A Welcome Break
So at last a chance to get out of this accursed place where the view, such as it is, is either distant mountains or all too close Taurens annoying you by a) Eclipsing the sun b) Giving you a crick in your neck or c) Breathing.
A mission for our motley crew to capture some non entity who has somehow managed to shoot down a Zeppelin.* Camp Tarago has not been a picnic for me. I am unappreciated, not given the respect I deserve by these meatheaded horn encrusted man cows whose idea of sophistication is leaving their sexual partners still breathing. This is not the place for a great wizard such as myself.
*Apparently named after an aristocratic inventor in a parallel dimension. What’s that all about? Shouldn’t they he called dirigible airships or something?
There are no fine wines here, no decent food, no little comforts, and those that there are are overpriced, up to two gold pieces a night. Speaking frankly, Camp Tarago is a refuge from the wilderness that I can well do without. So when camp commander Bloodhoof, who presumably obtained his status because of his natural flair for arranging as many as six words into a simple phrase or saying,* announced we were picked for a job, I was quite happy.
*I was able to understand his accent after less than six weeks exposure
Seems some group, known as QuillBoars have a new leader, (probably an intellectual giant like our own esteemed captain) who has somehow got access to a weapon that has brought down the aforementioned dirigible of questionable name. Sounds like he is a giant amongst Quillboars and he and a group of a dozen followers are camped only an hours march north of this hellhole. He also has a retinue of camp followers which seems odd, does he not feel concerned at our proximity? He must be as aware of us as we are of him surely? Our intelligence on his camp seems suspiciously good too.
Apparently the quill boar are not noted for their brightness though, our job: Capture the fellow who rejoices in the name of Kark Spineback and take him the twenty or so miles north to Crossroads, which I used to think of as a dump beyond endurance before my arrival here. At Crossroads, our munificent and enlightened authorities will execute him for the general good. An orc called Grimgor Ironhide will do the actual capturing; we will just support and assist as required, though it seems like we will be outnumbered.
Coming with us, a Tauren of course, Plainsweaver, didn’t catch his first name. He’s actually a shaman and one of the brainiest Tauren I’ve met to be fair. To balance out the mass disparity, my good friend the gnome tinker Kasbo Greatgear will bring a dash of invisible thievery to our capabilities. Then there’s a couple of slightly iffy types, a flesh eater of the forsaken variety called Tsang Zhu who seems to carry a chill aura wherever he goes, and Fuq’ Witt, a troll who I’m assured is female, who will scout for us.
We waited for night and under cover of darkness approached the camp from downwind. We could see a collection of tents and smell woodsmoke, any guards seemed to be inside. The orc asked us to set up a diversion and the diminutive gnome slipped into the camp and fired one of the larger tents which we presumed would contain the civilians.
Deep in the camp we could see what seemed to be the objective, a grander tent possibly erected round a natural cave at the foot of the mountainside, its entrance protected by vines. Of the orc we could see no sign, but as we approached the fire alarm was raised and the dozen promised warriors piled out of their tents. Some began to oversee the evacuation of the flaming tent (fuelled by my own generously donated oil, what are the chances of me getting my expenses claim back on that I wonder?)
Others spread out to protect the camp. A couple of guards were facing our way, backlit by the flames and the troll cut one down with an arrow, but could only wound the second and he alerted the others to our presence. I was creeping closer to get an arcane missile into the mix, using reedy grass as cover. I became more cautious as quillboar reinforcements arrived, anxious to meet and greet.
Plainsweaver charged forward, joined by our gnome drawing attention, but a couple spotted me too and I retreated, firing off my arcane missile and Moonglaive to some effect. The charging forsaken also proved a bit of a dervish, flying into a rage and cutting down opponents with ferocious efficiency.
The gnome and I finished off another from behind, I with my trusty quarterstaff and all six enemies had fallen in seconds. We advanced, expecting further reinforcements, the fire was sputtering out but no enemy was in sight and there was an eerie silence.
The Tauren then vanished and disconcertingly reappeared as a floating head. Some form of invisible field was masking the true sight of the camp from us. I dispelled it after the Tauren’s rudimentary shamonic cantrips failed to do the job, then wished I hadn’t.
A massacre was revealed: The female and young quillboar were all dead. We had some further issues as we searched on, with mysterious energies clearly at work in particular emanating from the vine shrouded tented cavemouth. Many of us could sense disquiet or downright evil it seemed, powerful forces were disturbing the fabric of reality it seemed.
At one point both Fuq and Kasbo fled in terror but I managed to rally them, though not before Fuq had tried to brain the gnome in a moment of pure terror. The tents were empty and Kasbo entered the vine tent whose magic seemed now to have faded. He told us he witnessed a fearful site: The other six Quill boar committing suicide, apparently locked in thrall to our friendly neighbourhood orc. Our target, the fearsome Spineback stood glazed, obviously also under the complete control of our orc boss. Suddenly it was a little unclear as to who we should be more afraid of.
We all piled in, except that is for Tsang Zhu who was busy eating the corpses. The orc ordered us to ascend stairs behind Spineback’s primitive throne and destroy whatever we found there. After some delay Zhu and Kasbo went up as the stairs were too narrow for the rest of us. They found high above in the mountainside, a sophisticated cannon, clearly beyond Quillboar technology. It also bore a distinctive anchor crest. They spiked the gun and descended.
Searching meanwhile we found a chest containing papers behind the throne. We had been told to look for secret papers but oddly the orc had not ordered us to look for any. A little magic was required to decipher the text. It alluded to Admiral Darrian Proudmore of the Alliance, and mentioned Kul Tiras. To myself and Kasbo this was a clear reference to the renegade Alliance commander who it was said had pursued the orcs across the sea after the last great war ended and had established a stronghold at a place called Northwatch. The anchor crest linked the papers to the gun. For Proudmore, the war against the Horde had never ended. Had it just re-started for us?
We filled in our horde shaped friends on this, after all bygones are bygones, not that the orc seems very trustworthy. Any way, we made off after him and caught him up. It seemed that we had lost some time in the strange magical field, possibly a full day. We headed north, the orc in command of the zombie like Quillboar leader, the rest of us keeping our wary eyes on everything. At the first orc outpost we reached, the good news was we got paid. Less good, it seemed that the orcs of the outpost were also simply being enslaved to Ironhide’s commands. How long before it occurs to him to try that on us?
16.6.12
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