Adventures in Svenn and Asgrend Shenanigans

[Alpharius]

Most likely I'll use this to jump back and forth between different storylines when they are all together doing something. Since I won't get a chance to have them all in the same room, being that I am all of them, I figure it'll be nice to have this for those who RP with me, just to fill in some plot holes. Sometimes it'll be way back before the second war, sometimes it'll just be a little adventure in Northrend. I'll label it with something like "Some time before the second war," or "Day one on Northrend," if it takes place before the current timeline.

While hunting in Desolace, a blood elf encountered two night elves. One peaceful, and the other hostile. After a short battle, he had found out that the one who wished his life knew his brother and his mission. We join him now on his ride home...



Asgrend rode hard through Kalimdor, bidding his steed to go faster. It seems it’s going as fast as it can, but damnit all why won’t it go faster?! He rode over hills, through plains, over water, instead of around it, thanks to his icy steps. The way was much quicker had he had to follow the paths normally. He had to get to his boat; he had to get to Northrend! Asgrend knew that Svenn would be staying at home this time, his business concluded in Azeroth for now. He had warn Svenn about the woman…

He had to get to him. Try to persuade him of his folly mission. Whatever this… book… he wants, is not worth his life. Literature never is! He saw the look in that womans eyes, Ish… Izsh… whatever…! He’d seen it many times. She wasn’t insane, there was nothing of that about her. No… this woman, she had the smell of murder about her, and the eyes of a killer. She had done this many times. She was the image of their death if they kept this adventure up.

After a full day of riding, he finally reached his boat on the shores of Durotar, and left his steed behind: Northrend is no place for a horse. Several hours of quick sailing on his skiff, and he reached the shores of Borean Tundra. He followed the coast line, hoping the winds would speed his travels to the Dragons Blight, where a snowy patch of land was waiting for him, what he called home. He practically crashed his ship along the rocky edges, and he would climb up from there. They all had to do this, it was the safest way. Or at least the most fun way. After cresting the top and battling some undead, he sprinted to their makeshift camp. It was dark, so it was easy to sneak back to it.

There they were, his father and his dear brother, Svenn, sitting by the fire and sharing a drink. They were surrounded by their small ram shack huts against the cliff sides. They smelled him coming before they heard him, and awaited him with drink in hand. Asgrend stared at his brother; Svenn had a large smile on his face, and their father kept the same expression he always had since their mother went missing, always hiding behind a cloth wrapped over his mouth and nose.

“Svenn, we need to talk.” Asgrend dropped some of his weapons, as was their custom when entering the camp: No weapons, so as to prevent inner strife.

“What’s this about, boy?” His father turned, his expression unreadable; always behind that damned mask of his…

“Asgrend, you look like you went through hell to get here.” Svenn stood, going to greet his brother with drink in hand, waiting to hand it to his brother. Asgrend has yet to get used to Svenns new smell; The stench of fel magic was a hard thing to get used to. Did this make him look at his brother differently…? Maybe it was just what happened in the last day.

“You remember that strange woman you told me about?” He approached the camp. Tiralid, their father, looked between the two of them as they spoke.

“Yes, what about her? She’s insane.” He took a seat.


“She’s not insane and you know it. She’s out for your life, dear brother.” Asgrend remained standing.

“Pff, I know this! She won’t succeed! Many have tried and they have all fallen. If she tries, she will simply fall with them. By Kael, man, nothing will happen!"

“Damnit, Svenn’Varal!” Asgrend stomped, bringing up a large puff of snow. It was the kind of stomp he used to kill someone, or shatter their spine. Svenn’s ears went back. Neither Svenn nor his brother liked their full names anymore. The humans gave them their nicknames, and they liked it. No one ever called him by his elven name, not even their father. Svenn stood, making to go to his hut, but only making it behind his chair.

“You -know- I hate being called that!” He spun round, glaring at his sibling.

“Well if it gets your attention then I’ll call you whatever I feel! This… book, tome or… Whatever it is! It can’t be that important, can it!? What…" He hesitated, trying to find the words, "What the hell does it do!? What’s so damned important about it!?”

Tiralid remained impassive. He understood that siblings need to argue from time to time. He did it with many of his brothers and sisters. It’s been a long time, though, since he had a sibling quarrel, since they all went missing in the Dark Portal.

Svenn stood there. He turned, making for his hut, but once again never made it, his back to the fires. Asgrend had it in his head that if he even thought about going into his hut to hide, he would attack him with no remorse. Tiralid simply sat, waiting. There was a howl in the distance, but other than that, it was quiet. It was always quiet where those three traveled. They picked a spot where there would be no undead, but they could still hear them if they listened close enough. There were almost no moans from the walking dead.

“It’s a magical tome.” He pulled out an ancient book. His father helped him read it, as he was the only one in their group who knew ancient elvish. He showed it to Asgrend. “It’s a summoning book. You remember those… uh… infernals?”

Asgrend’s eyes went wide. Actually, they glowed brighter, showing the same reaction. He looked at his father. “You knew about this!?” He pointed an accusing finger to Svenn.

Tiralid remained impassive. “It is his choice.”

“Well it's the wrong one! You know how horrible these things are!” Asgrend turned to Svenn. “Especially you! And you want to SUMMON one!? Have you lost your mind!?”

Svenn moved closer to his brother. “Think about it! I can use the tools of the enemy against my opponents! I’ll become a stronger magic user! I can’t exactly go back to arcane magic, now can I? So I might as well improve my skills as a dark magic user.”

“But at what cost, Svenn? What! What if this infernal thing turns on you? You remember the last time, brother! It nearly killed you! Do you have the ability to bring it down?”

Svenn raised his fist. “I have brought down the many beasts of Northrend! A simple infernal is no match for me!”

“How long has it been since you even faced one, anyways!? It has to have been since we got to Northrend.”

Svenn crossed his arms, turning away. “I faced many in Outlands.”

“Oh really?” Asgrend had the tone of mistrust and judgement in his voice. He took a step forward. “And were they like the ones the Legion first sent? They all can't be the same, dear brother, you must know this.”

Svenn span and faced his ever irritating brother. “You try my patience! Do not think to educate me on the subject of monsters and Daemons! The orc may have been a Legion agent, but I did not ignore him when he showed me the great book of demons.” Svenn approached his brother. “I want this, Asgrend! I want this to make me a better warrior! You’ve seen the way me and the doom hound fight. How can you be certain the infernal won’t fight the same way?”

Asgrend shook his head slowly. “I knew sending you to study magic was a bad idea. I always did!”

Tiralid had heard enough. He finally stood. He was a giant of a man. The two brothers were tall, sure, but he was much taller, almost night elf sized. “That’s enough out of you.” He stepped closer to the pair. Asgrend’s ears went down as he looked up, and Svenn simply looked away. “Your mother and I chose to send him to study the arcane, because he wanted it, and we sent him to study in a school of magic we thought would best aid us in war time. He has now chosen a different school of magic, but that is his choice. If your brother wants to go on his journey, it is not your place to say whether or not he may make it. None of us has any say. We have never forced you two to do something you did not want, you always jumped at the chance to fight, just like every generation of our family. It is bred into us. The best thing you can do is support him and hope that he is safe when he does these strange acts.” Tiralid turned to Svenn, putting his mighty hands on his shoulders. “Son, I know you turned from your arcane studies to these dark powers to try to save your older brother, but please don’t push beyond its boundaries. You do not know this type of magic like you do the arcane. Be careful.”

Tiralid turned from the two and walked toward his hut. “I am going to get rest now. If I hear you two bickering anymore, I will send you out on late night hunts, and come hell or high water if either of you comes back empty handed you will hunt naked.” He spoke with a tone that would not be challenged and entered his hut.

Asgrend and Svenn did not look at eachother for a long time. They stood there in the snow, listening to the howling winds.

“So you’re really going through with this, are you?” Asgrend finally said.

Svenn did not look at him when he spoke. “Yes.”

“This woman, she wants you dead because of this book. Is she right? Is this thing dangerous?”

Svenn shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ll never know until I get the book myself and study it. Not knowing is the worst part. You know this, we were all taught this by Commander Draconis.”

Asgrend would not look at him. He knew this mission was crazy, and Svenn should turn from it. Asgrend was always one for learning things the hard way, but this could be the last lesson he learned. This night elf woman would most likely kill Svenn.

“Just stay away from that place.” He moved toward his hut and did not emerge from it.

Svenn stayed at the fire for quite some time, deep in thought, thinking about many things. Mostly, though, he thought of the book, of forbidden knowledge...

[Alpharius]

OOC NOTE: it looks like the changes weren't too bad actually! So hey good on me. You'll find out what the human figures were next chapter. I think I can get in some action without involving non existant vrykul.

Dramatis personae:
Svenn'Varal: Elf, mage, age 492
As'Gren'Delur: Elf, ranger, age 793
Tiralid. Elf, farstrider, age 1800

Many years ago... before the great crusade to the North, and even before the opening of the Dark Portal and the coming of the space men... A small boat carrying three people left the port of silvermoon one early morning: A mage, a ranger, and a far strider commander. The rebuilding had just finished, and they could not wait to leave once again. They were done with Azeroth, and Azeroth had no need for people like them. So they would leave its shores for whatever time was necessary. They would spend many months at sea, sailing toward their new home: Northrend.

Taken from the journal of Svenn’Varal Draconis.


Northrend: Day one.

By Kael’s nuts it’s cold here! I feel like I may become as frostbitten as the lands around me! Damn hard to write too... My fingers feel as though they may fall off at any moment. Asgrend must be just as cold as I am, and father… well, I don’t think anything will ever phase him for a long time.

We have decided to circle the continent once, and agree on a safe deployment area before trying to find a safe camp site. The plan is simple: Establish a beach head, set up a perimeter, set up a camp, gather intel, and establish a connection with any intelligent life. We are visitors, seeking to make a simple home out of this continent, the least we could do is let people know we are here…

End of log.

He closed the book and tucked it away. Tiralid was at the helm, steering around the continent. Svenn had been at the wheel for most of it, since he was the only one in the family who really knew how to sail. They had just arrived to northrend after many months of traveling, but he knew it would be hours before they landed.

It had been a few hours since they had arrived at the continents shores, in all of its frozen glory. Or at least, some of it was frozen. They had reported seeing trees and signs of life. They thought about establishing an early beach head on the south eastern tip of the continent. Unfortunately, they would see tall, unwelcoming human like figures.


“Let’s stay clear of them… they don’t look too friendly.” Tiralid had assumed command of the mission, as was his right, being the highest rank among the family. “Let’s try to keep a low profile while we’re here.”

They had discussed returning to being called a clan, but the conversation soon dropped, and forgotten, never to be brought up for another seven years.

“Ice!” Svenn went to the side, pointing to the large glaciers they were about to collide into. “Starboard!”

“What!? What does that mean again?” Tiralid was shouting, keeping his eye on the sail.

“Right, man, right! Go to the left!” Svenn ran to the helm and took over, pushing his father aside. He spun the wheel and the ship lolled slowly to the left.

“We’re not gonna make it…” He repeated over and over, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. The glacier came ever closer to their ship, but all it did was harmlessly scrape off some of the paint with a loud noise. All of their ears bent back and they grimaced.

Svenn collapsed onto the wheel; Asgrend grumbled, and Tiralid just looked out toward the glacier.

“Well, that was a close one.” Svenn could only just glare up at his father.

“Yeah! Close!” He shoved off the wheel and headed back to where he sat. Asgrend was busy with a map, detailing and marking certain landing spots.

“Hey! Look!” Asgrend pointed off to the right, to a small village in between the glaciers.

“Huh, that’s interesting. They look like fat walrus people…” Svenn, being the ever brilliant observer he was. The walrus men looked up and waved. All they could do was offer a small, pathetic wave.

“What are they doing?” Asgrend noticed their activity for a day: Gutting a large whale.

“I dunno… I’ve never seen an animal like that.” Svenn could only scratch his head and ponder at this.

“Boys, it’s called a whale…” Tiralid’s hand met his face and rubbed it slowly. He looked down at Svenn. “You sailed, haven’t you ever seen one break the surface?”

“Never. I didn’t see too many sea creatures in my sailing time. I never went out to sea, just near the coast lines, you know?”

Tiralid sighed. Stupid kids.

“Asgrend, make note of the village. We’ll visit it later on foot. I don’t want to sail between those glaciers.”

Asgrend grunted his acknowledgement, making a scribble on the map.

They continued sailing west along the coast, right up until they hit the landing of where Arthas made his beach head. Asgrend made a comment about using the same area, but Tiralid was against it, noting that using the landing zone of the now lord of the Scourge would be a cursed journey indeed. They simply looked on at the dark and gloomy landing as they sailed quietly on by without notice.

“Father, do you see that encampment on the cliff side there?” Svenn pointed up to the structures. “Those are human buildings, are they not?”

Tiralid nodded grimply. “Probably leftovers from the lich kings first landing… those flags worry me though, they look like they are Scarlet Crusade flags.”

“That’s because they are, father.” Asgrend said grimly. He pointed along the coast, noting the Scarlet patrols. The group looked in their direction, pointing and shouting. Asgrend slowly reached for his bow. "And it sounds like they want a fight."

Both Svenn and Tiralid nodded. They all knew about the rumors of the Scarlet Crusade, having never had direct contact with them. They had heard that they attack anyone on suspicion of being with the scourge, and attacked all on sight.

It turned out that the rumors were true. There was a whistle in the air, and the sound of a piercing projectile thudding against their boat. Svenn looked off the side and saw a flaming arrow.

“Were under fire! Enemies armed with flaming arrows!” Svenn broke off the arrow and patted out the flame.

Tiralid could only help but laugh. “Come on, boys. Let’s show them our superior elven archery.”

They all had bows. Tiralids was the most intricate of them all. The rumor in the family was that it was carved straight from the bones and hide of a dragon, and the string was from the most dangerous spiders silk, which was as tough as iron, and durable as the bone the bow was made of. Whenever he launched arrows from it, they would glow, so that Tiralid always knew who he had killed. Because of this, he would never take it out on night missions, because it gave his position away. Asgrend and Svenn merely had bows made from the hardest trees in all of Quel’Thalas.

Svenn, being the magic user of the group, opted out of his bow, in favor of his fire magic, allowing his hands to light on fire. Asgrend taught him how to use a bow and arrow, and like many elven kind he mastered it easily, but Asgrend and Tiralid were the farstriders, experts with ranged weaponry, and Asgrend proudly wore the title of “Ranger.” Tiralid and Asgrend immediately opened up a volley of arrows, aiming for carefully chosen targets along the shoreline. They felled a group of archers about ready to hit them with another attack.

“So much for that low profile!” Svenn shouted as he let loose a few flaming attack at a group of Crusaders on the beach. Another group of archers had rallied on the Cliffside, and Svenn focused his attacks upon the cliffs rather than the people, so as to knock them off with a devastating rock slide. Tiralid and Asgrend were busy knocking back arrows and felling crusader archers.

“We need to leave!” Svenn shook his flames away, and took the helm, and steered away from the fortress before more archers, or even boats, were rallied.

Svenn pulled away from the attackers successfully. As they were leaving, Asgrend spotted a random forest within the snow.

“Look!” He pointed with an arrow. “Between the glacier. It’s a forest!”

“And dragon bones.” Tiralid noted. They saw the strange forest, keeping their eyes out and open for dragons.

“I wonder if there are many in the area.” Svenn kept his eyes to the sky, noting how vulnerable they were to a dragon attack.

“Asgrend, make note of this area on the map.” Tiralid put away his weapons, as they were safe enough away from the citadel now. Asgrend put his around his shoulders and made notes on the map, scribbling away with the speed of a scribe who has fallen behind.

Svenn allowed for a moment of calm, noting the large bridge like structure. Tiralid caught his gaze.

“It’s a titan bridge. You won’t see its’ like anywhere else. They’re not around anymore.”

“How do you know?” Svenn seemed skeptical, eyeing his father with suspicion. Is this another one of those ancients of the forest tales?

“I’m old enough to know, that’s how!” He pulled his mask down and stuck his tongue out at the group, making a rude noise. Now I see where we get it from, Svenn thought…

“Shoreline!” Asgrend pointed out. “And more of those walrus men!”

“Make a-“ Tiralid began.

“Note of it, right. Will do.” Asgrend interrupted, scribbling once more.

“Why can’t we just land and find out who they are?” Svenn was leaning on the wheel once more, obviously bored of sailing for many months now.

“It’s best we get a feel for the entire area than just jump at any landing we find.” Tiralid observed the walrus men again, curious as to who they are, but not that curious. He noted that most of their housing was bone and hide. They must be fisherman of some sort.

The rest of the sail was uneventful, continuing their mission of circling around the continent, marking obvious scourge sites and making notes to avoid the area, marking floating citadels… and then they came to a large island with a strange light beacon and floating platforms.

“What the hell are they?” Svenn chimed in, with obvious intellect behind his statement.

“You’re the magic user, you tell us.” Asgrend stared at his brother, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Well, all I know is that they’re arcane powered. The source must be coming from that light. It’s the only thing I can think of.”

“Wait, do you see them, boys?” Tiralid perked up suddenly, with obvious excitement. The two had only ever seen green dragons, and death wing, but never anything like these. They circled like carrion birds, but much fiercer and with muscle stacked on muscle. “Blue Dragons! I haven’t seen them in ages… they must be native to the land.”

“Fascinating, dad…” Svenn rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell us you got your bow from one.”

“Green, actually.” He cracked his fist over Svenns head for his insolence. “None the less, quite the sight. I bet we’ll see a lot more of them.”

Svenn whined his protests, rubbing his head. Tiralid was the strongest of the group, having fists made of solid iron and bones made of steel. They continued to sail in relative quiet, noting the sudden change in temperature. They made notes to explore the region someday to find out why. They pointed out the high cliffs, and that they seemed to go on forever. That is… until they spotted another citadel.

“More Crusaders, do you think?” Asgrend made ready his bow.

“Damn cockroaches! They're everywhere!" Tiralid spat on the ground. Svenn looked around for an exit path, something to avoid the crazy Crusaders. He found an option.

"That pass over there. It looks like it may fit our boat and sneak us right by the majority of their fortress."

"The pass may narrow, brother." Asgrend looked over his shoulder, bow in hand. Tiralid turned to the fortress, deep in thought.

"It is your choice, Svenn. We can fight them, but I would feel better if all of Northrend did not know we were here..."

Svenn thought for a moment, considering his options. "I'll risk it." He span the wheel and turned the boat toward the pass. They lowered the sail so they would not draw attention, relying on the currents and their oars to guide them. It was a slow process, guiding themselves in between the rock wall and the island that held the Crusaders. Tiralid and Asgrend were on the oars, stroking with the utmose silence. Asgrend kept his bow nearby, and Tiralid would have his ready in a split second. Svenn kept one eye on the waters and rocks, and another on the rock cliff.

The pass, as it turned out, was a very good idea. That is, right up until the gryphon rider spotted them.

"Damn! Asgrend! Get your bow, aim for the rider! Svenn! Raise the sail and get us out of here!"

Asgrend scrambled up and grabbed his bow and arrows, and the sky begain to fill with gryphon riders. Tiralid and Asgrend knocked back arrow after arrow, the sky filling with as many arrows as riders. Svenn raised the sail up to gain speed, and then focused his fire to burn the gryphons down to the ground. Bells began to rang: Alarm bells. Any second now the waters would be full of attack boats and crazed humans trying to blast them out of the water.

"I got an idea!!" Svenn began shooting flames at the water, and steam began to form. Svenn continued to shoot the water as more steam formed, creating a makeshift cover. Arrows continued to fly, spears were thrown, and bodies dropped from the sky. The boat was taking some damage, but minor; Nothing that Svenn couldn't fix on the fly. There was enough steam that most of the area was covered, and it became hard to see. The riders got lost in it, but Svenn was good enough to move the boat quickly out of the immediate attack field. By the time the riders knew what had happened, the group of sailors were long gone.

Svenn threw himself over the side of the boat with relief. Asgrend slinked down into his spot, and Tiralid merely stood, watching their retreat.

"Never... again..." Svenn managed out. "I don't want to see another damned Scarlet for a long time.

Asgrend nodded. "Agreed. I don't really like to fight people who can blast me out of the water and I can't."

Tiralid put his bow back, wrapping it in a special cloth. Asgrend simply kept his nearby. Svenn began gathering materials to repair the damages to the boat, tying a rope around his waist and to a hitch in the boat.

"Well, so far so good father... where to next...? Oh! How bout we march straight to Icecrown!?" He rappeled to the side with wood planks in hand and tools on his belt, and began hammering in the new boards, the frigid waters splashing on his bottom every so often.

Their father looked up at the cliffside.

"Well, if we need to, climbing up isn't going to be very hard." He pointed up. "See? Look at all the ledges. We could practically just jump up the side."

"Except that's stupid." Svenn pulled himself up from the rope, unfastened it, and moved up from the edge back to the helm. "I'll bet those 'ledges' you're talking about are as narrow and slanted as the cliffside you want to climb up..."

"And isn't that icecrown?" Asgrend looked up the cliffside, feeling a chill up his spine.

"I believe so, yes." Tiralid nodded to himself. "I remember some of the commanders talking about it. If I'm right, there is either a battle going on up there, or it just finished up. I wonder who won...?

"Well then let's not be here for very long. Who knows what will come over that cliff." Tiralid moved closer to where he tucked his bow; perhaps Asgrend is onto something.They sailed further along the coast, until Asgrend shouted.

"Enemy fleet!" He pointed off of the front of the ship. There was a large gathering of Scourge ships.

" This time I want to avoid them at all costs. We will go around the fleet."

Svenn steered the ship around the island. He thought he had spotted tentacles rising from the water, but shook his head. Perhaps he was wrong. The boat would pass the island without incident, only going through a fog for a short time.

For a moment, Svenn had almost lost the coast line. By dumb luck, he seemed to have found it. Continuing to follow the coast, they continued their journey around the continent to find a safe place to land. At this point, Tiralid would take anything.

"Is that a storm?" Svenn pointed off to the left, to the stormclouds gathering in the distance. "I see lightning, too."

"It is nothing. The clouds are moving the wrong way. It will pass us right by." Asgrend simply commented, looking up. "What worries me more is these strange light beam waves in the sky... They look dangerous."

"They've been everywhere since we got here." Tiralid did not seem bothered by the lights in the sky. He was more focused on the task at hand, on where they would land, and what would attack them next...

"Wait... is that...?" He rushed to the front of the boat, going by Asgrend without a second look, pointing to the strange structure in the distance.

"It looks like it was carved from the mountain." Asgrend stood, looking at it. "Those strange markings on the side..."

"They look like troll markings, brother."

"Whatever it is, it's disturbing. Let's not linger." They sailed around it, staring up at it in silence. There was an odd quiet around the structure. Not even so much the sound of a bird. They passed the strange, gigantic monolith without incident, returning to the wilds of Northrend. Asgrend returned to his map, making a simple drawing of the structure the passed, labeling it with a rune of question.

"Looks like there are some humans here! They're building a watch tower." Svenn pointed to a tower under construction.

"Oh good, something that doesn't shoot back for once." Tiralid moved back near his bow, feeling a lot better knowing it was closeby.

Asgrend pointed out a possible landing point, and made a mark of it. Tiralid did not wish to land near humans, so they simply put it as a point that can take a boat.

"Those trees look familiar. It looks like we are getting closer to where we first were." He pointed up at the cliffside, noting the trees that grow there.

"Land!!" Svenn shouted, pointing to a landing. Tiralid almost lost his head with excitement as the prospect of simply getting off the boat and out of danger.

"Take the boat and land there! We will set up camp and explore in the morning."

"Yes sir!" Svenn spun the wheel and practically crashed on the shore. It was a wide opening, filled with trees and a large cliff. Whatever wanted them would have to climb down a large drop to get them. There was also a strange lift with a dragons head. Perhaps related to the fleet they saw earlier.

The beach was littered with harmless crabs. Looking like they would not have to clear out the area first, they unpacked the boat and setup camp. Svenn decided as soon as the boat was cleared of all gear to hide it in a nearby area of water just wide enough to hold their boat. Tiralid and Asgrend helped guide the boat along the coast safely to it's new home, setting up anchor and hoping it would be there by the time they were all done exploring Northrend.

"So, what do you think? Are we the toughest things in Northrend so far?" Both Svenn and Asgrend gave a dark chuckle.

"No, not yet father. We've yet to battle every creature on the continent. We have to establish dominance first over this land." Asgrend grabbed some rigging to make some temporary tents and huts. It would be a long stay in Northrend, and they needed to find a permanent home. This was only a temporary setup, for now. It would be a long seven years.

"And what shall we call this place, father?" Asgrend had a handful of parts for their tents, looking up at his father for reply.

Tiralid thought for a moment... And he had the perfect reply.

"Draconis landing. It has a nice ring to it." He took a moment to think, "Home. That also has a nice sound to it."

[Alpharius]

OOC: awww yeah more northrend adventures! Next ones will be waaaay in the past! Should be fun!

Dramatis personae:

Svenn'Varal: Elf, mage, age 492
As'Gren'Delur: Elf, ranger, age 793
Tiralid: Elf, farstrider, age 1800.

Three Blood Elves have just setup camp on what was their first day on Northrend. This dangerous land held much promise, and much peril. Having been attacked twice by the fanatical Scarlet Crusaders, they realized just how defenseless they really were in this new wild lands. A dawn of a new morning rose, and the three slowly wandered out of their camp into the new world.

Northrend, day two:

We just got here and I’ve already been shot at, and attacked, twice. Luckily nothing came at us with cannons. Damn dangerous here. Maybe Outlands would have been safer…? But this was closer, no need to trek to another planet to get away from it all. This is just a new obstacle to climb, and it won’t be an easy one at that, seeing as how the obstacle is a vertical cliff side about two hundred meters straight up.

The plan today is to just climb over that and see what’s on the other side. It seems like this area is far above sea level. We’ve decided to call this land “the cold forest.” We’ve got a few names for the other zones that we’ve passed as well, but nothing is permanent just yet. According to Asgrends map, to the west of us is the central snow plains, and farther west is the tundra. Simple names, easy enough.

Let’s hope there are no more Crusaders…

End of log.

Svenn heard his name called, and tucked the journal away. He packed light, unlike his comrades. He carried only a simple staff from Dalaran, a few knives, and a sword. He left his bow behind. Asgrend and his father carried their bows on their backs, as well as arrowheads brought over from Silvermoon and some human settlements. These were, of course, temporary provisions, as they would have to find metal or bone to work with in order to continue to re outfit themselves.

In addition to their bows, Asgrend carried two axes on his hips and a greatsword. His father carried his greatsword and one smaller sword. Of course, they always had several knives on them. That was a family rule. Be prepared for war, or for a scouting mission, but never go anywhere without a knife.

Svenn nodded to the cliff face. “Any ideas on how we climb this monstrosity?”

Tiralid looked up. “I’ve thought about that last night. I took the liberty of procuring some climbing equipment from the humans.” He went to a box and pulled out some rope and pick axes. “From what I’ve been told, the humans tie the rope to eachother, and then to the wall using some strange metal loops… I didn’t bother to get those because it’s silly. What we will do instead is just use the pick axes to climb up, creating both hand and foot holds. I will then use the rope to tie it to strong rocks or branches, making for easier climbing up and down in the future. These ropes will be temporary and will need replacing every so often, or until we find better encampment over the cliff.”

The brothers nodded, the plan making not a whole lot of sense, but they were good at ‘winging it,’ as the humans said. Tiralid handed them both a pair of pick axes, and they walked towards a suitable cliff side, hammering in the picks axes into the rock and beginning their slow climb. It took them about an hour and a half, the process being a slow but methodical one. The ropes, as it turned out, came very much in handy being used as a sort of brace for when they needed to hammer in foot holds. It was the younger brother who thought of this idea, driving his knife into the rock side, and wrapping the rope around the handle a few times, then wrapping his legs into the rope. Uncomfortable, yes, but he had more use of his hands, at least.

Svenn had an easier time, being able to melt the rock and create hand and footholds for himself. The other two merely used brute force. They all agreed however to wait on the last ledge and climb up the top themselves. However, when they reached nearer to the top, there was the familiar sound, and feel, for Svenn, of battle.

“Wait, I feel something.” Asgrend put his hand on the cliff side, feeling, and straining to hear.

“What is it, my son?” Tiralid called down, dangling from his rope and greatsword harness. Asgrend had the look of utmost concentration, and his ears twitched around like a rabbits ears.

“I’m feeling a lot of footsteps… A lot of impacts too.” He shot his head up. “It’s a battle! There’s a battle going on somewhere up top!”

“Tread carefully, boys! Keep your eyes and ears open!” Tiralid hurried his work, hammering into the rock, wishing to get up quicker. After about thirty minutes, they reached the last ledge, the sound of battle more than clearly heard.

“Humans?” Svenn tilted his head. “They’re talking funny, though.”

“Perhaps this is the birthplace of the human race. After all, our birthplace was in Kalimdor.” Tiralid mused on the subject.

“Whatever it is, we need to figure out if it’s worth going over the side and investigating. If they’re humans, they might still think we are allied with them, and won’t attack us. Whatever is attacking them will give us a bit of morning workout.” He grinned his feral grin at the thought.

Asgrend nodded. “Well, what are we waiting for?! Let’s go!” Instead of making careful footholds, Asgrend merely grabbed the side of the rock and climbed. The other two followed, and flung themselves over the side.

They were not prepared for what they were about to see: Skeletal men, taller than their father, fighting one another. They wore strange horned helmets, carried large circular shields, and swords and axes as big as they were. Their killing was as brutal, as the armies of the Scourge usually were.

One of them had just struck down another of its kind, and turned to regard the three.

“Boys, we’ve been spotted.” Tiralid unsheathed his mighty greatsword while Asgrend reached for his axes, and Svenn charged a fire attack. The great Skeleton was struck down in the back, and the combat resumed. They were then ignored for a few minutes. They simply stood there, partially in shock, and partially insulted. Tiralid was the first to lower his weapon, confused at the spectacle.

“Uh, say, dad, what uh… are they doing?” Svenn said, dumbly.

“They are making war, my boy. Do you not recognize it?” Tiralid stared at the fight.

“No, not at all. Not like how they’re doing it.” Svenn kept his flame ready in his hand, ready to strike at the first thing that dared look at him.

“I am with Svenn, it is an unusual way to wage war. It’s very basic. They just swing, bash, and move on.”

“Even if you break it down with us, that is all we do: Swing, bash, and move on to the next target. It is not so different, just the way they do it is different.” Tiralid scanned the area, looking for whoever was in charge. Svenn made note that this battle was stretching out far across the battlefield to some, what were assumed, to be housing. This was a territorial battle.

“Do you see it?” Svenn pointed at the housing.

“Aye, it’s a battle for land. Let us sneak by, maybe we will be unnoticed.” Tiralid knew damn well they could sneak by, but with these new opponents, perhaps one of them would get stupid lucky and spot them, charging wildly with their great weapons.

They all crouched low, with Asgrend leading the way. Being that he was the ranger, he would have a better time finding a safe route. A Skeleton flew right in front of them, and one of the warriors crashed on top of him, smashing his axe and shield onto the bony body, smashing it to dust. He was then struck by an opponent, and they made battle, as basic as fighting was. This all happened within just a few seconds, and they stayed there in shock.

Tiralid moved toward Asgrend. “This isn’t working, we need to go back down.”

“No! I can do this!” He hissed, looking for a path. Asgrend figured if they simply followed the cliff side, they would avoid any combat. Unfortunately, that was not always the case, as one of the big monstrosities spotted their scurrying, and made it known that he had sighted them with a loud roar and a garble of noise. The thing charged at them.

“Oh shit!” Asgrend freaked, scrambling backwards, fumbling for his bow, forgetting about all the other weapons. Never in his life did Svenn see genuine fear in his brother’s eyes, until now. The skeletal men were not like the trolls, who never made it obvious they were about to strike, or the orcs, who simply yelled while flinging their weapons in the air. But the two races, compared to these behemoths, were roughly the same size as the three of them. This one, though, it towered even over their father, wore armor made by demons themselves, and the same drive that fueled all three of them: the urge to fight, just to fight.

It would be their father who broke their cover, pulling out his greatsword and blocking the strike of the monsters sword. Their father had trouble keeping the beast back, his opponent gaining the advantage with every passing second just by pushing more on his blade.

Tiralid spoke with great efford. “Whenever… you feel the urge to… please… feel free to step in… at any time!” He gritted his teeth, sweating, thinking of ways to get out should this go badly. His only goal was to protect his battle brother: Mainly, his child.

Asgrend finally found his bow, and Svenn his magic. Arrows and fire rained on their opponent. The thing stumbled back, brushing away flames and swatting at the arrows that littered its body, stunned momentarily. Tiralid jumped up and swung his mighty blade at the things head, severing it from its body. The thing slumped forward and fell hard, finally becoming still. The commotion drew the attention of many of its allies, and they surged forward.

“Draconis unit, advance! Kill with extreme prejudice!” Tiralid swung his sword this way and that in a display of superior swordsmanship before he attacked the first one that would come his way, taking an arm that held an axe, and then his leg. The thing stumbled face first, and Tiralid smashed its spine and ribcage with his foot, insuring its demise. Asgrend rained arrows on the one to its left, completely covering the front of the skeletal monster with arrows. It flailed its arms forward before Asgrend shot the final blow through its chest, hitting the essence which keeps it alive, and it dropped down. Svenn threw fire after fire attack to the one on the right, lighting the skeletal beast on fire. It howled in pain, obviously in agony of being roasted. Svenn called down a flamestrike to finish off the three combatants, burning the group to death.

The small skirmish drew more attention to themselves from nearby skeletal warriors, but it also drew the attention of the other side: The other undead were taking advantage of the sudden commotion to advance and strike down easy targets who were distracted. The three were suddenly not a threat, and the primary focus became the other side, who looked like they were about to win.

“Run!” Tiralid had almost never used that word, but when he did, it was for good reason: They were outnumbered, and they all knew it. Sure, they had easily beaten those three, but if they were surrounded, they would surely be easily crushed. Asgrend and Svenn sprinted after Tiralid, following wherever he took them. They were sprinting south now, hopefully away from the fighting. If it was one thing an elf was good at, it was running, and through trees. They made it to a small clearing in the woods, where they would catch their breath and regain their thoughts.

After a while, Tiralid spoke. “I believe those were not humans.”

Asgrend was doubled over on a log, while Svenn was simply face first into the grass. Asgrend groaned as he heard his fathers words.

“If anyone is the master of the obvious, it is you father!” Asgrend held up a finger. “Here’s a thought: What the hell was that!?”

“Looked like a territorial dispute. Much like how we have at home. I believe they were Scourge, but why would they be fighting one another?"

Svenn poked his head up from the grass. “Probably a dispute between Scourge tribes or necromancers or… something… I didn’t think Scourge fought one another.”

“Either way, it seems we’re in the middle of a dispute between groups. Let’s stay out of their way while we learn about this new land.”

They wouldn’t have long to rest, as a patrol had been set out to look for the group. They were barking and yelling at each other in some strange, if it could be called that, language. They were crashing into the trees, smashing into anything that was in their way. One of them, though, suddenly spoke the human tongue.

“Come out, High Elves! We know you are here! Surrender and we will make sure you have a quick death!” The group of Scourge beasts made chilling sounds, probably what they consider a as a laugh.

They all looked at eachother. They have never heard of Scourge minions with that level of intelligence, and the fact they called them high elves… Tiralid motioned to the trees and they all climbed out of sight. It was he who would respond. “You obviously don’t know my kind very well! We’re not one to surrendering!”

Their leader made some sort of hissing noise, belching out a blue essence. “You pale skinned long ears do not frighten us! We are the Scourge! We are masters of this land!” He slapped his fist on his shield to make his point. Asgrend and Tiralid put an arrow to their string, making ready to slay his squad mates. Svenn made ready to incinerate the talking skeleton. Suddenly, a horn blew from the distance, and the group of attackers looked at one another. They ran toward the noise, but the leader turned to shout something.

“You got lucky this time! We will be back for your heads!” He shouted something incoherent and ran off. When they all left, the trio jumped down from their perch and considered the situation.

“I would say it’s nothing to worry about.” Asgrend offered with a shrug. “They seem pretty harmless enough as long as we keep our distance.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.

“For now. We will not be cowed by such disgusting creatures. In the meantime, we should explore the coast line, and see what we can scout out.”

Asgrend and Svenn pounded their fists to their chest, as was their primary salute. They exited the forest and travelled along the cliff side, only having to swat away the occasional wolf or buck who thought they were trespassing onto their territory. As they killed, they picked up useful souvenirs, putting them into their pack as they went: skins, antlers, fangs…

They approached the first area of where they originally wanted to land. They found what appeared to be a dragons head and a sort of lift that was waiting for passengers. Tiralid looked over the edge.

“It merely looks like a docking area…” Tiralid pointed to vacant boats. “See there? They use this lift to reach the boats waiting for them below.”

Dismissing the area, they turned and regarded the large castle piercing the heavens. It must have belonged to the original ruler of the area. They talked it over, and decided to see who resided in the castle, and then go from there. Once again, they would ‘wing it.’ But when they reached the cliff, they would see who the new residents were.

“The Scourge…” Svenn spat out. “It looks like the one who spoke the human tongue was right; they really do own this land.”

“So much for finding shelter or allies.” Asgrend looked at the various Scourge scouts and necromancers. “Looks like they’re trying to raise an army.”

“What of the walrus men? They seem friendly enough.” Svenn chimed in this time, looking in the direction of where they first spotted them.

“We will go later. I say we still go to the castle and find out who resides there. I doubt the undead have even opened the main gates.” Tiralid looked around the area, and then pointed, “I see a road leading to it. Let’s see if we can find the rest of that road.”

They followed the path they were on over a large bridge which, crude as it was, seemed stable enough. It gave them a much better view of the bay: It was wide, with plenty enough room for a boat. There also seemed to be an opening into the cliff side; perhaps some sort of cave, with room enough to hide a sea fairing vessel. Enough room for theirs, maybe…

As they continued on their way, they passed what appeared at first to be a large crater. Svenn pointed it out, and the group approached it slowly. As they moved closer, they saw rooftops pointing out of it: someone had set up a village inside.

“We don’t know if there will be any necromancers there, so I suggest we keep a low profile.” Asgrend would take the lead, approaching the crest of one of the ridges. He turned his head left and right, and then motioned them to approach. As they all got a good look of it, what surprised them was how empty it was, save for one lone person with a bone helmet and robes.

“Hah, this seems easy enough… Asgrend, go cut him down.” Tiralid pointed to him as asgrend drew his axes.

“Wait!” Svenn hissed. “That’s a necromancer you fools! Approach him and you’ll be surrounded by skeletons within seconds. We should disable him, and then question him.”

“Right. I’ll handle that then.” Asgrend drew his bow and readied a few arrows on the rocks. He chose his shots carefully as Svenn and Tiralid would setup positions near the necromancer. Svenn clambered down the rocks slowly, moving and hiding as he went along, getting closer to the undead summoner. Tiralid followed close by, making ready to flank the other side.

Arrows whistled by, striking the necromancer in the legs and shoulders. As he fell to the ground and cried out in pain, Tiralid jumped out and sprinted toward the necromancer, sword in hand. The undead sorcerer was making ready a spell, but Svenn stopped him cold in his tracks, smacking him with a lash of fire to the side of his body. The necromancer reeled and Tiralid struck him in the head with bone breaking force. Tiralid grabbed the necromancers wrist and hoisted it up, making ready to break it.

“Talk or I turn your hand into dust,” He threatened, gripping the creatures hand tightly as the necromancer squirmed and cried out.

“Release me you brutish elves!”

Asgrend came down, arrows ready, pointed at the thing.

“I don’t think that was the response he was looking for.” He was just far away enough that an impact from his arrow would easily kill the necromancer.

“Alright alright! I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t kill me!” Svenn sneered. Necromancers were always cowards.

“What are you doing here? Why are the skeletons fighting each other?” Tiralid twisted his hand for good measure. The necromancer made a pleasing squealing noise.

“Ahhh! Stop stop stop I’ll talk! I’m here to scout an outpost! The ones who used to live here no longer use it. They slept thousands of years ago…” The group pondered on this, wondering about this group of people. Tiralid twisted his wrist again, coaxing more information out of him.

“There is a dispute between necromancers! It’s a full on war! If you’ve gotten this far, you’ve seen the risen skeletal warriors, yes? They’re fighting one another? They’re under direct control of some powerful necromancers. I’m under-“ Tiralid twisted harder, and the necromancer screamed. It wasn’t broken, but it must have been very painful, Svenn thought.
“We don’t care who you serve. How many of you are out there?” Tiralid stared at his hostage with the intent of killing him.

The necromancer took some time to catch his breath. “Just three, and only in this area. That’s all I know, I swear it!”

Tiralid nodded, and Asgrend put his bow down. Tiralid released the necromancers hand, and he collapsed.

“By the Lich King… thank you! Thank you for sparing me!”

A smirk formed on Tiralids face. He brought his greatsword out of his sheath, and the necromancer scout’s eyes went wide with terror. He yelled as his head was detached from his body, and sent flying across the small village. Svenn then burned his corpse to a crisp.


After reaching the outskirts of the village and back onto the main road, Asgrend was the first to speak about their encounter.

“So… we know the area is crawling with feuding necromancers and their skeletal warriors. Who knows where the hell they might be. It sounds like there is a full out war going on here, and I don’t think it’s in our best interest to get caught in it. I suggest we go back to Draconis Landing and hide ourselves, preferably before they notice us.”

Tiralid nodded as he listened to his son. “Alright, that sounds like a good idea. Post haste, boys!” He took off running, with his two children right on his heels. When they got to the cliff side where they had first stumbled upon the first group of skeletal minions, the battle was over, and it was much easier to get to their tents. To their relief, it looked as though no one had noticed their camp. They did, however, move the camp more out of sight, further down the cliff side and away from the main ledges.

Asgrend pulled out his map, and began drawing up what all they had seen. “Now, it’s a full moon tonight, so if we travel by dark, we can make more of this map without drawing attention from those damned skeletons. I suggest we take the same route as before, and then travel north. We’ll get a good idea of what’s around here.”

Tiralid nodded, and Svenn simply listened. What he means, is that he will be going by himself to scout around. All they could do was wish him the best and pack him a lunch.

As night fell, Asgrend took off into the dark, packing very lightly (only a sword and a bow) and his map in hand. They could only just wait around and hope he returns. After a few hours, they heard the familiar sound of someone climbing down from ropes and shuffling to their camp.

“I’ve found an area that seems to be Scourge free.” Asgrend pulled out his map and pointed to a location. “I’ve made us a complete map of the area as best as I can at night. So far as I can tell, this place is a minor staging area for anything Scourge. There are large camps all along that big castle we saw. There are no paths that go to the castle in the center without running into Scourge outposts. I’ve marked their camps and put markings of each group. It appears there are only three clans here, possibly fighting over territory. There are a few banners that I could tell: Ones with a goat’s skull, ones with a bone and sword, and ones with a scepter, a scythe, and a gravestone. These seem to be the tribes or clans or whatever at war. A long shot is that they are trying to win some kind of favor with the lich king. I would say it is in our best interest not to stay in the Cold Forest for long. For now, we should go north, near the mountains.”

Svenn sniffed. “Can I just say…? I don’t really like the name. It’s… too simple, is all. How about The Icy Forest?” He put his hands up to emphasize the name. Both Tiralid and Asgrend merely looked at him.

“So, The Cold Forest…” Svenn put his hands down, clearly disappointed. “Is there a way out of it in case things get too dangerous?”

Asgrend nodded, pointing to several places on the map. “There are three main exits out of here. Between the mountains, north east, and north west. The north east looked a bit… tricky. I believe I saw giants walking the area, in addition, the pass looked a bit narrow. It would be best to stick to between the mountains or the north west route, for now.”

Tiralid nodded, looking at the map. He pointed to a few ‘x’ markings. “What are these?”

“Possible relocation. These are relatively lifeless, and distant from the undead. The one here,” He pointed to an ‘x’ nearest to the north west exit, “is a structure that we could possibly take shelter in, but I did not explore it yet. From what I saw, it looked like an old outpost. If the ones who used to live here used it, it should be plenty for us three.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll pack first thing at dawn, and then we go north to the mountains. But there is the problem with our boat and our supplies. We will have to hide them, or find out about the walrus men, see if they are friendly, and perhaps see if they are willing to look after our boat in exchange for some weapons or supplies.”

They all gave their silent agreements. It had been a long day for the group, and it would be a long year before they could finally find a place to call home.

[Alpharius]

Yes don't you feel special Izzy? Another post about our encounter!

The next one will be about Svenns first battle, which should just be about done actually.

They both had their encounter with the night elf woman who called herself Izshandriel. One thing was certain: She was in Northrend, and she was on the prowl. She claimed to be “picking flowers,” but the reality was obvious: She was tracking them in their own backyard. Whatever it took, they could never lead her to their real homestead. Over the many years of living in Northrend, they setup various safe houses, in case of attack.

Svenn and Asgrend recalled their attacks. Svenn had just barely gotten away, stunning his prey and weakening her with his warlock curse. He had stumbled through the woods, bleeding and weak. He was sure he was leaving her a trail, so he tried his best to cover it up with grass and snow, but as he continued on, he focused on less on covering his tracks, and more on gaining ground. Two minutes, after all, was not a long time. He retreated to their howling fjord hideout, a small cave in the rockside near the humans keep. He spent a day there, bandaging and healing himself as best he could. He was no master of first aid, but he could at least patch himself up.


After a day had passed, he then retreated to the tuskarr village nearby for better medical treatment. Over the years his clan and the tuskarrs relation had become fairly good, and they were willing to assist the clan to the best of their abilities. He spent yet another day at the tuskarr camp, until he felt he was healed enough to return to travelling, or more factually, hiding.

Svenn took one of their great sea turtles to another village in the Tundra, where he would hide in the barren lands for a few days, keeping his eye open for anything that might even resemble an elf. It would be Asgrend who would find him, completely ready for war in his finest battle plate. Asgrend took the recovering blood elf to their camp, and Svenn told him and his father everything. Asgrend then decided to pack some weapons and rations and begin roaming Northrend for this psychotic night elf. Tiralid would also begin searching once Svenn had recovered, getting ready his provisions and essential weapons.

****

It only took a day in the Grizzly Hills to find her, but she was not alone. It seemed like she had brought backup: Another frail night elf. Knowing he was being followed, he had hid behind a human womans cart, threatening her life if she spoke a word about his position. The night elf woman passed the lady’s cart without so much as a second thought, mentioning some nonsense about herbs… He tracked them for only a few moments before engaging into combat. While her companion was easily removed from the engagement, his target, the more dangerous night elf, was something else. The druid kept interfering, always with her roots, her manipulation of the natural world itself, something a ranger should have been good at, but his connection to nature had long been cut off. And that damn bear form… if that druid was anything but the druid, the elf woman would be dead, and this would all be over.

He did succeed in gravely wounding the large night elf and her druid companion, but it cost Asgrend much: He had no choice but to return to the Ebon Hold. Using powers that were much out of practice, he summoned himself a portal, but it was very unstable. Light crackled around it, its image flickered, and it seemed as though it would collapse at any moment. Asgrend was lucky that it even brought him to his destination at all, instead of merely going through it and staying in Northrend. As soon as he was through, he collapsed onto the floor, drawing the attention of undead apothecaries. They brought him to a suitable area and looked him over.

****

“It’s been a long time since your last checkup, hasn’t it?” One of the apothecaries had asked him, “When was your last visit to the hold?

Asgrends mind was cloudy. He could barely focus. “Since… since the fall…”

The apothecaries around him drew in breath, shocked that a death knight would shun such a place.

“It shows, death knight, you have much need of repair and… healing…” It grinned a toothy grin.


“Just fix me and get out of my sight…!” Asgrend tried to push him away, but the strength would not come to home.

“Calm down now…” A new voice joined the group. It was a death knight, wearing very strange armor, and carrying a glowing weapon. “There is no need for such hostilities here. We are all brothers, you know.”

Asgrend tried to laugh, but all it brought was pain. “You are no brothers of mine.”

“Hmm. Shame you think that.” He turned his attention to the head apothecary. “Please fix him up as best you can, and then inform me when you are done. I wish to speak with him.”

****

After extensive work, Asgrend was dismissed as “fit for duty,” though he made sure to mention not for their duty. Asgrend went to try to find the exit in the strange halls of insanity, with undead monsters he once happily slayed now roaming about… filing… it seemed. He had his sword ready just on the chance that one of them went rogue.

“You won’t need that.” A voice called out. Asgrend turned, finding the face of the one who previously chatted him up.

“I’ll be the one to decide that.” He kept his blade ready, as always. “Now show me how to leave this damnable place.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad, once you get used to it.” The strange knight examined a jar with some kind of limb inside of it. It was odd; he was out of his armor and into some kind of robes or leathers of some sort. Asgrend was always at least in some kind of armor, whether a type of leather under his shirt, or even armor plated pants. “It has its charm.”

Asgrend couldn’t help but laugh. It was an honest laugh filled with humor, nothing mocking about it. To hear someone say that a place as beastly and grim as this was charming was along the same lines as saying the burning legion was merely looking to hand out pamplets to wherever it invaded.

“Right, right, and the burning legion likes tourism. Don’t make me laugh…” He spat onto the ground.

“I’m sorry you feel this way, brother.” He put the jar down and regarded his fellow death knight. “You strike me as a very strong warrior, but not a very good death knight.”

“I am a ranger.” He pounded his chest.

“Hmm, that so? Tell me, how is that connection to nature?”

Asgrend froze. Ever since he died, he had of course lost touch with the woods and everything about them. He had lost his identity; now he was just this walking corpse of a monster.

“I don’t understand it…” He put his sword away. “I’m not a magic user, what use do they have of me?”

“You’re thinking the old death knights. Those were mostly products of burning legion and orc magic. These new death knights were the product of Arthas. The idea was to take anyone and anything, including magic users, and turn them into plate wearing little monsters with the whole power of the scourge in their fist. Obviously that backfired, and all that happened was lives were ruined and we’re dead. Oh well.”

Asgrend regarded him. He wasn’t sure what to say. All he really wanted was to leave.

“I need someone to teach me how to be a death knight.” He finally blurted out. The strange man looked at him closely, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you know how to be one?”

“No. As soon as the battle for lights hope was over, I left, and never came back, until today that is.”

“Hmm,” he fiddled with a skull on a table. “I tell you what, if you can’t find anyone, then I’ll teach you. In the meantime, I suggest you seek out some of the instructors here.”

“No!” He stomped his foot into the ground, making a small crater where his foot landed, damaging the ground. “I refuse to train here. I just won’t! I will have nothing to do with this place. This place is tainted by the Scourge.”

“And what about you? You used to BE scourge!” His calm demeanor now vanished, replaced with impatience. He kept his distance though. “You used to fight under their banner, we all did! What makes you so special?”

“I-…” The words suddenly vanished from his lips. He seemed to have an answer for everything, but this stumped him. Maybe the fact that he used to kill scourge wasn’t enough. He was loyal to only his family, who are now scattered and lost, and the traitor Kael’Thas, who is now dead, so he could not use that as an excuse. When he moved to Northrend, he did not pledge allegiance to the new Horde, and he had long since forsaken Silvermoon, with its decadence and riches. He didn’t really even hate the Scourge, not like his brother, who had a grudge against those who had destroyed Stratholme, a place only he could call home. Home for Asgrend was a hut in a corner of Dragons Blight.

The sad truth was he had nothing. He had no reason to give, except his own arrogance and hatred.

“Because…” He struggled, the beginnings of an inner conflict and a nose bleed surfacing. He wiped the ichoric blood from his glove. He didn’t think he could still have nose bleeds.

“The fact is you have nothing.”

Asgrend stepped forward. “I don’t need a reason.”

“You mean you don’t need to give ME a reason. Do you have a reason for yourself though?”

Hatred wasn’t a good enough reason? Asgrend sneered, his hand twitching for a weapon.

“But…” He returned to his calm demeanor with a shrug, “It can’t be helped. The exit is down that way, and then you can take an airlift to the ground.” He pointed down a hallway. Asgrend merely grunted his reply. He would not let what was discussed gnaw at his mind, at least for now.

****

The campfire crackled. They both stared at it after Asgrend had recalled his tale. Svenn scratched his arm, which had been damaged by an arrow and the subsequent rolling around he did after that, causing infections.

“Don’t pick it; you’ll only make it worse.” Asgrend noted his scratching and scolded him. Svenn growled.

“I’ll damn well do as I please.” He lowered his hand anyways and grumbled, staring at the fire. “So what do we do about this woman?”

“Father is out looking for her, so we don’t have much to worry about. She has no idea we are even out here. If the need arises, we will retreat to storm peaks for a while. She won’t be able to find us there.”

“Retreat!?” Svenn balked, standing, the idea of running away completely preposterous. “We never yield!”

“Yes, but there is such a thing as a tactical retreat.” He remained seated, drinking the remaining contents of his mug. “If she finds where we live, and then she manages, somehow, to get away, what then? She has at least one ally, and I’m willing to bet she has more. What then? If there are more like her, we have no hope in fighting them all, even with father.”

Svenn sighed, dropping in his seat.

“So we wait?”

Asgrend nodded. “We wait.”

[Alpharius]

Now to think of a story for Asgrend to tell around the fire. Got a few ideas rolling around my head... And of course I've wanted Svenn to be mauled by a bear for a while now, so look out for an arena fight story.

edited because I copied the wrong version in. I added a final paragraph describing the tent later on, but I grabbed the wrong email. Whupse

-Dramatic personae-

High Elves:
Rarandir Draconis: Head Primarch, Father of Tiralid. Officer of the Farstriders, 1900
Terion Draconis: Brother of Tiralid, Officer of the Farstriders, 1497
Earindil Draconis: Brother of Tiralid, Officer of the Farstriders, 1503
Nawen Draconis: Sister of Tiralid, Officer of the Farstriders, 1441
Tiralid Draconis: Father of As’gren Delur and Svenn’Varal. Officer of the Farstriders. 1310
Amebriclya Draconis. Mother of As’Gren’Delur and Svenn’Varal. Officer of the Farstriders. 1240
Svenn’Varal Draconis. Mage. 55
As’Gren’Delur. Ranger. 554.
Tundel. Cousin to Svenn’Varal and As’gren’delur. Farstrider. 425.


Deep in the forests of Quel’Thalas, a group of High Elves have set up a small camp, waiting for a band of trolls that has been wandering around the forest for some time, attacking caravans at will.


“The boy is fifty what!? And he’s never been in battle!? What have you been doing to your boy, Tiralid!?” Rarandir strode over to Svenn’Varal, smacking him on the shoulder, putting his arm around his shoulders and bringing him into a fatherly embrace. “You have been cooped up in those books far too long, boy!”

“He will make a fine warrior, my lord.” Tiralid grinned to their primarch, master of the Draconis Clan. “And a fine fire mage. He has spent his time with the best teachers in Dalaran. I believe they called him a pyromancer.”

“That so? Well! I should hope he makes a fine warrior, boy!” He turned his attention to Svenn’Varal, “I want to see how well you can burn down the troll villages. Should be quite the sight!”

“Indeed, let’s hope you learned well, Svenn’Varal.” As’gren’delur made his way over, having a freshly painted face to match the surrounding area. His pack, as he called them, were just off a few meters, keeping their eyes out for any movement. He made his report to no one in particular. “According to my pack, the trolls should be making their way up here any time now.”

“What was your first battle like, father?” Svenn’Varal looked up at his father expectantly.

“I think he pissed himself!” Terion strode over with a report in his hand. “If I remember correctly, we had to toss him into the lake because we thought he was tainted with troll sweat! Turned out it was his own urine!” The group laughed loudly, including Tiralid.

“And if I remember your first battle, you damn well passed out at the first corpse you saw!” Rarandir was the one to point this out. The group erupted once again in laughter.

“Report for you, my lord.” Terion handed the paper to Rarandir, and waved to little Svenn’Varal. He turned his attention back to Rarandir once he had finished the report.

“Is this accurate? The trolls changed direction?”

“Yes, my lord. They plan to draw the trolls to the opposite direction, away from the city.”

“Hmmm, it seems they care more for their spires and jewels more than they do their enemies…”

****

Earlier that day, the officers met inside their primarchs tent to discuss the operations of the coming fight. The tent was large enough to hold several squads and still have room for weapons and armor. A large map of Quel'Thalas was sprawled out in front of them, with the officers spread around it. The great primarch sat on a hastily made throne of wood. Their lord would sit on nothing less. The tent was illumated with flickering candles, giving off a strange orange glow to the area. Outside of the tent, preparations for the engagement were being made: armor checked, weapons sharpened, and arrows threaded.

“My group will be coming in from the north to cut off any advance the trolls might make.” Nawen paced the battle tent, pointing with a stick at the map of the area. “We will shower them in arrows and chase after them with blades.”

“My group will be cutting off their retreat, so they will have nowhere to go.” Earindil made the next statement, standing in turn, and motioning to the map. “The trolls will then be in a panic, and that is when our lord primarch, Tiralid, and Amebriclya will strike from each side. They will be completely trapped and cut off.”

“What of my pack?” As’Gren’Delur was of age and rank to finally sit in on battle meetings. This would be his eight thus far. He growled, “It seems once again my pack is stuck on scout duty.”

“Your men are needed as scouts, and as the stage master.” Their primarch had remained silent up until now, merely intent on listening. “We need you to make sure there are no surprise patrols around. Your pack will find us the most optimal location to strike, and then guide the rest of us into such a position. You will have your taste of blood, As’Gren’Delur, do not worry.”

“Yes, my lord.” He grinned, holding his knife in hand, waiting to use it on something.

“I would like to remind everyone that this will be my youngest’ first real battle. I want to assign someone to him to keep an eye on him. I would have given him to As’Gren’Delur but he is obviously needed elsewhere. Is there someone who we can give him to?” Tiralid had mentioned to their primarch of this before the meeting, but it seems he neglected to mention it to the gathering.

“What about Tundel? Is he on this engagement?” Amebriclya had spoken this time, looking at Nawen for a reply.

“Yes, he is with my unit as of now. He is helping some new recruits with their first battle as well. Do you wish to have him under Tundel?”

Ambericlya nodded. “Yes, I believe it would be good for him. Tundel seems to like him, and they get along fairly well, I think.”

Rarandir laughed a bit. “It’s not about whom he will like, dear girl! It’s who is best experienced for the job! I think Gresan is with Earindil today, we should put young Svenn’Varal with him.”

“Are you saying he is not worthy of a task!?” Nawen bristled, seeing it as an insult to her finest warrior. She stamped her foot down. “He has been in many engagements and has been recently promoted to battle trainer under my orders. I have the utmost confidence in him! I believe he should be assigned to little Svenn’Varal for this engagement! Shouldn’t his first fight be with someone he knows well?”

“No disrespect was intended, dear girl, but you will watch your tone with me next time...” Rarandir waved a finger at her, his voice rising slightly.

“Yes, my lord. My apologies.” She bowed her head slightly, but she still bristled.

"What is your opinion of this, Tiralid?"

Tiralid cleared his throat. "I believe it would be wise to pair him with someone he knows. It would be good for his morale, and he will be more focused knowing that he is not just protecting a member of the family, but a friend."

“Then the matter is settled. The boy will be with Tundel. Now, returning to our battle plans. The cage tactic…” Rarandir sat forward. “It’s… outdated, don’t you think? I believe we could use something a bit more modern to defeat these beasts. What about the Dragons Wing?”

“Ah, yes, the Dragons Wing, a fine tactic, my lord. But tell me, do we have any spears, my lord?” Earindil challenged his statement with an air of sarcasm. “If we had spears, then the dragons wing would be an effective tactic. Unfortunately this is just a simple cleanup mission, and so we did not bring any spears, my lord. These are simple beasts, not enemies of great challenge. We should stick to simple tactics for simple minded monsters.”

Rarandir was about to chastise his son for such arrogance, but he was interrupted by Terion, who was the more level headed of his numerous children.

“Do not confuse simple for stupid, my brother. Just because they do not think as us, does not mean they cannot think as us. We should treat all enemies as equals, and equally as dangerous as us.”

“Are you saying these monsters are as strong as us?” Earindil marched over, and Nawen followed, staring down their sibling.

“It’s a bit foolish, even for you, Terion!” Nawen barked out. “How could you equate us to those mindless monsters?”

“If you go into battle with over-confidence, you will be blinded by your pride and not see that you have already lost.” Terion remained calm, despite the two challenging his statement. “I am simply pointing out that our enemies are not always the same. Some are drooling idiots, and others can use magic, as simple as it is.”

“I agree with uncl-…Lieutenant Terion. We should not dismiss the trolls as mindless monsters. I have seen them hound my pack through woods as best as any one of us to them.” Asgrend was sharpening his long dagger, listening to their bickering.

Rarandir nodded. “Then we will stick to simple. Simple works. Anything else to add? What of reinforcements?”

“Silvermoon said they will send aid, a few dozen swordsmen if needed.” Terion pulled out a scroll with the seal of the city on it. “The local lieutenant assured it.”

“Good. Send word back that we will need all the aide we can get." Terion nodded at this. "Report to your squads, inform them of the plans, and be ready to move out.” All of them stood, pounding their fist to their chests, and dismissed themselves.

“Oh, one more thing, Tiralid, your boy.” Tiralid stopped just before leaving the tent, as did As’Gren’Delur.

“What of Svenn’Varal?” As’Gren’Delur said with a questioning look.

“I said your father, not you…” Rarandir scolded. “Run along to your pack and tell them of the plans.” He raised his voice slightly. He thumped his fist on his chest and ran off, leaving Tiralid and their primarch in the tent.

“What of him, father?” The formalities were always gone when no one else was present. It was a family thing: When no one else was around, it was simply father and son, or daughter.

“I want this to be a special fight for him. See if you can’t kill their leader and bring me his spine. I want to make something for him. A gift to remember his first engagement with the trolls.”

Tiralid nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, father.”

****

Rarandir mused on the change of direction for a while. After several long moments, he spoke, loudly.

“Draconis Clan! Move out and advance to the east! We flank our enemies!” The clan members who were present grabbed their weapons and headed in the direction that was mentioned in a slow march. Many of the clan chose to either walk, or use horses, gifts from the humans. They proved to be much more reliable than the ‘chickens’ that they would normally use.

Svenn’Varal scampered after them, staff in hand. It was given to him by a Dalaran archmage, who told him it would amplify his fiery spells. This would be the first time he would get to use it in a real fight, his first one at that. He had, of course, used it on the targets and test dummies in the city, and they had given great results. After this, he had gone elsewhere to see what else he could get that would amplify his fire magic. As it turned out, he could get his clothes specially threaded for such things, as well as magic amulets and rings. He could only just afford the threading, so he got himself some special fire amplified clothing, including the robe he had specially modified for travel in the forests, which he wore even now.

A ranger had come up and told the gathering that the trolls were just over the ridge, and reported he had spotted their reinforcements.

“Good. Make contact as quietly as you can. Let them know we are at least here.”

“Yes, my lord!” He pounded his fist to his chest. Despite the fact they were all loyal to Quel’Thalas and to Silvermoon, those who were in the service to the Draconis answered to them as well. Whoever served under a Draconis was under their command, but Silvermoon always has the first word.

The gathered Draconis clanners set up their posts near the march of the trolls, setting up attack positions. Svenn'Varal's group was positioned over a cliff side looking over a vast forest and a valley, where the trolls were said to have been guided through. He was told to stick close to his cousin, Tundel, who had experience as a battle instructor.

“So what happens now?” Svenn’Varal was leaning against a rock, his staff clutched in his white knuckles. Tundel looked much calmer, pulling out something to snack on.

“Well,” He said in between chews, “When the order is given, we pick a target, and shoot at it. Then we will engage in close combat. Being as how you are a mage, I want you to stay up on the rocks for now. If you want, you can obviously come join us, but I mean, I don’t really train mages too much… I would think you guys need the range.”

Svenn’Varal nodded. “Yes… yes we do… I’ll, uh, give it some thought.” Tundel slapped his shoulder at that.

“Don’t be afraid to get that new sword of yours dirty boy. Wait... I see them, keep quiet!”

The air was tense. Some soldiers, those not belonging to the Draconis clan, were getting ready in the forests, silently pulling back arrows. As’Gren’Delur, being the senior rank of the archers, was the one who would give the attack order for their side, and then their primarch would give their ambush orders.

Trolls… Filthy beasts they were. Tall, blue brutes with tusks pouring out of their faces, always wearing scraps and fetishes and strange masks, poor excuses for clothing. The smell was horrible too, by the sun was it horrible! You could smell them long before you saw them. You could hear them long before that too. They were not subtle about very much, always stomping around and making all kinds of strange barbaric noises… And they always came in packs. This one was a large strike force. Their numbers signaled their intentions: the assault of a village.

As’Gren’Delur kept his eye locked on the troll at the very front of the group, ready to take him down. That was their signal: When he falls, they attack. And then it was up to Rarandir to decide the rest of the strike.

The trolls grunted and barked. The head of the pack made them stop, sniffing the air, looking around. He had some strange mask on his face, covering his grotesque features. Trolls… filthy beasts.

An arrow whistled by, and thunked onto the leaders mask. He didn’t seem to register the arrow at first ,and neither did his companions. They all examined it, and made some funny noises that was considered their language. Their guide finally collapsed backwards, and then chaos broke out. A silent rain of arrows flew from the forest; all that could be heard was the sounds of bow strings returning to rest, and arrows whistling in the air. Many trolls were dropped from the large attack group, and then the combat started. Axes were flying, trolls were rushing to their hiding positions, roaring and barking in their strange language. The warriors sent from the city were charging in from the front of the valley, swords drawn, attacking the trolls who chose to fight in close.

Svenn’Varal gripped his staff even tighter, hearing the groans of the dying, his blood pumping, ready for the call to be made. He was ready for his first fight, he told himself.

“Draconis Clan! Attack!” They all stood and fired their volley of arrows. Svenn’Varal was a bit late to join, as he stood, getting ready a fire spell that would wipe out a good chunk of the troll warriors. He was going to be their most important warrior! He told himself this, hoping to boost his confidence.

A blast of fire rained down on some retreating trolls, burning them alive. They flailed and moaned as they died, unsure of what had just happened. A few troll warriors turned and regarded the fire mage, and then began to throw their axes at him. A few of the axes flew passed his head, and Svenn’Varal nervously stepped out of their way, shouting as they passed him by. He was then tackled by Tundel, who had apparently been shouting for him to get to cover. More axes passed by as Tundel kept him on the ground.

“Stay down for a minute!” He grabbed his bow and shot a few arrows at the trolls who were throwing the projectiles. They suddenly stopped, and Tundel hauled his cousin to his feet, pointing at a group of struggling warriors.

“Them! Attack them! For the clan!” He slapped his arm a few times, trying his best to re assure his cousin.

“For the clan!” Svenn’Varal managed out, and ran up the rock, charging a single fire blast, mentally marking priority targets. A flame rocketed toward a troll about to finish off a Silvermoon warrior, and the troll cried out, screaming as he fell. The warrior didn’t have time to thank his savior, as another troll was upon him. The pyromancer threw flame after flame at the trolls assaulting their warriors, as his battle brothers engaged retreating trolls in close combat. Now the sound of arrows and fire was replaced by clashing axes and blades. The sound was phenomenal.

Tundel called out to his cousin. “Follow me, boy! We’re going in close!”

Svenn’Varal nodded stupidly, clutching his staff and chasing after him. They both slid down the rockface, ready to strike at anything that would approach them. They were going straight into the troll engagement. It was a nightmare down there: Axes and swords meeting one another, limbs being chopped off, heads flying. And Svenn’Varal was being dragged right into it.

A troll came charging out of the battle at him. Svenn’Varal panicked, lashing out with a cone of fire and falling onto his backside, burning him nicely into a charred and smoldering corpse. He summoned all of the courage he had, and picked himself up, standing on his two feet. He looked around at the chaos of battle. Tundel had gone to engage the trolls in close combat. It seemed that the Trolls, mostly, were falling, but the warriors sent from Silvermoon were beginning to fall as well. Draconis warriors, however, never fell.

Svenn’Varal knew he had to get into battle. He drew his sword, looking for something to burn, club, or slice in half. He wouldn’t have long to think, as a troll blind sighted him and smashed his fist into his head. Svenn’Varal fell onto his backside once again in a daze. The troll was upon him in an instance, roaring and snarling, axes ready to carve into the young mage. Svenn’Varal shut his eyes and flung his weapons out blindly, his sword biting into the trolls stomach deeply, and his staff clubbing the troll in the head, sending him flying over, his entrails decorating the battlefield, and blood coming out much like a carpet being rolled out. He knew he wouldn’t have much time before the troll put himself back together. He flung himself up and burnt the troll, much like his comrade before him.

He grabbed some blood that had gotten onto his uniform and threw it aside. It felt much like jelly, and was as thick as dog’s hair. He noted how disgusting it was, and how disgusting trolls were. Invigorated by his kill, he threw himself into the fight, slicing at trolls and throwing fire their way so as to stop their regeneration. It seemed like sending him to learn fire was not some simple strategy for the Draconis Clan: It had its purpose, to dispose of the troll threat.

After a few kills in, he ran into his cousin, who was shouting orders to some of his other family members. He waved at Svenn’Varal.

“Cousin! Come on over here! Stand with me, you’ll be just-” He was interrupted by a charging troll, who Tundel cut down easily, “-fine!”

Svenn’Varal gave a feral grin and joined him, happily cutting his way through the monstrous trolls and toward his relative. He spent most of his time burning the trolls alive, but he took a moment to watch his father and the clan primarch fight. It was like watching two dragons fighting: Graceful, but brutal. Heads and limbs went flying, followed by a chorus of screams and yells.

It was a strange chorus, but one he would find a strange sense of comfort in.

****

Svenn’Varal was put in charge of cleanup, burning any bodies that even so much as looked alive. There were others with torches, but he got most of the work due to his abilities. The smell was foul; nothing like burning troll to keep you alert.

His father strode by, not really moving over the corpses, but through them, their remains crumbling beneath his tread.

“Well done boy! It’s nice to see you still in one piece!” He grabbed Svenn’Varal into his famous gripping hug, hefting him off of his feet and dropping him back onto them hard. He slapped his shoulders. “Nice work you did on the trolls. I heard you even took a head!"

“Yes, I did. It will make a nice trophy on my wall next to the others.” He unwrapped the head from a bag on his hip and showed it to him. “I believe the markings mean he is important.”

“Hmmmm!” He looked at the head and mused musically. He knew full well the troll was not important, but he could not tell his son such. “Indeed he does! I bet he’s the right hand to the chieftain!”

“Really? Wow…” Svenn’Varal’s eyes lit up, and he smiled wider. He wrapped the head more carefully this time, to ensure nothing would break off.

Tiralid guided his son over to a log so they could discuss the days occurrences. Tiralid engrossed his son with tales of his fight that day, and how he stared a troll down face to face before gouging its eye out with his knife. Svenn’Varal simply sat, wide eyed and dazzled at his father’s heroism and bravery. As’Gren’Delur was off in the distance, discussing the next day’s task with his pack. He took some time from their conversation and looked back at his brother, offering a smile and a wave.

"How are your injuries boy?"

"Minor, but nothing I will not recover from." Svenn rubbed the top of his ear where it had been sliced off from a trolls axe, and fidgeted with a bandage around his head from the punch. “So what was your first battle really like, father?”

“Well, much like yours, son,” He put a fatherly arm around his shoulders. “I spent most of it on my ass, and being dragged around everywhere. Unlike you, though, it was the primarch who was doing the dragging.” He grinned.

“What about As’Gren’Delur's?”

“Ah, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“Were you not there?” He perked up an eyebrow, looking strangely at his brother.

“No, no, I was, but I feel that you should ask him instead of going through me, you know?”

He nodded. “Another time then, I think. He looks rather busy.”

“He’s always busy with those damned ranger duties…” His father growled quietly. Suddenly their primarch strode over, and Tiralid hauled his son onto his feet.

“Well done boys! Both of you! I’m very proud of your first fight, Svenn’Varal. I have a present for you!”

Svenn’Varal lit up again, and rushed over to his primarch. “Really?! What is it Gran-I mean, my lord?”

Rarandir laughed joyously. “No need for that primarch nonsense right now, boy. Here.” He pulled out a pouch and showed him something, kneeling down so he was at eye level with his grandson. “It’s a spinal bone from the trolls’ pack leader. I figured you could use it for that wild mane you call hair.” He pulled it out and showed it to him. It was freshly cleaned and polished, and it even had his name engraved in elven letters. Svenn’Varal took it gingerly, and simply stared at it.

“Is it safe to paint, grandfather?” Both Rarandir and Tiralid looked at one another, and then Rarandir spoke.

“I believe so, yes. What did you have in mind?”

“A lot of things. Maybe painting the clan colors on it. Thank you for this gift, my lord.”

Rarandir laughed and pulled him into a fierce hug. “What did I just tell you boy! Now give yer old grandfather a hug!” Many more of the clan that was there came over, congratulating and offering their praises to the young mage. As’Gren’Delur would be the last to do so, and in private, offering his brother a decorative sword, with the clan name engraved on the guard.

It was a fine gift for a fine battle.

[Alpharius]

This is what happens when you are at work with nothing to do: You write like a madman...


Somewhere in the deep woods of the Grizzly Hills, two blood elf brothers arm themselves to fight in an arena battle. They will face deadly Northrend bears, dwarven golems, furbolgs infected with madness, and previous orcish champions. Unfortunatley, the results of their arena fighting would be terrible…

Asgrend and Svenn were strapping on the last bits of their old arena armor. They had to break into old Alliance vaults that held them in order to retrieve their old armaments they had stored away long ago. Asgrend wore plates of medium to heavy armor, while Svenn wore light armor imbued with strands of magical fibers to enhance his fire spells. They were meant for his mage days, but he figured it would still translate well over to his darker abilities.

Both of the brothers were examining their armaments. Svenn was checking his many knives, a staff taken from the corpse of a blackrock warlock, and a gnomish sword, taken from a victory at the Icecrown arena. Asgrend had an axe at his hip and was also armed with many knives, as was clan tradition. He had not checked these, as he was busy sharpening his mighty spear that he had just gotten from service with the horde. The Horde had sent him on a mission to stop night elf patrols that were impeding the local lumber camp deliveries. Not only did he succeed in such, but he completely destroyed a makeshift camp that was setup nearby. For his success and over achievement he was rewarded with one of their pig sticker spears, usually given to high warlords, but such ranks were done away with.

“I can’t believe they just give these things away,” He commented while sharpening his new spear. “They said this weapon was reserved for the high warlord. Wonder why they don’t have one anymore.”

“Probably the same reason ogres aren’t with the new horde, brother.” Svenn had finished with his knives and was busying himself by warming himself up with some minor fire spells. They sat inside one of the metal huts, waiting for the call to come out when they had prepared the beast and were ready for competitors.

Asgrend sneered at the comment. “Funny.” He checked the spear, testing its weight and balance. “Bit off. I’ll have to add a counterweight near the end.”

“Horde weaponry imperfect, dear brother? And here I thought there was nothing the Horde could not do.” He grinned at him. Svenn held the same opinion of the Horde as Asgrend did, and they were fiercely loyal to their new leaders. That was the thing with Draconis clanners: They were loyal to those who could properly lead them, and thrall was just that orc who could.

“Even a good blacksmith makes a dud once in a while, Svenn.” He slung the spear around his back and began to pace, a habit he picked up from his time with the humans. He stopped and stamped his foot, making a small crater in the dirt. “Damn these orcs! How long does it take to setup an arena!? You’d swear they didn’t know how to catch a damned bear…”

“Easy, Asgrend. We’ll get in there soon enough. I told you, you should have hunted earlier.”

“Bah! If I had known it would take so long I would have.” Asgrend gripped at a knife out of reflex. The main problem with Draconis members is that they are fueled by violence. Some more than others. Every day was spent in either a hunt or a battle, rarely was there any idle time.

A horn blared and cheers were heard. A loud voice that sounded like a goblin boomed, “Orcs and non orcs! Please draw your attention to the arena! It’s a rare treat indeed! Two savage,” He used that word with heavy sarcasm, “blood elves are here to challenge our mightiest of prey, and our greatest of champions! They claim to live in the wilds of Northrend itself!” He paused, allowing for the crowd to respond. There were many who laughed, and some booed at the claim. The goblin continued.

“Please welcome our challengers!”

Asgrend looked as though he might test his spear on the goblin, and Svenn cooled his choler.

“Calm yourself… let’s just do this. We didn’t do these arena’s for the crowds favor, remember?”

Asgrend’s teeth began to grind. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He slapped his fist to his chest with a loud clang, put his knife back, and struted out, shouting.

“Bring on the bears!” He thrust his fists out as he paraded out, allowing the crowd to bask in his glory. The crowd responded by booing at the brothers. If Asgrend was displeased, he did now show it. Svenn grabbed his staff and followed behind. The seats were packed with many orcs and some trolls. Most looked like they were off duty guards or soldiers, and some looked to be travelers. Either way, they were not impressed by the display.

“You two! Into the arena with ya!” The goblin pointed into the maw of the battle cage. As they moved into their arena, they noticed it had been cleaned – if one could call it that – of the corpses and bloody meat that was seen previously.

“Well that was awful nice of them.” Svenn commented as he lifted his boot, examining what he stepped in. “I think I stepped in challenger.” Both he and his brother shared a grin and a deep laugh.

Their merriment was disrupted by the sound of a large cage clattering onto the arena entrance, followed by banging and roaring. It seemed that the arena master had ordered his goons to rile up the bear, so as to be more entertaining for the many members of the Horde watching the event. Asgrend immediately grabbed his spear and Svenn summoned his doom hound to his side, ready to fight whatever was in the cage.

“I was told our first fight was one of the Northrend bears.” The cage continued to rattle and the beast inside got louder. “But I’m not so sure anymore…”

“Relax brother, we’ll be-” He never got the chance to finish his statement, as the large beast broke the bars that held it back. The cage door went flying between the two, smacking Svenn’s doom hound in the face, stunning it temporarily.

“Damn, what the hell-!” Svenn was cut off once again as the beast flew forward with incredible speed. The bear was huge, at least the size of a human battle tank. Its black fur was matted with its own blood; signs of a previous struggle during its capture. The bear’s eyes glowed with an angry fury, merely intent on cleaving asunder whoever was in its path. The brothers had to roll to either side to avoid its furious charge, and the bear’s fury was focused on Svenn’s demon dog.

“No!” Svenn rallied dark magic to his side, his staff glowing a rich violet color. He shot a menacing fire attack at the bear, trying to save his companion. The bear’s backside lit on fire, and it roared, switching its focus to Svenn, pawing at the ground and gaining speed and momentum. Asgrend kneeled in front of his brother, his new metal spear held in front of him as Svenn lit the beast on fire, immolating him entirely. The bear stumbled and ran past Asgrend’s defense, smashing into a wall.

“Asgrend! Now! Get him!” Svenn was shouting and charging up another fire spell, his spear glowing brightly now, while Asgrend threw himself at the bear, thrusting the spear deep into the bears flesh, surrounding his weapon with ice and striking at the bears flesh. It roared and flailed, pulling Asgrend off the ground and to the other side of the arena. There was now a flaming bear with a spear in its side running around the great arena, bleeding and angered, and heading straight for Svenn. The warlock continued his fiery assault, igniting the immolation spell with a snap of his fingers, and the flame exploded into white hot pain. The bear just ignored this and raised its mighty paw, ready to swipe at Svenn.

The dark pyromancer rolled forward, gripping his gnomish blade and activating it with a flick from his thumb. It screamed to life and cut deep into the bear’s underbelly. The beast cried out in pain and fell on Svenn, trapping him underneath its weight as the sword merely bit deeper into the beast, ripping up its entrails. It grew dark for the warlock, both in sight and in mind.

This only stopped its advance momentarily. Asgrend reached out and pulled the bear toward him with his death grip, in an effort to try to rescue his brother. As the bear was rocketed toward Asgrend, Svenn’s sword was pulled from his hands. Asgrend drew the axe on his hip and assaulted the bear, coating the weapon in ice. He struck at his neck, the blade biting deep into the flesh. The bear’s fat acted as its own personal armor, and it swatted the undead warrior away.

“Not fire… not blade…!” Asgrend grunted, pulling himself up. “Not magic… not might! What can bring this beast down?!”

The answer came in the form of a demon. It had finally recovered from its daze; the doom hound lunged forward, biting deep into its hind leg, and tendrils assaulting its backside. The bear bellowed out its protests, and merely flung the demon off of his leg. It rounded on the demon, standing on its hind legs and falling onto the hound, swiping and mauling the warlock’s pet to death.

While it was busy mauling Svenn’s minion, Asgrend helped his brother recover.

“On your feet, boy! We’ve got a bear to kill.”

“Aye… let’s finish this!” Svenn retrieved his blade and squeezed the handle, the blade roaring to life. This drew the bears attention, and it began its slow advance, blood dripping from its underside and mouth. Svenn charged in blindly, swinging his sword at the beast.

“Svenn! No!” The death knight chased after him, axe in hand, ready to retrieve his spear from the beasts side. The bear stood on his hind legs, and with a speed they had not expected from this bear, it swiped at Svenns face. Svenn took a face full of bear claw, spinning around and landing hard onto the ground. All Svenn could manage was a grunt in reply.

Asgrend was stunned. He had never seen Svenn take such a strike. He ran as fast as he could and pulled the spear free from the bears side. It roared in pain, but it was too late: Its head was consumed by the giant spear coated with all manners of plague, finishing off the fight. Blood sprayed onto Asgrend, coating most of him with dark bear blood. He pulled the spear free and allowed the bear to fall in a heap of twitching, boiling mass of disease and death.

The silent crowd erupted into a gigantic cheer. Orcs and trolls alike left their seats, jumping in the air at the spectacle. Asgrend dropped his spear and immediately ran to Svenns aide.

“Svenn! Svenn’Varal! Talk to me! Say something!” He helped him up slightly. Two of his teeth were missing, and his face was covered in his own blood and dirt, gashing bear marks oozing blood onto his face.

“Me…medic…” Was all he was able to say. Asgrend hauled him into his arms, and looked around, shouting.

“We need aide! Now!”

The goblin was yelling out something, perhaps congratulations to the fighters, but Asgrend could not hear him. He was more worried for his brother’s well-being. An orc and troll rushed down the dirt ramp toward the pair, looking over Svenn. They had bands around their arms that signified they were medics

“We need ta take em, mon. He not doin so good.” The troll was the one to inspect the bleeding warlock, motioning to his face.

“I’ll take him to your medic tent.” Asgrend ran up the ramp, looking around.

“It’s over here!” The orc called out, motioning to the hut and running. Asgrend followed in their tracks, outpacing them easily. Another orc dressed in robes, perhaps a priest, was tending to some of the other warriors. He looked up and noticed the injured blood elf.

“Lay him down next to the big one; I’ll get to him when I can.”

Asgrend rounded on the orc. “You get to my brother now!” The orc would not be swayed, and snarled at him.

“Your kind does not give me orders, blood elf. Do well to remember that! Now lay him down there and I will get to him when I can!”

“He’s just been attacked by a bear! He’s bleeding out!” Asgrend gripped his brother in anger, and Svenn moaned in response. He looked down and apologized in their native tongue.

“And I’ve got soldiers here with deep sword wounds, arrows to the neck, and one who looks like he was poisoned by some kind of Scourge weapon. An animal attack is not my concern, especially when you recklessly engage in a silly arena fight! Lay him down there; the medics will keep him stable!” The orcs eyes seemed to glow, much like how Asgrend remembered in the second and third wars. He could do nothing but follow the orcs ordered, and placed him onto a mat.

“Don’t worry, little Svenn’Varal, they’re gonna help you.” Asgrend was at his side, stroking his hair. He coughed up blood.

“You’re using my real name… It must be bad, As’Gren’Delur.” They hardly called each other by their full names these days; the names seemed so foreign, so distant…

The medics had to shove the death knight aside so they could get to his bleeding sibling. A guard outside of the tent escorted him away from the medics.

“They need to work on your brother, so you will have to wait outside.” It was a female orc, something strange to see after most of the horde warriors were male. The death knight snorted.

“I don’t have to do anything! Let me through!” He tried to push his way through, but the female proved to be stronger than she looked.

“I can’t let you do that! You need to stay out of the way so they can work! Stay outside of the tent or I will have you escorted out of the base!” She had the same look as the orc inside the tent. All Asgrend could do was vocalize his protests with a grunt and string of swears. He marched off, leaving the orc guard to do the same.

****

After a few hours, some pats on the back from spectators, and a visit from the arena master about scheduling their next fight, Svenn emerged from the tent, his face mostly wrapped in bandages.

“They say I am going to need to replace my teeth.” He prodded the side of his face. “I told them I could probably get some metal teeth to replace the ones I lost. They offered to put them in for me, so…”

“Nevermind that. How is everything? How’s your head?” Asgrend marched closer to his sibling, fussing over his bandages.

“Get away!” Svenn swatted him back. “I’m fine; it’s nothing that I haven’t suffered before. You remember my burns.” Svenn looked around. “I thought father was going to be here?”

“I am.” Tiralid emerged from some dark corner of the world. “I saw the whole thing. I was impressed right up until the bear took half of your face.”

Svenn bristled, but it was Asgrend who spoke up. “I’m glad he’s alive too, father.”

“Do not take that tone with me! A bear, A BEAR, a silly little bear, almost took the life of one of my sons! You are getting soft! We need to start hunting more bears now.” He stared at his sons with a look of both worry and disappointment.

“He wasn’t little! The damn thing was as big as my boat!” Svenn managed it through his bandages, and groaned as pain took over.

“I saw the corpse. You are lucky you signed up your brother into the fight as well. What if he had declined? What if it was just you in there? You would be dead!” He motioned a head being cut off with a chop of his hand. “And not just dead! You would have been that bears meal!”

“Perhaps you should join us next time, father!" He glared at Tiralid, and the hair on the back of his fathers neck bristled. "If it was just me, I would have had a different strategy!” He groaned again, his face full of stabbing pain. He grunted and turned away, not willing to argue more.

“You know I would have come anyways even if he didn’t sign me up.” Asgrend patted his brothers shoulder gently, reassuring him that he was with him.

“That is not the point. You two are going to start hunting real prey again: Bears, roaming cougars, giant elk beasts, mega centaur-”

“Magnataur, father. I hear they are called magnataur.” Asgrend held up a finger, and Tiralid merely stared at him to silence him.

“That is not the point!”

“We already hunt those things father!” Asgrend stomped away from him toward the arena cage. “You saw how they riled up that monster! He was probably starved for days without food! We weren’t just dealing with some wild bear; we were dealing with a beast with nothing to lose!”

Tiralid’s choler rose, but he kept it in check. The dumb kid was right, he thought. That beast looked ready to even eat the cage. He sighed to himself, looking down and then back at the oldest son.

“Yes, you are right. He was a beast of a bear.” He marched over to Asgrend. “What are the damages?” He was talking about Svenn.

“Two missing teeth, something called a concussion, some broken ribs, and claw marks the size of your fingers, father.” The warrior sighed. “And I’ve just got some bruises and scratches on my face. It could have been a lot worse, you know.”

“So when do you next fight?” He turned his head to look at Asgrend. He raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think we are fighting at all?” Asgrend looked shocked that he would even ask such a thing. Tiralid scoffed and grunted.

“We are Draconis! We never give up a fight. I know you will return as soon as Svenn is healed and fight the next monster. So what do you face next?”

Asgrend took a moment to think, mostly about whether or not they would again fight, and on what was next.

“I believe we face a golem next. We should have no trouble taking that down; I have a lot of experience with them.”

Tiralid nodded. “Good. I will go find your brother and speak with him, and then you two can prepare for your next fight.”

[Alpharius]

After some serious writers block, I finally finished this...

After the fight with the great Arena bear, the blood elf warlock lay in a medical tent, drifting in and out of consiousness as he was treated for his wounds, and repaired over the course of many days, drifitng across many lands. This is an account of his relived memories.


He was thrown hard onto the grass. He groaned, rolling onto his side. He caught a glimpse of a courtyard outside of their families apartment in Silvermoon.

"That one's called the troll throw, little brother." As'Gren'Delur stood across from him, proud of his mighty toss. "Obviously it's a bit much for our kind, but it works wonders on a troll who's got the jump on you."

Svenn slowly got to his feet. He rubbed his backside, noting that the grass was not as soft as he once remembered it.

"You know, you could try tossing me a little closer to you when you teach me this." Svenn'Varal moved back to his brother..

Yes... yes I remember this. This is right after I got out from Dalaran. My brother forced me to learn those stupid survival techniques. I remember how much I hated him for those first few weeks. Felt like he was doing this on purpose.


"I gotta make it good, little brother! Now come here and I'll give you a step by step on how to do that. Now..." As'Gren'Delur guided Svenn step by step on their clans troll toss. Svenn'Varal struggled with it for many weeks, having mastered magic, not physical combat.

"Don't worry little brother, you'll get it. When you master it you can show father that you are not just some caster and will be worthy of fighting trolls!" As'Gren'Delur slapped his brothers shoulder. Svenn snarled.

"I -am- worthy of slaying trolls!" He forcifully removed As'Gren'Delur's hand from his shoulder and attempted the troll toss on him, but failed. Instead, his older brother countered it, and once again he was on his backside. As'Gren'Delur laughed.

"Almost little one! Almost! It will take time. I'm sure you didn't get fire magic on your first shot." Svenn shook his head, knowing he was right. It took him a while to master fire magic, but elves were patient: they had all the time in the world to learn such things.

****

"That bear did quite a number on him, but I think I've kept him stable." Svenn heard a voice somewhere, a gruff, brutish voice. An orc, perhaps.

"What are the damages?" That was Asgrend. Svenn still felt grumpy about being tossed around, but knew that was a very long time ago...

"Well, let's see..." Svenn could barely open his eyes, seeing only a green splotch. "Oh, it looks like he's coming around. Are you awake boy?" He felt a pat on his face, but could only groan. He wished they would leave him alone and let him rest... Or perhaps die. He felt like he was dying, anyways.

"He's coherent, but he is not exactly active. I wouldn't worry about that. Anyways, he suffered a concussion, his skull was fractured, he's got teeth missing, and his face was heavily damaged. You're lucky the bear missed his eyes, or he would have a real use for that eyepatch you two wear."

Missing eye...? But I need those... By Kael I'm tired, I think...

He drifted off again.

****

"You want to learn what?"

Svenn'Varal was very nervous about asking his parents this. He had seen his uncle practice magic a few years ago, and was amazed. That is what he wanted to do. He could recall it even now.

"Little Svenn'Varal, come here! I want to show you something I picked up in my travels." His uncle Haldamir had called him over into his tent. Svenn'Varal approached and sat next to him. His tent was lavished with many wonders of the outside world. Svenn'Varal had never left Quel'Thalas, he was forbidden to; But his uncle was an officer in the Silvermoon army. It was his job to go outside of Quel'Thalas from time to time.

His uncle held out his hand, and sparks, fire, and a bright light appeared from it. Svenn'Varal's eyes lit up.

"What was that?"

"This is magic. Some of the mages I have met taught me a little bit of it, enough to where I could defend myself a bit more than anyone in our clan."

"But..." Svenn'Varal was a bit confused, as no one in the clan would even think to take up magic. What they couldn't do with their bare hands was not worth doing. "No one in our clan knows magic, do they?"

"No, they don't. We are sheltered away from it. This will be our little secret, Little Svenn'Varal. My brothers, my sisters, even your father, does not know I know magic. Your grandfather knows, but he has promised to keep it a secret, for it was I who first showed him I could do it. I asked him not to let your uncles and aunts know."

"But why, uncle? Why not let them know you have such amazing abilities?"

"Well, I do not wish them to think lesser of me as a warrior and a commander. Our clan praises martial and physical prowess, not magical abilities. Do you understand?" Svenn nodded, but he already knew what he wanted to do, and he didn't care who knew.

After his eighteenth birthday, it would be time to choose what he wanted to do in the clan. Would he fight, would he be a scout? Would he be a warrior, or an archer? He chose a different path, as his parents were eating breakfast in their appartment, overlooking the glorious city of Silvermoon, he had approached them after his morning workouts with his older brother, As'Gren'Delur, with his request.

"You want to do what?" His mother had been the one to ask, as his father was slightly speechless.

"I want to practice magic, mother. I saw a... a friend do it. It was amazing mother!" He approached their table with excitement in his eyes. "He held out his hands and bright sparks and fire came out! It was like he commanded the world around him!"

"Well... why not train like your brother?" His father finally spoke, his brow deep with curiousity and question. "He has been studying and training hard for his ranger test, you know. They say he is sure to join their ranks. You know you could be a ranger as well and fight with your brother. Don't you want that?"

Svenn nodded. "I want to fight with him, but I want to train in magic as well!" He leaned on the table, much like he was studying a map. "I know I could be of great use to the clan if I were to learn such powers! The clan does not have something like mages, so why not give those trolls a shock when they see someone like me ruining their day! They'll expect to fight someone with... with a sword or something, but instead, POW!" He smacked his hand on the table, startling his parents. "Magic!"

Tiralid and Amebriclya looked at eachother warily. They both knew what the other was thinking, but the final decision was up to Tiralid, who sighed heavily, looking at his knees and then up at his wife, who defending Svenn'Varals decision.

"Oh, come on. Why not? I think it could be interesting. If he really wants to train in magic, then let's take a chance. The Draconis clan has plenty of warriors, we can spare one." She smiled and winked at her son. All Tiralid could do was sigh again.

"Very well. I will talk with a few people and see what we can do for your training." Svenn'Varal wanted to jump and shout, but that was not the Draconis way. "I know very little of magic, so this will take time to find you a school to train you."

Svenn'Varal bowed to his parents, then looked up and smiled. He ran out of the room to tell his older brother and uncle of the great news.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, my love?" Tiralid looked at his wife with great doubt in his heart.

"I think it's a great idea. If he wishes to pursue this, then we can only support him." She raised a small cup of tea to her mouth.

"We need all the warriors we can get, we can't just go up and send this boy to learn how to shoot silly lights from his hands... How long will this training take anyways? We know how long it takes to train one of ours. Two, three years max. Magic? Could take twenty! Thirty!"

"You worry too much. We have plenty of fighters. The clan will not miss one if they go off and train in whatever they like."

"But we have no control over the training!" He put his hand down hard. "I don't know if they are training him for war or training him for parties for those decadent elf houses we see parading around the squares. It's madness..."

I wonder if father regrets making me a magic user...

****

"Nrg... bastard..."

"Talking about me, little brother?" Asgrends voice again. Svenn was beginning to return to consiousness. He opened his eyes and saw the outline of his brother. His hair was down and he looked, well, dead.

"I miss the color in your skin." He reached out and brushed his hand on Asgrend's arm. Svenn couldn't believe he said that. He must have been so weary from his injuries that he was speaking like a madman. Asgrend could only laugh.

"You aren't the only one." He hovered over his little brother. "How is your head, little Svenn? Sounds like you are a little loopy."

Svenn groaned. "Ugh, no one has called me that in forever..." He raised a hand to his face and discovered bandages. "My head is on fire, and my mouth hurts." He tongued where the teeth were missing... "And I miss my teeth. How long have I been out?"

"Three days. Unfortunately we couldn't recover your teeth. The head orc medic suggests we get metal ones to replace them. He thinks the process should be relatively easy."

"Do it. Make the mold and get titanium for the teeth..."

"I know how to make metal, little brother." Svenn felt a hand pat his chest. It was probably his brothers. "You worry about resting. Father is getting some of the tuskarr to get a cart to bring you to their village, and from there they will aid us to get back to our camp."

Svenn nodded, and drifted off again.

****

There was an explosion off to his right. It was from one of the orcs numerous catapults. They were launching flaming rocks at them. Where they got the oil from, no one seemed to know. The explosions were pretty neat too. This was the latest technology that they seemed to have pulled out of thin air.

They were in a great green field, somewhere in southern Lordaeron. Probably Arathi or Alterac. There were orcs everywhere, along with some human and elf forces. He was here with his brother. He was always with his brother. There was a charge of footmen and knights meeting a cadre of orcs.


"To me! Rally to me! We'll take out their catapults and then weaken their forces!" He was able to call a few warriors to his side. Out in the distance, he could see his brother turning a few orcs into corpses. This gave him a confidence boost and he pressed forward, his staff glowing with power.

"Whaddya need?" A nearby footman barked out.

"I just need you to keep these damned orcs off of me while I get this spell ready! It's gonna be a doozey boys!" He grinned a feral grin, and the footmen made a defensive perimeter around him, shields held high.

He focused on his fire magic, drowning out the sounds of arrows flying past, of orcs being slain not ten feet from him. He was channeling a powerful fire spell that would knock out a catapult in one hit, making this fight a hell of a lot easier. His hands grew hot, as the flame grew in size. The grass nearby caught fire, and immediately burned to ash. Svenn knew it was now or never, and hurled it over his head, imitating the catapult that threw their rocks at them. It flew with raging fury, and slammed into the catapult, killing any around it, and destroying it completely. Splintered, flaming wood and metal flew in every direction. Cheers could be heard from footmen not fighting.

"Haha! That did it boys! Charge! For Lordaeron!" The footmen near him cheered the name of Lordaeron, and pressed their attack, running as fast as they could up the hill.

Something wasn't right, he told himself. It wasn't the battle, it was something in the air. The battle was going great, after that catapult being destroyed, all they had to worry about were those kodo and wolf riders, and they were easy pickings. Svenn could easily throw them off with a well placed fire strike. No... something was foul.

All Svenn could do was shrug it off and charge forward, burning and slicing orcs whenever they dared get close with the grace that all elves possessed, even those as savage and brutal as he. He saw a group of orcs advancing on his position. He held his hand out and the ground beneath them exploded into fire, burning the orcs alive. He grinned as they cried out in pain.

The orc numbers began to thin in their area, and their objective had been completed: They were to secure a small opening in the battlefield for the siege tanks to press forward and destroy the catapults that had taken position just outside of the field of combat, allowing the rest of the forces to push on to Silverpine to aid in destroying the Scourge. Their final destination was the city of Dalaran. The footmen nearby set up a perimeter, waiting for the siege tanks and their escorts.

An elven archer appeared with a scroll in his hand.

"Message from your father, pyromancer." The archer kneeled and offered it to him.

"Oh get up! I hate when people kneel to me. I am no ones lord." He snatched the letter from his hand and opened it, scanning its writings. The archer awkwardly stood up, looking at the mage. In the distance, explosions could be heard from mortars, and perhaps some siege tanks. Svenn looked up from the letter distractedly. They finally showed up...

"This is going to have to wait! Report back to Asgrend and tell him we are pushing forward and finishing this fight!" The archer dismissed himself and took off in a run. Most of the fighting was now taking place a few hundred feet in front of him. He waved his staff up, hailing the head of the escort party with the siege tanks.

"Bout damn time you showed up! Where is Ironcliff?" The knight grunted at Svenn and pointed to the lead tank with his sword. Svenn passed right by him without so much as a ‘thanks’ and moved forward to the waiting tanks. They rumbled and stopped with a hiss. He recognized the lead tank that belongs to Burmey Ironcliff. The pyromancer climbed up to what he assumed was where they sat and banged on the front of the tank.

"Ironcliff! Hey!" The dwarf popped up from a different area, and shouted some vulgar things at Svenn, but he ignored them. He climbed up toward where the siege driver was and briefed him on the situation, making himself comfortable on top of his tank, pulling out a bottle and some rations to munch on. This slightly irritated Ironcliff, as Svenn was getting crumbs on his tank.

"Ye want us ta go throug dat peedy passage thar?" The dwarf pointed toward their suggested entry point. Svenn shrugged.

"That's what they told me. Escort you guys over and you destroy their catapults. Their doing a number on our forces, and sending you straight through the middle is suicide."

"Well how dunne send ye ta do it? Dinnae jus see ya take one ot yerelf? Sent it up in a nice explosion ya did!"

"Those are OUR orders, Ironcliff! You gotta follow them just the same as I!" He poked the siegetanks hull to emphasize his point.

"How aboot we blaw up te path a wee? make it wider fur or tanks?"

"No time, and the explosion would just draw unneeded attention to our little plan." The pyromancer saw the look on the dwarves face. He clearly did not like this plan. Svenn patted the tank. "Don't worry, buddy! Your tank will be just fine! I promise the little rocks wont scratch up the paint job." He grinned and hopped off. Ironcliff shouted another string of profanities and slammed the hatch shut.

"Pyromancer Svenn! Their group leader is just over that ridge!" A footman ran to him and pointed toward a gathering of orcs that were nearby, easily killing their men. The one in the center was definitely this groups leader: He had a banner on his back of the Shattered Hand clan, gruesome beasts that apparently practiced self mutilation. This one had a large axe head on his hand, several metal rods through his nose and ear, and some other odds and ends poking out of his arms. He was cleaving his way through the human warriors.

"Get Sergeant Helgrum over here! We need to rally some knights and riflemen to push that position and get them away from our tanks!" The footman retreated back to their lines. Svenn charged over the hill and began his barrage of flame attacks at the group. They had turned their attention to him, and their leader grunted something unintelligent, and sent two orcs barreling his way. The riflemen Svenn had asked for had finally shown up, guns up and at the ready. One of them shouted that his rifle was locked and loaded. The rifleman blasted a chunk out of the orcs chest with a fine shot of his rifle.

I... I remember this part. it was like a nightmare.

The sky grew dark suddenly. It grew silent. All gave pause to this new phenomenon. The clouds had suddenly gathered above them. Was this another Scourge trick? Was this a repeat of the events at Quel'Thalas? He was still recovering from that. They had not only lost their capital, but their own home. The aparment that he had grown up in, the courtyard that he and Asgrend had trained, were up in flames, infested by undead abominations. He remembered the rage he felt, that his brother shared, and then he remembered being suddenly surrounded by more fire and corpses. Apparently they had shared an extreme fit of rage, blacked out, and killed those near their old home.

"The sky is on fire!" A knight pointed into the sky. Green rocks began to fall from the sky and pound into the earth. Svenn tried to rally the men after witnessing such a strange phenomenon.

"Warriors of Lordaeron! Hear my words! Hold fast against this new trick of the Scourge! Do not let it falter your reserve! You fight with the memory of the king behind you! Do not let him down!" He held his staff up, but even as he spoke the words, his reserve began to fade. One of the flaming asteroids crashed nearby. A great flaming hand reached up from under the crater, and then another. The great thing rose from its crater and revealed itself. It was twice, maybe three times the size of an orc. It towered over everything. It surveyed the area around it, and then it struck. It backhanded the knight, and both horse and warrior went flying, dead on impact. It crushed a nearby orc with a pound of its fist, most likely sending the orc into the earth. Footmen and other warriors scattered at the sight of the new foe. Those who did not run stood their ground, as wary as Svenn. The riflemen near him opened fire on the rock, blasting it, but they only managed to blast away rock, and did little to impede his path.

It would be Svenn to land the first good strike. He charged up a fire spell, and with a shout, hurled it at the great beast. It struck home, blasting a crater into what was assumed to be a chest, but all it managed to do was draw its attention toward Svenn. The thing charged right for him, and many knights and footmen gave their lives simply to try to bring this thing down. It swatted away footmen, and those it did not simply cast aside, it pounded into the dirt. Svenn was left with no choice: He had to order a tactical retreat.

He turned tail and ran as fast as he could. He knew it was right on his heels. He managed a good look around the area, and saw that other flaming golem monsters were in the battlefield. They littered the place. They were engaged in battles with all of their forces: Knights, riflemen, and footmen. It was the siege tanks that seemed to be doing the most damage, bringing down the nightmare creatures with a solid shot in the chest. He did not see any other elven forces nearby. He began hearing the familiar sounds of dwarven mortar teams, their shells flying into the air. They landed into the dirt with an explosion, and even managed to hit one of the flaming rock monsters.

It managed to catch up with him and knocked him off his feet with a flick of its hand. Svenn was sent vaulting forward, and hit the ground with a hard thud, but managed to roll and catch himself. He turned to face it. It was like staring the gatekeeper of hell right in the face. The pyromancer held his staff in a white knuckle grip, and summoned what he called the dragons breath: A cone of fire enflamed the great flaming hatred, and it staggered back at the sudden attack. His flames mixed in with the golems own fire in swirling flurry of color and calamity. It managed to recover, and swung its great fist at Svenn, sending Svenn flying into the air, and crashing into a knight, knocking him out cold.

****

Svenn woke with a start. He was alone in his hut. He blinked, clearing his vision. The blood elf rubbed his head, trying to get used to the pain, but instead dwelled on the dreams he was having of his memories. He held his hand out and summoned a bit of fire. This fel fire was very different from his arcane fire. It was a different color, and shape even. He extinguished it and tried to make his way outside, grabbing an old staff as an aid to help him get around.

Svenn pushed the long drape aside, the only thing separating his hut from the elements. He was greeted by the familiar site of the dragons cold valley, or Dragons Blight, according to the horde. It was still, with hardly any animal movement. The frozen lake greeted him with the familiar shine it usually held. The sun was shining, the snow was untouched, and the camps fire was roaring with some freshly killed beast on a spit. His father was tending to it, but turned his attention to his son, having heard the commotion in his hut.

"How are you feeling, boy?" He moved over to him, practically towering over him. He guided him to a seat in front of the split.

"Well," Svenn slowly sat onto the stool. "I feel like I was attacked by a bear, that's how." His father chuckled.

"You sort of were, if you remember." Tiralid grabbed another stool, a crude wooden contraption, and sat next to him. "I want you to take it easy for the next few weeks. Asgrend is out getting some materials ready for your new teeth. We'll take you to Orgrimmar and have them put in. Sound good?" All Svenn could do was nod.

Three days later, Asgrend returned with some materials and began the process of forging Svenns new teeth. He had the mold ready, but would have to travel to Orgrimmar to finish the rest of the process. Neither of them ever had to make teeth. A jaw, sure, but not teeth. They made for orgrimmar that next morning to have his new teeth installed, going first to the blacksmith, and then to the local surgeons.

Svenn sat on a surgeons table, waiting for whoever it was to operate on him. A green orc came into the area, teeth in hand and troll at his heels. The troll wore a mask he knew signified him as a witch doctor.

"Alright now, this won’t hurt a bit. We're going to have the witch doctor here put you to sleep so you don't squirm unnesessarily and make it difficult for us. You ready?"

Svenn didn't like the idea of having a troll help work on his mouth, but what choice did he have? He nodded.

"Nah dun worreh bout a ting, ya won even no ah wus ere!" The witch doctor cackled and gave Svenn a strange potion to drink. The orc laid him onto the table, and he drifted out of reality.

"Scalpel."

****

"Check that crater! If anything twitches, tell a mage and have them burn it!" Svenn marched around, checking corpses to see if anything moved. A partol had walked by and he shared information with them, making sure that both inside and outside of the area was safe for human forces and their allies.

"Make sure it's safe. We've got the Dark Portal ceremony in twenty minutes. The General is going to make a nice big speech and then he's off to wherever the hell that portal leads..." He stared back at the vibrating purple mass. "Can't be anywhere good if orcs come from it..."


I remember it like it was yesterday. I had grabbed a few of the human mages and some of the paladins had decided to tag along to protect us from any daemons who wanted to sneak up on us. We were just making sure that the orcs and trolls who we had slain were dead. General Alleria wanted the area cleared for their forces that were to enter the dark portal. Among them were to be almost all of my clan, except for the four of us.

The four of us...


The footman slammed a fist into his chest and he marched off with his patrol squad. Svenn stood around, with really nothing to do but bark at footmen and tell them what to do. He stared at the dark portal for a long time. Nearly all of his family was going through, except the four of them.

Mother...

“Svenn! Oi! Svenn!” Asgrend, the name the humans had given him, was marching over with his pack in tow. “Seen father?”

Svenn shook his head.

“Yeah I haven’t seen him either. Probably busy with our lord primarch.” Asgrend caught Svenn’s look. “What’s wrong little brother?”

He pointed to the portal. “Asgrend, our entire clan but us is going through there. Is this some kind of punishment or-”

“Svenn you know better than that!” Asgrend cut him off and clipped his long ear. “They need us to stay behind so we can keep a proper representation of the clan. Father is even being made temporary primarch.”

Svenn immediately perked up at that. “Really?”

Asgrend nodded. The fact that their father was going to be primarch meant only one thing: He had been chosen because he was the best out of all the brothers and sisters. The best tactician, the most disiplined, the best fighter. He had all the right traits of his father.

After a long, and according to Svenn, boring speech from General Turalyon, the Draconis were allowed time to hold their own ceremony. There, Tiralid was granted the title of primarch, and was given the primarch own facemask, which he wore during combat. Tiralid had it put on by his own father, and he bowed deeply afterwards.

Svenn ran to his father, much like a child would when seeing their father for the first time in many months.

“So how long are your primarch?”

“Until they come back, Svenn.” Tiralid dropped down to his knee to get to eye level with his son. “They’ll be back before you know it.”

“What if something happens!? What if the portal closes? I don’t think Dalaran knows much about portals...” He continued to ramble on, and Tiralid had to stop him with a hand.

“Svenn’Varal, Svenn’Varal, you worry too much!” He offered a smile. “They’ll be back in two years tops. I promise.” His father had yet to call him by his new human name. It seemed only the two brothers were calling one another that.

But they never did, did they father? Where did mother go? Did she go looking for them? Is she ever coming back?

****

His mouth hurt. It felt like someone had driven metal spikes into his face and never took them out. He was, once again, drifting between consious and unconsiousness.

"Wakey wakey little elfy!" He felt a hand pat the side of his face that didn't feel like it was on fire. He wanted to punch whoever it was that was patting him, but he did not have the strength. "Well, I'm amazed. He survived the surgery. Guess this one is a bit tougher than his other string bean kin. Hurhur!"

Svenn groaned. "Someone give me a knife..."

"Why do you need a knife?" It was the same voice from earlier.

"So I can silence you."

"Well thats a fine thank you to your surgeon! Not like I spent four hours fixing up your face! You're welcome by the way!" He heard the sound of someone getting up and leaving. "He's all yours." He heard a grunt. He wasn't sure if it was Asgrends or the orcs.

"You awake?" It was Asgrend. He hadn't even opened his eyes. He was too tired to do so. That potion zapped all the energy out of him.

"I will be soon, I think."

"Well, take as much time as you need. We're ready to take you back home when you are."

"We?" Svenn finally opened his eyes and examined the fuzzy world around him. He recognized all the outlines of Orgrimmar, but not the details. He saw the fuzzy outline of what was Asgrend, and the familiar blue glow of his eyes.

"Father is here. He is off getting us a ride to the docks. I can't exactly see you walking there."

"Yeah, not really. More sleep would be nice, but the nightmares are kind of weird."

Asgrend was silent for a while. He remembered about his brothers previous nightmares, but they had been influenced by a Burning Legion agent. He finally replied.

"What do you dream of, little brother?"

Svenn did not reply, but drifted back to sleep. There were no more nightmares this time. He merely slept. It was all he could do in the past two weeks.

The cold would wake him, and he found himself in his hut. His head throbbed, probably from whatever they force fed him at Orgrimmar, and perhaps from all the sleeping he had done. He got out of his cot much easier this time, only needing his staff to keep him steady. Svenn wobbled out of his hut and saw his father waiting for him once again. The familiar frozen lake and protruding bones greeted him once again. Home. It was good to be home.

"Where is Asgrend?" He squinted, the sun a bit brighter than he remembered it.

"He is off hunting. How do you feel?" Tiralid went to asisst his son, but Svenn held up a hand to rejected it. He was injured, not old.

"You don't want to know..." He groaned as he took a seat. "How long was I out?"

"Few days." Tiralid shrugged. "Nothing serious though. Bet you're starving."

"Yeah... say, father... Do you...?" Svenn thought long and hard about his question, but he shook his head.

"Nevermind, it is not my place."

Tiralid smiled under his mask. "Son, clan ediquitte has long since vanished, you can ask me anything."

Svenn hesitated, unsure of how to word it properly. He went for the obvious route instead.

"Do you regret sending me to learn magic?"

Tiralid, as usual, was unreadable. He shifted in his stool and looked off into the great expanse of the cold valley, instead of looking Svenn in the eye.

"At first I did, yes. But when I saw you fight in a few battles, I knew letting you go was the right decision. I think it made you into a better person, than had I forced you to become a ranger like Asgrend. Remember we never forced you two to do anything, and let you chose your own paths. You are actually the first Draconis who openly practiced magic. We shun it, seeing it as an art for the weak. But seeing how you used it in war was like watching Asgrend or even my father wield a sword or bow." He gave a simple shrug.

"Actually, uncle knew magic as well. Uncle Haldamir, I mean."

Tiralid snapped his gaze over at Svenn, perhaps to check to see if he was telling the truth. He pulled his mask down and leaned forward to get a better look at Svenn, and then he threw his head back in a loud, long laugh. Perhaps in disbelieve, or perhaps he couldn't believe it.

[Alpharius]

Part one of "How the hell did I survive that?" A biography of how the brothers of Draconis survived the Cataclysm. Part two will be shorter, and I need to get some stuff run by a GM or two. Depending on what happens, it'll be written, or not, and this little message will be edited.

Deep in the jungles of Stranglethorn, two brothers are conversing and marching to Grom'gol base to finish their hunt and collect their bounty. They have spent the last week in the jungle, merely to get away from it all.

Svenn cut away at a random vine in his way with his sword. The jungle was alive and well that day, echoing with sounds of the jungle. The distant tiger roar, loud insects, and ape creatures making sure that all around knew who was in charge of the area. It was in the middle of the day, hot as usual. Svenn was sweating up a storm, and had removed much of his armor. Asgrend didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all, being a death knight. The pair clambered over a fallen tree, and continued their earlier conversation.

“I just think she sounds a little off, Svenn.” Asgrend swatted at a rogue vine that had caught on his boot. “She sounds like the girl who would cut your balls off if you looked at her wrong.”

Svenn shrugged. “I don’t see it like that. I dunno I just think it could work.” He followed the hill around to a nearby path that would take them straight to the camp. “I feel something special in this human.”

“Let’s just stop right there.” Asgrend stopped his brother by swatting his hand on his brother’s chest. “Human, Svenn, HU-MAN. She's an ooman, dear brother. Do you know how incompetent, ridiculous, idiotic, racist, foolish, self cen-“

Svenn held up a hand. “Thank you, Asgrend. Yes. I know. But, Brother.” He held his hands up to his chest, motioning to size of the womans bosom. “You should see her.”

Asgrend’s eyes followed his brothers hand gesture. He grinned, looking up and nodding. “Jackpot…” Svenn nodded his agreement.

“Jackpot.”

The brothers continued to walk, making their way on the path and cutting away at any vegetation that had overstepped its boundaries on the path that the Horde had claimed. The music of the jungle had suddenly ceased. All had gone quiet. The brothers looked at one another, and reached for their weapons, slowly drawing them.

“Must be a predator nearby.”

“What, besides us?” Svenn smirked. “What could possibly be scarier than us?”

Asgrend grunted. “Don’t be stupid. You know the jungle has their heirarchy. We’re not a member of it. It must be one of those raptors.”

Asgrend scanned the area, checking for any odd movement. Svenn did the same, readying his staff. Suddenly, there was a bellow. It was a metallic whine, but at the same time it was a roar. The sound was like a grinding metal door protesting at being opened, combined with the loud bellow of a lion. It grew darker, despite the fact that it was just after noon. Both of the brothers froze, and then turned to one another.

“It can’t…” Asgrend started.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” Svenn scanned the full area of it, turning as he did. “It isn’t. He’s dead.” He was skeptical, but that sound could only come from one thing.

The metallic roar ripped through all sound. Creatures that were in hiding scattered immediately. Birds flew away, eager to get as far as possible from the sound, a sound that could only be made by one creature.

It was the beast that plagued the alliance near the end of the second war. The orcs had apparently made a deal with a dragon, or something, because dragons began claiming the skies where the old Alliance armies walked. At their head was a beast with a metal mask. When he spoke, all listened, and he spoke with a metallic breath that sounded like it came from another world.

Asgrend collected himself immediately, kicking in old habits that had not been used in over fifteen years. He grabbed his brother. “Come on, dear brother, we have to go! We have to execute plan Dark Skies.”

Svenn looked at his brother. “No, no no no…!” He shook his head many times. “Anything but that place! Kael help me, anything but there!”

Asgrend jostled his younger brother. “We have to! Father came up with the plan, and it is still clan law.”

Svenn moaned in horror. “I would rather face this thing on my own then go back to that place!” He didn’t have time to try to fight the winged demon, as Asgrend grabbed him and guided him to their destination, sprinting north, following the path. They had no choice, they had to retreat.

****

Plan Dark Skies was an emergency contingency plan, which states that had anyone of the Draconis Clan become separated from their allied forces, and that if the great dragon known as Deathwing attacked, they were to retreat to Silvermoon to defend the homeland, and wait for further orders.

Deathwing.

His very name sends shivers down the clans spine. Those clanners behind the dark portal who faced him and survived suffered from nightmares. Some even abandoned their camps and wandered Draenor. Anything to get away from that thing. Those in Azeroth remember the destruction he caused. It seemed wherever he went, the skies turned black, hense the name Dark Skies.

Whatever the reason for his return, he was back, and in their area.

****

Asgrend and Svenn ran faster than they thought they could. They barreled through bushes, vaulted over logs, jumped through and in trees. Whatever it took to get out of that immediate area. They had just gotten to the Gurubashi Arena when they heard a strange sound: It was quiet at first, but then it quickly grew to a loud roar, but not from Deathwing. They shared a glance. Svenn was panting heavily, but Asgrend didn’t even seem bothered by the running.

Damn death knights He thought. The roar got louder, and a wall of water answered their question, rushing toward them. They both turned on their heels and sprinted toward the Arena.

“Climb! Get up to the highest point!” Asgrend pointed to the Arena. They ran straight through the entrance and to the seating areas, and began scurrying up as high as they could get. Luckily, at the time, no one was there. Water immediately flooded the area like an arrow leaving a bow. The sound was tremendously loud. It brought with it much debree from the forest, almost knocking Svenn from his climbing position. Most of it seemed to go straight into the fighting pit itself, but that didn’t stop it from kicking up debree and launching it at the two climbers. Lumber from Booty Bay was launched as if from a catapult. The water level continued to rise. They reached the highest point of the arena, and it seemed that the water finally stopped rising. It settled into an eerie pool, debree and parts from trees noticeably floating in the water. A quiet settled upon the area. The brothers regrouped, and looked around the area.

“Seems like Deathwing is a lot stronger than he was in the second war.” Asgrend said, observing the area. Svenn nodded.

“Agreed. Someone must have super charged him.” Svenn pointed, observing the damages. “I’d hate to see the damages to the Bay.”

“Or our boat, dear brother.”

Asgrend was looking around for something they could use as a makeshift raft or boat. As fate would have it, be it good or bad, parts of their boat were seen floating toward them. Svenn groaned, and Asgrend held a hand to his face. This was the boat that Svenn himself had spent many years building. The younger brother dropped to his knees in disbelief.

“Unbelievable…” He rubbed his face, refusing to believe what he was looking at.

“Come on, dear brother. We need to paddle to dry land and get to Silvermoon as fast as we can.” They jumped into the water and grabbed onto the largest part of their boat that was useable. As unstable and useless of a water craft as a hunk of wood was, it would have to do. They each grabbed a wood plank and hauled themselves up, using the wooden planks as oars and rowed themselves out. Once out of the arena, they got a good look at the damages the flood had caused. Much of the land had flooded. The trees that had survived uprooting acting as buoys in the new river. Although it appeared that not much damage was done, and the water level was lowering, slowly, there were still corpses in the water.

“Sucks.” Was all Svenn could manage, and continued paddling north.

They eventually found an area that was much higher than the rest, and therefore untouched by the flood. They abandoned their raft and swam to shore, continuing their sprint north. Just as soon as they left, it seemed that Deathwing was coming in for another go at the area. It looked like he might have been trying to attack Grom’gol, which was in eye sight of their location, but it didn’t seem to matter where he was aiming at: the things goal was maximum damage. He flapped his mighty wings of fire, and the landscape shuttered.

The ground beneath them was beginning to collapse. It might have been too early to say the area was untouched by the tidal wave: The ground looked as though it was given a recent soaking, and ready to collapse on itself. All it needed was a push, one Deathwing was happy to give.

“Run!” Asgrend shouted, running for the nearest solid base to stand on. Rocks were jutting up, and the pair were having to jump and climb over them. The earth appeared to first be rising, and then falling, and then sinking. As he continued to flap his wings, the more the earth showed its protests. The winged monster then took in a deep breath, and spit out a flaming missile where the earth was beginning to collapse. A great explosion followed, rocks and dust kicking up high in the air, like an exploding volcano. The ground that was once shaking and erupting rocks was now a crater, with water rushing into it. The pair were flung in the opposite direction of the explosion, with Svenn smacking into a tree, and Asgrend flying into the river.

****

Asgrend recovered himself from the river, being swept far away from his original location. He found himself on the shore of lake Nazferiti, near the lumber mill. It looked abandoned, but untouched from the flood. He recovered himself and ran toward where Svenn was, hoping to at least find a body to bury at the worst. After a few moments, he arrived at the sinkhole. The area was clearly a mess, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He had to find Svenn. He looked around the edges of the sink hole, hoping that maybe he didn’t fall into the now growing whirlpool. Svenn, to Asgrend’s relief, was found face up near a tree, apparently unconscious. He didn’t have time to be unconscious, so he began violently shaking him awake.

Svenn roused after a few shakes, and grabbed Asgrend’s arms. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” While it was unsure if he still felt emotions or not, Asgrend embraced Svenn, nearly crushing him.

“It’s… good to see you… too!” Svenn barely managed out. “You’re… crushing… me!” Asgrend let go, grinning at his younger sibling.

“That thing…” Svenn managed out. “Is no dragon.”

Asgrend tilted his head. “If not dragon, then what is it?”

“A devil, like in the stories the clan used to tell, Asgrend. You remember them, don’t you?”

Asgrend nodded. Before the discovery of demons, the clan used to tell stories of creatures dubbed ‘devils.’ They were nothing extravagant like demons, usually just winged, hairless, or paler creatures that one would find in the wild. They were the equivalent of demons, of course, but they were always blown out of proportion.

“At least this tree broke your fall!" Asgrend slapped the tree behind Svenn. "Come on, there’s no telling where Deathwing is. We need to get the hell out of here.” Svenn nodded his compliance, and was hauled to his feet. While Svenn probably suffered a concussion, or had broken some kind of bone, or suffered from even more burns, they had to get to the city as soon as possible.

****

It would only take a few days to reach the plaguelands, and then reach the area where the gates of Quel’Thalas once stood. Neither had been back since their trip to Northrend. To neither one’s surprise, absolutely nothing was different. It was typical of the elves to sit on their hands and do nothing. The southern region of Quel’Thelas was still decayed and overrun with undead, but the northern region was in perfect condition. The eastern city was perfect, but the western half of the city was still populated by corrupted fel elves, and constructs out of control.

“Leave it to decadent elves to do absolutely nothing about their homeland.” Asgrend roared in the town square of Tranquillen. Some bloody ichor ran down his nose, and he wiped it away with his armored glove. Some of the blood elves there looked at them in disgust and an officer seemed ready to speak her protests, but Asgrend dismissed her with a glare, for the brothers cared little for their petty words. Their clan was a group of action, not of words and meetings and houses, whose nobles cared little for the woes of Silvermoon or Quel’Thalas, or its citizens. The pair had not forgotten the way the blood elves treated their clan after coming back from the second war: Just because a common enemy had returned, does not mean old hatreds would be forgiven.


“I would have called in druids to come help. Damn the elves, someone would have come help repair the landscape.” Svenn commented, sneering at the black and gray landscape.

“We need to find Lieutenant Legam’bor and report to him.” Said Asgrend.

“Do you think he will still be working for the Farstriders?” Svenn turned to him.

“Are you kidding? No one could get him out of there, even if a troll took his legs. He’s a good friend of the clan. He is the perfect resource.”

Svenn nodded his agreement. After a long march, they found themselves at the front gate of Silvermoon. While the forest had been in a relative calm, the front was quite busy; apparently they were already sent word of the dragons return. The pair stalled, having not been inside for quite some time, and having no real desire to return. The fact of the matter is that they needed to get in there, as clan law dictated.

A guard must have thought the two suspicious, for he approached the siblings with interrogation in mind.

“Halt! You two look suspicious, what do you want!?”

Asgrend was about ready to cut his head off, but Svenn stayed his hand, for he sensed exactly what type of reaction his older sibling had. “We’re here to see Lieutenant Legam’bor, of the Farstriders, with news.”

“What sort of news?” The guard raised an eyebrow.

“Listen here, bub!” Asgrend barked out, ready to kill the guard. “We’re of the Draconis Clan! We are sons of Tiralid Draconis, son of Rarandir Draconis, primarch of the Draconis Clan! We were born and raised here, and we demand entrance! You cannot deny us entry! Now we’re going in, and if you stop us, I’ll cut your head off, and he’ll burn it!” His nose began to run with dead blood.

The guard looked as though he’d arrest them, readying his weapon, but Svenn worked his diplomatic tongue again. “What he means is…” He blocked Asgrend from going any farther. “We were just attacked by Deathwing… and we’re a bit stressed, as you can see.”

The guard lowered his double bladed weapon with a nod. “Well, that’s understandable. I’d be a bit irritable myself if a dragon had nearly burned me alive … Go on in then.”

Asgrend grunted at the guard, glaring at him the whole time, and Svenn merely nodded. Asgrend once again wiped the ichoric blood from his nose.

“While I share your sentiments, brother, plan Dark Skies does not call for decapitating the guards.” Svenn tried his best to quell his older brothers rage, but it didn’t quite seem to work.

“Bastard should know who we are; after all we’ve done for this shit hole.” He spat the last few words at a Silvermoon citizen, who just barked something in Thalassian. They navigated themselves to the Farstriders area, which was bustling with troops ready to protect the city and engage any enemies.

“Do you see the current ranger general anywhere? You’d think he’d be here for something like this.” Svenn was looking around. Asgrend sneered.

“Probably hiding in some hole, discussing about having a meeting about attacking…” He growled out, looking quite irritable for being back in the city. It looked like his nose might bleed again. Svenn felt exactly the same, but tried to keep his head on the mission. “We need to find Lieutenant Legam’bor-“ He was cut off by a blonde blood elf in full battle gear.

“You the new recruits then!? Good! Get in line over there… Oh wait, looks like we got a deader and a magician. Look, you need to report to-“

“We are not here to defend the city.” Asgrend growled once again. “We are here because of plan Dark Skies.”

The Lieutenant cocked his head, confused. He looked like he might call some guards to have them removed, but it seemed the coin dropped, and he double timed it over to the siblings.

“By Lor’Themar, is it you, boys!?” He put a hand on each of the brothers shoulders. “It’s good to see you two! How’s your Father and the rest of the clan?”

“We can discuss such things later. As you already know, Deathwing is back, and we’re here seeking help and information.”

Legam’bor nodded. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Well, rumor is all of Azeroth is falling apart at the seams from his return. We have no idea where he came from, why he is here, or where he is going. All we know is that he came back, and a lot of strange things are happening. Have you two anything to report?”

Asgrend nodded. “Most of Stranglethorn jungle is destroyed.” He growled again, in thought, recalling the event. “There’s a big hole in the middle of it. Deathwing was up in the air, flapping his wings, and then he breathed fire at us. It seems that the badlands has also suffered major damage. There was a glowing trench cutting across as far as either of us could see.” He mused more. “…Wetlands looks to be a bit more flooded than usual… We don’t know the damages to the undead lands, we passed right through to the hinterlands and the plaguelands to get here.”

Legam’bor continued to nod while he was briefed on their intel. “That’s good info, boys. I’ll pass that along to our troops and see what can be done. It’s really good to see you two.”

“I need a boat, I’m going to get father and bring him here.” Svenn looked to Legam’bor, hoping he could give something.

“Doesn’t plan Dark Skies say that first priority is to protect the Primarch?” Legam’bor raised his eyebrow, clearly not realizing what’s happened in the last fifteen years.

“He is the primarch.”

The Lieutenant nodded slowly. “Uh huh… well I can see about procuring you a small skiff, should get you there in six hours…” Despite that, he was still confused about it all.

“Great, I’m leaving immediately.”

Asgrend turned to face his brother. “Be careful, there is no telling the damages to Northrend, if the damages we have seen are anything to go by.”

Svenn nodded. “I can handle it.”

****

Unfortunately for him, no boats would be leaving the harbor anytime soon.

“Why the hell not!? I have written orders by Lieutenant Legam’bor that say I can use a boat to retrieve a vital family member.” The dockhand stared at Svenn, and then pointed off into the distance.

“That’s why.” There was an eerie red glow on the horizon, along with a thunderstorm. It was very strange to see, and Svenn took a few steps forward, hoping that maybe if he stepped closer, the image would become clear.

“Well that’s odd. Is it a storm?”

“Does that look like a storm to you?” The dockhand looked at Svenn with an incriminating look.

“Hmm. Spose not. So how long are the ships docked then?”

“Mandatory is a week.” Svenn reeled back.

“Sorry, how long!? A week!? I don’t have a week!”

The dockhand shrugged. “Those are the rules. No ships going out.”

Svenn looked at the dockhand. He drew his staff and set his hand aflame. “Now what if I were to just, say, steal one… Or knock you unconscious and say you lent me a boat for, oh I dunno, scouting mission?”

The dockhand eyed the fire in his hand, but he looked Svenn right in the eye. “Luckily we anticipated people like you, so the dock is fully guarded.”

Svenn glared at him, flame still in hand. They stared eachother down, Svenn hoping that he would cave in. When he didn’t, he flicked his hand, the fire going out. “Fine!” He put his staff back around his shoulders and marched off.

****

“So no boats going out?” Asgrend had been relocated into the Farstriders room where the trainers convened. The outside area was bustling with activity, and Asgrend was, as they put it, “in the way.” After threatening to punch the person’s head in, he was relocated by the Lieutenant into the room, where he would be out of the way.

“Fraid not.” They had been provided with some form of food and beverage, but it wasn’t much, or anything they would touch. “We’re stuck here for a while.”

“Makes me wonder if Father is on his way, or if he even knows what’s going on.” He rubbed his face. “Who do we know in the undercity?”

“No one. We don’t know anyone. Even if we knew them as humans, we don’t know them now as undead.”

“Is there any way we can steal a boat from somewhere?” Asgrend leaned in to speak quietly with his brother.

Svenn shook his head. “Tried that. The blood elves have the area pretty well guarded.”

Asgrend snorted. “Clearly this city has forgotten us.”

“Clearly.” Svenn pulled out a few maps and examined them. Legam’bor marched in, checking on the two siblings.

“How goes?”

Asgrend regarded him first. “Not well…” He growled between his words. “We’re having difficulties finding ourselves a boat. Your people won’t give us one, because no boats are allowed out.”

Legam’bor looked at the maps Svenn was poring over. He then produced a map of southern Quel’Thalas, known as Ghostlands, and pointed to an area in the southwest. “There is a camp of night elves here. They have a boat docked here. That’s how they got to us.”

The brothers slowly looked up at the Lieutenant. Svenn grinned. “Are you telling us to steal one? Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“Just hurry up already. I can lend you a few of my most trusted men. That will ensure you can actually steal the boat without getting too overrun.”

They nodded, practically out the door already.

****

Somewhere in Northrend, and eldery elf barbarian was wandering the snow. He looked out to the horizon, seeing dark, foreboding clouds with a red haze in the distance. He got to a high point and observed the odd storm. In the back of his head, he knew what it was, but could not prove it.

“So he has returned. I must get a boat to Silvermoon as soon as possible.” He silently took off, springing in the snow, running full pace to the horde outpost that would take him directly to the undercity.