"The southern part of the continent is a true breeding ground,
Full of enemies for all honest creatures.
Starting from mundane Trolls,
Who are plentiful in any forest,
Ending with Gnolls, Goblins, Murlocs,
And renegade Dwarves.
And with the arrival of the Horde and the destruction of Stormwind,
The number of all this filth increased manifold,
For many years after the war
Interfering with the lives of ordinary people."
Striking sparks, I slowly and rhythmically ran the whetstone along the blade of the axe. The wide strip of steel drew the eye, helping to keep a hot temper in check.
Humming to myself, completely immersed in the process, I sharpened and sharpened the axe, occasionally pouring cool spring water over the edge to wash away the remnants of metallic dust.
My rough and calloused hands held the haft firmly. Tensing muscles that looked more like images carved from stone, I turned the axe in my hands, gently shaking it, gauging the weight in my palms—a weight I could barely feel.
"So much water has flowed under the bridge... When was the last time I created something new, rather than destroying...?"
Six months had passed since the moment we swore our oath. Long, bloody months filled with death and pain, where each day brought a growing number of promises that seemed as if they would never end.
Every new death had to be avenged. An endless, unbreakable circle in which we had taken the role of one of the spokes.
And that wheel spun furiously, rushing toward its own destruction, while we and the orcs hacked each other to pieces, calling upon our own gods and ancestors.
But we regretted nothing. Rage simmered in the blood—not just in ours, but in that of the cursed green-skins as well.
Spitting on the ground at the memory of those vile creatures, I struggled to compose myself, humming the simple tune of a song that had now become popular among the survivors of Ironforge.
My voice was no longer full of joy and life, as Sarandiel used to say. Now it was only a rough bass, sorrow, and a rasp that accompanied me always and everywhere... as it did most of us, for that matter.
"Rodgirn. It is time."
Taciturnity had become a second companion, alongside gloom and moodiness. Not one of the Avengers—those who had sworn the oaths—rejoiced over trifles, sang cheerful songs with the rest, or danced anymore, lighting up the others with their smiles.
We were like those old statues, ancient monuments that everyone had forgotten, visited only by rare birds to build a nest and chirp their trill.
And it only made things worse. Our vengeance consumed us from within, while our freedom-loving souls and former characters strained to break out, held back only by will and truly dwarven stubbornness.
Rising from my spot, I cracked my stiff neck, enjoying the streams of fresh air that brought coolness to my sweaty and overheated body, and most importantly, dispersed the stench of rotting corpses.
A groan rose from beneath my feet as I stood to my full height and stepped around a few times.
A half-dead orc, missing both arms and with a split skull, was somehow still alive in a way I couldn't comprehend.
His filthy, tangled locks were spread out in a wide fan, and his knocked-out tusks and teeth were scattered about, leaving only a pathetic semblance of a mouth.
A swollen eye looked at me with entreaty, a plea to end the suffering that his strong and resilient constitution had gifted its owner.
"If it were up to me, you would stay here forever," I said, positioning my foot over the neck of the fallen foe. I brought it down sharply, crushing the trachea and sending the orc to hell. "I hope torments worthy of your deeds await you there."
Stowing the axe behind my back, I nodded to my comrades gathered around, and together with the others, began to board the Beer Lord, which was to carry us far away from here. Soon the first rays of the sun would illuminate the coast, so we had to disappear into the mountains quickly to ensure the dragon rider patrols didn't cause trouble.
With a swift and confident stride, I was the last to climb aboard the improved and expanded airship, which was now large enough to be called a frigate.
Two metal-clad gas cylinders sat tight against each other, shielding us from the night sky and saving us on rainy days. Batteries of cannons and large pistols, intended to save us from lizard attacks should we be caught, stood in even rows along the sides. These were the very first models that were now being supplied in abundance to the Systems Alliance army and especially to Stromgarde.
Possessed by a thirst for revenge and ready for anything to reclaim their home, the dwarves of Ironforge had struck a deal with King Thoras Trollbane. Thoras Trollbane was a good man and grateful to me for many things, so he allowed us to settle on his lands in exchange for the implementation of weapons and new crafts instead of gold and ordinary taxes... And we were happy to do so. Young and old, from the smallest to the greatest, all the dwarves of Khaz Modan took to the machines, spending whole days creating massive engines, cannons, mechanisms, and much more, turning Stromgarde into a true industrial capital of the world.
"Everyone except us."
With a lingering ache, I noted my own overly fierce temper, which had condemned me and many others to this difficult and dangerous path. With the carving of promises into our temples, it was as if something inside us had snapped and been forged anew; now, no matter how many orcs, trolls, and other creatures we killed, the rage refused to subside. It was never enough; there was always the urge to go further, to burst into the very heart of the spawn, sparing not even our own lives, to hack them, to crush them, to destroy their lives just as they had destroyed ours.
But we were tired. Tired of being on the road. Tired of fighting day after day, losing comrades... Our righteous crusade brought a lull to the rage, but each time that state lasted shorter and shorter, forcing us to plunge back into the bloody slaughter just to forget for a moment what had become of our home...
My fists involuntarily clenched until the knuckles were white. My heart demanded vengeance, while my weary mind calmed my boiling nature.
"Calm down, get a grip on yourself."
Breathing heavily, I gripped the side of the ship, my fingers sinking into the dense wood like hooks. My mustache bristled and my beard shook with anger, but after a couple of minutes, I managed to calm down and bring the rage under control.
I understood why we felt this. Despite our past life, which remained forever somewhere back there, we were now Avengers, and only our oath would always be with us; the southern lands of the continent, seized by orcs, only fueled our resolve, whispering in our ears that the decision we made was the right one.
Currently, we were operating in the south of the former human Kingdom of Stormwind, and what the orcs had done here explained our state better than any words.
Ruination, desolation, and death. These creatures brought nothing but that. Empty lands, forests destroyed to the root, cities turned into lifeless voids, and withered fields as if sown with salt.
Even the air here was different... dry, heavy, and thick, like resin.
And it had nothing to do with the stench that accompanied the orcish camps or crooked settlements.
They wandered through the sites of their "martial" glory like kings of old, fighting among themselves for territory, drawing borders between clans.
Hundreds and thousands of hunter squads and patrols, drawing each other's blood and seeking out groups of surviving humans. The wretches hid in grottoes, mountains, and the remnants of forests, gradually dying of hunger, disease, or orcish axes.
Over the last couple of months, we had already managed to pull out dozens of such poor souls, but there were even more of them, and besides us, a ruthless hunt was constantly being waged for them.
Clenching my teeth tighter, I suppressed a flash of loathing and rage, remembering the camps where the orcs kept humans, using them like cattle, slave labor, and for their own bloody amusements.
Grisly places where only the strongest or the weakest survived—those ready to surrender to the mercy of their captors, allowing them to do whatever their vile souls desired.
Unable to endure the memories, I pushed off from the side, catching the gazes of many on board.
"We head east," my raspy voice sounded like the rustle of rusted iron... I felt much the same way, for that matter. "Let's spill a little more orc blood!"
"YEAH!"
"Menu shirumund! Kazukan! Kazukit-ha! (Watch out, beardless spawn, the dwarves are on the warpath!)."
Under the cover of the night sky, the Beer Lord flew at full speed at a low altitude, dropping our mad landing party right onto the heads of another orcish camp. By hiding in the mountains, the bastards had given us excellent cover that would be used for the coming weeks; all that remained was to slaughter the current inhabitants.
Spinning in a bank, the airship dropped the last of the Avengers onto the heads of the Horde. Numerous ropes dangled along the entire side, quickly gathered by the rest of the crew, while a haphazard bombardment was directed from the deck at the enemy ogres and shamans.
A cannon salvo pushed the Beer Lord back a dozen meters. Smoke hid our transport, and only flashes showed that it remained in the game, continuing the bombardment. Arrows and bullets scattered generously over the ground, striking our enemies.
Being one of the first to land firmly on my feet, I immediately buried my axe into the leg of a nearby hulking ogre. The fat-sack howled painfully, reaching his hands toward the wound and tilting his stupid head closer to me—and that was all I needed. My pistol discharged right into his jaw, piercing the skull through and through, tearing the lower part of his head into bloody shreds.
A second shot followed the first, then a third, a fourth. Deftly wielding the pistol, I swung it from side to side, trying simply to slow down the enemies who were coming to their senses and advancing, among whom, surprisingly, there were many ogres.
The hulking brutes stumbled and fell, wailing and cursing, blaspheming dwarven weapons, but that wasn't enough for me.
My favorite weapon went to my belt, and my hands gripped the haft of a brand-new two-handed axe, thirsting for the blood and deaths of the cursed monsters.
"Baruk khazad!"
Straining my throat, feeling my vocal cords tear and pain spread through my gullet, I charged and slammed the axe into the nearest Horde member, who was frozen on his knees, cradling a severed arm. The perfectly sharpened greataxe easily bypassed the resistance, shearing off half his face and wedging into his shoulders. The force of the blow was such that we tumbled to the ground together, where I began to wrench the weapon from the "tight grip" of the body with jerky movements, widening the wound and drenching myself in blood from head to toe.
Freeing the weapon, I felt a sense of disappointment: most of the creatures were already lying on the ground in a heap, and my kin stood over them, peppering the backs of the fleeing with lead. No one was to escape, especially now that we had finally found a decent spot.
"Drung! (Victory!)"
Tossing my axe over my head, I continued to strain my vocal cords until the others began to answer my call, their shouts crushing the last of the resistance.
The few survivors of the raid fell to their knees, raising their hands in hopes of surrender, but we were not King Terenas or Anduin Lothar, who, despite all grievances and hatred, would allow the creatures to live in captivity.
"Finish them all," one look at these creatures was enough for the recently calmed sense of vengeance to rear its head again. "Hurry, the sun will rise soon, and we still have to hide the airship."
"Yes, Commander."
The nearest Avenger gave a short nod and began to issue commands. We had developed a very strange hierarchy. Due to the small size of the squad, I had only a couple of deputies, and everyone else had no ranks or achievements to stand out in any way.
"Or rather, they used to, but now all that is in the past."
Mentally correcting myself, I began to quickly toss bodies aside with the others, helping to clear the massive carcasses from the path. Some went to fell the sparse forest to cover the Beer Lord, while others were already setting up camp, unloading our belongings from the airship.
A simple and good life, where everyone performs deeds to the best of their ability and helps where possible.
"Only we have to slaughter all the orcs first, and then we'll live."
Snorting at the thought, which triggered a subconsciously satisfied grumble, I shouldered an ogre's leg with effort and, along with a couple of the boys, dragged it toward the cliff. There was no point in burying the spawn, and none of us wanted to do so anyway. Better to let the beasts feed; maybe they'll be able to breed again.
"It's far too desolate here for such fertile lands."
"Rodgirn, how long are we staying for the downtime?"
A familiar, gentle voice distracted me from my unpleasant thoughts. Sarandiel stood tall among the bustling dwarves, clearly shirking work, but no one said anything to her, only grumbling into their beards. They had long since grown used to the fact that the girl was good at other things and it wasn't worth involving her in general chores, or else you'd get poisoned mushrooms in your stew and spend the next few battles in wet breeches.
In general, the elf and her few kin had integrated easily into the group, having decided to help in our difficult task. They didn't complain; they supported and fought on par with everyone else, which caused the relationships in the squad to improve like a rolling snowball. Humans, elves, dwarves—we were all united by a single goal. Former sailors from Kul Tiras, Stromgarde craftsmen and knights, Lordaeronian footmen, Ironforge Avengers, and Rangers with mages from Quel'Thalas. All so different and unlike each other, both culturally and in appearance, yet we were united, and the rare conflicts that plagued us at the start of the journey were now long gone.
The crazy hundred of the Steel Barrel, as Thoras called us before our flight to the south of the country. Even the plan to fly over the open sea in an aerial vessel was madness, and our plan for sabotage in the enemy's rear was downright insane... But here we were, doing the right thing, saving people and killing orcs, diverting their forces to search for us, which would surely help the Systems Alliance in this difficult war.
"Have you gone completely senile, Shorty? Answer my question and then go back to daydreaming," the elf said, stomping her foot to regain my attention. "You're always grumbling that time is pressing, so don't stall."
"Yes, yes, you pointy-eared nuisance. You nag me like a wayward husband after a bender! Stop it already, or the others will get the wrong idea," I said, catching a glimpse of her wild eyes and twitching lip, barely suppressing a widening grin. "Take your light-footed girls and scour the area for three days' travel. The usual. Hiding spots, trails, water, wildlife... I shouldn't have to teach you."
"Then don't forget it," the girl said, having the last word as she tossed her hair proudly and walked away. "I'd sooner marry a goat than you."
"Don't get us mixed up," I shouted after her, for a moment forgetting all my problems as if I were back in Stromgarde before the war with the Horde began. "Our beards look the same, though my equipment is certainly larger."
"Rude."
Quickening her pace, Sara jumped over a couple of Avengers and, giving a few hand signals to her own, skipped down the slope, followed by the other Pathfinders.
"So active..."
"Well, she believes our mission is far more important than it actually is," the voice of the second sister came from behind me. "It's a pity she's not alone in her delusion."
"What do you mean by that?"
Bristling, I let go of the ogre carcass, dropping its leg to the ground with a thud, having failed to drag it the last few paltry meters.
Turning to the mage, whose face held her usual patronizing smile, I narrowed my eyes and jerked my head toward the other wizards who were just now disembarking from the ship.
"I've already set them their tasks," Narandiel said, understanding my hint. She waved her hand, and the massive body flew into the abyss without any trouble. "Don't try to avoid the conversation, Rodgirn... Avenger."
"Oh, she's angry."
I thought idly, preparing to dodge a spell. Anger and blatant threat radiated from Nara's figure, causing most of the dwarves to decide to move away, leaving me to deal with the disgruntled woman myself.
"Just my luck, I should have cleared out of Stromgarde without them."
"You just thought of something stupid, didn't you, Rodgirn?!"
"What makes you say that?"
"That slight, nasty little smile appears on your face," a dainty finger pointed right at my forehead, and the pointy-ear's face dropped its usual mask, showing her true self. "Like a goblin who's stolen a coin, when you think that way."
"Don't compare me to them..."
"And you stop changing the subject."
Turning away, I started to walk back, leaving the elf behind me, but my nose bumped into a magical barrier.
"What is the meaning of this..."
"Let's talk, Rodgirn," Narandiel sighed wearily, pulling a couple of stones together and seating herself gracefully on one of them, as if she were a queen at a reception rather than a soldier in a canyon full of corpses. "This conversation has been brewing for a long time, but I hoped you could overcome your 'demons' yourself."
"The only things I need to overcome are orcs, not..."
"Stop it," a sharp and hard command, like a whip-crack. "I'm not doing this out of whim or mere curiosity. It's not for that reason that I followed you, nor did my sister... We are worried about you; you've changed... and not for the better."
"I swore an oath," I said, running my palm over my temples, feeling the words in the ancient tongue and drawing confidence from them. "This is my business and that of my people. You didn't need to step onto this path..."
"Gods, how stupid you've become," with a wave of her hand, she created another barrier in my path, which I bumped into again. "You weren't exactly a social butterfly before, but now you've turned into a literal orc."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that..."
"'Boo-hoo, I'll pretend. Ooh-ooh-aah-aah, smash, break, kill,'" Nara mimicked a monkey in my voice, playing the part quite convincingly and leaving me stunned by her behavior. "I'm not suggesting you renounce your oath; you gave it in blood, and judging by the changes in your entire squad, Khaz himself witnessed it."
Narandiel's next words echoed in my heart, for she spoke of everything I often thought about in the intervals between battles.
"You've changed, Rodgirn, and not in a good way," she said, dispelling the barriers. She slumped her shoulders and lowered her chin, whispering to herself so that I could hear. "It's as if it's no longer you, but just a mass of hatred and rage. And you don't even notice it. Have you never wondered why my sister immediately goes on patrol as soon as the ship touches the ground? Why there are no more evening chats and campfires with beer and good food? You no longer sing, you don't smile; you only snarl and scream at the top of your lungs, calling for slaughter."
Pausing for another breath, Nara raised her shining eyes, in which tears had gathered. Her hair was disheveled from the sudden movement, but in the depths of her pupils flickered resolve and something else...
"Where is that desperate and daring engineer who understood his limits and created wonders out of nothing?!" Narandiel's words cut to the heart. Somewhere deep inside me, a painful pang made me clutch my blood-stained palm to my chest. "Where is Rodgirn Steel Barrel, who conquered the heavens and tamed the flame? The hero of Tol Barad and the defender of Stromgarde?"
"I..."
"When was the last time you drafted new projects? Thought of incredible things, improved what already existed? Where did it all go?" My thoughts, dressed in words... The soft female voice knew no mercy, striking where it hurt, forcing me to listen and heed. "And I will answer you! It fell along with Ironforge, but that's not how you reclaim your Homeland! You cannot restore what is lost if you only know how to destroy! No one forced you to change your essence, and an oath can be kept in other ways!"
Standing up, the elf ignored my attempts to speak and walked toward the ship, where the other elves were already waiting for her.
"If you don't change, we will leave you, Rodgirn. You are building your world and seeing it only as an Avenger..." For a moment, she froze, turning her head halfway toward me. Her blonde hair fluttered in the wind, partially obscuring her perfect face, but even so, almost subconsciously, I was able to read her final words from her lips as she left. "And I have no business with such a person."
Clenching my teeth tighter to avoid snapping back with a crude response... Turning sharply, I brought my fist down on the stone where the pointy-eared mage had recently sat!
The first blow only echoed with pain in my knuckles, but then came another and another... Soon my own blood was trickling down my hands. My hands shook, and from my face, sparse tears fell onto my bruised fists.
Closing my eyes, I listened to the thoughts repeating in my head. One after another, every time my heart, burning with the flame of vengeance, demanded to set out for battle again...
And I understood.
That the girl was right...
The flask with some kind of mushroom brew was half-drained. The rest was pointlessly poured right onto my face and hands, washing away the sweat and blood...
Breathing heavily, feeling the aroma of blood and corpses slowly give way to the tart smell of alcohol and mushrooms, I smiled sincerely for probably the first time in six months.
the decision had been made, and probably a long time ago; I only needed one last little push to commit to it. And it was the pointy-eared girl who helped me do it, once again.
"Girl! She's more like a wise old crone..."
Smirking, I ignored the whistle as a small pebble flew past my head, making me flinch. Turning warily, I managed to catch the squinted gaze of blue eyes, which quickly vanished from sight. There were no tears left to be seen.
"Old manipulator."
Snorting at the thought, shifting my gaze from the surrounding mountains to my clenched fist, I slowly unclenched my fingers, examining my palm more closely, covered in new scars and small abrasions. Calloused fingers that struggled to close, which used to be able to strip a pistol by touch.
Unclipped nails, with dirt and chips, blood dried in the corners. Calluses from the haft of a greataxe decorating every fingertip.
These were not the hands of a creator and innovator... These were the hands of a warrior, not mine.
"You're right as always, girl. I didn't even notice how I changed, giving myself entirely to vengeance."
The fog in my head was clearing. It didn't recede entirely, but now I saw a little further, through the veil of rage and hatred for the green-skins. So many possibilities, so many courses of action.
"And we wasted six months attacking savages while the main forces of The Horde are advancing north."
Clenching my fingers with new strength, I turned back, where most of the boys had already finished their work, now waiting for the command to sleep, hoping to pass out and go to bed before my angry mug appeared nearby.
Stepping slowly toward them, I only now began to notice the wary glances being cast my way. What used to be taken as a thirst for battle now looked more like a cautious wariness that accompanied my every step.
"Dukat."
"Yes, Commander?"
One of the Avengers was quickly by my side, looking at me gloomily from under his brows, already expecting me to start berating him for his slowness... But not this time.
"Order some beer opened and roast some Meat; let one of the former rangers scout the woods. — Grabbing Muradin's former guard by the shoulder, I squeezed it gently... feeling, to my own surprise, a timid, sparse, but nonetheless a smile spread across my face. — We need to rest and map out plans for the future."
The words came with difficulty. Such a small step toward returning to my former self, but how hard it was to take. My voice was so alien and unfamiliar. And the dryness in my mouth was growing, suggesting that quenching my thirst would be a struggle.
"How long has it been since I drank a good old beer."
In six months, I had grown so accustomed to a different schedule that even mundane things seemed alien. But the reward, in the form of the surprised and cheered-up looks of my kin, was worth it.
"Yes, Commander. We'll do it in the best possible way!"
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