Calm

The cold morning winds blew over the ice floes to the west, bringing more than just a stinging chill. Upon them were memories. The Lich King, the Horde, friends and allies come and gone; it was all there again, brought to him through the brisk air and the sound of ever-shifting, crashing ice. For Corbin Waldhardt, as for so many others, it was bittersweet. Where there was pain, there was also triumph. For every moment of camaraderie, there was the accompanying sense of loss. It was the confounding experience of the old soldier, to wish to forget so many dreadful, terrible moments but to have them inextricably linked to the accomplishments and pride of one’s record. To forget the pain would be to forget it all.

He would stand at the ramparts of Westguard Keep, the Alliance fortification along the western coast of the Howling Fjord, every morning this way, thinking the same thoughts, beset by the same emotions. Nothing if not methodical, he would be there in the early hours with the sun still just over the horizon, suited in his armour, his beard fastidiously clipped back, his ponytail tied tightly behind his head, and his searching eyes just as wary as they had ever been. The passing of decades did little to his morning routine, save for finding a few more greys and slightly fewer hairs. That, and perhaps having to wake up a touch earlier to arrive at the same spot. He saw it as a cruelty that the less time you had left in life, the longer things took. 

He’d watch the waves beat against the cliffside. A draenic shaman aboard his first voyage here to Northrend told him the water would crash against the coast for countless years, and even the strength of the rock would wear in time. Gradual, unending, eventual. Never would he have thought to identify with a coastline before, but service in the Alliance was never simple.

It was time. With a sudden about-face he found his recruits dutifully behind him, all standing at the ready - save for one. Private Calder, yet again, raced up in clamouring armour to find his place in line, his chest heaving beneath the metal. “Punctuality,” Waldhardt growled. “You might think it trivial, private, but when an orc of twice your size swings at you, you best know the exact moment to lift your shield. I hope I do not have to instruct you on what happens then if you’re late.” He lifted his arm to drag his thumb across his neck, and could hear his shoulder popping with the motion. Nerubian spellcaster, ages ago, frostbolt through the back. The healers took weeks to fix him up. “Tomorrow, wake earlier, give yourself the time, and above all?”

“Remain calm,” the other six recruits spoke in unison. 

With a nod, they set off to the training fields just outside Westguard, a short distance away. He heard grumbles from Private Asa, complaining again about the ceaseless, biting wind that shook one to the very core. He allowed himself a smile. These training exercises were meant to harden the new recruits, make them strong, toughen them into a cohesive, unstoppable fighting force because above all else that discipline is what will keep them alive. This was not the time for coddling. He knew what would happen to them if they weren’t prepared. He knew it all too well.

They formed ranks and began to run the standard drills, and as always, he would demonstrate first. “Fall in line,” he’d bark out, his voice carrying far into the Northrend landscape. “Keep to the routines, because when the battle comes, you may panic. Let the routines set in, and they’ll ease you, and you’ll settle, and you’ll live. Calm, always, that’s what will get you through. Now, lift the shield, tighten your grip-”, he said through gritted teeth as he tried to clutch the handle tighter. Orcish battleaxe, Draenor, a swing so powerful it shattered his hand through his shield. Strange to remember that one, knowing it wasn’t even truly in this timeline. Strange places, strange times, soldiering brings you anywhere. “Tighten your grip,” he repeated, “and swing through. A larger opponent will knock it clean out of your hands if you’re not ready for it.”

They ran through the drill, countless times, each soldier giving it his or her all. They were good, but battles had a way of shaking the nerve. 

“Sir, it’s been hours,” private Libold said through ragged breaths. “Could we-”

“Stop,” Waldhardt called. “Stop now.” And so they did. They froze, each one, while he looked off into the distance at nothing and everything at once. He sniffed the air. Waited. Looked further. Something was off. While he didn’t possess the magical abilities of mages or shamen to see beyond where his eyes could take him, there was a soldier’s intuition that was just as critical and no less real. He could feel it in his bones that there was danger somewhere, somehow. A thin, wispy mist crossed their path. “Form ranks,” he said, this time quieter. “Remain calm. Each one of you.”

“Sir, please-”

“Form ranks! Shields at the ready!”

They paused. Only the wind could be heard. Looking westward toward the coast, the mist had turned into a thick fog. It covered their feet and obscured the sightlines to the ocean. 

“Sir, are we afraid of a little ocean breeze now? Rusted boots, the new Alliance threat?”, private Asa joked. 

“Quiet,” urged private Matilde on her commander’s behalf. “It’s not the mist. It’s what’s in it.”

“Kvaldir,” muttered private Libold through a held breath, visibly shaking.

The word seemed almost to summon them. Deep in the mist, one could see three silhouetted figures. They were the disembodied spirits of vykrul, roaming the waters, raiding, pillaging, sowing death and destruction for their goddess Helya. Two came forth wielding massive tridents, their skin the sickly green of the dead and drowned, their bodies draped with the nets of fishermen and carrying on them the smell of the ocean tinged with rot. The third, older in appearance, wearing longer robes and holding a staff showed himself after, less physically intimidating but no less powerful. It was three to their seven, but their size alone could well make up for the difference in numbers.

“Calm,” Waldhardt said. “Form up, two rows, one on each flank. Follow my lead.” He turned to see Calder with his shield down, mouth open in stunned silence. “Private,” he urged. “Private!”

The Kvaldir charged, unearthly howls of the damned in harmony with the wind. A wide swing of the right flanking monster’s trident slammed into the shields of the recruits, sending them back. They would have held had Calder been in the line with them, but as always, his timing was wrong. A bolt of shadow magic fired just overhead as Waldhardt charged the weakened right flank in support. He slammed his shield into the vykrul’s side, sending him reeling, allowing for Calder to find his wits and the line to form again. 

Just as that side was sorted, one of the bolts from the spellcaster found its mark. Private Asa, admirably keeping the left flank together, took a blast of flame square to the shoulder. She screamed, desperately trying to pat out the flames only to find they were magical, allowing her no reprieve from the agony. Waldhardt breathed in that old familiar smell of burning flesh and a tangible sense of panic in the air rushing back to him. Memories. Pain.

Anger.

Calm, calm, he urged himself. “Hold shields! Tighten up!” he called, only to see a private’s grip loosen and be sent flying backwards on the next swing of the Kvaldir’s trident. “Calm, calm,” he said, this time aloud and to himself. He rushed in to support, cursing the vykrul, desperate to pull its attention away from the recruit on the left flank who was sorely pressed and now facing it alone. Another bolt of flame came in. It caught him along the side, but just grazing. Still, it burned deeply, pervasive across his whole body. He struck true on his next swing, skewering the vykrul just as the monster brought his arm back to thrust forward.

Another bolt of flame. It caught private Libold in the chest. He went down howling in pain, alive though he likely wished he wasn’t. The screams, the calls for mercy that weren’t coming, it all sounded so familiar. The draenic shaman that taught him about the coast died of the same magic, made the same sound…

Calm. Calm.

The right flank was fighting valiantly, but another recruit was knocked to his knees and barely avoided the following killing blow. They fell backwards, barely able to dodge the incoming bolts from the sorcerer while blocking the thrusting trident. They could die here if they didn’t hold to their training. So new, so young. They could die and it would be under his watch.

Calm. Calm. Calm.

        No more.

Corbin Waldhardt had more devotion in his heart to just the Alliance. He was a proud Gilnean, but cursed just the same. The rage that would build in him would bubble and churn, almost as if it were a living, breathing entity, demanding its release into the world. He would hold it, contain it as long as he could, but to see this, to witness the suffering of those under his command, was not acceptable. The anger within won out. Woe to those that were in his way then.

His body began to transform, twist, shift, grow. A layer of fur sprouted across his form, his hands turning into vicious claws, and his old wounds and breaking body giving way to a power he hadn’t felt in years. His other form, the worgen within, once more came forth upon the battlefield. 

Letting loose a guttural howl, he charged the vykrul harassing the right flank, slamming his shield hard into his chest with a force he had not held since his youth. He swung wildly, viciously, recklessly, sheer power and rage overwhelming his foe. He tore into the monster, ensuring the cries of pain would come only from his enemy from this point forward. Blood splattered upon him and matted his fur, that old familiar feeling, never entirely sure what was his and what was the enemy’s.  

Bolts of magic targeted him now, but his form was lithe, fast, and graceful in all the ways his human form had lost to age. He closed the distance more quickly than the vykrul sorcerer could ever have imagined, slaughtering him in a spray of blood to accompany the mist they came in on. 

It felt as if it was over so quickly. The three vykrul lay dead. His allies were injured, some badly, but the fires were all but gone and their wounds would be healed by the priests that took residence in the keep. It was a crucible for the new recruits, but in the end they’ll come out stronger. They’re alive, and hopefully will remain so long enough to become rigid old trainers themselves someday.

He turned back. The two wounded by the fires were having their wounds wrapped by an unhurt pair. The one tossed backwards by the swipe of the vykrul was on his feet, although still shaken. The last, Calder, was just staring at him, dumbstruck. “Shaggier than I’d have thought,” he half-whispered, noting the worgen’s fur did not carry the same meticulous appearance the human commander had. 

Waldhardt realised then it was the first time the recruits would have seen his worgen form - perhaps even the first time they’ve seen a worgen at all, considering most of them were recruited from quiet, faraway Alliance towns. “Hard to stay trimmed up,” he said, his voice sounding more like a growl than he intended. “Wrap the wounds as best you can, get everyone back to the keep as soon as possible,” he said to the others. “Well done today, recruits. You’ve fought your first battle and came out battered, but breathing. The wounds will heal, but they’ll stay with you forever now. Memories that sing through the ages to you, reliving your accomplishments. Your heroism. Your valour.”

“Sir,” private Matilde said while wrapping the wounds of a fellow recruit carefully. “I… I don’t know how to ask this, but… didn’t you say to stay calm? Through the whole battle, that being the most important thing? With all due respect, sir, I do not believe that…” she motioned to the Kvaldir sorcerer’s body, completely ravaged by their commander’s onslaught. She then looked to the second vykrul to fall, its massive form skewered and broken. “I don’t think...”

“No. No, I don’t think it was. But take it from a Gilnean - there comes a time when calm and preparation can only take you so far. Rigid discipline keeps you safe, keeps your thinking sound. But when the planning fails, you’re outnumbered, it seems there’s no way out, you’ve got to look deep inside yourself. Find the beast within. And set it loose.”

The Wailing Caverns - Part 3: Two Sides of the Same Coin

    Some would say the spin was unnecessary. Some would even call it reckless to leap over a crevasse in full plate, let alone adding a flourish. Those that would make that claim, however, simply do not understand blood elves. The fact of the matter is when blood elves jump, they occasionally spin. It's not something they truly actively choose to do. Instead, it just... happens. One moment they're jumping forward; standard, perfunctory. The next, it's a twisting, graceful turn in midair. It's one of the many great mysteries of their people. Fortunately, this time Yrella felt that it served a purpose. It made the leap across the broken terrain in Wailing Caverns leading to the eastern tunnel systems look all the easier for the rest of her party.

    Being the leader of the group, Alsius followed quickly after, making the leap with a great push from his powerful form. Unlike the blood elf, he most certainly did not do a spin. The monks were next, easily traversing the gap with agility that belied their softer exteriors. All that was left was Myraah. The little vulpera that could. She bit her lip while her fingers twisted into knots. The action made her look smaller than ever. 

    Yrella suddenly felt for the priest. The blood elf could protect her party, heal their wounds, and inspire them with her stoicism and faith, but she could not instill courage. That could only come from within. She did, however, take some of the blame upon herself. She had been especially hard on the vulpera, unable to resist the cheap comments about her stature. And the fur. And the ears. There was a lot of material to play with, after all. 

    "You can do this, Myraah," Yrella said. The words sounded strange. True, honest encouragement was typically reserved for her blood elven brethren. She wrinkled her nose, not quite feeling right about it. "It's not a far jump. You're more than capable. You've proven that much so far."

    Myraah nodded, looking at least somewhat more encouraged. It was at least enough to try. Taking a few steps backwards, she went for a running start. Her tiny legs pumped furiously, planting for a tremendous leap, launching herself forward...

    ...and hardly making it half way. She tumbled down the edge, fortuitously remembering to cast a protective shield around herself to block some of the rocks that struck her along the way and to cushion the blow of the fall. Her pride, however, could not be shielded in much the same way.

    "By the light..." Yrella mumbled. "Not even close."

    "Are you alright?" Shalai called down. "And - is that earthroot by your feet?"

    "I'm OK!" she whispered back, her voice echoing through the cavern regardless. "It might be earthroot - but I'm more concerned about the vipers. There are a lot of vipers. The big ones. The ones with fangs the size of me."

    "Lucky us," Yrella called down. "They must not yet be fully grown. Now use your priestly ways and lower them down with that levitation spell of yours. Them, I will emphasize, as you shall not dare cast that upon me." She had long ago firmly decided she would not receive any spells from a priest. She found the concept of using light and shadow to be reprehensible; why would one need shadow when the light could provide all that one would need? As a paladin, she believed a priest that used the art of shadow was just a warlock born of half-measures. She instead called upon what was good and righteous to provide her a temporary invulnerable shield, a glimmering sphere protecting her whole physical form. Knowing she was immune to the pain of the fall, she leapt from the ledge and landed heavily on the ground without so much as a scratch. A waste of a good spinning jump to traverse the cavern, in her mind. 

    Myraah instead used her levitation spell on Alsius, who looked profoundly uncomfortable but at least willing to accept the easier descent. Baoshii, meanwhile, made good on the name "Tumblebelly" and slipped from the ledge. Yrella was one of many healers that felt mana was a resource solely dedicated to healing the careless.

    "The long route, then," Alsius said, slinging his axe over his shoulder and motioning to the next group of crazed druids just ahead. "Feels as if this whole cavern is the 'long route' anyway..."

    ---

    "Skum?"  Yrella asked, partly in disbelief and partly in frustrated resignation. "Do we truly need to stop just to battle a creature whose very name is synonymous with grime?" She picked at a spot of dirt on her armour, restoring it to its brilliant shine - an increasingly difficult thing to do in a cavern full of miscellaneous slimes, poisons, and other such vile substances. 

    "It is of the utmost importance," Baoshii said with vigour. 

    "There is nothing of greater need," Shalai agreed. 

    "They won't shut up until we kill it," Alsius grumbled. He craned his neck to look up at the thunder lizard ahead of him. Skum was a massive, dark-hued beast, corrupted by the energies of the nightmare that tainted the druids just the same. Why the monks wanted to defeat it so desperately, no one knew. At this point, he was quickly realizing it was easier not to ask.

    "Get on with it, then," Yrella sighed, the sentence not even leaving her lips before a mug of ale was lobbed towards the creature. Quickly, she learned just how the "thunder lizards" had earned their name. The giant creature shot lightning straight from its maw, illuminated the darkened cavern in its strange, beastial energy. Yrella suddenly felt somewhat worried. For one, her experiences have taught her that lightning and plate armour were typically not a combination she very much enjoyed. Second, lightning also may not play nice with those soaked in alcohol. But, she was their healer, and the light demanded of her to save those that she was allied with. Even those she considered to be fools. Perhaps, especially.

   It certainly didn't help that both of the monks seemed to be directly taunting the creature to fire its great blasts of lightning at them. Baoshii held up his keg to take the brunt of the attack while Shalai held out her teapots like she wished to be the conductor of the energy. 

   The battle was arduous, and by the time they finally emerged victorious Yrella's reserves of mana were all but spent. And yet the monks were jubilant, their hair singed and standing on end, still jittery from the raw energy that coursed through them. In what was beginning to feel all too normal, Alsius began cursing and shouting, furious at their recklessness. Yrella would have joined, but she instead sat down in exhaustion. The orc's fury would certainly be sufficient.

 

   "Why?" he yelled at them. "Why would you directly try to be struck by the beast's attacks?"

    "Well," Baoshii answered hesitantly. "We heard of these dwarves..."

    "Dwarves!" Yrella managed to laugh. "Here we go..."

    "You see... their clan is called the Thunderbrew. So we wondered..."

    "Stop," Yrella said, holding up a hand. "Please. Please do not tell me we fought a colossal lizard that fired electricity from its face because you heard the name of a dwarven clan and thought it could make a decent flavour."

    "Well..." Baoshii said quietly.

    Shalai shrugged. "This can't come as much of a shock." She perked up. "Shock! I didn't even realize it when I said it!"

    Alsius slung his axe over his shoulder again. "One more fight. One more. And then never again." Before he moved on, he placed a hand on Yrella's shoulder. "I miss the days when the Horde would fight with axes, not mind magic and... mugs. But you've done well." He brought his fist to his heart. "Strength and honour."

    She wearily smiled up at him. "It's just brutes that carry axes," she said. When he started to scowl at her, she laughed. "But someone's got to heal the brutes. Otherwise, I'm not needed." For the first time since their adventures in the caverns began, Alsius laughed. It sounded like old goblin machinery, but it was something. 

    ---

   The colossal, sheer white murloc emerged from the pools surrounding the sleeping Naralex. It was a living, physical manifestation of the very nightmares that haunted the sleeper, and a grim reality of the evil that corrupted the entirety of these forsaken caverns. The murloc tilted its head back, letting loose a roar that shook the very foundations of the cavern, its challenge ringing in their ears. Yellowed, diseased teeth, jagged and vicious, caught the scant light that remained in the deepest reaches the cavern had to offer. Alsius readied himself, holding his axe tightly and preparing to lead the charge.

    "Oooh, pretty!" Shalai said dreamily. The party turned to her, confusion marking their faces. A moth had alighted on her hand, walking up her arm casually, as if they were old friends. "Oh. Sorry. Moths... it's a family thing." She looked up. "Wow, look at that murloc! How decidedly unpleasant."

    "They're not nice creatures," Baoshii agreed. "Lost my toe to one. At least I think I did. Had a lot of 

brew that day. Either way, the toe is gone and ever since I've stumbled around plenty more than ever before."

    "Yes, certainly, that must be the reason," Yrella said. "Now can we please be done with this mucous-ridden horror before it spills its slime on me? Shield wax is worth its weight in gold."

    Shalai gently put down the moth, wishing it well on its journey through Azeroth. She'd love to play with it further, but more important issues were at hand. This monster here, this was what she had come for. This was the purpose of her journey, this slimy, vile creature. She braced herself, deciding she would be the one to lead the charge. She dipped underneath the swings of its webbed hands, striking hard and fast, ducking and diving, a force of vigour and vitality the party had not yet seen. Her strikes were strong and swift, and through all their time together the party was finally working together in some level of cohesion. Together, with Shalai leading, the battle was won. 

    Alsius breathed a sigh of relief. Yrella scrunched up her face, flicking aside a stray glob of slime that the murloc had shed upon her bright red armour. Myraah was ecstatic, knowing full well she was finally an instrumental member of a Horde war party. The two monks, however, still had work to do. Baoshii leapt atop the body of the murloc, and by now knowing Shalai would be doing the same as him, offered a hand to help her up. Each removed one of the murloc's massive, glossy fins.

    "It's why you came here, isn't it?" Alsius asked. 

    "Murloc fins. Nothing in the world tastes quite like it," Shalai explained. 

    "There are many murlocs across Azeroth. Why come all the way here?"

    Baoshii looked down and answered on her behalf. "This is a really big murloc. So it has a really big fin."

    Alsius shook his head. "Very well. You've served the Horde one way or the other. It was unconventional, but we've done our duty. I would hope to see you again in the ranks of the Horde." He issued a sharp salute. Heaving his axe over his shoulder, he began to walk out of the cavern - but not before turning to Myraah. "You too, little one."

    She returned the salute with vigour. "It was an honour!" she said with poorly disguised glee, following him out of the cavern. 

    Yrella turned to the monks. "If you ever decide to give up the path of the brewmaster, the way of the light is open to you."

    "Pale ales are light enough," Tumblebelly replied with a laugh. Yrella smirked, gave a nod to the both of them, and left the same way as the others. 

    Shalai began packing the murloc fin, already thinking well ahead to what teas she could brew using this very special ingredient. She knew her new friend would be making some sort of exquisite brew just the same. "Know what you'll make yet?" she asked. 

    "Oh, it'll come to me. But it'll be delicious - as will yours! Tea... brew... it's just two sides of the same coin, isn't it?"

    "Well, if you're ever in the Jade Forest, my family runs a silk farm. I sell my teas there. It might not be brew, but-"

    "I would be honoured!" Baoshii said. "And my family - you might have guessed they run a brewery! If you're ever inclined to try something a little stronger than tea..."

    Shalai beamed back at him. "I would be honoured just the same." She saw he was picking up his keg and slinging it over his back, stumbling just as he had when he first joined the party. "Farewell, Baoshii Tumblebelly. May we meet again."

    "Invite Alsius when we do. I think he was starting to like us!" With a wave and a nod, he went the same way as the rest, leaving Shalai alone in the cavern. 

    Well, almost alone.

    "By Cenarius, I thought they'd never leave!"

    Shalai jumped so high in the air she thought she'd hit the cavern's roof. Naralex, the sleeper - and notably, a night elf - had awakened. "I beg your pardon! I had forgotten you were there."

    "I pretended to stay asleep. They were... they were members of the Horde! What were you doing with them? Had they taken you prisoner?" he asked, clearly still unsure if they were yet safe.

    "And how do you know I'm not a member of the Horde myself?" Shalai asked, placing her hands on her hips. "Pandaren have joined both factions, you know. It's not good to assume."

    He raised a tired finger, just now rising from where they had found him. "One of your teapots - it's of night elf origin. And another one - gnomish. Now, either you've travelled the world slaughtering Alliance for their quality tea-steeping apparatuses, or you're not one of them at all. And, I might add, fortunate that they did not notice."

    Shalai blushed, surprised she was found out. It was exceptionally risky for a Tushui pandaren to join a party of the Horde. She wondered what Alsius would have said if he had learned the truth. But that was neither here nor there. "That's the thing about the Horde and the Alliance, sleeper. All that silly feuding... they just need to sit down and have a cup of tea." She looked back at the way the members of the party had left. "Or, perhaps, a brew."    

    

The Wailing Caverns - Part 2: Baoshii's Belly and Myraah's Mind

      Baoshii Tumblebelly was somewhat confident that the Wailing Caverns were stationary. In fact, he was very confident. Not in all his years had he seen a cave spin. And yet here he was, watching the walls turn and shift in a constant state of motion. Of course, it could just be in his head. He had heard from other monks that consuming whole kegs of brew at a time could have certain adverse affects, but he always dismissed them out of hand, typically showing his disdain for such thinking by consuming more brew. Instead, it must certainly have been due to one of the strange ingredients he added as opposed to an issue of volume. That understanding did little for his headache, however. He planted his mighty paws on the side of his head, willing his eyes to see straight and his vision to clear. 

    It was important to focus right, after all. Alsius was in the middle of discussing a battle plan. The death knight was crouched on the dirt, drawing a makeshift map. Myraah was by his side as well, transfixed on the plans, offering pieces of advice. The others listened carefully. Baoshii truly tried to do the same.

    "...raptors all along this corridor. Vicious, savage beasts, which we should not take lightly. Yet they are defending these Druids of the Fang. They must be culled..."

    The spins were getting stronger. He took a mighty swig from his mug to try to dull it, but mysteriously, it did little. Certainly it was one of the new ingredients. Perhaps the water from the oasis was tainted in some way by the forces of the caverns. It was the only logical explanation he could muster. 

    "...draw the nearest group to us individually, and crush them with superior numbers. As long as..."

    It had to be the ingredients. He had to try something new to settle his mind. One hand on his head and the other on his stomach, he scanned the cavern.

    "The first group of raptors is just ahead. On my signal, we-"

    "Raptor horn! Of course!" Baoshii bellowed, lobbing his mug at the nearest beast and covering it with frothy ale. Immediately he went into a crouch, prepared to strike it down, pulverise it's horn and sprinkle the dust into his mug to finally, at long last, settle his spinning world. Why Alsius seemed so upset at this confused him, but that was a concern for another time.

    A group of three raptors, dripping ale, rushed towards them. Their fangs glistened from the luminescence of the strange slime that moved with them, bathing them in a sickening green glow. Shalai, in an unexpected move, drank a long sip of tea as they approached instead of falling into the traditional crouched defensive posture. Her eyes opened wide and her feet tapped rapidly, and then, suddenly, with incredible force, she spewed pure fire from her mouth. Immediately it set the raptors aflame, spurred on further by Baoshii's ale. In shock and disarray, the raptors were easily put down.

    "Effective!" he said to her with an expression of surprise and approval. "What did you brew to get that degree of heat?"

    She was quick to reply and eager to share. "Simple green tea, but with a splash of yak's milk boiled to-"

    "Enough!" Alsius roared, loud enough that they briefly wondered if it would collapse the entrance. 

    "Yeah!" Myraah agreed, looking stern with hands on her hips. She quickly noted Alsius did not wish for or need the assistance, however, and looked away awkwardly. 

    The death knight slammed his axe into the dirt and looked them each in the eye. "I said on my signal! The Horde has a way of attack, and it is not through... through mugs thrown and... and foolish tricks! We move forward as I see fit! That is final!"

    The party went quiet. The two monks realized then that they had rushed in rather recklessly, and had indeed put the group in some degree of danger. For them both, their single-mindedness had often been a benefit, but not always. There were others relying on them now, and they had to focus.

    "Forward, then," Alsius said, calmer now but still shaking his head in frustration. Yrella Dawn followed first after him, seeing as she was the only one that the death knight was not actively infuriated with. Healers tend to be well liked as long as everyone is alive. If they're not, they usually don't hear the complaints anyway.

    Baoshii felt some sense of shame, but noticed a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was Shalai. "Raptor scale," she whispered. "It will calm your mind. The horn causes madness."

    Before Alsius could tell them not to, the two monks quickly went to collect their reagents. Tumblebelly snapped off a scale and crushed pieces of it into dust into his ale. He noticed Shalai scraping down pieces of the horn, however, and gave her an inquisitive look.

    She met his eyes with a shrug. "Sometimes you need a little madness."

    --

    Myraah felt the group was coming together. In their wake were the bodies of a number of raptors and... she wasn't sure if slimes had bodies, but they were struck down just the same. However, they all knew that the battle had only begun, and there were plenty of struggles ahead. Their first great challenge - one of the leaders of the Druids of the Fang - rested by a campfire just ahead. 

    "Lady Anacondra," she whispered, peeking around the rocks to see her sitting with two druids at her side. They were all clad in the intriguing colours and designs of their order, their leathers dyed purple with green streaks coursing through it like the poison of a snake. After all, the 'fang' in their order's namesake comes from the snakes the druids can transform into. One such creature slithered, upright, around the camp on patrol, as large as the night elf it had formed from. 

    Myraah was eager. It was now that she could prove to the rest of them that she was a capable, useful member of the Horde. "Alsius," she said with a sharp salute, "I ask permission to lead the attack. I have a plan."

    "Snakes hunt vermin, you do know," Yrella added dryly as she tried to wipe away some of the slime that had splashed onto her boot. 

    Ignoring the slight about her size - and perhaps her fur... might have been a comment on the ears as well, really... - she spoke directly to Alsius. "Their minds are already damaged. The reports said they're half lost in a nightmare from the Emerald Dream. I can surely control one of their minds and get them to engage in a fight with the other, effectively taking out two birds with one stone."

    "We saw bears breathing fire, might as well have rats hunting snakes," Yrella added. 

    Alsius thought it over. Until now, much to his disbelief, the Vulpera had been one of his best soldiers. Fiercely dedicated, she had managed to uphold the duty and bravery of what it meant to be a member of the Horde. With some trepidation, he gave her a quiet nod. "Take the one at the campfire. Use it to neutralise the snake. Once that business is done, we'll charge in on the leader."

    Myraah had goosebumps - fortunately hidden by her fur, but unfortunately made all the more obvious by that same hair standing on end. This was her opportunity, and she had to make the best of it. She crept close to the edge of the rock face they hid behind, peering over at the encampment of druids. She opened herself to the shadow, allowing its essence to flow through her, controlling it, cradling it in her mind, and sending it as a wave to the druid's psyche. Caught unaware, he had no chance to defend against it, especially as overwhelmed by the nightmare as he was. Awkwardly, he stood up under Myraah's control, garnering a few strange glances from his companions. They didn't seem to make much of it, however, seeing as there were any number of strange occurrences in this place. 

    "Well, do something with it," she heard Yrella's voice echo in her mind. "Making him stand is a nice parlour trick, but we may need more than that."

    She concentrated to her full power, her body shaking with the effort. She searched for a weapon on the body, having the druid pat down his sides. There was nothing. Of course, she thought - they're druids! Why carry weapons when your very body is the weapon? But, even under the influence of her spell, she couldn't force him to change into a viper, as that required strong druidic powers. So, she forced him to walk up to the snake, and did the only thing she could.

    "What are you doing, Vulpeera?"

    "This is no time for games!"

    "Did that druid just... punch that snake?"

    Tumblebelly's boisterous laughter filled her head. She grimaced. She couldn't blame them, after all - the sight looked positively absurd. Lacking a weapon, the stumbling druid began to swing wildly at his serpentine companion, pummelling it over and over with awkward, reckless blows. The snake looked more surprised than hurt, using its weight to try to knock over the surprise attacker rather than harm him, as he looked more akin to a drunken wrestler than an assassin. 

    "Enough of this!" the orc yelled, the voice reverberating in her head. "Charge!"

    The spell was broken quite abruptly. The last image she had from the perspective of the druid's eyes was a simple clay teapot hurtling towards his head. It was quite jarring when it struck; her consciousness sped back towards her and and she promptly had control of her own body again, a feeling one never fully becomes accustomed to. 

    The battle now abruptly under way, Yrella frantically healed the wounds of Baoshii who had engaged the snake directly. Still feeling woozy, he took a fair dose of venom during the brawl. His response seemed to be to try to cure it by drowning the poison in alcohol. 

    Alsius, meanwhile, engaged Lady Anacondra directly, stealing her life force to regain his. Shalai ducked and rolled past the two locked in combat, giving the impression of a plan to flank the leader and overwhelm her with numbers. 

    At first, Alsius seemed pleased at what appeared to be - finally - a worthy strategy, but the feeling was short lived. She rolled past them to protect a small green plant that grew just behind the lady's feet, using her whole body to protect it as she delicately clipped the leaves. The only benefit was Alsius' anger was so great at seeing this it filled him with renewed vigour. In spite of the the madness that broke out, Yrella's tremendous efforts to keep both the poisoned Tumblebelly and the roaring Alsius alive left the strange party victorious. 

    They all took a moment to catch their breath, their chests heaving with exhaustion. The crackling of the fire revealed a unique battle indeed: a druid laid low, the scattered remains of a teapot strewn about the empty chasm; the snake's dripping poison splashed about the ground; and a monk, lying across the ground, casually picking an herb as if the whole sight was of far less interest. 

    "What," Alsius said between ragged gasps, "was," he said, staring down at the tiny form of Myraah, "that!" he finished emphatically. He looked as if he was about to plant a plate boot right into Shalai's backside that was still pointing right up at him as she picked the curious weed. 

    "Serpentbloom," Shalai explained innocently, holding up a leafy green vine. 

    "You found some?" Baoshii asked. "Wonderful!"

    "You could have gotten us all killed... for a weed!" Alsius said, grinding his teeth. At the pace he was grinding them, he'd be lucky to have any left at all by the end of the cavern. 

    "Not just any weed. Serpentbloom," Shalai said. "And she almost stepped on it. So careless."

    Baoshii held a hand up to his mouth. "I couldn't imagine..." he whispered.

    Alsius was under such shock and dismay he seemed to struggle to find the words to reprimand them further. The battle, from the beginning to the end, was shambolic. Never in all his days had he seen such absurdity in war. Fortunately for him, Yrella took up the task on his behalf. 

    "Are we to simply forget that whole debacle at the beginning of that battle? And I thought the trolls were the snake-charmers," she quipped. Yrella, while shorter for an elf, had a way about her that seemed to tower over everyone. She was one of those types that could stand eye to eye with another and still find herself looking down. 

    "Look. We won the fight. And we're getting better with every battle," Myraah said with the optimism of one that has always managed to find hope even in the empty deserts of Vol'dun. "Now we best stop fighting among each other, because there are plenty more that want to fight us already. There's still a lot of cavern left." She looked to Alsius for approval, but those last words didn't seem to make him feel much better. She had never seen an orc, let alone a death knight, sink his shoulders so low. 

    It really didn't help when Baoshii offered him some brew.

The Wailing Caverns - Part 1: Blood, Thunder and Teapots

     Alsius checked his map for the fifth time, shaking his head again. It had to be here. There were few other places it could have been, after all. The Barrens was a dry, empty wasteland, devoid of landmarks for miles at a time. To find a different oasis with a massive, subterranean tunnel seemed far too unlikely. This had to be the spot - and yet he was alone.

    He scowled, rotating his shoulders. He hoped they would arrive soon. The beating sun was not friendly on a death knight's skin, the heavy plate he wore only adding to the discomfort. Alsius began to wonder if perhaps his party had gotten lost along the way. As an orc, he knew he could manage the heat, unflinching from duty and willing to suffer for the good of the Horde. As for the rest of the war party, that was yet to be seen. All he knew was it would take a strong-bodied soul to find their way here.

    Finally, in the distance, a traveller approached, but not one he expected. Body covered in fur and clad in cloth the colours of the desert sands, the figure stood hardly half the orc's height and a fraction of his weight. Alsius gripped his axe, but not out of fear. Instead, he held it lazily in his hands, almost wishing the creature to attack him so he'd have something to drain of life and replenish his weary body.

    Yet, the traveller did approach after all. Alsius shook his head in disbelief; did the small creature wish to die?

    "You must be Alsius!" she called out to him. "Myraah, reporting for duty! Beautiful day to serve the Horde, is it not? I do love these 'Barrens'  as you orcs call them, although they're not nearly as barren as the deserts I hail from. This place feels brimming with life when compared to Vol'dun." 

    Alsius lowered his axe and looked at his map again. On it were scrawled four names - one of which was 'Myraah'. They said they were sending a priest, skilled in both shadow and healing magic. Nowhere did his commander mention the newcomer was the size of a somewhat hearty lunch. "A Vulpera," he muttered. 

    "Indeed," she said with a bow, removing the hood of her cloak to show fur the colour of the desert itself, "and ready to serve the Horde as always! The Horde helped my people, and I am determined to return the favour through any means - including, of course, clearing this cave of miscreants."

    "How..." he muttered.

    "How? Through the power of shadow and -"

    "No," the death knight interrupted. "How has the Horde changed so greatly in so short a time?" He remembered when trolls were added to the Orcish Horde in the second war. It seemed strange then.  When they brought the undead into their ranks, for all their oddities he acknowledged they had a respectable temperament in regards to slaughtering humans. And at least the Tauren were big...

    Alsius regretted the thought the very next moment when another recruit came walking - stumbling - in. He was big as well. Larger than Alsius, certainly. The barrel he held on his back would be more than enough to serve as a swimming pool for the diminutive Myraah. Each step looked uncertain as he came forward with a frothy mug of ale spilling over the sides. Before he even greeted the leader of the expedition, he raced over to the oasis with surprising grace, drank half of the liquid from the mug, and dipped it into the water. Taking another huge swig, he tilted his head to the side, thought for a moment, and said, "Good - but needs more barley."

    The death knight checked the list of names again. "You must be Baoshii..." He grimaced. "Baoshii Tumblebelly. Pandaren Brewmaster." His dead, blue eyes looked up from beneath his dark red hair. "It is not wise to drink before entering such a place as this."

    The Pandaren laughed heartily, his bellow ending in a burp. "More dangerous not to."

    "I haven't had a touch of alcohol, commander!" the Vulpera said with a salute. 

    "Care to change that?" Tumblebelly asked, a massive smile across his chubby, friendly face. "Always willing to share!"

    Before she had a chance to answer, the fourth member of the party arrived. A blood elf, clad in the armour of Silvermoon's Blood Knights, entered the oasis - very carefully. Never had Alsius seen someone in full plate walk with such trepidation. But it didn't seem so much out of fear, rather than simply not wishing to dirty her armour. She stepped forward to Alsius delicately, finding the driest spots of land. "Greetings to my..." she looked at the other two before looking back at the death knight. "I'm going to assume commander. I am Yrella Dawn of Silvermoon," she said taking off her helmet to reveal vivid red hair that closely resembled the bright colours of her homeland. She was thin, but carried herself with admirable strength. "I'm here to assist in cleansing this... wasteland," she said with distaste.

    Myraah shook her head knowingly. "We're greatly underestimating what a wasteland is."

    "Hmm." The blood elf inspected the three. "I can heal the Pandaren. Even the little one, if she survives long enough to let me. But how I heal the dead, I'm not yet sure."

    "Have you tried to think after a brew?" Tumblebelly suggested. "Always makes my world a little more clear. And a little more hazy..."

     Once more, there wasn't enough time to answer, and likely for the best this time. The fifth and final member of the party had arrived. Another Pandaren, she walked up to Alsius with pride, but immediately became distracted by a vivid purple plant just behind him. She walked right past the leader of the party, bumping his shoulder slightly which caused him to scowl all the deeper. Kneeling down, she looked closely at the unfamiliar foliage. "Smells delicious," she said with a smile. "But will it brew?"

    "For ale?" Tumblebelly asked her as the others watched in confused silence, unsure if this was customary for the Pandaren people or if these were indeed just strange members of their race. 

    "No," she said, picking a leaf delicately but promptly crushing it in her palm anyway. "For tea! Not all brewmasters make ale, you know." Baoshii noticed that where he had a giant keg strapped to his back, she had a tremendous number of teapots of various sizes and colours, ranging from the ornate to a kind that one would expect a trogg to find unappealing. "It's why I'm here - to find ingredients!"

    "That's why you're here..." Alsius growled. "Shalai, I presume?" he said, checking his list.

    "Of course. The strange and exotic, the fruity, the earthy! That's what brings me here. And, as we all surely know, the best ingredients are ingredients that have been earned." She saw Baoshii nod his approval as she peered into the foreboding depths of the caverns. If it worried her, she didn't show it. Instead, she just turned back to Baoshii, whom she was already growing fond of. "You might just want to try this purple one for your brew," she said to him.  

    Ages ago, Alsius fought alongside Warchief Thrall to help found their imposing city of Orgrimmar. He led a small band of orcs against a full centaur war party, he at the tip of the spear. Each orc at his side fought with a ferocity unmatched, their cries of battle echoing its challenge to any that dare oppose the Horde. They fought and bled together, united, behind a common cause. 

    Notably, they did not have tea. 

    He rubbed a hand over his face. "You lead the soldiers you're given," he whispered to himself. Looking up and clearing his head, he called out to the band. "Form up!" The four stood at attention in front of him, more alert than he would have thought. A glimmer of hope, perhaps. "We're to enter the Wailing Caverns and put an end to the threats that lie within. There will be great challenges before us, but also honour, and glory!"

    "And ingredients!" the Pandaren said in unison.

    "And ingredients... Now, the commanders at the Crossroads said the Huojin monks are particularly adept at all specialities. I will draw them to me, if you can rain death upon them!"

    "Brewmasters typically don't fill that role," Shalai said. "We're the ones that get the attention in a dungeon, most likely. Brew draws the masses, as they say."

    Alsius scowled. The ones issuing the orders at the Crossroads would sometimes not pay attention to the specialities of those that were not their orcish brethren. "You two, then - can you fill that role?" he said to Myraah and Yrella. 

    "I was clear in saying I was a healer," Yrella said. "Not one to get my hands dirty... although in this place I daresay that ship has sailed."

    "And I'm trained in the arts of discipline," Myraah added. "We know shadow magics, but we're adept healers, mostly..."

    "Two healers and three to draw attention," Alsius said. "This is to be a long day." Slinging his axe over his shoulder, he walked to the entrance of the great hole in the earth that led below to the Wailing Caverns. "Blood, thunder and teapots," he grumbled.