Thursday, September 22, 2011

Reboot: Into the Firelands

The heat was stifling here.

Amid the flowing lava just outside the Sulfuron Spire, dry smoke and ash drifted upwards and permeated the atmosphere. They had fought long and hard to get to this point. Supported by the Warchief’s own Kor’kron infantry, their mercenary unit had smashed through the Twilight’s Hammer resistance from Mount Hyjal to the Twilight Highlands, in the process defeating Deathwing’s most powerful lieutenants.

Even as the Bastion of Twilight had fallen, the call had sounded from Grommash Hold in Orgrimmar. The Horde and its Warchief had need of bold adventurers to drive the offensive into the Firelands, deep into the territory of the Firelord Ragnaros. As one of Deathwing’s most powerful supporters, and an elemental lord to boot, Ragnaros possessed the key to final resolution of the Cataclysm on Azeroth.

Warchief Garrosh Hellscream looked upon the mercenary unit’s leader with distaste. He would have preferred an orc be the leader of the mercenary unit that would be the first to fight in the Firelands. “Wiegraff of the Terra Cotta clan of the Tauren. Both Vol’jin and Baine Bloodhoof speak very highly of your mercenary unit.”

The Tauren druid, Wiegraff, bowed deeply before the Horde Warchief. “Lok’tar ogar, Warchief of the Horde. We stand ready for the push into the Firelands. We shall be the head of the spear that destroys Ragnaros and brings peace to this land.”

Mal, a female orc warrior, chimed in. “And glory to the Horde!” Garrosh nodded his approval at the outburst. At least there were more than a few orcs in this unit.

Cyan, a goblin warlock, whispered in a subdued voice. “And riches to us!” Veexie, a blood elf priest, chuckled as she shot him a glance. “Hush, lest you bring the wrath of the Warchief.”

The warlock shrugged. He had never felt beholden to authority, much less that of this Warchief. Garrosh wasn’t even the real Warchief, just a stand-in while the real Warchief, Thrall, was off doing other things. Thrall. Now there was a Warchief one could respect.

“Lok’tar ogar! For the glory of the Horde! The way to the Firelands lies past the gateway of Sulfuron Spire. The way lies open to you. Strike fast and true, warriors of the Horde! Attack!” Garrosh screamed.

As one, all 10 members of the mercenary crew mounted up and flew over the lake of molten fire and onto the platform that led into the Firelands.

“You ready for dis, mon?” Killstrike, a troll hunter, turned to his fellow hunter, an orc named Bladewisp.

The orc shrugged as he adjusted his Lava Bolt Crossbow, twin to the one the troll held. “We’ve fought our way this far. I’ve got a special bolt just for Ragnaros’ eye.”

The troll nodded his approval. “As do I, mon. As do I.”

Bulalo, a Tauren shaman, turned to both hunters. “Remember, when everything starts to fall apart in there, it’s Cyan’s fault.”

The blood elf paladin, Jizal, brightened considerably at that. “Finally, it’ll be someone else’s fault this time.”

No comments:

Post a Comment