[Part Three]
“Unholy pigeon plucker!” Zooti
grumbled as he stared at the rickety vessel
before him.
The ship had all the appearance of a massive
plank of wood that a giant decided to beat
into an odd shape and throw on the water.
Pylons of timber and stone jutted out in strange
places as if the ship itself had been struck
by massive ballistae no longer used by modern
civilizations. Overall the ship was painted,
partially, with a deep blood like maroon with
silver-ish trim. It span seventy feet and
sported a mighty singular mast from the center,
sales drawn in and a crow’s nest crowning
the pinnacle.
Of everything on the vessel the only part
that seemed to have any care taken in its
construction was the iconic woman on the front
of the ship. Her proud figure adorned the
nose of the vessel and bore the shape of an
ancient nagan beauty. Zooti could not place
the face but realized that the woman was of
high Naga caste, her amphibious tale wrapped
around the spine of the ship, her head held
high, her four arms outstretched as off protecting
the ship from danger or caressing the vessel
that her back was against.
In torn letters painted with a near white
color across the rear of the vessel was the
title “The Royal Pheonix.” A plank
of wood that looked in better condition than
most of the ship itself descended from the
main deck to the dock they stood upon, a grinning
Esteben waiting next to it. The blood elf
eyed them all intently as they approached.
“So friends?” he began, once
they were within earshot, “what do you
think of my oceanic legend?”
“Pazo fear splinters,” the tauren
chuckled as he gazed at the ship, walking
next to Zooti, bringing the drooling Sancho
behind him.
“Ya mon,” Hukari chimed in, “ya
boat be lookin like it ‘bout tah sink
itself in shame.”
“Excellent!” Esteben clapped
his hands together in excitement. “It
is the best thing to know we can be honest
with each other. This aquatic monstrosity
you see before you is far more than a simple
sea vessel.”
“It’s kindling too,” Matok
chuckled from the back of his great dire wolf.
Zooti was still a bit nervous being so close
to such a massive creature, especially when
it eyed him like that…
“Amusing,” the interrupted captain
continued. “Though a bit off the mark.
If we get into a rumble on the high seas,
she will do her part in the fight to be sure.
Her ladyship watches it always.”
“Her ladyship?” Rukra snapped,
almost envious in her tone. Hukari glanced
at her with a raised eyebrow.
“The lady of the Maelstrom. Her greatness
that is Queen Azshara.”
Zooti nearly slapped himself for not recognizing
it sooner. The figure on the front of the
ship was none other than Queen Azshara, once
proud matriarch of the entire Night Elven
kingdom and first of the race of aquatic elves
that would eventually be known as the Naga.
Anyone who had received training from Dalaran
knew that name from their studies, and have
even seen statues and shapes representative
of the queen.
However, the others had never even seen Dalaran,
and certainly didn’t know a historical
figure from over a thousand years ago. They
stared blankly at the Blood Elf as if he had
just spoken everything backwards.
“Fare enough,” Zooti finally
spoke up, not voicing his very deep concerns
about an elf that sailed under the banner
of the fallen queen. “If you can get
us across the seas then lets get going. I
don’t like staying in Goblin towns for
too long-“
“SIEZE HIM!” came a shout from
the land side of the dock. Zooti did not need
to turn around to recognize the voice of his
favorite Bruiser Grindozi.
“Blarghar har!” a pair of shouts
came in response to Grindozi’s command.
Without skipping a beat, without looking
over his shoulder, without saying anything
to anyone, Zooti lunged with all of his might
toward the ramp leading up the side of the
boat. Only once at the top did he spin to
see what was coming.
Grindozi was always remembered as a hard
ass by Zooti’s standards, and the little
gnome had some pretty high standards. In this
situation, Grindozi certainly did not disappoint.
He stood there with a broad grin covering
from ear to ear as two full fledged Ogres,
covered only with the most basic of sashes
over their naughty bits, charged toward Zooti
with a sort of rage only a bounty can bring.
“Zooti Fizzlefury!” he called
out as the Ogres barreled forth down the dock
toward the ramp Zooti had just run up. “You
are declared acquired by Ratchet Bounty number
four, seven, two, three as filed by the Rivotseeker
family!”
The rest of Zooti’s companions watched
in restrained amuzement as the Ogres charged
forward toward the ramp. As the first Ogre’s
foot touched the plank of wood, its brutal
battlecry was cut short. The two ogres stopped
abruptly as the slow melody of guitar strings
strolled over the breeze.
Zooti’s eyes searched the area for
the source of the music and saw Esteben, small
strangely crafted guitar in his hands, strumming
a tune that was beautiful to behold. The two
mercenaries turned toward the musician and
began to look longingly past him, as if in
a dream.
“Esteben…” the first whispered.
“Esteben…” the second responded,
its glazed eyes searching the sea beyond the
ship as if for some lost vision.
Esteben smiled to himself as he played and
turned his gaze toward Hukari. “You
should be running now.”
The witch doctor stared at him for a moment,
clearly not as enthralled as the other onlookers,
and snorted once at the blood elf. “Ya
be a poofta mon!”
He tugged at Rukra’s arm and then Pazo’s
and stepped toward the plank to the ship.
Matok and Golomojo quickly followed the others,
snapping out of the dream with relative ease.
“Stop them!” screamed Grindozi
from the end of the doc, but the ogres paid
him no heed. Nor was the goblin apparently
brave enough to venture down the doc after
them.
Esteben continued his tune, slowly inching
toward the ramp without skipping a beat. He
played and he played, dancing in tune as he
pranced up the ramp. Once at the top, he kicked
a lever and a resounding ‘snap’
was heard as the wood of the ramp vanished
from view, dissipating into the air as a cloud
of gas would. Only then did his fingers cease
their work on the strings.
“Fair thee well Grindozi,” Esteben
called out. “May you have better luck
catching your wife again.”
With that the boat began to move. No sign
of visible rows, wind, or any form of propulsion,
but the vessel just simply glided across the
water as if pushed by some unseen force.
Zooti looked at the Blood Elf in gaffaw.
“I suppose I owe you one,” he
finally mustered up the words.
“Oh my dear gnome,” Esteben chuckled,
“by the end of this trip I am sure you
will owe me quite more than that…”
“…and that was the second time
I was arrested at a fur rally,” Xynth
finished her story, though Leza managed to
only catch the very end. She had shifted between
paying attention to her neighboring cellmate
and her own dark thoughts about her family.
The tired mind gives way to wandering, her
brother Taurog used to say, but he was usually
drunk and contemplating his own dark past
when mentioning such things.
Leza still had not seen the rather raspy
young in the cage next to her. The stories
were interesting, and Xynth apparently was
in chatter mode, but the words were lost on
the young tauren. Her mind was so unfocused,
she was having problems even feeling the spirits
nearby. She knew warders of the earth lay
near the keep in silent wait, but her soul
could not touch them.
So far the General had been oddly courteous
to her, and aside from a bruise or a bump
she certainly had not been harmed in any lasting
way. She was all to painfully aware this was
out of no kindness on the part of her captors
and was fretting over what their true intentions
would eventually prove to be.
“…and then they wouldn’t
shut up about the dark portal. Day in and
day out…” Xynth continued.
“The Dark Portal?” Leza asked,
half coming out of her dream at the words.
“Yeah. It’s that thing all the
orcs came from. You’ve never heard of
the Dark Portal?”
“It sounds familiar…”
“Kek!” came the odd guttural
chuckle from the cell next to her. “Where
have you been hiding for the last twenty years,
in a grave? You do know what an Orc is right?”
“Yes, of course I do,” Leza snapped
back. She was not used to being the one being
condescended to. “The orcs saved my
people and helped us turn the tide against
the Centaur. I’m no calf anymore!”
“My bad,” came a soft muter from
the next cell. “Thought you were like
me for a moment there. What I was saying was
that these guards were chatting about the
Dark Portal and something about ‘Calling
the big guy,’ or something like that.
I think it was in code.”
“The Big guy?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t really paying
attention. They were trying to find some special
stones they had had on them a moment earlier
for a summoning or something like that.”
A clack of stones against stone resounded
from the next cell. “Not really sure
what these say, but I figure I can squeeze
a gold piece out of someone for them.”
“Pazo!” came the failing cry
of his father. The creature was on him, stabbing
with a blade deep into Pazra’s spine.
Pazo stood there in horror. He watched as
the Kobold screamed in victory as it dug the
knife deeper. Pazra was the greatest warrior
the Stonehoof had seen for many generations,
and even he had been caught by surprise at
the speed of the attack from the small rat
people.
Leza began to cry in her papoose affixed
to Sancho. The little girl was barely a year
old and the sounds of battle had been terrifying
for her. Nearby the sounds of Taurog, Pazo’s
older brother, could be heard as he struggled
against the three kobolds that had sprung
on him.
Two additional ones now clung to Pazo’s
arms, holding him back with frightfully powerful
force as he watched his father be assailed
by the tiny beasts.
It was too much for Pazo. They had lost there
mother only a few days earlier on their exodus
from the Centaur and now their father was
falling to one knee, violently swinging at
anything that came within range, reaching
for strength beyond any living Tauren’s
reach as he struggled to save his children.
His great maul swung, but the kobolds knew
their prey well. They stood just beyond reach
of the great metal tipped mace. They were
well aware of the history of the weapon. Many
of their kind had fallen to its swing and
now it looked to this small band of Kobolds
as if their victory here today would end generations
of bloodshed and hunting of their kind.
Pazo wretched, throwing himself against the
powerful arms that held him in place, his
juvenile muscles nearly spasming with the
effort as all of his thought was bent on saving
his father and siblings.
Taurog cried out and then went silent as
a blunt wooden club slammed into his snout,
sending the young tauren unconscious and limp
in the hands of his assailers.
Pazo watched as the Kobold with the wooden
club walked towards him. It chittered a bit
as it walked, mumbling something in their
incoherent language. The two holding Pazo
responded in gasps as they struggled to hold
him in place.
“Papi!” Pazo cried to Pazra,
who had fallen now to one knee, his strength
all together failing him. His eyes were beginning
to glaze, but with one strong arm he reached
over his head to grab at the kobold clinging
to his back.
“Die!” cried the Kobold as it
rode Pazra, desperately trying to stay atop
him while avoiding his grasping hand. “Die
at the hands of Willow Whisker! Die demon!”
“Willow Whisker! Willow Whisker!”
the kobolds chanted cheering on their hero
battling the Tauren who had become a legend
amongst their kind.
Pazra was more than a legend to Pazo though.
His mind reached out in agony as he sought
desperately for a way to save the bull who
had raised him. Eyes darted too and fro.
Then his gaze fell upon an odd thing. A small
green wing macaw stood off to one side of
the battle, resting on a root overlooking
the giant bluff of the needle. Pazo’s
eyes met the gaze of the odd bird and he felt
something.
You lack strength, child. Spoke his mind,
or so he thought. The voice seemed so soft
and strange to him. Your father lay dying
and you have not the strength to save him.
He shall die, your brother shall die, your
sister shall die, and so then shall you.
“No!” he cried back. “I
can save him!”
Child, the voice returned, you can’t
even save yourself. With my help, you can
save them all. I need only a token of you
in exchange.
“Anything!” Pazo screamed, tears
rolling down his nearly defeated face. “I
swear by my clan I will not fail this day!”
The terms, young Stonehoof, are this…
Pazo listened to the voice as it took what
he felt was an eternity to explain what Pazo
was agreeing to. He did not care. He did not
listen. His mind was made up and the voice
knew this well.
“I swear in his name!” Pazo responded
at the beckoning of the voice. A brief flash
shot through his mind that he knew not of
whom he swore by, but no price in this world
or the next could be greater than watching
his family fall before him.
So be it. Rise, champion, and may the legion
dread your coming.
It began small at first. Like a small thing
was tickling his arm, making the hair stand
on end. He felt the spines begin to stretch,
his arm aflame with the sensation and pain
of their poking through his skin. He half
fancied he heard a scream from his captors
as their hands no longer held him, but held
their bleeding palms together.
The kobold before him stood poised to swing
its club. Horror covered the creatures face
however as Pazo bowed down briefly, and then
flung himself with all of his might against
the torso of the rat person, horns down, slamming
into the gut of the vermin.
No thought governed his motions. Only raw
rage as he lunged, flying through the air
at Willow Whisker. With a paw, he grabbed
one of his father’s horns as he flew
over head and with the other paw, grabbed
the throat of the kobold. His fingers wrapped
around the jugular of the surprised vermin
and he swung out away from his father, using
the momentum to carry himself to the ground,
taking with him only the throat of the attacking
kobold, letting the rest of the limp body
fall to the ground.
With a snap, Pazo flipped to his left and
let the piece of boney flesh fly from his
hands toward another Kobold who had been approaching
his sister with a javelin. The flesh slammed
into the eye of the kobold, the bone jutting
into the tender region of the beast’s
cornea.
Rage still boiled the blood in his body as
Pazo ran past his father and picked up the
family’s mace from where it lay upon
the ground. With a fury that would belie his
juvenile age and size, he whirled the massive
weapon, the head of it slamming into the body
of one of his brother’s captors. Arcing
the weapon upward he brought it down upon
the head of the other kobold standing on the
other side. Both collapsed to the ground,
no sound escaping their crushed bodies.
Taurog crumpled to the ground himself, still
unconscious from the mace from before. Pazo
did not stop to see how his brother faired
however. Three more Kobolds lunged with pick
axes to attack the young tauren.
“Earthmother guide me!” he called
as his hooves slammed into the ground. He
felt as the very spirits of the earth flung
outward in shock. The three Kobolds paused
for a moment as they desperately tried to
regain their composure from the miniature
earthquake that shook beneath their feet.
Pazo held the mighty mace aloft and began
to spin, letting the momentum and weight of
the massive weapon guide him as he drove the
head into the first of the kobolds. The small
rat people, weighing less than a hundred pounds
each, had not the ground to withstand such
an attack or even to slow it down. A loud
snap was heard as the mace picked up the first
kobold, and slammed it into its companion
next to it, and the companion next to it.
Each fell dead to the ground, the mace half
glowing red from some energy ripping across
its shaft.
Through a mask of red haze Pazo surveyed
the battlefield and saw only the family kodo
still standing, his sister still affixed and
crying. Pazra lay on the ground not far from
his son, gasping and coughing blood.
“Pazo,” he called to his son,
reaching out his hand.
Pazo walked over to his father, the adrenaline
slowly fading from him, his muscled beginning
to feel the massive pains of his recent efforts.
“What have you done niño?”
“Papi,” Pazo knelt next to Pazra,
reaching for the dagger the dagger still lodged
in his father’s spine.
“No,” Pazra spoke, his voice
softer now. “It was poisoned. Leave
the blade lest I loose these last few moments…”
He coughed and dark blood mixed with black
ooze burst from his mouth.
“Don’t walk this path Pazo,”
he begged, his paw landing on his son’s
knee. “You are strong, you are a Stonehoof!
Do not give in to the whims of this curse
you have accepted.”
Pazo stared at his father blankly. He was
confused by the words but only listened so
closely to them. His eyes drifted back to
the dagger in his father’s back and
tears began to return to his eyes.
“Take my weapon, son, and may you forever
keep our clan safe.”
Pazra choked again, and then halted mid cough,
air escaping slowly.
“Noooooooo!” screamed Pazo as
he fell upon the fallen corpse of his father,
pulling the family mace over on to him. Tears
flowed from his eyes and he clung at the bright
white.
A flapping sound was heard next to Pazo’s
head. He looked up into the eyes of the tiny
bird, its dark red eyes. We have much to do,
young one…
“Papi!”
Pazo awoke in a cold sweat. The cool air
of the vessel greeted him like a brick to
the face. Tears covered his snout and eyes
and his body was shivering from the humid
breeze blowing through the cabin.
At first the feel of hay below him disoriented
the tauren, and his hand was on his family’s
weapon without even thinking of it. He raised
his snout and sniffed the breeze, but was
greeted with the gentle smell of the sea.
The world still spun about him, and he felt
a motion in the ground that spoke of no solid
earth below him.
He calmed briefly as his location began to
sink in. Surveying the room he saw tattered
wood, broken barrels and several crates stacked
up against one wall with a number of bizarre
symbols on them. Pazo had never been much
for learning his letters.
With a groan he hoisted himself up off of
the bed of hay that had been left for him.
He slowly remembered the voice of Esteben,
arguing against the presence of any tauren
on his ship. Zooti had upped the price and
the captain’s mood had changed drastically,
suddenly becoming overly friendly.
Pazo sheathed the family weapon, letting
it fall into straps crafted into his armor
to allow quick access to the bulky maul. He
turned and stretched. It had been many years
since sleeping in his armor and the soars
were driven deep into the muscles.
“Like hell you are!” came a shout
from outside, followed by a loud snap of magical
fire flying across the deck. Pazo turned to
the stairway leading up to the deck and began
to walk toward it. It was then he noticed
the green wing macaw sitting on a ledge staring
at him with dark maroon eyes.
You cannot run forever child, came the all
too familiar voice in Pazo’s mind. You
have a debt to pay.
“Mr. Sneed most with many giggles of
funnies,” Pazo responded with a grin.
“Many rise of moon and set of sun have
with count since Pazo make with last of worry.”
The macaw scoffed and Pazo smiled broadly
at the bird as he walked passed it.
“You son of a bitch!” the captain
slurred, his accent giving every syllable
an almost humorous ring in his wrath. The
ground around him smoldered with magical flames
extending out in the shape of a crater. “You
dare bring fuego aboard my vessel?”
“I was proving a point you asshat!”
Zooti shouted back from the crows nest where
he cowared trying to remain as much out of
sight as possible.
Matok sat with his back against the hull
of the vessel as he nibbled on some rations
and chuckled at the foray.
“You find this funny, Orc?” Esteben
geered.
“Yes,” the shaman spoke back,
undaunted by the angry face of the Capitan.
“I spent a good portion of my life hunting
your kind. I am amused I share a boat willingly
with you now is all.”
Esteben went more pale than usual. “My
race maybe, but not my kind. Those pointy
eared Highvales were always a sad excuse to
the elven race. Not to mention those throwbacks
the kal’dorie.”
“Whatever color, elf, you all smell
the same when the fear of the hunt is on you.”
Pazo stepped up from below decks and surveyed
the situation. He then immediately looked
up to Zooti’s position. “What
with of the do?”
“He started it!” Zooti called
out defensively.
“Like Tinkmaster Mekkatorque?”
Pazo responded back.
“Now that is just not fair! He didn’t
recognize Thermaplug’s vision!”
Zooti shouted back as he began to crawl out
of the crow’s nest.
“Come down silly bobblehead person,”
Pazo called up and then turned to Esteben.
“Zooti most with gleeful fire and bombs.
Make with not challenge or silly boat get
plunked.”
Esteben stared at the Tauren for a good long
moment, still plainly upset. At last he chuckled
slightly. “I honestly have no idea what
you just said, but it was heartfelt nonetheless.
Very well, I shall leave the amateur be for
the time being.”
Pazo nodded at the Capitan and then turned
to the Blood Guard. “Matok person fight
evil guy before?”
Matok raised one eyebrow at the comment.
“If you mean the General, no. I met
his people on the battlefield, but I did not
see him directly.”
“Unless card play with right deck,
not see General at all,” the tauren
slowly stepped toward the Orc as he spoke.
“You mean ‘Play my cards right?’
the old human saying.”
“No,” Pazo corrected. “In
order to win at cards with General, must use
different deck. One of plan and tricky. Generalperson
most with evil, most with deadly, and have
many ace of evil up sleeve.”
“Metaphors alone will not win a battle,
Stonehoof.”
“Indeed,” Pazo leaned in close
to the Orc. “Pazo say of trap all go
to save sister Leza and kill nasty general.
But to do one or other, must be will of go
to beyond world that shamanhead understand.
Must be flexible of moral and Pazo know sillyheads
that travel with Pazo are good people, good
friends, not evil. Not enough to win. Matok
must, when time right, help Pazo do what must
be done.”
Matok stared at the bartender. The tauren
had some drool still dripping out of his lip,
his eyes still had a glazed, almost foggy
look to them, and his posture was slouched
and weakened by the weight of his armor. However,
he also saw Pazo’s expression. There
was more strength of conviction and serious
emotion in that face than even the most stalwart
of the Horde.
“So be it,” Matok nodded. “What
must we do?”
“Ah, miss Stonehoof,” the general
greeted with a snide smile. “So good
of you to join us this evening.”
Leza felt herself slammed into the seat of
a chair again. She was still wincing from
the discomfort when the cowl over her face
was ripped off. Her eyes strained to adjust
to the moonlight that flared with a great
brilliance after the time in her dark holding
cell.
They were in a courtyard of Durnholdt Keep
this time. The ground was covered in runes
painted with a dark purple sand that seemed
to catch every hint of light and fling it
back with a brilliance that was almost blinding.
Leza knew little of dark magics, but even
she felt the power surging through the glyph
on the ground.
“I wanted you to see this,” the
general leered at her. “You are about
to witness history in the making.”
He drew forth a knife from a sheath on his
side and cut a deep wound into his left arm.
If it hurt him, he made no sign as blood poured
forth from the cut and coated the dagger.
He then held the blade over the glyph where
several of the lines intersected, and let
the blood drip slowly on to the glyph, the
light blazing even more brightly than before.
A face appeared over the runes. It glowed
faintly, faded too much to distinguish anything
but the most basic of features. Even the race
was masked to be nothing more than a basic
humanoid like creature.
“My lord,” the general spoke
as he lowered himself to one knee. “We,
your faithful who prepare the world of Azeroth
for your coming, await your command. We have
gathered all that you have asked of us and
now need only put such plans in motion.”
“Faithful,” came a dark and ominous
voice from the image, felt more than heard.
“Return to the Portal of Destiny. There
seek out Highlord Kruul. He shall pave the
way for my coming.”
“By your command!” The collected
orcs all chanted in unison.
The image began to fade. The General rose
to his feet.
“Blood Guard Olrek,” commanded
the general. Another orc, smaller in stature
and still very green like the orcs of Durotar,
stepped forward. “Bring the sacrifice.”
“By your command,” the orc saluted,
and stepped through the ranks of the collected
orcs. Leza did a quick headcount and saw roughly
ten or so had gathered for the ritual. All
but the ones watching her appeared to be officers,
adorned in regalia and insignias of their
second war with the humans. She noticed one
other insignia however. They all bore the
branding of the Burning Blade scared into
their necks.
Leza knew these were all older orcs. However,
Pazo had warned her long ago when he was teaching
her how to defend herself that one must never
challenge an old orc, especially those who
bore the ranks of officers of the Horde. Such
creatures were dangerous beyond recognition.
“Let me go!” came the voice of
a young child. Olrek came back through the
ranks of the officers dragging with him what
looked like a tiny human child. The girl could
only have been a decade old, but was young
by all standards of her people. Olrek gave
her a shove sending her to her feet in the
middle of the glyph. With a cry, the purple
energies from the sand caught the young girl
and threw her into the air, suspending her
for all to see above the glyph. Tears strolled
down her face and her clothes were tattered
and ripped.
The general turned to her with a smile. “Proud
Leza Stonehoof. As a girl you always wanted
to control demons did you not? You have even
cursed your brothers for making you take that
petty shamanistic route that Thrall was so
fond of. Well, sit there and witness the true
power of Kil’jaeden!”
With a grin he raised his dagger to throw
at the little girl.
Leza could take no more. She reached out
with her mind and felt for the spirits. The
winds and earth were angered by the spells
these warlocks were siphoning. This place
was strong and ripe with energy, being the
place where they first led Thrall from the
bindings of the Human forces.
The earth came to her aid first. With a stomp
on the ground from her hooves the spirits
of the earth shook the ground, rumbling in
a violent fit. Her guards struggled to stay
standing from the sudden assault.
Lunging upward, Leza flung the chair she
was bound to into the orc to her right. The
wood shattered on her target, her hands reaching
through the debris to grab the small mace
at the side of the orc.
With grasping fingers she ripped the mace
from the orc, holding it carefully in her
hands that were still bound behind her. She
whirled and swung with all the skill she could
muster, feeling the mace slam into the guard
who had been standing on her other side. Both
orcs fell to the ground with a gasp.
Wasting no time, she threw the bindings of
her arms into the mouth of one of the orcs
who had fallen to his knees and yanked with
all of her might. The razor sharp tusks of
the warrior cut through the rope like tissue
paper, and even took a tooth or two with it.
Her hands free she glanced up in time to
see Olrek lunging for her, his axe drawn.
“Spirits guide me!” she called
forth and felt the spirits of the earth rise
forth and fly from her hands slamming into
the Blood Guard, shocking him backward.
She reached out with her mind and made a
plea with the winds to guide her mace. A turbulent
vortex of air flew about her, aiding her movements
and letting her swing the weapon with an ease
that was far from natural. She slammed the
mace into the blood guard’s face twice
before he noticed her first swing. A crack
could be heard as fragments of the orc’s
skull were shoved into his brain.
As the orc fell to the ground she grabbed
at another mace from its sheath at the side
of the orc. Ripping it from its sash she felt
the spirits of the earth climb into the weapon,
giving it weight and mass unrivalled by other
weapons of its size.
She lunged through the air and grabbed at
the little girl suspended over the glyph.
Strange, dark feelings passed through her
as she soared over the purple energy, but
she did not let it slow her down. Leza passed
over the glow struck the little girl with
her shoulder, pulling her out of the fel energies.
Her hooves hit the ground and the little
girl’s arms fell around her neck, clinging
with all her might.
Leza burst forward with a speed that would
defy even a Kodo, edging the spirits into
a nearby plank of wood. It was no totem, but
the spirits of the earth were so enraged by
the machinacea of the orcs that they conceded
and bound themselves to the plank, slowing
all those pursuing the tauren by making the
world so much more heavy and binding.
“Stop her!” shouted the General.
Leza did not stop, but nor did she notice
any hint of annoyance in his voice. In truth
he sounded almost amused by the situation.
Leza was not about to wait around and find
out. She ran, ducking around the corner of
what used to be an internment hut. She dove
behind ruin and rubble, jumping over logs
and debris. The winds held her grace as she
tore across landscape unfamiliar and pitted
with sudden drops and destroyed buildings.
She rounded a corner and then came to a dead
stop.
There before her was what looked like a young
woman in a red dress, revealing various parts
of her milky white skin. Her ears stretched
high above her head and her eyes had a dark
hint of green to them more akin to a demon
than an elf.
A slight grin touched her lips as she raised
a finger pointing at Leza. “My dear,”
came the voice of the elegant woman, her very
speech and tone a melody in and of itself.
“You must be so very tired.”
Leza’s eyes began to sag, all energy
began to leave her body, and a feint green
beam of light seemed to be coalescing from
her body to the outstretched finger of the
elf. With a strain she tried to call upon
the spirits to aid her, but it was too late.
The exhaustion took over, and all the world
faded away into black.
[Top]
