Story Shorts

A collection of any short scenes written for plot developments.

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Bodysnatcher

Drustai sat down at a wooden table sat against the wall of the darkly lit cave. Of course, it did not look like a cave, her illusions saw to that. It was still suitably cryptic despite the effort, with the smooth, rounded walls reminiscent of Auchindoun and under dim green candles that were only contrasted by the flicking orange glow emanating from a small plague cauldron in the southeast corner. The silhouettes of several figures stood idle down the hall to another wing, still as statues though not quite as resilient. Their shapes, though hard to identify in the poor lighting, were of many different races--human, orc, and even mogu and yaungol. Upon one of the slabs in the center of the room rested another figure, over which was draped a silk sheet. Only its dessicated tail could be seen, lying out over the side of the slab from under its cover.

Drustai set the stack of letters atop the table. The addresses written upon their envelopes marked most of them as of little importance--business contracts, hate letters, the latest Stormwind Times, and the like--but one stood out from the rest. An urgent request from one Vrachos of the Naaruvada.

Drustai picked up the letter and slid her long nail beneath the seal, and then pulled out the parchment. She unfurled it, and quickly read it over.

The remains of the late Anchorite Thelos have been taken, the letter said. This is news most dire. The Naaruvada calls upon your expertise to investigate the case.

Drustai snorted. Of all people, they would call on her. Of course, the necromancer, cast aside in all other situations, would nevertheless be called to help locate a corpse. She picked up her quill and began to pen a response on a separate piece of paper. The Consortium or adventurers were responsible, she wrote. The Sha'tar had betrayed the Auchenai years ago and allowed tomb-robbers and pillagers free reign over the temple's crypts. They were at fault for not properly guarding the temple.

Investigation is no use. Auchindoun is no temple for us anymore. If you want to see something done, then convince the Sha'tar to establish a new Auchenai order to watch over the temple in order to prevent future desecration like this.

She signed the letter, and then placed it in a new envelope. She stamped it with a wax seal, and set it aside. She would deliver it next time she was in an Alliance city. For now, she had other work to do. She stood up from her seat and drew her bone wand from its case as she stepped over to the center slab.

The Frostwyrm



The orcs were proving elusive. While many of Drustai's comrades had managed to meet them in battle already, her own encounters had been limited to a single battle at the Terrace of Ten Thunders, which had resulted in a beaten Alliance and mogu relics--her relics--firmly in the hands of the Horde. No doubt they were already being parsed through by the Reliquary, whom were eager to unlock the very secrets Drustai was searching for: how to master the sha. The mogu knew, their korune sect had unlocked the secret. It was only a matter of time before that knowledge was unlocked, and Drustai would not allow the Horde to discover it first. The sha were hers to command.

She turned to look back at Pearlfin Village, across the lake of the same name. Most of the Alliance soldiers were still asleep, save the evening guards. A handful of jinyu sat at the shore, preparing their rods and nets in the hopes of an early morning catch. No one that would disturb her. She turned to look back around, into the hollow, icy eyes of her frostwyrm. The creature idly flapped its wings, out of some remnant instinct still lingering in its bound soul. Though what Drustai was doing was legal, no doubt the other soldiers would not welcome such a weapon. Fools, the lot of them. So bound up in their morals. Just like the draenei were a century ago, in a war that nearly resulted in their extinction. She would not let that happen, not again.

Drustai walked around the decrepit beast, trailing her hands across its bones and the remaining muscles and sinew. The bones cracked and shifted at her touch, as if the creature were trembling in the sight of its master. Multiple magical symbols were inscribed upon the outer edges of the bones, each now inlaid with lead. It was a stubborn metal, one that did not easily bend to spell. But that obstinacy, once brought to heel by the dominating will of a powerful wizard, was a potent defensive reagent. Once the wards were activated, the lead's "deadening" essence would protect the beast from any spells the enemy used to try and bring it down. Which was necessary, for it was to go into the heart of Horde territory.

Drustai stepped from the creature, and drew an oak wand. The wand was new, oak was not a wood she typically kept with her. But only the most sovereign of woods could command metals with such stubborn qualities as lead, along with the powerful dragon spirit that would bear the wards. Drustai raised the wand into the air, and began to draw wide symbols before the dragon in front of her.

"Wrym of the Blue Dragonflight," she incanted in Eredun, "lain dead upon the Frozen Wastes of Northrend and risen to serve Drustai of Koramor, Eredar born of Argus and now Draenei, living and dead and living again, Master of Death. Your master commands you to take flight, armed with claw and fang and the frozen winds of the north and armored with plates of steel and wards of lead, invulnerable to arrow and magic alike. Lay waste to my enemy, the orcs and trolls and tauren and goblins and undead and blood elves and hozen of the Horde, at their villages and towns in the north-west of the Jade Forest, where the green land meets the river and not past it. Destroy their crude flying things, and their towers, and their huts, and their peoples, and then return here."

She thrust the wand upward upon the conclusion of her incantation. The draconic corpse immediately began to move, as if it had suddenly awoken. It rumbled past her, and then lept off a small rise, beating its wings as it took to the air. It let out one chilling roar as it soared into the distance, as if a final acknowledgement of its commands.

Drustai was done holding back against the Horde. The Light would forsake the Alliance, just like D'ore had forsaken the draenei during their hour of need. Only her own reviled powers would bring victory.

Cadalygos

Cadalygos. That was his name. At least, it once was. Was that name still his? Or was it the name of the dragon that had come before, the dragon who had lain down in the great Dragonblight, with the bones of his ancestors, to rest his final rest? It had been so long ago. Was he still Cadalygos, or was he merely the image of Cadalygos? A construct, a facsimile, an illusion?

Cadalygos beat his mighty wings as he soared through the sky. He had done this many centuries ago, but now he could not feel the winds blasting against his face. Was there even a current upon which to glide? He remembered a time when he cared about the weather, when he could only fly when the winds were right. But now he didn't know. His master had told him to fly, and so he flew. And if she had told him to fly, then that must mean that she knew if there were currents. Yes. Of course she did. She would not send him to fly in poor wind. The great dragon nodded to himself, a burden lifted from his thoughts. The currents were there.

Below Cadalygos was a lush, green forest. He did not know this land. It was not like the lands he came from. There was great magic here. Great, dark magic. Oh, how he would love to melt into the earth, bathe in the mighty ley energies beneath the soil. It had been a long time since he had swam through ley-lines, crossing continents in an instant. But no, that was not his place now. His place was in the sky, to fight his enemies. They threatened the great magic here. They threatened his master.

There. He could see them, far below. So small. They trotted over their stone roads, upon wolves and lizards and cockatrices and all other things. Should he destroy these ones? His master had told him about the enemy. But no. She had said flying things first. Yes. The things that flew in the air must come first. The tiny creatures could not harm him. They could not harm his master. They were slow. He would destroy the flying things, and the towers and the huts. Then the peoples. The peoples were last. That was what she told him, and he would obey. She knew the best way to fight his enemies. That was why she was the master.

And so, Cadalygos turned his great crowned head forward. There the flying things were. Great, fat, fleshy beasts, carrying boats in their claws. Of course! The flying things were carrying the tiny creatures into the skies, from where they could attack his master! He would not allow it. He tilted his wings back and raised his snout, allowing the currents that he knew to be there to carry him up high. He passed over the flying things, and then leaned left, arching around in a wide circle. Now he was high enough. The flying things would not be able to escape him. With a crack of his old bones, he pressed his wings flat against his back, and dove.

There was a loud noise from below. The flying creatures must have seen him, and were shouting their whining cry. But it would be too late. He had the advantage now. He responded to their cries with a roar, and then blew forth a great breath of ice. The first flying thing popped with a puff and a screech, but no blood sprayed over the tower next to them, their nest. If the things were bloodless, then they must have been the product of dark magic.

Cadalygos spread his wings again, breaking his dive and bringing him back into ascent. The flying things' nest began to cast spells of fire and earth at him, but he was too fast and their magic was too weak. Even if they could hit him, his master's armor would protect him.

Cadalygos beat his wings, pushing himself higher and higher into the air. He then dove once again and brought down another dark flying thing. They were too easy to destroy, even as the nest tried to strike him with its magic. Destruction followed in the wake of his mighty breaths, and with each attack he brought low more and more of the flying things until there were no more. He then turned upon their nest, and that too soon fell silent. His master would be pleased.

Cadalygos rose one last time from his foes and did not circle again. Now his flight turned north. With the flying things and the towers gone, only the huts and the peoples remained.