"Dragons are creatures outwardly resembling reptiles,
Most often they have wings.
Some dragons have magical abilities,
But some are devoid of them.
Dragons were among the first sentient beings in Azeroth.
It is still unclear whether dragons were created by the Titans,
Or if they existed even before their arrival.
But it is known that in their time their numbers were vast,
Far greater than what we see today.
Originally there were many different flights of dragons,
But the five strongest flights became those
That still hold a dominant position today.
Among them are the red, green, blue, bronze, and black."
"Hard to port! Don't tilt it too much! Ballistae to the ready!"
The shouts of my new captain, tearing his throat, could be heard even on the sea vessels sailing directly beneath us. His deafening voice made the air sailors shiver, but the man was capable, so on Thoras's advice, I had taken him onto the crew, entrusting him with the command of my creation.
The zeppelin received the proud name "Uzbadu Goraz" (Beer Lord), which in Common didn't convey even a fraction of its essence, but I had to accept that the crew couldn't pronounce anything in Dwarven, so the Beer Lord was now listed in the Stromgarde ship registry as a special-purpose vessel, which is exactly what we were doing now.
Veering left, the zeppelin tilted at a sufficient angle, and in that very second, a sharp, lashing crack struck from the side. The bowstrings released their precious gifts, sending stone cores packed with gunpowder toward the target.
Being an aerial vessel gave us incredible advantages. Maneuvering easily over the heads of the brutes, coming in from different sides, we often bypassed their ships and riddled the defenseless sterns to the furious cries of the tusked freaks, who could do nothing to us.
"Faster, dogs!" The zeppelin's captain had tied a rope around his waist just in case, rightfully fearing that any sudden maneuver could throw him overboard without a chance of rescue. And now, clutching a taut rope, he hollered amidst the clouds, his cry reaching all the soldiers in the vicinity. "You've conquered the heavens; surely you can pamper a couple of cannons!"
The propellers strained, outputting maximum power, following their captain's orders. The machines hummed, ropes snapped, and here and there some components smoked, but the Beer Lord continued its flight, firing incessantly and sending exploding treats into the ships of the tusked freaks that filled the entire waters with their vessels.
"Even faster, you sons of bitches!" The zeppelin lurched from a synchronized volley, nearly throwing off a couple of slow-moving wretches. Good thing that, following the captain's example, they had started tying themselves with ropes, at least during combat. Usually, we tried to fire in sequence to avoid jolts, but in the heat of battle, such mishaps sometimes occurred. "Let's show them our shafts are bigger than theirs."
I liked this guy; he definitely knew how to handle personnel of the intellectual level gathered on the ship.
"Archers!"
The Elves and the human soldiers placed under their command raised their weapons and, leaning over the side, sent a small swarm of arrows into the ship passing beneath us.
In response, purple and fire bolides struck the magical screen, but the Mages of Dalaran were honestly earning their keep, shielding the ships and not letting themselves be distracted by other problems. Five men and three girls sat tied to their seats, frozen in a single pose, with only their glowing eyes and the sweat dripping down their faces betraying their active participation in the battle.
"Master Rodgirn! I see a lone vessel!"
Understanding the request without words, I ran to the bow of the ship, uncovering the improved shipboard Fire-spitter. The massive barrel, mounted at the very edge, protruded significantly and could rotate one hundred and eighty degrees; now I was hurriedly turning the levers, aiming at the port side.
"Five heartbeats!"
"Oh, these old-timer designations!"
Grumbling and cursing the stupid habits of the old sailor under my breath, I sped up the work. My hands worked engineering "magic" on their own, flipping switches and increasing the pressure in the weapon.
Exactly at the moment I finished, the zeppelin smoothly dived down, coming up to the starboard side of a Troll ship—a low craft, looking more like a barge or a ferry than a proper warship, but it was no less dangerous for it.
We didn't level out, remaining at an altitude of about ten meters above the ship—the perfect height to witheringly drench the entire upper deck with fire without worrying about Troll spears and javelins, which they would gladly launch at the crew's heads.
"Baruk khazad!"
With my own battle cry, I slammed the trigger to the floor, releasing liters of fire-mixture. The fuel poured in thick drops onto the heads of the slouching filth-eaters. Streams of incandescent substance engulfed and ignited everything in their path, fused flesh, steel, and wood together.
The screams of Trolls and Goblin engineers merged in unison under the crackle of the collapsing deck and falling masts.
The vessel slowed down, and I had to lean over the side to see this pathetic shack, mistakenly called a ship, off on its final journey with my own eyes.
"Ha-ha-ha!" Hurun ganat Khagam menu penu Mampasdul! (Have a good rest, Troll spawn!).
Laughing merrily, leaning nearly halfway over the side, I gifted the bastards a couple of indecent gestures as a parting gift, rejoicing like a child.
The ship burned so splendidly, with the surviving crew members jumping off in a hurry, waving their arms and hoping to extinguish the mixture stuck to their bodies.
"Having fun?"
With a reproachful snort from Sarandiel, I returned to the weapon, which required urgent maintenance if we wanted to pull off such a trick a couple more times.
The zeppelin steadily gained altitude, not overstraining the motors unnecessarily and heading into a turn. We had at least half an hour before we reached the required course, and now the crew took the chance to give themselves a minute of rest; even the stern Captain Gorbin quieted down and was now thoughtfully puffing on a pipe, surveying the battlefield.
And there was plenty to see. Hundreds of ships from The Horde and the newly formed Systems Alliance had clashed in battle, showing the strength, fury, and power of different races.
On one side were the tusked, multicolored freaks relying on animal instincts, and on the other, the physically weaker Humans, Dwarves, and Elves, but who had discipline and reason on their side.
All the states of the northern part of the continent had united against this threat. Lordaeron, Stromgarde, Gilneas, Kul Tiras, Alterac, the Wildhammer Clan, and even Quel'Thalas... The latter, truth be told, hadn't shown its best side—sending only a handful of Farstriders and a dozen ships to help in the war... But unlike the state, some Elves had independently headed south as volunteers to fight the superior force of The Horde.
And these battles were bloody.
The battle for Tol Barad had been going on for two months, draining the lifeblood of both factions, drawing more and more forces to the site of the battle. The once beautiful and quiet bay had turned into a graveyard of ships, strewn with bloated corpses. After the first clashes, there were too many wooden hulls, so now even simply sailing through this place was an extremely difficult task for any captain. But not for us.
The Beer Lord had performed excellently in the early stages of the battle, delivering much-needed supplies, small reinforcements of volunteers and specialists, and most importantly—carrying away the wounded to the garrison's defenders. We shuttled between the fortress and the shore day and night, our appearance causing the troops of The Horde to grind their teeth, unable to hinder us in any way.
The siege of Tol Barad had clearly not gone according to their plan from the very beginning. The first rush was repelled by troops raised on alarm, and the Orcs themselves didn't dare further assaults, unwilling to shed tons of their blood for a small fortress...
And all this lasted until the Kul Tiras fleet entered the war.
Admiral Proudmoore performed beyond all praise. Father my stone, honestly, if I weren't a hundred percent sure he was Human, I'd take him for an overgrown Dwarf.
A great fighter, a glorious commander. He can handle a girl and the enemies' ribs alike; he drinks beer by the bucket and smokes like a chimney! As Muradin would say, a true Dwarf shouldn't just invent or create; first and foremost, he should possess other important qualities—be a solid fellow, precise in his actions, and blunt toward any obstacles, smashing them with his forehead.
And the glorious sailor Daelin Proudmoore fully met all these criteria. Together with his boys, they crashed into the Orcish flotillas! With a single rush, they managed to lift the siege of Tol Barad, toppling the members of the Horde and forcing them into a long, bloody confrontation.
But our enemies' forces were still great, and things weren't going as well everywhere as they were here. Having held Tol Barad, Stromgarde was forced to yield in other directions; for example, the Thandol Span was captured, and now thousands of green-skins were invading the northern continent, turning everything living into ash.
The armies of Lordaeron, Stromgarde, Alterac, and Gilneas held them back as best they could, shedding blood and taking hundreds of lives for every inch of land. Cities and villages burned, fields were torched—anything to leave nothing for the invaders and ravagers.
The first scout reports were enough for Thoras to realize—he'd rather burn his country himself than let it fall to those brutes. And those weren't empty words.
A couple of times I even happened to fly over what remained after The Horde had passed through human lands, and I tell you honestly, I've never seen such a mess in my life. Perhaps only the barrens around Blackrock Mountain, where the city of our fallen kin once stood, could compare in destructiveness and desolation to what the Orcs and Trolls left behind.
But enough of that. Now my zeppelin was no longer the only available transport to the island fortress, and so we joined the battle along with everyone else, coming under the command of the Systems Alliance's chief naval commander.
Frolicking in the rears, conducting reconnaissance, and supporting the human fleet in the largest clashes.
Moreover, my Elven girls had returned along with a couple of dozen volunteers of their people, who expressed a great desire to bleed the Trolls and their friends.
"And how else," emerging from my thoughts, I habitually tended to the complex device, casting lewd glances at Sarochka's succulent legs, "where has it been seen that a Dwarf wouldn't rejoice at the death of such creatures."
"Bloodthirsty," smirking understandingly, the Elf sat on the edge of the railing, crossing one leg over the other, ignoring my looks... or maybe not. "Stop staring, you old drunkard. I feel like I need a bath after you look at me."
"Ha! Show some respect, girl, I don't ogle just anyone..."
Her skeptical look even threw me for a moment, making me choke on air and quickly turn away, chewing on my beard.
"You look at everyone like that if they have a chest, though you look at those who don't, too."
She remembered, the minx, how I had mistaken a couple of Elven boys for girls. After that incident, I decided to follow my grandfather's proverb literally: "How to tell an Elf girl from an Elf boy? Ask." But the situation had indeed been awkward.
"That was only once, though you could be mistaken too," leaving no doubt about what I meant, I stared with both eyes at the archer's small mounds, "once again I wonder, are you and your sister really related..."
I had to urgently dodge a reckless and sweeping kick that whistled over my head.
"Have you lost your mind, girl!? I haven't thrashed you yet, but you're asking for it," another dodge, which showed that my fist-shaking had no effect, "blast you, little maggot! Now I'll teach you to respect your elders!"
"Get real, shrimp, I'm older than you by a good hundred years."
"Crone!"
The pointing finger I aimed at my companion's forehead was faster than my brain, and now I watched with a bit of fear as wrinkles formed on the girl's face. Sulking and looking from under her brow, she slowly advanced toward me, drawing her blade from its scabbard.
"Fooling around?"
The velvety voice of the new participant in the conversation was true music to my ears. Narandiel appeared more timely than ever, and buoyed by a good mood, I practically flew up to her, catching her seemingly fragile wrist and planting a tender kiss on her fingers through my prickly beard.
"Ah, beautiful lady, you've arrived just in time," I said, stepping behind her back to bypass her older sister, continuing to play the fool. "You've saved an old Dwarf from this fiery and lovestruck individual who so craves my attention."
"You little !"№;%:."
I don't know exactly what she said, but Sarochka's gaze promised me nothing good.
Fortunately, meeting her sister's amused smile, the girl gave a disgruntled huff, sheathed her sword, and returned to her place with her head held high.
"Don't tease her too much."
"It's better for her this way," I replied, dropping the persona of a fool and returning to my business, pulling a rag from my belt and hanging it over my shoulder. "Since the first battle, there's been nothing but horror and panic in her eyes. No matter how much she puts on a brave face, those won't just disappear, and a little shaking up won't hurt the girl."
"Ah, Rodgirn," Narandiel said, putting her arms around my shoulders and kissing the crown of my head, causing a sort of adolescent flush to creep onto my cheeks. "Your heart is full of kindness and warmth after all, even if you try to seem as crusty as a dried-up biscuit."
"Bah! Don't you dare joke like that, woman. I am hard, grim, and hairy—a true Dwarf," I muttered, wiping the dirt and sweat from my face with the rag. I pulled out my pipe, hastily packing and lighting it, trying to escape the awkward conversation. "You're no better yourself; I know exactly what hides behind that mask."
My words were met with a light smile and a quiet hum, but her eyes... Nara's eyes flashed dangerously, exactly as they did in those moments when she unleashed destructive spells upon her enemies.
"You are too perceptive for a Dwarf," the girl said, turning away and stepping closer to the edge, tilting her face into the wind. "Time to get back to work..."
"Yes, quite right."
Standing beside her, I looked ahead, where the view of the Battleground around Tol Barad opened up. A vast labyrinth of sunken ships, bodies drifting with the current, and puddles of blood slowly spreading and dissolving into the sea's surface to the delight of its inhabitants.
Sea predators, greedy for a free and abundant meal and undeterred by the thunder of battle, were feasting before our eyes. Hundreds of sharks, small fish, scavengers, and other denizens of the ocean were gorging on carrion.
"Any news from Ironforge?"
"None," I said, clenching my fists until they cracked, suppressing the flash of rage and bitterness that visited me every time I thought of home. "Silence... Grave-like silence."
The pipe clicked sharply against my teeth as I drew it back to my mouth.
"Our brothers from Wildhammer Peak sent Griffon riders, but not a single one returned. No signs, no messages, not even a measly clue—only silence and..."
*And a horror that chills to the bone, a horror of a tragedy that has happened but hasn't reached us yet.*
I finished the thought in my head. But as if she had heard it aloud, Nara gently rested her palm on my shoulder, squeezing it in a trusting gesture, wishing to support and comfort me.
"Ships cannot get through," I continued, overcoming the wave of moral weakness under her attentive and sad gaze. "And all the messengers, Rangers, woodsmen, even Mages—no one can cross to that continent. Khaz Modan is hidden from everyone, and no one but Orcs and Trolls can enter there freely and stay alive."
My body tensed so hard I felt tremors and pain. Horrific visions of ruined fortresses, slaughtered kin, and family. Destroyed and desecrated halls that had served as our home for centuries...
"Don't think about it, Rodgirn," Nara said. I snapped my head up, ready to give the young-looking fool a piece of my mind, but I managed to curb my temper in time. "Your people are steadfast and strong. They will endure, as they always have, and they will preserve their home."
"I know... I know." I wanted to cuff myself upside the head! Since when was a Dwarf comforted by a Pointy-Ears woman!? "Let's talk about something else while we have a few spare minutes."
I tried to wiggle my eyebrows flirtatiously, but received only happy feminine laughter in response as she walked away with a sway of her hips. Failing to tear my eyes away from her lower curves in time, I was caught red-handed, but earned only another smile and an even more expressive swing of her rounded, fleshy buttocks.
"Little brat."
Whispering quietly under my breath, I was about to light up again, but then new dots flickered on the horizon. It would have been fine, but these dots appeared in the sky, where I certainly didn't expect to see anyone.
At first, they flew in a single cluster, but as they approached, their paths diverged, and each of the approaching objects headed toward its target, slowly descending... spreading wings.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Dropping the pipe from my mouth, I bolted back, drawing attention with shouts and curses.
"Turn around! We're leaving! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"
Captain Gorbin was a good captain, so when his employer, who wasn't known for panicking, started acting like a madman, he quickly took the lead and chased all the onlookers to their stations, engaging the afterburners. But we still weren't fast enough.
A shadow flickered near the airship—a shadow so huge you don't expect to see it in the flesh, thinking you'd only heard of it in old grandmother's tales.
A blast of heat hit us, biting deeper than a Fire-spitter, singeing hair and scorching faces.
A god-like roar echoed over the Battleground, followed by dozens of others, drowning out the cries of panic and the guttural shouts of the green-skins.
The Beer Lord lurched, and only a timely switch to afterburners allowed us to survive and fight for our lives instead of turning into a Fireball II. The deck groaned from the temperature, steel plates grew red-hot, and the first ragged wisps of smoke fluttered in the wind.
For the first few seconds, no one could believe what was happening, until another horrific roar passed over our heads, accompanied by a panicked scream full of terror.
"DRAGOOOOOON!"
Never before and never in the future will I be able to compare this fear to any other. The feelings that possessed me, rapidly shifting and alternating during that brief minute I observed it up close.
Its claws sliced through the side of our ship like new steel cuts through rotten flesh. Huge, slightly curved claws, like those of the largest cat.
Branching horns tilted in a silent question as the head curiously inspected the device unknown to the beast, which briefly hovered alongside it, daring to share dominion over the skies.
Massive wings pushed the airship aside with their beats, tossing part of the crew overboard; only their fading screams testified that they had been here a second ago. The safety ropes holding the crew tautened, but the Brute paid no attention to the Humans and Elves dangling in the air.
A powerful tail swung from side to side as the mythical beast of legend hovered opposite us. Behind its back, other Red shadows flickered, upon whose backs I could see raging Orcs, prodding the majestic creatures like pack horses. All except this one.
He was enormous, majestic... and terrifying.
I felt his natural, primal power lurking in every scale, every muscle, every drop of blood of this stunning creature.
His Red scales accepted spells and arrows without trouble or fuss, ignoring hits that flowed off him like water off coastal rocks.
Intelligent yellow eyes with vertical pupils met mine, and I stared back, mesmerized, seeing that there, behind the rage and the heat of the flame, was a mind that would be the envy of any scholar.
Exhaling smoke through its mouth, the Dragon circled the Beer Lord one last time, flicked its tail, turned toward the Systems Alliance fleet, and descended upon them like a fiery Nemesis, while our airship plummeted rapidly toward the salt water and the sunken ships.
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Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan