Plan 42 From Inner Space

Return to RP Stories

''This is merely a silly story, and has nothing to do with anything that has ever happened or will ever happen inside the game. Rated PG-13.''

Chapter I. Luck, Your Silent Partner
Towards the end of the year, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one morning, a dwarven scout approached the stronghold Dun Garok from the north. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible for the scout to distinguish anything more than a few yards away.

Suddenly the scout heard a strange noise, a gargle, and she turned around – an enormous, brownish spider had somehow managed to sneak up on her, and was preparing to launch a poisonous jet of acid at its prey. The scout stood still for a moment, then ducked and rushed away; she had a message to deliver, and fighting spiders was not part of her duty. The spider growled and followed the dwarven messenger southwards, and more ferocious arachnids joined his hunt.

The dwarf finally paused near a tree, thinking she was safe from the venomous menace; she was already weak from hunger and tired from running a long distance. A high-pitched noise alerted her, and she looked on, terrified, as huge spiders approached from out of the mist, surrounding her. There was at least a dozen.

With a small dagger, she started defending herself, trying to push the animals away, but more kept coming from every direction. The scout suddenly felt a sticky web pull her to the ground, choking her slowly, while the numerous spiders all tried to get closer in order to feed. With her one free hand, the dwarf reached for her dagger, but it was too late; she felt a powerful sting in one of her legs, and then everything got hazy.

“This is it”, she thought, “Never mind the message, the duty… what about my life? I’ve just started working my way up… this was my first important mission, my ticket to recognition and greatness. Now, I’ll be nothing but the emaciated remains for some poor soldier to find… and what of Tiny Tim?”

Then she passed out from the pain.

Not five seconds after that, the spiders started to withdraw, as a deafening roar echoed upon the wind. The fog slowly lifted, and the fuzzy animals escaped in fear, as the sound of metal striking metal grew louder and came closer. A huge siege machine, a tonk, rolled up next to the unconscious scout through a thick wall of black smoke and shut its engines off.

A hatch opened near the cannon mounted on the siege engine, and a gnome and a dwarf jumped out; they were both wearing the raiment of the Hillsbrad mountaineers, and green goggles.

The dwarf removed his goggles and corrected his cowl, before shouting, “Gah-damnit, Jibby, there’s nothin’ ‘ere, we might jes’ go back ‘afore sumon’ spots a missin’ tonk!”.

- Oh, learn t’ speak, Booray, said the gnome and started searching the area.

- It’s Buri, Light-damn yeh! B-u-r-i, it’s no’ hard, yeh wee bag o’ pigvomit, sprayed the dwarf.

While the gnome inspected the nearby trees, Buri stared at the siege engine; the sides of it were covered in mud, there were holes and ripples in the light armour covering the caterpillar tracks. Buri walked up to one of the dents in the armour and tried kicking it – an exhaust pipe broke off and landed on his head, spewing gas all over the place. Buri mumbled something about insurance and yelled at the gnome to hurry up.

“I was right, Booray! There’s someone ‘ere!” shouted the gnome and waved his hands around.

As the air around them cleared up a little, Buri walked over to the gnome and looked down upon the female dwarf covered in spider’s web. The gnome pulled a small odd-looking, mechanical object from his pocket and placed it on the unconscious dwarf’s forehead; after a few seconds it started beeping and flashing.

- Well, the good news is she’s alive, exclaimed the gnome and cheered.

- Crap. Ah, well. Let’s bonk ‘er over th’ head real ‘ard an’ giver ‘er t’ th’ fish-people. She could’ve seen us steal th’ tonk, said Buri.

- You mimsy idiot, said the gnome, “… we have t’ get her t’ safety in th’ stronghold. Besides… can’t you see she’s one o’ us?”

Buri stared at the female dwarf, recognizing the armour; he wiped some webbing off her arm and checked for insignias.

“She’s no officer, migh’ as well leave ‘er ‘ere. She won’t mind”, said Buri and walked towards the siege engine.

The gnome sighed and started cutting the webs away from the female dwarf. With great trouble, he managed to drag her all the way to the tonk and forced her down the hatch.

- Hey! Wha’ did yeh do tha’ fer, Buri shouted from inside the machine, “I’m tryin’ t’ get this thing started!”

The gnome squeezed himself into the tonk and slapped Buri, before taking control of the siege engine and steering it back to Dun Garok. With grace, he managed to park it some distance away from the base, with the most damaged side facing Thoradin’s wall.

- In case anyon’ ever finds out… this was all yer idea, said Buri and glared at the gnome. The gnome sighed and dragged the unconscious female dwarf to the great gates of Dun Garok, where she was taken inside by two guards. While the gates were open, Buri managed to sneak inside, knowing very well that he was supposed to guard outside.

After reassuring himself that the gnome wasn’t around, Buri headed towards the tavern area, carefully avoiding patrols on his way. The tavern was mostly empty; there was only the bartender and two mountaineers in a corner that Buri did not recognize.

Buri sat down by the counter and removed his hood; after some fiddling with his belt, he also managed to remove his axe and put it down on the floor.

The bartender was Nusslich Silverhammer, a kind dwarf, and not so much Buri’s friend as Buri’s sympathizer. For as long as Buri had served in the base, he had managed to sneak off-duty at least once a day to visit the tavern – not because he enjoyed the food or company, but because he despised the guarding-duty.

Nusslich eyed Buri up and down, and said, “So, Grimwold, yer all sooty and blackish… have yeh been cleanin’ th’ tonks? I heard frem a rifleman tha’ one o’ those took off this mornin’. Any idea wher’ it might’ve been headed?”

Buri grunted, “Tah’ yer mum’s house, yeh galoot – I’ve go’ no idea… stop botherin’ me with questions n’ give me piece o’ cheese. An’ sum’ bread t’ go with th’ cheese, n’ sum’ butter to go with th’ bread, n’ sum’ drinks t’ go with ev’rythin’ else.”

- Yah shouldn’t drink on duty, Grimwold, said the bartender and grinned.

- Light-damnit, grumbled Buri, “… I’ll drink whenevah’ I want, yeh crispy noodle. I’mma so tired o’ this, no-one’s tellin’ me when t’ drink!

- Th’ superiors won’ be happy, Grimwold, said the bartender and smiled.

“Well, th’ superiors can kiss mah hairy ar…”

Buri’s sentence was cut in half as Eitri Flareaxe, a captain in Buri’s brigade, sat down by his side and stared at him. Buri started to stutter and managed to say, “Kiss mah… kiss mah hairy, aromatic… dog?”

Eitri sighed and ordered himself a pint of cherry grog, before stroking his long, greyish beard and glaring angrily at Buri.

“Buri…” he said, slowly raising his voice as he spoke - “I am no’ an evil person. Bu’ seriously, ‘ave yeh any idea wha’ I’ll do to yeh if I fin’ yeh doin’ things yeh shouldnae be doin’ at the wrong time, inne’ wrong place, one more time?"

Buri squeezed out a faint answer, but before he could get to the part about someone else being responsible, Eitri grabbed him by the beard and muttered angrily, three inches from his face;

“Yer useless, Grimwold – yeh’ve always been useless, yeh’ll always be useless. Bu’ it’s yer JOB to be useful, so th’ least yeh can do is TRY, yeh knuckleheaded chicken-humper! Now, th’ whole base is on alert after sum’ undeads were spotted inne’ area, an’ we jes’ got one injured to th’ trauma centre. Yeh get down ther’ an’ help out, tha’s an order!”

As Buri saluted, grabbed his cowl and rushed off, Eitri leaned on the counter, muttering; “That’ll keep ‘im busy fer an hour or two.”

The trauma centre was located in one of the lower wings of Dun Garok – injured and sick mountaineers and soldiers of the Alliance were brought there for healing and recovery. Currently, only three beds were occupied. The dwarven scout rested in one, a mountaineer whose foot got run over by a tonk rested in the other, and in the third rested the medic, mountaineer second Fuleth Morgenstern – famous for his laziness and general incompetence.

Buri sat down by the female scout, and inspected her. They had managed to remove most of the webbing, and she had a bandage around her leg; she was still dressed up in the mountaineer second uniform, but without a hood or gloves.

With an annoyed grunt, Buri eyed the sleeping medic, and then turned his attention to the great amount of strange vials and potions stored on shelves all over the room. Buri enjoyed switching labels on the vials whenever he got the time, just to confuse and irritate people. The only time he got in trouble for doing that, was the time when captain Sorn from the second brigade found out that Buri was to blame for the nearly lethal amount of gyrocopter fuel he just consumed, thinking it was apple juice.

Suddenly, the female dwarf blinked, and muttered something vague about ghouls and spiders. Buri stared at her, before waking up the medic by slapping him across the face.

Fuleth cursed and spat on the floor, then started tending to the scout, who kept on grumbling about messages and undead. As he corrected her bandage, a note fell out of her pocket – Buri grabbed it and sat down in a corner to read.

The note was covered in hastily scribbled dwarven runes, spelling out:

''The necromancers received the materials sooner than we thought, and they are already assembling the first “doomsday-device”. If we are to stop them, we must strike now! I have spotted three large groups of ghouls; they are heading towards Dun Garok – so am I.''

Buri gasped; doomsday device? Something had to be done, someone had to be told!

Chapter II. Criswell Predicts
It was a wonderful day to be alive, and the undead Scourge cursed this fact as they dug up graves near an abandoned tower west of the ruined Durnholde Keep. They had now managed to hide from not only mountaineers on patrol, but also the forsaken and the humans in the area for almost two weeks.

The head necromancer, commander of the few Hillsbrad Scourge-soldiers, was the somewhat notable Criswell the Horrid, low-ranking member of the Cult of the Damned and an all-around bad person.

Two acolytes noticed that no one with a pulse was watching them, so they snuck off and sat down by a tree while the ghouls carried on their dirty work.

“Have you any idea what they are doing?” asked one of them, staring at the tower, from which strange, low-pitched noises could be heard. The second acolyte shrugged and removed his hood; his face was pale and covered in blisters – he cringed from the sunlight and crawled into the shadow of the tree, growling rude things while rubbing his eyes. “Ever since that ghoul bit you, you’ve been looking sickly,” said the first acolyte, “… maybe you should let the necromancers take a look at you.”

- Are you insane, replied the second one, “… they’ll turn me into one of those shades. I would rather stay human and ill than ghostly and healthy.”

- Maybe being one of those shades isn’t that bad, said the first acolyte. “I mean, they can move very quickly… they enemy cannot see you, well, most of them cannot; and you don’t have to do all this smelly work.”

- Have you even seen one of those things, muttered the sickly acolyte, staring angrily at his companion, “… they can’t taste anything, and they can’t feel anything. The main reason I became an acolyte from the beginning was the dental. And those things don’t have teeth.”

- Still, you will never be promoted, looking like that, laughed the first acolyte, before noticing that a necromancer was approaching them from behind.

The sickly acolyte put his hood back on and the two rose up, facing the necromancer, hailing him with a ‘where shall our blood be spilled?’

The necromancer ordered them back to digging, and then carefully entered the ruined tower, ignoring the skeletal guard trying to form a sentence to say hello.

The tower was a mess, and it smelt like a mixture of rotting flesh and elixirs gone wrong. There were four acolytes desperately trying to clean up after Criswell the Horrid, who was standing at a table, pouring a gooey liquid into a pitcher that he emptied into a small sack that looked as if it were made of human skin. The Horrid one put another pitcher over a campfire to boil, then turned to greet his fellow necromancer, tripping over a cage in the process, allowing the terrified rabbit inside to escape.

Criswell wore a long, blue robe, covered in soot and blood; four small human skulls decorated his belt, to which a number of vials were strapped. He had a long, black beard, but did not wear the traditional necromancer headgear; a golden circlet instead decorated his forehead.

- Heisenborg, I can see you made it here… safe and sound, he said, with a raspy and cold voice. “Excellent. Are you prepared to see the device?”

The two necromancers descended into the basement of the tower, while the four acolytes chased the escaped rabbit. The basement was filled with crates and lockboxes littered with alchemical equipment and strange tools. In the middle of the room there was a pedestal – on it rested a strange orb-like device, similar to a gnomish bomb. It was engulfed in shadow and seemed to emit a strange humming.

- It is very flawed, we are not even completely sure it works, said Criswell, “…but if it does, this could be an incredible breakthrough for us, the bad news is… if we produce too many of these, we will be without a job.”

The other necromancer did not know whether or not to laugh, so he just approached the orb in silence, then asked; “Have you revived anyone yet?”

- One, said Criswell, “…but it turned out excellent, all the limbs were alright, and the brain seemed to be working quite well.”

The other necromancer took the device and held it with both his hands; it was heavy, and very warm.

- How do you activate it, he asked, and stared at Criswell, who took the device from him and started chanting. The orb hummed louder, and a bright, purple flash was seen; the air quickly grew colder for a moment, then turned back to normal.

- If there had been any dead bodies within a certain area, they would now be very much awake, serving us, commented Criswell. Suddenly, two acolytes were heard screaming at the top of their lungs, somewhere outside the tower.

- Oh, that’s right. There are dead bodies within the area. Well, not anymore.

The two necromancers left the device in the basement as they exited the tower and beheld the gruesome sight of five undead monstrosities brutally tearing the two lazy acolytes apart.

- This would never have happened if we were shades, screamed one of them.

- Shut the hell up, yelled the other before they both fell to the ground, drowning in a pool of their own blood, as the working ghouls attacked the undead monstrosities, who slowly fell apart and died. Again.

Criswell the Horrid coughed and scratched his beard, explaining, “The orb has to be within a safe range of the corpses, or the result will be… short-lived and very unsatisfactory. But at least there was no effort involved, and I’ve seen powerful necromancers wake even more useless dead!”

- When can the device be used again, asked the other necromancer, eyeing the dead acolytes worryingly.

- We used it twice, three days ago, with a four hour interval. It… did not go well. We will keep testing it, said Criswell, with a confident tone. “Well, we should all move inside, the commotion might have been heard by the nearby humans, or maybe even the forsaken.”

The two necromancers entered the tower, together with the surviving ghouls, where they were approached by one of the acolyte servants.

- My master, we captured the escaped rabbit and put it back into its cage, he said, smiling at Criswell.

- Yes, yes, very good. You and the others go outside and get your two friends into the meat wagon, then hide it near the tower and cover it with something. Go!

The acolytes trembled with fear and stared at their master, then quickly moved outside.

As the two necromancers again descended into the basement, the newly arrived one asked, “So… back in Silverpine, they were worried. They said you have exhausted important resources, important materials for your little invention. The masters are suspicious, and want to know the requirements for… for that thing.”

The necromancer pointed his long, bony finger at the orb-looking device, and added; “To be precise, they want a list of what materials you need to produce another one. The workers back in the forest say you took very expensive things from them before you left.”

- They were… expensive, but I assure you, it will be worth it, Criswell assured with a grin.

- This little outpost could be discovered at any time, the masters are furious that you are handling this research here… even keeping some of the materials around, said the other necromancer. “Is it true that you used two Void Crystals to complete this thing?”

- Three, actually, said Criswell, “… and a few large, prismatic shards… and quite large amounts of thorium.”

The other necromancer opened his mouth to speak, but Criswell silenced him and showed him to his private corner, where he assembled the magical items.

“I will show you, you will help me – we shall make another one, compare them, research, turn them into flawless machines of unlimited resurrection!”

Chapter III. To Entertain Strangers
Exhausted, sweaty and hungry, Buri arrived in Stormwind. He had managed to sneak out of the base, travel on foot to the human town of Southshore, spend the night there, then pay for a ride all the way back to the capital. He knew exactly where to go for help, and he had it all planned out.

“This message is obviously very important”, he thought, staring down at the note in his hand; “…if I find out where these necromancers are and defeat them, I’ll be a hero! And they won’t be able to make a doomsday-device. Hurray!”

Buri hadn’t ever faced necromancers before, so he knew he needed some help. Throughout all his travels, he only ever encountered one paladin he knew where to find. But first, a quick snack was in order. Buri tucked the note away in his pocket and entered Trias’ cheese shop – it was quite late, and it looked like they were just closing. Ben Trias seemed to be the only one inside at the moment, and he was busy wiping the floors; as he noticed the dwarven customer, he quickly put on his yellow hat and greeted him with an “evening, sir.”

- Evenin’, Buri replied. “I was jes’ comin’ frem th’ gryphon area, when I suddenly ‘ame over all peckish.

- Peckish, sir? Ben replied, with a confused look on his face.

- I’mma hungry, said Buri, “…gimme’ sum’ Alterac Swiss!”

- I’m sorry, said the cheese merchant, “We don’t have any today.”

- Nevahmin’, said Buri, “Jes’ gimme’ sum’ Dalaran Sharp, then.”

- Sorry, sir, we just ran out of Dalaran Sharp, Ben explained.

- No matter, Buri sighed, “… som’ Cheddar then, please?”

- I’m sorry, sir, but never this time of the week.

Buri mumbled something rude, and then asked “Stormwind Brie?” to which the shopkeeper responded;

- I’d say yes, but we had a small rat-infestation here yesterday… all eaten.

Buri frowned. “Spiced Onion Cheese?”

- Sorry, sir, responded the shopkeeper.

Buri growled under his breath. “Any Holiday Cheesewheels? Kobold Fresh? Any Stranglethornian Junglecheese? Everlook Soft? Spiced Biggerwheel? Some Blue Gnomish, perhappies?”

Ben Trias shook his head.

- Well, screw yeh… useless gnoll-face, barked Buri, before he exited the shop and zigzagged his way towards the old town district. After reassuring himself that there were no bandits nearby, Buri sneaked up to the Pig n’ Whistle tavern and peeked inside.

He saw a couple of humans sitting at a table. One of them wore plate armour, and looked quite muscular. His visible skin was covered in soot, and his unwashed, blond hair was braided; his eyes were hidden behind a pair of large, strange-looking goggles.

Buri immediately recognized the human, it was the same human that helped him and his friend travel safely through the Swamp of Sorrows, long ago; and from the looks of it, he was flirting with Bartleby the Drunk.

Buri sat down next to him, poking him repeatedly in the arm. The tall, plate-covered human stared down at the dwarf through his goggles, commenting on the rudeness of gnomes these days.

- Clean yer goggles, Buri sighed, “Issa’ me, Buri.”

The human wiped his goggles off with his hand and stared down at the dwarf again.

- Sorry, he said, “It gets steamy in here.” He then turned back to Bartleby, and gasped as he realized he had been making moves on a man.

- I’ve been trying to tell you, retard, commented Bartleby, before leaving the two at the table.

“Sonar is sorry! Sonar didn’t hear!” shouted the plate-covered human, before straightening his braids out and staring down at Buri again.

- Liss’n, ‘uman, I need sum’ ‘elp with sum’thin’, whispered Buri, and then ordered himself a drink and some peanuts from the barmaid passing by.

- Right, said the human, “… just so you know, Sonar was not just hitting on that man. Sonar is in a committed relationship.”

- Sonar’s drunk, grumbled Buri while he pigged out on the peanuts.

- Sonar does not drink, commented the human and crossed his arms.

- Well, Sonar ‘till needs glasses, giggled Buri and stared at the huge goggles covering the human’s eyes.

- No, Sonar drinks from the bottle, retaliated the human and grinned at the joke he just made.

Suddenly, a muffled crunching could be heard, and Sonar turned his attention away from Buri.

- Sam…? Sam! No chewing the table! Bad Sam! Bad!

A mechanical squirrel crept up from under the table, eyeing its master. It spit out a few splinters and jumped up on Sonar’s shoulder, where it started cleaning itself, for some reason. Sonar urged his mechanical companion to say hello to Buri, who was too busy drinking a pint of cherry grog to care.

- Wha’ th’ hell d’ yeh keep that wee thin’ aroun’, Buri asked, “… all it evah’ ‘oes is cause trouble n’ chew on things.”

- Sonar would never abandon the wise sage, and the wise sage would never abandon Sonar, said the braided lunatic, and gave a thumbs-up.

“Besides, he isn’t a wee thing; he is a miniature-giant badger-hunter-companion!”

Buri sighed deeply, and emptied the bowl of peanuts into his pockets.

- Any’ay, I was goin’ t’ ask fer ‘elp. Yer paladin, ain’t yeh?

Sonar gave another thumbs-up, grunting “Uh-huh!”

- Great, great, sighed Buri, “I’mma havin’ trouble with sum’ necromancers… erh, coul’ yeh help me fight’em? It woul’ be awesum’. Jes’ a few of ‘em, methinks, n’ we’ll be ‘eroes! Well, me any’ay. So, what’yah say?”

- You don’t have to be a mighty paladin, like Sonar, to fight shadowy types, said Sonar, “… but it helps!”

- So… will yeh ‘elp me kill ‘em?

Buri looked hopefully at Sonar, who scratched his chin and corrected his goggles, while the mechanical squirrel picked at his ear.

- Sonar promised Prayher that he would be with her tomorrow, but if there are shadowy types that needs to get punched by Sonar’s mighty fists, Sonar will go there and punch the shadowy types with Sonar’s mighty fists! Where are they?

Buri checked his pocket, and stared at the note he stole from the scout. It said nothing at all about location.

- I’mma have t’ ask th’ person I foun’ th’ note on, grumbled Buri, “Bah’ it’ll only take a minute… when I ge’ back t’ Garok. Wanna’ come alon’? Yeh can wait outside th’ base.”

- Sonar will do so, Sonar exclaimed, “Sonar will punch those shadow-bad-guys in their stomachs, and then he will beat them until they promise they won’t stay alive anymore!”

The dwarf and the human left the inn and headed towards the gryphon area, only to find out that it was closed off for the night. Ever since the accident one week before that, almost no-one was allowed to fly at night. Two gnomes had been flying adolescent gryphons on a cloudy evening and collided with a male draenei (high on Winterfall Firewater) coming in from the north. This happened over the Burning Steppes, and all three, plus the gryphons, were crushed on the stairs of the Blackrock Mountain, where they scarred a group of orcish raiders for life.

“How th’ hell d’ yeh get high on firewatah, anyway?” pondered Buri.

- Sonar hears you can boil it and inhale the fumes, commented Sonar, “Not that Sonar would know anything about that.”

- Yeah… right, grumbled Buri, “Anyway, we need t’ get to Garok. Maybe we can ‘ead down tah’ th’ closest watah and grab a boat.”

- Sonar thinks the sun will rise up and go to bed again before we reach Hillsbrad in a boat, said Sonar and sniffed the air around him. “Do you smell gnome?”

From the shadows stepped a bearded little gnome, holding a staff. He stared angrily at Sonar, who gesticulated vigorously in his direction and said "Yep! Gnomes smell like candy."

“Name’s Puck; can I help you gentlemen with a portal?” uttered the gnome, and picked a stone from his pocket, with a glowing rune on it.

- Uh, yeah… d’ yeh make ‘ortals t’ Southshore?

Buri eyed the gnome up and down, while Sonar tried to calm the mechanical squirrel, who cowered in fear behind one of his boots.

The gnome gazed at the squirrel with a puzzled look on his face, then turned to Buri and said, “No, not really… I can give you a nice, safe portal to Ironforge, though. It’s a bit more costly, but it’s your only chance if you’re in a hurry.” The gnome pointed at the barred gryphon roost, a few hundred feet away.

- Sonar thinks we can wait until dawn comes again, said Sonar and gave another thumbs-up.

- Nuh-uh, Buri grunted, “We’re takin’ portal righ’ now, then we fly t’ Southshore. How much will it be, wee feller?”

“One coin for the human, two coins for you.”

Buri checked his pockets and handed the gnome three silver coins, and then pointed out that Sonar had to pay that back later. The gnome stared at the coins.

- Yes, yes, very funny - now hand me the gold, he exclaimed and threw the coins on the ground. Buri shrieked and ran to pick them up, while Sonar paid the gnome.

When two guards approached to see what was wrong, the gnome opened a shiny portal with a loud buzzing sound. Sonar carefully stepped inside, followed by Buri, who before he crossed into it, yelled “Help! Help! Th’ gnome is suckin’ us intah th’ nether!”… Just for the heck of it.

The guards rushed at the gnome, who cursed and quickly jumped into the portal himself, and closed it behind him.

- Aw, hot diggity dandelion, not again, muttered one of the guards and spat on the ground.

“Think it was some kind ‘o warlock, Zoiros?”, asked the other one.

- Ilithios, you stupid waste o’ life. That gnome opened a portal, only wizards do that, responded the first one.

“Maybe the warlocks have learned how to open portals! We’ll never catch ‘em now, when they’ll be all like… jumping in n’ out o’ the portals, and we won’t catch them, because they jump in n’ out… n’ summon demons, n’ kill people, but then jump into portal, n’ we can’t follow, ‘cause we can’t think with portals” whimpered the second one.

The first guard buried his face in his hands and muttered something about the whole city going to hell, then dragged the second one back to the command centre, where cake was served.

Chapter IV. Pawns In Foreign Policy
“What in the name of the High Tinker did you do that for?!” yelped the gnome, and aimed a kick at Buri, who managed to evade it by strafing to the left.

The human, dwarf, gnome and squirrel had arrived in the Mystic Ward of Ironforge. The lanterns, torches and slag pits put the darkened city in an orange gleam, and the air was thicker than usual. There weren’t a lot of people out, since it was so late, but the gryphon roost should still be open and functional.

- Oh no, growled the gnome, “You are not going anywhere until you give me another two coins for my way back to Stormwind. I might be in trouble when I get there, so make that three coins!”

Buri picked his nose and stared at Sonar, who emptied his pockets on the ground.

- Instead of three coins… will a handkerchief, some mouldy cheese or a lucky charm work, he asked, and carefully started putting his belongings back into his pockets.

- What kind of lucky charm is that, asked the gnome, and stared at the trinket Sonar held in his hand.

Sonar examined the charm a few inches from his gargantuan goggles, and said, “It keeps badgers away.”

- What the Stranglethorn Vale is a badger, inquired the gnome.

“Th’ ‘uman can explain onne’ way,” grunted Buri, and started walking. “We haftah get t’ th’ gryphoneer, n’ catch one t’ Southshore.”

Sonar and the gnome followed Buri, with the squirrel trying to keep up behind them. Even though the Mystic Ward and the gryphon roost were located on the same depth, or level, of Ironforge, walking through half the city was still somewhat of an endeavour; fortunately, there was a pathway going straight from the Mystic Ward to the Great Forge.

- A badger is a horrible, ravenous thing, Sonar explained to the gnome, "With claws of steel that rip the flesh of all living creatures. They are pure darkness, their non-existant souls are forever cursed with a hundred thousand... curses, of evil and darkness... and evil darkness. Get it, gnomie?"

“Balderdash”, replied the gnome, “And do not call me ‘gnomie’, it is rude. My name… is Puck! I told you.”

- Go Puck yerself, muttered Buri, “… n’ be quiet! I cannae think.”

Buri stared at the note he got from the scout, and pondered where the necromancers might be; hopefully not too far away, since he’d already walked more than a dwarf should have to walk during such a short period of time.

- Going to fight necromancers, are you?

The gnome eyed Sonar up and down, as he picked the squirrel up from the ground and put it on his shoulder.

“Sonar wonders how the gnome found out about that”, said Sonar and tried to calm his squirrel, which freaked out over all the lava pouring down around them.

“I might’ve overheard your little talk in that bar,” said the gnome and corrected his beard. “Actually, I followed the silly dwarf there from a cheese shop, where he caused somewhat of a scene.”

- Wasnae much o’ a cheese shop, grunted Buri.

“Trias’ Cheese? Finest in the district!” commented Sonar and tucked his squirrel away in one of his pockets.

- Anyway, said the gnome, “Are you on some kind of quest? You rarely see people go off to fight necromancers unless they get paid for it by some aging lunatic.”

- We’re on a quest t’ fin’ th’ necromancers, kill’em, then get me famous with th’ superiors, said Buri, “Yeh can com’ along n’ ‘elp us fight ‘em if yeh want, buh I ge’ all th’ praise. A’ight?”

"Where are the necromancers?" pondered the gnome.

“We’re goin’ t’ find tha’ out now,” grumbled Buri, “I jes’ hafta ask a person.”

- Well, muttered the gnome and waved his staff around a little, “I can do some damage, maybe I will come along. I have not fought anything for some time now.”

They soon reached the gryphon master, and he was more than willing to send them all to Southshore, even though it was very late, and pitch black outside. He also offered them a pint, and advised them to keep their feet on the ground as they took off.

Sonar and his squirrel got a gryphon of their own, while Buri had to share his with the gnome. He tried to complain about it, but the wind was too strong, and he was busy hanging on for dear life.

- What’s the matter, yelled the gnome, as they passed through an opening in the gates of Ironforge, “Your first flight?”

Buri tried to turn around and smack the gnome over the head, but the gryphon suddenly made a strange noise, causing the dwarf to nearly fall off in terror.

Buri hated flying, it was always scary. What if the gryphon got lost? What if they crashed into a gyrocopter? What if someone shot them down from below? As Buri recited all the prayers he could remember, the two gryphons passed over the mountaintops of Dun Morogh, and entered the swamps to the north.

It was a darker night than usual, and all that could be seen was the moon and the stars in the sky. Far below them chirped thousands upon thousands of crickets, and strange sounds could be heard from the swarms of insects and the hordes of beasts patrolling their territories.

Buri looked down, and spotted a bright light through the mist; then another one, then another one, and then another one.

“There ar’ four lights!” yelled Buri, “Wha’ ar’ they?”

Sonar yelled something back at him, but the wind was too strong for Buri to hear anything.

“Evil wisps, dwarf,” shouted the gnome behind him. “Bog-lights… they’ll getcha' if you fall down.”

Buri shrieked out in terror and tried to run away in fear, but remembered he was on a gryphon, several hundred yards from the ground. A powerful wind suddenly grabbed his cowl and sent it flying down into the marshlands.

- Aaw, that’s th’ secon’ time tha’ ‘appens, cried Buri and buried his cold, bald head in the gryphon’s mane.

After a long and tiresome ride through the night and morning, with only three stops, the two gryphons finally landed in Southshore; it was noon, and the town was packed with humans. There had been much commotion lately around the Hillsbrad fields, where undead of all kinds had been spotted. The civilians were scared beyond their minds of the Forsaken presence in the area, even more so after a number of attacks on settlements all over the place.

The only safe places were Southshore and Dun Garok, and both dwarven and human patrols could be seen wandering the roads; the merchants and traders hurried to get their supplies to Arathi in the east before nightfall. After a considerable lunch-break in one of the inns, Buri told Sonar and the gnome to stay put in the town while he hitchhiked on a merchant’s cart towards Dun Garok.

Several hours passed, and the sun was almost disappearing again when Buri reached the great gates of the fortress. There, mountaineer first Habier greeted him with a punch to the nose. Habier had just been promoted to the guard-commander, and his job was to make sure none of the guards slacked off on duty.

“Where the foxtrot ‘ave yeh been, Grimwolf?” screamed the guard-commander and slapped Buri across the face.

- Eh, eh… Grimwold, Habby. An’ I’ve been… fightin’ fish-people down bah’ th’ shore. I need t’ get in, so I can ‘elp out.

“Well…” muttered the guard-commander, “Yer not on duty anymore… might as well ge’ inside. Buh’ the cap’n is hearing of this!”

Habier had the gate lifted so that Buri could get inside, and then closed it behind him. Buri rubbed his cold, bald head and headed down towards the tavern for a quick drink. He made sure none of the captains were nearby, and then sat down.

- Haven’t seen yah around fer a while, said Nusslich Silverhammer, the bartender, and handed Buri a bottle of rum. “Where’s yer hood?”

Buri tried to open the bottle of rum, failed, whimpered and moaned, then said “Errh… somewher’ near Menethil Harbour, methinks.”

- Well, yah forgot yer axe ‘ere last time. Dun’ drop it again.

Nusslich handed Buri his bronze axe, and he equipped it; “Thankies,” he muttered, “Now, can yeh tell me if th’ female tha’ was in th’ trauma centre ‘few days ago is still ther’?”

Nusslich shook his head; “I dun’ know anythin’ about tha’. Yah can try n’ ask cap’n Icewall. He was ‘ere jus’ a minute ago.”

Buri left his bottle of rum behind, grabbed someone’s cowl from a nearby hanger, and rushed off to find the captain; fortunately, he ran directly into him as he went around a corner – unfortunately, the captain was carrying a crate filled with blasting powder, and it cracked as it hit the floor.

“Nae! Grimwold! Yeh’ll clean this up!” he shouted, and quickly moved away from the torches hanging from the walls.

- Aye, I’ll be doin’ tha’, Buri ranted, “… bu’ first I need sum’ ‘elp. I’mma findin’ th’ injured woman tha’ was ‘ere not long ago… th’ mountaineer second? Wher’ is she? Is she well? Is she talkin'?”

Captain Icewall wiped some blasting powder off his armor, stared at Buri with deep disappointment in his eyes, and then mumbled something about the ranking system.

- Erh, the woman…? Oh, the scout. She’s dead, he said.

“Dead?” whimpered Buri and removed the note he found on her from his pocket.

- Aye, said Icewall, “Someone put tha’ stupid “Noggenfogger elixir” in th’ healin'-potion injector… she turned intah sum’ kind-oh skeleton. Guards came in t’ see wha’ was goin’ on, and ‘ey hacked her t’ pieces.”

Icewall grabbed the note in Buri’s hand, and stared at it.

- Grimwold… wher’ did yeh get this…?

Icewall slowly focused his eyes on to Buri, who grovelled on the floor.

“I… thought I couldah ‘elp, sire…”, he sniffed, “I came back t’ find out wher’ th’ necromancers is, so we can kill’em n’ be heroes!”

“We?!” barked captain Icewall, “Who’s we?”

- I brought a ‘uman n’ a midget, sire, they’re innah Southshore, waitin’ fer me t’ com’ back, sire. We’re goin’ t’ beat necromancers wi’ our mighty fists.

Captain Icewall buried his face in his hands and growled something about the whole brigade going to hell, then dragged Buri off towards the officer-lounge of the fortress.

“We’ve been chasing after these necromancers fer a lon’ time, Grimwold,” he muttered, “We finally figure out wher’ they are… we send scout, she dies, we dun’ know when t’ strike – yeh’ve delayed everythin’! It coul’ be too late now!”

Buri shivered in fear as he entered the officer-lounge; it was just like the other wings of the fortress, just a little bit shinier. It was currently empty, with the exception of Nid, the sleepy janitor.

Captain Icewall dragged Buri into what looked like a war room, filled with chairs surrounding a large, round table. On the table was a detailed map of the Hillsbrad Foothills. Icewall put the scout’s note on the map, next to a big, red cross. He sighed and said, “That’s wher’ th’ necromancers ar’, Grimwold. We plann’d t’ attack them a lon’ time ago, bu’ we found out they were… uhm, buildin’ something. We want’d to find out what.”

- Why is yeh tellin’ me this? Isn’t this classified, asked Buri and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, no’ any more…” said Icewall and glared at Buri, “well, if they’re a’ready makin’ one o’ those weapons, we have t’ strike. Who knows how far they are inne’ process. Screw th’ cloak n’ dagger crap, we hafta’ get th’ Colonel to approve of a strike, right now. We’ll roll in ‘eavy artillery n’…”

Icewall suddenly stopped to think. “We ‘ave too few siege engines, n’ we need at least four t’ guard th’ base, in case they com’ ‘ere…”

"Wher’s th’ Colonel?" asked Buri, and wiped some sweat off his forehead.

“He was ‘ere yesterday t’ receive th’ scout’s report… but there was nae report, so he left t’ th’ Forge.”

Icewall stared at Buri, who managed to utter a feminine “Uh-oh.”

- Uh-oh, indeed, grumbled Icewall, “We’re goin’ tah hafta let Lt. Colonel Dunelore make th’ decision… I have pretty good idea. An’ I think yeh n’ yer friends ar’ goin’ t’ fit into it.”

Buri looked at Icewall, who grinned wickedly at him.

Chapter V. Go Shake A Tower
To be continued.