krathor brought the brown package out from where he had safeguarded it, underneath his cloak and next to his tunic. It was rather large, and rectangular. The small party had all assumed it had been a box – and Krathor, upon beginning what had turned into his extended courier mission, had been told that it contained a weapon necessary for Stormpike. It was the first time in days that the focus of attention had been upon the delivery, and away from bigger business such as the Stormwind Council and Scourge. Now Drynn had inquired as to it upon his very hour of leaving. Why?
Drynn reached forward and, with accurate and quick precision, he untied the string that held the wrapping together. Krathor remained stationary, as this experience would also fulfil his own small inquisition as to what actually lay within parcel. As predicted, it was a box: Simple, white and elongated. Nobody said anything, but Krathor’s ears pricked at the sound of Valentine clasping the handle of his blade behind him, and Gahalla’s uneasy shuffles to his left. It was when Drynn leaned forward and made to delicately open the container that Valentine finally acted:
“You cannot open it; for it is restricted contraband,” he warned, his voice sneering as it had done the first day Krathor had re-encountered him at Lakeshire. Drynn, however, was totally oblivious to the undead’s words, completely focused upon the package from Stormwind. With one easy movement, he lifted the lid of the box clean off, it falling upon the floor some metres away lightly. Within the same moment, Valentine had unsheathed his own sword, the dried gunk of the abomination still glittering upon the blade, the inner edge blunted slightly by the acidic effects which had occurred days earlier. Yet it was still a terrifying weapon within the hands of the Forsaken. But Drynn was just as skilled, and had already placed the weapon they had been transporting – a huge, finely-detailed, heavy sword within the palms of his two hands by the time Valentine had marched over to him.
“Just what do you think you’re doing!?” The undead cried, outraged and totally perplexed at the same time. Drynn did not look at him, as his eyes drew up and down the newly found weapon, but replied all the same:
“I might as well have viewed the thing we’ve been carrying with us before I departed, surely? My… it is a mighty blade…”
“Put it back,” Valentine commanded.
“But it is so beautiful… such a weapon… it would make a mighty weapon for a High Executor following the downfall of the Council…”
“Stop this business!” It was Gahalla who spoke now, her voice equally angry and shocked at the sudden behaviour that Drynn was displaying. Yet Drynn ignored her, his eyes still focused upon the sword. Admittedly, it was a beautiful weapon, the handle encrusted with mysterious, shining jewels. Yet Drynn appeared to be more than simply admiring the art of the blade; for it was as if he was almost possessed with greed when he held it. The three others in the tent noticed this nigh on immediately, and thus it became of the uttermost priority to distance Drynn from the sword.
Again, Valentine warned, “put it back. The Dwarves require it – not you. Wrap it away and we’ll deliver it to where it belongs,” he assured. Krathor believed it was a logical and rational argument that the undead had put forward. The man who actually held the sword in his own possession, however, seemed to disagree:
“No! This device can be used to fight the Council with! So what about the Dwarves!? It is not as if they would aid us! Don’t you stand with me, Valentine!? Gahalla!?” He glanced around in desperation at his comrades. They sighed and shook their heads in disagreement and disappointment. Angered and annoyed by this point, Drynn reached his snapping point. Staggering backwards under the weight of the weapon, flinging it about within the air, swaying worryingly so that even Valentine kept back from him, Drynn fled. Within seconds, the flap to the large tent was blowing opened and blowing slightly in the draft caused by Drynn’s passing. Valentine started to pursue him, but was easily spoken against by the combined efforts of Gahalla and Krathor, the latter of which spoke:
“Don’t fret, Valentine,” he assured. “The sword was worth a lot; but maybe we won’t even reach Loch Modan at this rate,” he grumbled, slightly chuckling. Valentine gave a solemn nod, yet still stalked out of the tent. Outside, however, the area around the old encampment had been deserted. Even the Dwarf platoon of pikemen had left, their small bodies seen marching at a jogging pace a few thousand yards away already. Dust trailed in their wake as their moved across the barren Steppes, it blowing up behind them in the morning breeze. Valentine grunted at the sight, assuming that it was Drynn that led them to the zeppelin landing spot, still hauling the precious sword.
“So,” Krathor began. “Do any of you know what that was all about?” He shot an inquisitive glance at both Gahalla and Valentine respectively. None of them spoke for a few minutes, until Gahalla answered:
“Drynn is a strange character. Ever since I knew him and tales of his mysterious background, I have been wary of him. Now the time has come when he has betrayed us in favour of putting his own needs above others. No doubt the temptation to harness the power of such an artefact took him over, hence his treachery,” she said, matter-of-factly, and all refused to argue.
“Where do we go from now, then?” Krathor asked bluntly, wanting more answers.
“Wherever you go,” Valentine answered, pledging his allegiance once more. But this wasn’t the answer that Krathor needed to hear. He looked upon Gahalla expectantly, but the woman remained silent. Realising that it was his own responsibility, and that the semi-mage had brought the situation upon himself, and it was up to him to solve it:
“Fine, it is evident that Drynn’s thieving cannot go unpunished,” Krathor finally proclaimed, his morality shining through. “We should at least chase him to the Dwarves; and confront him. I accepted that courier service risking my own honour and dignity. Now that has disappeared with the loss of the weapon and the very thing I was supposed to safeguard. Surely now it is up to me to retrieve it?”
Valentine grinned, secretly swelling with pride at Krathor. It appeared that the leadership nature that the knight-captain was once famous for within the barracks of Dalaran had really shined through in the time of need. It was not magic and battle prowess that would lead the small group through now; it was the raw determination of being betrayed in such a way for a mere physical possession that lit the fires of the strongest will within Krathor’s heart. It was this, that, despite their obvious differences, that bonded both the undead and half-magi with one another. It was for this that Valentine had travelled south for. Now his wishes had been fulfilled in moments. The thrill of the chase was about to begin.
“It is not that simple,” Gahalla quickly pointed out. “You cannot simply chase Drynn; for he has allies within and without the Resistance against the Council that will make such a pursuit extremely difficult for any wishing to do so. He must owe half of Azeroth money or some sort of deed, yet somehow avoids these payments for all eternity. How? One can only guess,” she trailed off, smirking. Krathor and Valentine both eyed her suspiciously, only supposing that she knew more than she was choosing to share, yet they did not comment. The actual flight of Drynn and the mystical sword that he took off with was much more of a pressing concern to them both.
“So, how do you suggest that we go about retrieving the blade, Ms. Rose?” Krathor pondered. “I believe we can all think, according to your so-called ‘facts’, that gaining the sword will not be as easy as me and my Forsaken friend here both initially thought, correct?” A hasty nod from Gahalla certified this, and so Krathor continued heeded. “This must surely mean that we must use supernatural methods to combat such outrageous odds. Don’t you agree?” Another nod. “I am a mage, after all – a mage in training is still a mage,” he pointed out when Gahalla shot him a cynical look. “So, I must possess the natural techniques required to go after someone as powerful as Drynn, right?”
Valentine gave a snicker. “I don’t think Drynn is as powerful as this young lady makes out. He stole a sword, so what?” But Gahalla was ready to retort quickly:
“If you believe him to be so worthless – then how come you didn’t stop him from leaving earlier with the artefact?” She grinned. Valentine was forced into a stubborn silence in which he shuffled his aching bones and shifted his weight in angst. “Quite,” Gahalla added. “You may be a mage, Krathor Ofane – but Drynn possesses magic not as obvious the flame-throwing that you demonstrate or the water-wielding, portal-opening powers of your Kirin Tor ancestors, but a different kind. A more dangerous kind, a sort not to be tampered with lightly, trust me.”
The undead gave a sly snarl. “This may be true, Krathor,” he said, directly addressing him, attempting to feebly dismiss Gahalla. “But don’t you wonder where this woman goes during her small periods of time where she disappears into nothingness?” Valentine grinned, and Gahalla’s face dropped. The Forsaken warrior turned upon Gahalla at this point, and simply said: “I think it’s about time you show your real talents to us, oh silent one!”
Gahalla frowned, but this was countered by an unmoving, stern look from Valentine. “You must not judge me for this,” she warned beforehand, but her inquisitors simply motioned for her to continue without hesitation, which she did. “I have contact with forces darker than Drynn and yet more powerful than the Light itself. Yet they are not easily appeased, nor fooled. It is not a being which can accessed by normal man, or-“
“Get on with it,” Valentine interrupted impatiently.
“We cannot use the power for our own means of course-“
“Unfortunate.”
Gahalla clenched her teeth at the constant interruptions of Valentine, and struggled onwards with her lecture. “Now, there are others which make use of this certain power – a small faction, in fact. This group of people are arguably the most powerful on the world. More powerful than Orcs, dragons, Dwarves, the Council… all put together. This is not something to be taken lightly, my friends. Not at all.”
Valentine sighed, outwardly unimpressed. Krathor, on the other hand, was fascinated. With raised eye brows, he asked:
“What must we do?”
It was this question that Gahalla had been awaiting and she jumped in reply at it almost immediately, with a sly grin. “It is simple. We must contact the common enemy of both Drynn and the Council.” From the corner of his eye, Krathor saw Valentine jump slightly, his gaze shift and focus directly upon Gahalla. He was worried, definitely, and made his concern known quicker than any of them had expected:
“Are you referring to the Scourge, [i]witch[/i]? If so, I sincerely suggest that you reconsider the decision. For I refuse completely to ally with such fiends. As for the Forsaken? I rejected the equally tyrannical ways of the Dark Lady just as much as I did the Lich King. I am only willing to share my loyalty with one person only, and he is stood within this tent,” he finished, giving a nod to Krathor. Gahalla, however, laughed at the outbreak of Valentine. It appeared that she had not been referring to the Scourge or their free counterparts in the slightest.
“I am talking of an ancient cult known as The Dark Sphere,” she corrected simply. “They have existed ever since word of the Black Riders reached Darkshire and the surrounding lands. Their mythology is but only different to my own faith in the slightest of ways. As I do, they believe and follow in a mystical being known as Teron Gorefiend.”
“So it is worse than the Scourge…” Valentine sighed, his chest heaving and his bony fingers once again clenching the narrow sword upon his waist. “Teron Gorefiend is a vile, unnatural creature that breaches all which is good and worthy within this world,” he explained to Krathor. “All along, we have had a companion within the servitude of Gorefiend amongst us. I am disgusted that my own senses did not detect such evil long before now,” he spat. “I must undo such a monstrosity this very moment – before we are both brainwashed by this mere woman’s hate-speech!” Enraged within seconds, Valentine moved to assault Gahalla - who was taken totally off-guard, as Krathor was - by such urgent-sounding talk from the undead. Unable to be halted by words of comfort and negotiation from Krathor, Valentine continued forward, drawing his sword upon Gahalla, much to her horror. Whilst the undead had the obvious pre-emptive, the ostensibly helpless female was able to defend herself easily. Seconds later, Valentine lay withering upon the dusty floor, withering in pain. The fabled sword that the warrior had disabled the previously encountered abomination with now lay metres away across the ground. Krathor then made to retrieve it – but was stopped by Gahalla’s glare and sneering voice:
“Stop. This vile creature has no right to go around proclaiming what is ‘natural’ and what is not! For he judges the Sphere upon biased, old orthodox theories of the ancient ‘scholars’ which know nothing of the true destiny that they are due to fullfill!” She proclaimed, standing above the body of Valentine, ready to strike the finishing blow. It was at that moment, Krathor realised that the woman, could-be murderer did not actually possess a physical weapon, and automatically assumed that she had disarmed the violent and (at the time) enraged Valentine using her hands alone. The mage had to admit; he was secretly impressed with the display of such hidden skill. However, unlike what it appeared Gahalla would do; she simply stepped backwards from the worrying body, and beckoned Krathor over to her side of the tent, as she slowly edged towards the exit. Distraught by the sudden action that had taken place, Krathor was bemused and, above all, vulnerable. Now, at the display of Gahalla’s hidden might at so subtly and simply disarming the once mighty Valentine, it appeared that he had no choice but to follow the enraged woman to a possibly better fate. Leaving Valentine withering upon the ground, the now-duo stepped outside, into the renewed, blazing sunlight that had settled over the fiery earth. Drenched in the heat, Gahalla stood perfectly still whilst addressing Krathor, who tried to mirror the stance – yet failed to do so, the sweat pouring down his forehead and trapping beneath his collar. He waited expectantly, until at last, Gahalla opened her quickly drying mouth and said:
“I came from Stormwind to escape the glare of prejudiced people. Now, even in a desolate place such as this, the ignorant ones still stalk me with every passing moment. In forms I certainly did not expect,” she gestured at the tent, or rather, who still lay within. “Now, Krathor Ofane, it is truly your decision as to your next move. Do you stay here with that feeble undead? Do you wish to peruse and regain the sword you were entrusted with simply for the sake of a few gold coins and your pride? Or will you return to Stormwind and carry on your studies as a mage? The choice is entirely yours,” she grinned.
“What will you do?” he stammered in reply, slightly infuriated at Gahalla’s cockiness.
“I must assist in fighting the Council,” she admitted. I have powerful contacts, in and out of The Dark Sphere. Despite the misgivings of Drynn; our resistance still stands and remains as one. Will you help me, Krathor?”
Shocked at this sudden proposition thrust onto him, Krathor hesitated, stuttering: “Well… D-do I have a choice? I mean, I’ve been led into the middle of no-where, only to have a grand sword I was couriering spontaneously stolen from me in a matter of minutes. Now, my only friend in this world is an undead and is possibly mortally wounded metres away. You must understand how difficult the situation is for me.”
“I do,” Gahalla argued, appearing sincere. “But now is the time for your decision to be made. Come with me, young one – and avenge the past.”
Krathor, in reflection, was overall impressed by this tempting offer. However, had he been given more time to consider, he would have done the morally correct thing, and stood beside Valentine in what would have been his final hours. Yet before this change of heart could be accomplished, Gahalla produced a shining, red rock – on which a glowing rune lay. Enticed by the artefact, he reached for it as it stood within the open palm of Gahalla. She did not seem to be annoyed when Krathor simply took it from her and held it in his own hand, his fingers gently running over the indent which marked the stone. A strange, indefinable feeling filled the heart and muscles of Krathor, and the rune glowed more intensely. Gahalla gave another feeble smile, and was eyed suspiciously by Krathor, who was still stroking the rock upon his hand.
“It is a Rune of Teleportation,” she explained. “You haven’t seen one before? Mages use them all the time to create portals.” Krathor himself was unfamiliar with this method, however. In Dalaran, the Kirin Tor had chosen to set up huge, permanent portals to connect the magical city to their neighbours. These were arguably safer than the newer, smaller forms that had now begun to dominate the magical market.
“So, what do you suggest we do with it?”
But before Gahalla could answer his question, Krathor was filled with a power like he had never felt before. The Rune of Teleportation glowed fiercely within his grasp, warming within his fingers. His vision glared and whitened, the force growing within his heart. The landscape around him squirreled and doubled, heat waves clearly becoming visible, pouring upwards from the ground. Then, as quickly as the events had come, they faded and Krathor’s world faded to black. Drained of energy, he fell backwards, hard, still clasping the stone.
Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
13: 15 - A Continuation #6
Monday, September 17, 2007
Written by: Melaisis
Yes guys, I'm still going. Don't worry, however, after I get to Continuation #10, I assure you I shall cease and desist posting more of this very game-related story and take up normal blogging again. On the other hand, I have had some very positive feedback regarding the tale, so I'll keep you posted.
Chapter Seven - Dwarven Kind
Drynn was able to direct the small company to an encampment at the base of the volcano, next to which a huge walkway stood, leading from the rocky ground to a grand, stony entrance into the mountain. The abomination that had been following them was ambushed by a set of Orcs en route, and the four thought better than to try and interfere. Now they had arrived at the somewhat temporary rest stop – which seemed rather out of place in the midst of the Steppes; a small, spiked fence ringed around a set of tents and forges, obviously drawing power from the lava pits that were scattered about the area. The populace of the small outpost was mainly composed of Dwarves, their stout and stocky bodies with sporting ginger beards constantly on the move around the place, the majority ignoring the new arrivals. Drynn led his group awkwardly around the small residents and into the largest tent in sight. Outside, a worn battle standard stood, brandishing a golden insignia, made up of hammers and anvils. It was the mark of the Bronzebeard clan of Dwarves.
Krathor had once met a Dwarf, a time ago, during his duty at Dalaran. However, recounting the memory itself, the situation and conversation had not been all that pleasant – the Dwarf more than happy to simply talk of beer and war to a relatively, at the time, peaceful and blissfully ignorant Krathor. It had annoyed the native Dalaran guard greatly at the time, and Krathor had made a note to himself never to encounter, communicate or do business with the Dwarven kin again, which he had successfully managed to maintain. Until the moment where Drynn pushed back flap leading into the main tent, and the party were greeted by swords and spears thrust into their direction:
“Who dare disturb the meeting of the great chieftains!?” one of the Dwarves barked. He was dressed from head to toe in shining, golden armour, and the insignia he bore was not unlike the one on the flagpole Krathor had seen only moments ago. He was pointing a rather unusual, slightly bent sword at Drynn, who had staggered back slightly in surprise, but was quickly trying to regain his calm demeanour. Finally, with an attempt (which quickly failed) to bat the weapon away from his face, Drynn gave a short bow and began:
“We come from Stormwind, in order to take this young man here,” he gave a nod to Krathor, who nervously smiled back, gripping the package he was meant to be delivering from beneath the folds in his cloak “to Loch Modan,” Drynn finished. The brightly-dressed Dwarf opened his mouth to retort, but Drynn foresaw what was coming, and then continued without hesitation.
“It appears, however, that we have encountered more problems than expected,” and this time, Drynn gave a wave of his hand to Valentine, highlighting the undead’s haggard clothing, ripped and stained even more so by the encounter with the unnatural monster at the entrance to the Steppes. “We – he – fought off an estranged creature on our way here. It wasn’t a dragon, or even an overly large Orc. It was Scourge.” The hostile Dwarf stranger lowered his sword, and beckoned the fellowship from Stormwind into the large tent, ensuring that the flap was securely fastened before beginning to talk. He was accompanied by two other similarly-dressed kin, who remained silent and stoic for the duration of their leader’s small speech.
“I am Lord Mercutio Filthgorger, of the northern lands. This is officer Doombrow,” he inclined towards the larger of the two accomplices, “and this is sergeant major Clate,” he gestured towards the other of the two, who sported a much longer and darker beard than his comrades. “It is a miracle you stumbled upon this camp at this time, for we were just about the move on. It appears that you know as much as we do, Mr…?”
“Drynn,” he said, introducing himself honestly, and thought it best not to involve his companions. “So, are the Scourge truly active down here?” he enquired directly.
Mercutio gave a heavy shrug. “Our focus has been on keeping the Dark Irons at bay. But now we threaten to be overrun by black dragons and the heat itself. As for the presence of any Scourge; our scouts reported a small recon unit full of undead passing through a few weeks back. The scouts engaged and successfully defeated them, we assumed. Perhaps the one you attacked was simply one lost?”
Valentine stepped forward at this, declaring, “No Scourge ‘gets lost’, commander. They are connected to the thought base of the Lich King, and think as he does. The exception to this is, of course, the Forsaken.” All three of the Dwarves stared at Valentine expectedly, and he pulled his robe closer to his frame, trying to protect his identity and the fact that he was, indeed, a Forsaken himself. “Now, I doubt – without the aid of some sort of magical powers and a lot of luck, the said abomination would never have reached the entrance to the Steppes without being detected – Scourge or Forsaken. This brings me to conclude that the risk is one probably bigger than you or your fellows expect.”
The commander, Mercutio, snorted. “Even if this is true, we are moving on anyway, and reporting to Ironforge. It appears we underestimated the risk of anything lurking out here. Surely yer can understand that?”
Without waiting for a response, the three stormed past the travelling party and outside, to their small force of fellow Dwarves who awaited them. The four remained in the tent, in silence. Finally, Drynn said, “Well, that was interesting,” and followed the Dwarves out of the tent. With him as their only guide through the camp and in the Steppes, the three others had no choice but to follow. It was painfully obvious upon stepping outside that the Dwarves had no intention of remaining within the area, as the camp was quickly being packed up – Mercutio and his allies shouting orders in their thick accents at the subordinates who dashed hither and thither in attempts to assemble the tents into some sort of transportable form. As Mercutio slowly wandered throughout the dashing Dwarves, Drynn made another approach to him:
“Is that all, then? Are you going to simply regard what we’ve told you? The Scourge? The Orcs!? How are we supposed to survive any further on our journey?” Mercutio waved him off in disregard and annoyance. Proceeding with his stroll, he proposed:
“We feel as you do, Mr. Drynn. Look around,” he gestured to the charred and rocky landscape that made up the terrain of the Steppes “this isn’t the most desirable of places. Now, what if you had been sent here by some [i]de facto[/i] general to spend a month here guarding against around a thousand threats with no where enough men to accomplish so. This is what the Alliance has been brought to, dear human: Sending their most experienced officers on useless missions with equally useless units. Sod the Scourge. Sod the Dark Irons. Sod the dragons! We’re going home.” With this announcement, he signalled to his lieutenants, Doombrow and Clate, and stalked off. Drynn thought better than to try and follow them, and instead returned to the three allies. Krathor enquired as to the situation immediately upon Drynn’s reappearance:
“What was that about? Are they truly leaving?”
“Certainly,” Drynn replied. “They hate this place more than we do. Yet they also care less for it. I’d give it until tomorrow before they mobilise and move on.”
“This does not spell well for us,” Valentine added.
“Certainly,” Drynn repeated. “It appears the Dwarves of Ironforge have better things to do than even fight against their own, local enemies. Yet the residents of Blackrock stand upon their doorstep – and even distant threats from Lordaeron make themselves known this far south,” he shared a dry chuckle with Valentine. “Chances we’ll get anywhere with this lot are slim, but we might as well attempt negotiations.” He beckoned Valentine to join him, and turned to attempt more contact with the three Dwarf leaders. With prospects low anyway, Krathor followed without being prompted.
“Aye m’lad, yer canny expect us to stay ‘ere,” Clate was saying in a gruff, low voice, twitching nervously. “’Dere be dragons and Orcs lurking in that there volcano,” he said, gesturing to Blackrock and confirming the worst fears of Krathor. So the rumours in Dalaran had been correct, according to the Dwarf. “We been out ‘ere for months ner, and it really is dat terrifin’.”
His comrades grunted in agreement. Drynn frowned, to which Mercutio sighed and stated, “look, fine. I understand you are concerned for the survival of the races and whatnot – but this is a Dwarven problem, and we don’t need any humans to interfere, right? But your indiscriminate affection is really appreciated. Let us make you an offer.”
Upon these words, an uneasy feeling built in the bottom of Krathor’s stomach, a fire wishing to set his belly alight. He felt as if whatever the Dwarf commander was about to say, it would spell disaster for all of those involved. Yet it appeared that Drynn and Valentine did not show the same pre-emptive instinct, their faces and body language encouraging the Dwarf to continue with his proposition.
“A set of zeppelins are picking us up tomorrow from a landing site not too far from here. You are more than welcome to join us on our flight back to Ironforge; it will cut your travelling time to Loch Modan from three days to a matter of hours,” he said matter-of-factly. Krathor’s worst fears were confirmed in an instant, himself having a sudden flashback on the last time he rode on a Goblin-owned zeppelin, it ending in a fiery downfall. Literally. Valentine and Drynn, however, seemed as if their prayers had been answered. At a glance around, Gahalla was no where to be seen, which was something Krathor now came to assume was normal for her. Krathor felt his chest heave with the burning sensation that had haunted him momentarily.
“We will gladly accept your offer,” Drynn announced, exchanging pleasant looks with Valentine. Krathor was infuriated that Drynn had not discussed the decision with the rest of the fellowship, and told him so as soon as the Dwarves had travelled out of earshot. It became obvious, by Drynn’s neigh on instant reply, that he had expected some sort of resistance about the choice:
“It will be our fastest way to Ironforge,” he declared openly, Valentine nodding slowly. “There are no two ways about it, Krathor. It gets us out of this dastardly place, and also puts us into the Dwarven capital faster, which gives us more chance to convince them to join us in our plight against the Council of Stormwind!”
At that point, Krathor reached breaking point, and quickly retorted, “so what? The zeppelins are unsafe and overpriced. Besides, you have seen how these Dwarves act. You have to consider that they may not be the great friends they claim to be by making you such a proposal. Aren’t you at least slightly suspicious of their sudden need to appease you in such a way?”
Drynn gave a laugh; half-nervous, half-mocking. His looks appeared to darken slightly, but he grinded his teeth and replied in a calm tone: “Are you suggesting that we shouldn’t take them up on it? If you are, Krathor Ofane, then I suggest you and me part ways now – in order to avoid such whining on the flight. Your unjustified prejudice towards this race is shameful and immature. A man of your status should really rethink his position on such subjects in future! We shall stay the night here and then go out separate routes in the morning,” he huffed, ending his own outburst and walking off to consol the Dwarf leaders further. Valentine, however, remained stationary. Krathor shot him a curious glance, and the undead responded almost immediately:
“I shall stand by you, Ofane. I owe it to the people of Lordaeron and Gilenas who’s lives I have taken. I still swore an oath whilst serving at Dalaran, after all,” he admitted. “I will protect any of those who wield any of the magic. I did so for the Kirin Tor, and latterly the Lich King. Now, in this conquest, it appears I am to serve you once again to honour the former,” Valentine gave a gentle bow when he had finished, and walked off in the opposite direction to Drynn – presumably to search for Gahalla. Krathor was even more shocked at Valentine’s rehabilitation than he was at the Dwarves’ change of heart about letting the small company join the unit on their way home to Ironforge. All the same, Krathor was pleased to at least have someone on his side even if they - under any other circumstances – would have been mortal enemies.
By nightfall, the camp had been reduced to the bare minimum number of tents to compensate for the occupying force. The four guests from the south had been assigned the main tent, in which they had met the three Dwarf leaders earlier in the day. Yet it was only Drynn who settled into the temporary rest spot, his old comrades choosing to venture elsewhere in the evening. Krathor and Valentine were strolling side-by-side through the land around the camp, lit up by the small watch fires and lava pits that scarred the Steppes. They had been talking for the majority of the day, discussing the issues that tainted the lands following the fall of the magical city of Dalaran. Krathor had told of his own adventures across the two continents and how he had discovered the magic shortly after his voluntary exile from the north. Valentine, however, appeared to have a far more interesting tale to tell:
“I defected due to the circumstances at the time,” he explained to Krathor, referring to their last parting, when Valentine had chosen to join with the forces of the Lich King at the stand-off with the last forces of the Northern Alliance in Lordaeron. “I believed the Lich King would strike down all that stood against him. I mean – we all saw what happened to Dalaran all those years ago… Surely you can relate to that, Krathor?”
The mage grunted. He saw the point of view that Valentine carried, yet also noted how desperate in manner the undead appeared to make himself seem justified in his decision to switch sides in the conflict for Lordaeron. Yet he did not speak of his concerns or unwillingness to have mercy and pity upon Valentine, and the Forsaken continued with his tale merrily, oblivious to Krathor’s own inner conflict of opinion and thoughts about him.
“After entering the service of the Lich King, I led a series of campaigns throughout Arathor and Lordaeron,” at this point, Krathor considered speaking out or at least complaining upon haring this statement – after all, what kind of man is honestly proud to boast and gloat that he had led skirmishes against his own people after joining with an inherently evil organisation. Then again, Krathor began to doubt that Valentine’s reform was as successful as it had first appeared to be if genuine at all. “I commanded many a troop – from the abominations like the one I fought earlier, to the crypt crawlers of Northrend. It was a mighty conquest, and everything seemed to be going right. Until…”
Valentine continued to talk about his ‘great’ experiences serving within the ranks of the Lich King as they trudged through the dust and ash-stained Steppes, circling the Dwarven encampment slowly. The undead was able to tell horrendous stories of torture filled with gore for what seemed like hours, Krathor becoming more bored with the sickening bragging with each passing minute, until Valentine came upon a subject that was truly close to the listener’s heart. Whilst telling the tale of how the Forsaken – a band of renegade Scourge who broke away from the mind-numbing effects of being a slave to the Lich King – had dragged him into service, he told of the following:
“I didn’t know if it was him at first – but upon questioning, I was able to certify my suspicions,” Valentine began, with an allure of mystery. “Certainly, he had been through a few battles, but it appeared that he had, like myself, torn his still willing mind away from the control of the Lich King, and join the Forsaken.”
“Who are you talking about?” Krathor demanded impatiently.
“Burgess Ofane,” Valentine cut to the point bluntly. “Your brother and our mutual comrade in arms, who apparently fell upon the battlements of Dalaran. He was resurrected and freed as I was, and now, as I understand it, roaming the rotten fields of Lordaeron – a Deathguard in under the subordination of the Dark Lady.”
“I must find him,” Krathor declared, making a silent promise to himself in the same breath.
Labels: Krathor, Melaisis, World of Warcraft
Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
20: 25 - The first non-WOW related post in ages.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Written by: Dee4leeds
Yeah, it's been a while. The recent posts rss feed shows at least 6 (questionable 7) posts relating to World of Warcraft.
Sod it. I'm going to reason with you. I have no idea why I am writing this post. I just had an urge to post something but I couldn't think of anything.
I guess this is going to another short post from yours truly but don't worry by the end of this week I'll be back to posting one a week. (Avatar is coming back! Thank God.) And I may do one for the whole of Dexter and Heroes season 1. Should be interesting, I always feel more at home doing reviews, leaving the ranting to Scott, Jordan and Ste.
This post: 5/5 - Yeah I rule!
Author: Dee4leeds | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
15: 32 - A Continuation #5
Monday, September 10, 2007
Written by: Melaisis
Now I really do feel that this tale is growing slightly old, at least for those who haven't played Warcraft. Speaking of the topic; I disbanded my guild yesterday in favour of actually pursuing some sort of life in the meantime. All the same, I plough on with my (little?) epic, whilst listening to The Beautiful South. Of course writing a story provides me with time to think of decent blog entries to write once I'm done, and I'm always brainstorming new ideas.
Chapter 6 - Into The Mountains
“I wish we could have stayed in the town for the night,” Krathor commented. It was early morning, and the sun was just cresting the peaks of the far side of the Redridge Mountains once again, bathing the lake in a glistening, friendly glow and drawing out long shadows from the hills. Despite the appearance of the sun within the cloudless sky, the four were still ascending the mountains at a rapid pace, and the air had grown colder and harder to breathe. Still, this had not kept Krathor complaining of the temperature, although it could be argued that he was the most suitably dressed out of the small party for such conditions, as he had been forewarned by the Dwarf, Gelman, within Stormwind.
“I agree,” added Drynn. “Yet we couldn’t have stayed in that town. Did you see how the people kept indoors? Even the homeless preferred to sleep with the horses than outside.”
“But why?”
Valentine gave a sly snicker, and commented, “he really doesn’t have any experience with the Council, does he? ‘Mage’, you’ll quickly find that the Council consider themselves to be omnipotent. If you were foolish enough to believe that they do not have influence in an isolated district such as this, then you are very much mistaken.”
“That does not still explain why the people stayed indoors, Scourge.”
Again, Valentine hissed in disapproval and finished the conversation rapidly, by commenting, “They like to appear subtle, by patrolling the most oblivious areas at the most inappropriate times. We must always be en garde.”
Krathor sighed and an uneasy silence slipped over the small group. They continued onward, further and further into the range. Finally, they reached an overhang that looked over a passage with mountains towering at either side. It was there they halted their advance for lunch. The meal itself was kept brief, the Gahalla picked up some supplies of beef late last night when she disappeared from the inn were limited, but would suffice if rationed until the other side of the mountains and into Dwarf lands. Drynn took the short pause in the journey to brief the small foursome on updates and what progress had to be made.
“Down there,” he gestured, his hand pointing towards the valley bottom far below, “is the entrance to the Burning Steppes. It is those lands we must cross into for the quickest route into the Loch. The Dwarves should be expecting us and will be able to aid us in our struggle against the Council.”
Valentine nodded in agreement, and added, “It is still a long journey across one of the most dangerous places on Azeroth. The Steppes are filled with Orcs and dragons alike. However, we are a small but able few – and should be able to pass through with minimal hassle.”
Gahalla left shortly afterwards to go and search for ‘something which may be necessary’ in the surrounding area, whilst Drynn went to scout out the nearest paths to the valley floor. This left Krathor alone with Valentine on the ledge, much to their mutual annoyance. Once again, an uncomfortable silence settled over the duo, until Valentine finally coughed and broke the uneasiness with a slight hiss.
“I am sorry for abandoning you at Dalaran, Ofane,” he said quietly and so hastily Krathor barely had time to determine what had been said. There was a moment of thinking time, then Valentine continued hurriedly, “I saw what the Scourge did to the races during the invasion of Lordaeron first-hand. Well, some of it, at least. Until the Lich King gained command of my very thinking.” To this, Valentine pulled back some of his red-cloth that draped over his loose frame and revealed his torso. The skin was as pale as anywhere else on his body, but many parts in his chest contained obvious, poorly done, stitch marks where huge holes had been sewn back together.
“You are a murderer,” Krathor muttered, feeling a red-hot anger build inside him, the magic burning to be let free.
“I am as much as a murderer as you are, old soldier. We were doing our job - that is all. That is all.”
“You, are a murderer of our friends and comrades!” Krathor shouted, enraged at Valentine’s insolence.
“I did what I had to do to survive,” Valentine admitted.
“Now you are undead.”
Valentine nodded. “I do regret what I did, you realise this surely? This is why I wish to join Drynn’s anti-Council movement; to make a difference! To make a change! To free the people of Stormwind!”
“Just like you freed their brothers, husbands and lovers from the curse of morality in Lordaeron, I assume?” Krathor added, sneering.
Valentine lowered his eyes in embarrassment and admitted his defeat. Krathor sighed and set off to find out where his other, trustier comrades had gotten to. He quickly stumbled upon the location of Drynn, who, it appeared, had found a pass down into the valley, but had also encountered a few indiscriminate hostiles on his route. Three Orcs barred the narrow path between Krathor, Drynn and the obvious way forward. They were more muscle-bound and filled with more pure determination than Krathor had experienced previously – his history only being of the rather (in comparison) intellectual Orcs which had successfully migrated to Kalimdor. The trio that now stood before warrior and mage were a lot greener, well-armed and generally uglier than their overseas counterparts. Krathor had initially every confidence that him and Drynn would prevail over such an inadequate foe, but as the passage of time flowed at the standoff, his nerve grew weaker.
“What do you reckon we should do?” he whispered to Drynn, who continued his unwavering eye contact upon the brutes. Quickly, Drynn offered the reply:
“The only thing we can do. They aren’t the most civilised of beings, especially if they originate within the Steppes. They’re blocking our path; and so it really leaves us nothing but a very simple choice,” and with that, he confidently strode up to the three Orcs, leaving Krathor shocked and taken-back by such rash behaviour. By the time Krathor had covered the few paces it took to catch up to Drynn, his companion had already unleashed his blade against two of the Orcs, leaving their heads cleanly lopped off. The accuracy of such strikes both impressed and disturbed the on looking Krathor simultaneously. The final Orc hesitated slightly once his foe turned upon him, then fled further down the valley, and didn’t look back.
Drynn sheathed his blade and turned to the waiting Krathor, who was still starring in dismay at the bloodied corpses at their feet.
“Once again, it is time for our hasty departure. Gather the others – once word reaches Blackrock that we are here; then it won’t be the Council we have to worry about.”
Krathor was unsure as to what exactly Drynn was referring to, as his knowledge of the infamous ‘Blackrock Mountain’ was limited, aside from the fact it was a relatively dormant volcano which had oddly been inhabited by the infamous Blackrock clan of Orcs. It had also been rumoured, during his Dalaran days, that a small Dwarf tribe still lived deep within the heart of the mountain. In truth, Krathor knew that the Kirin Tor probably knew the exact facts behind such whispers, but (even though he could enquire to such business) Krathor, at the time, thought better than to bother his masters and employers which such simple folklore of the southern lands.
Valentine, upon hearing the summary of the situation, appeared to have dismissed the earlier events and did not hesitate to join Krathor and Drynn as they readied their move from Redridge to the Burning Steppes. Gahalla was found by the small party a short time later, herself looking slightly dishevelled and slightly messier than she had done upon her earlier departure. Krathor took a short moment to enquire as to whether or not she had acquired the ‘something necessary’ – to which Gahalla stayed silent, only to further Krathor’s curiosity.
Still, none of the group had much time to ponder upon Gahalla’s mysterious antics, as they found themselves quickly running across the infamous valley floor which led to the entrance of the Burning Steppes. They had gone a reasonable distance into the gap between cliff walls when a great roar echoed throughout the landscape. Everyone heard it. No one bothered to stop to find out what it meant. At a slightly faster pace than they had been running before, the four found themselves facing the mightiest sight in the Redridge Mountains. For as the valley walls began to widen and level off with the rest of the terrain, a great gate stood, securing the only clear exit. The ‘gate’ was a mammoth barrier which the humans had established during the closing days of the First War with the Orc kind. Each side of the opening was over one hundred feet tall and had remained as impressive and steadfast as they had been ever since their construction. Yet the chains and couplings that had once linked the two sides of the valley and gates together were now broken, rusted and incomplete. The massive doors stood ajar, and Krathor – along with the rest of his fellows – could make out the fiery beginnings of the infamous Burning Steppes.
The roar came again, and this time, Drynn spoke:
“We must keep on the move. That sound does not spell good news for us,” he voice was hardly more than a whisper. The comrades did not slow their flight, and, if anything, sped hastened at Drynn’s words. The great, battered gates that marked the end of the lengthy draw grew closer, and the heat from the Burning Steppes burned against the skin of the party as they slowly approached, the fiery tar pits marking their way to escape the Orc-infested peaks of Redridge.
The roar came again, then. Louder than ever before, the sound beating against Krathor’s eardrums, making his eyesight sway and his feet stumble. It was then, at the end of the pass, in the gap between the two, slightly open sides of the gate, the source of the noise became apparent. For, baring the company’s passage from the rocky land stood a monstrosity of nature. Or rather, against nature. Instead of the noise originating from an assumed giant Orc or something like it; the roaring had come from what now stood in front of them. For it was neither man nor beast that confronted the party; but a horrible hybrid of the two. With limbs jutting out at odd angles, each of the many hands brandishing a cleaver or other form of sharpened weapon of war, the monster shambled towards the small fellowship. As it came closer to Krathor and his friends, they were able to make out the more defining details of the creature: The stitches that held the excessive limbs in place, the holes within the flabs of fat that hung loosely from the huge torso, and the small head with an overly large, hideous, toothless mouth hanging open, an occasional moaning or roar echoing from deep within its bowls. Krathor shuddered; it was a hideous sight to behold.
“An abomination,” Valentine muttered, halting a few hundred yards away from the creature. The other three stopped with him, and leaned in to listen. “This baffles me. I was expecting a horde of Orcs or dragons, not Scourge this far south.”
‘Scourge?’ Krathor thought, ‘but surely the population – mythic that it may be – of Blackrock Mountain and the Steppes was only that of Orcs?’
The beast that faced them came forward more so, almost within spitting distance, and the small party stepped a few paces back, Valentine continuing: “This does not spell good for us. Not only do we have the Council upon us, but there is an increased risk of Orc attack thanks to the antics of Drynn earlier,” Drynn nodded solemnly at this, not wishing to argue. “And now… we have the appearance of a Scourge creation in the midst of Azeroth? This does not suit well for our journey,” he finished, sighing.
Then it was upon them.
The party had underestimated the quickness and stealth the great monster was capable of, and they realised almost too late that the creature was ready to do away with all four of the party. It was in fact, Valentine, who was the quickest in his reaction, and brought out an elongated blade from beyond the red folds of his cloak, it easily slicing through the flesh of the nearest, readied arm of the beast – detaching it with ease from the main body. Drynn rushed quickly to join the fray, but was warned away by Valentine, who was dashing hurriedly around in circles in attempts to disorientate the great monster. Cleaver-bearing arms flailed madly at Valentine, but the worn man carried on with swift accuracy, severing limbs as he went. It appeared that their ally was making progress in defeating the abomination, yet as the arms were hacked off, green, steaming, stinking liquid appeared from the wounds instead of blood. In the midst of his quick-footed hacking and slashing, it appeared that Valentine did not notice the appearance of such a vile concoction, and accidentally slipped into it.
Immediately, the leather boots which the undead ally wore began to melt and turn into mush, much to the owner’s anger. Stepping away from the seeping mess, and dodging a particularly low swing from one of the remaining arms, Sinq Valentine shred his boots and charged back into the melee. The struggle against man against dehumanised animal persisted, and even when all of the precarious limbs of the beast were sawn off, the mass of acidic green excrement that flowed from the wounds made it too difficult for more approaches to be made. Yet, as it was temporarily disabled, Valentine turned to his comrades and simply muttered:
“Run.”
So, taking extra care to avoid the sludge that now surrounded and marked the passing of the abomination (which was still content to attempt to pursue the party, despite the obvious lack of arms or real fighting capabilities, except that of to pour the green sewage onto anyone who would be foolish enough to go near the armless being) the party moved on, passing through the gates and into the fiery pits of the Burning Steppes beyond. The abomination trudged after them, roaring and moaning in withering pain.
The heat of the Steppes hit the party immediately upon their entry. Even Krathor stumbled back as a blast of warmth came from the nearest boiling pit of lava, which lay in a clump of rocks not far from the small group. All too aware of the threat of the estranged monster upon their backs, the foursome continued, baked by the sudden heat. Krathor glanced up, waves of heat bouncing from the ground blurring his vision intensely. Yet, set against a dark and cloudy sky, he could make out the silhouette of the great volcano: Blackrock Mountain.
Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
00: 43 - The Revolution of 1337speak
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Written by: TehProdigy
For years nerds have been the focal point of victimisation and alienation, scorned for their 'healthy' interests in gaming and such. But now it seems the influence of the nerds is steathily infiltrating the vocal chords of the unknowing 'norms' as more and more people are openly utilising words derived by the people they so eagerly desired to persecute.
Ok ok, so its not huge yet, and it does take a certain amount of confidence to say it and the right atmosphere, but words and phrases such as 'n00b', 'owned' and 'pwnz0rd hax0r nap' are becoming more and more commonplace, and may even catch on.
It seems the uprising of the nerds long prophesised by Rasputin in 1907 was actually the truth. It begins!!!!
L33tspeak Vocabulary so far:
n00b,noob,newb,nap,nub.n00bie,noobie,newbie: various definitions, most common are new player, inexperienced player, shit player in general, player doing something stupid accidentally like walking into a wall or spraying wildly.
Spray n00b: noob who shoots continuously without accuracy or aim, holding down the fire button and screaming wildly.
camper/ camper n00b: a person who remains in the same place for periods of time, usually a tactically advantageous place with typically a powerful weapon to the fury of many proper honourable gamers
glitch n00b: Someone who uses a glitch or bug in the game to their advantage like getting under a map or quick switching weapons
hacker,hax0r,cheater:using modified files in order to gain an advantage over other players, like increased speed, aimbots and the ability to see through walls.
owned,pwned,powned,prawned,bowned,ownz0rd,pwnz0rd: comes from to own, as in to beat or defeat a player convincingly or with style. Many variations followed as a result of mispelling, eg p is close to o.
pr0: means you're a good player and have skilllzzz that killlzzzzz
AWP whore, awp n00b: A person constantly using the AWP, the most powerful weapon on the CS game series.
Any more, notify me and they shall be added.
Labels: 1337speak, AWP, camper, glitch noob, hacker, hax0r, n00b, noob, nub.nap, owned.newbie, ownz0rd, pr0, prawned, pwned, pwnz0rd, spray n00b
Author: Prodigy | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
16: 54 - A Continuation #4
Written by: Melaisis
What more can I say? By this point I was fully into expanding the story (which was now beginning to become more and more intertwined with my own RPing experiences on WoW anyway) and giving it depth. Unlike before, where I had been telling short stories about how Krathor came across a specific magical ability (fire, blink et cetera), I now focused on more character development and plot potential.
Chapter Five - Everstill
The three had set off within the early hours of the morning following Drynn’s anti-Council rant, crossing the beginnings of the great Redridge Mountains range as the sun crested the higher peaks, marking the start of the next stage of their extended journey. Again, the party trekked in silence, the quiet atmosphere only occasionally being broken by the crunching of boots upon the dry ground. No words needed to be exchanged, of course, and conversation only really restarted when the trio came across an outcropping that led the path around the far side of a particularly rocky hill. It was here Krathor caught sight of a location he had read about many a time within the tomes in Dalaran: Lake Everstill. It wasn’t as mighty or as reputable as the great Loch Modan – their final destination – but it was still a great view regardless of its infamy. The mass of water shined brightly as the day reached its midpoint, and Krathor was stunned by the glistening liquid. Drynn and Gahalla, however, were more concerned with the course of their journey.
“It is in my belief, that we continue to travel towards Lakeshire and make rest there for tonight,” Drynn suggested, his hands gesturing openly to a small town that lay upon the banks of Lake Everstill. The place looked extraordinarily quiet for that of a satellite village of Stormwind to Krathor, but he thought not to mention anything, as the prospect of a good, comfortable bed for the evening was one too great to pass up. So, the lack of activity observed from their far-off viewpoint went by unmentioned by the three travellers and they continued on their merry way across the mountains. The road grew rougher as they crossed country, and by the party began their decline and slow march into Lakeshire, each member was thoroughly fatigued.
Drynn made the first point to lead his two companions into the local inn. It was a small, traditional pub which was (to Krathor’s surprise) packed with people. A fire roared in the midst of the large fireplace, and conversation was alight between the patrons. Drynn slipped between the people crowding the main room, occasionally nodding to those who knew of him. Finally, he reached the barman and the two sparked a conversation which was impossible to decipher with the other, louder regulars stood about the scene. Krathor was led over to a small table and three chairs by Gahalla and was ordered by the female member of their crew to keep watch over the furniture and to reserve her and Drynn a place upon their return. Then Gahalla herself disappeared into the crowd, and the novice mage was left to his own devices.
Krathor glanced about the bar once again, occasionally catching parts of conversations from his fellow punters. Most talked of the unnaturally dry season the district was having when compared to other areas of the kingdom, but within minutes Krathor’s keen and somewhat bored demeaned had picked up on a conversation that was taking place in a corner behind where he sat that spiked his curiosity. Deciding against turning around to view the participants of the discussion in order to avoid arousing suspicion, Krathor focused on the topic itself, which intrigued him greatly.
“Surely, the Scourge cannot be allowed to advance any further than they have already? The Forsaken fight them but even a total outsider could realise that it is only a matter of time before the Lich King marches south. Then what will happen?”
“Arathor has already been assaulted and the remains of the kingdom limps on against the combined forces of the Scourge, Horde and Syndicate. The Trollbane… Seiken? It is being said that even now he drives himself to the edge of insanity with the growing plight of his people-“
The first voice - a low, husky tone - interrupted abruptly, “Seiken is still a puppet of the Council, and obeys the laws of Stormwind, my friend. Whether he is in fact insane or merely a man going about his own fancy does not concern any of us. However, as Inquisitors, it is our duty to try and re-focus the efforts of those willing men who still remain in Stormwind to the northern front...”
Another, harsher and militised voice joined in with the discussion. His first few syllables hit Krathor like a hammer, “I disagree,” the new participant began, and Krathor could hear small sighs of disapproval from the two other comrades. “The Council seem to handle affairs in Stormwind relatively well. Look how they exiled the Sphere from the place, after all. I think that the forces residing within the city can keep order-“
“Order!?” the first speaker argued, evidently the leader of the group. “If ‘order’ is defined by stab-happy idiots running riot about the city after anyone who dare to wear a brown or black cloak – then certainly, Kentric, they have brought order…”
Krathor was distracted from his eavesdropping by Drynn, who had returned to the table, his hands clenching foaming mugs of ale. Sliding one over to Krathor, who thanked him with a smile, Drynn enquired as to where Gahalla had ventured to. Krathor gave a mute shrug in reply and began to sip his newly acquired beer. As the alcohol hit the back of his throat, the mage made use of the momentary silence to re-focus on the conversation to his rear, which was quickly progressing into a heated argument; the noise level causing everyone else in the room to raise the volume of their own voices in attempts to be heard over the three which sat in the corner, debating hotly.
“The Sphere should not only be exiled from the city! They should be banished from this world! As Inquisitors, it is surely our duty to halt the advance in society of such obvious evils!? My brothers, it is us – the Inquisitors of Lordaeron, who shall stand up to the Sphere and Council in a much more direct way than ever before! Tomorrow – we shall recruit hundreds to our cause and move against our enemies! For Lordaeron, my friends!”
There was an echo of ‘For Lordaeron!’ by the two other ‘Inquisitors’, the sound of chair legs scraping across the wooden floor, and the energised trio marched out of the inn. Krathor, much to his delight, managed to catch the back of each one of the debaters. Two were dressed in long, following purple robes with golden trim and the final Inquisitor to exit, however, was a much taller man than his other two companions, armed from head to toe in plate armour and brandishing many weapons around a thick, silver belt. Each of their faces was either hooded or (in the one Krathor had supposed was called Kentric’s case) hidden behind a thick, metal helmet. The three walking out in single-file really was an impressive sight, and everyone in the bar appeared to notice their hasty departure.
“Well,” Drynn began smugly. “That sounded interesting. I wonder what inspired them to talk so publicly about anti-Council action. Even I and my allies fret when it comes to that. Things must have really declined within the upper echelons of society if even the Inquisitors feel that they need to take action. Did you hear much of the conversation before that little outburst?”
“Not really. They were complaining about someone belonging to the Trollbane family, though.”
“Was it Seiken?”
Krathor nodded in confirmation.
“It appears that if the Inquisitors are planning to mobilise against the Council, then so should me and my friends,” Drynn got up from the seat he had only taken up a few moments ago, downed the rest of his ale in one mighty swallow, and placed his hand across the table and onto Krathor’s shoulder. Somewhat dazed, he said, “Krathor, we shall get you to Loch Modan. There, we can seek help from the Dwarves and outsiders!” His eyes set alight with ambition and (much to Krathor’s gratitude) loosened his grip upon his new friend’s shoulder. Drynn stormed out of the inn filled with ambition and faith – Krathor hot upon his heel.
As the two stormed out onto the moon-lit waterfront, Krathor saw the three Inquisitors riding quickly off into the distance on horseback with shouts of ‘For Lordaeron!’ making their route. Their wild determination brought a grin to Krathor’s lips, reminding him of earlier times; back when he fought alongside his own unit against such threats. Then, it occurred to him:
“Is Gahalla one of your allies, Drynn?”
“Not officially,” the energy-filled leader replied quickly. “Although she does agree with my opinions upon our government, but she is hardly a political activist.” Drynn snickered. “Then again, young Ofane, I hardly doubt that people believe you to be a knight-captain in a former life. Am I correct?”
Krathor frowned, although Drynn spoke the obvious truth: Many of the Stormwind citizens had found it difficult to believe that Krathor, when he finally arrived in the city, had held any sort of military ranking up in Dalaran. Although Krathor had been able to prove his natural magical abilities to the mages within Stormwind; it hardly gave credit to the fact he was a warrior in the times of the magi capital.
The duo stalked across the docks to a small stable which was lit inside by a few, dimming oil lamps. Drynn knocked briefly, more to announce his arrival than to actually request permission to enter – and stormed in, Krathor quickly in pursuit. Upon entering the small, thatched shack, both Drynn and his follower almost staggered back in reaction to the scene. Amongst the herds of horses sat numerous men, in ragged clothes; all talking with one another from cross the room. All but one looked up when Krathor and Drynn entered the small room, and Drynn immediately made his way casually through the filthily hay to the one man who had remained impassive to their arrival. The man himself was wearing a large, crooked wizard’s hat and a huge red cloak. His face was half-shadowed, but it was clear that its calm expression did not change even when Drynn strolled directly over to him and stood above. The horse the stranger rested against snorted slightly and climbed easily to its feet as Drynn stood above the man he was apparently seeking. After more moments of silence, the stranger at Drynn’s feet finally decided to get up, and looked the newcomer directly in the eye.
“What do you want from me, Drynn?” the voice that came from the man’s mouth was one which was highly unexpected by Krathor. It was low, and although a lot of breath was exhaled during the sentence, the volume was hardly audible, and mage and guide found themselves both leaning forward slightly in attempts to hear the stranger better.
“We need your assistance, Valentine,” Drynn answered simply. “The time of the Council is neigh, and we just caught wind of the Inquisitors preparing their own expedition against both government and Sphere.”
‘Valentine’ gave a low grunt and replied, in no more than a whisper, “Why should I help you? Or the Inquisitors? You know they want my people dead. And I don’t think he would approve, either,” and, quite unexpectedly, Valentine raised a bony finger to point directly at Krathor. Slowly, the red-cloaked man raised his head to the light, shadows shortening across his face.
Within seconds, Krathor found himself punching Valentine in the jaw.
Valentine recoiled, his hat dislodged and quickly falling to the ground, his faint, wispy, white hair revealed to the world. Drynn was equally shocked by such irrational behaviour from Krathor, and moved immediately to stop a fight breaking out.
“See!?” Valentine hissed, his pale digits moving across his skinny face to search for damage. A large bruise developed quickly on his chin, but Valentine himself seemed not to notice. Happy with the lack of damage, he adjusted his ripped, red clothing and turned to Drynn, who was desperately trying to calm Krathor down.
“See!?” Valentine repeated. “His kind loathes me! I will not assist in any sort of rebellion whilst alongside such… ignorance!” another hiss. “I do not care whether it is for the common good or not, Drynn! I will be hunted and slaughtered regardless!”
For the crippled man spoke the truth, as it was he, Sinq Valentine, who had been a great betrayer of the Lordaeron during the final days of the siege of Dalaran, had, somehow, ended up within a ramshackle hut far, far south of the continent. Despite both leaving the city at similar times – Krathor had accomplished a great deal more and recovered more efficiently than the younger protégé had. Judging by looks and voice alone, it appeared that Sinq Valentine had, indeed, entered the service of the Lich King; but had broken free and sustained some of his human characteristics during the flight of the Forsaken. There was an unhealthy, permanent red tint to his pupils, which contrasted greatly with the sallow shade of his skin.
“Sinq…” Krathor muttered, almost spitting.
“Valentine, actually,” Valentine corrected, his tone monotonous. “’Sinq’ is a name given to me by my former human masters; and I assure you, Krathor Ofane – I have no use for a slave name.”
Krathor scowled and was about to answer back with a rather insulting remark, but Drynn foresaw the argument and took swift action, holding is finger to his lips, and quickly saying:
“Arguing will get us no where. I understand, then, that you two know each other? If that is true, then a certain level of hostility is somewhat acceptable-“
“He left me and the Archmage Opline to die in Silverpine Forest and defected to the Scourge!” Krathor shouted, his remark causing a few of the horses around them to stir and a few heads of the other residents laid about the scene to look up. Krathor suddenly felt very self-conscious, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other rather rapidly.
“Regardless,” Drynn continued, frowning. “You both miss the point – you are allies of mine, and you still have to be at least partially hospitable towards one another in my presence!”
“But what has this foolish pawn got to do with fighting the Council, Drynn?” Valentine asked, his voice returned to the quieter volume that he had done initially, certain words sharpened for effect.
“And what has this traitor got to do with getting me to Loch Modan?” Krathor motioned towards Valentine, who remained impassive.
“Valentine knows the lowlands around these parts better than anyone, and he can get us both quickly to the Dwarven nation,” Drynn answered quickly, addressing the latter first. “Furthermore, this young Ofane is a valuable worker of magic. I would consider his natural talent to be on par with a Scholomance teacher, Valentine. Do not underestimate him.”
Valentine grunted, apparently giving his approval – although he was slightly taken back at the mention of magic surrounding Krathor’s name. What still puzzled Krathor, however, was that how Drynn had not actually answered the ex-Scourge’s question; and found it hard to forge a connection between his magical ability and the fight against the mysterious ‘Council’. However, doubt was not allowed to dwell in his mind for long, as Drynn had already decided their next step, and was making his way towards the exit of the stables, beckoning Valentine and Krathor to follow him. They did so – Krathor wasting no time in seizing the opportunity to escape from the stinking shack.
Outside, their way lit only by the limited light pouring out from the buildings that dotted the shoreline, the newly-formed three made their way to the edge of the town, Drynn evidently hoping for a speedy escape. Once they reached the final set of small gates that marked the town’s entrance from the roadside, Krathor spotted a familiar figure waiting for them. Still wearing the same dark robes she had used upon their first meeting, Gahalla stood, looking rather impatient, at the knee-high fence. She eyed the red-covered newcomer for a moment before Drynn gave her a nod of reassurance, and the four set out into the night.
Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
18: 47 - A Continuation #3
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Written by: Melaisis
Chapter four is being stuck up here under controversy. It's finally good to actually publish all this work to some sort of audience, but at the same time some people (Newell) are opposed to such a lengthy saga over a period of posts. Indeed, this whole epic could be just a little boring for a person who doesn't actually play World of Warcraft. However, in reality, I'm just abusing the lore for the purpose of writing - what has turned out to be - quite a novel. In fact, action-wise, this is one of the most boring chapters, but is important in establishing the power-struggle which was taking place in Stormwind.
Chapter Four - The Trek Through Elywnn Forest
Krathor carried the thoroughly wrapped package underneath his arm as he and his two new companions travelled through Elwynn. Months had passed since the old knight of Dalaran had finally shunned denial and accepted his recent magical abilities invested in him to be redeemable of some use. Krathor – under the guidance of various magi at the local Wizard’s Sanctum – was learning new spells at an incredible rate. Polymorph, arcane shields, fire blasts! An entirely new world had opened up to him ever since he stepped foot in Stormwind. A world that he had only dreamt about in the past, when he served under – what he would now call – his magical kin.
The new-found mage was journeying with two fellow humans he had met with only a few minutes ago. The darkly-clad male introduced himself as simply ‘Drynn’. Quite the silent one, with a brawny voice whenever he did speak, even if it wasn’t frequently. The woman, he had named herself as ‘Gahalla Rose’. She carried a much nicer and friendly tone to Krathor. Drenched also in black, the pair together looked rather sinister to simple, old, purple-cloaked Krathor. He did not raise query, as the duo were the only two of the entire city whom were willing to sacrifice their time and small efforts to aid Krathor on his quest.
But what was the magic-weaver’s quest?
Quite simply, it was for him to take a package from the blacksmith in Stormwind to a Dwarf by the name of Stormpike in a place called Loch Modan. Under the guidance of a different Dwarf who said his name was ‘Gelman’, which he had met a night previously in a seedy bar, Krathor had purchased a few furs from the nearby shops in town, and headed off in the direction of the mountains. The Dwarf tracker who had given the said advice had not turned up to assist him on the day of his journey, rising unspoken suspicions slightly. Instead, Krathor had found Gahalla and Drynn to take him to Loch Modan. The three travelled together throughout day and night, across the great, ancient forests of Elwynn until finally reaching the edge of the infamous Red Ridge Mountains on the evening of the third day, at a small crossroads named The Three Corners – a road intersection which linked the three main regions to the east of Stormwind; Elwynn, Redridge and Duskwood with one another – marked with an unusually large rock in the midst of the clearing where the forests finished and the difficult, hilly terrain began. It was there the three unanimously decided upon camping for the night. Wood was gathered, and Krathor successfully used his magic to spark a fire. The three sat upon the floor, and the night’s conversation finally began.
Krathor had spent the day filled with anticipation for the evening. As the trio had moved through the area on foot, Drynn and Gahalla had both remained somewhat suspiciously quiet. The only time the two had talked was when arguing whether to take a ‘useful’ shortcut through notorious land. Any attempt at small-talk by Krathor had almost instantly been dismissed with simple one-word answers from his new-found companions. The warrior-mage hybrid was not hindered by this, however – as he knew that the late afternoon and onwards would bring revelations when the small party would break free of the direct vicinity of Elwynn and, more importantly, the influence of Stormwind. For it was as Drynn himself had promised two nights previously when the group had stayed above a small pub on the outskirts of Stormwind when he dragged Krathor to one side, and hardly audibly, had whispered:
“Beware, young Ofane. Questions about the politics and state of Stormwind will not be tolerated here. The spies of the Council spread and ripen in places such as these. Stay quiet until we reach the outskirts of Elwynn.”
It had appeared that, on that night, Drynn had firmly believed that any further show of unprovoked curiosity from the mage-in-training would lead to the company arising suspicion in the eyes of the spies of the apparent ‘Council’. Krathor had only arrived in the southern human city days ago to find work – but it appeared that strangers were not as favoured in the multi-cultural metropolis as first supposed.
“So,” Krathor began, choosing to be the one to break the ice. “What’s wrong with the Council residing in Stormwind?”
Drynn scoffed and Gahalla brought a hand up to hide her snicker. Krathor felt suddenly ashamed and felt himself turn red. The small silence that followed was one only penetrated by the occasional crackling of the fire and heavy breathing of the three in the quickly cooling night air. It was Drynn who, after some time, finally replied:
“There are many things wrong with the current Council,” he grumbled. “Many things. We were once hailed as being the greatest nation on Azeroth for maintaining such a diplomatic, republic system whilst also featuring a – if not somewhat inable – monarchy. Compared with the unsophisticated ways of Orcs and such other dumb beings; we rise above the rest so greatly.”
Krathor nodded, thinking back to his own experiences with missionaries from Stormwind, and their pompous attitudes towards the leadership and organisation of the hierarchy up in Dalaran. The ambassadors seemed to believe that people that had only proclaimed them selves the wisest and most powerful mages were the ones which made up the elite Kirin Tor to be diabolical. ‘Unless a leader was elected by a people’s majority, they are not a leader’ – the Stormwind regulars seemed to stand bitterly by this ideology no matter how long they spent within the magi city. Even when the clear power and respect the members of the Kirin Tor exercised over their fellow mages and private army was clearly presented to the visitors from the south – the foreigners still seemed to believe that Dalaran was under some form of dictatorship and that those who worked their were clearly being oppressed. Even in the lower levels of Dalaran life – which Krathor himself experienced – this was hardly true.
“Yet this so-called revolutionary form of government is abusing their power. They command forces so vast and powerful that no one dare stand up to them. From today onwards, stop-checks are being implemented on the city entrances. Krathor, if you wondered why I and my female friend here were so willing to accompany you; it is because even helping a young adventurer like yourself on some pointless journey is more profitable to both of us than to remain in [i]that[/i] place.”
Krathor was shocked. The selfish nature of the two he was travelling with was not the subject troubling him, however. It was more of the nature of this infamous Council that, despite being so appalling, word having not reached the outside world that bothered him so. Why had things not been done already to prevent such an apparently large power? Surely the other nations of the world would be not so overly complacent about the power the humans wielded if not for fighting their own wars with one another?
A rustling came from the opening in the trees behind the small party, but the three silently shrugged it off as the wind. Krathor gave a wave of his hand and bid his temporary friend to continue. Drynn obliged, and although his voice wavered slightly, he began again:
“It appears that now, the Council are ready to exercise their full influence over the common people of this land. As I said before; people coming in and out of the capital are being monitored every minute of every day. The troops prepare for war not only against the enemies from other nations – such as Orcs and Trolls – but to take care of internal violence, also. We stand on –“
Krathor interrupted hastily, “But why do you insight this ‘common’ knowledge upon to me? And so quickly, Drynn? What do you want from me?”
Drynn looked his questioner directly at the eye at this, and heaved a sigh.
“Look at yourself, Krathor Ofane: You are a powerful magic-wielder who has seen many sights in your time, surely? The Council would love one such as yourself on their side, and will almost indefinitely try and convert you to their cause if you are discovered. It was imperative that we-“
It was Krathor’s turn to scoff.
“May I remind you, Drynn, that I am only in the area for work and the knowledge of the higher magi-users around these parts, I highly doubt that I have the time – or can spare the effort – to meddle in such southern affairs.”
Drynn recoiled, shocked at such dismissive behaviour from Krathor. Countering, he said:
“I hardly believe that you have the choice! I did tell you of the influence that spreads over the lands by those who sit on the Council, surely?! Does that mean nothing to you? Despite if you want to interfere or not; they will find and attempt to recruit you. It is in my belief that we should at least try and get help for you whilst you remain here. It was so lucky that we found you when we did. Don’t you see that?”
“I do,” Krathor answered. “But I have dealt with bigger things than pompous, over-zealous men with too much power for them to handle in the past five years, my friend. There is nothing they can do or say to persuade me to join their supposed ‘corrupt’ ranks, I assure you kindly. Furthermore-”
Drynn opened his mouth to interject, but it was Gahalla’s turn to silence them both with a swift wave of her hand. Then, in a voice which was laced with anxiety, she spoke softly into the night air:
“Gentlemen, I suggest you keep your quarrels about policy and geography to yourselves. For we have spent little over three days together and already a split in our group is beginning to form; if you two haven’t noticed it already. If we are to sustain our flight from the Council’s power that you speak of, Drynn, then I suggest you stop filling this young man’s mind with your own opinions to which he cannot yet make a fair judgement upon. I believe back in the Sphere they used to define that as ‘brainwashing’, no?”
Krathor had no idea as to what the ‘Sphere’ was, but the mention of the name certainly brought a reaction from Drynn. His brow furrowed and his fingers twitched irritably, yet he did not speak. Instead, Gahalla seemed pleased at such a disgruntled reaction from her male counterpart and finished her talk:
“It is not only ‘imperative’ that we make clear of this place and make our way Loch Modan not only for the sake of evading the grasp of the Council, but also so Krathor here can complete his quest. Is that clear?”
It appeared Drynn was caught totally off-guard by Gahalla’s display of dominance and confidence as Krathor was. After a moment of thinking time, Drynn seemed to accept the argument put forward by the only female in their company, and nodded in agreement. Little was said after that, aside from the occasional, politer comment from Gahalla regarding what to eat or the next stage of the journey. It appeared that the forest filled with wolves and Council spies would only be a minor hassle whence compared to the remainder of the trip – which consisted of crossing the Redridge Mountains, through Orc territory, across an apparent volcano and venturing into yet more snow-capped mountains to finally reach the vast and legendary lake known as ‘Loch Modan’, so Krathor could deliver his package to the waiting Dwarf there. It sounded like rather an epic quest to Krathor, but Gahalla justified such a lengthy journey by adding:
“It would be shorter, usually. We would take gryphons and horses and such like. Or perhaps even the tram to Ironforge if this was under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, all of these major routes are under close watch by the ever-present Council and their goons at all times. Thus, if you are to still need our protection – you must adhere to our way of thinking, young mage. For we all will be better off without complaints.”
And so it was decided.
Author: Melaisis | Comments: | Leave Your Response?
Spanish
French
German
Italian
Portuguese
Arabic
Japanese
Korean
Chinese
Russian
