Aquizit
06-09-2006, 05:41 AM
The Final Survivor
As told by Pylith Thunderfist.
Aquizit Palmatta, the final survivor of the Agamand Mills.
He was just a boy, only 15 when the plague first spread from Andorhal, though the rumors of the cult had reached the mills of Tirisfal months earlier, a group of crazed peasants following a similarly crazed necromancer. The ex-mage, Kel’Thuzad, dismissed from Dalaran and shamed to live in the annals of history, not as a brilliant mage as he had hoped, but as one who delved too deep into forbidden territory, searching to master the art of necromancy, despite the Kirin Tor’s rules against such magic. Aquizit wasn’t a mage though. He was only a simple farmhand, orphaned during the Second War by the ravenous Orcish Horde. Found upon the southern shore of Lordaemere Lake, in the northern reaches of the Alterac Mountains, Greggor Agamand found the infant, lost and alone, bloodied bodies, barely capable of being called once human next to the boy. The man gritted his teeth, scooping the boy up and holding him close to his chest. Aquizit’s dirtied cheek soiled even further by the bloodstained and tarnished armor of his savior, the acrid smell of orc-blood burning in his nostrils, a smell he’d remember for the remainder of his days.
Greggor brought the boy back to his camp, where he presented him to the commanding officer. It wasn’t uncommon for orphaned or abandoned youths to be found during the war, but the Captain was slightly agitated at the location of the bodies. There weren’t any towns to the north of Alterac, just the lake and then Fenris Isle. It meant that they had fled, and for some reason the orcs had chased them down. Why though, did they not harm the child? The officer spoke with Greggor momentarily, agreeing to the proposition that he could be brought back to the mills, using an empty caravan that had just delivered fresh supplies to the contingent as the method of transportation. And so, the boy’s life in Tirisfal began.
* * *
Several uneventful years passed, and Aquizit grew into a fine young man, always being the first to offer help to any who asked. He grew into the kind of boy one could always rely on, and he was always greeted by many friendly faces when he rode into Brill or Lordaeron with the Agamands. Although faintly he could hear the mutters about the Devlin boy with him. Devlin was a brash young man, the youngest of the Agamands, and the weakest too. He was always looked down upon by his brothers and the workers there, as he was always loud, and constantly in trouble. Rumors were spreading that he’d been seen late at night, consorting with the dark members of the cult, something which his family members adamantly denied, whether or not they knew it was true.
* * *
That’s all I know of the boy’s history I’m afraid, and that information was only given to me by those who escaped the Kingdom before the fall, leaving after they felt the Cult of the Damned grew too large and powerful for their comfort, leaving for the newly rebuild Stormwind. I fall into the tale upon my return from a scouting mission, having been sent out to march two days ahead of my main company, having been told of my scouting expertise from the Battle of Grim Batol. Heh, no no, I won’t be telling you that one, if you want to hear it, ask my brother, Borgas. He commanded the Airbourne Division. You know, the griffs! Fought against the Red Dragonflight! Ahem, I digress…
My orders were to meet up with the company at an old watchtower near the coast. It was a boring wait, to be sure. Half a day had gone by when I was awoken from a mid-day nap by a cry. Groggily I opened my eyes, swigging some ale I had leftover from my patrol to give me a kick start. I started upright as I saw a figure of a young boy huddled on the ground, a single undead monstrosity racing up after him from behind. Swiftly I picked up my rifle and took aim, blasting out a single shot that ripped the ghoul’s neck out from under his head, causing the creature to collapse to the ground.
I set down my rifle and helped the boy to his feet. He told me his name was Aquizit, and that the mills were under control of the Scourge. He mentioned something about a Betrayer, Devlin or something, but he was speaking and mumbling too quickly to really understand. So I had the boy sit, offered him some ale, which he took. Most likely he thought it was water, since he sputtered slightly as the stronger dwarven brew ran down his throat. We chatted for a while, the boy slowly calming down to explain to me what has happened.
Devlin had made a pact with the necromancer, Kel’Thuzad, being promised power for turning over his lands and people to the Scourge. Apparently the betrayer had been given command over the mills, wearing a scarlet cloak, though Aquizit muttered to himself he wasn’t sure if the cloak was always that color, or just dreadfully bloodstained by his own murders. Everyone… the workers, his own family, fell to the undead, rising again to live on for the Scourge. For what Aquizit called the Lich King. This was the first time I’d heard the term, sadly… now it’s one I hear far too often.
Aquizit opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by a piercing howl. His head snapped around to look, and my gaze followed him to the hilltop that he was gazing at. I saw him shudder next to me and he took a staggered step backwards, “They’re here.” I squinted my eyes, and I couldn’t believe what I saw! A skeleton stood atop the hill, rusted old armor covering his joints as best it could and a flowing red cape hanging from his shoulders. It had to be Devlin, the Betrayer. The most unsettling thing about him though, was his skull. It had a burning white fire around it, so bright that I had to turn away after staring at him for too long. Suddenly though, Aquizit had grabbed my hand and was tugging at it. “They’re coming!” he shouted, pointing to the undead force pouring over the hillside. I grabbed be boy's hand, pulling him along with me as a huffed through my beard, "Yer with me now boyo. Ah'll get yeh back t'where th'undead cannae touch yeh. Yeh have me word as a dwarf o' Ironforge. Ah promise yeh. Yeh'll live."
We ran. It was the only thing we could do, really. Almost two scores of ghouls chased us, claws almost reaching our backs. I egged the boy on in earnest, pushing him ahead of me as we ran from the screeching undead. I wouldn’t have minded to go down to save the lad, he had so much to live for, to fight back when he got older, where I… hmph, I would have probably just have enjoyed the excuse to have stories told about me by my brother, Borgas. Going down to the undead, but only after taking ten… no, twenty with me! Axe in each hand! Aye! That’s the way a good dwarf takes a fall!! Hm? Oh, aye, I digress again…
We had just made it into the Silverpine Forest, both the boy and myself slowing up somewhat, even with my military training, I was only a rifleman, and I couldn’t keep up with the speed I had been running at. The boy too was falling to fatigue, as we both gasped for breath we could hear the ravenous undead, coming ever closer. Just as I felt my legs would give out, a tiny glint caught my eye. It flashed a couple times, rhythmically as if it were… marching! Soldiers!! “C’mon lad! Ah see help up ahead! Jes a bit mer!” I shouted to my charge, putting on an extra sprint of speed, hearing the boy at my side do the same. I shouted out to the patrol, and they turned and spotted the undead behind us. Quickly the commander rapped out orders, and with swords drawn they charged the tireless undead force.
I suddenly heard a cry at my side, and a dull thud. I skidded to a stop and turned, finding my companion lying out upon the ground, tripping… or just collapsing from his body giving out on him after all the running. The ghouls bore down on him and from the other side the charging soldiers could trample him to death. Using the very last of my energy I burst back to him, grabbed at his outstretched arm and drug him off the road. The two opposing forces clashed just as his leg slipped off the path and into the brush on the side, but a single ghoul broke off from the pack, and slashed out at us. A shield from the nearest human shoved it aside, but I heard Aquizit scream in agony next to me as those razor-sharp talons pierced his calf.
I gritted my teeth and pulled him up on my shoulders, his blood leaking from the wound and draining down my arm. I realized that he was in more serious shape than I had originally thought and sprinted off into the woodlands, leaving the patrol to deal with the undead. Soon enough I found a farm, which I would find out later belonged to a man named Ivan. Gasping, I beat on the door, getting no reply. In my desperation I threw my weight at the wooden frame, breaking down the door and rushing inside and up the stairs. I lied the boy down upon the nearest bed, wrapping a spare piece of linen I had with me around his wound, staunching the bleeding for the time being, hoping that he had not lost too much blood. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, having not said a word to me since the attack.
We rested for awhile, having not heard anything outside. I figured the soldiers had taken care of the ghouls, which offered us some time to recover. Alas, it wasn’t to be, as Aquizit sat up with a cry, clutching at his wounded leg. Delicately I pried his hands off the wound, and my face paled at what I saw. The skin around the bandage was a sickly grey, and it seemed to be spreading out along his skin. I looked up to glance at how Aquizit was taking this, and I could see beads of sweat on his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. My heart wrenched at the sight of his eyes, glistening with unshed tears as he mouthed the word ‘No.’ without actually speaking it. I jumped back as the boy began to thrash on the bed, clawing at his leg as he began screaming out, “You won’t take me! You won’t! You won’t!” over and over again. His hands shot up to his head, trembling as the tears began to run, streaking down his face, staining the muddied face even further. “GET OUT!” he cried, pulling his hair from his scalp as I could only stand back in sheer horror, knocking over a chair in my haste.
He looked up, as if noticing me just now for the first time. “Help me…” he begged, reaching his arm out to point at me, my forehead matted down with my own cold sweat as his leg was now completely dead, watching as the exposed skin on the other began to turn that deathly color. “Don’t let him take me! Get him out of my head! I SAID GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” he screamed again, his fingernails scratching at his face, clawing away at the skin, little rivulets of blood running and mixing with the tears that poured from his eyes. I stumbled back again, falling onto my rear as I shook in terror, unable to move otherwise. My own eyes leaked the clear salty liquid, the tears staining my beard. I had failed. I told him I’d get him out, and I failed, and now this poor KID was fighting… not for his life, but for his soul. … … And he was losing.
Another scream brought me back to my senses, as Aquizit was now staring at his hands, the color changing in them now, and stiffening as the flesh and muscle in them began to die. Slowly, with fumbling fingers I drew my rifle, loading it and pointing it at the dying boy. He was still writing on the bed, and I struggled to keep my aim. Compounded with the tears still leaking from my eyes, this shot wasn’t going to be easy, even as skilled as I was with my marksmanship. I took a deep breath, steadying my aim. “Ah promised yeh, ah would nae let th’bugger Scourge take yeh, and by th’Light ah won’t! A Thunderfist dunnae back down on a promise!!” There was a click as my thumb pulled back the hammer.
Instantly Aquizit stopped, and stared at me, straight into the rifle that pointed directly at his face. My heart nearly stopped as his lips curled up some, smiling at me as the tears and blood still flowed from his youthful face. The grey tinge crawled up his neck as he whispered, “Thank you.”
I pulled the trigger, the hammer swung forward, and the house echoed with a single shot.
As told by Pylith Thunderfist.
Aquizit Palmatta, the final survivor of the Agamand Mills.
He was just a boy, only 15 when the plague first spread from Andorhal, though the rumors of the cult had reached the mills of Tirisfal months earlier, a group of crazed peasants following a similarly crazed necromancer. The ex-mage, Kel’Thuzad, dismissed from Dalaran and shamed to live in the annals of history, not as a brilliant mage as he had hoped, but as one who delved too deep into forbidden territory, searching to master the art of necromancy, despite the Kirin Tor’s rules against such magic. Aquizit wasn’t a mage though. He was only a simple farmhand, orphaned during the Second War by the ravenous Orcish Horde. Found upon the southern shore of Lordaemere Lake, in the northern reaches of the Alterac Mountains, Greggor Agamand found the infant, lost and alone, bloodied bodies, barely capable of being called once human next to the boy. The man gritted his teeth, scooping the boy up and holding him close to his chest. Aquizit’s dirtied cheek soiled even further by the bloodstained and tarnished armor of his savior, the acrid smell of orc-blood burning in his nostrils, a smell he’d remember for the remainder of his days.
Greggor brought the boy back to his camp, where he presented him to the commanding officer. It wasn’t uncommon for orphaned or abandoned youths to be found during the war, but the Captain was slightly agitated at the location of the bodies. There weren’t any towns to the north of Alterac, just the lake and then Fenris Isle. It meant that they had fled, and for some reason the orcs had chased them down. Why though, did they not harm the child? The officer spoke with Greggor momentarily, agreeing to the proposition that he could be brought back to the mills, using an empty caravan that had just delivered fresh supplies to the contingent as the method of transportation. And so, the boy’s life in Tirisfal began.
* * *
Several uneventful years passed, and Aquizit grew into a fine young man, always being the first to offer help to any who asked. He grew into the kind of boy one could always rely on, and he was always greeted by many friendly faces when he rode into Brill or Lordaeron with the Agamands. Although faintly he could hear the mutters about the Devlin boy with him. Devlin was a brash young man, the youngest of the Agamands, and the weakest too. He was always looked down upon by his brothers and the workers there, as he was always loud, and constantly in trouble. Rumors were spreading that he’d been seen late at night, consorting with the dark members of the cult, something which his family members adamantly denied, whether or not they knew it was true.
* * *
That’s all I know of the boy’s history I’m afraid, and that information was only given to me by those who escaped the Kingdom before the fall, leaving after they felt the Cult of the Damned grew too large and powerful for their comfort, leaving for the newly rebuild Stormwind. I fall into the tale upon my return from a scouting mission, having been sent out to march two days ahead of my main company, having been told of my scouting expertise from the Battle of Grim Batol. Heh, no no, I won’t be telling you that one, if you want to hear it, ask my brother, Borgas. He commanded the Airbourne Division. You know, the griffs! Fought against the Red Dragonflight! Ahem, I digress…
My orders were to meet up with the company at an old watchtower near the coast. It was a boring wait, to be sure. Half a day had gone by when I was awoken from a mid-day nap by a cry. Groggily I opened my eyes, swigging some ale I had leftover from my patrol to give me a kick start. I started upright as I saw a figure of a young boy huddled on the ground, a single undead monstrosity racing up after him from behind. Swiftly I picked up my rifle and took aim, blasting out a single shot that ripped the ghoul’s neck out from under his head, causing the creature to collapse to the ground.
I set down my rifle and helped the boy to his feet. He told me his name was Aquizit, and that the mills were under control of the Scourge. He mentioned something about a Betrayer, Devlin or something, but he was speaking and mumbling too quickly to really understand. So I had the boy sit, offered him some ale, which he took. Most likely he thought it was water, since he sputtered slightly as the stronger dwarven brew ran down his throat. We chatted for a while, the boy slowly calming down to explain to me what has happened.
Devlin had made a pact with the necromancer, Kel’Thuzad, being promised power for turning over his lands and people to the Scourge. Apparently the betrayer had been given command over the mills, wearing a scarlet cloak, though Aquizit muttered to himself he wasn’t sure if the cloak was always that color, or just dreadfully bloodstained by his own murders. Everyone… the workers, his own family, fell to the undead, rising again to live on for the Scourge. For what Aquizit called the Lich King. This was the first time I’d heard the term, sadly… now it’s one I hear far too often.
Aquizit opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by a piercing howl. His head snapped around to look, and my gaze followed him to the hilltop that he was gazing at. I saw him shudder next to me and he took a staggered step backwards, “They’re here.” I squinted my eyes, and I couldn’t believe what I saw! A skeleton stood atop the hill, rusted old armor covering his joints as best it could and a flowing red cape hanging from his shoulders. It had to be Devlin, the Betrayer. The most unsettling thing about him though, was his skull. It had a burning white fire around it, so bright that I had to turn away after staring at him for too long. Suddenly though, Aquizit had grabbed my hand and was tugging at it. “They’re coming!” he shouted, pointing to the undead force pouring over the hillside. I grabbed be boy's hand, pulling him along with me as a huffed through my beard, "Yer with me now boyo. Ah'll get yeh back t'where th'undead cannae touch yeh. Yeh have me word as a dwarf o' Ironforge. Ah promise yeh. Yeh'll live."
We ran. It was the only thing we could do, really. Almost two scores of ghouls chased us, claws almost reaching our backs. I egged the boy on in earnest, pushing him ahead of me as we ran from the screeching undead. I wouldn’t have minded to go down to save the lad, he had so much to live for, to fight back when he got older, where I… hmph, I would have probably just have enjoyed the excuse to have stories told about me by my brother, Borgas. Going down to the undead, but only after taking ten… no, twenty with me! Axe in each hand! Aye! That’s the way a good dwarf takes a fall!! Hm? Oh, aye, I digress again…
We had just made it into the Silverpine Forest, both the boy and myself slowing up somewhat, even with my military training, I was only a rifleman, and I couldn’t keep up with the speed I had been running at. The boy too was falling to fatigue, as we both gasped for breath we could hear the ravenous undead, coming ever closer. Just as I felt my legs would give out, a tiny glint caught my eye. It flashed a couple times, rhythmically as if it were… marching! Soldiers!! “C’mon lad! Ah see help up ahead! Jes a bit mer!” I shouted to my charge, putting on an extra sprint of speed, hearing the boy at my side do the same. I shouted out to the patrol, and they turned and spotted the undead behind us. Quickly the commander rapped out orders, and with swords drawn they charged the tireless undead force.
I suddenly heard a cry at my side, and a dull thud. I skidded to a stop and turned, finding my companion lying out upon the ground, tripping… or just collapsing from his body giving out on him after all the running. The ghouls bore down on him and from the other side the charging soldiers could trample him to death. Using the very last of my energy I burst back to him, grabbed at his outstretched arm and drug him off the road. The two opposing forces clashed just as his leg slipped off the path and into the brush on the side, but a single ghoul broke off from the pack, and slashed out at us. A shield from the nearest human shoved it aside, but I heard Aquizit scream in agony next to me as those razor-sharp talons pierced his calf.
I gritted my teeth and pulled him up on my shoulders, his blood leaking from the wound and draining down my arm. I realized that he was in more serious shape than I had originally thought and sprinted off into the woodlands, leaving the patrol to deal with the undead. Soon enough I found a farm, which I would find out later belonged to a man named Ivan. Gasping, I beat on the door, getting no reply. In my desperation I threw my weight at the wooden frame, breaking down the door and rushing inside and up the stairs. I lied the boy down upon the nearest bed, wrapping a spare piece of linen I had with me around his wound, staunching the bleeding for the time being, hoping that he had not lost too much blood. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, having not said a word to me since the attack.
We rested for awhile, having not heard anything outside. I figured the soldiers had taken care of the ghouls, which offered us some time to recover. Alas, it wasn’t to be, as Aquizit sat up with a cry, clutching at his wounded leg. Delicately I pried his hands off the wound, and my face paled at what I saw. The skin around the bandage was a sickly grey, and it seemed to be spreading out along his skin. I looked up to glance at how Aquizit was taking this, and I could see beads of sweat on his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. My heart wrenched at the sight of his eyes, glistening with unshed tears as he mouthed the word ‘No.’ without actually speaking it. I jumped back as the boy began to thrash on the bed, clawing at his leg as he began screaming out, “You won’t take me! You won’t! You won’t!” over and over again. His hands shot up to his head, trembling as the tears began to run, streaking down his face, staining the muddied face even further. “GET OUT!” he cried, pulling his hair from his scalp as I could only stand back in sheer horror, knocking over a chair in my haste.
He looked up, as if noticing me just now for the first time. “Help me…” he begged, reaching his arm out to point at me, my forehead matted down with my own cold sweat as his leg was now completely dead, watching as the exposed skin on the other began to turn that deathly color. “Don’t let him take me! Get him out of my head! I SAID GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” he screamed again, his fingernails scratching at his face, clawing away at the skin, little rivulets of blood running and mixing with the tears that poured from his eyes. I stumbled back again, falling onto my rear as I shook in terror, unable to move otherwise. My own eyes leaked the clear salty liquid, the tears staining my beard. I had failed. I told him I’d get him out, and I failed, and now this poor KID was fighting… not for his life, but for his soul. … … And he was losing.
Another scream brought me back to my senses, as Aquizit was now staring at his hands, the color changing in them now, and stiffening as the flesh and muscle in them began to die. Slowly, with fumbling fingers I drew my rifle, loading it and pointing it at the dying boy. He was still writing on the bed, and I struggled to keep my aim. Compounded with the tears still leaking from my eyes, this shot wasn’t going to be easy, even as skilled as I was with my marksmanship. I took a deep breath, steadying my aim. “Ah promised yeh, ah would nae let th’bugger Scourge take yeh, and by th’Light ah won’t! A Thunderfist dunnae back down on a promise!!” There was a click as my thumb pulled back the hammer.
Instantly Aquizit stopped, and stared at me, straight into the rifle that pointed directly at his face. My heart nearly stopped as his lips curled up some, smiling at me as the tears and blood still flowed from his youthful face. The grey tinge crawled up his neck as he whispered, “Thank you.”
I pulled the trigger, the hammer swung forward, and the house echoed with a single shot.