Force 10 From Azeroth

[Nganga]

All eyes followed the recon squad as they slowly marched up the ramp into darkness. Only a few knew their mission, but all were aware it was of great importance, matched only by its peril. As the main forces moved up to engage the next enemy position, the recon team slid through the shadows and found its way onto the battlements. The shrieks and rantings of a dead woman followed them as the assault troops provided cover and advanced their own goals.

It seemed their mission was already doomed to failure as they reached the walls. Horde and Alliance forces, each vying to be the first to claim victory and fame, argued and fought as they headed to their rendezvous points. Even if Bolvar returned, could there ever be agreement between the factions? Nganga sighed as he trotted towards the Horde airship. “At least there will always be beer.”

“Ng! By the frozen berries of Arthas, how ya doin’? Still messing around with that Gnomish junk? Here, take one of these in case this flight goes south. It doubles as a floatation device!” Zafod winked at his old engineering school buddy as he passed him a shirt with what appeared to be fireworks, an alarm clock, three bomb fuses and a hamster sewn into it. “Can’t beat Goblin technology, my friend! Made these little gems myself!”

Goblins have the ability to enjoy themselves no matter the circumstances, and Zafod was no exception. His manic grin never dimmed even as a surprise force of Alliance marines landed on the deck and attempted to destroy the navigation equipment, and it grew even wider as rockets and mortar explosions set the sky ablaze.

Forcing the Alliance back, the airship crew landed atop the base of the upper Spire and offloaded the fighters. Saurfang the Elder stalked proudly onto the stones and gazed around him. “We’ll secure this landing zone and then move the main force up here into position.”

Suddenly the massive door opposite them flew open and a giant figure, pulsing with rage and power, rushed out. The blood drained from Saurfang’s face. “Dranosh…” Pulling himself together, he ordered his Kor’kron to destroy the abomination that had been wrung from his son’s spirit so that he could take the boy home to dwell amongst his ancestors. The scouts eased through the doors while the battle raged. Nganga glanced back once and a chill raised the hair on his tail. The look in Varok’s eyes as he watched his men destroy what once had been his son…

They stood in the center of the Spire. Hallways branched off in three directions, each guarded by masses of gibbering, drooling Scourge. Donalzon looked at the Druid. “Find him, ‘Ganga.” Sniffing the air, the black cat cast about for that single elusive trail of scent.

To the West he smelled only festering rot and disease (“decaying corpses… methane… sentient slimes…dog...?”). He sneezed and shuddered at the thought of having to fight through that horrifically pestilent air. To the North he caught the coppery odor of fresh blood, and licked his lips (“Elves...magic… meat…death…”). No scent of Bolvar, however. To the East he sniffed long and hard, sifting through the stench of undead, the crisp aroma of an injured dragon (“must tell the Captain that there is another prisoner alive in there…”), the piquant tang of spiders (“mmm…spiders”) and the tingly perfume of Frostwhelp dung. Nothing.

Ahhh…there it was! It seemed to come most strongly from the central core of the Spire. But…(“Thrall’s balls! This is not good.”) Overlaid on Bolvar’s scent, nearly blotting it out, was the doom-laden stink of Arthas himself. The Lich King must keep his favorite toys close.

“He’s there,” he said, and pointed. In typically understated fashion, he mentioned as an aside that the only other smell coming from that direction was that of Arthas himself. Arching his back and stretching luxuriantly, he eyed Donalzon to see what effect his news might have. Aside from a slight furrowing of the brow, the Paladin was dismayingly unfazed. The Captain looked at his team; frost-bitten, bloodstained, filthy with ichor and ooze… steadfast.

“All right. We know our mission. We never expected to get this close to the Lich King, but we go where our orders take us. We’ll move into position, as near to the final battle as we can get, while we scout for signs of Highlord Fordragon. If we have a chance, we’ll support the assault troops from the flanks, but rescuing the prisoner is the highest priority. The main armies should be arriving soon. Eat and rest up, we move out in an hour.”