"Welcome to..." series by Amienne
by Aeus | 20/02/2007 14:10:00 Overview of Chapters Part 1: Welcome to Azeroth, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne  Part 2: Welcome to Westfall, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 3: Welcome to Duskwood, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 4: Welcome to Wetlands, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 5: Welcome to Gnomeregan, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 6: Welcome to Arathi, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 7: Welcome to Desolace, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 8: Welcome to the Scarlet Monastery, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 9: Welcome to Stranglethorn Vale, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 10: Welcome to Uldaman, They said: "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 11: Welcome to the Ruins of Alterac, They said. "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 12: Welcome to Tanaris, They said. "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 13: Welcome to Feralas, They said. Part I "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 14: Welcome to Feralas, They said. Part II "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Part 15: Welcome to the Sunken Temple, They said. "Welcome to..." series by Amienne Note If you'd like to discuss with Amienne, you will probably find her on Ravenholdt: http://forums.wow-europe.com/board.html?forumId=1134&sid=1 [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 20/02/2007 14:11:33 “Greetings, Amienne. I’m delighted to see that you survived the landing!” The tall, blue demonic figure before her announced to the world, smiling widely. Ami wobbled slightly, unused to the feel of turf beneath her, and checked she was still in one piece. Hooves, blue skin, fingers, attractively twirling horns, tail? Yup, all completely normal. She swished her tail a little just to make sure before peering up at her compatriot. “Are you alright as well?” she asked, concerned. “How many of us survived?” “I know someone who’s keen to see you!” he continued loudly, ignoring her question completely. “He’s over there, and you should hurry.” “But I haven’t done my make-up!” Ami wailed. “And just look at this dress!” The guard smiled back at her in stony silence, and reluctantly she tottered over, becoming more used to the soft surface rather than the hard metal floor aboard the Exodar. A priest was standing about 10 yards away, and Ami wondered why the guard was needed at all. Surely the intelligent Draenai would be able to work out who to talk to as they clambered out of the wreckage? “Greetings, Amienne! I’m delighted to see that you survived the landing!” Ami looked closely at her superior. A bright smile blessed his lips, but there was something about his eyes, something frantic and desperate, as if he’d said these words more times than he’d thought possible. “So you want to be a Shaman then?” he queried, breaking out of his reverie. Ami frowned. “I didn’t say that!” The priest sighed. “I know you didn’t say that. But you do, don’t you?” “I might not want to. I might want to be…a mage! Or a priest or something.” “No, no you don’t. You want to be a shaman. They all want to be a shaman.” Ami’s eyes fell to the floor. “Um, yes. Sorry.” “Say it…” She muttered under her breath. “iwanttobeashamanplease” The priest brightened. “Thought so. Here’s your mace, food and water. Congratulations, you’re now a private in the armies of primal chaos.” Ami tilted her head, curious. “Do the armies of chaos have ranks? Isn’t that kind of, well, lawful?” “Shush now,” said the priest brusquely, “we don’t like to talk about that. Now then, it turns out that being goodly creatures of the Light, our space engines mutated the rabbits into weird beasts when we crashed. You should go and kill them all for the greater good.” “So a thousand years of evolution didn’t help us learn about protecting the environment then?” “Nope, seems not,” said the priest shortly. “Quickly now, that one over there is looking at you funny.” Ami peered down at the heavy mace in her hand, and then over at the slavering monstrosity rabidly chewing on its lip and drooling slime, likely acidic, a few yards away. “You know how it was our space engines that caused this trouble?” she asked slowly. “What, are you still here?” asked the priest, surprised. “Well, since given we’ve got a spaceship, can I have a blaster pistol instead of this mace please?” The priest looked worried. “Er, no. Er, they all broke. The, um, antimatter converters overloaded and shorted out the, the naquata generators. Luckily we happened to be carrying a limitless store of poor-quality medieval weaponry in our hull, so shut up and go batter that thing.” Ami sighed and wandered over to the twisted breach of nature that was peacefully poking a rock with its nose. She closed her eyes and swung, and with an uncomfortable splat it died. “Can I learn a totem now?” she called back to the priest behind her. “No! Go kill some more things first! Remember, the Light teaches us that killing others makes you powerful! Don’t forget to root through the bloody corpse to steal its belongings!” Ami sighed again and jogged on to the next horror that was softly mewling to itself while prodding its ear with a tentacle. From behind her came the voice of the priest once more. “Greetings Shaamman! I’m delighted to see that you survived the landing!” It may have been her imagination, but she was sure that there was the hint of madness in his voice. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 20/02/2007 14:13:33 Amienne hissed with irritation as she kicked the body of Van Cleef. She knew Gryan Stoutmantle was after his head - the others who had battled through the Mines had told her as much though she hadn’t had the chance to talk to him herself. She was sure that the leader of the Defias had a head a few moments ago, at least, she didn’t think you could call someone a lapdog if your windpipe stopped an inch above your shoulders. But here she was now, desperately searching for the incredible vanishing skull. Seething with frustration she muttered to herself as she moved to join her fellows peering down at the deck far below. *** There was no way he couldn’t have realised that something was going on, but Cookie the Murloc still trudged his way back and forth, studiously ignoring the rest of the world. When the cannon had exploded, destroying the door, he had barely blinked. When Mr Smite, the Tauran first mate, had bellowed his defiance he had merely gobbled quietly to himself. When Van Cleef himself threw all his forces at the invaders, he’d simply snuck a look over the decks. Five murderous mercenaries, same as always. A shaman, a couple of druids, a warrior and a rogue it looked like to him. Cookie stared down at his wand and mace, and with a self-satisfied smirk had carefully tossed the latter into the water. He might have to wander aimlessly, waiting to be battered to a fishy pulp, but there was nothing to say he had to be carrying the mace when they got here. As the warrior landed on the heavy boards in front of him he grinned to himself and with a defiant “Murglemurgleburgleglub!” closed for combat, smugly waving his wand. *** Some time later Amienne puffed with exhaustion as she climbed the slope to the main tower in Westfall. Defias blood encrusted her hands and arms, and she placed her fist on her hips with a fierce expression. “Right then. That’s it. I think I’ve killed them all. Thousands of them, it feels like. You can’t move for the flaming bandits out there, you know? I’ve run all over Westfall hunting the lawless, being chased by wolves and vultures and barked at by crazed gnolls. Can I PLEASE have the Tunic of Westfall now?” Gryan grinned a sadistic little smile. “No, my little blue friend, you can’t. If you think that killing a few bandits is all it takes, you’ve got another thing coming? Maybe I’ll send you to Redridge for no good reason next, or maybe I’ll make you talk to someone in Stormwind. Get shirty with me and I’ll send you off on the secret “Donuts from Darnassus” quest I reserve for smart-arses! Remember, without my co-operation you get nothing! NOTHING I say! Ahahaha! AHAHAHAHA!” Ami’s eyes widened in fear as she took a long step back. Swiftly, she tried a different tack and clasping her hands together bowed her head slightly. “I have completed the task you set for me, kind sir. May I ask how I might help the honourable Alliance next?” Gryan nodded to himself as he smirked viciously at the Draenei. “That’s better. Now then, we still haven’t found out where the secret Defias Hideout is yet, have we? Perhaps that should be your next task…” Amienne couldn’t stop herself stomping a hoof and throwing her hands into the air in irritation. “Yes, we have! I’ve been there once already! It’s over there,” she gestured with a wave of her arm, “down in Moonbrook by the fountain, last door on the left. The one by the dirty great monolith you can use to summon people to the Deadmines with. It’s practically got a flashing pink neon sign saying DEFIAS SECRET HIDE-OUT! For crying out loud, how much more obvious can you get!?” “Shut it, girly, or you’re never getting one of these!” Gryan snapped as he patted the 30 foot high pile of leather tunics behind him that stood next to a literal forest of staffs. A much smaller bundle of chausses propped them up from the other end. “Go talk to that Defias Traitor there, yes, that one. The one who betrayed all that he ever held dear for a lifetime running to Moonbrook and back. He’ll show you where their secret lair lies.” The grin Stoutmantle gave her was cloaked in malice and, shivering slightly, Amienne backed away to the bald man a few feet down the slope. She turned to him and, taking a deep breath, summoned all her charm and her sweetest smile. “Hello there, my fine friend! That nice Mr Stoutmantle suggested you might be able to show me to the “secret” hideout?” Amienne couldn’t help but make quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “Sure,” smiled the bare-chested man, “just wait here while I run these two down the road and I’ll be back in a jiffy.” His lean physique held barely an ounce of fat and he turned and trotted off at a surprisingly awkward pace, followed by a couple of female night elfs. Amienne sighed softly and went to disembowel some goretusks while she waited, hoping that perhaps she might be lucky this time and find one with a liver. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 23/02/2007 14:31:31 Ami frowned and worry-lines creased her brow as she crossed back over the bridge to double-check her sanity. On the northern side, the midday sun warmed the rivers and glades of Elwynn Forest. In the distance came the regular ‘thwack’ of axes felling trees for lumber, and humans felling Defias for their red bandanas. Amienne hadn’t quite worked that bit out yet, having spent a good time around the Exodar and becoming fairly, <ahem> experienced in her own right before reaching human lands. Perhaps the King of Stormwind had demanded his people make a giant red balloon or a cuddly blanket for a Fel-Walker or some-such.? Whatever it was, as soon as a Defias crawled out of his little bandit hidey-hole, someone would stab him in the gullet and steal his bright red bandana. Perhaps, she quietly mused, these red masks had the same karmic effect as those red shirts worn by low-rank security officers on the Exodar! With a shake of her head, Amienne focussed on the here and now and headed south once more. Trip-trap trip-trap trip-trap went her hooves on the bridge. When no trolls leapt out she allowed herself to take a breath of relief. In moments the sun was hidden behind clouds that appeared from nowhere and a dark pallor fell over the land. The chirrupy cheerfulness of the woods to the north was replaced by the skittering of spiders and the distant howl of wolves. Ami set her hips as if to challenge the dark woods. They were more than just a bit dark, and even ‘gnarled’ wasn’t strong enough to describe them. It was more as if someone had buried the word ‘spooky’ in the middle of an old graveyard and then grown a haunted forest around it. In THIS wood, a little girl in a red cloak would have said “Bugger that!” and run straight home to her mummy, leaving grandma for wolf-meat. Steeling herself with the thought that the light shines all the brighter in the darkness, she ventured onwards. *** “So you’re just an innocent old man who happens to live on his own by a graveyard because you like the peace and quiet?” Amienne asked dubiously. “Bwahahaha <cough> erm, yes, that’s right my deary! Just an innocent old hermit, that’s me.” Abercrombie smiled his most winning smile, which was unfortunately just a fraction of an inch to the left of his Evil Grimace. He ploughed onwards in any case “See, I’ve got my Hermit’s union membership card and have a good attendance record at the hermit conferences. I even won Hermit of the Year a while back.” The old man waved a laminated card in front of the Draenae’s eyes. “That says INU. How does that mean hermits?” Amienne narrowed her eyes. The wizened fellow quickly slipped the card back into a pouch. “Yes, yes, it stands for…um…Innocently Nice and Unique. That’s me, that is.” Amienne peered past the gnarled old man and around his hut. “So these dripping candles are for…?” “Um, environmentally sensitive lighting.” “And those body parts?” “Furniture’s not as cheap as it used to be. And these are fully recyclable.” “How about those books then? A Primer of Zombies by Ivor Plot? A Simple Guide to Stitches, by Miss Tickly-Vile? Necromancy for Beginners by I R Evil?” Abercrombie glared at her angrily. “Look, does it matter anyway? Even if I were an insane undead-summoning maniac, there’s nothing you can do about it until my master plan reaches its climax.” “I could always crush your skull with my slightly-improved-but-still-mostly-ineffectual mace?” Ami challenged boisterously. “Go on then; I dare you.” spat the hermit. Amienne prepared herself for combat in the time honoured way. Three totems appeared around her with three little pops, and she started to channel the lightning. Nothing happened. She stared down at her mace, willing her arm into murderous intent. Despite her best efforts it stayed by her side, casually swinging. She gave a little yowl of frustration before sighing. “What was it you wanted again, my poor old innocent friend?” she said, smiling sweetly. Abercrombie grinned and flicked the human flesh from between his teeth. *** “Oh my,” panicked the Mayor, “you’ve been helping the old hermit? But now it turns out that he’s the evil old herbalist who wants to destroy Darkshire?” “You don’t say,” said Amienne slowly in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “And he would have got away with it too if it wasn’t for us dratted kids. What are you, psychic or something? Can I PLEASE kill him now?” “Er, no. I have a better plan.” suggested the Mayor brightly. “Better than cracking his skull, dragging his lifeless form to the Cathedral in Stormwind and burying it?” “Oh yes, much better than that. You need to unearth the undead form of his wife, cut out her heart and bring it back to me. That’ll be sure to calm him down.” The Mayor looked pleased with himself. Amienne sighed. “So your response to a man using powers of the deepest darkness to unleash a horror intended to raze your town to the floor is to kill his wife? Again?” “Um, yes. That about sums it off. Now quickly my girl, jog on…” Amienne sighed as she headed back to the dark and twisted woods once more. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 06/03/2007 09:36:16 Amienne crept through the reeds at the edge of the water. That is, she would have crept, but her back was still giving her trouble and the choice was to stand boldly in clear view, sit with her knees to one side, or lie down and stare at the stars. She could kneel too, but that was a little tricky and made her knees go pop. “Creeping” therefore turned into the rather more exciting escapade of sitting casually amongst the foliage for a minute or so, then leaping to her feet and sprinting 10 feet before dropping once more to a relaxed position that said “It might appear that I’m hiding from the Murlocs, but in fact someone’s going to be along with strawberries and champagne any minute. Where did our picnic blanket go again?” A lot of people in Azeroth had this problem. Perhaps, she mused, it was something to do with gravity. But that wouldn’t explain the odd people she walked quickly past in Goldshire who seemed to spend their entire lives leaping in circles round each other. She had presumed that was some sort of tribal dance and left them to it. Despite her best efforts however, a murloc had spotted her through the thick reeds, and with a “burglegurglegurgle” it closed in a suicidal dash. Amienne sighed as she popped a pathetic-looking healing totem into existence. She knew that the right thing to do was to regard all members of every race as individuals. Just because one troll attacked you on the road didn’t mean another had murderous intent. There was something about Murlocs though that made her tail itch. The mindless, unending horde of crazed fish men charging heedlessly into battle didn’t fill her with terror so much as massively irritate her. As she traded blows with the slimy monster (wielding her slightly-improved-but-still-not-particularly-impressive mace) she mused that perhaps the world should consider itself lucky murlocs preferred rustic towers with a sea view, as otherwise they’d easily have swarmed over all of Azeroth by now. *** Amienne winced as she handed over the coins. She’d come back to Menethil Harbour to repair her armour and was frankly astonished at the prices bowyers were charging nowadays. A whole gold just to sew up some tattered leather and stick a bit of flexible tape around the wobbly flange on her mace. . Briefly she wondered where all these people trained to repair everything, and why she couldn’t attend the “Tradesman’s College of Advanced Kit Repairing” herself. She’d heard there was a fortune to be made in fixing wands. “Doomed I say! Doomed! DOOOOMED!” Ami sighed. “Are you still at it?” she queried the smelly old tramp by the entrance to the inn. “Oh, hello miss. Didn’t see it was you again. Yup, it’s my job you know, intimidating the customers. I’ll get a right talking to if I stopped.” He coughed and paused for a minute, clearly running through some sort of prepared speech. “Er, yes. Oh if only I had a drink I could tell you the rest of my tale!” “If I give you this will you shut up?” Ami pulled out a flagon of mead that had luckily not spilled a drop despite laying in the bottom of her back-pack since a friendly dwarf had bought it for her a couple of weeks ago. Flicking the fluff from the froth, she handed it over. First Mate Fitzsimmons stared at the flagon and threw up his arms in dismay. “What is it about you people, huh? I ask for a drink and every single one of you brings me back a flagon of mead. Do you know how much I hate this stuff? I’ve got gout from the amount of that rubbish I’ve had to put away! Once, just once, I wish someone could bring me, I don’t know, a glass of milk, or perhaps a piquante little pinot noir. But no. Ex-sailor living north of Ironforge so he must want some mead. I’m sick of it!” “I can take it back if you want?” “No, no, it’s fine. It’ll have to do. Now listen. The fleet I was part of was attacked by, um, I dunno, dragons or something, yeah, dragons being flown by, um… orcs,” he nodded unconvincingly “and the evil loot we were carrying killed everyone EXCEPT me, turning them into ghosts. Can you go kill a bunch of them and steal a snuffbox?” “You’re kidding, right?” Amienne narrowed her eyes. “Nope,” the dishevelled man shook his head defiantly, “S’all true.” “How come you escaped with your life?” “Um, it wasn’t easy. I had to fight off a dragon, you see. And then this orc leaped at me, but I ducked and dived and stabbed…” The old sailor danced around the mailbox, demonstrating his prowess. Amienne stared on, unimpressed. “You ran away didn’t you?” “No. No I didn’t. We were at sea, so I swam away. I’m a First Mate, you see, or at least I was. It’s only Captains that have to go down with their ships. We First Mates are renowned for being the first ones on board the lifeboats at the slightest hint of trouble. That’s what the “First” means. Once I saw smoke coming from a hold and I was half-way to Kalimdor before they realised it was only the captain lighting his pipe below decks.” “Look, no disrespect, but I don’t think stealing a snuff-box for a coward is a good use of my time.” Ami turned to walk away. Fitzsimmons drew himself up to his full height and brushed down his vomit-stained shirt. “I’ll have you know I’ve got friends in high places. You do this for me and the people back in Stormwind will hear about it and like you more. You walk away and your name is mud.” “To be honest,” retorted Ami, “I don’t care that much what the people of Stormwind think of me. If there were souls in torture and a chance of me freeing them, then perhaps I’d help, but whether a trader in Old Town smiles or frowns at me is pretty much by the by.” “Did I not mention that bit?” Fitzsimmons added quickly. “Maybe by killing, I dunno, a couple of dozen of them, that will break the curse? In fact I’m practically sure it will!” he quickly crossed his fingers behind his back. “I hate you.” said Amienne as she reluctantly shouldered her mace and headed North through Murloc territory to bob her way through the rushes once more. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 12/03/2007 10:41:32 Amienne wrinkled her nose as she stepped off the Deeprun Tram and strolled into the Dwarven capital. The place stank of sweaty blacksmiths armpits. Shirtless, the denizens hammered away within the heart of their mountain with never a thought of the smell assailing their so-called allies. If an Earthshock could stun a caster sufficiently to break their spellcasting, eau d’Ironforge would send them fleeing for the comparative nasal sanctity of the sewers of Undercity. The Draenae girl smiled at the male gnome to her left and waved on the way past. “My, you’re a tall one!” he piped up in return. She stopped and turned to him curiously, “Do you all have to say that?”. “Actually, we do in fact. It’s a royal edict, you see, made to highlight the plight of the vertically challenged. The traditions of our race decree that only the king on his throne in Gnomeregan can revoke it, and until such a time arrives all the gnomes in the land have to greet you in identical fashion.” Ami frowned. “But it’s really annoying! Have you not thought about retaking the city?” “Funny you should mention that.” smirked the gnome. “The king’s got a pair of skin-tight blue leather trousers that would look great on you if you’re willing to help out.” “Really?” Ami answered innocently. “Blue is my favourite colour. After purple, of course.” *** “Yeeeees?” queried the wizened old Draenae. The plaque standing on his slightly tilting desk read ‘Professor of Comparative Sociology and Technology’. “Oh my, Amienne!” he gasped as he finally looked up, peering over his spectacles. Ami stood before him, wavering slightly. Her leather armour was in tatters and the flexible tape on her mace had come loose so the head wobbled when it moved. It was missing a flange. Her hair was singed and sharp shards of metal flecked her left-hand side. The one thing the Professor overlooked, being an elderly gentleman with a lifetime in academia, was the slight shaking of her shoulders and THAT look in her eyes, betraying the burning fury buried beneath a thin veneer of civility. “Whatever happened to you?” “Why don’t you guess, sir?” Amienne seethed. “You’re always saying that deduction is the true expression of reason.” The professor nodded as he pursed his lips. “You’re right, my girl. I’m glad you remember my classes. Well done! Now then, that glowing green goop spattered all over you must be from a luminous fungus in, erm, Ashenvale perhaps?” “Nearly,” spat Amienne, “but it’s blood from a mutated gnome leper, tainted by the radiation from their damaged nuclear reactors.” The professor looked a little guilty. “Um, that charring to your hair and the noticeable lack of eyebrows is reminiscent of the effects of magical fire?” “Close, but no cigar. Explosions from remote controlled limpet mines.” “Those deep slashes in your shield are certainly from a large axe, wielded by an aggressive orc perhaps?” “A giant robot, actually. We had to recover his depolarised memory core or something.” The look in Amienne’s eyes would now have killed a lesser man, or sent one with an inkling of understanding of females running for cover. “And those shards of metal buried in your left hand side?” Amienne tasted each word slowly and dangerously. “Hopping. Giggling. Exploding. Bombs.” The professor finally started to panic. “Well, I must say I’m very sorry, my dear girl, but I don’t see what…” “Vital to maintain paradigm, you said!” Amienne screamed. “Mystical medieval culture, you said!” “Now calm down dear.” The professor stood and raised his hands defensively, “Our initial scans showed that to be the state of this world, and the Prime Directive…” “Screw the Prime Directive! Get me a Light-Sabre!” “But my dear," the elderly man furrowed his brow in confusion, "you’re a shaman. You can’t use swords.” The younger Draenae stopped and looked at her professor, a deep pleading in her eyes. “Can’t we at least take off and nuke them from orbit?” As he shook his head sorrowfully, Amienne fell to the floor and wept. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 19/03/2007 18:07:11 The thing about Witherbark Trolls is that they’re not that bright. This was a good thing, because there were quite a lot of them, and Amienne was lurking in the middle of their camp. By lurking, she of course meant walking around quite happily, pottering about for a swim in their lake, stopping every once in a while for a picnic and generally making herself feel at home. The trolls seemed mostly fine with this, and preferred to hang around near their witherbark fires, getting on with life in their own way. Get too close to their camps though, and they were all over you like a bunch of men over a dancing night-elf. There’s axes flying at your head, spells thundering down from the heavens and a positive crowd of the pointy-nosed creatures chasing you back and forth over Arathi Highlands. Carefully she prepared for her next assault, a little unsure whether that one up on the hill was scratching his nose, or waving cheerfully at her. She wondered what it was they said to each other as, one at a time, they turned and ran over to their dooms. “Don’t worry mon! It’s jes anudder one o’ dose adventurin’ sorts. Me be back in a jiffy” She was frankly astonished, but grateful, that they hadn’t cottoned on to calling out to their trollish buddies in this small encampment, preferring instead to charge one at a time. Maybe it was the witherbark they smoked. Perhaps, as well as making you giggly and desperate for nibbles, it filled you with self confidence that just because the five hundred trolls who tried taking the Alliance on one at a time had failed in the past, this time they were a dead cert to win. Dead was the operative word though. Ami smiled happily to herself as she trotted back to Refuge Point, her bags full of various bits and pieces. Perhaps Arathi was the new Draenor, a place of light and hope where the grass was green, blue rivers flowed and one’s enemies either kept to themselves or were so stupid they had to hold their breath when they wanted to blink. Perhaps she’d wander over to that large keep and see what was going on over there… *** Several hours later, Amienne kicked the body of the Syndicate Prowler with disgust. Just to be sure, she searched every last inch of his body once more, even those dangerous places where a polite Draenae girl would normally fear to tread. Still no hint of a Stromgarde Badge on him. She’d been there for two hours now, and the pair of the things that she’d managed to collect clattered together in her pack, sounding almost lonely. The others she had joined with to fight inside the walls of the old city had finally got bored and headed home to watch paint dry instead. It seemed to her that the Stromgarde militia that the Syndicate were stealing these from were clearly hard as prot-specced nails wearing thorium platemail, and treasured these badges as their own souls. In their position she’d be awfully tempted to nip round the back of a tent at Refuge Point and, with a hood up to protect her identity of course, offer her Stromgarde Militia Badge to wandering Heroes for a fat bag of gold before retiring to a life of luxury in Ratchet. But of course she wouldn’t do that - she was a warrior in the armies of light. Chaotic light, perhaps, but light nonetheless. Perhaps that meant that though she did the right thing, occasionally she turned different colours? Then a glint in the sunlight caught her eye, twinkling just beneath the corpse’s tabard? Peering closer, Ami pulled out a pendant that twinkled softly in the evening light. As she reached forward, dark clouds gathered ominously overhead. As she lifted it from around the cadaver’s head, the patter of rain started to fall from above. Amienne looked up, then peered closely at the pendant. There was something about it, something suspicious. Her old necklace was pretty useless all in all, but this was just not right. Still, with her wet hair plastered against her forehead Ami pulled the necklace on as lightning crashed portentously around her. Instantly she was struck with a vision of a crystal, floating in the air in the centre of a clearing in the Arathi Highlands. Her heart yearned to be there, and she almost felt her feet turn to head in that direction. The Pendant Of Myzrael called to her. Slowly and cautiously, as if handling one of those mines from Gnomeregan (Amienne still twitched at the thought), she reached up and took the necklace off. As careful as anything and barely breathing, she placed it on the floor in front of her and took a long pace backwards. With a flick of her wrists she summoned three totems, swiftly downed a couple of potions from her pack and cast her racial blessing upon herself. Then with a deep breath and a wince that said “I might be about to explode, let’s hope not”, she hefted her large mace at the golden-clasped stone with all her might. As it exploded into a thousand pieces she popped a stoneclaw totem into existence, shifted to Ghost Wolf and turned tail and fled through the pouring rain. The first lesson you learn at Draenae adventuring school is that when you suddenly get an urge from a mystical artefact to visit somewhere suspicious, run like hell in the opposite direction. *** A tall silhouette watched from an armour-clad mount as the wolf sprinted back to Refuge Point. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but it seemed to be nodding to itself. Evilly. Silhouettes do that. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 27/03/2007 09:07:28 “Well, this isn’t all that bad!” smiled Amienne as she peered around the verdant landscape. Birds were twittering in the trees and wolves could be heard howling in the distance. All-in-all the place was thrumming with life. “I would have thought a place called Desolace would have been more, I don’t know, desolate I suppose?” Ami stretched her back, sore from her long trip. After meeting with some people in Stormwind she’d headed off via the Deeprun Tram to Ironforge, then taken the Griffin to Menethil Harbour, the boat to Darnassus and lastly the Hippogryf down to here. Looking forward to a drink in a tavern with perhaps a friendly hob-nob with some night elves, Amienne rubbed her eyes and yawned. The elven flight-mistress looked at her and tilted her head sideways. “Er, miss, this is Ashenvale. If you’re looking for Desolace you need to go that way,” she pointed with an elegant finger, “through the Talondeep Path, head up to Stonetalon Mountain and then south again. Nijel’s Point, where the Alliance are, is sort of hidden up on your left. When you feel like you’ve been running for about a month, you’re probably around half-way there.” Amienne wrinkled her nose in frustration. Whose stupid idea was it to travel to Desolace anyway? No wonder it was meant to be quieter there than in Arathi! *** At long last, exhausted and dusty from the trip, Amienne finally staggered into Nijel’s Point and shifted out of Ghost Wolf. Long runs like that always made her hands hurt, and there was bound to be nowhere round here a Draenei could get some skin cream. There was clearly a gap in the market that was dying to be filled. A hairdressing and beauty salon, perhaps with a sideline in tattooing, could make an absolute mint if they set up behind the wagon in Stormwind Square. Rubbing the dry skin with irritation, Amienne looked up at the large clearing on the cliff-top. A couple of buildings nestled at the very top, above the broken ruins set out below. Clearly some other civilisation had decided this was a ridiculous place to live, too. More immediately however, there was a little greeting party just ahead. A pair of soldiers were on duty, waiting for the stupid or the lost to turn up. One of them waved a bunch of twigs at her as she walked over. Amienne pursed her lips, frowning at the loosely bundled wand. “Hey there! Can I ask what those are?” Ami queried. “Yes,” replied the solider. “Welcome to Desolace. These are the Sticks. And you’re Out In them.” Not a flicker of a smile crossed his lips. Amienne winced at the pun. “Ouch. Do you have to say that?” “Yup. Alliance regulations. You don’t get posted to the arse end of nowhere without being forced to do some painful things while you’re here.” The soldier shrugged his shoulders with something akin to despair “What was it that you did to deserve this?” Amienne asked sympathetically. “Me? Well you know the Grand Marshall sitting on his horse when you enter Stormwind?” Ami nodded, remembering him sitting there below the big statue at the city end of the bridge. “Well, his daughter’s a lovely girl, you see, and I sort of, um, whistled a bit at her. He didn’t appreciate it. So before you know it I’m thrown on a boat and then trudging my way across a foreign continent, ducking the horde until I can make it here.” “Oh, that’s awful! You poor man. Surely you get time off to go home or something?” “Nope, two years I’ve been stuck here now without a day’s respite. Dust, sun and horror, and only one pleasure in life.” “Oh really, what’s that?” Ami couldn’t stop herself walking into the trap. “Funny you should mention it, actually: it’s telling people like you what we need done here. Make yourself comfy which I talk to you about Centaurs. South of here are three tribes of the filthy-smelling horse-men. You need to head south and pick a tribe, any tribe, it doesn’t really matter. I don’t like any of them myself. Anyone who can’t wipe their own backside isn’t worth the time of day in my opinion. Then you need to start killing them. For the moment it’s best to just keep going. Worry about what comes next later.” “Is that it?” “Pretty much. Kill Centaurs until your armour falls off, that should about cover it.” The soldier leered at her, considering the prospect of mostly-naked Draenei shaman for a moment. Ami blushed, trying to protect her modesty in his imagination. She failed. Few things strip a girl faster than the imagination of a man stuck in Desolace for two years. “So these Centaurs then.” Ami spoke loudly, trying to distract the soldier. “Have they done anything wrong?” The soldier blinked at her, lifting his gaze to her eyes for a moment. Seeing the hope and kindness burning within her bright white eyes, he mentally unrolled the scroll labelled “Sucker” and started to read. “Yeeees. They are evil horse-men who have corrupted the world and turned this part of it into a horrible dust-bowl. The ones you find second, they’re not quite so evil it turns out. So basically, kill the first ones until they’re all dead. Then, when you’ve done that, wait a bit for more to appear from their tents, and kill them too. It’s not complicated.” Ami looked dubious, but was getting used to this approach to life. “Isn’t it a bit pointless, just murdering random centaurs for two days? Does it actually accomplish anything?” “Hah! You think this is pointless! Just wait ‘til you find out about the Furbolgs!” *** As she slowly trudged back up the path to Nijel’s, Ami regarded her armour with dismay. The red lining was sticking through pretty much everywhere, and her new-and-improved great axe was thickly coated with blood making it very slippery. It looked like she’d had a fight with a vat of tomato sauce, and lost. As she wiped a thick smear of sweat and blood from her brow, she didn’t notice the dark silhouette at the top of the hill fade into the background. Looking around the little clearing, it appeared that everyone was sleeping. Perhaps Desolace was the sort of place where siestas were the order of the day? “Hell-looo! Where is everyone?” A closer look told a different story. People normally don’t have a pleasant afternoon nap in a pool of their own blood. Peering closer her eyes widened with fear as they took in the bodies scattered around the little plateau. Quickly she began casting Ghost Wolf to flee, but before the spell was done pain blossomed in her kidneys and the world went grey. *** The Kodo Graveyard was positively heaving with the disgruntled spirits, too frustrated to run straight back to their bodies for yet another time. The innkeeper and a couple of the merchants had got bored, taking the resurrection for a change. They’d set up a make-shift camp under a large set of kodo bones and were playing dice. “Hey there!” said the Spirit Healer brightly. “My my, isn’t it busy here today?” “This is awful!” whispered Amienne the spirit. “What was it? A disease, or an explosion perhaps? Some sort of Gnomish Weapon of Mass Destruction?” “No, no, I think it was a rogue. It happens sometimes.” “A rogue? What sort of creature could bring about such carnage? Surely no mortal could revel in such wanton destruction?” “Hah! You think this is bad?” joked the angel, smiling. “Just you wait til you get to Stranglethorn Vale!” [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 29/03/2007 16:38:40 Amienne stared at the priest in disbelief “So let me get this straight. You want me to go to the Scarlet Monastery, a place positively filled to bursting with paladins and monks, and murder every last one of them in the name of reasonableness and good sense?” Raleigh the Devout looked a little shifty as he rubbed his bald pate. “Er, yes, that about sums it up. The Scarlet Crusade must be crushed in the name of the Light. Do you have a problem with that?” “I’m just a bit curious as to why I’m killing the good guys, that’s all.” Amienne narrowed her eyes fiercely. She was prepared for the old “The light tells you to do it” line this time, and was ready to stand her ground. “Well, they’re not really the good guys any more, that’s the problem. They’re so overcome with hatred they consider anyone not in their gang to be evil and in need of instant killing. Look, if you just go there to try to talk to them you’ll understand in no time, I promise you. There really isn’t a sane person amongst them. I can categorically guarantee that every single person in that whole gods-forsaken place is a certified wall-chewing, eye-rolling, window-licking maniac.” Ami considered deeply. For once, this man was offering her the chance to go to speak with the people to find their point of view. She found it hard to dispute that if she went in there and was attacked just for being her own innocent little blue self, then clearly they must be crazy. I mean, what sane person could have a problem with one of the Draenei! “Fine then, I’ll try to marshall some friends and we’ll head off. To talk to them, mind you. If you’re right, then maybe we’ll try to do the decent thing and bring some sense to this senseless world. If not though, then I expect we’ll be having cucumber sandwiches and a polite religious discussion with Arcanist Doan by tea-time. So, where is it then?” The priest coughed something incomprehensible, holding his hand before his mouth and looked away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry?” “s’intirisfal.” He coughed again. “Tirisfal! You mean Tirisfal Glades? The hunting grounds of the old city of Lordaeron! The centre of activity for the undead, that foul taint that walks the land? Nothing personal and all, but given that I’ve lost count of the number of times a certain silhouetted figure has slid a knife into my ribs and cackled at me recently, I’m a little loathe to wander past his house and wave at him.” “Well, you don’t have to wander. You can always run.” “Hah! And I suppose you want me to wear a tabard with a sign on my back saying “Insert knife here” too, do you?” “You’ll be fine, I’m sure. The trick is to head up there around two o’clock in the morning or so, and then grab a nap just outside the entrance to the monastery. When you wake up you can summon the rest of your friends using the special stone there, and you avoid all the trouble.” Amienne stared at him levelly. *** Ami sighed deeply, nodded politely to the spirit healer and headed back to her body again. It only made things worse that she was now running away from the monastery to get back to her body so she could run all the way back up here once more. She wondered whether there was an invisible sign above her head saying “I’m Stupid, Quest Me”. Still, she supposed, it was all for the greater good, and so long as you kept your eyes on that distant horizon you didn’t notice the crap you were walking in on the way. With a surge of will she reunited her spirit with her body and summoned the natural power to heal herself. Before the spell even landed a knife slid between her ribs and a silhouetted figure cackled. *** At long last, Ami had managed to gather with her four friends. They’d expressed their concerns from their own bitter experiences, but the Draenei’s naiveté allowed them to let her go through first. “It’ll be fine, trust me.” said Ami, waving the concerns of her companions to one side. “We’ll go in, I’ll ask nicely if we can have a cup of tea and discuss religion, and I’m sure they’ll escort us straight to their leader.” Garnering her most winning smile, her friendliest wave and a positively brazen batting of her eyelids, Ami walked into the library. Weapons drawn and spells at the ready, her more cautious friends followed a moment behind. *** Rocking backwards and forwards on his feet to keep the blood flowing, Dennison let his mind wander. Life as a member of the Scarlet Crusade wasn’t all that bad, really. Things were fairly black and white, which made for simple and easy decisions. There was Us, the good guys, the defenders of the light. Then there was Them, the bad guys, everyone else. When Us met Them, Us fought Them because Them were Bad. Either Us or Them died. So long as Them died more than Us, things were going well. If Us died more than Them, Us were generally unhappy, and got short rations that night. No-one in the Scarlet Crusade got fat. Dennison had been a member of the Crusade for 15 years now. He’d met his wife on an extended period of assignment to the courtyard outside the library, and still remembered the first moment he’d seen her to this very day. He’d been mucking out the hounds while the Houndmaster yelled at him. That happened a lot. Mr Shouty, the rank and file called him behind his back. Polly had been sitting by the fountain to rest her feet for a moment and as he turned to take another shovel-load for dumping he’d spotted her, red hair streaming in the sunlight as she ran her fingers through her auburn locks, Den had stood gaping at her beauty. If she’d been selling shampoo, he’d have bought a cart-load. A year or so later they’d been married by Whitemane herself in the Cathedral and, despite the tauran warrior and his mates rushing in half-way through, things had gone pretty well. They held the reception in the graveyard since no-one ever disturbed that place. The best man’s speech went down a storm. Dennison had always been one for reading, which is why he enjoyed his posting to the library so much. His favourite book was “Demons – How to Spot them and Where to Stab them”. It had pictures. Perhaps the most thumbed page related to The Succubus. This, he was sure, was because they were the most tricky of all of demon-kind to unearth and potentially the most dangerous. It was reputed that the artist who had drawn these pictures had been prescribed a holiday in the Hinterlands with repeated swims in freezing lakes to calm down afterwards. Den also thought the man must have been keen to get there and closed the book a little too quickly after finishing the artwork, because the pages at this particular spot had a tendency to stick together. Den certainly knew his succubus and so barely hesitated a moment when the creature stepped through the door. Horns, hooves, tail, sexy little smile and a seductive pair of eyelashes batting their way into the bottom of his belly. She might be blue rather than pink, but Den refused to let a minor detail put him off as he closed for combat. *** Ami wiped the blood from her mouth and winced at the cut above her ribs. She pouted as she kicked an errant rock and the floor that had certainly done her no harm, but just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Fine. I was wrong. They’re all crazy. Stupid humans. I never liked cucumber anyway.” [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 29/03/2007 16:51:51 Hemet Nessingwary had hated humans for as long as he could remember. It had started when he’d been separated from his mother on the opening of the Deeprun Tram. They’d been one of the first to take the trip down to Stormwind, but the hustle and bustle of all the excited people crowded onto the small carriages had pushed them apart. He still had nightmares about the sea of people around him, obscuring his vision, and the feeling of his mother’s grip slipping from his palm, to his fingers, and then to his fingertips as they had been forced apart by the thronging crowd. The young dwarf had never stood a chance. He was jostled around by the humans until finally he’d tottered with horror on the edge of the speeding coach. The unremitting wall of tall people surged back and forth, trying to spot Nessie, and he’d been arrogantly shoved over the edge. His leg broken, he’d lain there in the darkness with trams thundering overhead for 3 hours before his tearful mother had finally found him and carried him back to safety. He joined the Explorer’s League to get away from them, but humans dogged his footsteps wherever he went, claiming they got there first, or did it better. Their long legs and haughty attitude slowly turned his dislike into a burning hatred. He’d get his revenge on them, and the filthy Alliance who support them, and damn the consequences. *** Amienne peered closely at the rope-bridge that took her South from Duskwood. The bridge-builders in Stranglethorn were pushing their ‘rickety’ line this year, and with a great deal of success. This one in particular seemed to be a “Class 4 unsafe rope-bridge”, with authentically broken slats and the optional frayed rope attachments. When you stood on it you didn’t just wobble, the whole world shifted around you. It made you more sea-sick than running the Great Maelstrom Rapids on a greasy log after a night out on the tiles, and for a different reason, was probably more dangerous. Still, anything to be out of the doom and gloom of Darkshire. Ami had run back through just to check whether Mor’Ladim was still haunting Raven Hill, and despite her best efforts he’d seen her off again. Things were much closer though this time, and the Draenei shaman resolved that when she was strong enough she’d return and set up camp on his sorry little corpse. What sort of foul creature would hang around a graveyard, picking off the inexperienced members of the Alliance that innocently happened by? Well, she supposed, a vengeful undead skeleton was a pretty good candidate. Thank the Naaru that other creatures hadn’t twigged the opportunity. She didn’t relish the thought of trying to kill 12 Gnoll Poachers in Redridge with Ragnaros chasing her around s#%%!*#ing, and having him hide behind a tree while he waited for her to resurrect. Still, to the South lay the wonders of Stranglethorn Vale. A land of new hope and opportunity, with jungles, beaches and the sort of flora and fauna that might just eat you unless you managed to eat it first. Amienne was particularly looking forward to researching some of the ancient Troll ruins she’d heard about, and excitedly adjusted her spectacles as she stepped off the bridge. She screamed. She sighed. She died. *** “Ooh! A newcomer! Welcome to Sunny Stranglethorn. My name’s Compassion, and I’ll be your guide to the wonders of this foreign land.” said the Spirit Healer cheerfully. “Let me guess.” sighed Ami, “was that another rogue?” The angel peered down at a thin book bursting with brightly drawn images. “It says here that <ahem> ‘as the prime holiday location of choice for both Alliance and Horde, visitors can occasionally become restless and the odd fight has been known to break out’.” “That wasn’t a fight. That was a splat! My body’s lying there barely an inch from the bridge. Is that the sort of welcome you get to these parts?” “Um, mostly it is. There’s a bit of a tradition of high spirits along the roads here. It’s the heat you see, it makes people cranky. The Horde tend to slaughter the Alliance as a bit of light relief, and in return the Alliance gang up on the Horde for a bit of friendly retaliation. The fun never stops in Stranglethorn Vale.” Amienne looked up at the angel with a sour expression. Then she remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s lovely to meet you, Compassion, and thank you for being so helpful. My name’s Amienne. I’d best be off to find my body, but I do hope we get the chance to talk some more one day.” “Oh, that won’t be a problem. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends in no time.” The angel smiled and waved as the Draenei jogged around the corner, then turned back to at the gravestones, counting down to herself. “2…1…Hello Amienne! How lovely to see you again so soon.” Ami fumed and stamped her hoof. “What in the name of the Naaru was that about!? Has he got a grudge against me?” “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it, really” smiled the angel, trying to calm the infuriated Draenei down. “It might not have even been the same person. I’ve heard that if you try resurrecting as far from your body as you can, you could make it all the way to Booty Bay in only, oh, about four to five hundred deaths. The trick is in remembering to take your armour off. Quickly.” ”Are you really suggesting I run through Stranglethorn Vale in my birthday suit?” The Angel Compassion shrugged. “Sometimes it helps. Sometimes being mostly naked confuses them for a little while, and they forget to kill you for as much as a hundred yards. Whatever works, to be honest.” Amienne screamed in frustration. *** A tall silhouetted figure surveyed the path South from the Rebel encampment for a moment before turning and running back into Grom’Gol Base Camp. He stopped next to a large Orc who was trying to investigate whether a hearty meal of Heavy Kodo Stew boosted his stamina. The large pile of empty bowls next to him suggested he’d been trying for a while. The cloaked rogue dismounted, and drew back his cowl. The yellowish glow from his eye sockets would have made the bravest cloth-wearer scratch his back with unpleasant anticipation. “Are you still eating, Peaches?” The undead rogue’s voice was like a cheese-grater being drawn over an open wound. Peaches the Orc looked up and wiped the gravy from his mouth. “Yupyup. Need to keep my stamina up, you know. Murdering things with axes is hard work.” To stress the point he casually waved a great-axe that could have decapitated an Ironhide Devilsaur by falling on it. “How are things going out there, anyway?” The rogue made a face. “Not bad I suppose. There's an amazing dagger I’m trying for, but I’ve still got another 14 Draenei shaman to kill yet to finish the quest. They’re really hard to find, you know? Grinding Nessingwary rep is a nightmare.” [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 10/04/2007 16:54:23 It was fate, Amienne was sure of it. For once things were bound to go well for her. She’d been hanging around in Ironforge trying to find enough people who wanted to go to Uldaman. The dwarves she’d been speaking to had told her it was very important that she go research some of their history, and she had been so excited at the thought of finally getting to read some of the Explorer’s League’s library it had taken three of them and a crowbar to get her out. Uldaman, they explained, was the sort of place you had to visit, not just read about. Ami objected that she was no Tomb Raider, but they were very insistent and she had always been a push-over for scholarly types. But then a keen looking chap in platemail called Kamarindi had offered to be their guide. He was extremely enthusiastic about the place, and explained that he knew his way around particularly well. Happy to be led on this venture the five intrepid companions headed over to Thelsamar by griffin before trekking South. *** Rather than running as the ghost wolf with the others on horse-back, Amienne stayed in her natural form to give their guide some company. Splitting up wasn’t the most sensible thing to do, she’d found to her cost previously, and in any case the jog allowed her to become better acquainted with this ruggedly handsome human. All the while however she listened carefully for that tell-tale snicker of a laugh and the clatter of bones that came a moment before a knife was shoved into her kidney. Fortunately, it seemed her bane was distracted elsewhere today. In the few minutes it took to run South into the Badlands, she found out that her new companion was 6’2” tall, had brown eyes and an earnest sort of seriousness that was rather endearing. He hated the first two syllables of his name, thinking it made him sound foreign. He also had a very distracting habit of giving her a HUGE thumbs up whenever he agreed with anything she said. Ami secretly worried that any thought of an enduring friendship would be ruined by this rather peculiar tick. Humans, she decided, were a particularly unusual species with more cultural foibles than a young Draenei could shake an oversized irradiated crystal at. Arriving at the entrance, it turned out that Shadowforge Dwarves had got there first. They hadn’t just snuck in ahead, they’d brought their friends, mothers, tents and war- dogs with them. Ami was about to remark rather smugly how odd it was that there were so many evil dwarves in this land and so few evil Draenei, then remembered the Eredar and promptly shut up. A few dozen crazed exploding dwarves were nothing compared to what the Draenei who had fallen from the light had managed to achieve. Once they had all gathered together and readied themselves, the dwarves eyeing them suspiciously from the cave entrance and ready to blow themselves up at the drop of a hat, they charged. Blood and carnage ensued, as it generally tended to in these situations. Ami wasn’t sure when she’d stopped noticing the horror of battle, but keeping her allies alive took most of her concentration as inch by inch they battered their way deeper into the caves. There was no time for investigating the assorted relics jutting out of the walls as they crawled their way over countless irate dwarves into the heart of the ancient caverns. Finally, standing before the mighty entrance, they stepped over the threshold into the heart of Uldaman itself. *** Troggs aren’t a particularly complex race, it turns out. They generally get up in the morning, stretch, scratch, gnash their teeth at each other and then go for their morning constitutional. That pretty much lasts until someone wanders along and stabs them in the face. As they despatched another clutch of the primitive creatures, Amienne wondered where they all came from. She was yet to see any females of the race at all. Perhaps they just grew out of the rocks? She resolved to plant a few stones from the place in Stormwind Park to see if, come the morning, it had been over-run by ravaging Troggs in magically appearing loincloths. Kamarindi had managed to acquire a particularly interesting-looking stick along the way, that was now being carried strapped to his pack. Somewhat mysteriously, he’d suggested it was needed for something important later on. Their trail of carnage continued until finally they happened upon some of the Explorers League, trapped here by the Troggish horde. Despite their bluster, it seemed clear to Amienne that they had foolishly slept on this tight outcrop overnight, allowing all the little rocks to germinate while they rested and then woken in the morning to find themselves surrounded by the rejuvenated Troggs. Kamarindi positively leapt for joy when he found out they had a special necklace, apparently some sort of counterpiece to the staff, and bursting with enthusiasm he rushed them back to the map room they’d passed earlier. “So what happens now, Kam…sorry… Indi?” queried Amienne “Well,” said the warrior, “I place this staff in the hole here, and the light illuminates the map, showing the place where the special treasure is hidden. This is going to be great! I’ve been searching for this for absolutely ages! It shows the way to the Lost Arc…haedus. He’s a giant, you know.” “Riiiight. Well, you’ve certainly done us proud so far, so we might as well trust you.” Still, discretion being the better part of valour Amienne took a long step back, just in case. With bated breath the human placed the staff carefully into the slot, and bright beam of purple light shot around the room, lighting up a single spot. With the creaking of ages, the giant doors slowly opened. Ami looked in horror as the gigantic construction stepped into the room and fixed her with a baleful glare. *** “So then Uck, we’ve finished building the map room, but what trap are we going to lay for those brave adventurers who manage to unite the staff and the amulet?” The primeval dwarf sucked his piece of charcoal before tucking it behind his ear. It gave him a black tongue which he stuck out as he thought deeply. “Hmmm, difficult one, Ick. We need something to protect that empty room in there, don’t we. I mean, it could be an important empty room with special mystical significance. Who knows why the Titans wanted it built there. How about we stick a golem inside?” Ick stared levelly at Uck. “Did you think of that one yourself? Really? A golem? That’ll make a change. They’ll never be expecting us to come up with a golem, will they?” Uck frowned back defensively. “I wasn’t thinking just an ordinary golem. I was thinking, um, a giant golem.” Ick still glared, and Uck started to panic. “A giant golem that’s different because…because…it’s a woman!” Uck looked smug, while his companion sneered slightly. “A female golem! Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never heard such a …” Ick paused as he considered the prospect. “100 tonnes of malicious iron with bad PMS? That’s inhuman! That’s unspeakable! That’s brilliant!” With unearthly eagerness, the primeval dwarves got to work. *** Wincing from a broken rib, Amienne stepped over the toppled female form and moved inwards with the others. Whoever had constructed Ironaya was clearly some sort of insane genius and she dreaded what was to come beyond. Concerned, she turned to their guide and asked him. “So what is it we’re to face next? More golems? Pit traps? Giant rolling stone balls?” The warrior was staring into a small pit with a look of horror on his face. “What is it,” Ami queried, concerned. He turned to her with a pleading look, pointing at the swarm of skittering beasts below. Her eyes went wide. “Indi, why is the floor moving?” she asked. ”Scorpions," he shuddered, "why does it always have to be scorpions?” [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 13/04/2007 16:56:54 Welcome to the Ruins of Alterac The Stormwind Library has never really had a good relationship with ogres. The Library provides a repository for knowledge and wisdom handed down through the ages, a service that Amienne had a lot of sympathy for. If you were lucky you might find a particularly bright ogre who would, at best, hang a novel on a nail in the corner where he emptied his bowels and work his way slowly through its pages over the following weeks. Unfortunately what was left afterwards wasn't suitable to pass down to following generations. It was this attitude to the written word that persuaded Ami to head up to Alterac, temporarily designated as a "Fine Enforcement Manager" to recover the trollish history titled "The Arm of Gri'Lek", which was apparently around 500 years overdue. She wasn't confident of collecting the fine but had been authorised to use extreme measures if the pages had been chewed. The Stormwind Library took no prisoners. Having acquired a shiny new two-handed axe, Ami had given in at last and sold her well-loved mace. It had taken ages to polish up the flanges and screw them securely back down. She'd tried for about 10 minutes to extol the virtue of this classic example of Draenei blacksmithing, but the trader had looked on stony-faced and refused to budge from his offer of a few measley coppers. The rest of the merchants in Stormwind had suggested exactly the same amount, and when she finally went away with a small handful of dull metal pieces, Amienne had cursed the price-fixing cartel that ruled the trade in the Alliance cities. Hadn't they ever heard of free-market economics? *** And so it was that a ghost wolf ran from the island of peace that is Southshore up the path towards Alterac Mountains. As she passed the ruined tower, she began to grown nervous. The stench of Tarren Mill rolled over the fields and the fur on the nape of her neck began to rise in anticipation. There, ahead of her on the path, stood a tauran bull. Ami twisted to run around him but, to her surprise, he waved and smiled at her. She stopped, daring to hope that this might be her first friendly encounter with the other side. Out of courtesy she transformed back to her natural form and curtseyed, giving a wave and a smile, but careful not to show too many teeth. "Do you speak common? Or Draenei, perhaps?" she asked, shifting language. The large bull shrugged and waved again, then made a complicated movement. Amienne looked confused. "Friend" said Ami clearly, pointing to her chest. The tauran nodded and blew her a kiss, then beckoned for her to follow him. Slowly and carefully she stepped off the path, curious to see what the creature was doing. The sight of a large minotaur waving at you, smiling and kissing is a little distracting. Unfortunately for Ami, it was distracting enough that she didn't notice the Tarren Mill militia look up. She didn't notice them lick their dry lips with anticipation, and she didn't notice them carefully draw their swords silently from their scabbards. She did however notice the explosion of activity as half-a-dozen Deathguards seized the opportunity to charge a lone Draenei female. It was like coming to a cake-fancier's convention dressed as a donut, and everyone wanted a piece. "kek" said the Tauran. Seething with fury at herself, Amienne dropped an Earthbind totem and turned tail. It wasn't until she reached the snow-line with the raucous laughter of the bull echoing in her ears that the guards gave up their pursuit. That was a trick you only ever fell for once. *** Snow-line was an appropriate term. The balmy spring heat of the plains was in sharp contrast to the chill breeze up in the mountains. Snow hugged the ground all year round, and the icy crust crunched under Ami's hooves as she trudged uphill. She shivered in the frosty wind, pulling her cloak tight about her and tried rather hopelessly to look inconspicuous. Fortunately, the ogres were more interested in wandering around aimlessly than the bright blue creature with a dirty great axe creeping towards them across the snow. Ami almost felt sorry for them, blithely ignoring her as she set her totems, readied herself and began summoning the lightning. They almost looked surprised as they juddered from the bolt that struck them and charged to batter her with their clubs. Perhaps ogres were colour-blind, and couldn't differentiate between blue and white. It's not like she was a stealthy snow-leopard or anything, camouflaged into the background. Still, making the most of her advantage she slowly but surely carved her way through a mountain of blubber to the gates of the old city of Alterac. Within the ruined walls, the monstrous mounds of mottled flesh were a bit more vicious and she often had to back off, oh ten, maybe twelve yards to find a spot where she could safely heal up and have a drink without an ogre fancying one of her horns as a toothpick. Fire totems came in particularly useful as her collections of refreshing liquids had a tendency to freeze in the ever-present cold. She briefly wondered whether putting sticks in the top of the bottles and calling them "mana-lollies" was a route to riches. Finally she reached the address she'd been given for the borrower of the book and took a deep breath. As she exhaled it frosted in the air before her. She hated being cold. Draenei girls were built for bikinis and beach-huts, not fur-coats and igloos. Ami considered knocking, but couldn't find a door and so bypassed that social nicety. Peering around the corner, she spotted the large ogre mage wandering back and forth within the old town hall, lost in his own thoughts. Ami readied herself, dropped some totems and drank a potion of defence that with forethought she had shoved down her cleavage to stop freezing before stepping into the room. She was not expecting this to go well. "Good afternoon," Amienne started cheerfully but forcefully. It was only fair to give the beast a chance to return the book and pay the fine, after all. "I'm a representative of the Stormwin…can you please stop casting that fireb…" It was at that point that things rather went downhill. The mage was a tough old sod, and when the normal combination of earthshock, totems and axe didn't lead to him collapsing, Ami had to revert to actually healing herself. A minute or so into the fight and she called on the Gift of the Naaru, then whipped her last-ditch emergency healing potion out from one of the few warm spots remaining on her body, strapped to the inside of her belt. When finally the old boy collapsed in a vast, shuddering heap of blubber, Ami was tottering on her last legs herself. Since there were still plenty of ogres wandering around outside she fell back to the old faithful, wrapping silk bandages around her wounds, and sucked on a mana-lolly. Battered and bruised but clutching the heavy tome, Ami considered the run through the snow back across the mountains, then down past Tarren Mill. It didn't take long for her to shrug that off as a ridiculous plan, pull out her hearthstone and begin to conjure the magic to take her straight back to Stormwind instead. If the library wanted her to collect any more fines, they would have to give her a bigger fur coat next time. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 04/06/2007 14:50:33 "Hello," muttered the tortoise, miserably. "You don't happen to have any giant cabbage, do you?" Ami stared back, her mouth open. The tortoise tilted his large, scaly head curiously waiting for an answer. "You're a talking tortoise then?" she ventured. Tooga stared back levelly for a moment and then sighed. "Yes. I'm a talking tortoise. It's the shell, isn't it? That's what gave it away?" Amienne looked confused, then frowned. "Look, I'm sorry, but I haven't met many talking tortoises before. It just takes me a moment to get used to the idea." "I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. It's not like anything else unusual ever happens. I mean, here we are, in the middle of a desert with a herd of dinosaurs that way," he gestured with this blunt nose, "a dragon outside a cave that way and a pirate ship over there somewhere, and yet it's Tooga the Talking Tortoise that is out of place. I suppose at least I'm not a robot chicken." Tooga shook his head despondently. Ami looked down guiltily. "Look, you couldn't help me out, please?" the tortoise continued, "You see, I wandered up to Feralas last night to find some nice, juicy leaves and hooked up with some of the young bucks up there. We got chatting and had a few drinks, and, well, you know how these things go. I must have had more than I thought, because I woke up tied to one of the Thousand Needles with a wizard's hat on my head and card from some Night Elf tavern or other. Anyway, I managed to chew my way free, despite a horrible headache, and since then I've been trying to find my way home. What are you laughing about?" Ami couldn't help herself, as she snorted most unattractively while holding her hand in front of her mouth. "It was a Stag Night, was it? " Tooga groaned. "Sorry." Ami stared at her feet, trying to look contrite. "Anyway, I'm kind of lost. Torta, my wife, is going to go mental when I finally get home, and it's not looking good at the moment. I'm a bit lost, and tortoises, even giant talking tortoises, don't get on too well with endless sand. Can you show me where to go, please?" "Where's home, then?" asked Ami. Tooga stared at her levelly. "Sorry, you're lost. What I meant was, what does your home look like." Tooga explained slowly, and after a bit of thought the unlikely couple headed off across the sands. *** "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'VE BEEN!" screamed the female tortoise. "I've been sitting up all night worrying about you. You were just popping off to the market to get some leaves and you come back 12 hours later in the company of this…this…HUSSY!" Amienne backed away from the fury of the incensed wife. While a brave Draenei shaman might challenge an archmage, a liche and maybe even a little dragon or two, an incensed and furious tortoise was beyond her courage. Tooga shot Ami a gaze that said "thank you", rolled his eyes and turned to try to calm down his wife. As the tall Draenei decided discretion was the better part of valour and backed away, she heard the protestations of the poor creature trying to defend himself. "She's no-one, my darling, I promise. I just happened across her this morning and she…" "IS THAT LIPSTICK ON YOUR SHELL!" Ami ran. *** Whiteheart the Paladin glanced across his rag-tag band with a look far from confident. They'd managed to crawl their way around the ruins of Zul Farrak without any deaths so far, but it seemed more by luck than judgement. Bareman the druid was scratching himself. He probably had fleas. Bubblegum the pink-haired gnome was trying to check her hair out using the reflection in her goggles. Malefia, the shadow-priest, stepped out of shadow form for the first time in ages and scowled at her companions. Ami stood to one side, quietly waiting to be told what to do. "So," said Whiteheart , trying to focus their attention, "we're going to run to the top of their temple and release their prisoners. It's quite likely that at that point the trolls that are hiding down here would like extended religious discussion with us." "I don't suppose they bring pamphlets, do they?" Amienne looked hopeful "No, no they don’t. They tend to try to strengthen their argument by stabbing you. It's been the traditional way of persuading people that your god is better than their god for thousands of years, and I can't see it changing now." "Perhaps if we just pointed out that the light was much friendlier and has prettier girls, that might help?" The paladin tried to seriously consider the issue for a moment, before shaking his head. "I doubt it, but you can always try it. When they charge you shaking their swords and yelling their war cries, try batting your eyelids at them and see if it works. I'll hide behind your shield." Ami pouted. "Bah. I'm only trying to be helpful. OK then, how about we find out where they're hiding and deal with them _before_ we go up the temple? Isn't that a good idea?" "No. It doesn't work like that. Now stop with the smart ideas so we can get on with it." The paladin scowled. "Once we've dealt with the zealots, we have to bring in that thief, Bly. Got it?" "Shouldn't we just tell him he's been bad and ask for it back? I mean, I don't want to hurt anyone if we don't have to." Whiteheart took a deep breath as he measured the Draenei. She had a look of hope in her eyes that he'd last seen on a lost puppy, and he had the feeling that just shouting at her wasn't going to work. Sometimes The Light realised that a paladin's code had to be flexible enough to deal with those with the strangest ideas. "No, that wouldn't work. He's got, um, mind powers. Special ones. You have to take him by surprise or he'll control you and make you do things you wouldn't like." The paladin shook his head. This wasn't going to convince anyone. Lying wasn't his forte. "Wellllll, if you say so." said Amienne grudgingly. "Paladins never lie, so you must be telling the truth." As she turned away, the plate-clad follower of the light at least had the good grace to look guilty. *** Ami kicked the corpse of the Sandfury troll and wiped the blood from her nose. Five minutes ago she'd have told you that she wasn't particularly comfortable with heights, but you don't have time to worry about things like that when there are ten of you defending a troll temple against the onslaught of seemingly thousands of enraged troll cultists. She quickly sat for a drink in the moment's respite as the forces below fell back to gather their strength for another push. Along with her companions there was a tauran, an orc, a goblin and a human. This was some crazy, messed up world, but it was good to fight side by side with those who were normally your enemies. It gave you a sense of perspective. Whiteheart stepped to the fore as the next wave of angry acolytes charged up the steps. Ami scattered her totems around and pulled out her great-axe. She caught the first crazed slave that charged her with a crushing blow to the shoulder, and then followed through with a deep slash across the abdomen. Ignoring the pain, he slashed at her ribs, leaving a thin trail of blood highlighted against her deep blue skin. They traded blows for a few moments, but before long the insane troll staggered as his wild flailing was no match for the shaman's brute force. It was then that things started to get interesting. The gnome mage was under pressure, having decided to explode trolls as fast as she could, and Ami had to drop a couple of heals on her in quick succession to keep the bouncing fireball from succumbing to the field of foes surrounding her. Malefia, still wrapped in the embrace of the shadows, was screaming for a heal as well. Bareman the druid popped out of cat form in a puff of smoke, flashed a heal on himself and then transformed into a Dire Bear. With a titanic roar, all of the trolls in the area suddenly decided bear meat was tastier than gnome, and turned their attentions to the raging beast. It took almost all the mana of both the paladin and Amienne to keep the druid alive, but after what felt like an age, the numbers of the troll horde thinned until finally the last remaining zealot collapsed with a sigh to the floor. With a deep breath, Ami and the others sank to their knees in exhaustion, quickly downing the refreshing water the mage had summoned earlier. *** Down at the bottom of the temple, Amienne whistled innocently to her self as she unshouldered her axe. Sergeant Bly glanced over his shoulder at her. "What are you doing?" he asked, snippishly. Ami tried not to look guilty. "Um, nothing, nothing. Just, um, oooh, my shoulder, one of those trolls bashed it really hard." As she rolled her arm around unconvincingly, she spotted Whiteheart winking furiously at her from behind Bly's back. "My word look at that!" Ami said quickly, pointing up at the temple. "A naked dancing night elf!" "Where?" asked the Sergeant, spinning round to look Ami hefted her great axe at the back of his skull with a grunt. Naked night elves. It works every time. [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 21/06/2007 10:12:20 Ami thanked the auctioneer and waved goodbye, ringing the bell as she went. In some ways, she felt that cheery little chime was the best bit of the auction house. She popped across to the weaponsmith's to get her armour fixed, and couldn't help but frown at the way prices always seemed to be increasing. Then she wandered outside, brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought as she tried to work out the quickest way get from Stormwind to Feralas. She'd heard there were some gnolls there that needed studying, and as always was keen to help. "Hooray!" whooped the little gnome man who appeared practically standing on her tail. Ami jumped in surprise. "Don't do that!" she berated him. "You scared me! What are you shouting about, anyway?" "It worked, it worked! I can't believe it worked!" yelled the gnome. He was about 4 feet tall with green hair that looked like someone had turned him upside down and dunked him in a vat of orc-snot. The green goggles on his eyes were still smoking from whatever had just happened. "What worked?" asked Ami. "My interdimensional discombobulator. It was a success! My life's work!" "What in the glory of the Light is one of those?" The gnome waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Walk with me and I'll tell you about it." There are some times in your life that you look back on and wish that you'd done something else. Like when you decide to ask the man with the spectacles and the clipboard for directions, and it takes him an hour to explain where you don't want to go. Or when you decide to talk to the lonely-looking weirdo out of sympathy, and ten minutes later you're explaining you'd rather he didn't try to stroke your tail. This was one of those times. Intrigued though, Ami followed the enthusiastic little man south along the road as he gesticulated furiously, trying to explain his miracle of gnomish engineering. *** "So, let me get this clear," said Ami an hour later, her brow wrinkled in confusion as she cleaned her spectacles once more. The gnome had a tendency to spit a little on his esses when he got excited. And he seemed to be permanently excited. "There are an infinite number of parallel universes…" "Not quite." replied the gnome. "There's only one hundred and six we can actually get to. Although some of those can only be reached from certain places. There are also more opening <ahem> that we are finding our ways to as time passes." "Right then, so there are these different places that are basically exactly like this place, but with different people." "Yuppers! That's spot on! You have been listening!" The little gnome positively jumped with joy. "And you made a machine that takes you from your own home to a different place?" "Got it again! You're a bright one, aren't you?" Ami sighed, but decided to overlook the patronising. The gnome was nice enough, and just couldn't accept that a girl in a dress might be able to deal with the intellectual struggle of dimensional physics. She had to bite her tongue to avoid mentioning that her whole race had crash landed in a space ship just a few months back. "So," she responded, "how are you going to get back?" The gnome paused and his eyes narrowed in thought. "I'll have to build a Gnomish Interdimensional Discombobulator again, won't I?" He didn't look too happy at the thought. "Is that a problem?" queried the tall Draenei. "Well, not really. It's just that it's pretty expensive, and I can't go back for another three months, due to the dimensional instabilities, you know. And there's the risk that there are already too many people there and there might not be room for my life pattern to reintegrate with the community…" the little man muttered to himself as he marched round and round in circles. It was at that point Ami froze as she took in her surroundings. She was standing on a road that ended in a T-junction ahead. To her left was an inn, and a smithy to her right. In the middle of the road ahead, some sort of warrior in massively over-spikey armour sat on the back of an armoured battlecat, posing. A variety of people in poor-quality clothing were oooh-ing and ahh-ing, prodding him and looking greedily at his glowing swords. He endured their attention with a smug look on his face. Two pairs of people were fighting on the dirt road around them. In one case, one of the fighters was using a rotten club that looked like it had just been pulled out of a swamp, and the other was in matching purple armour, an evil-looking hood and had a pair of knives that simply oozed malevolence. He cut the head off the other poor sap with one blow, spat on the corpse as it collapsed and then cheered his own glorious victory. Over to the left, two night elf girls were dancing in their knickers. Ami's eyes went wide with horror as she realised she'd accidentally walked into the Goldshire Asylum. Looking around in a panic, she didn't have time to react before five people wearing tattered rags leapt on her to desperately whisper in her ears. "Can I have some gold please?" "I just need 1 gold to train my skill" "Give me some gold" "Someone stole my gold while I slept. Can I have some?" "You wanna go upstairs?" The last one came from a female Night Elf dressed in Mageweave who was furiously winking at her, probably trying to be seductive. Well, saying 'dressed' was perhaps overstating the issue. The strings of cloth she was wearing left little to the imagination. In the complicated game of relationships that life brings, this girl was holding a large painted sign that read "Come get it, big boy!". She was the kind of woman that thought a double entendre was at least one entendre too many. Ami backed away in terror at the onslaught, and unfortunately in doing so came too close to the open windows of the Goldshire Inn. The muttered whispers and squelchy sounds coming from the upstairs windows were too much for her fragile Draenei sensibilities and in a final fit of desperation she dropped an Earthbind totem, shifted to Ghost Wolf and fled. A trail of tattered beggars pursued her for a hundred yards or so before giving up the chase and turning back to their torrid little hamlet. Goldshire was not for the faint-hearted. *** [ Post edited by Aeus ] |
| by Aeus | 21/06/2007 10:13:52 Amienne sighed with delight as the turf under her hooves took on a softer feel. It had been a long way from Stormwind, and boat rides always made her a bit queasy. It had been much easier on the Exodar, with their magical anti-wobbling devices. Why they couldn't fit those on normal ships she'd never know. She was heading down to the gnoll camps having had the situation explained to her in detail. They'd been observed in their natural state for some time, and now those investigating their culture wanted a little help. Ami had always been keen on investigating different societies and how they worked, specialising in languages in fact. The strange whistling of the Gnolls was something she was keen to spend more time on. The group had then explained that in fact they wanted someone to help generate a little conflict to consider the reactions of the gnolls under different circumstances. Ami had considered long and hard the best way of doing that and had resolved that running up to a camp, smacking a gnoll with her axe, dropping an earth-bind totem and then running away screaming was likely to be the most effective way of getting their attention. She wasn't certain of the actual importance of the results this would generate, but was hopeful she wouldn't have to get more dramatic than that. It was en route that a little tingling feeling led her to sneak carefully into a Tauran encampment on the road where, to her surprise, she saw a number of little fey dragons trapped in cages. She didn't have much time to do anything as the taurans spotted the invader and with a great Moo'ing charged to the attack. Ami fled up a hill, still keen to try to work out what was going on. There, at the top of the rise and just far enough that the Taurans had got bored and wandered back to their guarding, sat a pair of Night Elves looking generally miserable. "What's wrong?" asked Ami. "Oh it's terrible!" said one. "I'm Kindal and this is Jerk'ai, we're sisters. We came here to try to help the little baby Sprite-Darters, but the Taurans capture them and do terrible things to them." "Are you sure?" asked Ami, frowning. "I thought Taurans were a misunderstood shamanic people with an enduring respect for nature. Perhaps they think that their actions are important in maintaining the balance integral to an ecosystem such as Feralas?" The night elves glared at her with venom. "Now look here! Don't go getting all clever on us. Can we make it any easier for you? Bad Cow-Men Hurt Baby Dragons. What more do you need to know?" Ami looked around desperately for assistance, but found none. She glumly kicked at a bit of turf that had come loose under her hoof. You had to admit that when you put it like that, the strength of Kindal Moonweaver's argument was difficult to deal with. Something still niggled though. "Well, if you put it like that, I should probably go and stop them, I suppose." The night elf nodded at her vigorously. "Yeah you should! But I'll tell you what, if you're really good and manage to deal with a whole series of these problems for us, we'll give you a little egg so you can have a sprite-darter of your very own to carry with you as a faithful pet." Kindal smiled enticingly while Jerk'ai made a cute little mewing noise and flapped her hands like little wings. "Well, we should probably leave them to grow up in their own environment rather than interfering with their natural development. But then again… I suppose if one has lost its mummy then it would only be right for me to feed it and bring it up so it can have a chance of life", Ami persuaded herself. "That's right," Kindal nodded, "the little baby dragon will almost certainly die unless you go and kill the Bad Cow-Men. Now get about it and hurry up! There's a clock running, you know!" Confused and still a little unsure, Ami headed back down the slope towards the Taurans. One day, she prayed to the light, the world would make a bit more sense. |
| by Aeus | 26/07/2007 09:36:58 Amienne stared at the goblin dubiously. He gazed back, eyes wide with a deep, deep madness. "So," risked the tall Draenae "you want me to take this Atal'ai Stone Circle to the Temple of Atal'Hakkar, and place it on a secret altar, even though when you tried you almost killed yourself." The goblin's left eye twitched as he stared back at her. "That's right! But before you go there are TWO things you should know about the Temple of Atal'Hakkar! The first is that It Is A TEMPLE!" Ami took a deep breath and sighed to herself. Goblins. "The second is that It Is SUNKEN! And the third is that you will need four other people! And one should be a tank." "Yes, yes, I get the point. I'll dig out some friends and we'll traipse off to this temple, this Sunken Temple, to stick this Circle on some altar or other. Gotcha. Do you reckon it'll take long?" The goblin pursed his lips for a moment and stared at the sky, counting on his fingers. "Ummmm, yes. Now run along, and bring me back something nice…" he called after Amienne as she headed off to the Flightmaster. *** Ami smiled at her friends who had gathered once more. Whiteheart was nodding to himself thoughtfully as he mentally mapped his way through the difficult tasks to come. Conquering the Sunken Temple with this little company would be far from easy. Bareman and Malefia were off to one side flirting. The tall druid would tell a joke and laugh raucously at his own humour while the slim priest would blush, stare at him intently and lick her lips. In many ways, Ami wished the two of them would just get on with it so she didn't have to endure their primitive courting rituals. She wasn't particularly familiar with relationships on this world but compared to what she knew from back home, Azerothian flirting was as subtle as a Tauran with a Greataxe. Off in the distance the occasional detonation, accompanied by a burst of flame, showed that Bubblegum was hunting rats with Pyroblast again. Eventually Whiteheart managed to get everyone's attention and they headed out of Darkshire, up through Deadman's Pass and into the Swamp of Sorrows. A deep gloom surrounded them and unnatural calls echoed through the swamp as they rode. Amienne hugged her Elekk, Dumpy, tight for comfort. Emerging out of the thick forest onto the shores of the lake, the group stared at the top of the temple jutting out above the surface. Looking at the deep water between them and their goal, Amienne carefully squeezed Dumpy back into the little amulet she carried and started to shrug off her armour. Bareman leered. "What are you doing?" queried Malefia, curiously. "Well, we're going to have to swim it, aren't we? I can't see any boats, and I can't shapeshift like he can." Amienne jabbed a thumb in the druid's direction, who finally managed to close his mouth with a snap. "So I thought it'd be best to avoid getting my chainmail soaked or it'll drag me to the bottom and rust away." Her four friends gaped at her in disbelief. Amienne stared back at them self-consciously, wondering what she was missing. Eventually Bubblegum rummaged around in one of the many backpacks strapped to her and pulled out a small tub of ointment, holding it up for the Draenae to see. "You should use Light'n'Dry, everyone on Azeroth does. Not only does this amazing ointment stop any of your equipment from getting wet, even if you go swimming for hours in one of the great oceans, it also makes them floaty-light so you don't get dragged to the bottom and drown. It also prevents those awkward blood stains from getting onto your clothes. Light'n'Dry, it's the Adventurer's Friend." The pink-haired gnome grinned, then leaned forward conspiratorially "I hear the dwarf who invented it is living like a king on a private island somewhere off Kalimdor, surrounded by a bevy of attractive dwarvish women." "Ahh," said Ami, "that's where they all went." Taking some of the proffered salve, she smeared it liberally over her armour and was amazed to feel it start to work almost instantly. The weight of her mail on her shoulders abated and a gleam seemed to surround her armour, ready to repel the slightest spot of water. Pulling the rest of her armour back on, she joined the others as they plunged into the water and struck out for the temple beyond. *** "Thanks Ami! That one got close!" Bubblegum giggled as her four companions sank to the floor in exhaustion and drank deeply from their flasks. "You have to speak to her, Whiteheart" snapped Malefia, "and if you don't I will. And I'm not as polite as you are." The paladin sighed softly and went to kneel by the keen little gnome who was carefully retying her ponytail. He caught her gaze and spoke softly and carefully. "I think we need a quick word, Bubble. Do you remember when we last spoke about Threat?" The mage stared up at her leader, eyes wide. "Yes." she replied mournfully. "And what is it you do when we're engaging a group of our enemies?" Bubblegum looked briefly hopeful. "Um…cast the biggest fireball I can muster on the leader followed by a quick blast just before he reaches you, then erupt in waves of flame and mystical dragon-breath as they all run towards me, back off a few feet, freeze them in place, then back off again and it's back to flaming death! Then I tend to run around screaming, occasionally tossing a fireball over a shoulder while Ami heals me and everyone else tries to kill everything chasing me? Quite often then I get resurrected." "Well, yes. But what is it you're meant to do. Do you remember?" Bubblegum stared down at her toes. "I'm meant to wait until you've hit things, then turn someone into a sheep. Then I cast little fireballs on your target until it dies." "And why does that work better?" "Cos we all die less." "Yes, that's right. Good girl. Do you think we can try that for a little while now?" "I'll try Whiteheart. I just get excited sometimes." She was practically in tears at this point. "I'm sowwy…" The paladin took a deep breath and smiled at her. "That's OK Bubble, let's keep going and see how it goes." *** "Stupid bloody statues!" Malefia swore and kicked the stone lizard in front of her. "Malefia! You shouldn't swear!" chided Ami from the far side of the large circular balcony. Each of them was standing in front of a statue, and so far randomly poking them hadn't produced any results. "Shush now, OK let's try again. You first this time, Bareman." In turn they each prodded the lizards in front of them and finally there was a loud creaking sound from deep below, along with a kind of muffled roar. "Hooray!" cheered Ami and Bubblegum together. "Down the stairs!" encouraged Whiteheart. "Stupid bloody stairs" muttered Malefia as they headed off once more. *** "Right then, is everyone ready?" asked Whiteheart. "The Shade of Eranikus is a powerful creature, and it'll take everything we've got to kill him." The others nodded and with hope burning in their hearts, they charged into battle. It was a long run back from Stonard, but after a while they had recovered themselves, refreshed their mana and were ready to try again. Fortunately, the great dragon seemed to have forgotten about them. "It would have been fine the first time if you hadn't decided to have a nap," snapped Malefia. "Look, it wasn't my fault." retorted Whiteheart. "At least I was being sensible and trying to keep its attention. Blame Ami – she didn't heal me while I was sleeping." Amienne threw her axe to the floor with an agonised cry. "Can't we all just get along!" They all paused and, with a deep breath gathered their composure, ready to engage once more. This time Whiteheart charged into battle and fought the Shade alone for a few moments, screaming accusations about its mother and insulting the length of its tail. Then, quick as a flash, Bareman darted from the shadows at its rear as a panther and began to savage it also. That was the cue for Malefia and Bubblegum to start their onslaught as Amienne desperately channelled power to flush the wounds from their leader. Ready for it this time, when Whiteheart was snapped into slumber Amienne immediately started healing Bareman who swiftly shifted into a Dire Bear and roared his challenge. He managed to hold onto the Shade while Whiteheart came round, healed himself and with a blast of power took over the melee once more. Bareman popped back into a cat and cowered in the corner while the paladin caught the dragon's ire and from there on in it was more or less plain sailing. This time round they survived intact and, flushed with the warm glow of victory, the small group stood by the fallen dragon while Bubblegum rapidly made etchings. "Anyone want a chain coif?" queried Malefia as she rummaged around in the creature's entrails. I think it must have come off the last guy she ate. There's still some hair stuck in it. Amienne wrinkled her nose in distaste, but the quality of the workmanship was too tempting and she slipped it into her pack to be cleaned up for later. Certainly the previous owner wouldn't miss it. *** "Freedom of speech" does not give one the freedom to simply say anything one wants. MY shredder packs a PUNCH.. http://img518.imageshack.us/my.php?image=shredderft1.jpg |
News
Spam
Hot: Upcoming Alterac Valley Improvements in Patch 2.4
Most Viewed 
Recent Blizzard Announcements
