Dalin

==Dalin==
((Hello! This is Dalin. I’ve been with the server since the beginning, January 26, 2006. I’ve decided that my birthday present to the server will be the entire collection of Dalin’s RP, whether you all like it or not. I hope you can handle some of it. :D ))
[b] Table of Contents [/b]
((Use Ctrl + F and the corresponding number/symbol to find the article. ))
1. Introduction: !1
2. Speeches !2
*2a – The First Dark Portal Speech
*2b – The Second Dark Portal Speech
3. Stories !3
*3a – Third Invasion of Kalimdor excerpt
*3b – The Beggar
*3c – The Mad Man’s Elegy
*3d – Razdan Baraz (The Blood Oath)
*3e – Trench Rats
*3f – The Fall of Colonel Stormbelly 
4. Songs !4
*4a – The Pirate of Westfall
*4b – The Beggar’s Song
*4c – The Ballad of Colonel Stormbelly
5. Responses !5
!5 – Response to Dark Portal Elves
6. The Legend of the Badlands. !6
!1 [b] Introduction! [/b]
 ((This was created a few months ago just for shits and giggles. I guess it’ll go to good use now. ))
Name: Is’sah Dalin. Ah-yup. Las’ name’sah Bronzebeard, nah relation’dah. Jus’ fer tah free goodies n’ respect’ah, yea knoe? 
Age: Erhm… Meh beard? Look’it ‘ow long’kit ‘tis, lass! (I have no idea.)
Gender: I git meh bait an’ tackle lassies. Yea cin’ git a free nip lat’ah. (Male) 
Physical Appearance: A description of how your character looks. 
Education: Dun look down tah barrel end of a loaded gun. Guess’sah das ‘un thin’…. Jus’ learnin’ whot I knoe from’mah books’sah an’ life ‘perience, lads. (Life experience with some actual studying.) 
Skills: Well, meh teach’ahs tol’ meh dat yea ‘ave tah be self sufficien’ n’ stuff… Sah I’mah grand fish’ah an’ chef… nah dat bad ah cookin’ … makin’ ‘plosives an’I’mah ‘opin’ tah Gobbies sah’ll teach meh sum’thin’. … an’ skinnin’ thin’sah! An’ I cin shoot’ah gun!
Disposition: Full Name: Dalin Bronzebeard'dah. Well, I'mah nah actuall'ah a Bronzebeard, jus' like tah name 'cos it gits me a wee bit'tah respect. 
Physical Appearance: Yea git eyes’sah, dun yea? Well, us’ah yer peepers an’ check meh ou’! *Flexes*
Height: Whadd'yea tryin' tah git 'cross 'ere? Are yea sayin' tha' I'MAH SHORT? Feckin' arse'oles. 
Weight: Is'sah muscle. Nah stop pokin' it an' makin'it jiggle. 
Race: Whadd'yea think'I'm'? I'mah feckin' Dwarf, num-nuts. 
Age: Length'ah meh beard. Das'all yea nee' tah kno' 
Skin Colour: Uhm... Tah colour of... Skin? <Shrugs> 
Eye Colour: Dere blue. Nah stop poin'tin' an' laughin' ah'dem blue-eyes. 
Hair Colour: Reddy-browny goodness. I think. Well, den yea git meh big bald spot. Dun laugh, fecker. 
Scars/Markings: 'Re yea blind? Well, 'RE YEA?! All meh feckin' life'sah been figh'in'. 
How Does He Dress?: Well, I put meh pants on one leg ah a time, an' meh shirt goes'sah one arm ah a time.... Wha' kinda a feckin' dumb'ah question is dat? 
 
Weaknesses: Elves. Dere feckin’ evil. Den yea git Orcs’sah, dey scar’ah buncha bastards…. Mad’mah wee me’self in tah Black Morass… an’ Trolls… draggin’ yer buddies in’tah dah darkness tah be eaten ‘live whule yea cower in yer fox’ole… An’ den Tauren… dey migh’ sit on yea… An’ den yea git Wat’ah.. dun lik’ Watah verr’ah mucha… den when yea run outta ammo… an’ den dere’sah… *Rambles on and on and on*
Memorable Traits: Wha’cha talkin’ ‘bout?
Mannerisms: Well. I git dis twitchin' thin' goin' on wit' meh body. Guess'sah after'fects'sah Shell Shock in tah Wars.... an' I dun reall'ah look'it people when I'mah talkin'... or'rah when dere talkin' ... jus' watchin' fer trouble, yea kno'? 
Habits: Yea kno', I dun gamble, smoke or'rah even drink fer dat matt'ah. I gav'up drinkin' long tim'ah go. Long stor'ah. Guess'sah insult people as'sah 'abit. 
Greatest Character Flaw: I'mah perfect. Whadd'yea tryin' tah pull, yea worthless maggot? I'MAH BETT"AH DAN YEA, YEA FECKER! I'll ah rip yer nads'off if yea think I 'ave a problem wit' dem personality. NAH GO FECK YERSELF WHERE TAH SUN DUN SHINE, YEA PANSY. 
Most Endearing Trait: 'Ello? Meester Int’ah’viewer’ah? Where'yea go?...
Personality: I’mah graceful as’sah Ballet wit’ tah calm temperament of’fah gentle ocean breez’sah! Why’d yea’sk?
 
!2 [b] Speeches! [/b]
*2a ((First Dark Portal Speech/Story: Dalin gave inspirational speeches to the public the week before the Burning Crusade came out. I only recorded 2 of them. This is the first one.))
Ivory bones, slowly being uncovered by the dusty winds began to once again show their mark upon the world. They were from a more brutal time, a time where the Alliance had once found victory during the Second War. This was the moment of those who had been fighting for so very long had held closely to their collective heart. It was their chance, however bleak it may be in the ruined wasteland that once this was over, they would be reunited with their kin, no matter the cost.
To once again seal the fate of the Horde, the Stormwind Expeditionary Force charged onwards into the hellish portal, preparing to fight off the beast … ‘over there’. Those in reserve that watch those brave souls rampage into the second reformation of the foul Dark Portal. 
And we waited. As our hairs turned from their vibrant glows into the ghostly grays, we waited and watched the eerie monstrosity mock the Nethergarde soldiers from afar, dust blowing over the bodies of friend and foe alike. 
Much has happened in the past few years, since the days long forgotten by the populace. The Alliance of Lordaeron lack control of the land its name is based on, leaving the continent to fall into despair and disrepair, only to be haunted by the ghoulish reanimations of our former comrades. ‘Thrall’ leads a rag-tag collection of warriors and peons in the newly discovered lands, holding hands with the Proudmoore Traitor. More Elves that pride themselves on baseless facts to fill in the ranks of those we lost to the Undead.
Never mind that, for that is another story, for we are discussing the most important event that will change us, young or old, forever. It is a day that we will all remember as the determining factor of whether or not the Expedition succeeded at their goal… or whether they joined their brothers in the ground.
The reports trickled in from Nethergarde, reporting a strange occurrence at the Portal. Rumors of otherworldly creatures were slowly making their way from the now ‘green’ shimmer of the Dark Portal. The derelict had once again come to life.
By the time a response came, many Nethergarde and Stonard soldiers had made an impromptu cease-fire while they erected rudimentary defenses against the stream of Demons. Their numbers began to thin, but their spirits held strong, only seeking to stem the tide as reinforcements attempted to make their way through the Swamps.
As the last vestiges of the Stonard and Nethergarde forces began to pull back from their overwhelmed positions, the glare of silver came galloping over the Horizon. The Argent Dawn had come once at last. Bolstering the falling positions, they were successfully able to gain some ground, rendering their equipment useful once more. 
They had also set forward one crucial event. By sending out emissaries to plead for assistance to the leaders of the sentient races, allowing massive contingents of men and women also made their way to the south, giving the armies the edge they needed to send the demons turn-tail and run from whence they came.
From this turn events, we can only determine one thing about the Stormwind Expeditionary Force at the moment: Whatever hope you had about those few heroic loved ones that went above and beyond the call of duty that day will have to live another day. They will not be coming back. We are saddened by this turn of events, only being able to avenge our fallen comrades that died trying so desperately to fight in the beliefs in the Alliance.
May you all face the skeletons of your past undeterred, for fate seems determined to turn up whatever had once been hidden before from our sight.
*2b ((Second Dark Portal Speech: Given due to popular demand of the first speech, this one taking a more serious tone.))
My friends, hear me out! Listen to Comrade Dalin’s hopeful words! The Alliance has made steady progress in the fight against the Burning Legion!
Ironforge has returned to its old ways, even though it still mourns over the loss of hundreds of men and women. Their sacrifice was not in vain, for we won through in the end!
The enemy feeds more and more demons to the Dark Portal, paying no attention to losses, only trying to penetrate deeper into Azeroth! 
They seek to devastate and plunder our cities and villages, only to rape and kill the our people. 
The people of our noble land, who treat the soldiers of the Alliance with love and respect, are now starting to be disappointed with in the Alliance. Many of them curse the Army for its desperate attempt to hold the line on the Nethergarde Front!
The people begin to say that our attempts are fruitless! We will be consumed either way! They say our lines are failing, that massive Demons run amok throughout our lands, the latest attempt purging hundreds of our comrades in Ironforge! 
Some unwise people at the front comfort themselves with arguments that we can let up, and retreat to the north, as we have vast territories, a lot of soil, many people, and that we will always have abundance of supplies!
By these arguments they try to justify their shameful behavior at the front. But all these arguments are fully false, faked and working for our enemies. They are weak! They are disheartened!
Every commander, every soldier and officer have to realize that our resources are not infinite. The territory of the Alliance is not a wilderness, but people – workers, peasants, miners, our fathers and mothers, wives, brothers, children. 
Retreating means to lose not only those vital resources but to lose those few souls that our very lives depend on!
To retreat means to destroy us and also our world! Every new piece of territory that we leave to the enemy will strengthen our enemy and weaken us, our defenses, the King’s land itself!
This is why we have to eradicate the conversations that make it seem like we could retreat, seeing we have a lot of territory, that our land is great and rich, that we have a lot of willing soldiers and we will always have enough food.
These conversations are false and harmful, as they weaken us and strengthen the enemy, for if we do stop sending everything we have towards the Dark Portal, we will be left without bread, without raw materials, without soldiers and weapons.
The conclusion is that it is time to surge forth! There will be no retreat. Not a single step back! This should be our slogan from now.
We need to protect every strongpoint, every pace of Alliance soil stubbornly, till the last droplet of blood, grab every piece of our soil and defend it as long as it is possible.
Our people are going through hard times. We have to keep holding, and then throw back and destroy the enemy, whatever it might cost us. 
The demons are not as strong as the panic-mongers say. They must stretch their strength to the limit. To withstand their blow now means to ensure victory in the future.
Can we stand and throw the enemy back in the Maw of Madness itself? Yes, we can, as our civilians in the cities are working perfectly and are supplying our army with more and more swords, shields and arrows!
So what do we lack? We lack order and discipline in our countrymen! This is our major drawback. We have to have to go beyond the call of duty to fulfill the dreams of our forefathers! 
We can no longer tolerate those cowards, who leave their posts at will. We can no longer tolerate the fact that the panic-mongers carry away other soldiers in their retreat and open the way to the enemy.
Panic-mongers and cowards back in my day would be exterminated at the site. A shot in the back for the lot of them!
Those who think retreat is an option should be treated as traitors of the Alliance! We can only either hold the Nethergarde Front or turn the gun on ourselves!
We must stand fast in the defense of our homelands! My brothers, march forward to the Dark Portal! Bolster the forces of Nethergarde and the Argent Dawn! 
To fulfill this order means to defend our country, to save our Motherland, to destroy and overcome the hated enemy.
To fulfill my plea means to live forever in the books of lore, to be forever remembered for the sacrifices YOU made to the Alliance! The brave soldiers that trudged into the gloom and brought hope to our children!
Come, my brethren! Stand by Comrade Dalin and we shall never falter! Onto glory! Onto destiny! Onwards, my comrades, to the destruction of the Burning Legion!
!3 [b] STORIES![/b]
*3a ((Third Invasion of Kalimdor! Famous event hosted by Fredriq Stormbelly that involved the complete and utter rout of voluntary Alliance soldiers in the Barrens. This is a brief piece of the story.))
A strange concoction of blood and sand caked itself on Dalin’s grim and wrinkled expression, slowly adding to his already visible discomfort. Even though he had been holding his ground for quite some time, there were only more foul members of the Horde between his iron-sights. Rising from his kneeling position, he spat out what little blood that had once given whatever little relief on his parched throat. He raised his head, squinting as to see through the visceral melee that lay before him. A no-man’s land had clearly formed, from that he could see, littered with the unfortunate souls who had been all too eager to defend the so-called ‘Glory’ of the Horde. 
From what little he could see, whatever semblance of their line had before had long faltered, staggered to prevent whatever vile projectiles could possibly be flung from the catapults within the Cross-Roads themselves. There had been rumors of these primitive contraptions, but it was best not to take the chance of finding out the truth. While the men and women he fought with were strong, the constant re-supply of fresh enemies began to take their toll on the Alliance’s weathered troops.
Upon his moment of calm in the madness of the melee, numerous thoughts flooded into the empty recesses of his mind. Where was Fredriq?... The good lad who had rallied these soldiers for the fray? Where were the other ‘Slingers? Why weren’t they holding of the bastards?—
His solace was cut short by a crude sound… Was it true? Were the Horde finally going to press us out of their firmly-planted position? No questions could be asked, as the thundering sound of heavy footsteps began to rampage out of the Outpost itself. A horrendous scream had spread among the Horde, inspiring them to fight harder… and cleanse our poor souls from our noble mission. 
Quickly looking around for some resemblance of leadership to call upon, he found no being of the sort. The swarm of the menace now hungered for our blood, their mouths wide open, howling curses and other horrid mockeries of language as they rushed towards our soldiers. There was no way that whatever was left of our line could possibly hold against that… torrent, the only word that explain such an attack of blood crazed combatants. Dalin rose to his feet, firing a single shot from a small revolver he kept safe from prying eyes and bellowed with a hoarse rasp, “REEEE-TREAT YEA BASTARDS’SAH! RUN’IN FIGH’TAH A’NUTTER DAY!”.
As he loaded his gun one last time, he turned-tail and ran for it. “TAH DAH FECKIN’ RUIN’D CARAVAN, YEA MORON’SAH! IS’SAH TIM’TAH GO!” Screams of his own rang throughout the plains as he continued to waddle as quickly as he could away. He didn’t know if anyone had heeded his call… It no longer mattered to him. If you live and run away, you’ll fight to live another day, or however his ol’ cowardly officers had long thought him.Closer and closer to his haven, he thought that he would be able to hold… 
The long abandoned ruins of this failed ‘convoy’ had proved only somewhat suitable for their own “failed convoy”. Wiping what dust had long been encrusted over his eyes, he finally saw a memorable visage: Goldark, that ruddy bastard! Save… he was not alone. Every footstep he took was equally (And not to mention slowly being out-paced by) matched by two of the finest Horde marksmen Dalin had seen. No longer caring about his own safety and on the verge of his own collapse, he did what he needed to distract the bastards so Goldark could carry on the message of today’s ‘success’. As he swung his gun, complete with a makeshift bayonet, he stumbled as quickly as he could over to his opponents and quickly met his end. He slowly reached into his pocket for a small nip of liquid courage, only to have it spill and mix with the arid plains of the Barrens.
 It seemed like an eternity had passed as he lay there, motionless on the ground. A sensation slowly grew across his face as he slowly awoke to a strangely calming scene. Within the ruins of the caravan, there sat a remnant of the noble Convoy Party, warming their aching bones by a rudimentary campfire. Dalin snickered and looked down, surprised to find a small piece of paper by his face. After careful study, he giggled weakly and wheezed, accidentally blowing the tattered piece into the all-consuming flames. He quietly muttered the wise passage once again to himself:
“Let not the Tides of War wash you away.”
A bit late for that, truly too little too late for Dalin. He had already been cast to sea long ago, by that measure.
If only he had an anchor to hold onto…
*3b ((The Beggar: Dalin was once a beggar during the summer months for the entirety of one week. Honest-to-god, he was set up like it and everything. Made 76 gold from it too. Also, the song is known as ‘The Beggar’s Song’ for now.))
A coarse and raspy voice rang out while he scrubbed away at the dirt-caked steel boots.
Where ‘ave all tah Goo’ Dwarves’sah gon’nah…
Long’ah time passin’…
Where ‘ave all tah Goo’ Dwarves’sah gon’nah…
Gon’nah as’sah Sold’ahs … Ev’ry’un’ …
When ‘ill dey ev’ah learn’nah?
A bit of a screech here, a crack there… The voice was holding up, at least.
Where ‘ave all tah Soldiers’gahs gon’nah? 
Long’ah time passin’… 
Where ‘ave all tah Soldiers’gahs gon’nah? 
Gone tah dah Graveyard’sah, ev’ry’un. 
When ‘ill dey ev’ah learn’nah? 
The scrubbing of the leather piece slowly became a bit faster… a touch angrier.
Where ‘ave all tah Brave ‘Un’sah gon’nah? 
Long’ah time passin’… 
Where ‘ave all tah Brave ‘Un’sah gon’nah? 
Cover’d wit’ Drunken Nigh’ Elves, Disgracin’ dere graves… ev’ry’un… 
When ‘ill dey ev’ah learn’nah? 
A slight change in tone… from solemn, to slightly melodramatic.
An’ tah Cobbie-Stones’sah Stormwind… 
Wit’ blood Orc an’ Hummie alik’ah… 
A cit’ah built on’nah bones… 
An’ frippy Elves delight… 
Braggin’ an’ struttin’ on sacred groun’… 
An’ insultin’ Vets left n’ roght. 
An’ tah Grea’ Cit’ah ah Ironforge, 
Tah legions’sah mad’ dah steel, 
Dem Elfies com’ an’ act lik’ dey own tah place, 
An’ dance ‘cross our’rah land.
The beggar peered up from his work, smiling into the eyes of the old Warrior who stared down upon him.
An’ when our’rah teeh ‘re’rah fallin’ ou’ … 
Our’rah limbs weak n’ frail… 
We’re been fightin’ our’rah entir’ah lives… 
A coffin waitin’, hammer an’ nail. 
Rememberin’ tah days when we stood tall’ah…
An’ when dem goo’ boys used tah brawl…
An’ nah tah ferget dem goo’ times we ‘ad…
Wit’ our’rah sword n’ shield in’ hand.
After a slight snicker, the vagabond looked down once again, his voice became quieter and returned to its solemn tone.
An’ whot do we git fer our’rah service?
Pompous Elves an’ arrogant prudin’.
An’ as we wait’ere jus’ tah die…
I’mah ask meh self… 
He paused for a moment, and sighed wistfully.
“Why?”
A hoarse laugh and a kindly smile rained down upon the eyes of the drifter, who had just finished shining the now-brilliant steel tipped boots. A gold coin was held low to his eyes, the shine very reminiscent of that of the tramp’s eyes. A giddy grin and a moment later, the Cadger was back to work, setting off for a new pair to deal with.
-------
Glistening in the crimson sunset coursing its way below the horizon, they jingled as they bounced and rolled off the cobblestones, scattering every-which-way.
Stubby little fingers found their way after each unique path each coin took. A silver here, a copper there… Every coin was important in the squat hands of this beggar.
Looking up in glee at the Night Elf who had been unimpressed with his shining of her massive Nightsaber’s claws, he thanked the wench for all the coins she had donated to his cause. Her colossal feline turned its head towards the Cadger, yellowed knives staring him right in the eyes. With a quick bark from the Night Elf, they were on their way.
The Cadger gave both them thanks from the Gods for her kind contribution, and waddled off as he searched for more loose coins to fall into his hands.
He hoped the jingling of his pockets wouldn’t give him away.
*3c ((“The Mad Man’s Elegy”: Created quite some time ago in order to represent the insanity that goes on in Dalin’s head every night. This plotline eventually was answered in the end, the Blue Crystal playing a minor role.))
As I fall to my slumber, 
No sounds in my halls,
A vivid shade of umber,
My master, he calls!
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Misty emerald haze,
Haunted by horrid sounds
Soon start to craze…
A new view abounds!
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My Crystal says that it is his brother,
Felled by the Titan’s Blade,
It always says there is another…
This one is long decayed.
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His name, War, Death and Carnage… 
Only to be left lying in the sludge…
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His secrets that he holds,
Is found in one single tome…
So simple the task…
But was not ready to behold…
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Danger alarms my old bones!
An ancient evil appendage drags me in…
My mouth emits painful moans…
Dragged closer within…. 
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Drowning in terror…
No mercy on my soul…
My fate being my error..
My Crystal… left to cajole…
My crystal waits for one thing….
And what could that be?
To be re-united at once…
With my one and only King…
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His twin waits…
For us…
Wait! Wait !A great flash of light?
Bringing tears of delight?
As the glare begins to clear…
Mortals tremble, for now you must fear…
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Glory to the old ruins be!
My eyes can clearly see,
The hidden wonders of this tomb…
And what dangers soon to loom…
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A pathway, I shall not stall!
For my Master makes his call!
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Deeper, deeper, in we go…
Where we stop? We shall not know!
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Look! Look! Beauty in construct!
I haven’t been detected…
Just my Dwarven Luck!
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My gaze is cast upon the relics of this land…
An Oracle, its guards, and nothing else but sand!
A disgusting enigma, one can assume for …
Save it predicts the coming of my Master once more…
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No! Stop! Another glare of light!
I drift away from my euphoria…
To somewhere, I do not know!
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Cold! Nothing like my grim touch of my Master!
Why am I here?
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A vision comes before my eyes once more,
A cold breeze pierces my open sore….
A shrine? A calming blue falls upon us…
My Crystal… It flares with fuss!
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Something glows from within!
Something fierce… A perilous din!
My Master squirms and shrieks!
I hold as tightly as I can…
It dissipates in my very hand!
You have forsaken me, my master! 
You have FORSAKEN ME!
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From the Shrine, my doom approaches…
The crystalline damnation encroaches…
It hovers high above me…
A soothing voice…
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What is this that fills within me?
Happiness? Love?
I do not know these things!
Only war, death and carnage…
With a need to explore!
I let go of my old fear…
A feeling oh-so-queer,
Begins to work around my body…
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I am the Avatar of the Blue Crystal.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I serve the forces of the Lawful,
And keep the World as it should…
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As I open my eyes,
I recall upon my dreams…
‘The Rantings of a Crazy Bastard,”…
*3d ((Razdan Baraz!: Major part of Dalin’s history in the reasonable past. It explains why he’s deathly loyal to the Alliance and also part of his insanity. It was an idea for a Dwarf-only guild, but there were only (And still is only) around 5 Dwarf RPers on TB))
Razdan Baraz (The Blood Oath)
The roots of the Razdan Baraz are deeply entrenched in the history of the Dwarven Nobility. Little shared by the stout populace, the truth, a semblance of a story has come about...
The Bronzebeards have held power over the Throne of Ironforge for as long as any dwarf could remember… but it always wasn’t so.
The dwarves of Ironforge Mountain lived in peace for many long centuries. However, 230 years ago, their society grew too large within the confines of their mountain cities. Though the mighty High King, Modimus Anvilmar, ruled over all dwarves with justice and wisdom, three powerful factions had arisen amongst the dwarven society.
The Bronzebeard clan, ruled by Thane Madoran Bronzebeard, held close ties to the High King and stood as the traditional defenders of Ironforge Mountain. 
The Wildhammer clan, ruled by Thane Khardros Wildhammer, inhabited the foothills and crags around the base of the mountain and sought to gain more control within the city. 
The third faction, the Dark Iron clan, was ruled by the sorcerer-thane Thaurissan. The Dark Irons hid within the deepest shadows under the mountain and plotted against both their Bronzebeard and the Wildhammer cousins. 
For a time the three factions kept a tenuous peace, but tensions erupted when High King Anvilmar passed away from old age. The three ruling clans went to war for control of Ironforge itself. The dwarf civil war raged under the earth for many years. Eventually the Bronzebeards, who had the largest standing army, banished the Dark Irons and Wildhammers from under the mountain. 
Khardros and his Wildhammer warriors traveled north through the barrier gates of Dun Algaz, and they founded their own kingdom within the distant peak of Grim Batol. There, the Wildhammers thrived and rebuilt their stores of treasure. Thaurissan and his Dark Irons did not fare as well. Humiliated and enraged by their defeat, they vowed revenge against Ironforge. Leading his people far to the south, Thaurissan founded a city (which he named after himself) within the beautiful Redridge Mountains.
Prosperity and the passing of years did little to ease the Dark Iron's rancor toward their cousins. Thaurissan and his sorceress wife, Modgud, launched a two-pronged assault against both Ironforge and Grim Batol. The Dark Irons were intent on claiming all of Khaz Modan for their own. 
The Dark Iron armies smashed against their cousins' strongholds and very nearly took both kingdoms. However, Madoran Bronzebeard ultimately led his clan to a decisive victory over Thaurissan's sorcerous army. Thaurissan and his servants fled back to the safety of their city, unaware of the events transpiring at Grim Batol, where Modgud's army would fare no better against Khardros and his Wildhammer warriors. 
As she confronted the enemy warriors, Modgud used her powers to strike fear into their hearts. Shadows moved at her command, and dark things crawled up from the depths of the earth to stalk the Wildhammers in their own halls. Eventually Modgud broke through the gates and laid siege to the fortress itself. The Wildhammers fought desperately, Khardros himself wading through the roiling masses to slay the sorceress queen.
With their queen lost, the Dark Irons fled before the fury of the Wildhammers. They raced south toward their king's stronghold, only to meet the armies of Ironforge, which had come to aid Grim Batol. Crushed between two armies, the remaining Dark Iron forces were utterly destroyed.
The combined armies of Ironforge and Grim Batol then turned south, intent on destroying Thaurissan and his Dark Irons once and for all. They had not gone far when Thaurissan's fury resulted in a spell of cataclysmic proportions. Seeking to summon a supernatural minion that would ensure his victory, Thaurissan called upon the ancient powers sleeping beneath the world. To his shock, and ultimately his doom, the creature that emerged was more terrible than any nightmare he could have imagined.
Ragnaros the Firelord, immortal lord of all fire elementals, had been banished by the Titans when the world was young. Now, freed by Thaurissan's call, Ragnaros erupted into being once again. Ragnaros' apocalyptic rebirth into Azeroth shattered the Redridge Mountains and created a raging volcano at the center of the devastation. 
The volcano, known as Blackrock Mountain, was bordered by the Searing Gorge to the north and the Burning Steppes to the south. Though Thaurissan was killed by the forces he had unleashed, his surviving brethren were ultimately enslaved by Ragnaros and his elementals. They remain within the depths of Blackrock to this day. 
Witnessing the horrific devastation and the fires spreading across the southern mountains, King Madoran and King Khardros halted their armies and hastily turned back towards their kingdoms, unwilling to face the awesome wrath of Ragnaros.
The Bronzebeards returned to Ironforge and rebuilt their glorious city. The Wildhammers also returned home to Grim Batol. However, the death of the Modgud had left an evil stain on the mountain fortress, and the Wildhammers found it uninhabitable. 
They were bitter in their hearts over the loss of their beloved home. King Bronzebeard offered the Wildhammers a place to live within the borders of Ironforge, but the Wildhammers steadfastly refused. Khardros took his people north towards the lands of Lordaeron. Settling within the lush forests of the Hinterlands, the Wildhammers crafted the city of Aerie Peak, where the Wildhammers grew closer to nature and even bonded with the mighty gryphons of the area.
Seeking to retain relations and trade with their cousins, the dwarves of Ironforge constructed two massive arches, the Thandol Span, to bridge the gap between Khaz Modan and Lordaeron. Bolstered by mutual trade, the two kingdoms prospered. After the deaths of Madoran and Khardros, their sons jointly commissioned two great statues in honor of their fathers.
The two statues would stand guard over the pass into the southlands, which had become volcanic in the wake of Ragnaros' scorching presence. They served as both a warning to all who would attack the dwarven kingdoms, and as a reminder of what price the Dark Irons paid for their crimes. 
The two kingdoms retained close ties for some years, but the Wildhammers were much changed by the horrors they witnessed at Grim Batol. They took to living above ground on the slopes of Aerie Peak, instead of carving a vast kingdom within the mountain. The ideological differences between the two remaining dwarven clans eventually led to their parting of ways.*
Even though thousands of years have passed by, the Bronzebeards still watch vigilantly over their lands, making sure that nothing but the Bronzebeards themselves would hold that seat of power.
However, in the past 100 years, public opinion has slowly wavered. No longer do the Dwarves stand steadfastly to the defense of the King’s Lands, as their enemies slowly chip away at their armies’ numbers, pushing them back inch by inch. The Bronzebeard Royal Family themselves would surely act to boost the morale of the people by fighting on the front line, but to leave the Throne was now unthinkable as the Dwarven numbers thinned. Any sort of rebellion within their own ranks would surely bring an end to the power of the Bronzebeards. A constitution monarchy was created in order to appease the people, but it wasn’t enough. Long arduous lives were the only ones left for the Dwarves. They either mined for more minerals, fought a war they couldn’t win or drank their worries away (Which lead to the rise in breweries in Khaz Modan). 
It was only until the Three Bronzebeard Brothers came into power, and formulated a plan. They decided that they would come into secretive contact with any Dwarf that required dire aid, and promised that they would aid them (Those requiring aid) the best they could….
However, those who did agree to the offer had to ‘sign into the Razdan Baraz, ‘The Blood Promise’. They were told that they were to serve the King the best they could…. without actually knowing what they were to do.
Almost every Dwarf that had been contacted by the Bronzebeards had showed up where they were told to appear, the pit of Old Ironforge.
----
Searing heat stirred above and below the recruits’ heads, both from the Great Forge and the fires below. The sounds of hammering and steel had long been drowned out by the Cavern’s walls. The Cavern itself was as barren like any other, nearly an empty expanse… save for a few unique features. A great platform rose triumphantly in the center of this massive dome, while the emblem of the Dwarves was carved into the platform. Just above the platform were crystals, hundreds that held precariously onto the rock veiling. Brilliant and perfect were those magnificent minerals, each sparkle awing the greenhorns below. The only light that appeared in this dark place was from their lanterns and the eerie red glow from the magma below.
“Right then, now that your curiosity has been piqued and since you all seem to be in good spirits…” said a thundering voice, shaking the Cavern’s walls with slight vibrations, “It is now time for you all to do your service!”
As booming steps from the darkness slowly crept up the stairs towards the platform, the recruits quivered in fear. Any small sound made in this place was heard as easily as a foghorn... The footsteps sounded like the crashing of drunken Tanks into nearby walls, if that analogy could suffice. The recruits backed away from the staircase, frightened to see what may appear. Each dwarf was here for a reason, all of them in debt of the Bronzebeards. All were of different heritages, calluses and lines of work, whether shady characters or emboldened Iron workers. Three dark figures appeared at the top of the staircase, slowly rising over the stone horizon. Most of the Dwarves surrounding the edges of the group fought to hold the retreating mob back, lest they fell to their deaths. There were not any rails or anything of the sort to hold back the unfortunate. 
One brave dwarf (Oh foolhardy, as you may think) fired off a flare high above the marauding shadows. Many eyes followed the lazy path of the red object in the air, and many sighs of relief (Some in surprise) as it landed by the formerly hidden pairs of boots….
Magni, Muradin and Brann Bronzebeard, the three brothers that conducted the inner-workings of
the Government stood before the Dwarven group. They motioned everyone to remain silent, for each greenhorn has many questions varying on why they were here, why they everyone else was
“You have all been brought here for your own reasons… but you all have required some dire assistance from us one way or another,” Magni gravely stated. “To ensure that the Dwarves of Ironforge are still loyal to us, we have gathered those who borrowed a great favor from us… must now be ready for a life of strife, death, carnage—“
 
Brann quickly interrupted in order to bring the hearts of the recruits back, “For a new age of Exploration, Prosperity and Adventure!” All the Dwarves were still unsettled by Muradin’s brutal honestly, taken aback by what they would be forced to do.
Magni bellowed in order to halt the bickering that had broken out in the crowds before him. “ENOUGH! You have sworn the Blood Promise! There is no turning back now.” A silence fell upon the recruits, much like a wave of realization. There really was no turning back now. They were damned if they did, damned if they didn’t.
Muradin rubbed his hands in glee. He grinned wickedly, and with that toothy grimace he roared, “LET THE CEREMONY BEGIN!” Darkness fell as the torches suddenly went out. 
There was a terrible stillness.
---- 
Many years have passed since that moment. It has been almost 30 years. In that time, members helped the Brothers create and maintain organizations such as the Explorer’s Guild, constantly working behind the scenes. Others were sent out to explore …. And eventually to fight on the King’s behalf. (The Black Morass Incident is one that very few wish to talk about.) Others had found themselves in the political and diplomatic business of the King, weeding out any trouble that may have appeared. Many great things discovered were often assisted by the Razdan Baraz, often without acknowledgement of those who claimed the discovery.
However, these great things came at a terrible price. There were well over a hundred Dwarves in the beginning. The losses began after the Black Morass Incident, and only got worse from there. During the Second War, when Magni believed that Ironforge was in trouble and that the humans required aid, those of the hundreds became dozens. With the arrival of the Third War, those dozens became even fewer. Those who did survive live their own life now, granted by the horrified brother that remained. They have not been seen since.
Did I mention only one brother? It is no mistake, for it is fact! Muradin, during a mission of exploration went missing in Northrend. Nothing is known about his disappearance. Brann went on his own expedition, only to be lost in the shifting sands of Silithus. Magni is the only one that remains, alone on his Throne. 
One Dwarf did come back after 30 years. Only one. 
He was excused from service, after Magni had saw what destruction and havoc this plan of his had created. Hundreds of Dwarves lost! His only brothers dead! He nearly disbanded the organization of the Razdan Baraz, saying that enough blood had been spilled for the promise. As a final act of gratitude, he attempted to dismiss the Dwarf before him.
This Dwarf declined that offer readily. He was ready to give his life for the King. The King had given him a home, food… and a family.
Magni granted him leadership over the Razdan Baraz, retaining control over the organization however. 
He was to rebuild this organization to its former, secretive glory.
His name was Dalin Bronzebeard. 
*3e (Trench Rats: This was my guild recruitment story for the military-themed guild. Still is too.)
Trench Rats: The pests that fed on the fallen soldiers in those forsaken hellholes.
They were the creatures that seemed to always around, salvaging the memories of the battlefield. Through sheer tenacity and improvisation, a number of soldiers earned this infamous nickname. It once commandeered respect from the 2-Week-Wonders to the Officers (Whose nicknames are less tasteful). As the Great Wars came to an end, letting the ashes settle, those brave men and women faded into the annals of now-forgotten military documents, their contribution given to the pompous and arrogant ‘heroes’. 
The Old Alliance itself eventually began to settle once more, rebuilding their glory back from the ruins of their former lives. The hatred of all Greenskins and their allies would forever resound in their hearts as their families and land was torn from them so savagely. 
Peace led to inaction. 
Inaction led to ennui.
Ennui let the collective shield of the Seven Great Kingdoms down, luring the citizens of Lordaeron into a false sense of security. This lull of security led to the end of the great Human civilization known to have ever existed. Those Trench Rats who had aged gracefully in relative were put back into action, only to fall to pieces like obsolete machinery, relics of a once bloodier past.
Disillusionment fills the land. Wary eyes search around, paranoia abound. The Alliance is once again falling into disparity. Lordaeron is in ruins, Kul Tiras humiliated by their own traitorous daughter. The veterans themselves watch as the populace turns to ignorance, their contribution to be forgotten by a lenient next generation. The Trench Rats would not fall from grace, a forgotten treasure in the attic. 
Blowing the dust off their old war gear, these courageous souls would once against uphold the values that the Old Alliance once taught them to hold dear to their hearts. 
They would not drift into their place, their weapons as antiques and heirlooms.
The red eyes would not disappear from their slumber, haunting their every move. Only eternal sleep would bring peace to their minds, whether it was the foul beasts or themselves.
Will you sit idly and watch as the Horde slowly encroaches from all directions? Will you pick up your sword and fight the Green Tide alongside our experienced brothers? 
Are you loyal to the Old Alliance? Sign up today.
*3f ((The Fall of Colonel Stormbelly: A story about the Third Invasion of Kalimdor and the consequencial disappearance of Fredriq. This is my tribute to him. The song inside is (The Ballad of Colonel Stormbelly))
Slowly leaning back on the moldy crates, cast aside on the walls of the Trade Quarter, he grunted and groaned as his legs buckled under his own weight. He had done quite enough waddling around, dealing with all sorts of altercations (Mind you, they rarely involved violence, mostly self-righteous Elves demanding all sorts of respect for not walking on the grass) that only weathered away on his nerves. He sat there, slouched as he watched all the faces go by. 
The memories overtook him quickly. 
--
The Drums of War thundered once again. The raging stampede of Ram, Horse and Nightsaber alike created a tremendous din that rumbled the arid plains themselves! Vestiges of conversation swiftly passed through his mind…
As he peering around at his comrades, standing around and waiting for the command to commence the attack, he attempted a bit of chatter to boost the already-high morale of the 
“Roght den, is’sah ev’ry’un’ read’ah fer sum’ bludshed”?
Naturally, a Night Elf strutted forward to counter his statement:
“You mustn’t look at the bloodshed, Dwarf. In the end, there is only victory, and victory is what we seek!”
Dalin glared at the figure for a moment, blinking. 
“Uhm… since dat’sah comin’ from’mah Elfie… I’mah tolerat’ah dat…”- muttered the stalwart Dwarf under his breath. “Look’it. Tah git yer smokin’ plat’ah Roasted Boar Rib’sahh, yea gitta kill tah Boar firs’. Yea kno’ whot’Im sayin’?”
They were expecting a glorious battle, a victorious bloodbath. They could never be more wrong.
--
Scribbling down on a piece of tattered paper, he smirked and began to write, softly singing underneath his voice.
“Dey’vah git nah tim’ah fer fame in’dah Rifle Compah’neh… 
Dey’ve git nah reason’nah fer prayer ah’all…. 
Bu’tah in’ev’ry Soldier’sah rememb’ah’sah in’nah In’fam’mee… 
Is’sah nam’ah, is’sah nam’ah Colonel Storm… 
Caught in’nah ambush’sah lay a ban’dah ah brother’sah…
Just’ah guns’sah ‘gainst’ah spear’sah doom….
Dey wer’ah waitin’ tah die wit’ou’ anh’neh cover’sah…
Colonel Storm, Colonel Storm face’tah gloom….”
--
A sea of blue, grey and green swarmed from all sides, chaos quickly ensuing. We had no sort of close-combat weapons at the ready. The tide quickly washed away our precious defenses, one wave at a time. The tower itself was no help to our plight. There was too little defensive cover, too much bared flesh to the enemy. We would die. Slowly picked off, like leaves off an autumn tree. There was no stopping this force of nature. There was no hope.
--
“Charg’ah’ in… Colonel Storm!...
Fough’tah an’ lost fer dah men ‘e march’dah ‘long…
In’nah books’sah an’nah history’ah ah tah Riflemen…
Ling’ah’sah name, tah nam’ah Colonel Strom…
It’ah was’sah ‘e ‘ho charg’ah dah enem’meh… 
Dat’ah comp’ah’neh ah soldi’ah’sah migh’ lib tah figh’ ..
Befer ah deadly salvo ah spear’sah from’ah dah enem’meh…
Stood’ah man, stood’ah man das’sah los’ an’ gone…”
--
Blood drowned his vision, ringing blazed in his ears. A distinct sound of a Dwarf screaming could be overheard amidst the chaos, running towards the enemy lines from the safety of the ruined stone wall surrounding the tower, his axe waving wildly over his head. Salvation in distraction, I thought to myself. This was the only chance we had, to escape this hell. His sacrifice was not in vain.
--
“On’nah pedestal in’nah Ironforg’ah in’nah Mountie’ans..
Stand’sah simpl’ah wooden plaqu’ah dat sits’sah ‘lone…
As’sah relic’ah ah dat action’sah of’ah Offic’ah…
Mouldin’ our’rah dreams’sah lik’ah masseur…
Mouldin’ dreams’sah! Colonel Storm!...
Fought’ah an’ died fer tah soldier’sah ‘e march’ah ‘long….
In’nah ev’ry ‘eart ah dah Riflemen…
Is’sah memor’eh ah Colonel Bell’eh-Storm….
Dey’vah git nah tim’ah fer fame in’dah Rifle Compah’neh…
Dey’ve git nah reason’nah fer prayer ah’all….
Bu’tah in’ev’ry Soldier’sah rememb’ah’sah in’nah In’fam’mee…
Is’sah nam’ah, is’sah nam’ah Colonel Storm…
Remain’sah legend’ah Colonel Storm…
Fought’ah an’ died fer tah soldier’sah ‘e march’ah ‘long….
In’nah ev’ry ‘eart ah dah Riflemen…..
Is’sah tale ah Colonel Bell’eh-Storm….”
Slowly closing his mouth, his hoarse voice uttering the last words of his slip-shod memorial, he folded up the piece of paper and pocketed it. He looked up, and smiled at the stars slowly casting down their silent glow. Pgah, thinking and acting in that sort of crud was too much like an elf. Too much melodrama involved in his opinion.
The memories of war never fade, ask any Veteran. Their deeds long forgotten, silent thanks for their service never given. Just a marker in the ground, their bones lay beneath. Never knowing what actually truly happened to that Colonel, it seemed only right that he would at least be remembered for his last services in Kalimdor. The ghosts of war never disappear, and only fight along with you, a brother-in-arms. 
May the Colonel forever rest in peace, on the ever-lasted plains of the Heavens.
!4 [b] SONGS! [/b]
((Otherwise known as: WTF DALIN USED TO SING?))
*4a
((This is a little ditty that Dalin used to sing at the Wisps and Spirits. Its called the Pirate of Westfall. This is heavily based of the song “The Pirate of River Saskatchewan” by the Arrogant Worms. ))
I used to be a farmer, and I made a living fine, 
I had a little stretch of land along the Caravan line, 
But time went by and though I tried, the money wasn't there, 
And bankers came and took my land and told me "fair is fair", 
I looked for every kind of job, the answer always no, 
"Hire you now?"; they'd always laugh, "We just let twenty go!";
The Nobles, the promised me a measly little sum , 
But I've got too much pride to end up just another bum. 
Then I thought, who gives a damn if all the farm are gone? 
I'm gonna be a PIRATE on the coast of Westfall’on!!!
Cause it's a heave-ho, hi-ho, comin' down the plains ,
Stealin' wheat and barley and all the other grains ,
It's a ho-hey, hi-hey farmers bar yer doors ,
When ya see meh Jolly Dodger on Westfall's mighty shores.
Well, you'd think the local farmers would know that I'm at large ,
But just the other day I found an unprotected barge ,
I snuck up right behind them and they were none the wiser, 
I rammed their ship and sank it and I stole their fertilizer! 
A bridge outside of Wes’fall spans a mighty river ,
Farmers cross in so much fear their stomachs are a-quiver ,
Cause they know that SAILOR JACK is hiding in the bay , 
I'll jump the bridge and knock them cold and sail off with their hay!
Cause it's a heave-ho, hi-ho, comin' down the plains, 
Stealin' wheat and barley and all the other grains ,
It's a ho-hey, hi-hey farmers bar yer doors ,
When ya see the Jolly Roger on Westfall's mighty shores
Well, Constable Bob he chased me, he was always at my throat, 
He'd follow on the shoreline cause he didn't own a boat, 
But cutbacks were a-coming and the Constable lost his job ,
And now he's sailing with us, and we call him Salty Bob! 
A swingin' sword, a skull and bones and pleasant company ,
I never pay my taxes and screw ta’ Bribery!
Redridge down to Westfall I'm the terror of the seas ,
If you wanna reach the grainery, boy, you gotta get by me!
Cause it's a heave-ho, hi-ho, comin' down the plains ,
Stealin' wheat and barley and all the other grains ,
It's a ho-hey, hi-hey farmers bar yer doors ,
When ya see the Jolly Dodger on Westfall's mighty shores.
Well, Pirate life's appealing but you just don't find it here, 
I've heard that in Tan’aris there's a band of buccaneers ,
They roam the South n’ sail ta’ Booty Bay , 
And you're gonna loose your cargo if you have to pass their way! 
Well, winter is a-comin' and a chill is in the breeze ,
My Pirate days are over once the farms starts to freeze ,
I'll be back in springtime but now I have to go ,
I hear there's lots of plundering down in Ta’ Vale’oh!!
*4b
(The Ballad of Colonel Stormbelly – See The Fall of Colonel Stormbelly for details, based of the Ballad of Rodger Young))
“Dey’vah git nah tim’ah fer fame in’dah Rifle Compah’neh… 
Dey’ve git nah reason’nah fer prayer ah’all…. 
Bu’tah in’ev’ry Soldier’sah rememb’ah’sah in’nah In’fam’mee… 
Is’sah nam’ah, is’sah nam’ah Colonel Storm… 
Caught in’nah ambush’sah lay a ban’dah ah brother’sah…
Just’ah guns’sah ‘gainst’ah spear’sah doom….
Dey wer’ah waitin’ tah die wit’ou’ anh’neh cover’sah…
Colonel Storm, Colonel Storm face’tah gloom….”
“Charg’ah’ in… Colonel Storm!...
Fough’tah an’ lost fer dah men ‘e march’dah ‘long…
In’nah books’sah an’nah history’ah ah tah Riflemen…
Ling’ah’sah name, tah nam’ah Colonel Strom…
It’ah was’sah ‘e ‘ho charg’ah dah enem’meh… 
Dat’ah comp’ah’neh ah soldi’ah’sah migh’ lib tah figh’ ..
Befer ah deadly salvo ah spear’sah from’ah dah enem’meh…
Stood’ah man, stood’ah man das’sah los’ an’ gone…”
“On’nah pedestal in’nah Ironforg’ah in’nah Mountie’ans..
Stand’sah simpl’ah wooden plaqu’ah dat sits’sah ‘lone…
As’sah relic’ah ah dat action’sah of’ah Offic’ah…
Mouldin’ our’rah dreams’sah lik’ah masseur…
Mouldin’ dreams’sah! Colonel Storm!...
Fought’ah an’ died fer tah soldier’sah ‘e march’ah ‘long….
In’nah ev’ry ‘eart ah dah Riflemen…
Is’sah memor’eh ah Colonel Bell’eh-Storm….
Dey’vah git nah tim’ah fer fame in’dah Rifle Compah’neh…
Dey’ve git nah reason’nah fer prayer ah’all….
Bu’tah in’ev’ry Soldier’sah rememb’ah’sah in’nah In’fam’mee…
Is’sah nam’ah, is’sah nam’ah Colonel Storm…
Remain’sah legend’ah Colonel Storm…
Fought’ah an’ died fer tah soldier’sah ‘e march’ah ‘long….
In’nah ev’ry ‘eart ah dah Riflemen…..
Is’sah tale ah Colonel Bell’eh-Storm….”
*4c
 (The Beggar’s Song – Where have all the soldiers gone? See ‘The Beggar’ for details))
Where ‘ave all tah Goo’ Dwarves’sah gon’nah…
Long’ah time passin’…
Where ‘ave all tah Goo’ Dwarves’sah gon’nah…
Gon’nah as’sah Sold’ahs … Ev’ry’un’ …
When ‘ill dey ev’ah learn’nah?
Where ‘ave all tah Soldiers’gahs gon’nah? 
Long’ah time passin’… 
Where ‘ave all tah Soldiers’gahs gon’nah? 
Gone tah dah Graveyard’sah, ev’ry’un. 
When ‘ill dey ev’ah learn’nah? 
Where ‘ave all tah Brave ‘Un’sah gon’nah? 
Long’ah time passin’… 
Where ‘ave all tah Brave ‘Un’sah gon’nah? 
Cover’d wit’ Drunken Nigh’ Elves, Disgracin’ dere graves… ev’ry’un… 
When ‘ill dey ev’ah learn’nah? 
An’ tah Cobbie-Stones’sah Stormwind… 
Wit’ blood Orc an’ Hummie alik’ah… 
A cit’ah built on’nah bones… 
An’ frippy Elves delight… 
Braggin’ an’ struttin’ on sacred groun’… 
An’ insultin’ Vets left n’ roght. 
An’ tah Grea’ Cit’ah ah Ironforge, 
Tah legions’sah mad’ dah steel, 
Dem Elfies com’ an’ act lik’ dey own tah place, 
An’ dance ‘cross our’rah land.
An’ when our’rah teeh ‘re’rah fallin’ ou’ … 
Our’rah limbs weak n’ frail… 
We’re been fightin’ our’rah entir’ah lives… 
A coffin waitin’, hammer an’ nail. 
Rememberin’ tah days when we stood tall’ah…
An’ when dem goo’ boys used tah brawl…
An’ nah tah ferget dem goo’ times we ‘ad…
Wit’ our’rah sword n’ shield in’ hand.
An’ whot do we git fer our’rah service?
Pompous Elves an’ arrogant prudin’.
An’ as we wait’ere jus’ tah die…
I’mah ask meh self… “Why?”
!5 [/b]RP Response:[/b] ((It was a response to a group of Elves that thought they could make friends with the Horde and defeat the Demons all by their lonesome. They caught Dalin at a bad time.))
Smiling as he waddled down those ol’ streets of Stormwind, meandering at random while watching all the faces go by, he slowly pulled back his tattered hood. Aged well by the sands of time, it covered plenty of visible memories from others. A blinded eye, seemingly scathed and scorched by rather brutal means, his apparent baldness complimenting his ruined sight. He grinned to himself, sharing a private smugness with the world. His emerald and chain garments encased his rather chubby frame, a relic from the past. Once it served as protection that held fast in the past, only to be made obsolete by the standards of them youngings. The outfit was a celebration. The war-gear presented an idea, an avatar of pride itself, his service in the Wars, only to be carefully taken out of its sanctuary to be worn on a simple occasion. 
Hordefall. 
A week of remembrance for those who had fallen in combat, a silent thanks celebrated with food and gifts. Veterans waited for this day with a hidden sense of delightful dread, their stories to be told once again to awed children, those who had the image of an epic, even poetic sense of War filling their mind. They were the ones who still cared. One day, their dreams would be shattered, their corpses marked with the grin of perverted joy, unblinking eyes staring eerily towards the heavens.
Dalin solemnly turned towards a nearby poster on the wall, analyzing it carefully, the comical hand-writing of Elves slightly hard to read than most. Squinting at the exaggerated curves and lines, he slowly made out a message from the border-line gibberish. 
His fists clenched, teeth grinding.
The danger that had hid behind the Portal had come. We had fought it off for twenty hard years. Years in which innumerable souls perished at the hands of the Green Tide, the better part of all of the Eastern Kingdoms was in flaming ruins, women and children sprawled over the ground, clutching to each other in the smoke and horror. The devils had already poured through that Portal. All we had to do was finish the job of exterminating them. To declare… peace on such horrid things was out-of-question. 
Elves. Pgah. They know nothing. To make Peace was only to invite War. Stabbed in the front.
Clutching to his gun, shaking as he brought it to bear at the poster, the stout dwarf angrily muttered a curse. A salvo later, a smoking and rusted gun was lowered to the stones. Eyes now widened followed it to the ground. To consider such acts of open alliances would border on (And thus be considered as) Treason.
A rather large berth was made for the twitching Dwarf, angrily muttering to himself as he stomped off towards Old Town. At least you could get some respect there.
!6 [/b]The Legend of the Badlands![/b]
((This is the introduction to the mini-epic folk tale that Dalin made up for the Badlands. The numbers for each section pretty much differentiates a unique narrator/part of the story. I’ll put a different symbol beside each number to tell you who the narrator is, or what storyline part it is. (Legend: !, @, #, *) ))
1.*
An unending barrage of voices constantly rasped and raved, reaching out with their whip-like tongues and seared the poor boy’s ears. Slowly quivering on the damp stone floor, he slowly rocked back and forth. His collar, a rather adorned piece of golden and scarlet steel, encrusted with all sorts of jewels strangled his rather parched throat. Shaking his head in disagreement with the strange tongues, he muttered to himself, denying they ever existed. Panting heavily, it was only a matter of time before they unleashed another barrage of foul bargaining upon him… 
“What to do to die today at a minute or two to two…”
“Something distinctly hard to say…”
His weak words fluttered across the room, echoing slightly before dissipating into nothingness. Turning his head slightly to the nearby staircase, he grunts as the voices continue to unload their intent on his tortured soul.
“We know what you desire… a taste… even a touch of… dare I even treat you, allow you to savor the word?
 “Freedom?” 
“Even as you watch yourself and the others in despair and an unjust end… why not… cast vengeance on them? It would be so very simple! I would do most of the work… All you would have to do is set the plan into motion…”
Whimpers once again filled the tomb, pleading with the invisible forces that taunted him… His cries, no matter how desperate, fell on deaf ears. It was only a matter of time before he was driven off the fringe… fully embracing his new form of madness.
2.#
Grinning rather perversely at the fire that he had set before himself, Dalin giggled (Not chuckled, for this Dwarf is one who would giggle quite robustly) and tittered as the words tumbled froth from his maw, making a strange form of a story. His… guests, ones who had earlier caught interest in his rather interesting actions prior to telling the story, watched on with a sort of fearful curiosity. 
Staring intently into the fire, Dalin seemed to be deep in thought as the wisps of the fire flickered into the crisp dusk air. His shoddy creation, a small flame created by broken boards from nearby crates seemed to be his prized glory as he watched the fire rage (Relatively) on in its own ridiculous grandeur.
The others were clearly… frustrated at the strange character, robed in black and rather unrevealing clothing (One could even say it would be a borderline mutation of one of those… more unsavory Elven characters), who was now concentrating on the rather trivial fire, clearly unresponsive to the outside world… One could even postulate that he could even be coma—
“YOOOOOU? HULLO TAH YA LADS AN’ LASSIES? ‘OW YA BE’AH DOIN’NAH?”
The collective shock and jolt of that message sent a few nearby pebbles into disarray as the spectators revolted against this excited display. Peering around with a crazed look in his eye, he searched across the shaken faces for some sort of answer. The crimson glow on their faces appeared to reflect fear and that ever lingering feeling of inquisitiveness, driving those unlucky souls to remain in the mad man’s company.
A shrill voice, noted by the air of eloquence finally spoke up, for what seemed like hours upon end. 
“As you were saying, Sir Dwarf?”
“Sei’in’ whot, lassie?”
“…”
“I ain’t sayin’ nuttin’ earlee’ah!”
“… You promised a story, Sir Dwarf.”
“Why’sah keepin’ callin’ meh Sah? I’mah feckin’ Dalin’nah!”
“… Never mind.”
A moment of silence permeated the mutedly lighted area. One could, if they closed their eyes tightly and listened very carefully, make out the noise of crickets in the gloom.
Dalin tittered once again, finding apparently nothing extremely hilarious. The others wearily looked on. This man was starting to wear away on their nerves…
“Ya kno’ … ‘Ave yee ev’ah wonder’ah’sah whot tah Badlands’sah wer’rah onc’sah lik’ah? Ya kno’, ev’ah wond’ah ‘ow dey’dah git dat wey?”
(You know, have you ever wondered what the Badlands were once like? You know, have you ever wondered how they ever got into their current condition?)
Finally, something to pique their curiosity once again. It would seem that this endeavor was finally proving its worth.
“Sir Dwarf—“
“Dalin’nah.”
“Dah-lin… Even a Dwarf could possibly fathom how that the Badlands resulted in its current conditions by the natural arid conditions of that land, not to mention resulting from the complexities of climate and a long-lasting drought—“
“Yer nah fun’nah, ya kno’ dat? Lemme tell yea sum’fin’, ma’am. Ya dun need’ah all yer fanc’eh magicky logic’ah stuff’sah when ya git tah ways’sah oral tradi’shun! Dere’sah legen’nah ‘bout dat places’sah…”
Stroking his dirtied brown beard with a stubby fingered hand, the stout figure coughed as inspired eyes peered towards his person, waiting for this yarn to be unraveled.
Eagerly grinning at those brightly-lit eyes, Dalin couldn’t resist but to boldly rush forward with new motivation. 
“Tah Bad’ah’Land’sh us’dah be lik’ah ‘un’nah dem fores’dah ares’sah… think’ah it’ah lik’ah tah ‘Interlands’sah! ‘Cept wit’tah mesas’sah an’nah stuff—“
More incomprehensible ranting and raving, unrelenting in speed and nature, spewed forth from the black figure. He butchered the story like a fine cut of meat torn into by a rabid animal… It nearly wasn’t given due justice… save he kept on his war path, destroying all semblance of a story as he marched onwards.
3.@
Yes, yes, you mortals already know of that forsaken wasteland known as the Badlands, where life struggles to exist, those damned beings consuming one another in a hopeless struggle to just make it to the next scorching day. Those sentient beings that remain only squabble over their territory and their own claim. The mighty Horde expeditionary force confronts different factions of Ogres on their travels, betraying their long-ago sworn support to the Orcs, while the remaining vestiges of Hammertoe’s assembly of rag-tag explorers are slowly picked off, one by one, as the Troggs and Dark Irons slowly encroach on what little they have. The nightmarish fleet of Black Dragons is rumored to be building strength to the east… plundering in the long lost relics of these forgotten lands.
By sword, gun, axe and club, these factions are ever more determined to grind their enemies’ bones into dust, swept away by the winds of time. As the ground thunders, the drums of war roar once again in this unforgiving place. The very dirt they tread has a story within itself… one more ancient and whimsical that anyone could ever have imagined!
All ballads, all epics and stories have their timeworn charm of a heroic and stoic character riding in on their valiant steeds, once again saving the day… This land was one… united… in a sense, only to have that once perfect balance utterly destroyed by forces that are not often spoken of.
It begins with an odd fellow, half delirious as he stumbles through an untouched paradise…
4.@
 Innocent wildlife, flower and bush alike were torn asunder by the mad man’s rampage. Anything that dared stand before his goal (Whether or not intentional) simply no longer existed in his path. Thrashing his arms wildly in a futile attempt to reach his treasure, the shadow stumbled forward through the lush forest. Losing what momentum the creature had, it trudged towards a nearby crag. It would only be a matter of time before it would be once again be on the warpath, frothing at the mouth, succumbing to his hidden desire…
Promises! Always promises, they were! A never-ending fluidic torrent of pledges that barraged the very soul of the wretched thing.
A waft of warm, soothing air drifted towards the Dwarf, swaying ever so slightly across the ginger glow of the sky, the sun disappearing below the horizon. Nightfall was imminent.
The temptation that began to droop his pitiful eyelids began to augment his body’s frustrations, screaming out the very wishes it so dearly needed. A flash of fire flared before his eyes, turning the crisp warmth that once serenaded his senses into a bout of sweltering pain. There would be no rest, no stopping unless it was the command.
Mustn’t disobey! It would reward so much! So very much, if only I were to follow every command with vigor! A fancy word, a pretty word, used by the one itself! Ha ha!
Once again his eyelids began to bring down his world, swimming in a blurry medium. In his delirious state, no matter how hard he tried to fight it… the realization that he would not be able to withstand his own demands slowly crept into his mind.
Pleading with the invisible master, he begged to the now darkened heavens to allow his poor soul to rest, only for a moment… 
Staring up at the heavens, his world awash in a sea of bedazzling colors, his world turned to what he had so desperately desired. Darkness.
5.*
“What to do to die today at a minute or two to two…”
“Something distinctly hard to say… but harder still to do…”
6.@
The marble, intricately designed and a marvel to any mortal’s eye seemed marked by the intrusion of the Dwarf’s blistered and calloused toes, wriggling in unison. Surrounded by a veil of shadow, the marble seemed to be cut off into a fringe of… nothing… (Reminiscent of his own belief of the edge of insanity, mayhaps, but there is another matter that we must attend to at this very moment!). Peering around for any sign of movement, he nervously awaited any sign of his benefactor. Never would he be alone, no sir, always watched and cared for. He was the pawn! A pawn! 
“As per request, dearest servant, I have granted you a simple moment of rest…”
The Dwarf tilted his head at the voice, seemingly disembodied and rather alien. Never before had he heard this one before. Well, to be fair, the other ones seemed distant and aloof, as if they had made no effort to even convey any sort of message. This one, however, seemed beyond belief. The sheer magnitude of the voice echoed, shimmering the veil of shadow that surrounded them.
Completely bedazzled by the spectacle, the Dwarf nearly turned tail and ran for his dear on life. Only the second thundering of the strange benefactor held him still in his tracks.
“Dare you betray our original pledge? Have I not foretold your future, the promise that I will kept?”
With a quick gulp, rapidly succeeded by a wiping of his now moist brow, the Dwarf turned to bear towards what would be considered the … singularity from where all that darned noise seemed to be erupting from.
“N-No. I wouldn’t e-ever think of t-that!”
A light-hearted, but menacing chuckle filled the empty space.
“Need I remind you of what will be lain before you?...”
Quick, short breaths became the only resounding sound for what seemed to be a number of minutes. With an abrupt jerk, the veil began to dissipate… revealing a most wondrous vision…
The ivory marbled floors, now dotted with exquisite emerald marble symbols were exposed to his piggy eyes, creating themselves into a number of columns and corridors, shaping a massive arched room, slowly divulging their secrets to the now bewildered Dwarf. Massive crimson and golden drapes seemed to unfurl themselves from nothingness, introducing more pleasure to the gluttonous Dwarf’s view. As what could be called sunlight, more of in the surreal sense, serenaded the senses with a calming and soothing touch. Soldiers, servants and all manner of creatures (All ornamented with those scarlet and yellow colors, whether they wore robes, plate mail or chains) emerged from the voids of paradise and came to life, going about their daily duties, seemingly passing through a misty medium.
Save, what caught the lust of our friend the most (The last, even)… was the appearance of the Throne. However, the moment his eye caught a mote, glimpse of the finely crafted structure… only a taste of what was to be his flickered in his mind…. Only to have the veil once again cast out all other images. Nothing would prevent him from his goals…
To carve out his own destiny, his own empire… 
“I-I am at your command, master…” – Bowing his head in reverence for a taste of what was to be.
The chuckle, once again returned, slightly more macabre this time around, pierced the silence.
“Excellent. You know what to find. You know what to do. Only a push in the right direction is needed. All you need… is something to call your own.”
7.*
The sound of metal on stone quietly reverberated around the sullen tomb. Dragging his chains across the soggy stones, the poor boy carved out his own mark, one that clearly outlined his sitting posture. Ennui had slowly begun to grow like creeping vines around his blank mind, taking hold of what little mental faculties that he had left.
Staring bleakly at the groove he had made by the same repetitive motion, calmly uttering yet another bout of mumbles and grumbles…
“Caged like a pet bird, only with clipped wings! A travesty of an insult, a mockery to those who are beaten while still curled on the ground, leaking their vitals out! While the damned fool, realizing his desperate and rather hopeless situation… it still whistles the merriest of tunes! Nonsense! The bloody thing is much too stupid to realize his fate, oblivious to its own destiny!”
Slowly clawing once more at the obvious scars at the floor, the ranting prisoner continued to croon about his wonderments and woes.
8.@
Blinking furiously, eyes moving around on their own accord, the Dwarf eventually regained his sight as he sat up. One leg perched up, followed by the other; he valiantly stood up, swaying with the cool breeze that stung him from the side. 
Moments later, the once glory-filled imposing Dwarf was now flat on his face, snoring, the mud slowly forming around his face as he began to sink in. Bubbles started to slowly form around the edges of his face.
“RISE UP YOU DAMNED LAZY FOOL! I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, APO! GO! THE PRIZE YOU SEEK IS UP AHEAD!”
The boom of the master’s distaste rattled the Dwarf to his very bone. The very mention of his name, his highly prized secret, frightened him to no ends. Gathering the strength to reply, he simply whimpered,
“B-But I don’t k-know where t-to—“
“MUST I SHOW THE WAY? OPEN THE DOOR FOR THE SLOTH? BY THE FIRES OF THE UNHOLY, I WILL PERFORM THIS SIMPLE TASK… if only to give you a chance to view your own demise if you keep failing me!”
Keeping his head down, the sniveling coward trembled in trepidation. Squinting at the brush before him, a light red glow began to faintly flicker before his eyes. At the moment he was about to force his broken shell up, the wind began to whistle, becoming louder and louder.
The Dwarf submerged his head once again into the mud, preparing for one of the Master’s shows. The world as its play thing, it changed it as it saw fit… by rather violent means.
Raising his head from the puddle, gasping for air, ash and soot began to clog his breathing passage. Coughing violently, he beheld the awesome sight before him.
His path was clearly marked by the crisp ashes that were still fluttering towards the ground. A circular tunnel, once filled with greenery was reduced to nothing, save for the scarred red dirt in which once harboured life. Bleached skeletons, unfortunate victims of the blessing, slowly rocked 
And from the ruined landscape, the hole in life itself, lay his prize. Glowing softly from within the dirt, it called to him…
Memories of white marble flooded back to him, tile by tile.
Scrambling towards his trophy, he crushed the ivory bones underfoot in his frenzy. Digging through the rust-colored dirt, he gazed upon his discovery. 
A crimson crystal, the glow slowly fluctuated in a periodic fashion, revealed itself to his gluttonous little eyes. Encasing his hands around its warmth, he was soothed by the entrancing relic.
“And now, my servant, you are no longer only a tyrant of your flesh-bound kingdom. See what you control, taste what you desire. Nothing will stand before your path. Go forth, Apo, and seize the lands in my name.”
Stroking the globe, Apo slowly waddled off, through the seared tunnel in the vegetation. His aspirations of power were to be realized, as his eyes seemingly turned into the pits of hell themselves.
9.!
So in hobbles this dark blob on the outskirts of our little settlement, you know? I’m doing my watch, all of a sudden I see this lil’ thing lurking from a distance. So, I’m thinking that this is probably just a trick on my mind, ‘cos there ain’t nobody that comes around at this hour. In fact, there ain’t anyone living around these parts for a long distance!
I’m looking at this thing, and before long, I can hear his voice as he comes closer and closer. Hissing and moaning and mewling all these strange words and stuff, as if he was fluent in some kinda gibberish. His outline is becoming clearer as he comes closer, probably saw the fire at the center of our little place, limping all the way over here.
Whadd’yea do? I start walking to that bumbling crazy shadow, yelling to see if needed help. The legs stopped shambling, and it kinda just sways in the winds. Then it starts lumberin’ towards me! God, seemed like a somnambulist… dunno what that word really means, but it probably woulda worked in this situation! Big words work like that, right? 
Anyway, I just halt in my own tracks, ‘cause this thing coming towards me. I’m just gonna say this right now, boys, I ain’t no coward, but this shadow reeked of something awful when the breeze came my way! Kinda like brunt hair, except not. 
Took quite a while, lemme tell you. It stopped puking out that horrid tongue, and started panting… and grunting… and it got louder and louder. Seemed like that thing could contain itself, from all the convulsing it was doing. Thing was madder than that hermit, you know the one that locked himself away in order to become closer to the spirits? He succeeded, since he became one, but that’s another story.
I’m quivering and quaking with my ruddy spear, pointing it at now seems to be one of our brethren, save he’s all muddy, mad and quite frightening. Pudgy shadow walks right into the tip of the spear too! Of course he stops, who wouldn’t? I ask him to halt, and he keeps trudging right onto the glowing bonfire! I’m kinda standing there dumbfounded by the bloody fool, did I mention he was also slightly caked in his own blood, staring at his rather black rear. Musta fallen in some charcoal along the way. I follow him, wondering what he’s up to, watching him walk towards the center of our home. 
Everyone is out tonight, ‘cause the Chieftain’s son is of age for the ceremony. Don’t wanna bore you with all the details, but it most entails long boring speeches followed by dancing, singing and feasting. You know, all that traditional crap. I was gonna be able to go tonight and actually have the time of my life, but no. Someone had to pull their some strings with the higher ups to get me to do Sentry duty again. Wonder what they’re doing around the bonfire now.
Oh! Well, would you look at that! The Chieftain is giving his son the precious heirloom of our family. Must be preparing to pass on leadership to his son. Always seemed like a nice fellow, the son was, good to see that he finally gets to wear that pretty piece of jewelry. Better get a closer look, since that strange man is wandering into our village now. I’ll just take a peek from a nearby tent, nothing else! See, I’m not a coward; I just don’t want to get in trouble for not reporting that immediately. The Boss isn’t gonna be happy about that. 
Well, would you look at that. Not only has he walked right into the middle of the crowd, shoving people aside, it looks like he’s going straight for the Chieftain! Good lord, I think he might wanna—Wait, don’t worry, the Chieftain’s detail is advancing, spears out. Don’t think that bugger is crazy enough to try to prod his way through that deadly wall.
Heh. He stopped again. More men are pouring in from the crowds, wielding an assortment of weapons and farming tools. They’ve got him surrounded now… I can’t see the little thing, only bits and pieces with the crowds bobbing up and down like that. Sounds like he’s putting up a fight, yelling angrily and stuff. At least we can understand what he’s saying, eh? 
Must be outta of his mind, saying that he’s their new ruler! At first, I’d thought that he’s only delirious from his current condition… but even those in a stupor would come to their senses! Now he just spat on the Chieftain, now he’s in for it! They’re starting to advance again! This shouldn’t be long…
He’s coming more livid now, turning red in the face… well, more red than with the fire glowing on his dirtied face. He’s partially still wildly waving one of his hands, gesturing and firing off a number of curses… but with the other… he plunges it deep within his pocket. Seems to be looking for something, he’s got something in his hand—
Did you see that? A pillar of fire! The entire front of our circle just disappeared! The women and children are screaming and fleeing to their tents! The men, the men are…
Dear lord in the heavens…
The lucky ones have disappeared, good friends of mine. Burly men, could throw a log more than one could pace! They simply are no longer there! All I can see… is the black marks of scorched earth…
The others, those close to the nothingness of my once-breathing friends scream and moan hellishly. They have melded with their weapons, the bronze spearheads embedded into their now-molten and bubbling limbs, charred with the black streaks of their former comrades. They lay in their own boiling flesh, futilely tossing themselves side to side, trying to escape. Him.
His eyes are blazing… he radiates with the powers of the great Sun God himself! The Chieftain suffers the same fate as his own praetorians, meddled into the ground as if he were a weed in our ruined garden, his head like a bulbous tuber. The wretched destroyer even has the gall to take a chain… No, he can’t do that! He brought it down on our own leader’s head, again and again, before the crumpled body of our precious son! His boot makes the final mark, blackened prints left on his gaping maw. 
He struts towards our son, crippled by the flash of light. The scarring light must have raped his very eyeballs! The collar gains his sight for a moment, he reaches down and pulls the very boy his face by the heirloom and—
A slave. Chain was welded onto our prize. 
I can no longer bear it, I scream for our ancestors! I bring my spear to bear and charge the demon, the destroyer of our dreams! He turns slowly, lifting to mine eyes… A crystal. Glowing softly with the radiance of our bonfire…
And what did I see? Some secrets are best left for the dead.
Category:Stories