(A Gnome's Tale is an ongoing player fiction story, following the ingame exploits of Cyndre and Abryn. The complete story to date can be found here. Enjoy!)
The barred and locked service entrance was no match for the deft skills of their companion, Ninga, who awaited them in the half-light of the Outlands night sky. It was he who had found their path into the terrible fortress, using Stealth and the many tricks of his shadowy profession to infiltrate their defenses and scout out their path.
As they made their final preparations, Cyndre gazed in wonder at the vista above them. The moons and stars of Outland and the Netherstorm swirled above them in a magical dance of color. If the struggles in this place were not so different from Azeroth, it was the sky that reminded him that he was far from Ironforge, the city he had called home since the fall of Gnomeregan. Pangs of nostalgia gripped him as his mind wandered to his homeland. He had lost so much there... his family, his legacy, his soul...
Shaking off those bitter memories, Cyndre glanced at his beloved. A look of peace softened her delicate Elven features, and the light glow of the accouterments of her station and power, filled him with warmth and comfort. Her majesty and holy grace lifted up the companions Spirits and bolstered their Fortitude.
Ninga motioned for them to proceed as the door swung open. Once inside, the companions moved forward quietly and quickly, before their presence was noticed by the wandering packs of orcs. The Rogue slipped ahead of the party, darting from shadow to shadow, nearly invisible in the dim halls of The Blood Furnace. Cyndre could barley make out his silhouette as he crept up behind the unsuspecting guards...
With a thud, Ninga sprang into view and before the startled guard could ward off the blow, he was struck soundly from behind, rendering him senseless and immobile. Thorik Charged forward with a raucous Battle Shout, Intercepting the second guard as he lept to his comrade's defense. As the skirmish waned, the Sapped guard regained his bearings, and moved to strike the unsuspecting Rogue. As the axe descended upon Ninga's exposed back, a soft twang and a sickening gurgle could be heard, as the orc slumped to the floor, a barrage of arrows protruding from its spine. Ninga glanced at their fifth companion, Hunterace, and nodded his appreciation.
The companions moved through the halls of The Blood Furnace at a rapid pace, staying just ahead of the orcs pursuit. They had to map out this terrible factory of doom, if the forces of Honor Hold were ever to plan an assault to halt the flow of troops pouring out with each passing moment. Abryn continued to gather the foul blood of their fallen enemies, and the companions found treasures of great worth upon the corpses of the slain foes.
The battles raged on, and the companions wound deeper and deeper into the recesses of the halls of Hellfire Citadel. As they reached the center of the Furnace, a feeling of unspeakable evil swept over them. Drawn to the source of this raw and terrible power, the Militiae looked out over the balcony upon which they stood, and saw far below them a demon of such immense size and nightmarish power. Magtheridon... a being of the greatest evil, was here! They had to warn the others, before it was too late.
Showing posts with label A Gnome's Tale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Gnome's Tale. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Burning Crusade: A Gnome's Tale
(A Gnome's Tale is an ongoing player fiction story, following the ingame exploits of Cyndre and Abryn. The complete story to date can be found here. Enjoy!)
The celebration was short lived. Word had come back from Militiae Hunters in the field that the death of the Dragon menacing the Ramparts of the orc Citadel, was doing little to stem the tide of troops pouring out of the bastion of filth and desecration.
With scores of would-be heroes haplessly questing against the fel tide, and no apparent decline in the forces of the enemy, the officers of the company gathered with the leaders of the Honor Hold uncover the source of this strange occurrence.
"How could this be so," demanded the Dwarven Warrior furiously. Thorik glared angrily from beneath his dented visor, a testament to the increasing ferocity of the orc menace. Those gathered muttered curses echoing the Dwarf's anger and frustration.
A stately Draeni Warp-Scyer, raised his hand to hush the gathered assembly, "My divinations indicate some foul sorcery is at work here. We believe that they are not training these troops, but rather, growing them in some foul laboratory." He continued, "We have intercepted a dark missive and believe that they call this foul factory of flesh, the Blood Furnace."
Disgusted and terrified, Thorik shouted above the clamoring crowd, demanding the right to put an end to this, "I shall take from our number a party of great heroes, and we shall investigate this Blood Furnace." With that the Dwarf stormed out of the great keep to gather his team.
***
Lost in his dark meditations, the Gnome did not hear her enter. Perhaps in some light yet recessed part of his calculating mind, he could sense her and he knew her, for his acute intuition would never have let an enemy approach him unnoticed... that and the seven feet of hulking demon would have beheaded anyone but her.
"We are summoned." stated the Priestess softly.
Cyndre heard her, and in her words he could hear the will of a warrior, a born wanderer... the clarion call of the road and of places unknown was deep in her blood, and these past weeks had been hard on her. Confined to healing the many wounded, she had watched time and again as her brothers and her lover rode off, hoping only that each corpse wagon that passed the gates would bear unfamiliar visage.
"We?" asked the Gnome, hoping his mistress would finally again be at his side.
"They have need of Blood Samples from the Nascent Orcs that are being bred with the Blood Furnace, and my alchemy and healing talents are more valuable in this endeavor, then in the infirmary. Thorik requested our presence for this reason." she replied.
***
They had resolved to meet by the din of nightfall upon the Southern Ramparts of the Hellfire Citadel. Their scouts had found a little used service entrance, barley guarded through whence they could descend into the dire depths below the great Orc stronghold.
They were just five, but they were solid of mind and spirit. They had learned much in the past weeks, and their power had grown. This was to be their greatest challenge yet, and the dangerous path began upon this wooden stair.
As the made their way upon the treacherous precipice, visions of foul experiments taking place in the dark recesses below, filled their thoughts, and as one they shuddered at the terrors they would face...
The celebration was short lived. Word had come back from Militiae Hunters in the field that the death of the Dragon menacing the Ramparts of the orc Citadel, was doing little to stem the tide of troops pouring out of the bastion of filth and desecration.
With scores of would-be heroes haplessly questing against the fel tide, and no apparent decline in the forces of the enemy, the officers of the company gathered with the leaders of the Honor Hold uncover the source of this strange occurrence.
"How could this be so," demanded the Dwarven Warrior furiously. Thorik glared angrily from beneath his dented visor, a testament to the increasing ferocity of the orc menace. Those gathered muttered curses echoing the Dwarf's anger and frustration.
A stately Draeni Warp-Scyer, raised his hand to hush the gathered assembly, "My divinations indicate some foul sorcery is at work here. We believe that they are not training these troops, but rather, growing them in some foul laboratory." He continued, "We have intercepted a dark missive and believe that they call this foul factory of flesh, the Blood Furnace."
Disgusted and terrified, Thorik shouted above the clamoring crowd, demanding the right to put an end to this, "I shall take from our number a party of great heroes, and we shall investigate this Blood Furnace." With that the Dwarf stormed out of the great keep to gather his team.
***
Lost in his dark meditations, the Gnome did not hear her enter. Perhaps in some light yet recessed part of his calculating mind, he could sense her and he knew her, for his acute intuition would never have let an enemy approach him unnoticed... that and the seven feet of hulking demon would have beheaded anyone but her.
"We are summoned." stated the Priestess softly.
Cyndre heard her, and in her words he could hear the will of a warrior, a born wanderer... the clarion call of the road and of places unknown was deep in her blood, and these past weeks had been hard on her. Confined to healing the many wounded, she had watched time and again as her brothers and her lover rode off, hoping only that each corpse wagon that passed the gates would bear unfamiliar visage.
"We?" asked the Gnome, hoping his mistress would finally again be at his side.
"They have need of Blood Samples from the Nascent Orcs that are being bred with the Blood Furnace, and my alchemy and healing talents are more valuable in this endeavor, then in the infirmary. Thorik requested our presence for this reason." she replied.
***
They had resolved to meet by the din of nightfall upon the Southern Ramparts of the Hellfire Citadel. Their scouts had found a little used service entrance, barley guarded through whence they could descend into the dire depths below the great Orc stronghold.
They were just five, but they were solid of mind and spirit. They had learned much in the past weeks, and their power had grown. This was to be their greatest challenge yet, and the dangerous path began upon this wooden stair.
As the made their way upon the treacherous precipice, visions of foul experiments taking place in the dark recesses below, filled their thoughts, and as one they shuddered at the terrors they would face...
Thursday, January 18, 2007
The Burning Crusade: A Gnome's Tale
(A Gnome's Tale is an ongoing player fiction story, following the ingame exploits of Cyndre and Abryn. The complete story to date can be found here. Enjoy!)
Shadows flickered and danced upon the walls of the quaint Inn room, as a stiff yet otherworldly breeze swirled the Hearth flames about. The Inn at Honor Hold was a small establishment, never intended to accommodate the vast numbers of adventurers who had sought its refuge. Rooms had been booked, but the lovely Night Elf had ephemeral charm that few men could resist, and the Innkeeper had been convinced to make arrangements for the odd pair.
Cyndre stared into the flames lost in thought. The first few weeks in these lands had been hectic indeed. Militiae Templi had arrived with much fan-fare as they had served aside many of these fine soldiers in the battles for Silithus and against the forces of the Lich King. Many of their company were Exalted with the Cenarion and Ardent Dawn factions, and thus their reputations preceded them and they had been welcomed with open arms to the front.
Feasts were boisterous yet short lived, as the fel orc and demonic forces pushed hard upon the beleaguered armies of Azeroth. Parties of Militiae forces had been dispatched quickly to weaken the enemy, gather resources and destroying key elements of the orc offensive. They had seen great success, and Honor Hold was spared from the onslaught, as the orcs regrouped and gathered in their dire stronghold at Hellfire Citadel.
Startled from his reprieve, Cyndre turned to face his beautiful companion as she entered the small room. Abryn's blue glimmering robes had run crimson with the blood of countless soldiers, and the constant flow of casualties into Honor Hold had left her with too many stains and too little sleep. The Priestess was skilled in the healing arts, but she was growing weary of the constant need of healing and too few healers to assist the wounded. For every one she saved, two could not be, and the sadness in her eyes mirrored a heavy heart.
"I was told you had been assigned the mission," the Elf maiden whispered.
"Yes," responded the somber Warlock. Cyndre knew she would not be pleased to stay behind, but the need in Honor Hold infirmary was too great. Abryn's healing prayer's had saved the Gnome more times than he could count, and he knew that she feared the worst, were she unable to travel with his party.
"A dragon is terrorizing our forward shock troops, and the infantry can not progress up the Path of Glory, with it flying overhead. We must dispatch the beast and return with it's head to display upon the bastion of Honor Hold, and strike a blow against the enemies moral," continued Cyndre. "The company is stretched thin on these many fronts, and I have the talents to Weaken the Ramparts of Hellfire Citadel. I must go."
With that, Cyndre gathered his gear, blew a kiss to his beloved and headed out. His companions were waiting for him on the road.
The ride was short and quiet as the companions steeled their minds to the horrors they would face in the terrible orc stronghold. Elyane the Mage meditated, collecting her thoughts and preparing her spell components for the coming battle. Nommos the Paladin whispered prayers of thanks to his gods, and Blessed the adventurers to aid them in their quest. Nefasu the Druid gazed into the maw of the Citadel, a Feral gleam reflecting deep in his Elven eyes, and lurking in the shadows, the devilish Sendrak, leader of the Militiae Warlocks rasped curses while clutching a stolen Soul in his bony grip.
Cyndre was pleased. A fine group this was, of the highest caliber. They were sure to prevail and the glory and Experience would hone his mind and body and prepare him for what lay ahead in this war torn land.
The companions made quick work of the outer defenses upon the Ramparts. Nefasu called upon the great spirits of nature and assumed the Bearform, Mauling his victims and holding their enemies on the defensive while the companions assailed them with spells of great power. Sendrak and Cyndre commanded their demonic allies to hold the gathered forces of the orc legion at bay, while Elyane Sheeped and froze them in place.
Reaching the perch of the fel beast, the companions gathered their strength for one final battle. The beast's deadly breath scorched the fur of Nefasu, but Nommos held his wound at bay, while the casters hurled Bolts of Shadow and Frost into the beast's scaly hide. As the creature expired it hissed a curse upon them, foretelling of their deaths at Matheridon's hands. They shuddered at the prospects, but cheered their victories!
After claiming the beast's treasures and its head, the companions began the journey back to Honor Hold, marching proudly to the tune of the infantry forces cheers that lined the paths to the outpost. Their Reputation with these people was growing... their power was growing by the day... they could sense the future held great adventures and powerful treasures, and they were glad.
Cyndre looked at the pride in his companions eyes, and smiled... they carried the manner of heroes, and the Militiae Templi were heroes indeed.
Shadows flickered and danced upon the walls of the quaint Inn room, as a stiff yet otherworldly breeze swirled the Hearth flames about. The Inn at Honor Hold was a small establishment, never intended to accommodate the vast numbers of adventurers who had sought its refuge. Rooms had been booked, but the lovely Night Elf had ephemeral charm that few men could resist, and the Innkeeper had been convinced to make arrangements for the odd pair.
Cyndre stared into the flames lost in thought. The first few weeks in these lands had been hectic indeed. Militiae Templi had arrived with much fan-fare as they had served aside many of these fine soldiers in the battles for Silithus and against the forces of the Lich King. Many of their company were Exalted with the Cenarion and Ardent Dawn factions, and thus their reputations preceded them and they had been welcomed with open arms to the front.
Feasts were boisterous yet short lived, as the fel orc and demonic forces pushed hard upon the beleaguered armies of Azeroth. Parties of Militiae forces had been dispatched quickly to weaken the enemy, gather resources and destroying key elements of the orc offensive. They had seen great success, and Honor Hold was spared from the onslaught, as the orcs regrouped and gathered in their dire stronghold at Hellfire Citadel.
Startled from his reprieve, Cyndre turned to face his beautiful companion as she entered the small room. Abryn's blue glimmering robes had run crimson with the blood of countless soldiers, and the constant flow of casualties into Honor Hold had left her with too many stains and too little sleep. The Priestess was skilled in the healing arts, but she was growing weary of the constant need of healing and too few healers to assist the wounded. For every one she saved, two could not be, and the sadness in her eyes mirrored a heavy heart.
"I was told you had been assigned the mission," the Elf maiden whispered.
"Yes," responded the somber Warlock. Cyndre knew she would not be pleased to stay behind, but the need in Honor Hold infirmary was too great. Abryn's healing prayer's had saved the Gnome more times than he could count, and he knew that she feared the worst, were she unable to travel with his party.
"A dragon is terrorizing our forward shock troops, and the infantry can not progress up the Path of Glory, with it flying overhead. We must dispatch the beast and return with it's head to display upon the bastion of Honor Hold, and strike a blow against the enemies moral," continued Cyndre. "The company is stretched thin on these many fronts, and I have the talents to Weaken the Ramparts of Hellfire Citadel. I must go."
With that, Cyndre gathered his gear, blew a kiss to his beloved and headed out. His companions were waiting for him on the road.
The ride was short and quiet as the companions steeled their minds to the horrors they would face in the terrible orc stronghold. Elyane the Mage meditated, collecting her thoughts and preparing her spell components for the coming battle. Nommos the Paladin whispered prayers of thanks to his gods, and Blessed the adventurers to aid them in their quest. Nefasu the Druid gazed into the maw of the Citadel, a Feral gleam reflecting deep in his Elven eyes, and lurking in the shadows, the devilish Sendrak, leader of the Militiae Warlocks rasped curses while clutching a stolen Soul in his bony grip.
Cyndre was pleased. A fine group this was, of the highest caliber. They were sure to prevail and the glory and Experience would hone his mind and body and prepare him for what lay ahead in this war torn land.
The companions made quick work of the outer defenses upon the Ramparts. Nefasu called upon the great spirits of nature and assumed the Bearform, Mauling his victims and holding their enemies on the defensive while the companions assailed them with spells of great power. Sendrak and Cyndre commanded their demonic allies to hold the gathered forces of the orc legion at bay, while Elyane Sheeped and froze them in place.
Reaching the perch of the fel beast, the companions gathered their strength for one final battle. The beast's deadly breath scorched the fur of Nefasu, but Nommos held his wound at bay, while the casters hurled Bolts of Shadow and Frost into the beast's scaly hide. As the creature expired it hissed a curse upon them, foretelling of their deaths at Matheridon's hands. They shuddered at the prospects, but cheered their victories!
After claiming the beast's treasures and its head, the companions began the journey back to Honor Hold, marching proudly to the tune of the infantry forces cheers that lined the paths to the outpost. Their Reputation with these people was growing... their power was growing by the day... they could sense the future held great adventures and powerful treasures, and they were glad.
Cyndre looked at the pride in his companions eyes, and smiled... they carried the manner of heroes, and the Militiae Templi were heroes indeed.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
The Burning Crusade: A Gnome's Tale
(A Gnome's Tale is an ongoing player fiction story, following the ingame exploits of Cyndre and Abryn. The complete story to date can be found here. Enjoy!)
The fate of all Azeroth hangs in the Balance. The unlikely pair knew it as much as any in their Alliance, as they had witnessed first hand, death and destruction at the hands of the foul demons and their terrible ilk. They were strong of mind and body, this pair... battle tested heroes of the greatest magnitude. Veterans of battles long since relegated to the hearth tales of bards and minstrels.
"Come to me Thoodhun, I have need of you," whispered the Gnome, a fel glint deep in the sockets of his fire rimmed eyes. From the shadows of the rocky perch where they awaited their compatriots of the mighty Militiae, a menacing presence emerged.
"You inconvenience me Master, provide me my morsel as per our arrangement or die where you stand," rasped the terrible demon. Reaching into the dark recesses of his skull adorned robes, Cyndre drew forth a tiny shard and tossed it to the Felguard. Inside the crystal, a purple light danced as if a living presence was trapped within...
"I shall never understand why you tolerate him," shuddered Cyndre's beautiful companion. Abryn forced thoughts of the terrible price Cyndre had paid for his powerful magic out of her mind. There was so much she would never understand about the Gnome, but she loved him despite his many flaws.
Moving further down the crest of the precipice where they took cover from the raging battle below, the full vantage of the blasted crater below came into view. The Blasted Lands were aptly named, for the scars of a millenia of wars had left these lands devoid of life. In the center of the Crater, a lone structure dominated the skyline. A doorway to the unknown... the Dark Portal. The Portal swirled with a hellish light, that neither had seen before. It was alive they knew, changed, different, and the strange world beyond was growing more visible with each passing moment.
Upon the steps, heroes of the Alliance and Horde were engaged in skirmishes with the demonic invaders, and while a tenuous truce had been struck between Thrall and King Magni, old hatreds die slowly, and battle between old enemies waged thick amidst the chaos below.
One by one, members of the mighty adventuring company, Militiae Templi, gathered at the designated meeting place. It had been many months since their last great battle with the fel lord Noth in the dread citadel Naxxrammas. So many of their number had been lost in the battles against the lich king's undead tide, that a somber mood still hung heavy upon the hearts of the noble guild. Many had been laid to their final rest, others had set off for distant worlds in search of dreams that only they could see, and many had simply seen too much suffering and laid down their weapons for the last time.
Cyndre wondered just how many were left... had the mighty company seen too much to rally for one final adventure? First one, then in small groups, the band of brothers started to assemble. His heart swelled at the sight of his comrades, some bearing fresh scars from their recent exploits, others wielding items of great power that they had found in the weeks and months since their last great battle.
The renowned warrior, Shaso, raised a hand for silence. As a hush settled over the assembled company, the warrior addressed his comrades, welcoming them back from their time apart. There was much to be done he said... they knew. There were matters of guild business to discuss... they were prepared. Great dangers lay head, and many would not return... They nodded sagely. Azeroth relied on the great guilds of the day to ride forth and protect them from the evils that lay beyond the Dark Portal... they were ready.
With a nod to the Dwarf at his side Shaso donned his great helm and drew forth the dire blade he had wrested from the hands of the foul witch of Naxxrammas, Faerlina. The company mounted as one, preparing reagents, notching their bows, and gathering their blades... Ragnar the Hunter fired an Aimed Shot at an unsuspecting Demon, and as their voices rose in a Battle Shout, the mighty Militiae Templi charged forth into the fray.
"Assist him," commanded the Gnome with a gesture at his Dwarven leader. Thoodhun Sprinted off, with a muttered curse. Glancing at his lovely Night Elven companion, he saw raw emotion dance in her eyes... Fear... excitement... Smiling, he whispered an arcane incantation and hurled a Shadow Bolt into the fray...
The war was on... The Burning Crusade had begun!
The fate of all Azeroth hangs in the Balance. The unlikely pair knew it as much as any in their Alliance, as they had witnessed first hand, death and destruction at the hands of the foul demons and their terrible ilk. They were strong of mind and body, this pair... battle tested heroes of the greatest magnitude. Veterans of battles long since relegated to the hearth tales of bards and minstrels.
"Come to me Thoodhun, I have need of you," whispered the Gnome, a fel glint deep in the sockets of his fire rimmed eyes. From the shadows of the rocky perch where they awaited their compatriots of the mighty Militiae, a menacing presence emerged.
"You inconvenience me Master, provide me my morsel as per our arrangement or die where you stand," rasped the terrible demon. Reaching into the dark recesses of his skull adorned robes, Cyndre drew forth a tiny shard and tossed it to the Felguard. Inside the crystal, a purple light danced as if a living presence was trapped within...
"I shall never understand why you tolerate him," shuddered Cyndre's beautiful companion. Abryn forced thoughts of the terrible price Cyndre had paid for his powerful magic out of her mind. There was so much she would never understand about the Gnome, but she loved him despite his many flaws.
Moving further down the crest of the precipice where they took cover from the raging battle below, the full vantage of the blasted crater below came into view. The Blasted Lands were aptly named, for the scars of a millenia of wars had left these lands devoid of life. In the center of the Crater, a lone structure dominated the skyline. A doorway to the unknown... the Dark Portal. The Portal swirled with a hellish light, that neither had seen before. It was alive they knew, changed, different, and the strange world beyond was growing more visible with each passing moment.
Upon the steps, heroes of the Alliance and Horde were engaged in skirmishes with the demonic invaders, and while a tenuous truce had been struck between Thrall and King Magni, old hatreds die slowly, and battle between old enemies waged thick amidst the chaos below.
One by one, members of the mighty adventuring company, Militiae Templi, gathered at the designated meeting place. It had been many months since their last great battle with the fel lord Noth in the dread citadel Naxxrammas. So many of their number had been lost in the battles against the lich king's undead tide, that a somber mood still hung heavy upon the hearts of the noble guild. Many had been laid to their final rest, others had set off for distant worlds in search of dreams that only they could see, and many had simply seen too much suffering and laid down their weapons for the last time.
Cyndre wondered just how many were left... had the mighty company seen too much to rally for one final adventure? First one, then in small groups, the band of brothers started to assemble. His heart swelled at the sight of his comrades, some bearing fresh scars from their recent exploits, others wielding items of great power that they had found in the weeks and months since their last great battle.
The renowned warrior, Shaso, raised a hand for silence. As a hush settled over the assembled company, the warrior addressed his comrades, welcoming them back from their time apart. There was much to be done he said... they knew. There were matters of guild business to discuss... they were prepared. Great dangers lay head, and many would not return... They nodded sagely. Azeroth relied on the great guilds of the day to ride forth and protect them from the evils that lay beyond the Dark Portal... they were ready.
With a nod to the Dwarf at his side Shaso donned his great helm and drew forth the dire blade he had wrested from the hands of the foul witch of Naxxrammas, Faerlina. The company mounted as one, preparing reagents, notching their bows, and gathering their blades... Ragnar the Hunter fired an Aimed Shot at an unsuspecting Demon, and as their voices rose in a Battle Shout, the mighty Militiae Templi charged forth into the fray.
"Assist him," commanded the Gnome with a gesture at his Dwarven leader. Thoodhun Sprinted off, with a muttered curse. Glancing at his lovely Night Elven companion, he saw raw emotion dance in her eyes... Fear... excitement... Smiling, he whispered an arcane incantation and hurled a Shadow Bolt into the fray...
The war was on... The Burning Crusade had begun!
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