Secret War

[A L I V E]

Winter Wonderland

Alive falls quickly from the window and lands on a fair sized snowdrift that had built up along the sides of the outer wall. He can hear Matilda howling angrily at him from above, frustrated because it will not be able to follow him down due to its massive girth.

With some effort, Alive manages to right himself and begins trudging through the deep snow.

The howls are now emanating from the great fortress with renewed fervor; Alive adjusts his pace away from the structure accordingly. The dense snow slows him down, but the dead are not easily swayed from their desired course, and he continues until he reaches a small clearing ringed by tall healthy looking pines. The howls are further away now, and Alive draws out his enchanted swords ready and eager to meet the worgen.

Silence.

They have chosen not to pursue. Alive stands deathly still, not sure how to proceed yet. After several moments pass, the warrior relaxes and begins to walk in a generally westerly direction. The landscape is hilly, and there are many spots of verdant green flora at the lower elevations.

Sounds of metal striking metal are heard, he cannot pin point from where the sound is coming. He looks over his shoulder several times, checking for signs of the enemy. Alive draws out his weapons and begins running from tree to tree, as he is trying to locate the sound. Minutes later, he comes to a large scale deforesting operation.

He has posted himself behind a large conifer, using its many green branches as cover as he peers into the encampment. From here, he can see several goblin shredders busily at work cutting down or moving lumber all about. There are a myriad of races here, humans, dwarves, and goblins. He can even spot the occasional gnoll and…

“What you do here?” a brutish ogre wielding a spiked club yells down at Alive.

“I’m looking for somethin’ to eat.” Alive says smiling menacingly at the lout.

“Umm…you not sposed to be here! No food for you puny undead!!” the ogre shouts as he lunges at Alive with his large hand, seeking to grab the warrior.

The stupidity of the ogre race had always intrigued and amused Alive, and this particular one did not fail to meet his expectations. Alive dodges the long meaty arm of the ogre, and swings his cursed off hand sword at it, which severs the ogre’s hand off at the wrist.

The foolish ogre withdraws the bloody stump and looks at it sheepishly, and then goes berserk, and swings at Alive with his heavy spiked club.

“Me mad! You get smash in face!”

Alive rolls out of the way of the spiked club, moving to the ogre’s weakened left. He slashes at the crude animal furs exposing flesh and bone to the air. The enraged ogre roars louder and finally connects his club with Alive’s slightly too slow body. The warrior is sent skyward some twenty feet, but lands on his feet. Alive bellows forth a challenging shout, and the ogre comes lumbering forth at him at a full sprint.

Alive charges at the ogre, cutting the distance between them swiftly. The warrior begins to weave a fantastic display of swordsmanship, and succeeds in disarming the clumsy ogre. Alive finishes the humanoid with a crossing slash from his dual blades across the chest and right arm of the ogre. The Forsaken Warrior’s quarry falls flat on his back, arms splayed wide open for the deathblow. Alive kills the ogre quickly, and then sheathes his swords and begins to devour the still warm flesh of the giantkin.

“An impressive…if not gruesome display of combat, Warrior.” a voice says to him, interrupting his hasty meal.

Alive stands up, allowing pieces of gore to fall from his face and onto the grassy earth. The voice belongs to an ebon haired male blood elf, who wears the cloth garbs of a magister. The elf is not alone either, he is shadowed by a trio of bear men; more commonly called furbolgs.

“I got room for more vittles chump.” Alive says flexing at the new arrivals.

“Hahahahaaaa…ahhh. That will not be necessary my undead friend. I am Magus Astalor Flamefeather” he says and offers an exaggerated bow, “honored son of House Flamefeather, and loyal servant to Lady Sylvanas Windrunner.”

Alive snorts at the mage, and then adjusts his facial carapace. “…ok. And what about the rest of yer entourage?” he says as he points to the trio of furbolgs. The furbolgs shift uncomfortably as Alive mentions them.

“Hm? Ah! These fine fubolgs and I are on a mission to disable the Venture Company’s operations here in the Grizzly Hills.”

“…they seem a bit skittish elf.”

Astalor clears his throat, and motions for Alive to walk with him away from the furbolgs a bit.

“Achem…yes well…that is why I thought you may be able to help us. Before I happened along their meager camp most of their hunting party had already been slaughtered by the Venture Company. They begged me to help them seek revenge, and I naturally obliged.” Astalor says, obviously embellishing the story a bit.

“Naturally. Why should I help you Elf?” Alive asks as he places his clawed hand on the mage’s delicate shoulder.

Astalor removes Alive’s hand from his shoulder and steps back, as Alive had gotten a little too close to him.

“Of course I will share with you the rewards – paltry as they are. I also offer you a way out of this blasted forest. I will open a portal to Dalaran.”

“Nah, I like it here in Northrend.”

“Hahahahaaaa…ahhh. My dear Forsaken, Dalaran is no longer in Alterac. The wise spellbinders there moved the city several weeks ago to Northrend in order to combat the threat of the Blue Dragonflight.”

Alive considers the blood elf’s offer, and after several moments agrees.

Astalor clasps his effeminate fingers together and smiles broadly.

“Excellent! Come my friend, we have battle plans to discuss..oh..by the by, what is your name?” he asks.

“I am Alive.” the forsaken warrior responds, and then he returns to the ogre corpse to finish his meal.

[A L I V E]

Blood alone moves the wheels of history

Astalor, Alive and the three furbolg warriors scratch out a crude attack plan in the dirt. The mage places several small stones and sticks in the ground, roughly mirroring the landscape before them. Astalor happens to be an engineer, and plans to use his knowledge of explosive devices to destroy several key pieces of logging equipment.

“Alive, you take these explosives and place them here, here, and here. You three place one bomb…” Astalor frowns, showing some disgust as he points to an ogre eyeball, which Alive had graciously donated, “here at this, gah, ‘boulder’. The noise and flying debris should bring their little fighting force towards the opposite end of the basin. I will assist Alive with my magic. Without these mega shredders, the Venture Company will be forced to cease their operations here in the Grizzly Hills.”

After all had acknowledged agreement, the group checks their gear one last time and then makes their way down to where their group objectives lay.

“You sure they got the plan Astalor?” Alive asks as he draws out his weapons.

Astalor shrugs, and replaces a wayward strand of hair back behind his elongated ear.

“If they did not, we will know soon enough, Alive.” he says as he taps the warrior on his plated shoulder. The two dash in and out of the bushes around the Venture Company camp. They come to their designated waiting area and listen for the furbolg’s signal.

BOOM!

The explosion rattles the earth even at this distance. Alive looks at the mage and shakes his head, Astalor shrugs and smiles as he perches himself up over the bushes so that he may look down into the artificial valley and test out the effectiveness of the bomb.

The furbolgs scurry away, allowing the Venture Company’s forces to give chase.

As expected, several armed goblins and ogres run off towards the sound of the explosion. Astalor offers Alive a ‘high-five’ for the initial success of their strike, but Alive ignores the mage and takes off running towards the abandoned shredder.

Alive takes the bomb and tosses it into the cockpit of the mega shredder, he draws out his swords and howls wildly as he darts off towards a group of Venture Company loggers.

The Forsaken Warrior guts the closest logger, a sandy haired human male. He jerks his sword free quickly, allowing the man to fall to the ground in pain. The first of Alive’s bombs suddenly explode, sowing more chaos in the camp.

Astalor hurls a fireball at a gnoll rushing in to chop at Alive with his short axe, the creature drops the axe and begins running wildly in circles before finally falling down in a charred heap of leather and bone.

“Two more to go Alive!” Astalor says, cheering the warrior on as he polymorphs one of the Venture Company’s enforcer ogres; turning the behemoth into an ugly, but very timid sheep. Alive turns his attention quickly to the sheeped enemy.

Alive smiles as his face and forearm are bathed in a spray of blood, bursting out the transformed ogre. The assaulted ogre returns to his original form, clutching at a deep gash in his side.

Astalor wastes no time and hits the injured with another blast of arcane fire, searing the flesh on the right side of the ogre. He tries to limp away from the combined attack of sword and fire, but is hamstringed by Alive and falls to the earth. Alive seems to take great pleasure in executing the ogre, and then tosses a second bomb underneath his selected shredder.

The second shredder detonates a few seconds later, and Alive is quick to tackle Astalor, preventing him from being severed in half by flying shredder blade. Before the mage can thank him, the warrior is back on his feet and is running at full speed towards the final shredder, with an impossibly wide grin on his face.

[A L I V E]

City of Mages

One hour later, Alive, Astalor and the Frost Paw furbolg meet at a grassy knoll that had served as the furbolg camp the night before.

“Hey, there were three of you, what happened to the other?” Alive asks.

“Darkmaw was killed during the explosion.” the white-furred furbolg responded in low orcish. Alive shoots Astalor a sharp glance, causing the mage to blanch momentarily.

“Ach-hem. Yes, well there is still the matter of payment for our services.” Astalor says, as he wanted to shift the topic.

The large white bear man nods slowly at the blood elf and reaches into a satchel that had been slung over his shoulder. He pulls out several feathers, a few wolf teeth and an impressive cache of gemstones; placing them all onto the soft grass.

“Thank you Astalor, and Undead man thing. We will tell others of your bravery!” the furbolg says as he and his companion turn away and begin walking to the east. Astalor bows deeply at the departing furbolg and then quickly snatches up the baubles.

“Meh…this junk passes for currency out here?” Alive asks.

“Hahahahaaaa…ahhh. My dear Forsaken, these raw uncut gemstones can be traded for various regents in Dalaran. You’ll see.”

Alive picks up one of the purple nightseye stones and sniffs it. He returns the stone to Astalor, clearly unimpressed. The mage produces a palm sized grey colored stone, with golden symbols etched onto its surface from one of the many folds in his red and gold robe. He holds the stone close to his face and mumbles something in thalassian.

The stone begins to spin in the palm of his hand, and then he removes his hand. Alive watches curiously, as the stone continues to spin in mid air. The stone then suddenly explodes in a heat-less but intensely bright blast of white light, and behind it, an arcane gateway tears itself into reality.

“Come Alive, this portal will take you to Dalaran.”

Alive shakes his head, indicating a ‘no’.

“You go first.”

Astalor sighs, but nods at the warrior and then steps into the reality-warping disk hovering in front of him. When he is out of sight, Alive follows. The Forsaken Warrior emerges from the portal onto the streets of the infamous ‘Magical Nation of Dalaran’.

The immaculately clean streets are made of brown cobblestone, with gold accents worked into them. Several spires reach towards the heavens each decorated with huge violet colored warding stones, and connecting bridges with free-floating residential towers are seen high above.

There are fewer people here than Alive thought there would be, and he wonders if they are still in the process of bring in the remaining population left behind in Alterac and Silverpine. Several of the city’s guards glare at Alive menacingly as he walks with Astalor, eager for the opportunity to place Alive into the gallows.

Alive smiles at the men with grim resolve, but does not make any overtly threatening gestures at the guards; they are after all only doing their duty. The two stop at a magnificently decorated library, with thousands of spell books adorning the heavy wooden bookshelves. A wizened theurgist dressed in the purple and gold garb of the magocracy greets them.

“Magister Astalor, I trust your good faith mission to the Frost Paw tribe went well?” the old mage asked, ignoring the walking corpse who was scanning him intensely. Alive notices that the old man’s grey beard is neatly braided and hangs down to his knees. His eyes are brown, but a fire still burns within the orbs. Alive surmises he must still be a powerful spell weaver.

“Yes Master Korrigan, it was. Along the way I encountered this Forsaken.” Astalor says, as he turns with an open palm towards Alive. “..who helped me to gain some of the Frost Paw’s trust.”

Alive nods slowly at Korrigan, who again takes no notice of the undead.

“Excellent. When you are rested, Chief Artificer Norlan would like a word with you.” Astalor bows respectfully and turns to walk back out of the library. Korrigan glances at Alive and winces ever so slightly, before returning to his desk full of dusty scrolls and parchments. If Alive was insulted, his expressionless face did not give it away.

Outside the library, Astalor waits for the warrior.

“Ah, there you are Alive. Here, take this.” he says as he hands him a small emerald cut into the shape of an owl. “..this device will allow us to communicate over great distances, you need not shout into it a whisper will suffice. I am going to retire to my residence there..” he points to one of the floating towers above, “…take this letter to the inn, and your berthing will be secured for the evening.”

“Yer assuming I’m interested in hangin’ around here Astalor.” Alive says taking the gem and the letter from the blood elf.

“Hahahahaaaa…ahhh. Alive, if you were not interested, you would not have stepped into the portal.” The mage bows before Alive and then teleports himself home.

Alive shrugs and walks towards Dalaran’s inn.

[A L I V E]

You Can Not Enlighten the Unconscious

The next day, Alive steps out into the magically created spring time air of the floating city of Dalaran. Within his decomposing mind, he contemplates the sheer amount of arcane knowledge needed to move a large land mass like this, let alone keep it suspended in air for an indefinite amount of time. Deep inside his dark soul, he admires the fortitude of the humans here.

Like his own people, they were nearly destroyed by the Burning Legion (via their proxy army of the Scourge); and like the Forsaken, the people of Dalaran have found a way to survive and have rebuilt much of their great society.

“Alive? are you up yet? Honestly I am uncertain if the dead have a need to sleep…” the gemstone whispers to Alive from one of his pockets. He pulls out the green colored owl trinket and holds it up to his mouth.

“Sleep is unnecessary, I go into a deep meditation to refocus my mind. The Lich King’s call is stronger here due to his proximity.” Alive responds.

“…ahh…I see. When you are ready, please join me at the westernmost spire; we have a meeting with a man of some importance.”

“…right.” Alive says, tucking the trinket back into his pocket. He sighs deeply, and is only very slightly aware of his fondling of his most favored trinket, the Dark Moon card, Madness.

Meanwhile, in an office atop the westernmost spire, Astalor sits comfortably in a plush blackwood chair provided for him by Chief Artificer Norlan, an archmage whose skill at spell constructing is said to rival that of the late Antonidas. There is a bottle of extra dry Pinot Noir sitting on a small black table between them, and Astalor has already filled his jeweled goblet to the brim. Norlan, a young looking yellow haired human mage (no doubt an illusion created to sate his own vanity) is first to speak.

“Magister, the Violet Citadel has invited you here because of the role you played in Karazhan.”

“Artificer, it was my pleasure to assist.” the blood elf replies, as he raises his goblet to the senior ranking magician.

“Indeed. And now, we are going to ask much more from you. You are aware of the recent actions of the Azure Dragonflight?”

The blood elf swallows hard before responding.

“Yes…yes I am.”

The Artificer rises to his feet and walks over to a nearby window. After sufficient time has passed for a dramatic pause, Norlan speaks again.

“Astalor, you are to go to the Nexus and scout the area. We wish for you to gather as much information as you can about Malygos and his brood.”

The door suddenly swings wide open, and Alive stomps into the room, his plate armor rattling and scraping together nearly as loudly as the sound of his footfalls onto the floor.
He walks right up to Norlan and introduces himself.

“I am Alive.”

The Artificer covers his mouth quickly to keep the vomit down, as he is affected by Alive’s stench of death, and then opens the window to allow in some fresher air.

“ahh…Artificer, this is my traveling associate. It was with his help I was able to forge a working relationship with the natives of the Grizzly Hills.” Astalor says, trying to break up the suddenness of Alive’s arrival. He is quick to shoo him away from the ‘personal zone’ (that invisible space around themselves most people create) of Norlan and directs Alive to a chair. However, being the stalwart combatant that he is, Alive refuses and decides to stand instead.

“Welcome…Alive. During these trying times, war makes for some strange bedfellows. I was just explaining to Astalor the details of his next tasking…”

Alive raises a boney hand up towards the caster.

“What ya need killed?”

Norlan’s skin changes to a deep red, and before he can speak Astalor jumps up to intervene.

“My Lord, please forgive my associate, he obviously is not schooled in the general niceties of life here in Dalaran.” He turns to the Forsaken and says, “…Alive if you would, please return to the inn. I will whisper you when we are done here.”

The warrior snorts at the raven haired blood elf, then adjusts his facial carapace. He exits the room as requested, but not before sneering evilly at Norlan.

Some time later, while Alive is enjoying a stomach churningly rare frost wolf rump steak at the inn, Astalor returns from his meeting with the Chief Artificer. Alive is easy to single out, as there are no other Forsaken in Dalaran at the moment, and no one is willing to sit near him to engage in any type of conversation. So, Alive wound up have about a third of the whole restaurant alone to himself.

This did not seem to bother him one bit at all.
“Well, that went well.” Astalor says, seating himself across from the still feeding Alive.

“…so, what we gotta kill?” Alive asks as he bites into the slab of meat, allowing its juices to fall where they may.

“…ugh…you have a bit of…ah…well…nevermind. The mage council wishes that I gather a team of adventurers and find my way into the Nexus.”

“…hrum…what’s that?” Alive asks as he violently wrenches a bone out of the meat and into his awaiting mouth.

“The Nexus is an ancient ice fortress found in the center of Coldarra, in Northrend's Borean Tundra. It is a column of magical energy surrounded by levitating, earth-covered rings with a myriad of ice caves underneath. The main compartments we are concerned with are the ‘Ice Caverns’ and the ‘Oculus.’”

“Why those two?”

“Because the Kirin Tor believes Malygos resides in one of those two places.”

“…fair enough. How many days ride is it from here?”

“No path exists; in many places an archway opens onto a vast open chamber and the blue dragons simply fly across to another portal placed somewhere on the other side. I’m told the outermost chambers are dotted with lifelike ice statues, the statues are the remains of uninvited guests, transformed by dragon magic and placed there as a warning.” Astalor says as he tries to politely offer Alive a cloth napkin.

“…don’t make it easy do they? So, how we gonna get in?” Alive replies as he takes his clawed hand and wipes away the remaining bits of food and juices from his face. He then wipes his hand on the tablecloth.

“The Kirin Tor are attempting to secure access with the help of one of the Red Dragonflight’s kin. If they are successful a magical gate will be opened to the lair.”

“…right. Guess I’d better get ready. Say, can you cover this bill for me? I seem to have left my coin purse in Outland.” Alive says as he gets up and walks out of the dining room.

Astalor continues to sit at the table for several moments, slack jawed and in awe at the audacity of the undead fighter.

[A L I V E]

War Would End if the Dead Could Return

At dawn, Alive and Astalor are escorted to a dark and dimly lit office below the streets of Dalaran. Moments after their arrival, they are joined by three others, an orcish Blade Master, a night elf Priestess of the Moon, and a crazed looking goblin Alchemist.

“Alive, allow me to introduce the other team members.” Astalor says, but is cut short by the burly green-skinned orc.

“I am Moogul the Sly, of the Bleeding Hollow Clan.” the orc bellows, as he proudly displays the empty left eye socket and long scar on his face.

“…yes…achem…and this is Delas Moonfang” he says and the statuesque blue haired night elf female nods to Alive, “…and lastly we have Mister Razzil Naypolm, a long time friend of mine.”

“Hiya doin’?” Razzil says as he tilts his head up at Alive.

“Ah, I see your team is ready to go then, Magister?” a sixth person suddenly chimed in. The party turns in the direction of the high-pitched voice and sees a diminutive gnome wizard, dressed in a flamboyant red and white robe with bright red hair that sticks straight up from his large round head.

“What is it with you dragons wanting to look like gnomes?” Alive asks, garnering strange glances from the rest of the party.

“Very good Alive, may I present to you Surristrasz of The Wymrest Accord.” Astalor says, bowing low towards the dragonkin.

“You are all going into the heart of a great calamity. Be there any of you who wish to stay behind, now is the time to speak.” Surristrasz warns. He looks around the room, making eye contact with each member individually. “Very well, you are all brave and strong. I wish you all a safe return.”

Surristrasz takes a step back, and then begins to wave his tiny arms in front of him erratically. The room shakes violently, and is filled with a reddish purple light. The dragonkin suddenly roars and the sound of glass shattering against a hard surface is heard in the ears of the party members.

When the light subsides, the party finds themselves atop the lip of a great snow capped crater. Above them, the skies swirl angrily, a violent arcane storm rages, radiating magical energies past them and into the mouth of the crater.

“Welcome to The Nexus fellows!” Astalor shouts over the bitterly cold wind. “We should get going; this storm will surely blow us off into oblivion if we stand here for much longer!”

All nodded in agreement, and the two melee fighters drew out their swords and took up the lead. Delas’ keen eyes were the first to spot the irregular stairway leading further into the brightly illuminated abyss.

Down they descend, moving slowly against the rocky wall. Razzil nearly topples over after a strong up draft catches him off guard, luckily, Astalor was close enough to grab him by his backpack and help him steady himself again. The grateful goblin smiles a toothy grin in appreciation.

After several long minutes, the party comes to the mystical gates of the Nexus. Below them, huge spindly blue dragons are popping in and out of existence through various portals. Astalor reaches into the folds of his heavy overcoat and produces a flawless diamond. He sets it on the snow-covered ground and mouths the words of a spell.

The diamond bursts into a cool purple flame. The mage directs Alive toss the stone into the abyss, and Alive complies by ‘putting’ the enchanted rock with the tip of his sword.
As the stone falls into the arcane vortex, it shatters and its pieces leave a distinct trail of purple shards towards one portal in particular.

“Well done Astalor, the path is made known to us.” Delas says to her much shorter companion.

“That don’t tells us how we sposed to get to that gate.” Moogul replies, followed by a snort from Alive.

“Haha! Leave that to me!” Razzil says as he drops his heavy looking backpack. He pulls out a lengthy black rope, two long spiked bolts, and produces a disassembled harpoon rifle. “Moogul, how much do you weigh?” Razzil asks.

“hrumm…dunno maybe sixteen stones? Been awhile since I bothered to check.” The one-eyed blade master replies as his thick black hair blows all about his green-skinned face.

The goblin alchemist rubs his stubby chin, as he is wrapped in deep thought. After a few moments, he replaces the thin black rope with a thicker green rope, all coming forth from his seemingly bottomless bag. He hammers down a spike right were he stood, and ties off one end of the rope. Next, he assembles his rifle and the harpoon spike and then takes aim towards where the magical purple stream ends.

KA-POW!

His aim is true, even in the ever-shifting air currents of the irregularly shaped cave and hits his mark just above the portal entrance. Razzil tugs at the rope and inspects the anchoring spike, when satisfied he turns towards the others.

“Job’s done! Let’s go!!” he shouts as he hands each member a steel carabiner and another, but much shorter length of rope. He fashions the rope around his small waist and hooks the carabiner onto the rope. He smiles wildly at them and is gone, sliding down the rope and towards the portal. Seconds later, he vanishes from sight.

“Well, I suppose we should follow.” Delas suggests, but not before offering a small prayer to Elune to protect them.

[A L I V E]

Precipice of Madness

Moments later the team emerges on the other side of the magical portal. The room is not particularly cavernous, but it is wide enough for a dragon to move unimpeded down to the other end. The walls and floor are completely smooth, colored a magnificent cerulean, and polished to an eerily perfect shine. Several life-like statues also line this crystalline corridor (each frozen in pain or horror) which breaks off into two directions at the end.

Alive pauses at one of the statues and taps it in the midsection.

“What is it Undead?” Moogul asks in a low growl, his large black eye darting around seeking an unseen threat.

“…I think I know this guy. Meh.” Alive responds as then continues to tap at the statue.

“Keep moving, we do not know how long before another wrym will appear behind us.” Delas says as she takes her staff and points the two down the hall. The group stops at the fork at the end of the long corridor.

“Where to now Boss?” Razzil asks as he adjusts his large sallow goggles.

Astalor shrugs as he draws his cloak tighter around his small frame.

“Honestly I am unsure, we are visitors here – unwelcomed ones at that. We will have to just see what we can see.” he says.

“Let’s go left.” Alive says.

“Why left?” Moogul ponders.

“It smells meatier.” Alive replies as he licks his dry, cracked lips.

Delas sighs loudly and rubs her head, as if trying to block the absurdity of the undead warrior’s logic.

“Left is just as good as right I suppose…” Astalor says, as he places a hand on the taller elf’s shoulder. And with that, the group proceeds down the left corridor.

“STOP! You will go no further intruders!” a feminine voice echoes through the hall. Alive and Moogul draw out their weapons and charge forward slightly, but return quickly when they see there is no threat ahead.

“Who are you?” Astalor shouts back as casts his own fiery wards about himself.

“I am Sofera, Mage Hunter and servant to Lord Malygos.” she responds.

“Mage Hunter, do you know what your ‘lord’ is doing? He is a danger to us all!” Delas shouts.

“Silence, wench! You least of all should be standing in the way of The Spellweaver! It was your people’s errant use of arcane energies that nearly destroyed Azeroth all those years ago!”

“You are wasting your time Delas, I know of this Sofera. She was once of the Kirin Tor, and instead of taking up arms against Malygos, she sided with him in a bid to retain her magical powers.” Astalor says.

“So there’s no need for negotiations then!” Razzil says as he produces a volatile looking beaker from his large backpack. “…I’m gonna seal this entrance behind us! You guys better start running forward!”

Moogul looks to the Forsaken, and then points at Razzil. Alive runs past him and the two elves towards the goblin alchemist. Delas looks at the goblin in bewilderment, but that passes quickly when Alive grabs her by the arm tugs hard, ushering her towards the rest of the group.

“Make ready yer bomb Razzil, I got yer back!” Alive shouts.

“Fools! I will make more pretty statues of your corpses!!” Sofera taunts.

The team charges forward down the hall, as Razzil and Alive set the ingredients for the explosion. Suddenly, Razzil is struck in the shoulder by an arcane bolt from the statue room. Alive roars with blood curdling fury, and charges into the room.

In the room a lone wizard stands. The hooded caster is adorned in rich cobalt colored robes with tiny amethysts accents flowing down from the shoulders to the arms. An odd bluish fog emanates from beneath the folds of the magician’s garb, as if winter itself was contained beneath its folds. The caster removes the hood, to reveal the face of a pallid looking human female. Her once blond hair is now a mass of glass like shards sticking out from her head. Her eyes are as blue as the North Sea, and seem to harbor just as much power behind them. A wry smile forms upon her slender blue lips.

“I am Sofera, and this is where you will die creature.”

Alive shakes his head at Sofera, indicating a ‘no’.

“Been dead once already, didn’t sit well wit’ me.” Alive says, as he slowly begins to walk towards the mage hunter.

“Undead, I will enjoy shaping your flesh into my latest masterpiece!” she shouts as the air around her sudden drops in temperature.

“I…AM…ALIVE!!” he shouts as he engages the wizard in single combat.

[A L I V E]

Insanity is Often the Logic of an Accurate Mind Overtaxed

The mage hunter enters combat with the same tricks Alive had witnessed during his brief stint as a defender of the orc’s Warsong Gulch. He dives out of her line of sight, and leans against one of the statues in the hall.

“You cannot hide from me!” Sofera yells.

Alive pulls out his felsteel knife and hurls it at the caster’s face. Sofera shrieks in surprise and blasts the knife off course with her arcane magic. While distracted, Alive charges her, stunning her and knocking the wind out of her lungs. He follows up his tackle with a quick jab to the throat, temporarily silencing the caster.

Sofera, however is far from defenseless without her magics. As Alive brings his left sword across to slash at her midsection, Sofera quickly steps inside the swing arc and grasps his forearm. She then spins to her right, and with her back against his chest, elbows Alive several times in the face before she throws him over her shoulder.

Alive slides several meters away before he regains control of himself. He pops to his feet just in time to avoid a barrage of arcane missiles aimed at his position. He leaps through the air, landing a heavy boot square onto the chest of Sofera.

She grunts loudly, and is sent flying several feet through the air. She collides with an icy statue of a dwarven hunter, smashing the image as she hits it.

“…you…have not beaten me undead!” she cries out, spitting out blood.

She raises her hands above her head and in a flash of bluish white light, she transforms into an armored dragonkin. She now towers over Alive and stares at him angrily. Alive snorts and adjusts his facial carapace.

Before she can carry out any dark deeds, a bloodied, but not defeated Razzil rises to his feet and completes the explosive device, sealing the entrance from the two combatants. The force of the detonation rocks the cavern and spreads shards of rock and ice ubiquitously.

Sofera is impaled by sharp barb of jagged rock, and is flung into the far wall. As her transformed body begins to shut down, she notices a laughing Forsaken warrior near the entrance to the second catacomb. With her last bit of magical energies, she hurls a well placed frost bolt at the head of her adversary.

Alive eats a mouthful of arcane snow as his head is wrapped in a blast of freezing ice. He staggers backwards several steps before toppling head over heels down the natural stairway of the corridor.

[A L I V E]

Insanity Destroys Reason, But Not Wit

Alive awakes to find himself stripped of his precious armor and weapons. As he inspects himself, he is very surprised to find his Darkmoon Card still in his possession, tucked into his belt and decides to ponder that detail later. His hands and legs are pinned to the wall, sealed in blocks of ice. As he scans the room he sees that he is not alone.

Two heavily armed blue dragonkin stare at him angrily, their heavy three pronged spears are pointed at him, ready to sunder his leather like skin the moment he shows any aggression.

Alive sighs, and the clears his throat. The two dragonkin shift uncomfortably, and he can hear them tightening their grip on their polearms.

“…Hello gents…what’s on today’s menu?” Alive asks, but his question is answered with a quick jab to the gut by one of the dragonkin.

“…kafawargh…is that the best you’ve got?” Alive responds, and gets another punch, this time to the ribs.

“Enough.” an icy voice calls out. The two dragonkin part ways, revealing a doorway behind them and a huge blue draknoid enters the room.

“I am Varos Cloudstrider, Azure-Lord of the Blue Dragonflight.” the draknoid says as he strides confidently towards the Forsaken warrior. He is adorned with jeweled plate shoulder pieces, with matching vambraces and boots; and on his back a huge two handed sword, decorated with blue dragon accents rests easily, on his hip a shorter war sword lay in its hilt. With a wave of his hand, Varos sends out the guards, and the door slides silently down, sealing them inside.

“…hmm…does that mean you are a king or somethin’?” Alive asks, as he twists his bald head to one side awkwardly, as if to get a better look at the humanoid dragon-like creature.

“HAHAHAahahaaha! Yes, something like that. You are an odd creature undead. I have heard that there are many free willed undead roaming about Northrend these days.”

“Truth.”

“So, I can easily tell you are not a servant of the Lich King, nor are you some renegade Death Knight. Tell me undead, why are you here?”

“I likes the scenery.” Alive says, smiling stupidly.

“Is that so?” Varos replies. Suddenly, the larger blue draknoid tears Alive free of his icy prison and tosses him across the room. The warrior collides with an icy wall and rolls down its side, landing with a loud thud.

Alive spits up the greenish black ooze that passes for blood onto the reflective icy floor. Varos stalks him slowly, and picks him up easily in one hand. He pulls Alive close to his face, so that the two may see each other eye to ‘eye’.

“You will know exquisite pain should you trifle with me fool!” the dragonoid snarls at him.

“…what is it with you people? All yer threats, all your posturing...” Alive says as he claws at the great dragonoid’s eye, gouging him and forcing him to drop Alive.

“…when you have an opportunity to kill somethin’, you should take it.” Alive leaps at the soft under belly of the dragonoid, and begins to voraciously tear at the flesh. Varos reaches for Alive but finds that the little undead is too slippery for him, as Alive is now covered in Varos’ own blood.

Alive snatches the two handed sword from Varos’ back, and wielding the massive blade in one hand eviscerates the dragon lord. The door suddenly opens and a small force of blue dragons rushes into the room. There is no escape now, and the warrior is resigned to his fate.

He closes his eyes, and thinks back to his early days. He remembers the words of one of his first trainers, a forsaken going by the name of Dannal Stern.

“Even when you are surrounded by several enemies set to attack, fight with the thought that they are but one.”

Another voice meanders into the Forsaken’s head. A tiny, but familiar voice.

“So, it looks like you’ve made them mad.”

“Yep.” Alive responds as the dragonkin slowly encircle him. He reaches down and removes Varos’ war sword. He is feeling more comfortable with two swords back in his hands.

“Well, they deserved it, didn’t they?”

“I’d have to agree.”

“We’ll show them, when we are done, we’ll be wearing their innards as ornaments!”

“…hehehehehe..heheaahHAHEAHAAEHAHWAMUAHAHAHAAH!!”

Alive bursts into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, as he parries the first strike from one of the angry pack of dragonkin.

[A L I V E]

Decent into Madness

Tired, raggedy and beaten to the point of near unconsciousness, Alive is brought before the Azure Lord himself, Malygos. The aspect looks down upon the broken husk of Alive with a deepening disgust.

“This is what has caused my home so much trouble as of late?” Malygos asks, an open question to any of the other great blue dragons and high ranking mages hunters lurking within his arcane lair.

“My Lord, this being was not alone in the assault of the Nexus. Reports indicate a second group still fighting within the Ice Caverns, we shall have them contained shortly.” replies one of the blue dragonkin.

The Spell Weaver exhales loudly, and sighs. “This undead has the stink of high magic about him. Although he clearly has no aptitude for dealings in the arcane.”

“I believe I know the reason as to why milord.” A blue haired female high elf dressed in fine dark blue robes says to the aspect.

“Speak Tyrygosa.” Malygos implores her.

“The mana signature is quite clear to me. This is the work of Professor Thaddeus Paleo of the Darkmoon Faire.” She reaches for the small trinket tucked away into one of Alive’s pockets, as she does so, her fingers are bent awkwardly backwards by some unseen force. She screams out in pain as she quickly retracts her damaged hand.

“It seems you cannot remove it Tyri, this artifact is bound to this undead’s pitiful soul.” says one of the mage hunters.

Malygos roars in anger, shaking the cavern with his fury.

“Destroy it and this abomination, even Alexstrasza would not disagree with the destruction of this falsehood of life!” the mighty aspect commands, and several dragonkin unsheathe their weapons and move in for the kill.

“Wait!” Tyrygosa protests as she moves to place herself between Alive and his would be executioners.

The mighty blue dragon turns to question his child, but she speaks up before he can protest her insolence.

“My Lord…Father. This creature is no doubt an agent of the Red Aspect. Rather than destroy it, I would suggest we amplify the magics bound to this being and set it loose upon them. Set their weapon against them! We are too few, and your efforts to turn our own Red Dragon ‘guest’ over to our will have been…less than fruitful?” she says, allowing her words to sting the great blue aspect slightly.

Weeks earlier, Malygos had commissioned the kidnapping of one of Alexstrasza’s female children, and had been trying to brain wash the young dragon into becoming his new consort; so that he may father a new generation of blue dragons.

The aspect’s azure eyes narrow in suspicion of his daughter, but he says nothing. He merely nods his head and a surge of arcane energy leaps from his body and onto Alive. The Forsaken Warrior lurches and twists violently on the cold stone floor, and then begins to softly babble incoherently to himself.

“Open a portal to the Badlands, re-arm the undead and set him loose upon our enemies.” Tyrygosa orders. As the dragonkin and mage hunters set off to work, she kneels down and whispers into Alive’s ear.

“…now my debt to you for your help in Netherstorm is repaid. I am sorry that in exchange for your life I have sacrificed your sanity.” she says as she places a hand onto the whimpering warrior’s shoulder, “…I can only hope that in time you are able find peace.”

Several hours later, Alive awakes to find himself in a below ground crypt surrounded by long dead warriors. He is unsure of how he arrived in this location, nor is he certain of where he is or how long he’s been gone.

He is sitting on a throne, and a fine broadsword sits next to him. The voices in his head begin to stir, goading him and taunting him. Unable to resist, the Forsaken Warrior takes up the sword and makes his way out of the underground crypt.

The stiflingly hot air slightly parches Alive’s throat, and he seeks to sate his thirst with blood. He stands atop a small hill and looks around him. He’s in a desert, but one that is not unfamiliar to him.

He smiles broadly.

He takes a deep breath.

…and he shouts…

“I…AM…ALIVE!!!”

and takes off at full sprint towards his fate.

THE END....?