Hey Drew...

Hey Drew...

Posted: Thu Aug 31, 2006 5:04 pm

Hey Drew I have this strange idea but i think its cool i'm thingking of like a DotA write up you know like creating stories that are not real in dota like ummm....a fan fiction or something... im not sure but read this its Kardel's strory (remember its fan fiction)

Part 1
Big Game Hunters

Kardel crouched beneath a cluster of pine trees, surveying the goblin-filled clearing ahead of him. He continuously places a handful of snow to his mouth from time to time. That is to prevent his breath from misting. The act was routine, a proof of experience. Assassinate was snugly slung over his back carefully wrapped in white cloth. Without the cloth wrappings, the glint of the metal would be a beacon to any watchful eye even miles away. That type of carelessness causes death. Speaking of which, so many deaths had occurred lately. Villagers are mauled to death; several incidents reported of undead sightings; corpses turn up here and there… Such activity was unheard of in this little hamlet of Anvilmar. Until now that is. It is enough to keep the town board full of bounties and odd jobs.

Another rifle, short and stout, Kardel carried casually by hand. It was a “scattershot” or so its goblin makers say. He made a conscious effort of placing a finger at the back of the trigger to prevent it from accidentally firing while also keeping it ready.

I certainly wouldn't want it to fire accidentally, he mused. An earlier incident back at Ironforge during his regular equipment check at Boush's place, the two goblin geniuses Squee and Spleen offered him a prototype rifle they have recently designed.

"With this baby, you have the power of 20 rifles at your disposal", they had pompously stated. He was really unimpressed then, preferring faithfully his trusty old hunting rifle which he aptly named Assassinate. But the annoyed goblins now haggled with fervor. Perhaps it was his curt rejection, or simply it was disregard, either case they decided to have a rather devastating demonstration of the rifle’s power. Of course, it obliterated most of the storefront, with Kardel paying most of the damage. Kardel didn't mind though, Scattershot was now in his hand.

Kardel push his wandering thoughts aside and concentrated on the present situation. He was tasked to investigate on the rumors of Scourge activity south of Dun Morogh in Coldridge Valley. He never saw anything though, except if he starts counting the kobolds, he would say Dun Morogh is indeed full of activity.

Kobolds fascinate Kardel, well as a tracker-hunter-assassin, many things fascinate him. It’s just their ingenuity, Kardel summed up. Kobolds have close association with goblins though their diminutive cousins have embraced civilization ages ago. Still, kobolds exhibit a fine aptitude with towards machinery, just like goblins, just like dwarves. The Kobold he was observing was riding a gigantic “Shredder” that cut trees as if they are twigs.

Without taking his eyes from the “Shredder”-riding goblin, he backed away slowly, careful not to disturb the pine needles in the process. Not until he was fairly distant from the goblins did he relax his guard. He sat down on a fallen log and sighed.

A waste of friggin’ time. But it was blessedly peaceful and he liked it that way. Taking a sip of brandy, he mulled over ideas of buying a cottage at the fringes of Kharanos. Aye now, dat would be lovely. Kardel wasn't young but neither was he old. Flecks of gray had started to appear on his otherwise blonde hair and beard. But apart from that, he still felt his vigorously built short body could run for miles. Despite all that thoughts of settling down still nagged at him.

It is quite hard to settle down peacefully this times. Tales bought by caravans and merchants often were stories of conflicts and wars. The Scourge is once again on the rise, and the Night Elves have rallied warriors and mages all over the land in the defense of the Ancients.

Most merchants are bunch of liars and idoits and gluttons, he justified, and caravans of nomads are hardly reliable themselves, tending to exaggerate just to get you interested with their wares. Trouble hardly reaches Dun Morogh. No one would want something in Dun Morogh.

Maybe I'll settle here in Anvilmar, he conceded, except this blasted cold's getting on my nerves. He lifted the flask for another sip of brandy when suddenly something caught his attention. A split second he froze, ears straining to hear anything through the howling wind. His eyes, declared by most who knew him as eyes of the eagle, squinted hard to see beyond the carpet of white.

He knelt down very slowly, not wanting to attract attention by sudden movement. He was now fully alert as he studied his surroundings. Kardel Sharpeye –that's what they called him. And with Assassinate, he could hit any moving target at 2500 paces. He eased his right sleeve pocket where he stored his projectiles for a fast reload.

Rising to a low crouch, he approached the thing that got his attention, slowly circling it as he goes nearer. His eyes never left the thing while also being ‘aware’ of the rest of the surroundings. It was a day old corpse, mauled to death. Guts had been torn open. The blood hasn’t totally congealed, Kardel analyzed. That makes the killer still nearby.

Timber wolves have been known to occasionally ravage men, and Coldridge Valley in Dun Morogh is loaded with them. Apart from that the body bore no signs of predatory feeding. That absence disturbed Kardel. It was unnecessary killings. And wolves don’t kill “unnecessarily”. He was sure of that as he studied the shallow imprints that angled north.

shudav' bought more of this fine brandy wit me, Kardel grimaced. He knew the prints are too large to belong any wolf. Hope tis isn’t a man eating bear, Kardel grunted, or some freakin mammoth sasquatch. He carefully tested the wind direction by a falling leaf. Then he made his way north, carefully hugging a path along the tree line to avoid the downwind.

He had hunted for days yet his recent kills haven't made a dent on his gnawing hunger. The Lycanthrope has trudged for days through the snow. From the barren rocks of the Searing Gorge and heading north to Azeroth he had slogged towards where he felt his masters would be.

While he still felt the call of his masters up north but he just couldn't ignore the unprotected group of peasants he happened to pass by. He was starving then, but yet after all those killings he hasn’t been relieved of his pain. His masters would have to wait. After all he needs to be strong and ready for them. That's why he has to feed. And feed he will.

Reverting back to human form, he is something one can hardly call human. His skin had turned red from all his victims’ blood. A once noble and mighty figure now stands a hunched man in a tattered coat. Yet he felt more alive now than during his human lifetime. His strength and speed has risen way above what nature could naturally provide. And he was a shapeshifter, when he is in his wolf form he has considerable power over death. Thus those who have seen him and survived gave him a cursed name: Banehallow.

He crouched beside the tattered body of a young man he just killed. So foolish, so naive to think I would be wounded by mortal means. He sniffed the chill winter air for a hint of presence but found none. I will kill. Eventually the best warriors will come. “Feed me with the best!” He snarled his challenge at the mountains. “I will feed only on the best!” The mountains carried his challenge all throughout the pass.

-----

A wolf? Kardel strained to listen the eerie howl that echoed throughout the canyon. He was examining yet another corpse, this time a portly woman that seemed to have fallen asleep on the snow except that her neck was twisted in a grotesque angle. Thinking quickly, he sliced deeply into the thigh of the outsized corpse with a belt dagger until fresh uncongealed blood started to trickle thickly. Then he threw the knife as far as he could and proceeded to walk backwards, carefully stepping on his earlier footprints on the snow.

-----

With his powerful wolf strides the Lycanthrope ate distance swiftly. It was a fresh scent of blood that spurred him madly, running like horse at full gallop into the open valley of Coldridge.

He stopped short from the corpse-filled clearing, the effort of running at full speed did not have a visible effect on his breathing. He was here before; there was no mistake in that. The carnage that littered the valley floor was his work. But he was not mistaken of a fresh scent of blood. Eyeing curiously the bodies, he approached the bodies warily. No signs of life. He had made quite sure of that earlier. He started revert back to human form-

WHAM!

A force took him at the back. Disoriented, he stumbled forward groggily before turning to face his surprise attacker, ready for anything only there was none. He let out a howl of anger before he was hit in quick succession: chest, head and arms. Trees... the attacker is somewhere in those trees. He hastily scanned the tree line until he was hit again this time squarely on the forehead. He crumpled on his back, dazed. Letting his wolf form take over, the Lycanthrope retreated away from the clearing.

-----

Kardel counted to a full minute before leaving his hiding place. Alarm was clearly written all over his face. Bloody Crap! Wat's a Lycanthrope doing in a place like this? No way could my pay substantiate a risk such as dis… He had heard stories of Lycanthropes. Never ever fight them at full moon or under the influence of their powers. In wolf form they are nearly invulnerable but once they revert to human form... Kardel studied the bloodstains on the snow. No damaged vitals either...damn! A bear could take a headshot for 20 seconds before falling dead; he wasn't sure how much damage a Lycanthrope could take before dying.

Perhaps it was because he was so engrossed in his inspection that he didn’t notice the pair of tracks that stealthily approached him. But hen he did notice, he jumped so hard.

Farg…? a friggin ambush! He turned and ran, panicked and undecided on what to do. In this rate, I'm gonna… bloody snow won't help me escape! He turned to face his attackers and calculated furiously.

Two attackers on opposite flanks…Kardel gritted his teeth in desperation. One to skewer me and one l can bring one down…? Fair trade! He leveled his rifle and fired two well-anticipated shots into space, hitting squarely the unseen target and halting the advance. Cold terror filled the dwarf as he faced his left, knowing there would be no time left to aim.

Watching weakly as the tracks dug into the snow as if in preparation of a pounce, an arrow whizzed past his vision to merge on something that it dragged heavily down into the snow. Another pinned the invisible animal into the ground.

The Dwarven Sniper felt like throwing up.

"Count your luck because it may be running short. You’re fortunate I know of Banehallow’s spirit wolves. They’re invisible until the moment they attack and their bite causes fear and paralysis. Kudos for not running away, you can't outrun them. But I take it back for blowing your cover in the first place."

Sourly, Kardel turned to face irritable speaker and stifled his surprise. “You’re a freakin' Drow… Why did you help me? It isn't for just a simple thanks I s'ppose..."

”Not all Drow follow the Scourge now." The Ranger had a sad way of saying it, but Kardel wasn’t about to bite and ask her. No way certainly. “And besides, I am hardly a Drow myself now. Scourge Assassins will kill me on sight. Listen, I've been tracking that Lycanthrope for a week now, and I just so happen to pass by your campfire last night. Yes, I did follow, with you creating so much racket no one will miss it in a five-mile radius."

"Wuz I?" intoned the Dwarf. He suddenly felt very weary. “Tis is no hunt for me. I'm too old fer dis…" He beckoned for the ranger to follow and headed for the trees, not really caring if the ranger would follow. Surprisingly, she did.

"You got to destroy him. If he ever reunites with his master, even your precious Dun Morogh will suffer the same fate as those people."

"Listen her kiddo", Kardel said more gruffly than he should. "me'thinks that that damned Lycanthrope had just decided to mosey to the next town. I may be paid to hunt a friggin' creature in Coldridge but I won't harry anyone across the map. I sure bet that abomination has his tails between legs anyways and dat is mighty fine by me. And my name's Kardel. You have my permission to use my name."

"How pretty stupid you mortals are." Kardel started to object but the Ranger continued on without pause. "Do you think that because you wounded Banehallow he'll avoid you from now? You just made it to the top of his food chain. At full power, he can summon his spirit wolves and can turn into one. So, how do you propose on stopping him?" Kardel’s mouth worked soundlessly.

"Here you foolish dwarf", she tossed a green gem to Kardel. "It may save your skin more than you could even think" Kardel snatched the gem without looking and faced her, "I'm not sure I can trust you-" He stopped in mid-sentence. The Drow ranger was nowhere to be seen.

"Use the gem…"

Kardel, annoyingly confused now, stared at the gem in his hand. It was greenish, with facets absorbing light and casting different hues of green around it. He felt he was drawn to its depths, captivated by the its swirling greenish hue.

"…can you see me now?"

Startled, he reflexively aimed to his left where he spotted the Ranger with an arrow pointing straight to his heart. Kardel’s legs felt weak. He was convinced that the Drow rarely misses a target, never at this range. After what seems like eternity, she eased her bow and took a step back.

"Relax, I'm not an enemy. Save your anger, you may need it later." The next instant she disappeared.

"Hey kiddo, ya never told me yer name!"

"Traxex..." the wind whispered.

The Lycanthrope sat in a shallow cave on the western side of Coldridge Valley. He was seething, his human frame shaking not of the cold but of the uncontrollable fury and hate he felt for the sniper. If not for the timely appearance of the Drow ranger he would have had the sniper while his spirit wolves kept him busy. But he was badly wounded, and the timely appearance of the Ranger shifted the situation outside his favor. Anyway, he rapidly was regaining his strength; already he felt he could re-summon his wolves from the ethereal plane. He was pissed by the limitations of his summoning strength but for now would have to suffice. He was still by far the strongest warrior in Azeroth. I have your scent, puny mortal. Tonight, the hunt shall begin anew. Very soon... and your flesh will be feasted upon. Trembling in anticipation, he let out a long curdling howl into the fading winter sun.

-----

Setting up a pile of dead leaves over the hole he just dug Kardel exhaled noisily. Already the full moon was on its zenith, peeking over the silhouette of the forest trees. Earlier he had trudged on the open plains of the Coldridge Valley rather than highlight it in the woods. That way he could spot an approaching enemy a hundred yards before it gets close. Keeping out of sight was no longer a comfortable option. The enemy he faced hunted by scent rather than by sight.

Could really use a warm fire tonight, Kardel thought grumpily, and a bottle of brandy wouldn't be amiss... Before full dusk, he had carefully chosen a spot for the night. He was sure of an attack at full dark which is a favorite tactic for most predators. The location he chose was a small clearing with two large trees and a running stream nearby. Better odds for spotting an enemy beforehand! With his belt knife he chopped off the lowest branches of the large leatherwood and made few toeholds for scaling. In the dark, these toeholds would be hidden by the shadows, making them invisible. The remaining branches are way above even a gigantic Tauren could reach easily so there's no way anyone can sneak up without making a racket. I wonder if the friggin' wolves can scale trees…? He considered ruefully. But if they can, the traps he laid would surely give them a hard time.

The rest of the afternoon he had spent just hunting for this spot. He covered his tracks as well. He had backtracked, made a series of loops, backtracked again, often walking backwards into the footprints he made in the snow. The most likely entry points into the clearing, he carefully placed a matting of dried leaves and twigs that would crack if stepped upon. The last trap he laid was the hole. He was one of the best hunters in Dun Morogh but he considered the possibility that the Lycanthrope could be as skillful if not much better than he. The hole was right underneath the toeholds; knowing that the enemy would look for one if no accessible means up the tree could be found.

It was early midnight when he awoke to the sound of cracking leaves, blood suddenly turning cold. He was aghast at the speed the Lycanthrope hunted. He saw through all decoys that easily? He turned very slowly to examine the decoy tree from his hiding place. Right before settling down, he noticed the second tree was leaning heavily over the stream. Now a plan for escape suddenly bloomed. With the sheared branches he had devised a long pole and used it to bridge the two trees. Now he was safely above the next one.

With the Gem of True Sight, he stared in queasy fascination at the two wolves. Too intelligent to be normal! Fag! Where's the master? Already the pair began circling the tree, tentatively testing the snow-covered ground. A loud snap and the trap sprung, wolf quickly hopped backwards evading the lethal trap with ease. Light, almost freakin human! Dread started sink in. Without the appearance of their master, he was not about to reveal his hiding place by commencing fire. Now the wolves have proceeded to scale the trunk with their claws. Cursing thoroughly, he lowered the pole into the stream.

-----

Kardel felt he had been running for miles. The freezing stream had soaked through his parka and now weighs dozen times heavier. But discarding it would freeze him to death. His breathing was labored gasps. "I am not slowing down, move you bloody moron!", he berated himself for all to hear. The chill had now seeped right through his bones, numbing all sensation. "Always huv it easy are ye? Always used ta good life and women and brandy? A little work on yer part and ye just want to give up? Move you friggin' legs! Just a few steps more, dammit!" He pathetically collapsed on the snow.

-----

Banehallow sent each wolf upstream. The wind from where it came downstream carried no scent of the Dwarf. You cannot outrun me, puny mortal. Shortly I will feast on your flesh!

-----

Banehallow slowed. Up ahead, he saw the unmistakable glint of a rifle barrel lodged on a mound of snow, pointing the direction where he came. He studied the surroundings for a moment and madly cackled. Puny mortal, this is too easy. You have disappointed me... Chuckling madly, he sent his wolves to circle the area.

He approached the gun; contempt was evident in his face. Through the eyes of the spirit wolves he saw them circle the area and found what he anticipated. The scent led to a sparse growth of bushes that overlooking the area Banehollow was heading. The bushes could not completely hide the Dwarven sniper's cloak as it poked through the fringes of the growth. The scent led there directly –no mistake.

Now, kill! He commanded silently and in unison, the spirit wolves howled before plunging into the bushes.

Blam!

Banehallow stared amazingly at the bleeding hollow of his stomach, couldn't quite believe what he saw.

Blam!

This time, the shot took him by the chest, forcing him to his knees. A double trap? He was buried in the snow all along? Weakly he beckoned his spirit wolves. Noses in the air, they glided forward to his aid.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

His life slowly seeping out of him and staining the snow, Banehallow can only watch his approaching hunter - his killer. The dwarf was wearing only his trousers. Deliberately planting his cloak to bait my wolves away... He stared defiantly at the dwarf who leveled his rifle to his head.

Darkness. He never heard the sound that broke his eardrums.

-----

Kardel never felt so much pain in his life. His body was shuddering so much from the cold that he can hardly stand up. He picked up Scattershot and steeled himself on the approaching spirit wolves.

Blam!

The shot obliterated the face of the first to reach him. He sidestepped to face the second wolf but the wolf was too swift for a counterattack. He dropped his rifle and jammed his forearm into the gaping muzzle before it clamp his throat, but the weight of the gigantic wolf dragged him down. The wolf proceeded to rake his body with claws as sharp as knives, while attempting to reach his neck with his jaws. Kardel strained to push the jaws off while his other hand sought purchase of his belt knife. His hand, slippery with blood, miraculously gripped the handle and he stab madly at the wolf's side, hoping that the short stout blade would hit something vital. He stab again, and again, and again.

-----

The struggle continued for what seem like eternity. He was on the brink of passing out until the at last, wolf toppled over, evaporating before completing its fall.

Panting, Kardel tried to stand, but his legs gave way. So, he crawled to the nearest tree and sat leaning on trunk. His body was bleeding in thousand places but ironically he no longer felt any pain. Or the cold for that matter. Maybe his mind no longer registered pain. And he had stopped shivering, though random flickers of shiver did escape from his muscles. A bad sign, he knew, for it signal eminent hypothermia. Whatever. He really doesn’t care anymore.

"Damn... I could really use a shot of brandy."



-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2
A Hero's Death

Mangix was seated comfortably, staring at the dying embers of the fireplace. Periodically, he peered through the open door to the empty common room of the tavern. The absence of patrons hardly bothered him. Dawn was just breaking over the horizon and there's usually no customer this time of the day. He was worried about something else though. Whenever he's worried he unconsciously hums the same mournful tune.

Bradwarden shadow appeared at the doorway. His eyes, solemn as usual, rested on his friend. "How is he faring?"

Mangix spared a glance at his Dwarf friend. Wrapped in thick blankets, he was lying comfortably on the bed. His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, a sign that at least now he was resting well. "He’ll live..."

Bradwarden settled on his haunches near Kardel's bed window and looked into the distance outside. It was Bradwarden that had appeared on the door a few days back bearing the Dwarf. He had came from Kharanos and was very fortunate to pass the unconscious Dwarf, who looked as if he was beaten until an inch of life remained. But yet, they never spoke of what had befallen on their stricken comrade. They both know of the world’s stirring. After a moment he spoke. "Change is in the air. Trumpets have sounded in faraway places and heroes have once again taken up arms to answer the call."

That was what had Mangix worrying. News of the Scourge has risen again with the banner of the Burning Legion. He well remembered the first war of the races, when the Horde invaded Azeroth. Stormwind was the last bastion of hope for the free races. The united races had stood victorious against the impossible odds of the Horde. But now, he was not sure of their chances against the more prepared enemy. Azeroth was peaceful over a number of years. Soldiers have been decommissioned and most hung up their swords and to take up ploughs instead. The heroes of the old have faded and passed away, there is no one to rally the people against the coming tide of darkness about to sweep the land.

Bradwarden rose and headed for the door. At the door, he half turned without looking at Mangix. "If you have a chance at glory, what would you do?"

Mangix didn't answer. He didn’t have to. He knew the Centaur Warchief was talking more to himself.

"I hope he wakes up soon. We may need to travel immediately. We are in danger here. There have been reports of Scourge Assassins killing warriors who are likely to side the Sentinel."

-----

It was a typical late afternoon in Dun Morogh and the tavern was starting to fill. The Pandaren's Amberstill Ranch was conveniently located between the towns Anvilmar and Kharanos and the North Gate and South Gate Outpost. Travelers and workers from the nearby Gol' Bolar Quarry alike made this place a focal point between the two trade destinations.

The tavern was bustling with goings-on now. The rolling of dice and raucous laughter filled one corner; drunken singing filled the next; and silent whisperings and suspicious mutterings of dealing merchants can be heard in yet another. So many things are to be done in a busy tavern, dishes waiting to be served and patrons calling for more beer. The Pandaren Brewmaster lost himself to the rhythm of his work. He barely noticed when the cloaked stranger who approached the bar.

"Fresh good ale here! What would you-" he stopped when he noticed the stranger’s set face. She was a Drow and the quiver’s presence marks her as one of the rangers. "What do you want?" Mangix asked her suspiciously.

Instead of answering, she dips her forefinger into a mug and outlined an arrow on the bar counter, pointing slightly northeast of the room.

"A Nightstalker draws power from the darkness. This immortal has the power to instill fear on the hearts of enemies, who also feeds on the blood of his victims. Mangix, flee this place tonight and head for Stormwind. Bring everything you need for the journey so you won't have to come back. There’s nothing you can for Dun Morogh, but you can do something for Azeroth."

Mangix glanced towards the direction the arrow was pointing and saw who she was talking about. A man whose face deeply hidden by the cowl of his cloak. Something very sinister surrounds the man, who casually seated next to a dice game as if he was some unknown benefactor for bets. Mangix felt his blood chill, from the shadow of his cowl, he was sure the stranger was watching the exchange the whole time.

Suddenly, one of the windows burst open to admit a large misshapen figure. It was human -or once was. The resemblance ends there. The skin was so parched dry and rotting on some points of his body. Mouth was deformed, an impossible huge jaws with rows of very long pointed teeth. It carried itself in a crouch, scampering instead of walking. And the eyes, soulless eyes that are filled with death were fixed on him.

"It has begun. You have to run now!" the Drow Ranger shouted. The cloaked stranger had already stood up and was confidently walking towards them in a slow measured pace. In one fluid motion, the Drow Ranger fired two arrows at the advancing Nightstalker who easily swatted it away without breaking stride.

Mangix couldn't move. His body has frozen solid in terror. He watched in morbid fascination at the apparition that hopped from tabletop to tabletop towards him, lunging the last distance to reach his throat when suddenly a pair of huge hands seized and threw the Lifestealer a few paces back. Bradwarden had appeared fully geared for battle: Blademail glinting dully in the faint lights and his Battle Fury, which he eased from his belt loop while adopting a fighting stance.

Without taking his eyes from the Lifestealer, he barked a command "Don't just stand there dammit! Go get Kardel! We leave as soon as you're ready!"

Recovering, Mangix just had the time to watch the scene unraveling. The tavern was in a bedlam now. Frightened people had crowded towards the nearest exits, eager to be somewhere else. Those who can’t, huddled in the corners weeping. He took it all in a space of a glance and bolted for the rooms.

He found Kardel already up and peeking at the windows. He was already dressed and rifles at ready. "No way we can escape through here..." Kardel ever fails to amaze Mangix. He had heard stories about how the dwarf could never be caught in surprise, but he still couldn't believe it. "We're goin' through da front door. Hope Bradwarden's taken care of the Lifestealer... We're wastin' time 'ere, let's go!" Mangix grabbed what he can find and followed the Dwarf.

-----

Bradwarden hefted his Battle Fury. Too fast... I have to create an opening. Bradwarden charged, backhanding his great axe with a single hand. As he predicted, the Lifestealer dodged the heavy blade and counterattacked his now-open torso. Clawed hands sank deeply into his shoulders, but before the Lifestealer's gaping jaws manage to bite his exposed throat, the Centaur's free hand shot out and caught the Lifestealer’s own throat instead. Bradwarden groaned as pain jolted down his arms but he held the Lifestealer securely with one hand and swung Battle Fury with the other, severing the body cleanly in two.

-----

A pair of ghouls circled them warily, waiting for a chance to strike. The Dwarven Sniper and the Brewmaster had already joined the fight. The ghouls had kept on coming but they manage to destroy every last one. All that's left were the two. Of the Drow Ranger and the Nightstalker, there was no sign.

Anticipating the position of the rear opponent, Bradwarden kicked an overturned stool with his rear towards the ghoul. Unprepared for such attack, the ghoul leapt clear into the air. A rifle blast and it plopped back on the floor lifeless. The distraction was what Mangix needed to attack. Quarterstaff whirling in a tight double loop weave, so quick that the staff blurred at the edges, Mangix charged on the remaining ghoul. One edge aimed for the ghoul's head that the ghoul evaded easily. But Mangix wasn't relying on that attack; instead the other end dipped to clip its ankles. Now outbalanced it became an easy target and was pummeled to death by hooves and staff.

Bradwarden grimaced, clutching at his shoulder wounds. He was having difficulty in breathing. The wounds on his shoulders are turning black, as if the wounds had started to decay right then and there.

"What is wrong with your wounds?" Mangix worriedly checked the raw wounds that are swiftly turning black.

“Poison. I need to see a healer."

"The nearest healer would be at Kharanos. We can be safe there too. Here, let me help you walk.”

“Crap, I’ll run!" Suiting his words, he lurched into a painful gallop, the others trailing behind.

-----

The travel through the Tundrid Hills had been swift and uneventful and the trio made good pace. Bradwarden cantered in a painful shamble, his pale face set in grim determination.

Suddenly Kardel called up a halt, motioning the rest for silence. Then he beckoned them to follow him silently. A few steps then they were revealed a scene that filled their hearts with dread. Thousands of ghouls covered the entire path leading outside the valley of the Gol' Bolar. The undead seemed to be mindlessly walking about, milling and bumping each other.

"Bloody hell, this is an invasion force. Let’s forget Kharanos. Ironforge would be hard pressed defending against an onslaught of this magnitude. I say we should head straight for Loch Modan and request help from Thelsamar." Mangix shook his furry head. "That would take a longer route. You need help quick. Kharanos is the best place for you to get treatment."

"Going for a longer route doesn’t matter if we accomplish two objectives. No, we head for Thelsamar." But Bradwarden was shaking as he spoke. The poison was slowly having an effect on him. "Besides, it will be impossible for us to continue with this route without encountering half of those abominations. More to the point, once the siege of Ironforge begins no one can make it out. We’re the best hope for Ironforge now."

"Where do we head after Thelsamar?" Somehow, Kardel knew the answer but still he raised the question.

"Stormwind. We are answering the Call for Heroes in Stormwind." There was a feverish, almost insane glint in Bradwarden's eyes.

It was full dark when Bradwarden requested a respite. His breath now came in short ragged gasps and his skin felt cold and clammy. The toxin had already spread into his system, every minute now he felt weaker. Paradoxically, the North Gate Pass was silent, it’s as if everything’s in a slumber. The gentle breeze bought no signs of death. Kardel had backtracked to check if anyone had caught on their trail. Mangix was left with the Centaur.

"Funny how I always thought myself as some hero who can save everyone during times of need." Deeply preoccupied with his own thoughts, Bradwarden chuckled between coughs and shortness of breath. It was a silent, mirthless laugh that shook his massive frame.

“Opportunistic bloody hero… I only fancied on glory while everyone were off to save the world…or themselves.” Bradwarden looked up the sky, as if seeking answers to his pitiful existence. Mangix never saw the Centaur Warchief as brooding but he knew of his friend’s past life. A past life that constantly haunted the Warchief.

“A tough lesson to learn… I should have died with them a long time ago. A slayer of kinfolk, no one is more deserving to die than me…” The Centaur Warchief stood slowly; his massive frame blotted the view of the stars from cramp space of the pass.

He stared at the distance for some time. After awhile he spoke so silently that Mangix had trouble hearing his words. "This is an Ancient Warchief standing defiant against the Horde. This hero will stand once again for his people, to repay the aged old grievances of the proud Centaur Tribe. A hero that will defend this pass against thousands of enemies. Mangix, this will be my tale for generations to come.... a hero's death."

Mangix couldn’t just believe what he heard. He stared at the Centaur, too numbed to speak.

Kardel appeared out of nowhere at Mangix's side. "We have to go. The Scourge already has our trail. They'll be here any minute now." Like an afterthought he added. "I think the Nightstalker leads them."

"But Bradwarden-"

"-I know..." Kardel went to stand in front of Bradwarden. He stared at the aged Centaur Lord for such a long time. The Centaur's face was deathly pale and sickly in the low light. But he stood steady and straight. And his eyes shone with fervor and intensity. After a moment, Kardel bowed and knelt in front of him.

"By your leave, my lord."

The moment stood a standstill. The kneeling Dwarf and Centaur Warchief standing regally seemed preserved in timelessness. After what seems like eternity, Mangix hurriedly copied the dwarf, eyes edged with grief.

“Also by your leave, Lord Centaur Khan. I promise you the bards will be sing this tale for ages to come..." Mangix nearly choked on the words.

“.... Thank you. Please… leave now." Bradwarden said so softly.

Mangix spared a miserable glance at the Centaur Warchief. Bradwarden was staring at the evening sky, and a small sad smile had to form on Mangix’s lips. He had never saw the Centaur Warchief standing tall and proud. Calm and confident.

Until now.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 3
Leavetakings

Kardel was in a bad mood. He hasn't slept all night. But even if he closes his eyes, sleep would never come. The heat of the day also contributed to his bad mood. Mangix had decided to travel back with the relief force of Thelsamar after the event and he was left alone to journey for Stormwind. Not that he was eager to answer the Call of Heroes, mind you. He just found out that if there's going be a war, Stormwind is the safest place to be. So, he sat inside the dusty cantina, the jar of ale in front of him untouched. But that was not all.

"Hello Sir! Nice day huh? Can I get you something? I hear the roasted calf here's really nice."

Kardel irritably allowed himself to look up to the speaker. A young man with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, Omniknight-in-training Purist Thunderwrath, was grinning at him like a fool. Beside him was Rylai Crestfall who also looked like a clown showing all her white teeth.

"Hey, great idea Purist! Let's get my uncle a slice. Now you should eat it all. I hear your skimping on meals and drowning yourself on that stuff!" Rylai pointed abhorrently at the jar of ale.

Kardel tried his best not to groan. He very well remembered the scenario when Furion appeared inside his room –very unexpectedly. He had jumped then, lunging for his rifles where it lay propped against the wall near his bed. Furion was troubled; he didn't even notice the barrel that pointed directly to his chest. He still remembered his words clearly:

"Kardel, I need your help. Purist Thunderwrath is traveling for this village heading to Stormwind. It is vital that he reaches Stormwind. Azeroth depends on his survival. Accompany him, Sharpeye, and see he reaches there safely. He is our only chance against the Scourge."

Indeed, Purist did appear on the tavern doorstep after a couple of days. But what he didn't expect was Rylai to be with him. It was not that he didn’t want her to be there; he just felt protective of her.

Rylai Crestfall was the daughter of Ezalor, his old friend and Stormwind's lead researcher. He had watched her grow while serving in the elite guard at Stormwind during his early days. He has certain fondness of Rylai who as a child used to throw apples at him while on duty. She would sneak into his cabin and pester him until he agrees tell her stories and Ezalor would pass by his cabin and carry the sleeping child to her bed. Suffice to say, Kardel was very fond of Rylai. Purist, on the other hand was something that should be observed only at a safe distance, was what he thought of him.

That afternoon, Kardel did ate more than a dozen slices of the roasted calf at Rylai's coaxing until he felt every limb he had was stuffed with beef. After which he left the two canoodling and went to a secluded corner to rest –still in bad mood.

The next day, he, Purist and Rylai started their journey for Stormwind. They still traveled leisurely even though they have to rule out steeds when they found out they are real short of gold. They avoided the main paths and Kardel was in constant search of telltale signs of followers, stalkers, traps and ambushes. He avoided low rises and urged the group to crawl over a rise they cannot avoid. At night, they camped between bushes and kept fire at minimum, cutting a layer of sod before digging a hole in the dirt and burying it, replacing the sod after. He had arranged a schedule for nightshifts. He allowed them to sleep a few hours then wake them past midnight. He would then take his turn to sleep then resume his post again near dawn. The two would go back to sleep. They usually resume their journey when the sun has reached well above the tree line.

As it turned out, Purist was a spirited young lad who was as mischievous as Rylai. He was often smiling, bantering with Rylai and quipping at Kardel and his beard, a vigorous character often associated with youth. But that didn't lessen Kardel's distrust nor did he improve his sulky disposition towards the youth. Rylai was still as bouncy as ever, singing and laughing and having a good time. She would pick every flower she could find and tuck them into the hairs of the men. Purist would wear his flowers proudly like a buffoon while Kardel’s voluminous beard became a favorite place for endless stream of daisies, poppies, and orchids.

The journey from Thelsamar to Stonesplinter Valley was uneventful. Since they avoided the main roads they seldom saw anyone. But when they did encounter anyone, they would hide until they are out of sight then resume the journey. But everything changed when they reached the Valley of Kings.

-----

Kardel studied the carcass; it was the seventh encounter that day. Judging from the decay, the poor bear was mauled to death two days ago. It was like the Lycanthrope killings, wanton, unnecessary. Like those killings, there was no sign of predatory feeding, just mauled carcass.

Kardel eyed each one gravely. "I wish to pass dis land quickly. We head fer Stonewrought Pass into the Searing Gorge as fast as we can. There we hide in numerous caves near mister Cauldron and lady luck, the Elementals might protect us from pursuers, however indirectly."

"I can't seem to see any problem except-" Purist tried to pipe in.

"Don't be a fool boy. I have seen battles a dozen more than yer combined lifetimes. So please don't annoy me wit questions of what, okay? I mean to be on the other side of the mountain befare full dark, especially if dis’is the one who got Brad killed. Any problems? Good!"

Blood drained from Purist face. He had heard the stories, a mighty battle between the giant Warchief and the Nightstalker. The Warchief had succeeded holding the pass for his friends to escape and rally forces but it also cost him his life. He always thought the Warchief was invincible and seeing his corpse brought down into the town had thoroughly shaken his nerves. Now the one who killed Bradwarden was stalking them.

"Now git movin'. We're not in da Searing Gorge yet!"


Bats suddenly appeared out of nowhere. In a flurry of wings and sharp claws, several dozens of bats attacked them in a maelstrom, slashing, biting, and blinding at them. Purist covered his eyes with his arms and slashed repeatedly without scoring a hit. The bats are too agile to be hit by a sword. He sought Rylai and found her on her knees covering her entire body with her cloak. He staggered towards her and the bats increased intensity until at last he was forced to his knees.

"Get down!"

Purist instinctively lunged and covered Rylai with his body. A split second later he heard a loud boom and bats fell down around him.

”‘Tis are no bats... 'Tis are Revenants. And if there are Revenants, sure as hell a Necro'lic would be nearby too..." Now, it was Rylai who shuddered. Necro'lics are birds of prey corrupted over the dark side. They have the ability to snatch souls away from living things and raise the Revenants from corpses.

Purist's chest was heaving as they ran, not sure where they were headed. His throat was burning. But evidences of slaughter now littered more frequently that Purist wasn't about to stop, even when his throat became painfully parched. They approached another low rise when Kardel signaled for a stop. Purist gulped amounts of air as he lay utterly spent on the hillside. It was nearing dusk and they still have miles yet to cover. Rylai was in no better condition. She vomited noisily beside him as bile went up her throat from the entire effort of running.

"Over the next rise is da mountain path leading to those Stonewrought Mountains. Still no change of plans. We have to reach the Searing Gorge befar dark. We-" Kardel paused and glanced up north. And as if on cue, cries of thousand shrieking bats broke the silence as they materialized over the trees up farther north. The hunter now has the scent of its prey.

"-move!!!"

Freshly spurred by the enemy, they ran madly through the next hill. The pace became increasingly difficult as the land sloped sharply upward. They were approaching the mountain path. Purist felt his legs were lumps of wood and he had to coax Rylai forward by pushing on her back. The resulting pace was extremely slow. After a while Purist noticed Kardel had stopped. The sun had settled in a stunning sunset but he knew Kardel wasn't enjoying the view.

"Hey, we have to get moving."

Kardel looked around. After a while he nodded to a spot. "Git along. I'll be on ya..."

"No!" Rylai started to object but Purist pulled her arm gently. "He's right. We’re not fast enough. At this rate they're going to catch up on us. And we're in no condition to fight."

-----

The swarm of Revenants approached his hiding place at tremendous speed. 'Over a hundred of them? Never saw that many in one place. Kardel considered his plan ...maybe that kid IS special... He carefully chose a spot, a small clearing that overlook the countryside. He knelt and carefully set his Assassinate down beside him and readied Scattershot. He let calm settle his nerves, he knew his role in this. His thoughts wandered away into the past ...Bradwarden…

The first flock of Revenants fell at the single shot of Scattershot, and the bats were upon him. He lowered his hood and fired blindly at the swarm, sensing rather than seeing the largest concentration of Revenants in one place. Reload and fire, reload and fire. Again and again the bats came and tore at him but he persevered. Blood now flowing freely down his arms and shoulders. Reload and fire. His heavy cloak that had protected him was slowly torn to pieces until at last his flesh was exposed.

Now!

He threw his hood back and raised his arm over his exposed eyes while scanning furiously at the maelstrom of wings. The Revenants became a whirlwind of claws and beaks but he managed to find what he was looking for.

There!

The Necro'lic. Hiding behind a swarm of Revenants. In one fluid motion perfected by practice alone, snatched up Assassinate and fired at the Necro'lic, once or twice before succumbing to the fury of bloodied claws and wings.

-----

Purist had been crouching for some time over the long shadows of the late afternoon. He was studying the lone figure that waited at the mouth of the pass. Waiting for me... he thought weakly. Strangely, he never felt any fear. He was so calm that he felt detached from the whole situation.

"Do you think we can take him both?" Rylai asked silently. He shook his head as he faced her but stopped what he was about to say. Rylai's face was set in a grim determination. She would accompany him whatever he chose to say. "As long as you don't go near him we'll be fine. Just use your frostbite okay?" Purist looked at Rylai's eyes as she nodded fervently; there was no hint of fear in her eyes too. He took hold of her hand and together they walk towards the waiting enemy.

From his crouch the Nightstalker watch them disdainfully "So now the mighty sentinel resorts in use infants to challenge me? You're just babies pretending to be heroes!" The Nightstalker's voice boomed from the shadows "Excellent! Let them witness the true strength of the Almighty Balanar!"

They slowly made the approach on each flank. Rylai began chanting Frostbite and released it suddenly on Balanar, encasing him in ice. That same moment Purist lunged, his sword powerfully slicing the air towards the trapped Nightstalker. But Balanar broke through the Frostbite easily and deftly parried Purist's sword with a claw while his other clawed hand raked Purist's torso savagely, forcing him back.

"So, you got a bit of power there... Useless because I am the night." Suddenly, Rylai doubled over, choking. "I can't move,” she croaked weakly. With a cry, Purist charged recklessly, aiming a thrust that would have easily skewered Balanar's heart. But the Nightstalker was impossibly fast. Like a snake he slid in front aside of the sword thrust while his hand shot out to grab Purist by the throat, lifting him well above the ground.

"Why do weaklings like you mortals keep on resisting?" Balanar's voice thundered all over the pass as he spoke. "Our powers are way beyond what every one of you can muster. Dying in a useless death achieves nothing but oblivion." Dangling a foot in the air, Purist gasped for breath. He felt his lungs are bursting. "You humans are weak! Living pitiful existences like gnats! Without your puny alliance with that cursed Night Elves this world would have belonged to us ages ago!” Purist felt his strength fading. His sight had blurred to misty white while his sword had slipped from his numbed fingers. Through his fading vision, he saw Balanar raising his claws for the final blow.

And loud rifle shot broke through the stillness of the air.

Purist was lying on his face. He felt very cold; lifting his head he saw Rylai between him and Balanar. She was vainly trying to hold Balanar on her own, the barrage of frost attacks keeping the monster at bay. But she was beginning to falter and the fury of her ice came less frequently. Purist gritted his teeth and tried to rise.

Holy light. Give me strength. Angels, for once work with me... please...

And a shining aura enveloped his entire frame.

-----

Kardel staggered towards the pair, driblets of blood staining the ground in large patches. "Is he okay?" He asked Rylai about the prone figure of Purist. "He's okay now. His injuries are gone miraculously. But it seems his strange powers took every last strength of his though..." Kardel started to walk away "Uncle, where are you going?" He peered over his shoulder and studied her face for a while. "Don't leave him, he may need you yet."

-----

The sunset in Valley of Kings was always beautiful, but today was exceptionally spectacular. Kardel had staggered onto a stone outcrop that overlooked the entire Loch Modan. His legs gave way near the edge and he sank there kneeling, supported by Assassinate.

Strange powers... the thought came unbidden into his mind. He shivered slightly, remembering the scene. Purist was down with Rylai protecting him. He had taken the shot; half afraid at that time he will find them both dead. But suddenly, Purist stood up, miraculously revitalized. Not only that, every attack the Nightstalker had on the boy didn't seem to have an effect on him, and he can swear he saw angels surrounding the boy, bathing him in a glowing aura. Angels!

So that's his power... no wonder that old fart Furion wants him alive... Responsibility... Kardel sighed as he opened the flask of brandy he had kept in his pocket.

…wonder how he’ll choose to save this world if he's the great hope for humankind... He raised the flask to his lips but with fingers that trembled so much the liquid just sloshed all over his face.

…Rylai... He deeply regretted throwing those flowers away…

Suddenly he felt a surge of rage in him. "Curse you, I'm not ready to die! Not yet!" Kardel shouted at the sunset. "I have a charge to fulfill yet. I am still a hero!" he doubled over wracked with painful bloodied coughs. Breath wheezing pitifully, with almost a whisper he declared, "I want to live. I still have to..." He leaned heavily on his rifle and watched a bird soar by.

…let's get my uncle a slice. Now you should eat it all. I hear your skimping on meals and drowning yourself on that stuff…

...uncle... heh, the lass called me uncle... Now strangely content, he gazed at the beauty of the sunset that spilled over the Valley of Kings.

He was on his back but he couldn't remember how. Snow had carpeted the ground like a soft bed, sweeping him away in a comfortable lassitude. Snow? I thought... He was surprised to see Rylai's face looking down at him, eyes brimming with tears that made deep furrows on the dirt of her beautiful face.

"aye, lass don'tcha ever cry..." He tried to lift his arms to touch her face but he found that he could not. "Ahh... I have one nice story to tell ya... a good one too! harhar... I know you'll like this one... but I'm a bit... sleepy now... I'll...

...after...”


Hehehehehe liked it? anyway this story took me 1 hr. and 30 something min.! hehehe I know its long but a cool story! I got inspierd when I watched the lord of the rings move 2 hrs. ago anyways I hope you like it and i hope you'll read it hehehehe thx if you did! its a good story promise!
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Posted: Thu Aug 31, 2006 7:07 pm

Wow, quite a mouthful. It's kinda late right now and I'm kinda beat from making my new strategy, so I'm gonna give this some thought tomorrow. Although off the bat it's a great idea. Thanks as usual!
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Posted: Fri Sep 01, 2006 1:44 am

hehehehe no no no thank YOU! hehe
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Posted: Fri Sep 01, 2006 3:09 am

D*mmit.
More!!!!
>_<
Hahaha..
nakakabitin..
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Posted: Fri Sep 01, 2006 3:51 am

hehehehe sure i did not think that you guyz would like it bet sice that you did i'll work on the next story hehehe thx!







R.I.P Tupac Shakur
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Posted: Fri Sep 01, 2006 4:01 am

We'll be waiting. ^_^

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Posted: Fri Sep 01, 2006 4:14 am

Ok new story its about Pudge! hehehehe hope you guyz like it here it goes...

The perfect monster

Part 1: The Creator

Hunched over a massive wooden table, an elderly man carefully sewed scraps of dead flesh onto a framework of bones more than twice his size. So absorbed in his task, he was, that he failed to notice another living presence enter the decrepit laboratory.

“Doctor Alexi Romerov!” boomed a deep, commanding voice.

Startled, Alexi jerked his head up and looked around frantically. Seeing a man in the doorway, he squinted in the dim light, trying to make out his unannounced and unwelcome guest. Finally recognizing the figure, the doctor turned back to his work. “Oh, it’s just you,” grumbled the old man, applying another stitch to the body before him while waiting for the inevitable rebuke.

“Just me?” replied the other man tersely. “You would be wise not to take that tone with me. I *am* your superior, as much as you dislike acknowledging the fact.”

Doctor Alexi harrumphed loudly, then turned back and gave his visitor a mocking bow. “Well then, *Necromancer* Edvard Barov, please excuse my lapse of proper etiquette and subservience, but my work is time consuming and keeps me too busy for empty pleasantries.”

“Too time consuming, *Acolyte* Romerov,” snapped Barov. “You’ve had more than enough time to finish your abomination, and you still have a great deal of work to do!”

Alexi waved the retort away dismissively. “You cannot rush quality, Edvard. You may have hastily assembled your creature in order to earn a promotion, but I will not sacrifice my craftsmanship for petty material gains. My monster will be perfect, unlike your clumsy beast.”

Barov turned red with anger. “The abominations are hulking brutes of undead meat, not elven dancers! You may have forgotten, but this is an army! We have deadlines – ones we must meet! We are in the middle of a war, and mass-produced soldiers are the key to victory, not custom-made monsters!”

Alexi took off his glasses and cleaned them on his black robe. “You have no idea what you are talking about, Edvard,” he replied wearily. “Without innovation, the Scourge is doomed to failure. Great numbers can fall to superior strategy, and if we do not change and adapt our foes will learn all our tricks. You do not understand because you are not a scientist. You were a paper-pusher before the Plague, and you are a paper-pusher now. And I will never finish if you don’t let me get back to my work.”

The Necromancer sputtered with rage, unable to respond coherently. Finally controlling himself, he held up a finger angrily. “One month, Alexi! I’ll give you one month to finish making your abomination! If you are not done with it then, I will throw you to the tender mercy of our leaders!” With that, he turned and stormed out of the lab, leaving Alexi alone once again.

Alexi chuckled and went back to his work. “Poor Edvard,” he said quietly, “your temper will be the death of you one day.” He patted the stitched monstrosity on the table, feeling the cold, leathery texture of the creature’s skin. “You will be a masterpiece,” he whispered, “no matter what anyone else says.”


Part 2: Evaluation

Alexi Romerov bowed deeply, then stepped to the side of the doorway as quickly as his old bones would allow. “Welcome to my laboratory, Lord Ras.”

The lich glided into the dank structure, cold mist flowing from its skeletal form as it calmly surveyed the room. Its focus soon turned to the creature on the immense operating table in the center of the room. “So,” it intoned emotionlessly, “this is the abomination that you have informed me of.”

Alexi bowed again, his face showing both anxiety and confidence. “Yes, Lord Frostwhisper. It is finally complete.”

Ras Frostwhisper moved slowly to the edge of the table. It examined the monster carefully, with the infinite patience of the dead, and several minutes passed before it spoke again. “I see no flaws with your creation. However, I see none of the modifications you said were present. Elaborate.”

The doctor beamed with the pride of a master craftsman, and began to speak with great enthusiasm. “Yes, my lord. It is true that my changes are not obvious, but what I have done is make it able to grow, and learn.” He hesitated, waiting for a sign of approval from his master.

The lich remained silent, as if considering the implications of this. “Continue,” it said finally.

Encouraged, Alexi went on. “I enchanted it with some of the magic that drives the ghouls, my lord. Unlike other abominations, it is imbued with a great hunger…a desire to feed, and take from what it consumes.”

Frostwhisper turned its head to look at the doctor, its eyes burning with cold flame. Alexi willed himself not to blink. “Explain,” said the lich.

“The necromantic magics that sustain the creature are not stagnant, my lord. Whatever it eats, the magic adds to the whole. The more it devours, the larger, stronger and tougher it becomes. Allow me to demonstrate, if I may.”

The lich nodded slowly, and Alexi walked to the other side of the table. Grabbing a hunk of rotting meat from a nearby bucket, the doctor dropped the dead tissue into a gaping hole in the creature’s stomach. Almost as soon as the meat made contact, it began to change color, quickly matching the shade of the abomination’s flesh. Within minutes, the meat was completely absorbed, appearing as if it had always been there.

Frostwhisper watched the process impassively. “Impressive.”

Alexi nodded. “Indeed, my lord. In truth, the stitches are more for show than purpose at this point. The frame will adjust to support the additional mass, and will grow taller as well. Before long, it will be substantially larger than the other abominations. Also,” he said with a sly grin, “this same magic allows the creature to learn and adapt – the standard magics keep our creations mindless because are unable to alter the structure of the brain. This one has no such…disadvantage.”

The lich considered this in silence for several minutes. “What are the limits of its intelligence?”

Alexi gestured dismissively. “Little more than a child at best, my lord. Mindless creatures require too much control, but so do overly intelligent ones. It will learn from its mistakes and remember orders, but it is still stupid enough to be properly malleable.”

“Good. I am pleased that you understand the needs of the Scourge. However, the time it took to construct this creature concerns me. If it passes the trials, we will need many more. You are capable of reducing the production time, I assume.”

The doctor bowed. “Of course, my lord. Prototypes always take the longest to produce. Now that I understand the process, I can work on perfecting it.”

Nodding, the lich almost smiled. “Good. The Scourge needs more innovators such as yourself, Necromancer Romerov.”

A promotion! Alexi was thrilled, but kept his face calm. “I am pleased to be of service, my lord. And if I may make a suggestion…”

“You may.”

“Necromancer Edvard Barov’s abomination would make for a fitting trial for my creation. He has attempted to discredit me and my work on a number of occasions, and I believe that such a challenge would settle matters once and for all.”

“Yes,” said the lich, “I have heard him speak of you. His dislike for you leads him to act…unprofessionally at times.” Frostwhisper paused momentarily. “The challenge will be held tomorrow at dawn.”

Alexi bowed again. “We will be ready, my lord.”

Frostwhisper turned away and slowly glided out of the lab. Pausing in the doorway, it looked over its shoulder at Alexi. “We expect great things of you, Necromancer Romerov. Do not disappoint us.” Then it was gone.

Alexi stood at the table a few minutes longer, then collapsed into a nearby chair. “Whew! Never been so nervous in my life!” He grinned with fierce triumph, and rubbed his hands together. “Alright…time to put the finishing touches on you. Tomorrow’s a big day, my boy, and it wouldn’t do to be unprepared.”


Part 3: Arise!

Midwinter. Midnight. The Scourge facility of Scholomance was a beehive of activity, even at this hour, and especially on this day. Liches prepared dark rituals to take advantage of the equinox and the magical energies available at the changing of the seasons. High-ranking necromancers aided their leaders in their preparations, gathering reagents and tomes of forbidden lore. Ghouls and abominations guarded the gates, ready for an Alliance attack if it came. Only the acolytes slept this evening, and many of them were too keyed up by the magic in the air to rest either. Doctor Alexi Romerov was not among the blissfully unconscious.

In the dark of the night, Alexi stood beside the table where his creation lay, chanting vile words of necromantic power. The lab was devoid of light, save for five candles that gave off a red glow and unholy-looking smoke. Though the magic that animated the monster was complete, it had not yet awoken, and the final spell that would bring the creature to life was nearly finished.

“– drak thal’an, gul kad alanatos! Fer’nas, grath vo zeradal! Rise, my creation! Know life once more, in the name of the Lich King!”

As he spoke the final words, Alexi thrust his arms into the air, and the black smoke flowed down into the gaping maw like a whirlpool. The force of the wind extinguished the candles, leaving Alexi in utter darkness.

The ritual complete, the doctor lowered his arms. Silently, he stood there in the dark while he caught his breath. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead to relieve the weariness that threatened to overcome him. “Guess my age is showing,” he said, chuckling. “This wouldn’t have drained me so much ten years ago. Got into this business too late, I suppose, but it won’t matter soon. Now, where did I put those candles…”

“Here, mas-ter.”

“Ah, good.” Striking a match, Alexi found the candle he was looking for and lit it. Light radiated from the flame, revealing a hideous face that peered at him curiously in the dim illumination. An ordinary man would have been scared out of his mind by the proximity of this horror in the darkness, but Alexi took in the sight calmly. He had, after all, seen that face every day for months.

“Good, you’re awake!” said the doctor with a broad grin. He moved around the room, lighting more candles so he could see more clearly. When he turned back, he saw his creation propped up on one massive elbow, looking around the brightening room with childish amazement.

“Yes, mas-ter,” it replied in a deep, resonant voice. It had the same echo-y quality that all of the Scourge possessed, as if the magics that reanimated them carried their words from the damned souls in the hells directly to their lips. A mystery Alexi hoped to solve, but one that would have to wait for now. “Where…this place?” asked the abomination, bringing Alexi out of his musing.

“I am Necromancer Alexi Romerov, and I am your master,” he replied with a commanding tone. “You are in my laboratory, in the Scourge training facility of Scholomance.”

“Sk…Skolo…manse?” The creature struggled with the name, just like a child would with a new and difficult word. Alex was thrilled, but kept his face calm.

“Yes, but that word is not important right now. Do you understand that you are one of the Scourge, and that the Lich King is your master?”

The monster paused briefly, then spoke. “Yes…we are…the Scourge. Lich King…mas-ter of Scourge.”

Alexi chuckled. “Excellent. Do you have a name?” It was always wise to ask, he reflected, since occasionally the Lich King stepped in during the reanimation process and gave the newly awakened undead a name. Once given, the undead would cling to the name with the only shred of personal identity they had left, and could never be convinced to accept another name.

The abomination looked sad, and shook its head. “No, mas-ter. Had name once, but…forgot.”

Fierce pride surged through Alexi. So intelligent already, and newly risen! This monster would be his – no other would command it! “Then, my creation, you shall be called…” He glanced at the creature’s plump gut and grinned. “Pudge. Rise, Pudge, and stand before me!”

Pudge nodded vigorously. “Yes, mas-ter. Pudge…good name.” Sitting up, it slowly slid off the table and tentatively placed its oversized feet on the floor. Its balance was a bit shaky, Alexi noted, but that problem would work itself out soon enough. Pudge simply needed to get used to its – his, Alexi decided – his new body.

“Excellent. Now, walk around the outer edge of the room while I tell you what you need to know. You have many things to learn, my creation.”

Pudge nodded again and began stomping around the room, his great bulk causing test tubes to rattle and loose items to shake with every step. “That sound good, mas-ter. Pudge know so little.”

Alexi cackled with glee. “Yes, yes, I know. Now, listen to me very carefully. In a few hours, we will leave this place. You will follow me to another place. Is this clear?”

“Yes, mas-ter.”

“Good. When we get to the other place, you will wait until things are ready. When I say to, you will fight another abomination, like yourself. You do know how to fight, yes?”

Pudge’s circuit around the room slowly briefly as he thought, then nodded and curled a meaty hand into a fist. “Yes, mas-ter, can fight. Need sword.”

Alexi laughed dryly. “Unfortunately, we do not have swords big enough for one your size. You will have to learn a new weapon, I’m afraid. Pull down that hook from the ceiling.”

Pudge stopped walking and looked up. Seeing the massive butcher’s hook, he stomped over and pulled it loose. The large length of chain that was attached to the hook came down as well, a portion of it smacking Pudge on the head as it fell. “Ow,” grumbled Pudge petulantly, rubbing his head.

Chuckling, Alexi moved towards the door. “I’m going to get some sleep. I will be back in a few hours, so practice with that thing while I’m gone. Don’t leave this room for any reason…and don’t break anything!”

“Yes, mas-ter,” called Pudge distractedly, already busy testing the weight and balance of his new weapon. As Alexi closed the door, he heard the sound of shattering glass and a muffled “Oops.” Alexi clucked with annoyance, but he was pleased nonetheless. His Pudge would show them all…tomorrow!


Part 4: Trials

Pudge stomped noisily down the halls of Scholomance, following his master Alexi Romerov and dragging his new hook behind him. The abomination made sure not to follow the little man too closely – he had already stepped on the doctor’s foot once, and his master still walked funny. He knew his master was angry with him because he had stopped talking for the first time since Pudge woke up. Still, the doctor was talking to him again, so Pudge guessed that meant he wasn’t mad anymore. The master was talking awfully fast, too, and Pudge struggled to keep up with the constant flow of words. He knew it was important, but it was hard to focus on walking and listening at the same time.

“– and remember, Pudge,” said Alexi as he strode quickly down the hallway, “when you see a lich, stand aside and bow to them. And call them Lord, preferably with their name if you know it – they like that, as much as an emotionless being of untold power can like anything. You do remember how to bow, right?”

“Yes, mas-ter. Pudge practiced many times.” Pudge remembered what liches looked like. They were tall, but not as tall as himself, very thin and bony, and they floated off the ground. Pudge wondered how they did that. There was something else…oh, and they made things cold. Pudge was sure he would know a lich when he saw one now.

Alexi stopped in front of a massive set of double doors taller than Pudge, and the monster stopped himself before he ran into his master. He was still getting used to walking, though he didn’t remember it being so hard…before. Before when? The thought always made his head hurt.

“Now then,” said Alexi, turning to face his creation, “do you remember what you’re going to do out here?”

Pudge paused for a moment to think, then nodded vigorously. “Yes, mas-ter. Pudge wait for signal, then fight other thing like me. Win fight, make everyone happy.” He grinned toothily, feeling very pleased with himself.

Alexi chuckled dryly. “Well, certainly not everyone, but,” he waved dismissively when Pudge looked confused, “that’s an explanation for another time.”

Pudge nodded again, still feeling like he was missing something. “Yes, mas-ter.”

The doctor turned back to the doors and pushed them open slowly. As the doors yawned open, Pudge saw the outside world for the first time…but it wasn’t the first time. He had seen this Before, whenever that was. Stepping outside, Pudge blinked in the bright light of early morning. The sunlight all but blinded him, and from the way his master was squinting, the light was no more pleasant or welcome for the small man.

Slowly, the light faded until finally Pudge could see again. Dry, cracked black dirt crunched beneath his bare feet as he looked around with childish amazement. A vast encampment covered the area, full of people and buildings of all shapes and sizes. A large forest of black and browning trees lay to his right, and he knew that at one time animals of all kinds had lived there. He could hear no sign of them now…which was just as well, considering how much noise the people were making. “Why they all so busy, mas-ter?”

“Everyone has work to do,” replied Alexi, “and the Scourge has no place for slackers. We are at war, as I have told you before.”

Pudge looked down at his master curiously. “Is Scourge winning?”

Alexi hmphed with annoyance. “We made excellent progress initially, but I understand that we are at something of a stalemate with the allied forces. We no longer have the advantage of surprise, and they are learning our tricks. Too few of our leaders understand the need for change…but you will change that. You will help us win this war, Pudge.”

Pudge scratched his head, not knowing what his master meant. “How, mas-ter?”

The doctor gave him a wry grin, then began to move forward again. “You’ll see,” he said, chuckling quietly.

Pudge shrugged and continued to follow his master. After a few minutes of walking, they reached a large clearing. A great number of robed people stood around, apparently waiting for something. Waiting for him? Pudge thought this was very strange; his master told him there would only be the other and its master, and maybe some liches. Did these people think he was important? He didn’t think he was important.

Alexi strode confidently into the clearing, and several people stepped aside to let him pass. On the other side of the area they were doing the same, making room for an angry-looking man and a tall, bulky creature. Was this the thing that was like him? Pudge looked down at himself, then back at the monster. Yup, very much like him. Smaller, though, and carrying a huge cleaver instead of a hook. Pudge wondered if it could fight well, and found himself looking forward to the battle.

The other man stormed across the clearing and pointed angrily at Alexi. “You!” he shouted, then lowered his voice. “I don’t know how you arranged this, Alexi,” the man whispered fiercely, “but this…this *farce* won’t help you!”

“I beg to differ, Edvard,” replied Alexi smoothly, a condescending smirk on his face. “And I didn’t have to arrange anything. I simply mentioned the idea to Lord Frostwhisper, and he thought it had merit.”

“Then it *was* your idea! I knew you had a hand in this, you, you–” Barov closed his eyes briefly, obviously trying to calm himself. “I know what you’re up to,” he said with a vicious smile, opening his eyes again, “but it won’t work. You only finished him last night, so you can’t possibly have had any time to train him yet. Stitches and I have had the past month to train – it’s easy to see who the victor will be.”

“You can tell yourself that all you want, Edvard,” said Alexi calmly, “but very shortly we’ll see who wasted their time…and odds are, it won’t be me.”

Edvard glared at Alexi for several seconds, then turned around and walked back to his abomination. “We’ll see who laughs last, Romerov!”

“Yes,” said the doctor quietly, “we shall see.”

Pudge looked down at his master curiously. “Who that, mas-ter?”

Alexi sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. “My rival. My enemy. Whatever other nasty word I can call to mind.” He gave Pudge a serious look. “Whatever happens, Pudge, do not harm him. Defeat his creation, his…Stitches, but not him. He would love to use that against me.”

Pudge nodded. He didn’t know what his master was talking about, but it sounded important. “Yes, mas-ter.”

Suddenly the chatter died down, leaving the clearing in silence. The crowd parted again, making way for three liches. Pudge noticed his master was very surprised, but didn’t know why. “Three,” Alexi whispered with awe, “three of them! I never expected so many! Lord Ras Frostwhisper in front, of course,” Alexi pointed the lich out to Pudge, “and flanked by Araj the Summoner and Naze the Eternal! Truly amazing! They’re usually too busy to bother with such things…a point for our side, to be sure!”

The three liches, having arrived, stopped and took a moment to survey the challengers. Frostwhisper glided forward a short ways and stared at each of the necromancers in turn. “You are ready?” it said coolly.

Alexi bowed as deeply as his age would allow, and Pudge mimicked him clumsily a moment later. Edvard and Stitches did the same, though more smoothly. “We are, Lord Ras.” He bowed again to the other liches. “Lord Araj, Lord Naze.”

The two liches regarded him emotionlessly, then nodded their acknowledgement. Ras held up a hand, then dropped it quickly. “Begin.”

Bellowing a war cry, Stitches charged across the clearing. Taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack, Pudge stumbled back a step and clumsily raised his hook and chain. His hasty defense blocked his foe’s chop at the last second, and Pudge felt the impact reverberate through his meaty arms. His opponent was strong! Keeping the chain up, he blocked a second strike, then ducked under a vicious swing that only barely missed. Knowing he had to get off the defensive, Pudge attempted to hit the other abomination with his hook, but Stitches easily dodged the inept attack. The miss threw him off balance and sent him stumbling forward, knocking his foe back a few steps.

Pudge swung wildly, trying to force Stitches back further, but the abomination would have none of it. His enemy grinned as he casually blocked another strike, then countered with a brutal backhand. The blow made Pudge reel in pain, pain he had not felt since Before. Distracted, he only noticed his opponent’s next attack at the last second, when it was too late to avoid it. The cleaver bit into Pudge’s shoulder and he roared with pain, his green blood flowing out of the wound. A reflexive strike knocked the abomination’s arm aside and dislodged the cleaver, and a quick attack with the hook struck Stitches in the face as Pudge retreated. Stitches shook his head clear and spit out a grimy tooth, then growled and stomped forward to continue the fight, no longer amused.

Edvard laughed heartily, his voice carrying across the clearing. “Your Pudge is putting on quite a show, Alexi! As you can see, a little training goes a long way, though I think your creation will go far as well – to the trash heap!”

Alexi smiled slightly in response. “This fight is far from over, Edvard. First blood means nothing.” Edvard’s taunts were irritating, but Alexi was more concerned about Pudge. He knew the creature would learn quickly…but he wished Pudge would speed it up!

The battle continued to rage between the two monstrous enemies. Pudge managed to get in a few more weak hits, but was unable to slow the other abomination’s assault. Several more minor wounds leaked blood, though Pudge was not yet seriously injured. Stitches battered Pudge’s hook aside with a flurry of attacks, then leaned down and swung at an exposed leg. Pudge moved the appendage clear, but a sudden push sent him careening off balance. Toppling like a falling tree, he fell to the ground with a deafening crash. Struggling to right himself, Pudge barely noticed his opponent bringing his cleaver down hard. Raising an arm to defend himself, the blade cut into him and caused immeasurable agony.

Fighting through the pain, Pudge’s anger rose. He knew how to fight! The hook was slowing him down because he didn’t know how to use it, but it could not keep him from winning! Snarling with rage, Pudge caught his foe’s head in the hook and pulled him down, headbutting him ferociously. Stitches reeled back from the blow, giving Pudge the time he needed to get to his feet. The other abomination growled and swung again, but Pudge neatly caught the blade on the inner curve of the hook. Spiraling his arm around, he twisted his enemy’s arm around until he lost his grip, sending the cleaver flying across the clearing. Disarmed, Stitches tried to get back and retrieve his weapon, but Pudge grabbed him by the throat and jammed his hook into his opponent’s stomach, ripping the poorly stitched flesh open.

Howling with pain and rage, Stitches struggled to break free of Pudge’s grip. Suddenly he paused, and Pudge could faintly hear the mental command Barov was giving his creation.

Forget the abomination! Kill Alexi now! We are lost – this is our only chance!

Distracted, Pudge was unable to dodge the lightning fast blow to his head, and he released his grip. Stitches pushed past him and lurched towards Alexi with grim resolve. Pudge’s eyes widened with surprise. They were trying to hurt the master! They would not do that on his watch, thought Pudge, his gaze narrowing. Whipping the hook around like a sling, Pudge hurled it at the other abomination. Catching Stitches around the throat, he jerked the chain viciously and pulled his enemy down to the ground. Stitches struggled to rise, but Pudge lumbered forward and wrapped the chain around the abomination’s neck and yanked him up.

“You…made me hungry,” Pudge growled quietly. With that, he bit into his foe’s neck, consuming the undead tissue with sharp teeth and a ravenous appetite. Stitches screamed and fought to get free, but he was too weak. Soon he slumped over lifelessly, the necromantic magic that reanimated him no longer able to sustain him.

Edvard fell to his knees, broken and defeated. As Pudge sated his terrible hunger, Alexi walked over to Barov, accompanied by Lord Frostwhisper. Pale-faced, Edvard rose quickly, but swayed on his feet. Lord Ras gazed at him unnervingly for several minutes before finally breaking the silence.

“Pudge has defeated Stitches. Necromancer Romerov takes your position by right of challenge. Necromancer Barov, you will now oversee the acolytes’ ghoul training and creation. Is this clear?”

“Very…my lord,” replied Edvard quietly, bowing shakily.

The lich waved dismissively. “Dismissed.” Edvard glared at Alexi wrathfully, then turned and departed.

Pudge lumbered over, having finished his meal. He carried both the hook and the cleaver, and his toothy grin was covered in green ichor. Alexi noted with great pleasure that not only had all of Pudge’s wounds healed already, but also that he was at least an inch taller. He would have to measure his creation back at the lab to discover exactly how much he had grown as a result of his feast. Turning to face the lich, he bowed low. “What did my lord think of the trials?”

Frostwhisper looked over the abomination thoughtfully. “Brutal. Effective. He exceeded my expectations.” It glanced back at Alexi. “As I said before, I expect great things of you and this…Pudge, High Necromancer Romerov.”

Alexi’s smile broadened, and he bowed again. “We live only to serve, Lord Ras.”


Part 5: First Sortie

Alexi trudged wearily through the twisting passages of Scholomance, the silk of his new robes brushing against the floor quietly and picking up stray dirt. He never noticed how dirty the place was when he wore his Acolyte’s robe, but in his fine High Necromancer’s garb the dust and dirt disgusted him. He did not need to look to know that the hem of his robe had a thick coating of grime by now and would need washing…again. Perhaps he could ‘persuade’ a few of his less obedient students to sweep the floors clean. Menial labor always served as an effective punishment, especially for the unruly and arrogant.

Thinking about his new students made the doctor grumble under his breath with irritation. Some of them had a good balance of intelligence, discipline, subservience, and ambition, but they were far too few. Only a few suffered from lack of intellect, thankfully – they always required the most supervision, and had the highest odds of doing serious, accidental harm. Already one student had killed himself during a fairly simple exercise; the man’s spell had backfired, draining his life energies into the Twisting Nether instead of infusing a skeleton with necromantic magic from the dread realm. Alexi was glad to have him gone – fools like that had no place in the Scourge.

No, the students that frustrated him and made him feel like an old man were the overly ambitious and arrogant ones. They had enough intelligence to succeed, but too little discipline, subservience and wisdom to know their place. For most, learning magic is empowering, but wise mages quickly learn that for every secret they discover, they will find themselves with two more unanswered questions. The arrogant students reveled in their parlor tricks and lorded their magical ‘prowess’ over their lessers, with no understanding of how little they actually knew. Truly, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Sighing, Alexi made his way down the stairs to Ras Frostwhisper’s private laboratory. Passing a pair of elite skeletal guards, the doctor halted his step just inside the spacious room that held all of the lich’s personal experiments. Seeing that Frostwhisper was in the middle of a delicate procedure, and knowing full well that it would not pay to interrupt his master now, Alexi stood in the doorway and waited for the lich to acknowledge his presence.

Twenty minutes later, Frostwhisper set down his test tubes and cast a simple spell to slow the passage of time for the contents to a crawl – Alexi had used it many times before to preserve time sensitive projects when other matters called him away. Without looking, the lich gestured to a nearby desk and chair. “Sit.”

Gratefully, Alexi walked over to the chair and sat down, resting his tired body. A few minutes later, Frostwhisper floated around to the other side of the desk, seating itself in a large, high-backed chair. “You wished to speak to me, my lord?” asked Alexi.

“Yes. I wished to know if Pudge was successful on his first day in the field.”

Alexi shook his head. “I don’t know, Lord Ras. The assault unit hasn’t returned yet.”

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Pudge squinted in the bright light as he trudged through the forest, following a small group of necromancers, ghouls and abominations down a narrow trail. The dense woods kept out most of the light, but every so often a sharp beam of blinding sunlight would make its way through the tree cover onto the ground and creatures below. For an entity born and raised in darkness and shadow, the light was pure torture, and Pudge did his best to keep the harsh rays from his eyes. Despite his efforts, the sun assaulted him with unerring accuracy and irritating frequency, and Pudge grumbled with annoyance as he marched.

His fleshy stomach grumbled as well, reminding him that his only meal today had been a rotting deer carcass slain by the Plague. His master fed him well, but Pudge’s curiosity was as insatiable as his appetite, and the abomination was growing tired of the same putrid fare, day after day. He needed something different…something fresh. Some fresh meat, he decided – after the incident with the tree bark, he wanted nothing to do with plant life ever again. Just thinking about it brought the taste to his mouth, and he spit noisily to get rid of it. One of the necromancers leading the group glared at him, but Pudge just grinned toothily. They didn’t control him, like they did the others. Only his master could do that.

Catching a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, Pudge glanced curiously at the nearby trees. Another blast of sunlight hit him square in the face, however, driving the thought from his under-developed mind. The monster walked on, oblivious to the dangers of the silent forest.

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“Oh, I do hope Pudge is alright,” said Alexi nervously, rubbing his hands together in the cold office. “Any number of things could go wrong out there.”

Ras gestured dismissively. “He is capable, and you trained him well. He will be fine.”

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A pillar of fire erupted from the ground beneath the necromancers, slaying several instantly and leaving the others to burn alive. The other ghouls and abominations stopped mid-step, deprived of the controlling influence of the necromancers, and simply stood in place looking dazed and confused. Pudge looked around frantically, seeing an ambush party melt out of the woods around him. Bows, long ears…these were the Blood Elves his master told him about!

A tall elf in a large cloak and plate mail stepped forward, three balls of pale green energy circling his head. “You monsters have caused enough evil in our lands for one lifetime,” he stated calmly. “May you find peace in the afterlife, minions of the Scourge.” Raising a hand, he pointed at the hapless creatures. “Kill them all, my brethren! FOR QUEL’THALAS!”

Shouting vicious elven war cries, the elves charged the defenseless monsters. Realizing he had to do something, and quick, Pudge turned to his allies. “Fight!” he roared, “Fight, and leave none uneaten! REND AND TEAR!” Miraculously, the undead heard his command and hurled themselves at their rapidly approaching foes with a mindless frenzy. For better or worse, Pudge was their leader in this desperate battle.

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Alexi sighed, letting the tension drain out of him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Lord Ras. We old men tend to fear the worst, and my imagination is getting the better of my reason. After all, how badly could a routine patrol go?”

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“Ow! Stop shooting Pudge!” Pudge winced as another arrow wedged itself into his back, but the pain did nothing to slow his rampage of death. A quick backhand strike with his cleaver beheaded a charging swordsman, and a powerful blow from the hook crushed the skull of a second warrior. Pudge watched the dying elf twitch on the ground for a second, then grinned with satisfaction and turned back to the battle. Nearly half of his companions had fallen, too badly damaged to rise again, but their berserker fury and Pudge’s might had killed enough elves to make the fight almost even. Their enemies had clearly not expected the undead to fight back so effectively after losing their controllers, and that surprise had turned the tides in the Scourge’s favor.

Another arrow bounced off Pudge’s thick skull, forcefully reminding him that the archers did not, in fact, intend to leave him alone. Since they were not in the middle of the chaotic woodland conflict, they had recovered the quickest and focused their fire on Pudge, the most obvious threat. Snarling, Pudge speared a preoccupied elven warrior on his hook and threw him at the archers, knocking several to the ground and causing the rest to scatter. That gave him all the time he needed to barrel into their midst and shatter their line, killing most of the elven bowmen and sending the rest running.

A strange tingling sensation under his skin made Pudge turn around, just in time to see a large circle of magic rune appear on the ground under the battling elves and undead. The elven leader gestured imperiously and uttered words of arcane power, preparing to unleash another torrent of flame on the area. “Oh, no you don’t!” cried Pudge angrily, hurling his hook across the battlefield at the mage. The hook looped around the elf’s torso, and a vigorous jerk of the chain pulled him off his feet, disrupting the spell.

Pudge stomped over to the fallen leader, dragging the elf towards him as he paced forward. The mage struggled to free himself, but Pudge grabbed him by the neck before he could get away. Hauling the leader into the air, the abomination savored the stark terror of his captive. “What kind of a monster are you?” whispered the elf.

“Hungry,” replied Pudge with a grin. With that, he opened his toothy maw and bit the mage’s head off. Crunching noisily on his hard-won treat, Pudge watched the remaining elves turn and flee. Only a few managed to escape; the Scourge warriors fell upon the rest and began to feed, ignoring the screams of the still living as they feasted. Slinging the dead elven leader over his shoulder, Pudge gestured back at Scholomance. “Come! Time to go back!” he called across the clearing. Rounding up the remainder of the unit, Pudge stomped back to the Scourge base, followed by the wounded and battered survivors.

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A young acolyte scurried in Frostwhisper’s laboratory, stopping just past the guards. “Lord Ras, High Necromancer Romerov,” said the mage-in-training breathlessly, bowing to each in turn, “the scouting party has returned – they were attacked in the woods.”

Alexi leapt to his feet, shocked. “What about Pudge?!”

The acolyte took a moment to catch his breath before continuing. “Not too badly wounded…the other students are pulling the arrows out of him now.” The messenger took another deep breath. “I ran all the way here…I knew my lords would want to know as soon as possible.”

“A wise decision,” replied Frostwhisper. “Go to your creation, Romerov.”

“Yes, Lord Ras,” said Alexi gratefully. The old man bowed quickly, then hurried out of the lab. As he passed the acolyte, he patted the young man on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work, lad, and you’ll go far with the Scourge.”

Alexi barely heard the youth’s “Yes sir!” as he raced down the corridors of Scholomance, ab