# Warcraft Campaign - Allentown, PA Tuesday nights



## BlindKobold (Jun 14, 2004)

Chapter One

Ricket the goblin, in his never-ending quest to build the better machine, was in dire need of some swamp gas.  Why he needed it, he wasn't quite sure... all he knew for certain was that it was combustible - explosively so.  And that was a good thing, in the mind of a goblin.

Unfortunately, he his order of swamp gas hadn't some in.  In fact, it was several weeks overdue.  And to make matters, he was getting the run around from the dock workers.  Finally, he went to see the Dock Foreman, the Shipper's Guild representative here in Rachet.  Luckily, Wrenck the Dock Foreman was a goblin too and understood the necessity of timely receipt of swamp gas.  But unluckily, he was at a loss to explain exactly what had happened to the ships coming from Bluefern.  Three ships were overdue from Bluefern and Wenck had a lot of upset merchants waiting for the coveted blue dye which was made from an indigenous plant in the swamp near Bluefern.

So flustered was he, Wrenck decided to dip into the Guild's coffers and hire some mercenaries to check it out.  Unfortunately, the normal crew wouldn't touch it, since there were rumors of a plague near Bluefern, but these new adventurers didn't have to know that.  Nope... not at all.  They seemed an unlikely lot... a goblin, a high elf and a orc... but hey, all he had to lose was a few hundred gold.  And who knows, they might even find out what happened to the ships.

Ricket had talked his best friends into going with him to check out the missing ships - and to get some swamp gas, of course.  His best friend, the big red-haired orc, came stalking along carrying his tree trunk of a club, along with his pointed-eared elven friend.  The elf decided to buy a horse for the trip, figuring it would speed the trip.  This was fine with Ricket, since that meant less walking.

Having bought food and supplies throughout the various shops in Rachet, the trio set out for the town of Bluefern.  Within two days, they had moved outside the familiar surroundings of Rachet and its outlying villages to the barren road called the Coast Highway.  Rachet found it curious that even though the road was called the “Coast Highway”, it wasn’t within eyeshot of the coast.  Often, the road would pass miles from the coast, winding between the barren grass-covered hills of The Barrens.

After a few days, came to the turn off for Bael Mordan, or at least Ricket thought he remembered the dwarf talking about Bael Mordan.  Continuing down the eastern fork of the road, the adventurers quickly saw the landscape changing from barrens to swamp land.  The air grew thick and putrid while the landscape continued to get hot and moist.  The hunting, which had been done by the big orc, was becoming increasingly difficult.  Luckily, he managed to bash a large snake that slithered next to the road, through the foal waters of the Dustwallow.

As the days stretched on through the swamp, the trio ran across a small shack which appeared to be run by an old half-orc crone.  She sold them some barrow weed to feed the horse, though the elf refused to give it to them without mixing it with their remaining feed.  Nevertheless, the horse did seem happier from then on… if someone dazed.  The old crone also offered some sort of healing drought, but the trio thought it better to pass on her “generous” offer.

A couple of days after leaving the crone’s shack, the three adventurers ran across a humanoid shape wandering through the swamp.  With the thick mist, they couldn’t make out the exact shape and after calling out several times – with no answer – the elf open fired with his bow, bringing it down.  Once they flipped over the corpse, they found it invested with some sort of red boils.  There was some talk of the plague… perhaps something cooked up by the Scourge, but they dared take the body with them or examine it further without risking contamination.  So before they left, the burned the body with some oil they had carried with them – wisely choosing not to let Ricket attempt to burn the body with his gunpowder.

Within a day, they had reached the outskirts of some sort of village.  They found several abandoned shacks… some burned out, some with some sort of red mark on the door.  They didn’t let the mystery dissuade them from their task and pushed on to further, finally reaching Bluefern by dark.

In Bluefern, they were met by a small contingent of militia on horseback.  After explaining their purpose, they were escorted through the town to a large building that seemed to be some sort of meeting hall.  There they were met by Lazarus, the mayor of Bluefern.  He told them that no ships had reached them recently and some sort of sickness had been going around the town, which seemed to have started right after a visit from the miners in the south.  

When questioned about checking on the lighthouse that protected the ships sailing for Bluefern, the mayor said that he had sent someone to check one the lighthouse over a week ago, but that they had not returned.  When asked about sending someone else, the mayor confessed that they were having some problems with the local lizard-folk who inhabited the swamp on the peninsula, and that he needed all his militia to defend the town – especially with the strange sickness that seemed to be afflicting more and more people.

After some consideration, the trio decided to check out the lighthouse first, which was about a day and a half march through the swamp east of Bluefern.  They gathered up some supplies and prepared to leave the short-lived comfort of Bluefern.


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## BlindKobold (Jun 14, 2004)

*Chapter Two*

Chapter Two

Redwolf sat impatiently as the elf talked to the townspeople.  He wanted to be clear of the human town and out in the wilderness where he belonged.  He would be glad to leave behind the people of Bluefen and their curious - and sometimes downright angry - stares.  Ricket seemed to be listening intently... although Redwolf suspected he was feigning interest in the conversation and secretly planning his "machine".  Redwolf didn't know what Ricket's "machine" was, and he wasn't entirely sure Ricket knew either but the little goblin seemed intent on building it.

Before he could begin speculating further on "the machine", Ilmirranor turned from the townspeople.  Behind his rose quartz lens, his elven eyes were unreadable. "They say there's a lighthouse to the north-east, which is supposed to keep the ships from running adrift of the reefs."

"Hmmm... maybe the lighthouse not working." squeaked Ricket.

Redwolf considered the new information.  The Shipping Guild had hired them to investigate why ships weren't arriving from Bluefen with the mithril and unique blue dye they had been expecting.  Now it appeared as if the ships had never arrived in Bluefen to begin with.  Perhaps something had happened to the lighthouse... some monster attack or natural disaster the townspeople hadn't heard about.  Redwolf turned to the elf. "How far?" 

"Three days walk," the elf replied.  "We should make it in half the time on the horses."

"Agreed."  Redwolf didn't really believe it, but he could be optimistic.  The swamp surrounding the town of Bluefen had thus far proved itself inhospitable.

The elf looked at the setting sun to the west.  "It's too late to start out tonight," he said.  "We should stay at the inn and get a fresh start tomorrow."

"Good idea," agreed the goblin.  

Redwolf wondered if staying in the human town was really such a good idea, but he kept his thoughts to himself.  The other two were welcome in to the humans.  The high elves were, after all, part of the Alliance and the goblins, while neutral, had helped supply the machines the Alliance needed.  Orcs on the other hand were still not trusted by most.  Even though his people and the rest of the Horde and joined forces with the Alliance against the Burning Legion and the abomination they created called the Scourge, there was still some bad blood between the humans and the orcs from the previous war.

The three adventurers found an inn called the Cracked Barrel.  Like most of the buildings in this town, the Cracked Barrel used old stonework - possibly from an ancient tower - as part of its structure.  The north and east walls where newer construction... stone and wood, but the other two walls were an ancient stone, pre-dating humans on this continent.

The elf talked to the innkeeper about a large room, while Redwolf tried to disappear in the shadows.  More than once, the trio had been kicked out of an inn... or village... because of him.  But the innkeeper, a slightly overweight human named Brok, seemed to want their money and slipped them a key.

Not wanting to cause a disruption and possibly face a night in the local jail - or worse.  Redwolf ate dinner in his room while Ilmirranor and Ricket ate down with the humans.  He didn't mind the time to himself and after finishing his double portions, began sharpening his falchion.  If they did run into trouble... he'd be ready.  Little did he know, when he closed his eyes to go to sleep, how quickly he would be back at the inn.

The trip to the lighthouse seemed to be going well.  Then, a little after noon, disaster struck.  Without warning, a large alligator flashed out of the murky swamp, apparently going after the horses.  Redwolf reigned in his horse, which was suddenly terrified of the large reptile.  He pulled his feet out of the stirrups, crouched on the saddle and jumped off, meaning to do a somersault overtop of the horse's head and land next to the alligator.  Unfortunately, at the exact moment he jumped, the horse reared and sent him soaring through the air.  He twisted in mid-air, trying to land on his feet, but instead landed flat on his back a few feet from the alligator.

It was all Ilmirranor could do to keep control of the horse carrying Ricket and him.  While he fought to calm the mare, Ricket slid off the horse and started to load his blunderbuss.  So intent was he at loading the firearm that he didn't see the alligator shoot forward with amazing speed and lock his jaw's around the unfortunate goblin's thigh.  But he felt it.

His blunderbuss forgotten, Ricket screamed and beat in vain on the head of the gator, which now had his leg trapped in its mouth.  His screams and the sudden movement of the gator was more than Redwolf's horse could take and it spun and bolted into the swamp.  

"Can you handle this?" shouted the elf, still struggling to keep his horse under control.  The elf's raven was squaking as it flapped near the them. "Horse gone.  Horse gone."

Redwolf grunted and nodded affirmatively. He didn't bother wasting energy in speech, getting to his feet and drawing his weapon.  Ilmirranor spurred his horse after Redwolf's fleeing mount, trying to catch up with the panicked creature.

He stalked toward the alligator, which was trying to pull the struggling goblin into the water.  His falchion slices down and across the back of the alligator, leaving a nasty gash across its torso.  Hmm, he thought, the alligator's hide was tougher than he thought.  He maneuvered closer to the alligator to get a better angle of attack.

Ricket in the meantime was struggling furiously against the alligator's iron grip.  He was beginning to panic as the gator's movement's ground its teeth mercilessly into his poor leg, threatening to rip it off.  In a desperate attempt to get free, he grabbed his fallen mace and began pummeling the alligator's head.

In the meantime, the orc ranger moved to a better attack point and was about to jab his falchion into the alligator's spine.  But a lightning fast strike from the alligator's powerful tail suddenly smacked into his leg, turning his otherwise lethal strike into a glancing blow.  Even so, he saw a long line of crimson appear across the alligator's back and the creature suddenly dropped the goblin and backed into the water.  

Wary of chasing the alligator into the water, knowing there could be others hiding just beneath the surface, Redwolf dropped his falchion and grabbed his bow.  He notched an arrow and sent it streaking towards the gator as it swam away.  Unfortunately, in his haste, his aim wasn't the best and the arrow struck the water just to the right of the beast.  He was about to notch another arrow when he heard the Ricket whimpering behind him.  He set his bow down and turned to the small goblin trying furiously to bandage his wounded leg.

Redwolf looked at the gapping wound and knew the goblin would lose the leg without magical healing.  He reached back into his pack and pulled out a thick claw bottle.  It was a special magical healing draught he had bought off a shaman in his tribe.  He had seen similar potions heal grievous injuries and hoped it would be enough to save the Ricket's leg.

"Here," he grunted, holding out the potion bottle. "Drink this, you will feel better."

The goblin paused in his bandaging and looked up at the big orc.  He took the bottle and uncorked it, sniffing the contents.  He made a face and started to hand it back.

Redwolf glared at the little goblin, pulling himself up to his full height and crossing his arms. "Drink," he repeated.

Cowed, the goblin took a quick drink.  The thick liquid almost made him gag, but he forced it down, feeling a burning in his throat that became red hot.  Instead of moving away, the burning seemed to move down his torso, settling on his injured leg.  His eyes widened as he watched the muscles knitting in front of his eyes.  Quickly gulping down the rest of the potion, Ricket watched enraptured as the muscle and flesh quickly grew back, leaving only a large black and blue mark and a slight scar.

“Thanks”, squeaked the small goblin, pulling himself up.  No sooner had he got to his feet than his newly healed leg collapsed under him.  Even though his leg was healed, it was still weak and sent jolts of pain through his whole body when he put any weight on it.  “Can’t use it yet.  Still weak.”

Redwolf nodded. “It will be weak for a day for so.  The magic wasn’t that powerful.  Still, better than loosing the leg.”

A thoughtful looked passed over Ricket as he imagined a steam powered mechanical leg replacing his leg if he had lost it.  He began thinking of the logistics of bonding flesh with machine and temporarily forgot about the pain.

Meanwhile, the orc ranger looked around for his elven companion.  It had been several minutes since Ilmirranor had left in search of his horse.  With the thick swamp mist, it made it impossible to see beyond 60 or 70 yards and he no longer heard the splashing of the elf’s horse.

Another 5 minutes passed before a dirtied, downcast Ilmirranor came into view, his familiar perched on his shoulder.  “Sorry,” he said, “there’s no sign of him.”

"No sign," squaked the raven. "Horse gone."

Redwolf took the news stoically.  He really hadn’t expected to see the horse again.  The swamp was hard enough to navigate for a trained ranger.  The horse wouldn’t have much chance on its own.  It may already be trapped in a bog or become a snack for other hungry swamp dezions.  He looked down at the goblin, who had whipped out a notebook and was furiously sketching something and scribbling notes.  

His eyes flicked up to the elf and down to the small goblin, then back to the elf. “The swamp is no place for horses.  We should head back to down and stable yours before we lose it too.”  His eyes flicked back down to the goblin and he gave the elf a meaningful look.

Ilmirranor got the message: the goblin was too weak to continue without resting, but would no doubt argue if they suggested they go back to let him rest. “Good idea, I don’t feel like loosing my horse.”  He glanced down to Ricket.  “You going to ride with me?”

“Umm...Yup,” he didn’t hesitate.  He quickly put away his notebook and tried to get up.  Before he could fall again, Redwolf moved forward swiftly and picked him up, setting his small frame up on the horse behind Ilmirranor.

“Let’s get going,” he growled.  Without another word, the three companions started back towards the town of Bluefen, their mission put on hold until the small goblin could heal.


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## BlindKobold (Jun 14, 2004)

*Chapter Three*

Chapter Three

The trip back took the rest of the day, and by the time they reached Bluefen, the sun was no longer visible in the sky.  Luckily, between Ilmirranor's elven sight and the orc's darkvision, they managed to stay on track.  Now, the rough wooden palisades of Bluefen loomed over them, the gates shut, and no doubt barred, for the night.  

While Ilmirranor tried knocking on the gates, Redwolf bellowed out a call for the guards.  The guard who answered recognized them and quickly opened them gate and let them in.  They entered the city and headed back to the Cracked Barrel to rent a room.  

The innkeeper was a little surprised to see them back so soon, back then saw the goblin in his ragged, bloody pants and understood.  "Run into some trouble?"

"An alligator attacked us," replied Ilmirranor coolly, "we just need to rest for a day or so."

The innkeeper nodded and handed over the key.  "Two gold, same as last time.  And I'll get you a cot."

Ilmirranor handed the innkeeper the coins and took the key.  Redwolf picked up Ricket and carried him up the stairs to the room.  Last time, Ricket had slept on the cot, but Redwolf placed him in the bed instead deciding to take the cot for himself.

By the time the ranger had slipped off his armor, the little goblin was fast asleep... and snoring loudly.  The other two soon followed their dreams strangely troubled.

When Redwolf awoke the next morning, both his companions were gone.  He slipped on some clothes and headed down to the common room.  Sure enough, there was Ricket, finishing up what appeared to be his second plate of eggs and sausage. "Mmm...Gud mornjing," he muttered, chewing on a piece of sausage.  

Redwolf nodded a greeting. "Leg better today?"

The little goblin stood up and then bent his legs a few times to show that his leg was better, though the orc noticed that he favored his injured leg.  So better, but not completely healed, he thought.  He moved his gaze across the room.  In the corner, studying his spellbooks was Ilmirranor.  Redwolf knew better than to disturb a wizard while he was memorizing spells... especially elf wizards.  Although he liked the elf, he knew that the elf's addiction to the arcane ate at him everyday, just as it did all of his people.  It seemed to be especially bad since the destruction of the Sunwell.  Without the Sunwell's magical energies, he knew all high elves everywhere felt the magical absence.  

Settling down in a chair across from Ricket, the ranger motioned to the innkeeper to bring him some breakfast.

"So, when we leave," squeaked the little goblin.

"As soon as I buy another horse," replied the orc.

"Umm... Ilmirranor sold his horse this morning," stated the goblin.  "He said he doesn't need it in the swamp and we should be able to book passage back to Rachet with the next ship."

The news surprised Redwolf.  While the elf wasn't exactly frail, he knew Ilmirranor wasn't as accustomed to the wild like he was.  Neither was Ricket, who rarely left his workshop in Rachet.  But the orc did understand.  Who knew what dangers they'd face in the swamp?  And trying to control a horse in combat was a lot more difficult than just riding on the road - doubly so with a horse that hadn't been trained for war.  In the last fight, it had been all Ilmirranor could do, just to keep his horse from bolting like Redwolf's.

The innkeeper slapped down a plate of eggs and sausage in front of him, breaking Redwolf out of thought.  He suddenly realized how hungry he was, especially for something other than trail rations or grill snake.  He wolfed down the food in record time and motioned the innkeeper for another plate.  Humans may have their issues, he smiled, but they make great food.

A few hours later, they started off once more for the lighthouse.  This time, though, they were on foot and Redwolf was happy to see that Ricket seemed to be keeping up, even with a slight limp.

They traveled until the sun begun to fall and then stopped for the evening.  While Ricket and Ilmirranor made camp, Redwolf went out hunting.  Unfortunately, the only thing he could find was a large turtle.  After killing and shelling it, he threw the carcass over his shoulder and headed back to the campsite.  While a little tough, the turtle wasn't bad after they had roasted it over their campfire.  After the meal, they went laid down on their bedrolls and tried to get some sleep while Ricket took first watch.  

The swamp was slow going on foot.  Once, Ricket accidentally fell into a bog and another time, they stopped and stayed absolutely still after the thundering roar of some large creature echoed through the area.  After many minutes of not seeing or hearing anything, they continued on.  Then, in late afternoon, they spotted one of the lizardfolk.  It was about 50 yards away, dressed only in a loin cloth with some sort of tribal markings covering his arms and legs.  It carried a crude spear, held like a walking stick and simply stood there watching them.

Redwolf remembered that mayor of Bluefen had mentioned lizardfolk raids and quickly grabbed his bow.  He notched an arrow and aimed for lizardman's chest.  

Before he could fire, Ilmirranor put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "We should wait and find out if it's hostile."

The orc looked down at the elf, incredulously.  "What?!"  When he looked back, the lizardman was gone.  Redwolf grumbled as he put away the arrow and slung his bow over his shoulder.  He looked back to the elf.  "Why didn't you want me to shoot it?"

"We don't know that it was hostile," replied the elf.  Ilmirranor looked around at the twisted threes and large patches of weeks and overgrown tall grass.  "And more importantly... we don't know how many might be hidden out there."

Redwolf looked around.  The elf was right, he admitted.  The last thing he needed was to bring a whole tribe of lizardfolk down on them.  Shrugging, he turned and started back down the path. "Let's keep going then."

The trio continued their northeastern trek through the swamp, once again stopping for dinner.  This time, their evening meal consisted of trail rations.  With the threat of lizardfolk dogging their trail, Redwolf decided against a short foraging trip so as not to split the party.  While they each took turn at watch, none of them got much sleep.  Every shadow seemed to hold a lizardfolk and every sound seem to be a lizardfolk moving nearer.

But morning came uneventfully and they continued their journey.  According to the thing townspeople, they should come across the lighthouse sometime today.  In fact, it wasn't long before the swamp gave way to hilly dunes, beyond which they saw the beach.  They turned north along the beach and prayed they were still on course.

A little after midday, they were rounding the top of a sand dune when they spied a lizardman standing on a dune about a hundred yards away.  Whether it was the same one they had seen earlier, they couldn't tell.  But as soon as Redwolf brought up his bow, it ducked down behind a dune and was gone from sight.  When they searched the area where it had been, they fight a mish mash of tracks.  The loose sand left no clue as to which might be the freshest set.  On their guard, the three companions continued to the lighthouse.  Within an hour, they had spotted the tall structure peaking over the dunes.  There was no light in the lighthouse tower.  The three quickened their pace and made there in half an hour.

The lighthouse was probably about a year old.  Perched on the side of a two hundred foot cliff, its light would be visible to ships for miles.  If it were lit, of course.  The first thing they noticed when they reached the lighthouse was the door ajar.  Redwolf also found tracks, both human and lizardfolk all around the lighthouse. "Looks like they had company."

"Hello!" screamed Ricket.  He had already loaded his blunderbuss and was brandishing it menacingly. "Anyone home?!"  

The other two turned and looked down at the goblin, who was suddenly uncomfortable under their combined gazes.

"What?" shrugged the goblin.

"So much for stealth," muttered the elf.  He made a few arcane gestures and spoke ancient words of power.  

Redwolf watched as red energy gather around the mage, forming a ghostly red suit of armor which lasted briefly before fading away.  Mage armor, thought the orc.  He'd seen Ilmirranor cast it before.  It created a mystical force armor the mage which granted him some protection if they got into a melee.  The orc turned to the door, drawing his falchion.  "Let's see if anyone is home."

With Redwolf leading the way, the three adventurers entered the lighthouse.  Everything was quiet, but they stayed on their guard.  They moved from room to room on the first floor, searching for the lighthouse keeper and his family.  What they found instead were signs of looting.

"Hmm," mumbled Ricket, "it looks like someone took all the good stuff."

"Let's go up," said the elf, quietly.  He had a bad feeling about this.

The trio searched the rest of the lighthouse and found the family... dead.  Each of them had their throats slit, and each was buried under piles of clothes.  No one said a word as the ghastly deeds left them without words, but with a growing anger towards whoever had done this horrible deed.  The only person unaccounted for was the lighthouse keeper himself.

"Do you think it was the lighthouse keeper," asked Ricket in a subdued voice, as they climbed the stairs to the top of the lighthouse.

"Could be," said Redwolf.  He had wondered the same thing.  There was no sign of a break-in, and there didn't seem to have been a fight in the house.

The air was cool and salty at the top of the lighthouse.  They walked around, looking for any clues.

"I don't think it was the lighthouse keeper," said the elf suddenly, as he looked over the railing toward the cliff below.

Redwolf and Ricket looked over the railing and followed Ilmirranor's gaze.  Halfway down the cliff on a large outcropping of rocks, they saw the unmistakable shape of a human body.

"Maybe he jumped," said Redwolf.

"Me not think so," said Ricket, "see how far away from the edge he is?  He couldn't have jumped that far.  He was thrown.  Probably by something big."

"A lizardman?" wondered Redwolf.

"No," the goblin shook his head. "Bigger."  Suddenly, the goblin climbed up on the rail and pointed. "Look at that!"

The elf and orc went over to the rail and followed the goblin's pointing finger.  Out on a rocky stretch of reef, about 5 miles away was a second lighthouse, made of wood.  From its tower burned a bright light.  While it wouldn't fool anyone from this distance, ships going by the light would navigate directly into the dangerous reefs that dotted this side of the peninsula.

"But...but... if ships think THAT'S the lighthouse," said the goblin, "they'll run into the reefs!"

Ilmirranor's face became hard. "I think that's the idea."

"Let's go pay them a visit," suggested the orc.  "I suspect they have some evil to atone for."

Silently, the three made their way down the steps of the lighthouse and started for the fake lighthouse.  They suspected that whoever was running the fake lighthouse was probably responsible for the death of the lighthouse keeper and his family.  

As they rounded a dune, Redwolf suddenly called a halt.  He motioned for silence and pointed towards a shape coming up over a dune about fifty yards away.  It was a large jungle troll.  Before they could do anything, the troll suddenly sniffed the air and then looked directly at them.

Jungle trolls had been part of the Horde in the last war, and had fought alongside orcs to repel the scourge.  Generally, jungle trolls were friendly to orcs and other members of the horde, so Redwolf waved, hoping to ask it some questions.  But to his surprise, the troll spun around and loped off into the distance, its long legs carrying it out of sight in a few seconds.

"That was strange," he muttered.

The trio had continued along the trail for about 15 minutes when they suddenly crested a hill and found themselves once again confronted by the large jungle troll.  This time, he wasn't alone.  A large orc with a great axe stood along side of the troll.  Before Redwolf could call out a greeting to his brother orc, it let loose a primal scream and the two of them charged towards the ranger's party.

No sooner had the orc and troll charged, when a rune covered elf stepped out from behind a dune and began making arcane gestures.  Two magical crimson darts burst from her finger flying unerringly towards their targets.  One hit Redwolf squarely in the chest and the other struck Ilmirranor's head.  Redwolf billowed his own challenge and started to rush the orc and troll when a crossbow bolt slammed into shoulder, burying itself deep in his thick muscle.

So, thought Redwolf, as he reached up and grabbed the quarrel, they had been waiting for them.  The troll had warned the others and they had set up an ambush.  His teeth clenched, the ranger pulled the quarrel from his damaged shoulder.

Tossing the bloody crossbow bolt to the ground, he looked for his companions.  The little goblin was working furiously at loading his blunderbuss, once again looking out of place in combat.

Ilmirranor was pulling back his bowstring, taking careful aim at the elf caster.  "Blood elf," he spat.

The ranger had heard of blood elves.  They were high elves who had become embittered at the lost of the Sunwell and the loss of their homeland to the Scourge.  They were now fanatics, who lived the path of revenge.  They took out their anger on the Alliance and Horde, which allowed their homeland to be destroyed, and especially the Scourge and Burning Legion - whom they despised above all else.  And with the destruction of the Sunwell, the major source of arcane magic in the world, the blood elves had begun looking for alternate source of magic.  They had begun siphoning off magic from ancient artifacts, captured demons... and even other captured casters.  They were shunned in most lands, if not outright attacked or imprisoned.

Stepping forward, Redwolf kept himself between the rushing orc and troll and the other members of his party.  While they each had their individual skills, neither Ilmirranor nor Ricket had the martial training he had.  He tightened his grip on his falchion in his right hand and Hagag-Ogshaw in his left.  The Hagag-Ogshaw were thick but sharp metal claws that were strapped on his wrist.  It was like having three sharp, curved daggers at the end of his hand.  He looked on to his opponents, waiting for them to come into range.  He didn't have to wait long.  
The troll was first, its larger loping gape bringing the large troll into range.  The troll swung a furious blow with its large club, but Redwolf ducked under it and sliced his scimitar across the troll's abdomen.  The troll bellowed in pain and tried to bring the huge club back around for another strike.  Before he could, Redwolf stepped forward, burying the sharp steel claws of the Hagag-Ogshaw into the troll’s side.  The troll staggered back, one hand clenching the deep wound.
If the troll's orc partner cared about the troll's wounds, he didn't show it as he came racing up to the ranger, swinging his great axe in a deadly arc aimed at Redwolf's head. "Zegar-lug," growled the other orc, saying the orc word for traitor.  
Redwolf was surprised at the venom in the other orc's words and wondered why he would refer to him as a traitor. Using the Hagag-Ogshaw to block the axe, the ranger sliced his falchion at his enemy's leg.  The other orc deftly side stepped the blow.  "Konadak-kuz!"
Redwolf understood now.  The orc considered him a traitor for associating with the high elf, who had been their enemy in the last war.  The ranger dodged a blow from the axe, and stuck his falchion forward, forcing the other orc to back peddle.  No sooner had he retracted his blade when he was forced to throw it up to block a heavy blow from the troll.  The force of the blow reverberated through Redwolf's arm, but the strain of his last blow was apparently more than he could take and the troll collapsed backward - its bloodshot eyes rolling up into its head.
BOOM! Ricket's blunderbuss thundered, but missed the troll who had just collapsed. "Drat!" he heard the goblin curse.
Still trading blows with his adversary, Redwolf barely registered a crossbow bolt that whizzed nearby him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of a goblin ducking behind one of the dunes.  "Goblin in the dunes," he muttered, bringing up his falchion to block the axe.
"He's mine," grinned Ricket, pulling a grenade from his belt.  The little goblin primed the grenade and rushed the dune hiding the other goblin.
Focusing his full attention back on the orc in front of him, Redwolf ducked a wild swing of his opponent's axe and came up quick, his falchion leading the way.  Unbalanced from his great swing, the other orc couldn't recover in time to block and the ranger's falchion sank deep into his belly.  The great axe falling from his lifeless fingers, the other orc dropped into a heap on the ground. 
"Eg Nad Nadul Tanoz Agna," Redwolf said over the dead orc.  It was an ancient orc blessing which translated into "Safe Journey into the Dark Night."  It was said over the bodies of orc warriors to beseech the gods into granted them a safe passage into the afterlife.  Although the orc had been his enemy here and now, they might be friends or allies in the battles during the afterlife.
Whirling to find his companions, the orc ranger saw that Ricket tossing the grenade into where the other goblin was working to reload his crossbow.  Seeing the grenade plop down in front of him, the other goblin tossed his crossbow to the side and ran for cover.  BOOM!  The explosion thundered throughout the beach and sent a spray of sand across the area.  Ricket took off after the fleeing goblin, brandishing another grenade.
The blood elf in the meantime, had moved closer and was about to cast a spell when an arrow from Ilmirranor's bow suddenly struck her in the shoulder.  The force spun her around and ruined the spell, which Redwolf guessed would probably have been nasty.  Her left arm hanging limp, the blood elf turned and ran.  
The orc ranger hesitated but a moment, then tore after her in pursuit.  He guessed she was running in the same direction as the fleeing goblin and angled himself to intersect her.  Another of the elven wizard's arrows whizzed by, narrowing missing the fleeing blood elf.  Redwolf picked up the pace, raced up the dune and came down quickly to get just in front of the blood elf who was so surprised that she nearly ran into him.
She danced back, drawing her scimitar with practiced eased.  "Die foul orc!" she screamed, rushing forward.
Redwolf blocked her scimitar almost casually with his metal claws and punched the blood elf in the face with the pummel of his falchion. The blow struck her just below the jaw and sent her flying backwards, her scimitar falling next to her unconscious form.
The ranger looked up just in time to see the two goblins disappear behind some dunes.  "Stay here and watch her, while I run after the goblins," he told the high elf, as he rounded the top of the nearby dune.
"I can see them from here," replied Ilmirranor, notching an error.  He took but a second to aim and then the arrow was off.  A second later, there was a pained yelp and then a cheer.  "Got him."
Redwolf nodded and turned back towards the unconscious elf.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement.  "Behind you!"
Exploding into a graceful whirlwind of motion, the high elf pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot it almost point blank into the troll who had snuck up behind him.  The troll gurgled as it dropped its club, his hands clutching its throat.  It collapsed into the sand and taking no more chances, Redwolf walked over and loped off its head with his falchion.
"I forgot that they have regenerative powers," said Ilmirranor shrugging.  He turned to the unconscious blood elf.  "We'd better tie her hands and gag her so she can't cast any spells."
Redwolf nodded, pulling some rope from his pack. "She has a lot to answer for."
Within a few minutes, the trio had pulled anything of value of their fallen enemies and sat around the bandaged but bound blood elf, thinking of questions to ask her when she retained consciousness.


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