Slain by Elf

A little while back I had been tasked to bring the head of Nagaz to an official in Southshore, so that the death of this leader would quell the threat his group posed. With a little help from Azrail we headed up the shore of Alterac and, after fighting through some assassins standing guard, we found his hideout, spying Nagaz inside with some of his men. I targeted Nagaz with a spell and he noticed me and ran out, with all his guards in tow, including a couple more assassins I hadn't seen. Even though we killed Nagaz and I grabbed his head, I was killed in the process and needed to find my body to reunite the spirit and flesh before I could complete the quest. Azrail managed to sneak away before the bloody end, so he was okay.

A week or so later it seemed that the threat of Nagaz was still around, and that he had been resurrected by some high-level member of his unit as Azrail was tasked with killing him and getting his head. He asked me for some help, as well as from Morwen, what with the difficulty we had last time. Again, we headed up the coast to avoid most of his guards, and found his hideout. He was in the same place.

Preparing for the rush of guards, I targeted Nagaz again with an amplified Curse of Agony. This time, though, he ran out of the hideout without any of his men following. This gave us a 3-on-1 advantage and we beat him easily. Quite why he ran past everyone else in the hideout without asking for their help I don't know. Maybe he recognised me and thought I'd be a walkover, not noticing the two stealthed rogues standing next to me. Still, it was a damn good pull to get him out alone.

We then went in the hideout and killed his guards for failing to protect him.

Last night I was on my way back to Dustwallow Marsh from Stormwind City to try to complete a part of a quest my warlock trainer had given me. I had flown in to Menethil Harbour and saw the ship to Theramore Isle sitting in the dock, so I ran down the pier in the hope of catching it, but I was not fast enough. I wasn't the only one both to want to get on that ship and to miss it, as Xanks, a stranger to me in all but our being adventurers, came to a stop at the end of the pier next to me, a little breathless himself. I voiced out loud that I hoped that that hadn't been the last ship of the night, as I had places to go, but so tired was he that he lay down right there and fell asleep!

With that, I sat down and waited for the next ship, were there another one on the way. It wasn't long before Xanks said something, which I took to be in a foreign tongue, despite him being human, until I realised that he was babbling in his sleep. I thought to myself that if he were to go further in to his slumber and start sleepwalking he could end up very wet, what with him being so close to the end of the pier.

And what do you know, it was as if he could read my very thoughts and act on them, as no sooner had I thought that than he stood up lazily and started inching, step by step, to the edge of the pier! He was getting closer and closer, seemingly oblivious to the drop in to the harbour that awaited him. Even if he were to awake when immersed, he would still miss the next ship, and what if he didn't wake in time? I had to do something. I got up and interposed myself between Xanks and the edge of the pier, but he brushed me aside, once, then twice. As dangerous as it is supposed to be to awaken sleepwalkers I had no other option, so I shouted for him to stop!

He became alert as I shouted, and stumbled backwards on to his rear. 'Where am I?', he asked.

'Menethil Harbour. Don't you remember?', I replied.

'No. I think I've had a little too much ale this evening,' said he, to which I agreed.

The next ship came soon afterwards, and we both made it on and then off the other side at Theramore Isle without further incident. We said our farewells, and I think I saw him then head off towards the inn. Ah well.

Yesterday evening, I wandered back to the inn in Stormwind City and found my Elven friend Azrail sitting quietly in the corner. I greeted him and offered him a drink and a tale, which he accepted. I sat down at the table and began recounting my adventuring tale of the day.

I had been in Desolace earlier, searching for some materials needed for a new robe, one that a more powerful warlock would make for me. Whilst in Desolace, I came across a goblin trading caravan, although they were not moving down the road. Asking the lead goblin why he was not travelling further he told me that the next stretch of road would take them past the centaurs' village, and when the caravan hears the bells tolling they fear that they will not be safe. He then asked if I would mind escorting them, being a protector, so to speak. Well, I have nothing against goblins and have been attacked by many centaurs in the past, and the reward the goblin offered looked quite nice. I agreed to help them.

We set off down the road, past the centaur village. The goblin was right to be worried, because every now and again some centaurs would appear as if from nowhere and attack the caravan, hoping to steal its goods. Whilst there were several centaurs attacking at once and just myself and my demon, Makgrave, hired to protect the caravan, the Kodos of the caravan put up a good fight as well, being large and dangerous beasts when provoked, so we saw off the centaur threat.

However, the last time the centaurs attacked, a wandering lightning lizard, perhaps wondering in the confusion of battle if I was attacking its Kodo cousins, wandered close and started attacking me. As I was still fighting the centaurs, trying to keep the caravan safe, this extra threat and damage was something I didn't need. Luckily, we fought off the centaurs and we could all then deal with the threat of this lightning lizard. And once it was down the caravan was able to move on.

I noticed something on the dead lizard though, and stopped briefly to pick it up. Imagine my delight when I found it was a large sack, big enough to store 12 items at once. This was worth the hassle of fighting it at the same time as the centaurs, as the sack is the largest container I currently own, barring my main knapsack. On top of that, the caravan had safely passed the centaur village and had thanked and rewarded me. It had been a good quest.

Azrail heard my tale with his normal interest and, when hearing about my good find of the bag on the lizard, commented, 'It has been my experience that beasts drop bags more often than humanoids.' He then added, in typical dry, Elven humour, 'Perhaps they use them to store their nuts and things.'

'Do you mean to say', I replied, 'that what I picked up was a Kodo nut sack?!'

'Well, why do you think it was so large?'

He had a good point. Still, it's a nice and large bag, so I'm keeping it. I just won't keep any food in there.

Naturally cautious in a dungeon rumoured to be full of undead creatures and other nasty monsters, when our party came across a room with an opened sarcophagus containing a skeletal figure with a sword lain across it and another mouldy body lying on the floor our first instincts weren't to rush in and examine things closely. Being brave adventurers we also did not turn away and leave the room untouched. We entered slowly and carefully looked at the skeletal figure for signs of animation and at the sarcophagus for any signs of writing or symbols indicating who this might be. As for the figure on the floor, we looked from a distance but were not interested enough to turn it over or search its pockets.

The room seemed, like its occupants, to be lifeless, and so we decided to continue our dungeon delving elsewhere, heading back to the main corridor. On the way out my foot clumsily caught the mouldy body on the floor, nudging it slightly. When this happened I thought I saw a sign of movement, but not from the body itself. I then felt quite sickly, as if my health had been drained from me. As a party, we exitted the room quickly and I asked the Cleric to examine my foot to see if she could determine if there was something amiss.

The bad news was that she did indeed find something wrong, although it was good news that she found it and found it quickly. It seems that the mouldy body in the room had been overrun with Rot Grubs and when my foot accidentally brushed against it one of them took the opportunity to jump across and burrow in to my leg. This is where our Mage's knowledge of dungeoneering came in very handy, as he knew that we had to act quickly and that fire applied to the grub would kill it off.

We are all pretty sure that the Paladin knew this as well, as he was awfully quick to apply a lit torch to my leg, almost smiling to himself as I felt the searing pain on my skin. It's lucky that he was successful in killing the Rot Grub: lucky for me as it meant I was still alive; lucky for him as he could then explain to his god why he apparently tortured me. I'm still not sure that Paladins are supposed to act like this.

After another day of adventuring Grimbor and I found ourselves relaxing in the inn in Menethil Harbour, taking the opportunity to have a few drinks while we were there. Well, I was with a Dwarf, and I don't think I've ever seen a Dwarf in an inn without a drink in his hand. After a while we decided that it was best to call it a night and head back to Stormwind City to tidy up some loose ends and settle down for the evening.

With that in mind, Grimbor and I headed out of the inn with the intention of catching a gryphon back to Ironforge and the tram from there to Stormwind. However, Grimbor wasn't the best of flyers when sober (relatively speaking) and in his ever so slightly inebriated state decided that he didn't want to catch a gryphon, instead choosing to make use of his hearthstone to transport himself magically to the city. That was fine by me, so we said our good evenings and I watched as he teleported off.

I then took a few breaths of the harbour air, to clear my head before flying, and was just about to walk across to the gryphon master when I heard a familiar voice. Someone was muttering about not remembering this part of Stormwind and have they moved everything around since the previous day, sounding just like Grimbor. But it couldn't be, could it? I turned around to look, and who had just come out of the inn but indeed Grimbor!

I walked over to him, as he was looking around trying to get his bearings, and he looked back at me in surprise. 'How did ye ge' here so quickly?', he asked. I pointed out that I hadn't gone anywhere and that perhaps he had had just a little bit too much to drink this evening. 'Ach, get awa' wi' ye, ye wee monkey,' he said, 'I'm no' so drunk tha' I cannae recognise Stormind!' Well, perhaps not, but I think he was drunk enough to forget that perhaps he had accidentally agreed with Menethil Harbour's innkeeper to set his hearthstone location here the other day.

We both caught a gryphon home that evening, and I slipped the gryphon master an extra silver piece to strap Grimbor down tightly, just in case.

After the farcical tug o' war I played with the black skeletons, my tripping technique improved slightly. With a more concentrated effort I was able to trip the skeletons over more frequently. By this time we had also positioned the party so that the Rogue could also attack the skeleton fighting me, even though it meant the brave Paladin faced an extra attack per round from another enemy. Despite the help of an extra blade, it seemed that we were having trouble geting past the skeletons' dextrous dodging to strike them solidly.

However, whenever I managed to trip up one of the skeletons, so that it ended up prone, both the Rogue and Paladin had no trouble hitting it. Whilst one of the reasons I trained in tripping foes was because a prone opponent is easier to hit with melee weapons I think there was something more to what was happening here. The Rogue, being a Gnome, was clearly more comfortable hitting something that was closer to his own height, whereas our brave and noble Paladin relished the idea of striking an opponent whilst it was lying face-down on the floor.

I wonder if there's anything in the Paladin's moral code about this.

After my successful Trip attempts against the skeletons when they advanced on us, I felt sure this tactic would work further to the party's advantage. After all, a tripped opponent is prone and is easier to hit with melee weapons, and if I succeeded in tripping an opponent I got a free melee attack and thus my attack action was not wasted. With confidence on my side, I continued trying to trip the black skeletons so that we could defeat them more quickly.

Sadly, it seemed that when I tried to pull their feet from under them they were too nimble, and thus they could try to trip me back as a free attempt. Luckily, I was also too nimble to be caught out so easily. This to-and-fro went on for quite a few rounds, where I would snag a skeleton and fail to pull him over yet also keep my balance. It turned in to a game of Tug o' War. How embarrassing.

The winner turned out to be a skeleton in the end. We had the last laugh, though. By pulling me over, the Cleric standing behind me now had a clear shot to the skeleton with her wand of Searing Light. It was vaporised before it had a chance to gloat over my prone body. Phew.

Our party ventured further in to the deadly dungeon. We were faced with four doors, and they all seemed to open in to corridors. We picked one to go down, the one that seemed more likely to head to a dead end first and thus we could discount as the way forward more quickly, and sent the Rogue off to scout, which he did happily. This corridor did come to a room fairly soon, but there was another corridor leading off from it that had a spiked ball, five feet in diamater, rolling erratically along this corridor, back and forth. It was clearly created using powerful magic, judging by its movements and how it was restricted to the corridor.

As we were wondering how to get past the sphere of doom, and whether we really wanted to see what was on the other side if it had the power to create this thing, our rearguard was ambushed by some black skeletons, which appeared from a well-hidden secret door. This wasn't good, as our rearguard consisted of just our Mage, who wears no armour. I suppose it was kind of lucky that he was a-feared instantly by the first skeleton's piercing screech, and ran off like a girl to hide in a corner somewhere.

On hearing this, the Rogue, quick as always to react, came to his brother's defence and put himself in harm's way. After realising that there were more than just a pair of skeletons but half-a-dozen of them queueing up to taste warm flesh, he stabbed at one and then tumbled to put himself between myself and the Paladin, as we had now both managed to manoeuvre our way back down the corridor to face the black menace.

I had positioned myself a little distance away from the skeletons, the Paladin at my side, enticing them to come towards us. This was planned, as I have focussed my training in the Spiked Chain, giving me a 10 ft reach, as well as taking the Improved Trip feat. Along with Combat Reflexes, I thought this would be a good combination. Enemies moving from 10 ft away to come to fight face-to-face with me will provoke an Attack of Opportunity, which I can then use to Trip the opponent. Because of Improved Trip if I succeed at tripping the opponent I will then get a free melee attack at them. Combat Reflexes gives me more than the normal one Attack of Opportunity, so that I can take out several enemies coming towards me in the same round of combat. And now was my chance to use all this training.

The skeletons advanced. Before the first one reached me I had whipped it's skeletal feet from under it and followed that up with a solid hit. The second one approached, and it too was tripped over, although it fell too far away for me to hit it as it tripped backwards over the first skeleton. The third one came and was also tripped, falling to the side of the first this time so that it stayed in my range for a follow-up attack. My other attacks were not successful at tripping the skeletons, but we ended up with a skeleton facing both myself and the Paladin, and three others on the floor behind them.

It looks like my training was not wasted!

I was spending the evening relaxing in a Dwarven inn with Grimbor, enjoying all of his adventuring tales that I had heard countless times before, but always with some new twist to them depending on what he had drunk that evening, when our Night Elf companion Azrail sauntered in. Even though he was very much out of place in the inn, surrounded by Dwarves and those foolish enough to drink with them, he looked totally at ease, as Elves tend to do. He came over to our table and asked if either of us were too busy to aid him in ridding the Raven Hill cemetary of Plague Spreaders.

'Are there more of them?', I enquired, as it had only been a short while previously since I had despatched almost two dozen of them myself, with Grimbor's help.

'Indeed. I have been urged to cull their numbers', was Azrail's reply. I donned my hat, grabbed my staff, and stood to leave. It seemed it was too late in the evening for Grimbor, as he started to recollect the story of how we bravely fought off ten Plague Spreaders at once. Even though he was telling it to no one in particular and I would have liked to hear how this new story would end, especially as I didn't remember that moment myself, my duty to the Alliance led me out the door with Azrail.

We couldn't waste time, so we both bought a gryphon ride to Sentinel Hill in Westfall, which borders Duskwood and is closer than the gryphon master in Darkshire, and ran back across the border and north through Raven Hill to get to the cemetary. Before we could face the horrible Plague Spreaders we had to fight past Skeletal Horrors and Fiends. That was the easy bit, and loosened us up for the fight ahead. Careful to skirt around the dread Mor'Ladim, the undead lord who wanders the cemetery claiming any soul that foolishly wanders too close to be his own, we made our way to the crypt near Forlorn Row.

There were some Plague Spreaders brave enough to venture out of the crypt—that is how dire the undead problem had become. With Azrail's whirling blades and my dark magic we made quick work of them, but felt this was not enough to quell their uprising. We looked each other in the eye and knew what we had to do: we had to enter the crypt itself, to kill the abominations where they were most powerful, where they, and we, could be cornered.

There was a large hole in the crypt from which the Plague Spreaders had exitted. Their foul stench led us to it, and we bravely but cautiously headed in. We picked off a few of them hanging around the entrance, wondering whether the air outside was too fresh for them to leave, perhaps. After this battle we saw that, to our left, was the entrance to the chambers where all the bodies were once buried. Through the doorway we could see undead shambling around inside. Undead have a nasty tendency to shuffle around slowly normally whilst having a tremendous burst of speed when attacking. I imagine there has been more than one adventurer caught badly off guard by the undead's appearance against their capability.

Readying our weapons, we headed in, and fought back the numbers valiantly. We were careful not to draw the attention of too many at once, but were quick enough not to have to stay in there for too long. Just as it looked like we were finished, I spotted another undead monster not too far away. I cast my Curse of Agony in him and set Makgrave, the summoned Voidwalker who does my bidding, to attack. It was only as the undead creature bolted towards me that I noticed that his armour was a little more ornate, his bearing more pronounced than the other ghouls. This one did not even flinch as Makgrave taunted him and struck him with his claws; the ghouls eyes were fixed on me.

I wanted to fight, but I also wanted to flee. I began the incantations of another spell and hit him with that, and then another. Even though I could sense he did not resist my magic, the ghoul was almost unfazed; his piercing eyes looked straight in to my soul and he told me his name as his claw came down upon me: I was facing Lord Malathrom. I had not realised! I should have paid more attention when I casually picked him as the next victim. Azrail did not feel strong enough to take him, being worn down slightly from destroying the Plague Bearers, and I had to agree with him that this was a fight for another day. It is perhaps not brave to admit this, but we turned tail and ran, ran out of the crypt and far enough in to the fresh air that Lord Malathrom was forced to turn back.

However, we made it out and were able to rest on the hillside as we watched Malathrom return to his resting place, where he would no doubt prey on other adventurers. Azrail and I sat down and tended to our wounds, sharing a nervous laugh about what might have been, but also happy that we had reduced the numbers of Plague Spreaders and other ghouls significantly. Lord Malathrom had his work cut out to get another small army, and we would probably be back before he could manage this.

Feeling a bit better, I mused how Grimbor would have liked to have seen this, so that he could tell the tale over ales one evening, and Azrail said that I would just have to tell him how things went. But at that moment, the air seemed to get colder. Was that possible? Before we knew it, we were back on the defensive! There was an undead warrior behind us, and we were taken completely unawares! We both knew that it would have to be something powerful to catch us so by surprise, but we really didn't want to turn around to see Mor'Ladim, the most powerful figure in the area. But there he was, picking off two unwary adventurers, foolhardy enough to start a picnic on the very hill he patrols.

We were panicked, but still professional. Well, professional enough to run like girls until we dove straight in to the river that borders Duskwood and Elwynn Forest. I think the next time that we find ourselves battle-weary and need to rest, we had best find an inn, and not the patrol route of a powerful undead warrior. With that in mind, we headed back to Stormwind City and the inn where we left Grimbor, ordered some drinks, including one for our Dwarven friend, and settled down to hear the end of how Grimbor and I defeated the Plague Spreaders. We raised a toast to the Aberrant Chapter!

I found Grimbor drinking his favourite tipple in Lakeshire, and asked if he would mind helping out his old chum again. He agreed, like any Dwarf of good breeding would. Well, that and I offered to pick up his bar tab for the day. I had made nearly 1 gold in adventuring that day, I could almost afford it.

I had to venture up to a tower in the Redridge mountains to recover an item from a powerful mage, a task given to me by a mage in Elwynn Forest. I told Grimbor of this quest and he was happy enough to come along, knowing that he too would be rewarded for his help. The route to the tower was simple, with a few beasts to kill along the way. The tower itself was a different matter.

The tower was guarded by some strong enemies. They weren't inherently powerful, but it was clear that they had undergone far more training than mere grunts, and that we would have our hands full fighting more than a couple at a time. Nevertheless, we were tasked with a quest, and a quest we would complete. That's what Grimbor said, anyway. I suppose he was right, and I wasn't just thinking about what sort of reward I would get for such a dangerous task. Nope, not me.

Fighting our way to the top, whilst treacherous, was probably no more hazardous a battle for us than anyone from the guild finds themselves in on at least a weekly basis, so I shall spare you the gory details of fighting off hellhounds and well-trained guards. Once we were at the top though, things got a little more dangerous.

Waiting for us was the mage and several of his best guards. We managed to despatch the guards without attracting his attention. The mage was studying some tomes of his with amazing focus. Also, we fought on the other side of the tower, some thirty feet away, which must have damped the sound a bit. Nevertheless, we still faced the mage. We made sure we were prepared, and made our way around to him.

Then, we struck! The mage was taken by surprise, but quickly regained his wits and proved to be a difficult opponent in battle. It probably helped to have my demonic minion face him in hand-to-claw battle, distracting him from some of his spells, as both Grimbor and I specialise in spell-casting. Nevertheless, the mage was able to cast his spells, albeit impaired slightly. This was not too much concern for my Dwarven friend and I, as we have faced spell-casters before.

That was, until the mage realised that perhaps we had the better of him, and feared for his life. At that point, he summoned his own minion: a huge and ugly brute that was clearly far more inherently powerful than both Grimbor and myself. The tide of the battle had turned against us, and we were fighting for our lives again. Even when the mage dropped to the floor, there was barely a scratch on his minion, and we had expended most of our resources fighting the mage alone. What could we do?

We did what any resourceful adventurer would: I called out in my loudest and most commanding tone to grab the mage's body and find the magical item we were tasked to find. Grimbor did this, as did I, while we were beaten from the huge minion of the mage, clearly upset about the death of its master. We found what we were looking for! At this point though, we didn't look like making it out of the tower alive. Screaming like girls, we came up with a new plan of escape: forget the monster, JUMP!

So we turned and jumped over the bannisters, there for the protection of anyone at the top of the tower. Sadly, Grimbor found that they were too protective, as his smaller Dwarf legs would not carry him over the top of the bannister, and he was struck from behind by the minion, taking the last essence of his life. I had more luck though, as I was able to clear the bannister in one leap. I heard the last cry from my friend, something I never want to hear, and did my best to make it out of the tower to tell our story.

However, the fireworks caused by a battle of spell-casters that were seen coming out from the top window of this tower must have been quite a spectacle, as when I landed, with a heft thump, on a landing below me, I was greeted by a hellhound probably attracted by the colourful magic lights. The fight and the landing had taken most of my life out of me, and it was a single bite from the hellhound that finished me off.

I awoke in spirit form in front of the lady of the graveyard, and pleaded with her to give me life once more. She gracefully agreed, and I found myself corporeal once more, with Grimbor waiting for me on a fence nearby, a huge grin on his face. That was odd, for the inn was on the other side of the lake. Why was he smiling so? Grimbor reached inside his tunic, and out he pulled the magic item we had grabbed from the dead mage! A miracle! We hadn't made it out of the tower alive, but we had been blessed with some luck indeed.

Feeling a little ill from dying like that, we headed to the Lakeshire inn for refreshments before heading back to complete our quest. And, yes, I picked up the tab.