Monday, 24 September 2012

Navigating the Mists: A World of Warcraft Short Story

Dr Loxley von Kulstein strained his eyes as best he could, ahead of him all he could make out was a thick fog.

Sitting back in his makeshift captain's chair he pondered what had brought him to this place. With a grunt he looked down at his gloved hands, gave one of the weather beaten gloves a tug and pulled it off revealing decaying flesh and bone.

He remembered all too well.

It wasn't too long ago as he saw it, maybe two, three years ago. But after all this time he was still running for his life... Well, un-life.

Behind him he thought he heard the voices and strains of the Alliance navy, they had been sent to capture him after he was seen stealing this boat from Theramore harbour.

Has sure the mariners had been paid well, he was Dalaran's Most Wanted #7 after all. No way he could have bribed them, not after this long, not after he had spent almost every gold piece he had paying the Goblins to keep him safe.

He thought back, remembered about that one glorious day, when all of Azeroth marvelled at his brilliance. On that day at the foot of Ice Crown Citadel the entire world saw his incredible machine, his walker. He remembered fondly as he threw explosives against swarm after swarm of Undead Scourge, as he laughed and laughed as his walker's mechanical limbs crushed their pathetic bodies underfoot. If it had not been for him they would have never reached the door of the Citadel, and the whole war effort would have been for nought.

But even one day of heroism doesn't make up for years of terror.

It had not been long before that he was known by a different name, The Tyrant of Tirisfal.

He smiled at the memory, the thought that for once in his un-life he was known for more than his failures.

It was a shame that this title was earned through someone else's abilities.

The funny thing about all of this? The whole of Azeroth knew about what happened, how he had been captured by a rogue necromancer, had been kept under his spell and forced to kill and terrorise all for the purpose of luring out the Skyreaper family and the greatsword the necromancer coveted so much.

Loxley found it almost amusing how they had no problem in removing the bounty from his head and forgiving him of all accounts, on the grounds of combined insanity and mind control.

What he did not find amusing was the charges that still remained. Multiple accounts of murder within the city grounds of Dalaran itself.

Those foolish mages! Did they not understand? Did they honestly think he enjoyed eating Gnome jerky on a day to day basis just to stop his hunger from taking control?

He knew now those events were all connected; his growing hunger, his need to feed on fresh flesh, the dreams of running free as a beast, tearing skin from flesh. It was all part of his corruption at the hands of that necromancer.

But the mages refused to drop the charges against him. They said the tens of men and women he had lured into the sewers before setting on them, tearing out their throats and feasting on their bodies. That they claimed was all his doing.

The Doctor smirked, his actions may have been out of necessity, but that doesn't mean he didn't enjoy it.

Since then, he had been in hiding amount the Goblins, paying for their silence with every gold piece he had.

It wasn't long before his purse was empty and they wanted to claim Archie his mechanical taxidermied cat. That was when he knew he had to leave.

He had heard rumours around the slums, of an island hidden from the world, a place even Deathwing himself didn't know existed.

It was with hope that Doctor Loxley vied to steal a boat and find that island. That shrouded within it's mists he could hide for as long as he wanted.

He looked down at his faithful companion curled at his feet.

He had found the mists, and the Alliance ships had found him, he just hoped he could reach the island in time.

(To be continued)

- Your friendly neighbourhood Doctor Loxley

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