B-day present for my sister. Centered around her character Vesta.

It kinda sickens me to think this itself is almost as long as all Per Patientia combined. I need to get back on that! And I didnt proof read it so sue me.

Oh and I beat my 9 page record. This one's 26.

Yeaaahh ...



















Prologue


Conrad Nerie wasn't the most pleasant person to be around. Certainly, he was the tall and dark type, but the good looks were a diversion from his true manner. On this voyage, he had shown himself to be inept at both poker games and respectable conversation. Perhaps he held some qualms to magic and those that practiced it; such distrust would be expected of a man who braved these arctic coasts with nothing to protect him but a wooden vessel. The mage withheld further criticism of the man, however, upon reaching the deck.

Conrad Nerie, Captain of The Thorium Bottom, had fallen overboard.


In response to the mage's arrival, a short, green, and pointy form sprang up at her. “You shoulda seen it, lady!” the thing exclaimed with a cackle. “That iceberg tossed Conny clear off the port side! Think that human will-”

“My name,” the mage snapped, shoving the goblin aside, “is Vesta. And you,” she continued, running to the railing, “might be next, if you don't steer this rig with more proficiency. Now man the wheel!”

“You mean, Goblin the wheel,” he joked, but the mage ignored him, focused on the rushing waters below.

Immediately, she spotted him, his mass flailing awkwardly in what must be freezing water. Frantically thinking of a way to rescue him, Vesta sparked an idea, inspired by the chill that surrounded them. Steadying herself, she locked sight on the captain and willed the water around his body to freeze. The deckhands aboard the vessel watched as a circle of ice materialized under their captain.

Spreading her arms, Vesta commanded the ice to speed toward the Bottom, a difficult task as the ship was still moving.Swiftly it caught up, Conrad attempting to get a foothold on his frozen raft. As the arcane iceberg banged against the port-side hull, the captain latched onto it for dear life. Promptly, one of the deckhands moved to the mage's side and tossed over a line of hemp rope. The captain leapt clear off the summoned block of ice, desperate enough to leave it's safety for the chance to climb aboard.

Over the railing Conrad emerged, drenched to the bone and trying his best not to shiver. Presently, a deckhand showed up with towels with which to dry himself. Vesta turned from the sight, hearing the sound of shrill laughter. The goblin, who should still be steering the vessel, ran up to further tease the unfortunate human.

“Ga-ha-ha! Serves you right, Cap'n Conny!”

Momentarily forgetting his discomfort, Conrad lurched forward and grabbed the creature by the shirt collar. “If I were so inclined to believe, my dear friend, I might think you grazed that iceberg on purpose.”

The mage interrupted the goblin's stifled giggling. “Is that what caused you to fall? We hit something?”

The captain focused his eye on the goblin, but still stated, “Yeah, barely. And any more of your shenanigans,” he directed at the goblin, “and I might have to sign up Keg McFishgut for the front lines at our destination!”

The goblin squirmed at his insinuation. “Argh, c'mon, don't be so cold captain.” He burst into another fit of laughter. Vesta wondered briefly if Conrad's attitude might have been soured by the kind of company he kept. With a goblin like Keg around for weeks at a time, she imagined it would drive anyone to frustration.

The captain scoffed at his humor and placed him back on the deck. “Get back to work. We'll hit the coast by the afternoon and I'd rather have our only competent helmsman … uninjured.”

Keg turned and bounded up to the wheel as the captain finally regarded his rescuer. “I nearly fell off that speeding ice cube. Couldn't you have thought of anything other than more ice?”

Vesta crossed her arms and gave him an icy glare. She knew he'd seen it from her before, the last time he'd asked something of her. She recalled he was far less sober and just as drenched, in rum that is.

“Hmm,” she pointed a finger to her chin and feigned consideration. “Next time I might try evaporating the water by setting you on fire.”

Conrad paused to ruffle his dark, wet hair in a towel. He gave a low curse, “Damned mages...”

“What do you have against magic?” she pried.

Conrad glared at her. “Half the stuff that troubles this land is at the hands of magic, and things that throw it around.”

“Is that why you're so impertinent?” she asked. “Because I understand magic!?”

Their argument would have continued, if not for Keg's outburst:

“La-a-and, Ho!”

Conrad peered over the railing, forgetting the quarrel and gazed into the distance. Sure enough, the high cliffs were a telltale sign of their entrance to Northrend, the frigid continent at the roof of Azeroth.

The captain scratched his chin and was about to aid Keg in navigating, but turned again to the mage. “While we're here you might as well enjoy the view. I've seen it dozens of times, but folks always seem to like it for some reason.”

At this, Vesta realized she had been below decks for the better part of the last few days. She had hardly a reason to come up here to begin with; she had quickly grown tired of water on the horizon. But now, Vesta noticed a striking difference and she knew no one in the Eastern Kingdoms had seen such a view before.

The sky seemed alight with color. Powerful like the heart of a magical flame, yet serene as the face of conjured ice. Green to pink to orange, the mage found it the perfect compliment to the blue sea surrounding her. Trees not unlike the kind she saw on the Isles of Lordaeron could be seen in the distance, rooting themselves on what looked like a harsh cliff wall to the north-west. Across from that was a sheer wall of ice, agleam and intimidating as it paralleled the cliff. But the mage's awe at her first sight of Northrend was short-lived.

No one had time to sit and admire the colors of the sky. Currently, their only battle was with the various icebergs that befouled the coastline. From what she had been told, her powers could soon become the saving grace of this vessel, once they hit the mainland. For Northrend was a continent at war, and for once, the Alliance was at odds with more than just rival factions vying for power. The road to the majestic city of Shattrath had been enough to open her eyes to the dangers of such foreign lands. Again, they were interlopers on a strange soil, this time of permafrost and undead, and who knew what ancient and powerful forces await them?


Chapter 1 – Caveat


In the time it took the Bottom to reach the mainland, Keg manned the wheel with steady hands, the captain at his side, his own hands clasped behind his back, a grim look on his face. Vesta appeared above decks, prepared to do what she could to protect the ship.

For the first time since boarding on this voyage, the mage wore the azure robes that denoted her arcane prowess. Sweeping lines and diamond shapes fell down from her chest to her feet, complimented by regal purples and contrasting silver. The brim of the robe was studded with jewels and the sleeves and shoulders billowed out in their saffron glory. She wore no headdress, so her light hair blew in the sea breeze. If none of these things were to intimidate her foes, sure it was the staff she wielded: a crystal of fiery fuchsia mounted on a jewel-emblazoned steel shaft. Smaller crystals floated silently around the large one.

Looking more than a little out of place on a commercial sea vessel, Vesta ignored the looks nonplussed. Instead, she approached the captain and his helmsman, already scanning the canyon ahead through which their ship would traverse.

“You mentioned,” she began, jostling both man and goblin from their concentration, “that there have been attacks on Alliance ships in the area?”

She noticed Keg grip the wheel a little tighter, as Conrad answered, “Yes, by the locals no doubt. From what little word I get from my pal Basil, Valgarde has yet to meet it's aggressors. They-

“They shoot down our boats with weapons like those crazy gnomes implement!” interrupted Keg. Vesta looked at him questioningly. He continued his rant, “Humongous pikes rain down from the cliff sides and pierce straight through our hulls. We've barely made four runs outta Daggercap alive! It's a death wish, I tell ya, a-”

“You're asking for a death wish,” growled Conrad. He tilted his shaggy head in her direction, eyes always on the cliffs ahead. They were now minutes away from entering the strait. “Seeing as that waterway is the only entrance to Daggercap Bay, we have little choice but to be target practice for those scalawags.

The captain paused briefly, as if considering how much to tell the mage. Finally: “You'll see some pretty disagreeable stuff after we disembark, I'm sure. What with all that magic at your fingers, I'd expect you to be on board for Valgarde's first assault on these heathens … whoever they are.” He sighed, tired and irate. “Just … keep those blue eyes peeled, ya hear me?”

Vesta was slightly impressed at his sudden compliancy. Perhaps it was the fear for his ship that enacted such a change in mood. Or fear for his own life. Vesta nodded and confided she would stay sharp.

Vesta watched as the cliffs and ice vaulted to the sky, the coast ready to greet them with, she assumed, a cold reception. Trees grew tall on the craggy land to starboard and port, inching for dominance on the rough terrain. Vesta was surprised the ship could fit in such a narrow passageway; the rocks and ice looked mere feet away from the railing she leaned against.

The estuary banked left and then right. The cliff wall to their fore inched away finally, revealing the hidden bay proper. The mage was disappointed at the mist and darkness that shrouded the fjord. It was late day and the sun was about to set behind the supremely high cliff walls to the west. Vesta turned from the fiery globe and gasped. Clearly to starboard was a cave entrance, decked not by moss or foliage, but with a burning ship!

“The Moira,” stated Conrad, giving voice to the mage's shock. “See that standard there?” He motioned toward a half burned banner tailored with a pentacle and hammer. “She's probably been there for Light knows how long. Wonder if ol' Captain Shalebreaker made-”

He was silenced, though, when an ear-splitting crash sounded. Immediately, Keg swiveled the wheel and The Bottom swung fast to starboard.

The Captain quickly regained his footing and spit, “Steady, Mr. Fishgut! Mage,” he jerked over in her direction, “quit admiring the scenery and look fast! To the cliffs, the cliffs!”

Not shaken by his bluntness, Vesta smartly scanned the rocks high above. Her eyes could barely make out some kind of wooden battlement atop the ridge adjacent. She focused her gaze on it, taking aim very carefully. Then, with the heat of battle already setting her blood aflame, she launched an orb of fire at the battlement. The orb careened high in an arc and came down, clearly to the captain's delight, to which he gave an assenting clap.

“Take us into that cave, Mr. Fishgut!” the captain barked, to which the navigator responded with an 'aye, aye!'.

The cave was low and tight, and Vesta was left wondering what the captain was thinking. Surely they would have to come about and exit the cave, right in the sights of more weapons. But the captain surprised her yet again:

“Mage!” he barked. She turned to him, disregarding the dissent with which he addressed her. “When we enter the bay again, it'll be a straight shot to the docks! With any luck, those bastards on the cliffs may have alerted Keller. I pray the defenders at Valgarde set up those canons by now. So, when we exit the cave, look aft and fire at anything that moves on those rocks, got it?”

As promised, Vesta saw that the cave indeed curved around in a 'U' and was heading straight for the familiar sight of wooden docks across the water. The mage ran back to the aft side of the vessel and waited for light to fall upon her, outside once again. She looked up to the rock face and did in fact see more of the contraptions mounted on the cliff edges. In response she saw two open fire, lances larger than the length of a person flew toward her.

She could do nothing to protect the vessel, but instead summoned a fire blast that engulfed the first of the two spear guns. Following her attack came another boom that shook the ship to and fro. She could hear the sound of men falling into the water, yet was busy trying to stay aboard, herself. After being tossed to the deck, she quickly got to her feet and fired a quick couple of bolts of flame in the direction the of the other spear gun. She watched as they arced in the air for a brief moment, then exploded the battlement, sending it crashing to the bay below.

Vesta spent the next minute or so catching her breath, as contrary to common belief, the woman was not made of magic. Summoning it in succession drained her strength quite quickly. Her eyes stayed on the rock face, though, even as the mist and darkness claimed it in the distance. Assuming the crisis averted, the mage walked back to the fore deck to an equally exhausted Captain and Helmsman. Ahead, she spotted the docks of Valgarde. She was suddenly overcome with relief as she had not set foot on solid land for weeks, the soft ground of Menethil Harbor a wistful memory.

“It seems we scared them off,” Conrad mused.

“I believe,” Vesta suggested, “we have the weather to thank this time. With the mist, they cannot see us across the bay and we cannot spot them.”

“Regardless,” the captain waved off, “damage was actually minimal this time around. They hit the bowsprit and we got a torn foremast. One crewman overboard...”

“Morgan,” confirmed Keg, preparing the ship to dock. “I owed him twenty silver. Couldn't read his poker face.”

“Better for you,” remarked the captain, punching the little Goblin to mask his remorse.

_______
<=!w0w!=>


It was strange, the first thing Vesta thought of was Auberdine. It was a time and place so far and removed from this situation that Vesta ignored the pleas of her legs as they traversed steady ground for the first time in weeks. Though she was certainly busy at the time, the mage now recalled her time on Kalimdor with a warm nostalgia.

It had been her first time on a seaborne vessel, her first time away from the Eastern Kingdoms. She would be a world away from stone keeps and human company, despite the interesting forests of the north pockmarked with dangerous yet beautiful Kaldorei ruins. She hadn't expected the culture shock; it had been a month and a half before she saw another human. She was intimidated more than excited about it, as she had expressed to her mentor, Jennea.

But her senior mage insisted she go, to gain experience and learn independence. And one of Vesta's first misgivings about the misty shore had been standing on the elven dock with wobbly legs, much to the crew's amusement. More than a month at sea had robbed her of her land legs.

However Jennea, now a dear friend of Vesta's, had prompted her to make good on their King's initiative to assault the forces of the dreaded Lich King of Northrend. King Varion Wrynn, leader of the Humans, had requested the aid of any able-bodied person to sail to Northrend. The eventual plan was to amass the Alliance forces under the leadership of his champion, Highlord Bolvar Fordragon. He had titled it The Valiance Expedition.

And here Vesta stood now, her legs in protest to the solid ground, after a month's sail from Menethil Harbor. Perhaps she could visit the fabled magic city of Dalaran, as it was any mage's dream to go there. For now, though, she was aground at Valgarde, and she could tell they could use all the help they could get.

The mage shook herself from her musings and glanced over to Conrad, conversing with the dockmaster, Basil Crowe, a man similar enough to Conrad in looks, but with a neat ponytail. She bet he was better at sensible conversation! Regardless, her time with that man and his green cohort was over and she was about to leave when she came face to face with a dwarf.

Clad in white plate with a beard to match, he wore the insignia of the Alliance across his broad chest. He gave her a once over and took in her robes and staff, which she still wore.

“I don't suppose you're the one responsible for those fancy fireworks, my lovely lady?”

Vesta took an immediate liking to the dwarf. Recognition for her power and skill was a indulgence that was sorely missed on the voyage. “Yes, master dwarf,” she responded cooly, “the ship had been set upon and I utilized what power I could against those spear guns.”

The dwarf acknowledged this with a salute, which Vesta returned. He reached out an armored hand. “I am Macalroy, and I tell ya,” he said with a wink, “the Valiance Expedition needs people like you. Valgarde's a little low on spirit, as it were.”

“I'll help in any way I can.”

The dwarf clapped his hands together. “Good! Let's start off by having you report to the Vice Admiral. He should still be assessing the damage of the northern storehouse.” He gestured to the sky. “Damned natives keep sending in their dragon beasties to scorch something every now and again.”

The mage thanked him for his information and headed onto the shore. Valgarde was hardly an outpost, she noticed. Surely it was flanked well by the cliffs to the south and west, but the place was under construction. The only notable defense was the white stone wall to the north, mounted with simple canons. A ways off sat a fire pit in the center of the encampment, which she headed north from. Her destination was obvious, seeing the pillar of smoke rising from the building.

A group stood nearby, aiding the wounded. She caught one of the healers by the arm as she passed by, asking:

“Is the Vice Admiral about?”

The woman, her clothes dotted with blood and sweat from proximity to the flames, answered breathlessly, “Certainly. He's with Lockamy and the others over there.” She pointed to a group at the edge of the impromptu infirmary. There stood an aging man with plate greaves and a white shirt, with an Alliance tabard and sporting a sea captain's hat.

Vesta thanked the healer and marched over to the group. The men and women turned to regard her as she approached.

“I was informed,” she began, “to report to the Vice Admiral.”

A younger man planted a fist on his hip, the other hand wiping sweat and ash from his brow. “And who might you be, lady?”

The mage stood a little straighter. “My name is Vesta, mage from the City of Stormwind. I have just now arrived on the cargo ship The Thorium Bottom.”

“Ah,” started the older man, brushing his mustache, “I had heard Conrad was carrying an extra passenger this time around. I am Vice Admiral Keller. A mage you say?” Vesta nodded. “Terrific. We have precious few hands of the arcane arts to help stave off the locals, you see. Closest thing we got to a mage is old Thoralius, in fact. Maybe you'll meet him later.

“But I digress!” he muttered, clearing his throat. “The situation here is under control. Lockamy,” he stated to the younger man who had asked her profession.

“Yes, sir,” he queried.

“Send someone to check the healers and, once the smoke clears, salvage all you can from the storehouse. I'll escort our new guest to the inn.”

The mage followed the Vice Admiral back to the fire pit, then west, toward perhaps the only sizable building this side of the encampment.

Vesta's curiousness caught up with her. “Sir, I keep hearing about the natives or locals in the area.” The Admiral said nothing, but waited for her to continue. “Have you attempted to contact them? What are they called?”

Vice Admiral Keller slowed to a stop on an incline to the inn and seemed to measure his words before speaking. “It's difficult for a leader to admit, miss Vesta,” he stated slowly, “when he knows how weak his defenses are. We are besieged by creatures who seem to wish nothing but our death. None have been sent our way, and what precious few we have sent for peace, have not returned.” Shaking his head, “We know not their name, their origin, or their affiliation. As we speak, there are scouts of ours in the forest to the north, and by the morrow I might have better answers to your questions.”

“Surely someone has seen what these creatures look like,” she pressed. “Have they not attacked directly?” The mage followed the man's gaze as it drifted toward the cliffs across the bay. He seemed to stare at something beyond the shrouding mist. She caught him shiver slightly, though it might have been just the cold.

“Only from corpses. They stand tall like giants, yet are bearded much like our fellow dwarfs. They bear a striking resemblance to humans like us, and truthfully the thought makes me uneasy. Their warriors adorn themselves in heavy armor, sometimes with horns.

“And that,” he concluded, favoring his mustache again, “is all we know.” He turned his back to the bay and motioned for her to follow. The evening was growing cold and Vesta found an inn with a hearth all too relieving. The Vice Admiral showed her in and marched up to the barkeep.


The man cocked his balding head to the side, putting down a glass he had been washing, almost confused. “You, uh,” he mumbled, “looking for Hazel, Keller?”

Oblivious to the man's discomfort, the Vice Admiral nodded. “Yes, actually. Where's she at, Coot? I have a lady in need of a room.”

The man stuttered something, then gestured to Vesta standing behind him, who was busy admiring the elegant stag skull mounted above the hearth. “Hazel might take offense, Keller. Really, I thought you two were ...”

It was Keller's turn to be confused. He did a double-take back at the mage, then glared at the befuddled barkeep, his cheeks reddening. “No, Coot! She's not with … Hazel and I … do you really think I would …”

“Woah, woah, all right,” Coot stammered. “Just wasn't sure, is all. I think she's on the back balcony.”

“Right then,” stated Keller, slightly mollified. He slapped the counter with his palm, concluding his talk and alerting the occupied mage across the room.

As predicted, the two found Hazel Lagras on the second floor, a worried look on her face as she stared at the smoldering storehouse to the north. She turned at the sound of footsteps and Vesta noticed her immediate relief as the innkeeper saw the man mounting the stairs.

“Keller!” The woman's distinct hazel eyes alighted under her short red hair. “When I saw the storehouse roof collapse, I thought the worst.” She walked over and the two shared a quick embrace.

“Oh, our ugly friends and their dragons,” he assured, “will get their comeuppance.”

“How fared the storehouse? No heroics, was there?” she asked.

“Well,” he shrugged, “someone had to go in and check for- oof!” The armored man was cut short by a punch to his shoulder.

Hazel pulled from him, planting hands on her hips, indignantly. “Men,” she stated simply. “Always doing stupid things like running through the fire and flames!” She looked to Vesta for confirmation, “Am I right?”

The mage responded with a laugh, attempting to hide it.

Rubbing the sting from his shoulder, the Vice Admiral got back to business. “Yes, well, we have a new recruit, as it were. Lady Vesta, here, hails from Stormwind. Her prowess may prove quite handy in the days to come.”

“Wonderful!” the innkeeper exclaimed. To Vesta: “With you, we'll not let Valgarde fall. I'm afraid the only magic I can boast is with floral arrangements and a clean hospice to travelers like yourself.”

“And,” interjected the Vice Admiral, “the best honey mint tea this side of the Fjord! I say it is magic!”

The innkeeper's face flushed at his compliment. She gave him a smile in thanks. Then she cleared her throat, her voice assuming a busy tone. “The evening grows late, doesn't it? Allow me to show miss Vesta to a room, and I'll introduce you to that tea Keller mentioned.”


Chapter 2 – Sometimes



Her first night in Northrend showed promise of being unhindered. The mage's room was respectable as any she had been subject to. She was smart to shut her window from the ash and woodsmoke that permeated the encampment, her olfactory relief enhanced by the steaming cup at her bedside. Keller had been correct in his analogy: honey mint tea was indeed magic, the kind of which Vesta was coming to wish she had.

From without, a slight roaring in the distance could be heard, alluding to a possible waterfall further up the bay. Vesta knew she would have her answer once the mist cleared. The mage appreciated the lulling background noise, however, as in combination with the tea, it soothed her to rest.

The promise of a comfortable night was broken, however, when a translucent figure seeped in from the wall. At first, she thought smoke had gotten through, but she quickly recognized the form of a wolf padding along to her bedside. Vesta vaulted backwards, putting the bed between her and the ghostly lupine. She reached for her staff when a light engulfed the wolf, changing shape in the magical rays to that of a blue, hoofed, tendril-faced creature. The mage released the grip on her staff, relieved to find not a foe but a Draenei in her midst.

Upon assuming his form, he quickly raised his hands in defense. “Apologies, my human friend. I did not wish to startle you.”

“Who are you?” Vesta asked sharply.

The Draenei seemed taken aback. “The Vice Admiral did not mention me?” Vesta shook her head. In a deep bow, he introduced himself. “I am Thoralius the Wise, shaman.” He rose and grinned with a chuckle. “I must say it is good to meet another so knowledgeable in the ways of magic, here in Valgarde.”

The human finally lowered her staff and walked over to the other side of the bed. His tail flicked in what she assumed was anxiousness.

“Why have you come here at so late an hour? Is there trouble?”

Thoralius' face turned grim, his gold and tan armor clinking as he sighed heavily. “There has been trouble a long time in coming, it appears. The spirits all around the Fjord have weakened and seem fearful and hounded by a malignant force.”

Vesta stayed silent, seating herself on the bed as the shaman continued. “I had a vision today that a powerful ally would arrive by the sea, and so it was I that pleaded for the spirits to spare the mist that hid your vessel from the enemy. I saw that you would aid us and would play a part in discovering the origin of the spiritual turmoil I have witnessed.

“And yes, this has very much to do with our problem with the tall, bearded ones that have laid siege to Valgarde in recent weeks. They are guarded by their own spirits, this malignant force in the realm of elements. They are called, the Val'kyr. I have reason to believe they might be in league with the Lich King, himself!”

This produced a sharp gasp from the mage. “Have you informed the Vice Admiral of this?”

But the Draenei merely shook his head. “It was my own assumption to begin with. Not to mention,” he reminded, “what good can an army do against the spirits themselves?”

Vesta nodded in agreement, understanding the sense of such logic. “Still, if an army cannot do battle with these Val'kyr, why seek me out? I am versed in the arcane, not that of nature.”

Thoralius grinned again. “I can help you with that.” He retrieved a reed from a pouch at his side, then handed it to her. “I have spent a short time making this for you. It will allow you to enter the realm of elements. But I implore you, do not disturb the spirits in any way.”

“What?” blurted the mage. “But you just said to do battle with them! Are they not-”

“You misunderstand,” the shaman interrupted. “The spirits are not to be trifled with. I merely wish to understand the nature of the enemy. Knowledge the spirits provide could turn the tide of this siege. Based on my vision, I know some of what will come.” The mage looked disbelieving at this statement. “On the morrow, Vice Admiral Keller will send you to the northern forest, concerned with the whereabouts of his scouts. But-”

Thoralius paused, clearly trying to phrase his words carefully. “All I can tell you as to use this incense at the right time. Break the shaft in half and breath in it's fumes, which will send you to the realm of elements. There, observe what you can and do not harm anything.”

“What,” Vesta pressed, “aren't you telling me?”

The Draenei sighed and merely shook his head. “My oneness with nature has allowed me to see clearly, many things which others cannot. Perhaps,” he mused, “you feel a similar thing with your skills? Nonetheless,” he waved off, “sometimes I feel that I see too much, that such insight is a burden moreso than a gift, the Naayru forgive me.”

“Something tells me,” the mage claimed with mounting dread, “that there will be more in that forest than just our scouts.”

The shaman stayed silent, his tail flicking in obvious discomfort.

Vesta examined the reed for a moment, deliberating with herself on what she should do. After her thoughts, she stated, “You're putting me … us in danger. Based on a vision.” It was only slightly an accusation.

Thoralius could only nod, the old draenei's face lined with guilt. “I have done my best. I assure you, I would make the journey myself if not for my frail bones and aging mind. You are the best chance we have at understanding the cause of all this aggression. The safety of the Fjord and the spirits that inhabit it is in your hands.”

With that, he made to leave and began to cast a spell. No doubt he would leave the way he came, so as not to alert the other patrons. But his spell was halted at her plea:

“Wait,” she called, standing. He turned again to face her, no less grim as before. “What you said about magic, the responsibility to see what others cannot ...” She searched for the right words. Finally:

“Sometimes, I feel the same. I've had enough death on my hands, indirect or not, to understand what you meant. Sometimes I want to banish my own ability, forget magic, and quit fighting. Sometimes,” she pressed, sitting back down as a tightness grew in her throat, “I regret having to fight so much that I wish the decision was never made at all.”

As Thoralius listened, a warm fatherly smile appeared on his face. It was a sad smile, nonetheless. He walked over and put a scaly hand on the mage's shoulder. “It is with that regret,” he whispered, “that a shaman like me makes his decisions. I understand that no life is so great that it has the right to take it from another. It is for this reason I come to you.”

Vesta looked up at him, then, and in a bitter voice said, “Yet you send me and your own comrades into a battle and tell not a soul what awaits them.”

“No,” confided the shaman, “I send you on a mission to learn and understand. The only fighting we shall do is to end the fighting. Sometimes,” he stated, pointing a blue finger skyward, like a teacher to a student, “the decision not to fight is all it takes to end wars like these.”

He backed away and clenched his hands, producing the familiar display of magic that any of it's practitioners could recognize. Within seconds, his form morphed once again to that of an unearthly timber wolf and he disappeared through the wall he had entered.

Vesta lay down in her bed and placed the reed on a table. She then drained the rest of the tea and waited for sleep to take her. As she drifted off to slumber, above the roaring of the waterfall, could be heard the sound of a wolf howling as if the act might drive away his sorrow.

_______
<=!w0w!=>


Vesta was used to being in the back of a line of soldiers. Her skill called for range and planning, much like an archer, but her 'bolts' were far more deadly. Though she held no love for the front line, right now she wished she could put herself between the men and what she knew would eventually come. It was maddening to be the only one to know they were walking into a battle this day.

Earlier, the Vice Admiral had indeed worried at the absence of his scouts. Even expecting delay, still not a soul emerged beyond the river which acted as a natural barrier between Valgarde and the forest to the north. In response, the Vice Admiral took a risk: he would send another group into the forest, this time with the seemingly simple task to discover the fate of the scouts sent previous. Vesta had insisted she be part of the team.

Assembled at the north gate had been the mage along with six other humans and two dwarves. The leader of the party was a rogue named Corywyn. A human like Vesta, she had short-cropped blond hair and brown eyes. Despite her profession, Keller informed the rest that she indeed held their interests in high enough regard and that her days of thievery were long gone.

Their first obstacle had been the river itself, the bridge spanning it had seen repeated sabotage. But Vesta made quick work of it, freezing the water and allowing the party quick passage. She even received a positive gesture from the rogue. Then, much like a dagger, she zipped ahead of the group and lead them expertly through the bramble and woodland ahead. Already, they were in enemy territory, so everyone was reminded to keep their eyes and ears sharp. More difficult though, was the restraint with which they moved. Technically a search party, it was unwise for anyone to blindly attack a body that appeared from the brush, for it might be an ally. Soon though, they discovered no need to take such precautions; they had found the scouts.

First one, then two, then several men and women were found, clearly the scouts they were looking for. Not even Vesta, nor Thoralius, she guessed, would have expected such an outcome. In a barbaric and gruesome fashion, the scouts had been impaled by large spears, some to the ground, others against tree trunks. Certainly, it had been to the mage's revulsion to find skulls or even dismembered limbs on poles from her previous enemies, but never the whole body. And the group soon gained a new fear for the enemy's tactics, as well.

A few were still alive.

It was the rogue who first realized this. She called to the rest in earshot, despite giving away her position. After finding one, their immediate desire was to get him down for the trunk, but the man, half-dead already, frantically motioned for them to stop. In a barely audible voice, hindered by the blood draining even now from his mouth, he retched:

“It's … a trap!”

As if in response to this revelation, a scream was heard from the east. Corywyn shouted for everyone to draw their weapons, then, like lightning, dashed away into the foliage. Vesta erected a shield of pure mana around herself, then stood ready to defend the remaining group of four that stayed with her.

Like a tide, the enemy came. From all directions poured beings seven feet tall, muscled and wielding huge weapons. Their battle cries were deep and bellowing, to which the group responded in kind. Vesta did not wait for them to get close and launched bolt after bolt of arcane energy at the encroaching half-giants. They were resilient, it seemed, for it took more than one shot to down a single opponent. Behind her, she was aware of the group doing battle as well; the clang of steel and the cries of pain proof enough of the struggle.

Already, Vesta knew they were losing. She wondered where the rogue had run off to. Perhaps she didn't hold their interests as much as Keller had informed. Despite her instinct to keep the enemy at bay, she quickly turned and focused many short blasts of flame to the beings that were already in pitched battle, easing the line of combat in their favor. Knowing the enemy was approaching fast behind her, she swiveled on her feet and found herself yards away from a rather nasty-looking clump of half-giants. Despite her growing exhaustion, Vesta focused on the group in front of her and sent out a shockwave of fire that blasted the five and sent their charred bodies to the forest floor.

She turned back to the team, realizing one had fallen, the rest bloodied. She scanned the trees to the east and found the rogue and one other team member running toward them. A quiet settled over the area, as she could hear nothing but the blood pumping in her head and the heavy breathing of those around her.

Corywyn ordered the team members to tend to their wounds while she and Vesta approached the impaled solider yet again. Blood crusted over his steel chest plate and tabard, still more running down his face and chin. Vesta cringed at the thought of being propped up on a pike overnight, and felt sudden guilt at having slept soundly after a cup of mint tea herself.

“C'mon,” started the rogue, “we'll get you down from there. What's your name, soldier?”

“No, stop!” the man bellowed. He grimaced, the act of talking sending pins and needles down his stomach. “I'm … Archer Isaac S- … Sargon. If you- agh!” He gasped at the pain.

“No more!” burst Vesta. “Talking will just prolong your torment. We need to find a way to safely get you-”

“No,” repeated the archer. “Removing thi- this will kill me -agh! … You must rescue the oth -others.”

“The others,” the rogue stated pointedly, “are dead, just like you will be.”

“The village!” cried the archer. “These … these half -agh! These things have a village to the east.” He took a couple breaths before finishing. “More there. You must save them, by the Light!”

“More?” repeated Corywyn. “They take prisoners?”

The archer merely nodded, choosing his words where they were needed. “Do you have … poison on you?”

The rogue nodded.

“Anything for a … a quick death?”

She nodded again, retrieving a vial. She held it up for him to see, then stared at it for a moment, his eyes glazing over.

“Do it,” he muttered, meek, but with finality to it as well.

Vesta watched as the man downed the contents of the vial, to which he assured tasted horrible. After a quick breath, the archer nodded slightly, the deed done. A silence like death overcame the trio, then, which Vesta couldn't stand. “We'll stay with you,” she offered somberly.

The archer grunted at this, the poison assuredly spreading through his blood. Still, he had one important thing to say:

“I … I have a wife and son ...”

Vesta's tone was still somber. She looked at his face while his gaze settled to the grass below. “Tell us their names, Issac.”

But Isaac Sargon was already dead.

Vesta had seen death before, and had not shed a tear for the hundreds of men and women that died in battle while she lived. Perhaps it was the conversation she had with Thoralius last night, but a tear rolled down the mage's face, and seeing how Corywyn hid hers from view, she guessed she had a few of her own. Yet, despite the biting rage that engulfed her mind then, she resisted the urge to discount the shaman's spiritual task.

No, she would constrain herself to do something much harder: not kill all the creatures that deserved to die for this man's death. She would fight to understand and to learn, just as Thoralius had intended, so that maybe she could help end this assault, so that people would not have to sit and endure endings like these!


Chapter 3 – The Tide is Turning


With much prompting, Vesta and Corywyn convinced the rest of the party to retreat back to the river. The reason they gave was to provide the prisoners safe passage across the river, but everyone knew that half a dozen humans and dwarves, most wounded, could not sneak into an enemy camp unnoticed.

Vesta was impressed at Corywyn's mastery of stealth; during the trek eastward, rogue and mage both agreed she could scout ahead and signal for any danger. Hardly was there a time she spotted the rogue among the trees and, she guessed, the times she did were when Corywyn wanted to be seen. There was no set road, yet they still had to be careful to avoid sentries. For all Vesta saw, there were none, but when they stopped to rest by mid-day, Corywyn had claimed to have taken out four.

Later, the mage was quickly confronted by her rogue escort and informed the village was ahead. Woodsmoke from a fire pit gave away it's location. Vesta trusted the rogue's logic in that it would be best to wait until nightfall to make their rescue, and in the meantime, they should scan the layout of the village.

Like Valgarde, the village was against the bay, but it was the differences that gave the mage pause. The first thing she noticed was that the sound of the waterfall from last night was much louder, here. Approaching the village from the south, both mage and rogue saw not a waterfall, but an imposing dam, perhaps rivaling the one in Loch Modan! They saw, also, a gigantic structure north of the village, with an eerily human-like face etched into the very rock. Truly, if these majestic constructs were built by the creatures they had been fighting, they had been grossly, grossly, underestimated. Not heathenish brutes, but a race, a society!

Yet the village itself was far less aesthetically pleasing. On the outskirts were wooden poles spaced intermittently, shaped like the heads of dragons and sporting red banners, painted with a vaguely draconian symbol. Circling a large fire pit, there stood dwellings of wood and iron roofed by red dragonhide, an especially large one to the north. Lastly, there was a pit and cave to the west, the most likely location for prisoners to be kept. Vesta and Corywyn both decided to strike there, first.

Night came fast and the two were off, past the tree line and into the village proper. From what little they observed, they managed to sneak between the rotations of guards for the western part of the village. Vesta made sure to put out any torch light they passed with a quick ice spell, already planning a hidden retreat for the prisoners. As they silently approached the cave, Corywyn sped ahead and eviscerated two guards in their way. It was the enemy in the pit, though, that almost gave away their position.

Apparently this pit was where the half-giants tended to their pets. For, lined in front of the two interlopers, were a dozen worgs. Upon noticing the intruders, they bared their fangs and growled deeply. Vesta knew that one could not down a beast quietly, and twelve at that! Dismissing fire spells as an option - for they would alight the village to their whereabouts – the mage blinked in front of her roguish cohort and blasted the lot of them with her strongest ice spell.

Before any of them could raise a howl, Vesta had encased them in solid ice. Despite the victory, Corywyn admitted, such a frozen display would not go unnoticed for long, and the two bolted into the cave.

Inside, it was dark despite the torches, and Vesta concluded to leave them up in case this quickly turned into a maze. Thankfully, as they soon discovered, this was not the case. The tunnel dipped down into a large chamber, lined with shackles along the walls. Struggling to free themselves were the prisoners the archer had mentioned. Immediate relief showed on the faces of the captives and Corywyn had to remind them to remain silent, lest they draw attention. With her lock picking and Vesta's ice, the duo made quick work of the iron shackles that bound the prisoners.

As they made to depart, one man spoke up. He was being supported by another, for he had practically lost a leg in a skirmish before being captured. He made a show of looking around, his unkempt blond hair flailing as he did so. “Where is he? I don't see Murrick!” A few other prisoners confirmed his outburst.

“We have to go – now!” ordered Corywyn.

“No,” insisted the man, “we can't leave without Murrick! They must have taken him somewhere else. He-”

“If we don't go now, you'll lose your chance at freedom!” she pressed.

“Don't you know Murrick?” he asked her indignantly. “He was probably the only Gnome in Valgarde!”

“I recall no Gnome, and why would we risk all of this for him? I watched a man die today to find you all!” Immediately, though, the rogue regretted her words. She was about to amend them but another prisoner spoke up, this time a Dwarf.

“And how many,” she asked cynically, “do you think we saw die today?”

The man who spoke up nodded in agreement, adding, “You probably didn't know about him because of what he was doing. Probably kept under wraps. It's meaningless to keep it secret now: he was developing a copy of those spear guns these things use on us!”

“What?” exclaimed the duo of rescuers, simultaneously.

The man nodded matter-of-factly. “Yup, no Murrick, no weapon. No chance to end this battle before we haven't a choice to declare war on these heathens!”

“Chance?” thought Vesta. “He talks of a chance to stop this, to stop the killing?” Vesta reached inside her robes. Surely enough, the incense Thoralius had given her was still there. This could be her opportunity to observe the spirits and learn what she could while in the realm of elements. It was her turn to speak up:

“He's right,” she stated, turning to the rogue, who was getting more impatient by the second. “Protect the prisoners and take them back to the river. I'll find Murrick, and if I can't save him, I'll get his plans.” Corywyn began to object, but Vesta disregarded her plea. Instead, she asked, “Where would they take Murrick?”

“I can't be sure,” admitted the man, “but your best bet would be the rather large building on the northernmost bank.” The prisoner supporting him agreed to this, who assumed the dwelling to hold some significance.

As a group, Corywyn and Vesta at the fore, they exited the cave, pausing briefly as the prisoners admired the mage's handiwork with the worgs. Thankfully, no guards had appeared yet, so they sprinted up to the road which they had arrived on. Without torches to give them away, Vesta believed they had a good chance to escape unseen, despite the prisoners' injuries to impede them.

“Good luck,” whispered the rogue.

“I'll be fine,” assured the mage. “Get them home; don't let the archer's sacrifice be in vain!” And with that, the mage disappeared in a dim flash of arcane light. On that cue, Corywyn lead the group west, down the darkened road, assured to be out of danger once they hit the tree line.

_______
<=!w0w!=>


Vesta needed to be careful. The mage had not fully recovered from the battle earlier, and that ice spell against the worgs had drained her as well. She envied Corywyn's stealth, realizing she must make haste before someone discovered the prisoners were gone.

Vesta skirted the fire pit from the north and ran from dwelling to dwelling, constantly worried she would be seen in between the gaps as the fire light reached for her. Neither she nor the rogue had bothered observing the east side of the village, assuming there was no need. Now, Vesta regretted it, as she nearly walked right into an armored half-giant. Trading her magic ability for stealth, she merely circled around a dwelling and pressed onward.

The mage saw that the river to the bay was ahead and clearly noticed the large structure she and Corywyn had seen earlier. She groaned inwardly as she saw there was a singular guard standing watch. She could not silence him like the rogue could, with poison and daggers, but instead used a very unique spell.

With a slight smirk, the mage casually approached the guard and raised a hand to him. A flicker of magic leapt from her palm and shocked the half-giant, just as he recognized her. He never got the chance to raise alarm though, as her magic morphed the thing into a sheep. Despite the comical nature of the situation, Vesta spared no time in ending the unfortunate cervine's life with a blade across the throat. Tossing the carcass aside, she shoved the wooden door open and shut it behind her.

On the floor, hands bound, sat a gnome.

Vesta addressed him, “I've come to rescue you. You are Murrick?”

The gnome nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, that's me!” Vesta began to remove his restraints, urging him to continue. “I was attempting to secure part of a harpoon launcher when I was set upon by these brutes. They've kept me here, forcing me to improve on their already advanced design.”

“So,” Vesta mused, “the plans are here, then?” The gnome, unbound now, stood and waked over to a table against the wall, whereupon he grabbed a large roll of parchment.

“Right here,” he gestured. “We must depart, now. Who knows when they'll be back?”

“Wait,” said the mage. “I'm sorry but I mus complete my original mission.”

“It was not to rescue me?” lamented Murrick.

Vesta sat down and pulled out the reed that Thoralius had presented to her. “I'll just be a moment,” she mumbled. “I hope,” she added.

Stalling no further, the mage snapped the reed cleanly in twain, which produced a crackling ember that spread down the length of the bark. It smelled of camphor and juniper, an aromatic blend that Vesta would have found quite comforting in different circumstances. She breathed in, deeply, trying not to cough as the fumes filled her lungs.

From the gnome's perspective, nothing occurred, yet from the mage's the world began to blur and she felt a sense of detachment take her. In a half-euphoria, Vesta saw the gnome, as well as the torchlight in the room fade from existence. Her gaze shifted downward and discovered she too, was fading and bolted to her feet in astonishment.

As she rose, she realized her body did not come with her, and within seconds she was alone in the room, a shade caught in the misty haze. Was this the realm of elements? Where were the spirits Thoralius had spoke of? She feared for her body and the gnome she left behind and searched for a way out. Just as she found the door, however, it burst open, revealing one of half-giants without. Seven feet tall, with a brown beard and imposing as ever this close, Vesta was frozen to the spot.

He, too, was like a ghost in the mist and the mage brought her arms up defensively, realizing for the first time her staff had disappeared beside her body. To her surprise, he did not notice her, but merely walked through her as if she were not there! She spun on her heel to find they were no longer alone, either.

Kneeling on the ground was what she took for a human but quickly learned was a female half-giant. She was tending to a wooden cradle as the man approached her. The man bent down to view what lay there as the woman looked away. Vesta came up as well, but it was difficult in the mist to see what was there. She assumed it must assuredly be their child. Then the male spoke, and it shocked her to realize he spoke in Common! Perhaps her being without a body no longer restricted things like language?

“No,” uttered the male, the voice almost cacophonous. “Not you, too ... not our child.”

The female merely burst into tears at his words.

“Ymiron will not stand for this. No Vrykul would stand for this!” He raised a muscled fist to the air, as if challenging the sky itself. “We, too, are cursed!?

“My wife,” he pleaded, “we must dispose of this before Ymiron finds out.”

“No!” the female yelled. “It is our child, our blood! It is still Vrykul!”

“Vrykul,” Vesta repeated. “That is what they call themselves. They hold this Ymiorn in high regard, as well.”

“There are many,” the male lamented, “that would argue such a statement. And they all side with the King! What are we to do, then?”

“I …” began the female, “I will hide it, far away from Ymiron or even the gods' reach.”

“The gods would not allow for such a curse,” the male stated. “The gods,” he accused, “have left us!” With that statement, the male stalked out of the room, sending the female into a silent sobbing that awoke the child. The sound of it's cry made Vesta's blood run cold. She approached the cradle then, and what she saw confirmed her wild suspicions.

The child looked, sounded like, and was, most arguably Human. Upon such a realization, the mist began to fade, and Vesta was quickly beginning to feel the tug of the mortal plain pull her back to consciousness.

_______
<=!w0w!=>


As if waking from slumber, Vesta opened her eyes to the sight of a very worried looking gnome. He held the plans in a white knuckled fist. Upon realizing her wakefulness, he asked the obvious question:

“Are you awake?”

Vesta immediately pawed for her staff, rising to her feet Unlike a nap, she felt even more exhausted than when she had sat down. She hoped they would have no trouble making their escape. “How long was I … like that?”

“A minute, at most,” admitted Murrick. “What did you do?”

Vesta disregarded his question, the urgency of the situation taking hold in her mind. “I got what I came for. We have to leave – now.”

The gnome rose with her, eager to use his plans against the Vrykul. Vesta moved to the door and was greeted by a duo of Vrykul. They had presumably just stumbled upon the guard Vesta had downed, whose body was now that of a half-giant again. Whether it was a dead Vrykul or sheep, Vesta supposed they would find something amiss, either way.

They shouted something in their language, which Vesta no longer understood, and charged forward, their huge axes raised. Vesta wasted no time, despite her fatigue, and summoned a wave of fire from her feet outward. The flames engulfed the two Vrykul and would no doubt alert others.

“We have to get to the forest,” ordered the mage. “our best bet is to head north and then skirt around the village.” Without waiting for his assent, she was running.

As they broke from the dwellings, Vesta noticed a large group of Vrykul had assembled and had apparently unfrozen a few of the worgs. Vesta halted, near the tree line. Murrick stopped as well.

“Go without me!” Vesta urged. “You can make it back on your own, I'll keep them busy here.” Murrick started to argue the sanity of her choice when she ordered, “Go!”

Hesitantly at first, then with more haste, the gnome broke into a sprint. Vesta didn't look back, certain he would find safety in the trees. She knew what she was doing was a futile attempt: as any soldier, she could only fight so long. She might be able to cast one or two more spells, maybe one large one, but it could not be enough. The worgs were almost upon her, their silhouettes dark against the firelight behind them.

She took a risk, letting the vulpine menaces get close, but in doing so she could eliminate them all in one fell strike. One dove into the air, it's jaw open wide and aiming for her throat. Instantly, she let loose a fiery cone that reduced the furred creatures to ash. Now truly exhausted, Vesta fought to merely stand up straight.

There were still many Vrykul approaching. Even with her view turning hazy, she could still hear their battle cries. She tried to work a spell but couldn't find the strength. She realized this was probably where she would fall, and the one regret she had in mind was not for herself, but for Thoralius and all the others back in Valgarde. Her journey to the realm of elements revealed much, but still raised more questions regarding the Vrykul. And no one would know it, if she fell here and now.

Vesta was vaguely aware of the Vrykul coming upon her as exhaustion drove her to the ground. She noticed one warrior fell, then another, and wondered what hindered their advance as she lost consciousness for the second time.



Chapter 4 – We're Quickly Learning


“This is infuriating!” yelled a voice.

“Infuriating or not,” responded another, “what you're asking isn't wise. You're talents are not for pitched battles.”

“But-” started the first voice.

“Corywyn!” the other yelled, halting her objection. “I commend you for your heroism and initiative yesterday, but leave the front lines to soldiers. No doubt, we'll find good use of your skills soon enough.”

“Keller, the sooner we can end this fight the better. How fares the gnome?”

“Murrick?” Keller responded. “He-” The Vice Admiral's explanation was cut short, though, by a gasp. “She's- Thoralius, come quickly! Miss Vesta is awake!”

Vesta's eyes flitted open to reveal herself lying down in a bed, Corywyn and Vice Admiral Keller across the room. Then entered Thoralius, a broad grin on his blue face.

“My dear mage,” he said warmly, “I hear from your rogue friend that you lead quite the daring mission, yesterday.”

Vesta merely shrugged.

“Yeah,” chimed in Corywyn, “and it would have been your last if I didn't return to save your hide.”

“That was you?” queried the mage groggily, recalling the Vrykul charging at her.

“Murrick and I had one hell of a time carrying you back here.” She let the sardonic tone drop, for a moment. “The little guy sends his thanks, by the way.”

Vesta laughed softly in acknowledgement. Then the memory hit her. She abruptly sat up in her bed. “Thoralius!”

His immediate reaction was to grab her by the shoulders with a concerned gasp. “Lie back down, Vesta. Exhaustion may seem like nothing to spit at but if you do not relax your body will be a long time in recovering. I am the closest thing to a healer we have while our forces do battle outside the walls.”

Vesta was incredulous. “Don't tell me the Vrykul are attacking us directly now?”

“The what?” inquired Keller.

“Tell me all that you learned,” pried Thoralius.

And so Vesta explained what occurred during her trip to the realm of elements. The mist and the conversation and then, finally, the identity of the baby Vrykul. While she spoke, the three regained their seats, but at this last indication, both Keller and Corywyn jolted to their feet.

“Ridiculous!” cried Corywyn.

“Clearly the mist and trance clouded your sight.” stated the Vice Admiral.

“Silence,” prodded the Draenei, not shaken by this insinuation as much as the others. “She is telling us only what she saw. Indeed, such an explanation would be fitting.”

“Fitting!?” raged Corywyn.

Thoralius was about to respond, but Keller held up a hand, cooling his own thoughts at this possibility. “It matters not. Whether or not these … Vrykul … are related in any minuscule way to the human race is a moot point. What we should realize is that, as we speak, those brutes are at our doorstep. They clearly care not for our common ancestry,” and he added under his breath, “real or imagined.”

Vesta couldn't keep silent any longer. “Thoralius,” she pried, “surely my discovery isn't in vain. You said we should fight to understand, to learn, to end the fighting.”

Then, all eyes were on the shaman. He looked as if he were desperately thinking of a solution to appease everyone in the room. After a strained pause, “What you said may be true, my dear mage, but what the Vice Admiral says is true also. I'm afraid at this point,” he said, in a defeated tone, “we must take the fight to the Vrykul. Perhaps the day will come soon when we can reason with these people, and maybe in light of your common blood, end this destructive conflict.

“For now, though,” he said with a sigh, “I must rest and consult with the spirits. I suggest,” he added in a veiled remark, “that once you are healed that you seek out our friend Murrick. His plans might hasten our progress.”

_______
<=!w0w!=>



For the forty-fifth time that day, Murrick used his eraser. It wouldn't even be an issue if he didn't vocalize his frustration each time. He noticed his cohort in baneful blueprinting had stalked off, but the gnome said nothing of it. Humans, even the ones as practical as Zorek, never seemed to get that one should not bother a gnome when he's hunched over a draft. His kind often got antsy with the prospect of a new weapon to implement!

But it seemed for all the trouble he went through – stealing a Vrykul mechanism, only to be captured, ending in a mad dash through the forest – was for nothing. Even at the hands of his captors, he could not finish the complicated design of his spear gun. For two days he puzzled over a certain part which for all purposes should be a gear or screw, but without the pilfered spear gun, was a mystery. How could he hope to reverse engineer something like this, let alone build one, or many, to combat the Vrykul?

While he muddled over this problem, he heard someone approaching. The gnome didn't bother to look up, believing it to be Zorek. It was a female voice that greeted him, however.

“Am I interrupting you?” she asked.

He was about to reply with a snide remark when he placed the owner of the voice. He spun around to see the mage, still adorned in that blue and gold attire.

“Miss Vesta!” he exclaimed. “Have you recovered from your injuries? I regret placing you in danger.”

Vesta assured the gnome of her well being, eager to speak of his plans. “Have you made progress these last two days?”

Murrick looked away, still upset over his lack of ingenuity. “I'm afraid not,” he admitted. “It shames me as an engineer to say this weapon is foreign and complicated.”

“Back in the village,” she reminded the gnome, “you said you had stolen a component of one of their weapons.”

“For the better part of a minute!” he exploded. “Then those brutes were upon me! I had no time to ...” His voice trailed off as he saw her chagrin.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You deserve more than that, saving me and all. But the Vrykul have all the advantages, even the weapons themselves, stacked against us.”

Vesta didn't respond. A disappointing silence overcame them both. Murrick's assessment of the situation was grim indeed, and all true. The gnome was about to return to his blueprint when a man jogged up. Sporting an eye patch, he nodded a balding head to them both in greeting.

“You must be the mage everyone is mentioning. I'm surprised you're still alive after what you pulled.”

Vesta laughed modestly at his compliment. “I don't believe we've had the pleasure.”

In response, the man gave a quick bow. “Guard Captain Zorek. And you must be Vesta.” He crossed his arms. “Watch yourself, lady. Murrick and I are conjuring up a little mayhem of our own!”

“I'm the one sweating away at this blueprint,” grumbled the gnome.

Ignoring the gripe, Zorek cleared his throat. “I just returned from a meeting with Thoralius and the Vice Admiral. The shaman had another vision.”

This news brought the immediate attention from the mage. “Did he learn anything more about the Vrykul?”

“Yes,” confirmed the captain. “The spirit