Transformation, Chapter 6

[Castor]

((Find me in game as Geoff. I no longer play Castor (my roomate Polluxx does, don't report us you pricks =P ))

* Scroll down for Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6*

((As many of you know, before becoming Gnomes Castor and Polluxx where Tauren here on Twisting Nether.)):

CHAPTER I: The Hunt

Ashenvale often found itself a focal point in the struggle for territory between the Alliance and the Horde. The trees found here were unlike those you might find anywhere in the Eastern Kingdoms. Six or seven men, locked hand in hand could barely wrap their arms around the massive trunks. The orcs were new to this region when compared to the mystical creatures that inhabited these parts for generations before their arrival. They have always had an appetite for timber, but in the few years they've been in Kalimdor combined with the steady growth and expansion of their people has only made the need greater. The size of these trees here combined with this regions close proximity to Duratar and the great city of Orgrimmar made Ashenvale a very attractive solution to orc supply troubles.

These lands however also served as sacred grounds for the ancient Kaldorei, or night elves as they've come to be known. These old trees and surrounding forest life hold a spiritual bond with them. Mount Hyjal, the sacred home of the World Tree which had grown out of the Well of Eternity, once overlooked these forests from the north. When the tree was destroyed to save Kalimdor and all of Azeroth from Archimonde and his Burning Legion the elves found themselves rebuilding their new home off the coast of Kalimdor, however these lands still remained sacred, ancient, and at times mysterious.

They were determined to protect these lands from any incursion, and at all costs. Remnants still remained of the great battles fought over the ancient forest. Shortly after the Orcs arrival in Kalimdor, Grommoth Hellscream, best friend and right hand man to Thrall was sent to Ashenvale to build a base camp and stockpile supplies for the orcs while Thrall continued his journey into Stonetalon Peak in search of the all-knowing Oracle. During their invasion of Ashenvale, Grom had leveled many trees to the anger of the great Kaldorei demigod Cenarius who unleashed his wrath on the Warsong Clan. Rumor had spread to the orcish camp of a well of great power. Grom knew he was no match for a god so he led his brethren to this pool. The orcs drank from the corrupted waters, unknowingly ingesting the blood of Mannoroth, the demon who had controlled the orcs during their first invasion. Inside them grew a rage not seen since decades before. In his enraged state Grom lead his Warsong warriors into Ashenvale, Clashing with the ancient Sentinels. Cenarius came forth and attempted to push the Horde out of its sacred lands. With his new found power Grom prevailed, slaying Cenarius. Although Grom was not acting on orders from Thrall, some night elves still held the orcs responsible for the death of Cenarius and were not about to allow them to encroach on their lands again. Defending Ashenvale from further desecration was something they were obligated to do.

It was difficult for an uninvolved party to pick sides. On one side you have a clan fighting for its survival, and on the other you have a spiritual crusade to protect the nature of their homeland. With alliances as they were many uninterested parties found themselves fighting a war they could care less about. But when you're a soldier in the military, fighting for your leaders may earn you a strong reputation, and with that many potential rewards or promotions down the road.

The Warsong Lumber mill, deep in the southeast corner of Ashenvale was the staging point for the orcish demolition. Overlooking a deep gulch the base camp was not too far from the capital. This made it difficult for the night elves to push the orcs from their lands without a full scale assault. They had turned to guerilla tactics to keep the enemy from advancing further into the wildlife. Orc spies kept constant watch over movement in and out of Astranaar, looking for any build-up of troops or warnings of an assault. Also, seeing as how the two factions were not technically at war it made the tensions that much worse.

Centurion Castor Dioscuri awoke in his tent to the sound of flares being launched outside. He could tell by the amount of light creeping in through the entryway that dawn had just broken. The night elves, with their ability to meld into the shadows of the forest left many of the peons frightened. It was regular practice to fire off a few rounds of flares to make sure there were no spies or assassins still lurking near the camp each morning. Within minutes a barrage of hatchets and saws would commence their daily routine of feeding the Horde industry.

Castor sat up from his mat, his goatee flapping against his chest; he let out a long yawn. He could hear the camp starting to come to life and figured now was as good a time as any to fuel up and report for duty. He stood up and stretched out the stiffness in his legs. He was a large Tauren, standing slightly taller than his average brethren. He had a long braided goatee flanked on both sides by braids which flopped from his head. His brown head and facial hair was a stark contrast to the milky white hair that covered his entire body. He was sometimes known as the "White Warrior" because of his body, a name he began to hold as praise. His light brown horns shot out from his temple and gradually curved to the front. He let out another yawn and moved himself into the corner of his tent to equip his gear. He noticed how the plate shined, even in the relative darkness of his tent. A few Privates were sent to him a couple nights before to be disciplined, and as punishment he had them polish all the officers equipment. He was Impressed that the shine continued to hold up, even a few days later. Fully equipped he made sure to grab his enormous spear as he made his way outside and towards the meal tent.

As he made his way through the chow line Castor grabbed some berries and two sansam roots and made his way to a table off in the corner. He liked to eat breakfast alone so he could gather his thoughts and start to focus on what the day may hold for him. His mind drifted to Mulgore and the times before the Burning Legion tried to strike its claim to Azeroth. Back then the Centaurs were their greatest enemy, but within a short period of time his people would be introduced to many unfamiliar species, races they had no prior contact with. His cousin was in Cairne's regiment when they had met up with Thrall. He remembered hearing stories of the great battles. Word had circulated about the warchief's supreme military mind and un-paralleled strength, and it wasn't till the battle of Hyjal where all the races fought together that Castor was able to experience it first hand. He was a sergeant back then, and since then had worked his way up in the ranks to his current position as a Centurion. The battle of Hyjal found the races of Azeroth standing side by side attempting to stymie the demons advance to the world tree just long enough for Malfurion Stormrage, a druid of the Kaldorei, to complete his trap. Castor never believed he would make it out of that battle alive. The constant barrage of demons and undead creatures seemed impossible to stop. When Archimonde was defeated the demonic threat subsided. Castor felt anything was possible. He had seen the worst and lived. He held that attitude to this day.

Although he loved the rush of battle, he still preferred peace. Unfortunately in this age peace didn't seem possible.

Finished with his meal Castor stood up and disposed of his plate. With breakfast behind him it was time to head to the command tent for his orders. Early in the morning, just before daylight some members of the alliance sneaked into the camp and stolen a flag carrying the Horde's insignia and the camp commander wanted it returned. This had happened before and would surely happen again, but the fact remained they had to get it back. It would be dishonorable to allow them to desecrate a horde battle flag. And if a superior from Orgrimmar came to the camp and found no flag hanging the result would not be pleasant.

He accepted the request and set out to assemble his team. He figured this was nothing more than a prank and that the flag would be found dropped in the mud a few hundred yards outside of the camp, as it usually was. He ordered a handful of grunts to patrol up and down the river and dispatched a couple of runners to Splintertree post to see if they had noticed anything while he assembled his personal team.

Tracks had been noticed heading west out of the camp, and so he decided to start there. He grabbed an orc hunter for tracking and a pair of grunts for brute force, in case he came upon some resistance, and began the hunt. The hunter let loose his wolf that picked up a scent immediately and started moving west. The group followed the Black wolf slowly and headed into the forest.

An hour went by and the scent was still strong. Although they were moving slowly the group still was a significant distance from camp. The party reached a small patch in the woods when the wolf suddenly stopped.

"Why'd he stop? Does he smell something?" Castor pondered.

"Not sure sir," the hunter replied. "He usually growls when he's close to the scent."

The hunter moved up beside his pet and kneeled down beside him. Castor took a few steps toward the hunter and leaned in, anxiously awaiting a reply.

"He seems to be asleep."

"Asleep? What the...? I suppose he had a late night?" Castor half joked, thinking nothing of it. The beast has probably been tracking a lot lately what with our shortage of good tracking dogs in camp. But then again, he's sleeping standing up. I've never known a dog to sleep standi...

"Arrggkk!"

Castors thought was cut short when one of the grunts screamed out, breaking the silence. Castor saw the business end of a long dagger protruding through the throat of the soldier. The dagger disappeared as he reached up and wrapped his hands around his neck. The grunt fell to one knee and began screaming inaudibly. The blood in his wind passage gurgled all semblances of words.

"AMBUSH!" Castor screamed out.

An assassin, dressed in all black stood, slightly bent over his victim. The other grunt drew his large battle axe and charged. Just as he came in range he swung down on the attacker. The rogue, sensing the assault suddenly vanished and the strike fell upon his wounded comrade, ripping across his back. The wounded soldier no longer knelt. He no longer held his throat. He lay still on the ground.

"NOOOOAAAAARRRGH" The orc screamed out! He had just slain his friend, and he was pissed. "Come out! Quit hiding and fight me!" He swung his weapon ferociously hoping to strike the invisible enemy.

Castor watched the orcs bloodlust grow and yelled at the hunter. "Wake your wolf! Find this assassin!"

He turned to see the hunter, lying in his own blood. He had a perfectly aimed shot through his chest. He was squirming quietly beside his sleeping pet, grasping his chest as his final moments faded away. Castor stared into his eyes. For the first time saw an orc filled with fear.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!" The grunt cried out. "SHOW YOURSELF!"

Castor heard a whizzing sound through the air followed by a shot to his head, knocking his helmet to the ground and leaving him dazed. He dropped his spear to the earth and grabbed his head in pain. He had been hit with a blunt arrow, obviously one used only to daze its target. The grunt had seen the shot come out of the woods to the north and sprinted in that direction, sword in hand. As he reached the edge of the patch there was a sudden explosion, and the orc was engulfed in flame. He had stepped into a trap and was now paying the price for his carelessness. He fell to the dirt and began rolling on the ground screaming, trying to put the fire out.

Three shots whipped out of the trees, one striking the smoldering soldier, one plunged into Castors shoulder, and a third found its way into the left hind leg of the sleeping pet, jarring it awake. The Wolf shuddered, let out a whelp of pain and then picked up the scent. He unleashed a menacing growl and bolted towards the hidden sniper!

Castor regained consciousness just in time to see an arrow rip through the chest of the tracking wolf, his only useful ally remaining and saw it drop dead in the distance. He knelt down and picked up his spear, holding it with two hands he crouched into his battle stance, awaiting his opponents’ next move.

Suddenly a night elf began to take shape out of the woods. He was wearing a dark brown leather tunic over his light chain mail, and stood slightly shorter than Castor. He was a slender build, though muscular as were most night elf males. On each hip was sheathed a short sword, his left hand held his massive re curve bow and in his right was a long arrow. The head of the arrow dripped a greenish substance.

Poison! Castor thought to himself. Draped over the night elf’s shoulder was the stolen red flag. He had found the culprit!

Castor dug his massive hooves into the ground and prepared to charge. At this distance, he know that the hunter had the advantage, but if he could close the distance and force the elf into hand to hand combat at last he would be able to slay his enemy.

The archer shrugged the flag from his shoulders, dropping it to the ground and raised his bow, knocking the dripping arrow and taking aim at the taurens chest. As he pulled the arrow back Castor snorted, let out a menacing shout and started to charge. He was closing the gap rather quickly. The archer adjusted his aim lower, firing the shot into his right leg. Castor tumbled to the ground, the force of the fall snapping the shaft of the arrow off leaving only an inch protruding from the wound. He quickly picked himself up, and slightly limping he resumed his charge.

The hunter tossed his bow to the side and with two fingers pressed to his lips let out a loud sharp whistle. Then from his hips he unsheathed two identical short swords and prepared to absorb the charge. Once in range Castor swung at the elf. He parried. Castor swung again and his opponent dodged. Dodge. Parry. Dodge. Parry. This carried on for a few seconds until Castor brought his spear over his head and with a menacing cry swung down as if he was trying to split the hunters head symmetrically. The elf raised his swords over his head in an X and caught the assault. The combatants stood pushing back and forth on each other with their weapons deadlocked. The only noise now was that of their heavy breathing and the rubbing of their weapons. Castor stared into the eyes of his opponent, to which he received a curious response. The night elf smiled and let out a cackle. That's when he heard someone, or perhaps something moving towards him from behind. He drew on his strength and shoved the night elf to the ground. He turned around just as the creature lunged at him. He was unable to balance himself in time and the force of the assault knocked him on his back.

Castor raised his forearm over his face to catch the Panthers jaw and let out a yelp as its jaws dug into his skin. He swung his arm back and forth yanking on the cats’ neck and finally, forming a fist, brought three quick blows with his free hand to the temple of the beast. The creature yelped and castor shoved it off of him. He rolled over, grabbed his spear and quickly jumped to his feet, ready for the next move. His shoulder was starting to stiffen up as the blood from his wound rolled down his bicep. He looked up to see the hunter now about 15 yards away, bow pulled back, aiming at his chest. The hunters beast was growling to his left, and to his right was the smoldering Orc, trying to regain his balance. The flames had gone out but the smell was god awful. As he stood up he received a swift dagger to his kidney and another came across his throat. The orc fell to his knees, then went limp and rolled to the ground. He was surrounded.

That's when Castor felt the sudden pain in his leg. The poison circulating through his body was making his leg numb. He knew if it wasn't tended to it was only a matter of time before he would lose consciousness and eventually die. Unable to stand any further he dropped to one knee and waited for the inevitable. Even if he succeeded against the two night elves and the beast he had little chance of making back to camp. This was it.

The rogue called out something in what sounded to Castor like Darnassian. The hunter nodded and lowered his bow. Looks like he's going to let his friend finish me off. Castor shifted his attention to his encroacher.

The rogue sprinted towards Castor, daggers at the ready. Castor braced himself for the charge when suddenly the ground began to shake. Thick green roots shot out of the ground below the rogue, grabbing hold of his legs and holding him in place. The hunter looked around suddenly confused and motioned his Panther to finish the job. To his surprise, the beast was asleep. The hunter suddenly pulled his bow back in a panic and aimed it at his kneeling foe.

Out of nowhere a creature appeared, raking his claws into the back of the hunter just as he tried to fire a shot into Castor. This creature looked almost like a lion but had two huge horns protruding from his skull. The attack jolted the elf and sent his shot flying high over Castors head. Bleeding heavily from his back the hunter turned drew his swords and began swinging frantically at the cat.

Castor grinned.Better late than never.

The cat-like creature jumped backwards, dodging the hunters advance then lunged at him, catching him in the head with his massive claw. The blow knocked the hunter to the ground and left him unconscious. Suddenly a grayish-brown hair began to form out from the 4 legged beast and it grew in size. It took the shape of a bear and charged at the rogue, still stuck in the earth. The elf stabbed at the bear, his daggers barely breaking the skin of the beast. The bear claws ripped through the weak leather protecting the Elf and blood stained his armor. The rogue, realizing he had met his match, began to run off. The creature then changed forms again, this time taking the characteristics of a Male tauren. He chanted something and held his hands together, out away from his chest. Castor watched as five bolts of a light purple light about a second apart from each other ripped through the rogue, burning him from the inside. The elf stumbled and fell to the earth. He lied silent and still in the distance, face down in the dirt.

This tauren was built, as was most of their kind. Dark black hair covered his body from head to hoof. His goatee hung to his belt, braided and held together with some simple white thread. His sideburns were somewhat scraggly and bushy and sprouted out from his cheeks. He was a druid, dressed in a Light brown leather outfit with green trim. A large wooden Voodoo mask covered his face and across his back was strapped a large staff holding a green crystal.

The druid looked at Castor and Smiled. "Looks like you owe me another one, Brother."

Castor smiled. "You always seem to show up at just the right time Polluxx." He coughed. "How did you find us?"

"I had arrived at camp shortly after you had left on your hunt and decided to track you down. I wasn't expecting to find you like this." Polluxx responded. "The elves?"

"An ambush."

Polluxx walked over to the flag lying on the ground, picked it up and tossed it on his left shoulder. The panther was still asleep but the hunter had disappeared while the focus was on the rogue. He looked down at Castor's leg and saw the green ooze dripping from his wound. "Poison?" he asked.

Castor nodded "It is running through my veins. The numbness is spreading."

Polluxx chanted a few words and placed a spell on his brother. "I have drawn the poison out of your body." He then chanted a few more syllables. "This will gradually make you feel better, but we must get you to one of the camp shaman to tend to your wounds. Let us get you back to camp then before the hunter returns with a party. Lay across my back." With that, Polluxx shifted back into a bear and walked over to Castor.

Castor felt some of his strength come back, enough to situate himself across the bears broad back. Once in position, he held on to Polluxx with one hand and the crimson flag with the other while they made their way back to the Warsong lumber camp.

[Castor]

Chapter 2: Leaving Moonglade.

For centuries the spirits of the Kaldorei druids slept in the Emerald Dream, a peaceful spiritual world protected by the dragon Eranikus. Malfurion Stormrage, the wisest and most powerful of the sleeping druids also walked amongst the dream. Stormrage was instrumental in thwarting Queen Azshara from summoning Sargeras and his minions to Kalimdor almost six thousand years ago. Sargeras, a former Titan was given control of Azeroth and helped to forge the land as it was. The titans were cited as the creators of all life found in the universe. When the Burning Legion first attempted to take Kalimdor he destroyed them with little effort. Despite his victory Sargeras became corrupted by the demons. His new feelings pushed him away from the other titans and after many years in exile he returned to find the powerful well of eternity in the center of the land of Kalimdor. His goal was to take back what was his and claim the power of the well as his own. He was close to having his shade summoned into the world by Azshara when Malfurion and his love Tyrande Whisperwind along with the demigod Cenarius and the rest of the Kaldorei army thwarted the summon, halting the burning legions new commander from invading their lands.

The well exploded, covering most of Kalimdor in water and creating the Great Rift which still stands thousands of years later. Eventually the well was rebuild by Illidan, brother to Stormrage, high atop Hyjal Mountain. When he became corrupted and attempted to use this power for himself he was banished in a prison deep within the land. The World Tree sprouted from these waters and was the source of the Kaldorei's immortality. Shortly after Malfurion decided that it was time for the druids to enter their slumber, and much to Tyrande's dismay her love and the remaining druids entered the emerald dream to remain for centuries.

When the Burning Legion returned under the control of Archimonde, Tyrande was forced to awaken her sleeping lover and with him ended the Burning Legions claim to Azeroth once again. The druids returned to Moonglade and re-established their homes within the forest. They eventually spread their teachings to others willing to learn, most notably to the taurens, and all creatures were allowed to walk peacefully within their hamlet.

Although the night elves and tauren were enemies, the druids of each race remained as peaceful as possible towards each other, especially when training in Moonglade.

Blood Guard Polluxx Dioscuri dipped his cup into Lake Elune'Ara and sat down under a nearby tree. He had spent the last four months training in Moonglade and was taking a break to relax and enjoy the nature. Polluxx remembered growing up in southern Mulgore. The lush grass and open fields were his home. He enjoyed his time spent training in Moonglade, but he always longed to return home. He was trained as a warrior almost from birth. His father, Gar-Jon fought against the centaurs for as long as he could remember. The Khans were always trying to push the tauren out of the Barrens and they skirmished almost daily. Another adversary was the half-man half-pig creatures called Quilboars. These creatures built their homes amongst the great vines that grew around some of the mountains of the Barrens, including their large camps to the south, known as the Razorfen.

A tauren who could not fight was a dead tauren. Even the woman could fight and many were as strong as the men. Polluxx was a few years older than Castor, and as such he started his training before him. His father had trained him for a few years and had just begun training Castor when he was killed in battle. Polluxx, who had been fighting a lot by then, took it upon himself to continue training his brother. The two learned to fight by defending their camps from the constant threats. It didn't take long for a tauren to become a seasoned veteran.

Polluxx was known for his enormous strength and sporadic temper, Castor was known for his fearlessness and threshold for pain.

When the Legion started its invasion of Kalimdor years ago he was thrown into the fray as were most of his brethren. He fought beside his brother Castor in the great battle of Hyjal. Although young at the time, the two of them fought with a ferocity rarely matched. The battle remained vivid in his mind. The two warriors were almost twins with their bright white hair covering their entire bodies. The battle had raged on for many hours. Their job wasn't to live, but just to hold the legion off long enough for Malfurion to prepare his trap for Archimonde. Demons and undead scourge poured up the hill in a constant flow, desecrating everything in their path. The humans had their camp at the base of the hill and it was the first line of defense.

They held out as long as they could and then retreated up the hill to the fortifications built by the orcs and tauren. Castor and Polluxx stood ready. Everyone who could wield a weapon was ordered to stand and fight. The undead and the demons advanced. Side by side the brothers fought. For as far as a man could run in a day there was the Burning Legion. During the melee Castor was knocked down by a rain of Infernals that had come crashing to the ground. He lay on the ground dazed, weaponless and surrounded by the creatures. Polluxx picked up a fallen 17 foot tree and charged to his brother's rescue. Castor, surrounded by six of the demons was unconscious as they moved to finish him off. He drew their attention and began to assault them with his new weapon.

He swung violently: one, two, three infernals were downed, each one exploding into a large pile of debris. As he was assaulting the fourth some nearby soldiers who had seen the fight hurried over to assist. But the demons continued to advance. One fought Polluxx, the other two decimated the small troop that came to reinforce their comrades. The Infernals burned to the touch and just being near them would set a man ablaze. By the time Polluxx had downed the fourth his weapon was burning. Charging ferociously he assaulted the other two.

The battle raged on. The heat from the Infernals began to get too hot. Polluxx caught fire as he downed the fifth Demon. Castor awoke and watched with astonishment while his brother, burning from head to toe and wielding a burning tree fought off his final opponent. Castor jumped to his feet and ran to his side. Once they executed the foe, Polluxx fell to the ground unconscious and on fire. He relied on his brothers’ recollection of events to fill him in on what happened next. Castor had ripped off his enormous cloak and threw it over his brother, smoldering the fire. He then dragged him back to a medical tent where he could be tended too by the troll and orc shamans. As much as he hated to leave his brothers side, all able bodied fighters were needed at the front to hold off the remaining incursion.

Malfurions plan worked. Archimonde and his legion were thwarted in their attempt to claim the World Tree. Polluxx however had received near fatal wounds from the fight. Polluxx was taken to Moonglade, as were many of the wounded after the great battle. There the druids further tended to his injuries. Through their magic and medicine Polluxx's life was saved, much to the delight of his anxious brother. As a result of the burns his hair had become black, a stark contrast to the white of his brother that he had been before the great battle. His recovery time was long, and during that time he became intrigued by the druidistic culture and began to study their workings. Within a few years he had become strong in the magics and healings of the druids and had used his teachings to help his people and the horde. Although the Tauren were always in touch with nature, he felt himself becoming almost one with it. He was now able to manipulate it in ways he never knew possible. He had become quite powerful, and when beside his brother the two were unstoppable. Word spread and it got to the point where if people knew Castor was around they would always be looking out for Polluxx. Chances were he was hiding in the shadows looking for his opportunity to assault you or heal his brothers’ wounds from afar.

His time in Moonglade was almost coming to an end. He would have to return here for future training, however not for sometime. He enjoyed the rare opportunities to sit back and enjoy the scenery. The sun reflected off the lake in an orange hue as a flock of birds flew overhead, chirping out commands in a language only they could understand, creating perfect formations in the sky. He had drifted from his old habits after becoming a druid. He no longer had the type of lust for combat as his brother. There was a time he did. But he understood combat was a part of this new era and embraced it as an unfortunate necessity.

He took this opportunity to finally read the letter he had received this morning from his brother:

Polluxx,

Ish-ne-alo por-ah older brother. I hope your studies are progressing as you expected and we will be together again soon. I received your latest message. I had expected you by now but I agree that it is best you complete your training before leaving the glade. My time at the Crossroads in the Barrens was an interesting time. The war chief tends to send many of the young soldiers there for their training. Some interesting characters there at all times. Sometimes I feel they are speaking a different language. They have an immaturity I remember seeing in myself those many years before the war, an immaturity only your training could beat out of me! Perhaps a war is what they need to grow up and understand the severity of this new world. Most of them were safe in their homes while we fought side by side against the Legion!

I have been transferred to the Warsong lumber mill in Ashenvale to help protect against the threat of a night elf invasion. The peons in this camp tend to be paranoid at all times. The elves keep everyone on their toes with their constant skirmishes and mind games they play on the campers and usually find a way to scare the weak on a daily basis. I have met some hardened warriors in my short stay here at the mill though. Many of whom were also veterans of Hyjal!

I look forward to your return, hopefully within the next few weeks. I should be stationed at Warsong for some time. Look for me there upon your return.

May the Earth Mother guide you!

-Castor

Polluxx folded up the letter, returned it to its envelope and placed it back into his tunic. Good to see my little brother doing well. Tonight my training will be complete and I can make my way to Ashenvale for our reunion. He stood up, stretched out his back and chugged the rest of his water. "What a perfect day" he whispered to himself as he stared one last time at the suns reflection off of the lake. Turning north he shifted into a cat and sprinted towards his trainer for his final assignment.

***

The flight over Felwood and northern Ashenvale was rather uneventful and after a few hours Polluxx touched down at Splintertree Post. The sun was yet to break this morning as Polluxx took in the environment. His final task had been extremely simple, and after a short evening nap he decided to start his way to his reunion with his brother. Splintertree Post sat a few hundred yards off of the main road connecting both Astranaar and The Barrens with Azshara. It was a major supply line and the horde controlled it on this side of Ashenvale. The fort was reinforced with large wooden pikes, strung side by side to form towering walls. The pikes had been harvested from the Warsong lumber mill and were designed specifically for this base to line its fortifications. In the case of a siege, these walls afforded them some time to hold out until reinforcements could arrive.

The small fort was still mostly sleeping, save for the guard towers and patrols. The inn had its door open and a Wyvern Handler was on duty. The rest of the camp however was in deep slumber, waiting for the sun to pour in within the next few hours. Polluxx decided against renting a kodo for the trek to Warsong. He preferred shifting into a cheetah in hostile territories to the large beasts. He was slightly slower than a travel kodo in this form, but he liked his ability to hide on a moments notice. Riding a huge animal tends to draw a lot of attention in a forest where there is a potential enemy hidden behind every tree. As a cat Polluxx could blend into his surroundings at a moments notice. Plus he could be mistaken as a simple beast by the unknowing which also served as useful.

The Warsong Lumber Mill was a few hours away from Splintertree at this pace so he decided to head out right away. There was nothing for him at the post and he was currently still off duty so had no obligation to report to anyone. He decided he would head to Orgrimmar within the week for his orders after he caught up with his brother. He left the camp and headed east on the trail, following it until it split, and took the southern road into the heart of the Warsong camp.

He arrived in camp about an hour after sunrise. He was greeted by a cacophony of saws and hatchets as the ripped apart trees and limbs throughout the camp. He headed straight to the command tent. He felt confident that if Castor was not in there they would at least know where to find him.

Entering the tent he saluted the commanding officer.

"Good morning Druid." The Commander spoke. He was a light green skinned orc, his face and arms severely scarred. He had seen many battles and likely slain many foes. He wore the insignia of a High Warlord on his chest and his armor shined even in the relative darkness of the tent. "What brings you to our camp on this day?"

"I am Blood Guard Polluxx Dioscuri, Brother of Centurion Castor Dioscuri of your regiment."

"Ahhh. So you are the famous Polluxx! Your brother has told us the many stories of your brave and honorable exploits! He said you were an even more powerful warrior than himself before becoming a druid." The commander saluted and gave him a nod of respect.

"I appreciate the words commander. I hate to be brief but I have come looking for my Brother. I was hoping to surprise him with my return."

"Of course. He set out less than an hour ago. Headed west out of camp I hear. Check with some of the patrols. We had a flag stolen and I sent him to retrieve it."

"Thank you for your help." Polluxx saluted the commander once again and took his leave. The guards outside had repeated the commanders assessment on the location of Castors group and he followed the tracks west out of the camp.

[Castor]

Chapter 3: The Light and Death

Castor and Polluxx arrived back at the Warsong Lumber mill to a few cheers and a small round of applause. The greeting was short lived however when it was realized that although they had the flag, they had not returned with a full party. The sun was approaching the center of the sky and the camp was starting to breakdown for lunch. Polluxx carried on to the command tent and stopped to allow his brother to get off. Castor placed his hooves into the ground and stood up off of Polluxxs’ broad bear back. He stumbled slightly, using his spear to help him regain his balance quickly. He stood for a moment facing the command tent, the crimson flag thrown over his right shoulder. The areas of his plate armor not covered in blood still shined in the bright reflection of the sun. Polluxx shifted from a dire bear back into his natural self. He turned to look at his brother.

“Soldiers die everyday,” Castor said to his brother still staring ahead. He took his enormous spear and jammed its point into the earth. He removed the flag from his shoulder and with both hands held it in front of himself, level to his waist. He lowered his head and stared at its insignia. “That doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.”

Polluxx nodded and placed his hand on Castors shoulder in a show of support. Both stood staring at the flag, lost in thought.

“I see you found him,” a voice spoke out, breaking the silence. “And I see you also got our flag back. Great work Centurion.”

The brothers looked up to see the high warlord Grim’Og standing a few feet outside the command tent. A smile showed through his scarred face.

“Aye. But at the cost of three soldiers. Had Polluxx not arrived when he had there would have been four.” Castor watched as the High Warlords smile left his face. He approached the brothers.

“You saw some resistance then?”

“We were ambushed,” Castor responded. “Two night elves. We killed one but the other got away. I am returning the flag but I must go back for the bodies of those soldiers. They deserve to have their souls honored through the proper rituals, not left to be desecrated by the wolves.”

“I will organize a squad to bring back the fallen soldiers. You have been wounded. Report to the medical tent immediately to have your wounds tended too.”

“Let me return with them. I will be able to take them back there quickly.”

“No. You are to report to the medical tent immediately. That is an order.”

Castor sighed, and then nodded at the High Warlord. He wanted to go back and make sure that these soldiers were honored. He knows that had this been a fair fight those slain orcs would have put up a valiant fight. Everything had happened so fast that by the time they could react they were already being ripped apart.

Then Polluxx spoke out. “Sir, allow me to return with the squad. I wasn’t unharmed in the fight and can quickly lead them to the location.”

“Good idea. Follow me. We’ll pick out some men and deploy them immediately.” The High Warlord turned to Castor. “Rest up son. When you feel ready, return to my tent and debrief me on the particulars of the engagement.” Castor nodded. The High Warlord saluted the brothers and they in turn saluted him back. “Come Polluxx.”

Polluxx turned to Castor. “I’ll be back in a few hours. We’ll have time to catch up then. May the Earth mother guide you.” With that Polluxx caught up to the commander.

Castor nodded and walked over to the command tent. He held the flag out in front of himself, offering it up to one of the grunts. “Our brethren died to bring this back to camp. Let our colors fly again, in their honor.” The grunt nodded and took the flag from Castor. He saluted the Centurion and ran off with the flag.

Castor walked back over to his spear, pulled it from the ground and made his way to the medical tent.

***

For it became the Light, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings. For both he that sanctifieth and they who are sanctified are all of one: for which cause it is not ashamed to call them brethren. Saying I will declare thy name unto my brethren, in the midst of the cathedral will I sing praise unto the Light. And again, I will put my trust in the Light, and again, behold I and the children which the Light hath given me. Wherefore in all things it behoved him to make like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to the Light, to make reconciliation for the deeds of the people. For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to soccour them that are tempted.

-Ancient scripture

Cathedral Square sat between the park, trade and Dwarven districts of Stormwind. Lining the canal are various shops as well as the city hall. In the center of the Square stood a fountain constructed in honor of Archbishop Alonsus Fauol. After the Second War he had helped to raise funds towards the rebuilding of Stormwind. The cathedral he helped build stood as an architectural masterpiece and housed those who most closely followed the Light. Four steeples sat in each corner of the Cathedral of Light with one protruding from the center, standing twice as high as the others. This magnificent building stands as a beacon for the Light and could be seen from everywhere in the large city.

Inside the Cathedral there was much activity. The study and worship of the Light could keep you busy till your dying day. Priests, Paladins, and even local folk would gather in the cathedral to advance their studies and spirituality. If you are looking for sanctuary, the Cathedral of Light is your destination.

“Greetings Sigrun! Welcome to the Cathedral of Light!” Brother Sarno waved at the Dwarf as he entered through the archway of the Cathedral.

Sigrun wore his nicest white robe today, the one he only saves for special occasions. It was laid in a golden trim and hung down to his ankles, almost covering his sandals. His large, white bushy beard hung from his face, covering most of his chest. His face was craggily, its rough and rigid dimensions resembled the face of a mountain. He had bushy white eyebrows and the light reflected off his bald head. He waved back at Brother Sarno. “Good morning Brother.”

You could tell right away there was something different about Sigrun by how he spoke. He spoke common like a human. All other dwarfs had a unique accent. But not Sigrun. He did not grow up around other dwarves. During his birth there were some complications. Sigrun survived, but his mother did not. His father Rikard, a hunter, never took a liking to the big city life of Ironforge, so he picked up and moved with his son to the Arathi highlands. There he found a small farm where he could hunt for food and live in relative quiet. One day Rikard was hunting bear in Hillsbrad. He had crept up behind a tree and had set his sights on a large grizzly. He fired a shot into its chest, missing all vital organs. The bear rushed at him. Rikard aimed for a second shot but his gun jammed. He was unable to clear the jam and fire a killing shot before being mauled by the angry beast. At the age of five, Sigrun was an orphan.

Rikard had been an only child, as was his late wife, and there were no known relatives for Sigrun to go live with. An old friend of his father heard the news and took the burden of raising the young child. His name was Ray Aukur and he was a human fisherman in Southshore. He took him in as his own and raised him with his son and two daughters, Geoffrey, Kelli, and Aimee. Kelli was the oldest, followed by Aimee, and finally Geoffrey, who was only a year old at that time. The family accepted Sigrun and treated him as part of the family.

The Aukurs’ were a very religious family. They thanked the light for all that they had. This rubbed off on Sigrun as well and he became quite spiritual as he grew up. Sigrun spent years fishing with Geoffrey. They grew up playing and fishing in the creeks and rivers around the town, and even as they progressed into adulthood they still remained in Southshore. Geoffrey got married and his wife bore two children. Sigrun remained single, determined to study the light and become a priest. Geoffrey had always taken an interest in Sigruns’ work and learned about the holy arts from the dwarf. When the Second War broke out the Alliance of Lordaeron was formed to push the Orcs back into the Twisting Nether. As Doomhammer continued his march north, Geoffrey and Sigrun enlisted. Geoffrey, a strong man with some knowledge in the light became one of the first paladins, while Sigrun continued to help heal the wounded and sick as a priest. After the alliance’s success, Geoffrey and Sigrun decided to move to Stormwind to help in the rebuilding. Geoffrey, his wife Emile, and his two sons, Braede and Geoffrey Jr. (Geoff), along with Sigrun picked up and moved to the south.

During the trip tragedy struck and Geoffrey’s eldest son, Braede became ill. By the time they reached Stormwind his condition worsened. After a few days he passed away. He was only 14 years old. His mother would never be the same. She fell into a depression and for many years Emile would confine herself to the house, rarely leaving her room. She would skip meals and became frail. One day the grief got the best of her and she passed away in her sleep, leaving Geoffrey to raise his son alone. A few years after Emile’s death Geoffrey decided to move back to Southshore, where Geoff would have a chance to grow up with his cousins, and see his grandparents for the first time in many years.

Geoffrey said goodbye to Sigrun. That was eight years ago. It was the first time they would be apart from each other for more than a few days. Even in the war they served in the same regiment. They were as close to brothers as a man and dwarf could be.

Sigrun continued studying the healing arts and spent most days in the Cathedral of light, reading scripture, healing the injured, and even training the younger priests. He rarely traveled outside of Stormwind City except for his few trips to the Abbey in the forest of Ellwyn and the occasional visits to Ironforge via the Deeprun Tram.

He owned a small apartment in the park district and enjoyed his simple, semi reclusive lifestyle. Most everyday was the same, and he liked it that way. Even when the threat of the Scourge pushed south from Lordaeron Sigrun stayed in Stormwind, away from the fighting. He was a pacifist now. He would fight if he had to, but would always choose peace if it were an option.

Sigrun broke from his routine this morning. Today was a different day. It was a special day. Today he was meeting up with an old friend.

“May the light be with you,” added Brother Sarno.

“And also with you.” Sigrun bowed and made his way through the sanctuary, turned, and headed down the stairs into one of the small libraries housed in the basement of the Cathedral.

***

As they approached the small patch Polluxx shifted from a cat and ordered the party to halt. The wind was into their faces and some light smoke moving over head. Someone is up ahead.

Polluxx turned to the group and motioned them to gather around him. “There’s someone there,” he whispered. “Everyone stay here. I’m going to scout ahead.”

Before leaving the Warsong Lumber mill the camp Commander handpicked eight of his finest soldiers to accompany Polluxx on this recovery mission. Including Polluxx the party included two tauren warriors, two orc warriors, a troll shaman, an orc hunter, a troll mage, and an orc warlock. They were fully equipped and carried three stretchers to bring the bodies back on.

Polluxx shifted back into a cat and moved in stealth towards the patch. As he approached he saw the fire burning in the middle of the open area. Around it he counted four night elves. They were feeding the fire additional wood. About ten feet from the fire laid the corpses of the three orcs slain earlier, lying limp, stacked one on top of the other. They’re going to burn their bodies! We have to stop this!

Polluxx took another moment to peruse his enemy. He noticed one elf standing off to the side near the corpses. He was dressed in navy blue robes and held a large staff in his left hand. Two of the elves feeding the fire were dressed in plate mail and the third was the hunter from the earlier skirmish.

There’s only four of them and the rogues corpse is missing. They must know we would be coming for these bodies. Two to a stretcher means we’re bringing at least 6. And yet there’s only four elves. I don’t like this.

Polluxx turned and returned to the group. He shifted back to normal and confronted his group. They gathered around him anxiously.

“Wat joo see mon?” the troll mage pondered.

“Four visable” Polluxx answered. “One wearing robes. Probably a priest. Two are warriors and the fourth is the hunter from our earlier skirmish. They built a fire and it’s only a matter of minutes before they fuel it with those corpses.”

“Well what are we waiting for?!” One of the grunts cried out. “They’ve slain our brothers, let’s charge them!”

“Not so fast,” Polluxx cut him off. “There may be more of them. We need to make quick work of these four in case others are hiding. I fear an ambush”

“Bah! Let them bring an army. They’re no match for my axe!” the grunt rambled.

“Here’s the plan: The elf in robes looks to be the greatest threat. I want you two” Polluxx pointed at the two orc warriors, “to charge straight for him. Keep him quiet. Do not let him assist the others.” The orcs nodded. “You” this time he pointed to one of the two tauren warriors, “I want you on one of the warriors. Keep him occupied. I want you on the hunter,” he said, pointing at the other tauren warrior. “I want our mage to turn the other warrior into a sheep. If he breaks out do it again.”

“Once you engage I will sneak around the field, waiting for the right time to show myself. The rest of you wait along the ridge of trees until I give you a signal. Once the warriors engage I expect the rest of the elves to show themselves. Look for my signal then.”

“I was assured that you were the best the camp had to offer” Polluxx said, looking over each soldier, reading their expressions as he talked. “Stick to the plan and we will be victorious.” The men were beaming with pride. Polluxx felt confident about the upcoming engagement.

Everyone nodded in approval and the group began their quiet march towards the opening, leaving the stretchers behind for later. Silently they reached the clearing.

Let’s do this Polluxx thought to himself. He looked at the two orc warriors and nodded. They nodded back and began their charge.

***

[Castor]

Chapter 4: Reunion

“Brother!” He was greeted by a familiar voice.

“Geoffrey!” Sigrun said as he walked over to his old friend. “I’m so glad you’ve come back for a visit. It’s been a while.” The two shook hands and Geoffrey motioned for Sigrun to have a seat in the empty chair. The square table was situated in a corner just off the walkway which connected the cathedral stairway to the catacombs in the basement. Scattered in one corner of the table were a few books, the mess of a previous researcher of things pertaining to the light. Candelabras atop long stands were spread throughout the room, each arm holding a candle, reaching in different directions: north, south, east and west, with a slightly larger candle at the center, rising above the others. There were enough lit candles scattered amongst the room to clearly see the expressions on the others face.

A library of books lined the walls of the room, and two more tables identical to the one occupied by the man and dwarf were set in other corners. The fourth corner was the entrance to one of the catacombs housed beneath the cathedral. Sigrun took a second to read his old friend. His hair had faded to gray and his dark skin was showing signs of aging. Wrinkles began to creep in from various places on his face, especially when he smiled. His dress was rather simple: A red shirt and a pair of blue overalls, one of the many uniforms of a fisherman. On the table he noticed Geoffrey’s old fishing hat.

“Eight years, almost to the day.” Geoffrey answered. “It seems your routine has changed little.”

“Just spreading the teachings of the light. Same as always.” Sigrun looked at Geoffey’s left hand while he lowered his body to the chair. “That ring,” he said pointing at Geoffrey’s left hand. “Where did you get it? Its craftsmanship is so eloquent.”

“What this?” Geoffrey looked down at the large ring on the middle finger of his left hand. “It was a gift. The Stormpike guard from the Alterac valley sent emissaries to Southshore requesting aid to fend off the Frostwolf orcs. I enlisted in their resistance for some time.” He paused for a few seconds, still staring at the ring. His eyes shifted to the solid gold band on his ring finger. Emile, he thought to himself. Memories flooded his mind. He remained silent for a moment before continuing on. “When I left from service they rewarded my time with this ring. They recognize soldiers who fight for their cause for a long time”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing with your time? Fighting in the Alterac Valley wars? Fantastic!” Sigrun was excited.

Geoffrey lifted his head and looked at Sigrun. “For a few years anyway”

“I thought you were heading back to Southshore for the peace and quiet? Had I known you were going to be suiting up again I would have traveled there myself to watch your back.” Sigrun said with a smile.

Geoffrey smiled back. “Trust me. There were more than a few times I wish I had you by my side. Besides, I thought that’s why you stayed here, for the peace and quiet” he laughed.

“Sometimes it’s a little too quiet.” Sigrun replied with a laugh. “And that old ragged fishing hat. I see you were able to track that thing down.”

“I’m surprised it’s still held together after all these years.” Geoffrey replied.

“I’m surprised it still fits,” Sigrun added sarcastically. “Your head grew tremendously after the war was over.” He was still laughing.

“You’re just jealous. Had the tables been turned we’d be commenting on your huge head. And that’s saying something, shorty!” They both sat looking at each other, grinning from ear to ear as they traded insults.

“Do you still have it?” Sigrun asked curiously. “The mace?”

“Yep. It’s back at the inn, locked in my trunk.” Geoffrey answers, nodding. Sigrun nodded back and then looked down at the table, reading the twists and turns of the woods grains. Both sat silent. The only noise was the faint sound of the bustling Cathedral up the stairs. They had been apart for so long and each had so much to say that neither one knew where to start.

Sigrun broke the silence. “So, how’s Junior?”

Geoffrey laughed. “He’s good. Still sleeping I’m sure. Kids these days. So lazy. I wake up when the sun comes up. That’s when he goes to bed!” Sigrun let out a chuckle as Geoffrey continued on. “In his defense, we got in late last night. Just grabbed a quick room at the inn. Didn’t have time for anything else. He was pretty exhausted from the trip. I didn’t want to wake him this morning. Let him enjoy his last few days of sleeping in.” Sigrun returned a puzzled look. “I’ve been training him to be a paladin. He’s been coming along pretty well. Well enough to the point to where I feel like I should hand him off to a professional trainer.”

“Good to hear he’s following in your footsteps. So you brought him here to train then? Geoffrey nodded. “How long will you two be in town?” Sigrun pondered.

“Junior will be here as long as his training keeps him. I’m staying indefinatly.”

Sigrun looked surprised. “Really?” Geoffrey nodded again. “Fantastic,” Sigrun continued. “Do you need a place to stay?”

“I’ve already secured our room at the inn for a couple weeks. I’ll be taking Geoff to the Northshire valley to meet with the trainer in the Abbey there.

“You’ll be in for a treat then. McBride is running things there now.”

“Is that so? It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“I can’t remember who’s training the paladins though. I’m sure someone upstairs can help you out with that one.”

“I’ll check it out. Once we hit the abbey I’m thinking of riding on to Goldshire. I want to see if there is any property available. Thinking I may build a nice little place.”

“Most excellent. I’m looking forward to having you around again. There’s very few clothies upstairs who share my sense of humor. Plus most of them are not in to throwing back a few after a long day.”

“That’s suprising,” Geoffrey interrupted sarcastically, with a smile.

“There’s nothing in the scripture that says we can’t enjoy life!”

“So true. So very true.”

Sigrun let out a chuckle. “Hate to cut our reunion short, but I have a class to teach. Going to be showing them how they can lift the spirits of those around them.”

“So it’s a drinking class?” Geoffrey said sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear.

Sigrun smiled. “Not those kind of spirits.”

“I should go drag Junior out of bed anyway. He wanted to check out the armor smith, maybe buy some new chain mail before he starts his training.”

“You should go all out and buy him some plate.”

“Nah. That’s what he was saying. The first few months of training focus a lot on running around, place to place, completing mindless tasks. Having to carry around heavy plate mail when it’s not really necessary will just tire him out. I told him once they allow him to train with his horse, then he can start carrying the extra baggage. Plus he needs to build up his stamina a bit.”

“Makes sense.” Sigrun responded as he stood up from the table. “Well, listen, there’s a nice little pub in the park district right near my apartment that I like to swing by for a few before calling it a night. Come by tonight. We’ll have more time to catch up then.”
“I’ll do that.” Geoffrey stood up from his chair and escorted his friend up the stairs and in to the center of the sanctuary.

“So I will see you tonight then?” Sigrun asked as he walked backwards towards a side room.

“Yep.” Geoffrey waved and headed out of the Cathedral of light and into the streets of the square.

***

[Teelia]

((Excellent work, Castor...Great as always. By the way, I have a screen of your corpse in LHC. hehe))

[Castor]

Chapter 5: Saving the Dead

The sun rested in the center of the sky, its warm beams lighting the forest below. The crackling of the now ferocious fire as well as a slight breeze ricocheting off the bark and leaves of the surrounding trees were the only noise in this small patch. Even the local critters kept to themselves. A few yards from the fire was a pile of pale orc corpses. Their decomposition began immediately following their demise, but the suns heat acted as a catalyst, speeding up the process. The prevalent stench was the penalty for carelessly standing downwind.

Four night elves populated the open area. One knelt quietly staring into the black of the forest. His dark brown leather tunic was shredded across the back revealing a series of fresh wounds. What remained of his armor was severely stained from his own blood. Just above his temple there was a slight bump, the swelling was all that remained from the blow he took there. His left hand, relaxed by his waist, held his long re-curve bow, his quiver lay to his right, leaning upright against a stone for easy access. Two short swords were sheathed at his waist.

Behind him there were two more elves. They stood on opposing sides of the pile of dead, staring at the fire. Their equipment was almost identical: Full shiny plate mail from head to toe, topped off by an equally impressive plate helmet, held to each elf by a leather chinstrap. Where the plate was meant to move you could see the light chain mail protecting knees, elbows and other natural hinges. Outside of their facial characteristics, the only other difference was in their weapons. Strapped across the back of one was a long broadsword with a green handle. The other wore a medium sized sword on his left hip and lying to his side was a large mithril shield.

The two elves looked at each other for a moment and then turned towards the fourth elf. His large golden staff was the first thing to catch their eye. Its glow was intensified from the light of the sun and the tip of the staff emitted a white shadow, which almost seemed to come alive as it swirled around the head of the pole. His blue robes flowed off from his shoulders, rippling in the breeze as it meandered through the trees.

He looked back at the two warriors and with a nod gave the command. They leaned down to pick up the first corpse; an orc already slightly cooked in this mornings skirmish.

“HRRAAAAAAAAAGH!” The sudden noise broke up the silence as two orcs charged out of the tree line. They made their way straight for the blue frocked priest. One orc came at him with a large two handed battle axe, the other wielding two medium sized hatchets.

The priest turned to face the enemies. He stuck out his chest, arms flung to his side as if ripping open the void, his elbows forming perfect straight angles, he looked up to the sky and he let out a high pitched scream. Suddenly the eyes of both orc warriors began to glaze over. There minds became overrun by the kind of creatures whose likeness could only be concocted in the worst of nightmares. Both men, losing control of their actions, began to run in opposing directions frightened by their own clouded thoughts.

The two elf warriors dropped the corpse and reached for their weapons. They turned to see two large tauren warriors appear out of the forests edge, one was dark brown and the other was a mix of a light brown and white. The solid brown tauren held a large two handed mace and charged towards the warriors, the other wielding a large wooden shield and a sword charged the hunter.

The hunter had already knocked an arrow and from a knee began firing missile after missile at the charging tauren, but he held his large shield in front of him as he approached, either catching the arrows in the wood or redirecting them. When he was on top of the elf he swung his shield outward, bashing the elf in the chest and knocking him to his back. Then he put all his weight behind his shield and tried to crush him. The hunter caught the shield with his feet. With his legs pressed up against his chest, his knees nearly touching his chin; he held the large bull in place.

The warrior took his sword and thrust at the hunters ribs. His assault however was unable to pierce the elf. He looked at the priest, who by now was laughing maniacally. He had placed a magical shield on the hunter, who took this opportunity to draw on his strength and shoved the tauren off of him. He then hopped quickly to his feet, dropped his bow, and drew the two identical short swords at his hip.

Nearby the other tauren warrior leapt at the two elf warriors, landing in between them both. When he landed his large hooves let out a small quake underfoot, incapacitating the two opponents momentarily. He swung his large mace at the two handed sword wielding warrior with such ferocity that, catching him in the left arm, it shattered the bone on impact and sent the elf tumbling to the ground. Suddenly the sword and shield branding elf regained his balance and made a lunge at the taurens back, but he barely moved a foot before he underwent a strange metamorphosis, the end result left him as livestock. He walked around aimlessly, with no control of his actions.

Out of the trees stepped a red robed troll, the mastermind behind the polymorph. He scanned the battlefield, trying to locate his next mark. Seeing the elf warrior trying to get up, he decided to help finish him off. He focused on the target while chanting a spell. His hands began to glow and a fireball began to formulate in his hands. The elf jumped to his feet and engaged the mace wielding tauren with one arm useless.

The hunter saw the troll materialize from the woods and with two fingers to his lips he let out a loud sharp whistle. Out of the brush appeared a dark panther. The hunter gave a slight gesture with his head and the panther exploded out of his location and charged at the troll. Before he could finish his incantation the beast leapt at the troll, knocking him to the ground. It released a sinister growl; the shear intimidation of the beast was enough to incapacitate the magician.

The shield wielding tauren hopped to his feet and went for the hunter again. They engaged in an array of blocks and parries, neither able to get a clear shot on the other.

Polluxx moved his way around the battlefield. If I can work my way to the back of this hunter I can hit him where I got him before As he worked himself into position he watched the priest with curiosity. He held his large golden staff in his outstretched arms, its shaft holding parallel to the ground. It became enveloped by a sinister shadow, changing its properties from its golden yellow to a dark grey. It became death. Then a physical shadow began to excrete from his all orifices of the elf, a dark shade engulfing his entire body in a living shadow. He became death.

Polluxx was about fifteen yards behind the hunter by now, creeping into his ambush position. He watched the two engaged in a series of blocks and parries. The night elf suddenly found an opening and with his right hand jammed his sword into the tauren, just below his ribcage, then jumped a few feet back, leaving the sword handle sticking out of his left side.

Polluxx crept closer as the tauren launched his wooden shield at the hunter who covered his head with his right arm and deflected it away, and then fell to the ground.

With his left hand the tauren grabbed hold of the sword and in one quick motion ripped it from his body. Blood followed through the new exit and splattered to the ground. Now, with a sword in each hand he took a few steps and lunged at the unconscious hunter. To his surprise the hunter jumped to his feet, gave out the cry of a cheetah and sprinted towards the priest, launching a flare in the process.

Great Cairnes raven! The expletive flooded Polluxx’s mind. He had been revealed by a simple flare. Then suddenly he saw a cold explosion when the warrior reached the location where the hunter had feigned his injury. The cold shot up from the trap, covering his whole body. In a matter of seconds the warrior was encased in a block of ice, unable to move.

Polluxx sprinted to quickly engage the hunter. With his right hand the elf produced a chain with two steel balls attached at either end and swung it with precision at Polluxx, entangling his feet and tripping him face first into the ground. He then made a move back towards his bow and quiver. Polluxx was determined to keep him from his most powerful weapon. He shifted to a tauren, the shear growth of his new shape snapped the chains, releasing his legs. He was now in a foot race with the hunter.

Before he could take more then a few steps he felt numbness in his back and the muscles in his legs became less responsive. He looked over his shoulder to see the shadow engulfed priest releasing a dark blue shaft of light from his right hand. The beams energies ran through Polluxx’s body, forcing him to his knees, releasing a sensation he’s never felt before. Suddenly the feeling stopped and he watched as the priest lay on the ground, a large orc holding two hatchets was standing over him. That feeling, it felt as though my face was melting and yet my whole body was cold. What was that?

Meanwhile, the one armed elf continued to hold off the advances of the mace wielding tauren warrior. The tauren swung his weapon as if he was trying to execute the foe with every assault. The elf dodged one right after the other, tiring his adversary.

The other elf warrior wandered aimlessly about unable to control his actions as a sheep. He walked over to the fire, unwillingly moving too close to the blaze. The flames leapt at him, burning his leg. The sudden shock and pain returned him to his natural state. He had lost track of the battle and took a few seconds to peruse the field before making his move.

The first thing to catch his eye was the troll on his back and the large panther straddling his chest, eager to rip his throat out. The mage had grabbed a hold of his jaw, clamping it shut with both of his hands. The panther struggled to break free, wrenching his head back and forth hoping to slip from his grasp. He brought up both front paws and struck the mages arms repeatedly, breaking the skin with his claws. The sudden sting of the attack released his grip on the panthers’ mouth. The beast saw his opportunity. He dug his front legs into the earth, lifted his head a few inches, then cocked it slightly to the side and went for the jugular.

In the blink of an eye the mage was gone and the pather was left slamming his mouth into the ground, the force of the strike sent a shockwave down his spine. The earth pushed back on his teeth, chipping one of his large canines. He whelped at the sudden pain. For a few seconds he wandered around in a concussive state, confused and slightly stumbling. Then he caught the familiar scent of the troll and turned to see him running away from him and gave chase.

The warrior saw that the mage was running to assist his mace wielding friend and moved to intercept him. He caught the mage and slammed him with his shield, sending him reeling to the ground, but the momentum of his run plus the blow from the shield allowed him to hop back to his feet in one motion. The panther had gained on him and was almost within striking distance when the troll turned to fight. With a quick chant frost shot out from his waist in all directions, striking the warrior and panther. It was so cold that the air around their legs froze, forming large blocks of ice around their feet, immobilizing them. The elf jammed his sword into the ground and with two hands tried to pry his legs free. Next the mage summoned in the air around him, and at the command of his arms he shot forth a cone of freezing cold winds at both parties. The current was so strong it shattered the ice frozen around their feet. However it was so cold it froze the skin and hairs on their bodies, leaving their movement impaired.

Meanwhile the orc who had ended Polluxx’s suffering stood over the priest, his hatchets at the ready. The priest brought his left hand to his temple and closed his eyes.

“Now you DIE!” The orc screamed as he swung one of the hatchets down on his foe, but before the strike could fall through he was accosted by his fellow orc. The orc had pushed him off of the elf with no explanation.

“What the hell are you…!” he cut himself short when he looked into his comrades’ eyes. A dark, living shadow, much like the one encompassing the entire elf priest excreted from his friends eyes. The priest was on his feet now and moved behind the orc, still holding one hand to his temple.

With his huge double edged battleaxe he lunged at his friend, swinging ferociously. The duel wielder had to act fast, and act in a way that would not harm his friend. When the orc swung the massive axe he dodged and then moved in close to eliminate the space needed to take another swing with that large weapon. Next he twisted his hatchets halfway around, turning the blade end towards himself. He began to bash the blunt end of the hatchets into the other orcs knuckles. After a few successful strikes he had knocked the battleaxe from his grasp.

But his friend would not give up. He tackled him and began to rain blows down upon him. He raised his arms to cover his face, being sure to keep a strong grip on the hatchets in case his friend tried to take them and use them against him.

Then suddenly the assault stopped. The orc sat confused for a moment. He wasn’t sure why he was beating his friend. Then he saw the priest running towards the woods at one end of the patch and realized what had happened.

“There he is,” he blurted out as he helped his friend to his feet. “Can’t let him get away,” he finished as he picked up his battle axe and they pursued him.

Polluxx shifted into a cat and moved out of range of the flare. The hunter had turned his back on him long enough that he felt comfortable disappearing into the brush. When the hunter turned around Polluxx had disappeared. He had nobody else in range to shoot at, save the tauren still frozen in his trap. Not wanting to set him free just yet he decided to follow the priest towards the edge of the field.

Polluxx could not dream of catching the hunter without revealing his position so he decided to see what else was going on. On the other side of the field his troll companion was finishing off the one armed elf warrior with large fire ball. Once he dropped to the ground dead the worn out tauren warrior dropped to a knee, leaning on his mace for balance and breathing heavy from over exerting himself during the fight.

The slowing effects on the other warrior and the panther had worn off and, seeing their allies flee to the other side of the field decided to run to them.

By now the elves were in full flight and Polluxx’s group had not suffered any casualties. He was satisfied with the outcome and shifted back into a tauren. “Let them go!” he cried out to the two orc warriors across the field. “Let them flee like the cowards they are. We have what we came for!”

The orcs knew it was pointless to argue, but they also knew that they should be happy that they could return to camp with a full group and began jogging back to their group.
The shaman, hunter and warlock, who had been watching the fight, waiting for their orders from Polluxx appeared out of the forest with the stretchers and jogged briskly towards the rest of the group.

“Very well done my brothers” the shaman spoke out, addressing all of his comrades. He then moved from one to the other, tending to the wounds quickly so that they could be on their way. The hunter and warlock used this opportunity to start placing the corpses onto the stretchers for transportation back to camp.

Polluxx scanned the edges of the patch his team currently resided in. An uneasiness began to flow through his body. “Move quickly, this fight is not finished,” he called out, changing his previous assessment. He quickly shifted into a cat to enhance his senses in an attempt to find any sign of the night elves. He remained in this form for only a few seconds before shifting quickly back to a tauren. “We’re surrounded. Prepare yourselves...! but before he could finish his thought night elves poured out of the trees, catching the party by surprise. Their Darnassian battle cries filled the air as they rushed towards the center of the patch, to the location where Polluxx’s company had formed a small protective circle around the corpses.

There were at least thirty of them, all dressed in matching sets of chain mail. They all seemed to be warriors, though you could tell from their eyes that they had not experienced much combat. They rushed at the horde with confidence.

The shaman reached into his bag and pulled out three totems, and then in the center of their circle he jammed them into the ground, the magical energies filling his allies with unseen benefits.

Then the four horde warriors charged out at every direction: north south east and west, engaging the foes and protecting those who would do better with some space between their targets. As if by design the four warriors simultaneously released a deafening roar, intimidating their opponents, sending those closest to turn and run in fear. Their attacks fell upon the elves, their weapons moving as if guided with the fury of a windstorm, ripping through the chain mail so quickly that the elves had no time to react.

The Mage and Warlock looked at each other and nodded, agreeing to an unspoken plan. As a group of warriors approached the center from the southeast the mage cast a spell at them. Suddenly above their head the air began to solidify, the condensation falling from the sky in large frozen shards of ice. The ice ripped through the soldiers like razorblades, it temperature so cold it froze the ground beneath them, slowing their approach. Then, the warlock began his own enchantment. Almost immediately the heavens began to spit tears of fire to the ground, the large orbs streaking through the sky until the fell upon their mark. The two contrasts in temperature were so intense that neither spell changed the properties of the other, both falling with such ferocity and destruction that those warriors were left with little life to support themselves, and they all dropped within a few seconds to the ground.

The Orc hunter remained silent in the center, only the sound of slinging missiles from his longbow could be heard. He picked out target after target, attempting to wound as many as possible with one arrow, as opposed totrying to bring down a single target with many.

The tauren warrior who had been wounded from the skirmish with the hunter moments before the zerg of nigh elves assaulting him now grew weak from the blood loss of his injuries. Unable to defend himself adequately he became overwhelmed by the rush of warriors and slain where he stood. Another one of the warriors, this one wielding the large battle axe, was successfully keeping the enemies at bay, when suddenly from the far side of the field an arrow plunged through his armor, piercing his heart. He threw a few weak swings towards the elves surrounding him, but then dropped his weapon and grabbed the arrow with both hands. He looked up and saw the priest reemerged from the far side of the field with the hunter and warrior who had fled before. He ripped the arrow from his chest and fell to his knees, where he was struck down by the elves.

Polluxx had spent the first few moments of the skirmish with the shaman chanting spells on his comrades, trying to solidify their wounds in an attempt to keep them fighting longer. The two warriors had been slain so quickly that they had no time to protect them. He now noticed the priest and his comrades had returned to the engagement, but they had brought even more friends. Behind him were about ten warriors, dressed in full plate mail armor matching that of the two warriors they engaged initially. He gave the order and they began their charge towards Polluxx and company.

“Incoming!!!” Polluxx alerted his friends and reverted their attention towards the new assault. There was still about fifteen of the mail clad night elf warriors roaming about, trying to bring down the remaining orc and tauren warriors, each of them standing on opposing sides of the group, leaving an opening which these new warriors chose to exploit. Polluxx reacted quickly. Once they were in range he used the forest to entangle one of the warriors in tree roots, holding him in place. The mage took the opportunity to change one of the warriors into a turtle, causing him to move slowly and mindlessly about. The warlock went into a trance, and began a long ritual of summoning, attempting to bring a demonic ally into this world. Meanwhile, the hunter began to place a second arrow into each target, wounding them further as they fought to a standstill with the two horde warriors.

The troll mage, acting alone, charged at the warriors, catching them by surprise. He pulled his staff up as if he was going to attempt to beat them all to death with it. Once he was next to them he released the familiar shot of frost in a nova around himself, again freezing their feet in place. Staying just out of range of their weapons he released an explosion of arcane, each blast about a second apart, its energy passing through their armor and striking their flesh. Each blast was fairly weak on its own, but the compounding effect of it was what caused the warriors to weaken. The arcane blasts also shattered the ice around their feet, freeing them to strike the mage down. Fortunately he had a magical shield protecting him from the blows, although they drained a little bit of his magical energies every time they hit him. Looking to escape before his shield was destroyed, he teleported himself about fifteen yards away, to a position behind the warriors. Although he had freed himself from the physical attacks of the warriors, he had placed himself in range of the shadow priest, who spent little time ripping through the mage with a barrage of shadow attacks. The hunter also fired a few shots in his direction, landing a few before the troll finally collapsed.

“Ahshloo fore hem shalo!!!” The priest called out in darnassian. Both the plate and mail clad warriors gave retreat back to the priest, regrouping for a final push. Each remaining warrior in mail had at least two or three arrows protruding from their body, weakened slightly from these wounds. Those warriors in plate were trying to catch their breath after the quick encounter with the troll mage. Polluxx and the shaman’s magic grew tired from using their spells to protect the two remaining warriors, who felt relatively fresh. Polluxx also realized that he had taken two arrows from the elf hunter during the fight, one in his upper back, just below his left shoulder, and the other in his left hip. The orc hunter stood ready with an arrow knocked into the string of his bow while the Warlock, finishing his summon, stood ready. He had called forth a demon engulfed in a blue shadow. It was unsure whether this thing was living or dead, and its body was solid, liquid, and gaseous all at the same time. It’s purple and green bracers wrapped around it’s dark blue wrists like shackles, the only physical evidence that this creature even existed. It had no legs, but instead hovered a few inches from the ground from a point that seemed to spawn from hell.

The elves began their march. “Stick close together, this isn’t over yet.” Polluxx commanded. “We must…”

“Tell Grim’Og I died honorably” the orc warlock interrupted Polluxx’s speech. Leaving his Voidwalker behind, the warlock charged at the night elves. Confused, the elves halted their approach, watching the warlocks eyes become engulfed in flames. On the order from their commander they lunged at him, swords ripping into his flesh. The Orc cackled loudly as the wounds barely drew blood. “FOLLOW ME INTO THE TWISTING NETHER!” he cried out as he began to emit a burning ring of fire, calling upon hell herself to aid him in his plight. The flames ripped into the elves, reaching temperatures so hot the weaker metals of their armor began to melt to their skin. Polluxx watched in awe as the warlock became completely engulfed in flames. Suddenly the voidwalker, whose shade seemed to grow weaker throughout this spectacle let out a hiss and evaporated, leaving his bracers which fell to the ground, lying silent in the grass. Protecting him in a magical shield the warlock jammed a green stone to his chest, its powers reenergizing him as the stone evaporated, then carried on, charring the elves as they continued to try to bring him down.

When it was over, only a few of the night elf warriors still stood, and they could barely maintain their balance. The orc had disappeared; his body lies as dust from the intensity of the heat, killing him and almost all of the warriors. He had sacrificed his life to protect those of his comrades, leaving this world in the most honorable way he knew possible.

The night elf priest stood shocked, as he now stood virtually outnumbered. He turned to his hunter just in time to watch an arrow pierce his skull, dropping him instantly to the earth. Realizing only death awaited him if he stayed; the priest took flight into the forest.

“Finish them off, he’s mine” Polluxx exclaimed, pointing at the priest as he transformed into a cheetah and sprinted after the elf. He closed ground on him quickly and shifted out of his cheetah form long enough to entangle the priest in roots from the ground before shifting back into a cat and assaulting his foe. The priest, feeling weak from the long fight tried to use technology to deter Polluxx. In a panick he pulled a small device from under his robe and fired it at Polluxx, sending a green ray onto his feline form. Polluxx felt no effects and continued to rip into the elf, slaying him after only a few moments of combat. Intrigued by the device, and being somewhat of an engineer himself, he confiscated the device and returned to the group.

Upon his return, his party had slain what few elves were still breathing and had begun creating more stretchers for the fresh horde corpses. While they finished up, Polluxx walked over to where the warlock had met his demise. He dropped to his knees and pulled a small canister from his pouch, immediately removing the top. Inside was some crushed sansam root that had been rationed to him from camp which he emptied. With both hands he transferred as much of the remains of the warlock as he could into the canister before replacing the cap.

Deciding that creating additional stretchers would take too much time, the decided on alternative forms of transportation for the corpses. The two warriors carried one of the stretchers, which held two of the corpses from this morning’s skirmish, while the hunter and shaman carried the other stretcher holding the tauren and troll who had fallen just recently. Polluxx had shifted into a bear, and across his back was strapped the remaining two corpses.

The survivors slowly made their way back to camp, carrying the bodies through the silent forests of ashenvale. It would take over an hour to return to camp, and in that time the survivors thoughts would be going over the days events, convincing them of ways they could have saved their friends. Each would feel guilty for surviving, though each would keep his thoughts to himself.

***

[Castor]

Chapter 6

Smoke billowed out from the houses around the main track in Southshore as the Ogres slaughtered men, women and children where they stood. They had come from outskirts of the northern mountains of Alterac and had surprised the peaceful village. The soldiers were no match for the Ogres size, strength and numbers and fled the scene, leaving the townsfolk to fend for themselves.

“Help me! Help me!” A maidens voice cried out in distress. “Heeeeeeelp!”

The voice was that of Ilana Clinteagle, the most beautiful girl in all of Hillsbrad. She had won contests and accolades from her beauty and presentation of herself. She was in the clutches of the Ogres now and was being taken away as a sacrifice for their pagan rituals. Her reign of beauty would now come to an end, for the Ogres were not likely to leave her alive, nor in one piece.

“Unhand me you brutes!” Ilana screamed at the pasty beasts holding her tight by the arms. They looked as though with little effort they could pull her apart like a wishbone, though carried her somewhat delicately to preserve her for their future needs.

Suddenly, out of the north a voice cried out: “Ogres! Your days of pillaging have come to an end. Release the girl and prepare to be judged!”

The Ogres turned to see a golden knight, sitting high upon his Charger. His armor shined brightly in the intense morning sun, causing some to avert their eyes from its reflection. He was a ball of gold. From his boots to his helmet, every piece of his armor was gold. Even his hair, braided and falling forward, resting on his chest, was gold. The only contrast was what little of his dark skinned face you could see through his helmet. Even his mount was shielded by golden plates, and a golden aura emanated from him. His shoulder armor shot up towards the sky, forming holy wings. He was a golden angel on horseback coming forth to save Southshore. He was a paladin searing with the power of the light. He was the law bringer, and the Ogres were to receive his holy judgment.

The leader of the Ogres grabbed Elena and motioned his minions to attack. The creatures came from all sides. The golden knight was ready. With his great mace in one hand, and his large dragon scale shield in the other he charged into the enemy. One by one he passed judgment on the Ogres, bashing in their skulls and felling them where they stood. He then dismounted and continued on. His strength and resolve overpowered the fearsome Ogres. They were no match for the light.

The creatures kept coming, and in a ferocious battle the paladin continued to succeed, until finally he stood in front of their leader. The Ogre tossed Ilana to the ground with little effort, leaving her muddied and disheveled. The Knight and the Ogre fought for minutes, the battle fierce as it moved its way amongst the burning buildings of the small fishing village.

Eventually, the knight overpowered the Ogre, releasing his final judgement upon the foe, vanquishing him as the townspeople watched on in anticipation. The Golden Night was victorious!

“Three cheers for the Golden Night!” The townspeople cried out.

The paladin whistled for his charger as he walked over to Ilana, still lying in the mud. He secured his mace and shield to his mount and offered a hand out to the maiden. “Are you alright m’lady?”

She accepted his gesture and he pulled her to her feet. “Yes. Thank you! Thank you so much!” She moved in and hugged her savior tightly.

The townspeople began to gather around the hero, watching as he held their pride and joy in his arms. Ilana removed the paladins helmet, tossed it to the side and looked into his pale blue eyes. She placed her hands on his face as he lifted her up to eye level. They engaged in a kiss to end all kisses. It was so passionate it left the townsfolk yearning for a love of their own.

Then the paladin felt a tug on his shoulder. He shrugged them off and continued to kiss the most beautiful woman in all of hillsbrad, perhaps even the world. The hand grasped his shoulder once again, this time pulling him around. Suddenly, a flash of light was upon him and everything went away.

“Junior, get up! We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” The voice cut through Geoff’s dream like a wolf’s canine’s slicing raw flesh. His mind was foggy as it tried to realize where he was and what was going on.

Geoffrey pulled the pillow off juniors head and was smacked him a few times on the waist with it. The late morning light shot in through the window, piercing through his eyelids, jolting him awake.

“Meeeeeeeehhh” Geoff grunted as he shielded his eyelids from the suns assault.

“Junior, time to get up. Let’s go!” Geoffrey voice was a bit more insistent this time. “C’mon. Go wash up and meet me downstairs. They’ve got a fresh spread out for breakfast. Meet me down there in five minutes.”

“Reeeeeeehhhh” Junior could barely work any words out, his mind imprisoned in the limbo between his dream and reality. He was trying to conjure up the beautiful Ilana, failing to remember her as clear as he had just seen her. His mind pushed him to sleep and awake conjointly.

“I’ll see you down there” Geoffrey ordered, making his way out of the room and pulling the door closed behind him.

“Meehhhraahh” Geoff grunted as he stretched out his back muscles in his bed. He reached up and rubbed his eyes awake and slowly reintroduced them to his room. He wiped the drool from his mouth off onto his sleeve, and then noticed the small wet spot on the sheets up near where his head had laid. Ilana… I wish I could just go back to sleep he thought to himself. This day is overrated now that I’m awake. Geoff did not want to leave his father waiting too long so he forced himself out of bed. His knotted golden hair fell from the back of his head, contrasting his dark skin and pale blue eyes. He walked over to the complimentary wooden bucket, filled to the top with fresh hot water. A few flower pedals floated about, an artistic addition to give the patrons a fresh feeling in the morning.

He placed his hands in the bucket, noticing that the water was now only lukewarm. Putting his hands together he forced the water up out of the container and onto his face, rubbing off the sweat and oils he had accumulated during the night slumber. He located his clothes and threw on the first thing he could find and made his way down to the lobby of the Inn.

His father was situated at a table down stairs, engaged in conversation with another man who seemed to hold of some power and influence, though it was hard to gauge how much from across the room. When Geoffrey saw Geoff enter the lobby he pointed over towards the corner of the room. Junior switched his attention and found a table with a complimentary breakfast, free to the Inns patrons. He noticed immediately that the best things had been picked over, and settled on an apple at the end of its edible lifespan and a few slices of bread which had the look as though they had been passed over on more then one morning this week. After pouring himself a mug of hot cider he carried his makeshift breakfast over to the table and seated himself next to his father, across from the other man.

“Sam, this is my Son Geoffrey Jr. Junior, this is Brother Sammuel, he’s runs the training at the Northshire Abbey in Elwynn where you’ll be heading tomorrow. He’s an old friend of mine from way back.”

Brother Sammuel stood up from his chair. “Hello Geoffrey” he said with a smile and offered his hand to Geoff, looking to signify the greeting with a handshake.

“Hi” Junior answered back, his head focused on the steam releasing from his mug of hot cider as he broke off a corner of his bread and placed it in his mouth.

“Junior!” Geoffrey spoke the words sternly, averting the young mans attention.

Geoff looked up and saw Brother Sammuel standing awkwardly, holding his hand over the table as an offer of greeting to Geoff, unsure if he should pull back or continue to wait. Realizing his mistake, Geoff stood up, grabbed Sammuels hand and shook it weakly, then returned to his chair and continued to stare into the cider’s abyss.

Brother Sammuel sat back down and questioned Geoff. “Your father tells me you’ve been training in Southshore the last few years. He says you’re a pretty fast learner.”

“I wouldn’t call it training so much as he taught me a few things. But even with that he’s a slow teacher.” Geoff responded, a small grin forming as he took a sip from his drink. “Had he been around more I’m sure I could have learned more.”

Geoffrey had spent a lot of time fighting in the Alterac Valley wars, leaving Junior to stay with his Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins to grow up. Having lost his brother on the road to Stormwind many years ago, and his mother shortly after, he felt orphaned. When his father wasn’t fighting in the wars he would be found spending most of his days fishing off the coast of Hillsbrad. Geoffrey had taught Junior how to fish, but as he aged his interest waned. He found it boring. Geoffrey didn’t see Junior much when he was away, and even when he was back he would fish all day and only see him at night.

Juniors attitude towards his father tore at Geoffrey. Because he was away so much he had spoiled the kid when he was around just to make up for the lost time, giving him almost anything he wanted. He was starting to see its effects. He had failed to teach his son manners and proper etiquette. Even something as simple as looking someone in the eye when you’re talking to them or a firm handshake as a greeting Junior brushed off as inconsequential. He was going to have an awakening when he started his training, Geoffrey realized to himself. This kind of attitude will not fly within the paladin order.

He suddenly wished everything were different, that Emile and Brade were still alive and that Geoff could have had his mother around to teach him the simple things in life, and an older brother to stand up for him. But he suppressed the thoughts, understanding that wishful thinking like that will only send him back to a time of depressing thoughts he had tried to move past.

“My time spent in Alterac, and the subsequent time I spent fishing to keep a supply of food on the table kept us from having an optimal amount of time together. That’s why I think it would be best to bring him to the Abbey to further his training.” Geoffrey stated, defending his sons assault, revealing only half of his reasoning behind their return to Stormwind City. He was hoping that Geoff’s training with the Paladins would help him mature, but feared silently that it may be coming too late.

“Very good!” Brother Sammuel responded, understanding Geoffrey’s difficult situation raising his son alone while still trying to provide everything a mother was meant to bestow. “We will have a room ready for him. We have a few others beginning their training tomorrow as well. We’ll expect to see him at dawn.”

“He’ll be there.” Geoffrey responded, standing up with Brother Sammuel. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Very well. I have to make a stop by the Cathedral this morning so I must apologize for cutting out so soon. Had I known ahead of time you were going to be here I would have scheduled time for you.”

“I understand Sam.” Geoffrey shook hands with Brother Sammuel and waved a hand at Junior, silently motioning for him to stand up.

“It was nice meeting you Geoffrey” Samuel spoke to Junior.

“You too. And it’s Geoff.”

“Okay, Geoff. Well I’ll see you in the morning.” Sammuel patted Geoffrey on the shoulder. “Take care” he said as he made his way from the table.

Junior nodded as Sammuel exited the Inn and sat down, returning to his breakfast.

“Where are your manners?” Geoffrey questioned his son.

“We got in late last night. I haven’t had a chance to unpack them yet.” Junior responded sarcastically.

“Hrmph.” Geoffrey’s sarcastic ways had rubbed off on his son. Unfortunately, he was realizing, few of his positive qualities seemed too. “We have a lot to get done before you head out tomorrow. Finish your grub and let’s head to the Old Town. There’s an armorer there with some of the best wares around. Try not to embarrass me tomorrow. A lot of my old comrades are running the trainings, Sammuel especially. Try to act like a gentleman.”

“Alright, alright.” Junior responded quickly, hoping to end the direction the conversation was going before it went further. Grabbing his mug in one hand and his apple in the other he stood up from the table and walked back to where the free food sat. He chugged the rest of his cider and placed the empty mug on the table there, then took a bite of his apple. He turned to find his father now waiting by the door and walked over to meet him.

The father and son stepped into the street and walked east across the trade district, passing the various shops. Many were new additions, and some places Geoffrey remembered were now vacancy’s or occupied by new proprietors. He pointed out the few shops he felt would be of interest to Junior as he furthered his training, and also pointed out the bank, where he would later take him to open a small account. Pelts, cloth, and unique and rare treasures could be found on your travels. Opening an account would help Geoff easily store his valuables and earnings from the sales of these treasures until he found a reason to spend it.

After they picked out some gear from the armorer they returned to the Inn to secure it in their room, then took the next few hours to wander the streets, re acclimating themselves with its vastness.

***