Survivor's Gambit: Fleeing Through the Dark Portal.




“Oi there ye’ git. Get yer’ dress wearin’ bum outta tha’ tent an’ git back to yer’ turn at watch.” Emphasizing the point, Taen lobbed a stone into the recesses of the tent from which – a moment before – a cacophony of snores and mutterings about plans for a machine to toast bread fueled by shrunken infernals had issued.

After a string of curses, which actually caused the paladin’s mustache to curl a bit, Nau stuck his head out of his tent and glared at the dwarf. Pulling himself out of the tent, and becoming entangled in his bedsheets in the process, the gnome attempted to draw himself up as best he could as he rubbed a red welt on his head – the effect more comical than imposing.

“There was no need for that Taen…you beer swilling lout.” Snapping his fingers, Nau’s felhound, Granzish, materialized at his side and snarled at the holy warrior through the flames of the camp fire. Smoothing the folds of his robes, Nau turned with a snort and stalked into the darkness surrounding the camp…the faithful demon hound slinking alongside him. “…and these are frozen shadoweave robes. NOT a dress.”

Shrugging, Taen allowed himself a smile before taking another long draw from his wine skin. Even as he swallowed the wine, his wooly brow furrowed with a mix of sadness and consternation…how long had it been since he last smiled? This last week had been a blur of smoke, death, fire, screams of the dying, shrieks of the newly risen and the green clouds…always the green clouds. Wiping the stain of the wine from his lips with the back of his hand, he locked eyes with the hunter who’d been leaning against a nearby tree.

“Don’t ye’ start in on me now elf. I’ve had enough motherin’ from yer sister this last week ta’ last me a lifetime.” Taking another long pull from the wineskin, he nodded to the hunter…watching as the elf quietly studied him while stroking the fur of the wintersaber stretched at his side. “’Sides…we dwarves hold our liquor better than ye’ nancy elves do any day o’ the year…dun you forget it.”

Taen had known Aulwewen for years. The two had adventured together from the jungles of Stranglethorn to the deep chasms in Shadowmoon Valley, yet Taen knew little of his old friend – and even less of his sister, Wenae, who’d joined their group of survivors after the fall of Moonglade.

“My only concern, old friend…” the night elf whispered “…is that we are fully rested and prepared for them if they find us.” Looking down to Ymir, Aulwewen laced his fingers tightly in the great cat’s fur and was rewarded with a deep purr as the frostsaber rolled over – stretching his great form across the night elf’s legs.

“Pbbbt. Ye know it better than most old friend tha’ I’m ready for a fight wit’ them undead wanks. Only thing they have on us…”

“Is numbers…” The two turned at the deep rumble of a voice as a pair of shadows slipped from the forest. “And the will of the Lich King”.

“Didn’t hear ye’ two comin’" the dwarf muttered as Aulwewen's sister Wenae and Kohol, the ever brooding shaman, stepped into the campfire light. "…other wise we woulda’ broken out the good silver and the last tin of cookies. Seems we're outta' tea...care for some orcish wine?”

Waving away the offered wineskin, Wenae smiled and ruffled the dwarf’s hair as she slipped by to seat herself next to her brother. Realizing he was blushing slightly, Taen turned his attentions back to the stoic draeni who’d knelt at the edge of their camp to draw sigils in the earth – an almost hypnotic, deep-throated melody whispering through the air as Kohol's fingers traced primal symbols in the dirt.

“The earth mother cries out in pain Taen. The sickness from the north bites at her as well as those of us who depend on her for our existence.” As he finished his tracings in the earth, a totem twisted free of the rock to pulse with a green light…flooding the companions with a healing warmth. “As the druid and I searched the country side…both wolf and raven found signs that we’ve not escaped the notice of the Frozen Throne.” He stopped there to look at the companions – as the warlock had drifted in from his watch to hear of word from the survey of the lands. “At dawn they will arrive…a sea of rotting flesh and teeth. Before then we must move on. We thought travel through the Dark Portal would save us…it has not. They have followed. Soon, even Illidan himself may have to contend with the wrath of the lich king.”

As a cold wind whispered through the camp, the companions looked to each other for comfort with this dire revelation…and found only each other’s fear.

To be continued…

(Author's note: Feel free to add tales of your characters and their trials during the spread of the new plague. Happy writing!)