Klin in a bar

Here begins our story. Again.

The bar was nigh on empty, the dim light from fading lamps and candles casting flickering shadows across the walls.  The bartender, a blood elf with long blond hair and clear evergreen eyes, cleaned a few mugs just to pass the time.  When you’re a blood elf, you can just magically wish for the dishes to do themselves and chance are, it will happen.  Whistling, the bartender turned towards the patron sitting on the stool in front of him.

“Now stranger, anything else before I close up?” He put the mug he was cleaning in front of the figure.

The man sat in silence for a few moments, his cloak hiding most of his features save for a mesh of rich, auburn coloured hair that fell out of his hood.

“Actually, I haven’t had a bottle of Pinot Noire in… two years? I’d like a bottle.”  He paused for a moment.  “… please.”

“That’ll be twenty silver coins please.”  The clattering of coin sounded throughout the bar, and moments later the bottle was empty.

The man wiped off his chin, put the bottle on the counter, and smiled at the bartender.  “You’re a super nice person, ‘tender.  Mind if I call you ‘Tender?”

The bartender just shook his head and continued to clean glasses.

The man stood up.  “Thank you all for the terribly soundless evening.  It was soundless, like, without sounds.”  He bowed, nearly fell over, and turned to the exit,

And collided with a Death Knight.

The Death knight’s cold, eerie and metallic voice chilled the evening air.  “Funny, bumping into you here.  Sit down and have a drink, it’s on me.”

The man shook his head.  “I think I’d rather go somewhere else, if you don’t mind.” He started to make for the exit again, but a large, gauntleted hand grabbed his shoulder and held him fast.

“I didn’t ask.”  Grinning, the Death Knight sat the man down at a table, then sat down opposite him.

The Death knight’s ice blue hair framed his elfen features, all perfectly maintained despite his resurrection.   His cold eyes were the only real give away of his ‘profession’ other than a hefty smell of gore and decay.  His armor was thick and plated, and showed gouges and scars of having fought fiercely up in Northrend against his former master.

“So to what do I owe you the pleasure of my company, Death kinniget?”

The Death knight looked pensive for a second.  “Actually, it’s to ‘whom’, and a lot of people at that.  First, do you remember Eldadres? He studied for a long time on where you could have been, and how to get in contact with you; and although he didn’t find a way to contact you, he found out a way to track where you were in a general sense.  You went to universes I didn’t know existed, planes where I didn’t you could exist.  What they all had in common were the elements.  Which is where the second person comes in: Windpaw, a shaman.  She focused really hard on learning how to find out which place you were in by speaking to the elements of that plane.  So when you came back to this one, we knew you had come back, down to the second you came.”

The man shifted in his chair, not uneasily, but largely because the chairs were uncomfortable, more so than he remembered.

The Death knight continued.  “Once you got here, we only needed to track you down.  So, you owe Aifel here too.  The instant you set foot back on Azeroth, he was on your trail.”

From the shadows of the bar  emerged a young blood elf.  His spiky brown hair did nothing to cover the completely uninterested look on his face.  He sat down at the table with them.  “Sup.”

The death knight continued.  “Once he had your movements all mapped out, he informed me of where you would be.  And here you are.”

The man smiled.  “I suppose you got help from another old friend of mine.  Where’s Colemand?”

The Bartender turned around.  “Alright, now that he knows, can someone take this frivolous magic off of me? It tastes like mildew.”

With a wave of the death knight’s hand and some arcane mutterings, the bartender turned from a young blood elf bartender into a stooped, fearsome looking Forsaken death knight.

“Much better.  I don’t know how you can all live with that crap all the time.”  Colemand sat down at the table as well.  “Honestly, it’s worse than being dead, and now I know both.”

The Death knight shook his head.  “Well, no one said you had to be here Colemand.  You could have stayed in your kitchen, feeding the war effort.”

Colemand’s guttural laugh filled the bar.  “Hellscream doesn’t know the meaning of food! Cooking for his army felt like cooking dirt.  I’d rather go out and make my own food.  Besides, I haven’t made a Gnome pie in ages, and I heard they make them in priests now, too.  If there’s anything more delicious than irony, I want to taste it.”

The man sat still for a moment, then looked up at the blood elf across the table from him.  “So why all the love? I’m not the most important elf on Azeroth, not by a long shot.  I wasn’t even present to see the downfall of Arthas.  I’m definitely no hero of the Horde, and I’m certainly not on Hellninny’s good side.”

“True, but Hellscream does know that you got shit done.  With Deathwing on the rise, that’s what needs to happen; but that’s not the reason we sought you out.  To be honest, Hellscream probably doesn’t care that you’re here at all.”  The Death knight clasped his hands together.  “Look, we all know you left to search the universes.  For a woman, no less.  A gentleman’s move on your part, to pursue love; but it didn’t work, did it?”

The man’s face turned sombre as the death knight continued.  “Maybe she died, maybe she didn’t love you, maybe both.  Either way, she’s not in your life anymore.  And now you’re here, drinking yourself silly from the west coast of Kalimdor to the east coast of the Eastern Kingdoms.  We’re here to make you do what you were born to do.  You are a hunter, and a damn good one.  Maybe not the most practical, nor the most flexible, but certainly one of the best.”

The room went silent.  Aifel sat silently picking his teeth with a dagger.  Colemand starting scratching doodles into the table using a clawed, iced finger.  The death knight sat in silence his hands still clasped in front of him.  The man stared down at the table.  This continued for what seemed like ages, the silence falling on the room like a  musty covering.

Finally, the man looked up at the death knight.  “I don’t see how a lot of what you said is your business.  You’re treading on ground that I honestly don’t want anyone to tread on yet; but you’re right about one thing, Elnoriah.”

The man threw back his hood to reveal long auburn hair, tied to keep it out of his face, bright evergreen eyes, long elegant ears and eyebrows, and a large smile.  He whistled sharply, a piercing sound, and no sooner had he done so than a large black wolf had bounded into the room and knocked the man over and started licking his face.

“I am fabulous.”


Set Up

Klinderas had been tracking this human for weeks.  

This, scraggly, scruffy, scarred excuse for a human was a cultist, one of the Damned.  Even after the third great war the Cult of the Damned was still a threat, trying to spread corruption within human lands.

This particular cultist, named Gavren according to his “sources”, had information Klinderas needed.  For instance, who is the necromancer in charge of the western plaguelands, and where could he find him.

Klinderas had left Silvermoon that day when Eldadres spoke to him.  He left and rode south towards the Ghostlands, through to the Eastern plaguelands.  He rested at Light’s Hope chapel for a day.  A Captain spoke to him about a battle taking place to the east, where hundreds of death knights and thousands of lesser undead assault the Scarlet Crusade daily.  

Klinderas explained that he wasn’t here to bolster their forces, but to stop a rising force of a similar kind shoring up on the Western plaguelands.  The Captain explained to Klinderas where he could find members of the Cult of the Damned, for if anyone could find a necromancer, it would be another member of the cult.

  Klinderas thanked the captain, and followed the lead.

Klinderas stalked and hunted members who knew of a plot to the west.  For every cultist who gave Klinderas information, three were silent.  After 2 weeks of stalking, hunting, and killing, Klinderas finally found out who the right hand man to the Necromancer was, and where he was.  None would tell him or could tell him of the man himself, but the second-in-command surely would.

Klinderas had been tracking this human for weeks.  Through Stormwind, no less.  Klinderas masked his smell, hid his ears, and covered his eyes.  His cloak constantly obscured every identifying feature of him, and he purposefully smeared dirt on his face to seem less elvish.  So far, it worked.  Humans are stupid creatures sometimes.

Gavren had been walking through a main street close to the harbour for the better part of the day.  Klinderas had noticed he had done the same walk, every day, for the past three days.  Out of his home, to the marketplace, to the pub, then back to his home.  Every time, he sits alone, eats alone, and does everything alone.  This was, so far, turning out to be a big waste of time, and he was getting frustrated as he couldn’t do anything to the man until he did something different from this protective routine.

Suddenly, the man took a left turn down a dark alley, and Klinderas was immediately alert.  Knowing that this was probably a means of seeing is anyone was following, Klinderas looked at his companion, Radix.  Radix’s stunning red fur was sleek and fine, contrasted by the gold fur along his back and the edges of his face, which was long and feral.  Simply by looking at one another, Radix understood exactly who their prey was, and what he had to do.  Radix instantly disappeared into the crowd, and followed the man down the alley.  

Klinderas had his job to do as well.

He turned to the building to the left, ran at it, and jumped on the window sill.  The building was made of uneven stone, which allowed for a great deal of handholds and footholds.  Klinderas scaled the building with all the speed and grace of a professional acrobat, the aspect of the monkey flowing through him.  He flipped himself up onto a beam, swung to a pole and, perching on the pole like a falcon, jumped off of it like jumping off a spring board.  He did a neat front flip, and was lost behind the rooftops.

The living are so… weak.  Frail.  Pitiful.

I discarded the husk of another Scarlet civilian, his lifeless body crumpling into a bloody, gory heap next to so many others I executed.  My Saronite armor was covered in gore and soaked in blood, not mine.  I didn’t care.

Who could care about something so fragile? So pointless? My very existence is a mockery of life.

I can’t even breathe.  My blood doesn’t flow anymore.  Yet here I am, standing in my master’s service, in unlife.  Simply by existing, I shatter the beliefs of those weakling paladins and their followers.  For this, I am not only my master’s chosen weapon of death and destruction, I am a symbol of His power, his strength, and his way.

I was wounded in the last fight, having had my jaw knocked loose and my skin ripped off my bones in a number of places.  I reattached the jawbone, the thick snap it created pierced the darkness, and broke the silence heard only after a battle.

I knelt down next to the heap of corpses next to me, took my hand, and punched it through the ribcage of the nearest corpse.  There was almost no blood spray, since most of the blood had leaked out when I had gutted the man’s throat.  Even when I removed my fist full of flesh, there wasn’t more than a trickle from the man’s chest.  It was obvious his heart had stopped beating before he hit the ground.

I took the flesh, and put it in my mouth.  Every chew, every bite, regenerated more unholy flesh; this was the master’s magic at work.  I take what was once theirs, and add it to my own.

They’re not going to be using it anyway.

I had about half finished this particular wretch when a geist scampered behind me, and stopped.

“Death Knight… Cole… mand…”

Geists were irritating.  Just a little.  You’d think they could be re-animated with a voice that doesn’t start-stop constantly.

“What do you want, geist? Your presence irritates me.”

The geist didn’t care.  Much like myself, it only served the master, and feared nothing else.

“You go… Acheron… speak… Lich… King.”

At least they didn’t beat around the bush.

“Tell the Master that I live to serve.  Now screw off.”

The geist didn’t hesitate, and slid into the shadows and darkness of the night.  There was no light tonight: the smoke and dust of battle obscured the stars and extinguished the light of the moon.  Not that it mattered: when you are made of shadow and darkness, you can see as well at night as you can in the day.

When I had finished eating the cadaver, I stood up and let unholy energy flow through me.  Every fiber of my being crawled with unholy power, the energies of death and rot.  When used properly, however, one could turn death and rot into shadow and darkness.  With shadow and darkness, one could create a portal to a bastion of shadow and darkness.  A bastion like Acheron.

  Instant doorway, one way please.

When the energies reached their peak, I let them out of my body, and forced them to coalesce into a stable doorway into Acheron.  Now for the hard part: walking through.  

I never liked walking through these doorways.  They made my stomach lurch, spin, and it always caused me to be wobbly legged.  It’s like stepping on a giant wheel, then running down a hill on it, losing control, spinning a few times around the wheel, then finally landing at your destination.

When I stepped from the portal, I smashed into another death knight trainee.

“Watch where you step, Cole.  It could very well be your last.”

Now this is a person I hated more than that stupid doorway.  I knew him only as Carver, and he was a tool.

I grinned.  “Hello, Carver.  Glad to see you’re still so cheery.”

“You can go to hell, Colemand.  You’re lucky to still be existing.  I could kill you right now.  Right now.  After that mistake, I should.” he frothed.

His elven features struck me as odd, but only because I had never seen a Night Elf before I met this prick.  Carver’s purple skin was blemished in many places by misshapen tattoos and sores where his undeath had taken root.  His short, barbaric hair had been made to form a mohawk, and it must have been cut by his own blade.  It was uneven enough to make the Alterac Mountains seem plain.

“After what? I saw nothing, Carver.  You’re too tense.  You should sit back and relax, let the proper knights do their job.”

“I will kill you Colemand.  Your death will bring me glory, and He will see me as his best knight.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

“I will kill you!” He was practically foaming at the mouth.

“Happy entrails, Carver.  Try not to rip out your hair again.”

I left him there, him cursing and spitting and going foamy at the mouth while I walked into the transporter.  He was always such a joy to be around.

I reached the upper level of the ziggurat, and there he was.  Arthas Menethil, ruler of the damned, traitor king of Lordaeron, warlord of the frozen wastes, and my liege.  He stood looking out over his vast legions of undead, assaulting the human town a few miles away.  The wind up here was cold and blew angrily, but his cloak moved on it’s own whim in a slow, erie fashion.  The wind carried the sounds of battle, the screams of dying humans a constant reminder of His power.

“What does my liege command?”

He turned slowly to face me.  His armor was silver, but black at the same time.  It absorbed all light around it, causing the rest of the area around him to seem darker by comparison.  His blade, Frostmourne, alos known as Muradin’s bane, glowed with a fiery blue malevolence; each sharp edge wreathed in unholy flame.  His helmet showed none of his face, save for two eternally glowing blue eyes.  His very frame was massive, and every step the King took up the same amount of space as three fully grown men.

“Colemand, your service has been noticed.  You have killed and murdered and shown these worthless humans the strength of the Scourge, and taught them fear.”

“Yes my liege.  My life is yours to spend, my liege.”  Kneeling at this point was almost involuntary.  I really hate those doorways.

“Your strengths are no longer needed here.”

I was shocked.  No longer needed? I was one of the best knights here! I could sow death, terror, and even bacon!

Don’t ask, I get bored sometimes, and there’s a lot of meat on a battlefield.

“My lord…”

“Silence.  Your life is mine to spend, not yours.  You go to the western plaguelands, and you will do this now.  You will serve one of my lieutenants, a powerful necromancer.  He will explain more.  Serve him or die.”

“Yes, my liege.  My life is yours to spend.”

I was pissed.  The eastern plaguelands? There’s nothing left there.  At least, nothing fun.

“Leave.  Your business is done here.  You ride for Andorhal immediately.”

“At once, my lord.”

Andorhal.  Why do I know that name?

I made my way to the ground, and upon getting to the border of the western plaguelands I stopped and began to focus.  Unlike doorways, summoning my steed wasn’t nausea inducing.  A snap of my fingers and there it was.

I stole, killed, and re-animated this horse myself.  I never liked it though, it was too… on fire.  Its black skin was contrasted by the blue flames on its hooves, in its eyes, and its mane.  It was as if the horse was being burned alive.  The worst part was if you forgot to saddle the beast: fire and chafing are not good things to have at once.

I saddled the beast, and mounted it.  I looked west, and thought for a minute.  Andhorhal… have I been there before? I can’t have been, but I have a feeling that I should know better.

This was no time for thoughts, however.  This was time to ride.  No need for water, food, or rest would see me there in two days.

Two days.

Two days…


The first instinct is to breathe.

You breathe, you gasp, your chest lifts and falls as quickly as you can inhale; but no matter how hard you try, you cannot feel the air in your lungs.  You cannot feel the satisfaction of having a gulp of air in your chest, and you panic.  You are seized by a fear of being dead.  You try to wake up, to get the hell out of this hog-spit of a dream, but then the horrifying reality hits you like a rock to the face.

You are dead, and this is not a dream.

I remember the first time this happened, when I was first raised from my eternal rest.  I was out of my mind with fear to a point when the apothecaries almost discarded my crazed corpse.  I learned, like all Forsaken, how to cope with the phantom pains and the useless procedures of life.  I learned that breathing was no longer necessary, that our hearts no longer had a beat, that we had no need for food.  If our flesh was destroyed, it could regenerate quickly by cannibalizing the flesh of another.  If our limb was hacked off, we could simply reattach it.  That our bodies no longer were anything more than a vessel for our minds, for our will power, and for our resolve.  Only the resolute could stand as one of the Forsaken for long.

If you could stand as Forsaken, then you never truly die.

I remembered my past life, and I remembered why I was dead.  Who it was that killed me.  As soon as I could, I ventured out from Brill and made my way to Andorhal to exact revenge on this murderer of mine.  I was easily overpowered by the undead minions there, and I died without making much of a dent.  I never even saw my murderer’s face.

Fate, it seems, wasn’t finished with me yet though.  No, not yet.

“Ah, there you are.  You’re late, you know that?”

Klinderas sauntered into the bar, and sat himself down on a stool.  He quickly scanned the area with his green-gold eyes, examining and evaluating every patron of the Moonlight Bar. The bar itself was of elven craft, and had satin midnight blue walls framed by intricate gold designs.  The floor was a deep, blood red, hardwood floor with no flaws in the planks.  But then again, Silvermoon itself had no visible flaws to speak of, and even a bar wasn’t going to be the exception.

When he was satisfied that he was safe, his eyes finally settled on the man next to him.

“Yes, it’s me.  But I’m hardly late, you stuck-up priss.  How are you doing, Eldadres? You seem a little exhausted.”

Eldadres pulled back the hood from his face, and looked Klinderas in the eye.  His blonde hair was pulled back into a tail to keep it out his face, which was covered in grime, sweat, and blood.  His eyes, though normally a bright and vivid emerald colour, were a pale yellow-green.

“Exhausted? You’re hardly the one to be talking, Klin.  You’re the one that looks like he’s been pushed through a sewage pipe.”

“Hmmph.” Sewage pipe was more accurate than Eldadres thought.  The Dalaran sewers were messy, to say the least.  His beautiful mail armor, forged from some of the best forgers in Northrend, was covered in green slime and grime, and his face was covered in cuts and bruises as well.  Even his normally perfectly straight hair was a little unruly at the moment.  He needed to bathe.

“In any case, Klin, it’s good to see you.  It’s been way too long.”

“Yes, it has been.  I mean, no one else can do my laundry like you can Eld.”

“I’m not even going to touch your armor with a ten foot brush.  Do it yourself you slimy bastard.”  Eldadres let loose a big, warm smile, and the two extremely dirty and exhausted elves clasped arms and embraced one another.

“Eld, although I find this banter highly amusing, would there happen to be a reason why we’re here?” Klinderas asked, his head cocked to the side.

“I knew we would have to talk business,” said Eldadres, his smile fading,”but need it be so soon?”

“Yes,” replied Klinderas, his eyes glinting gold, “it needs to be now.  We do not have much time left if I was recalled from the front in Northrend to come back here.  The reallocation of forces from Northrend is a big risk, and warrants a pressing reason.”

Eldadres grinned. “Since you’re obviously such an important person to pull off of the front.”

“Damn straight I am!” Klinderas’ wolfish grin grew a mile.  “If I wasn’t so important, I would likely have been dealt with by a certain Baby Hellscream and his nanny, High Overlord Sourpuss.”

Eldadres pondered this for a moment.  “You’ve got a point.”

Klinderas’ smile faded. “Honestly though, why am I here? It must be of some importance.”

Eldadres’ grin also disappeared, his face suddenly turned stony. “Do you remember your little visit to Andorhal about 2 years back?”

Klinderas’ face instantly turned pale at the mention of that mission.  Oh yes, he remembered Andorhal.  The legions of undead, the hundreds of still rotting corpses, the stench of abominations, the screams of half living, half dead humans filled his mind.  He remembered Andorhal quite well.

“What does Andorhal have to do with anything? The undead there have long been extinguished by the Argent Dawn, and the lich stationed there was destroyed by my hand.  That charnel house of death has nothing left in it.”

“That’s… not entirely true.” Eldadres continued. “Basically, although the large insurrection of undead there has been quelled for some time, it seems there is some activity there again.  It is likely that a powerful necromancer is behind this, as there are large numbers of abominations and other constructs there.”

“Then send in a group of mercenaries.  This necromancer hardly seems more pressing than my up-and-coming bath.” Klinderas dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“Unfortunately, that won’t work Klin.”  Eldadres explained further.  “You see, there is one big difference between that lich from before, and this necromancer; the lich couldn’t command Death Knights.”

Klinderas sat for a moment, taking this in: Death Knights.  Warriors of death and destruction, hellbent on serving their unholy master in the ways of Blood, Frost, and Death.  Legendary for their prowess with blades and necromancy, a Death Knight was a formidable opponent to even the most experienced heroes.  This was all Klinderas needed to make his day.

Eldadres gave Klinderas a moment to let that sink in, and then started again. “This necromancer seems to have the authority to ‘borrow’ death knights from the new ziggurat in the plaguelands, Acheron.  We think Arthas himself is present there, as the number of death knights that have been fighting over there is well above the hundreds already.  He could easily spare a few experienced knights and send them to the plaguelands, and we think that that is exactly what has happened here.  Even with a small few of those wretches, Arthas could retake the plaguelands and be in the position to attack our allies, the Forsaken.”

“So that’s why you need me here.  You want to send me to the western plaguelands to stop some two-bit necromancer from gaining an upper hand, while the rest of the Horde is in Northrend.”

“That sounds about right, Klin.  What do you say?”

“I’d rather go jump off the Aldor Rise; but if the Sourpuss commands it, then I don’t have much option, do I?”

Eldadres chuckled.  “No, not really.  Unless you think execution is a good idea, I’d hunt down that necromancer and bring his head to the good Overlord.”

Klinderas thought for a moment.  “So why ask me to do this?”

Eldadres sighed.  “You know the lay of the land, the creatures, the hiding spots, and you’re one of the best trackers in his employ.  If anyone can do this job, it would be you and your pack.”

Klinderas got up from his stool, and whistled sharply.  A large black wolf appeared from the doorway, startling several patrons, and then walked across the bar to Klinderas’ side.

“Well, I better get going, then;” Klinderas wrapped himself up in his cloak, then turned for the door.  His massive wolf, Link, followed him like a bestial shadow.

“Death waits for no man, after all.”

“Rise, my champion.”

I did as that horrible voice bade me to do.  My eyes jerked open, and I took a deep breath.  Horror.  Fear.  No air.  Wait, no air?

I remember my first time had no air, and that didn’t seem to kill me then… oh for the love of Sylvanas, again? Again!? If I find out whoever it was that raised me this time, I’m going to break his legs.

“All that I am; anger, cruelty, vengeance… these I bestow upon you, my chosen Death Knight.”

Death knight? Unpleasant attributes? Why must I inherit crap like that? More importantly, it’s time I gave this little pustule a piece of my mi-

Oh.  That explains everything.  Had to be the one jerk-spit whose legs I couldn’t break.  Arthas Menethil, traitor king of the Scourge.  Just my luck.

“Now wait here, you overgrown windsack, I’ve got someth-”


I could no longer speak.  Whatever air I had left me, and I could no longer speak.  But I wasn’t afraid: I had no need of air.  I was Forsaken.

“You still have memories, Death Knight? That can be rectified.”

He took his damned sword, Frostmourne, and thrust the blade into the pit of my stomach.  For some reason, it didn’t hurt.  There was no pain… it was simply very cold.  The blade was planted to the hilt, and it glowed a bright, icy blue.

“Sylvanas may have taught you how to live without air, water, food, or compassion.  These are admirable; however, she failed to teach you how to live without your mind.”

No.  No! NO! Not my mind.  The one thing I know was from before.  No please, please don’t take that away from me.

I don’t want to die.

Bestial Wrath

Ability_Hunter_BeastWithinKlinderas was used to it at this point.

The rage would swell within him, overpower his sense of self.  His vision would go red with blood, his teeth would hurt, his skin would turn red all over his body.  The blood pumped so fast through him that his heart made a humming noise.

His mind would stop thinking.  All he could see, smell, and taste was his prey.  His vision, though clouded with red, would be perfectly clear when looking at his target.

Though some call it “Arugal’s Rage”, it is more simply known as lycanthropy.  Or at least a minor version of it.  The act of turning into part man, part beast is only present to those in tune with nature, and only those who have it could understand the pain it could inflict.  All Druids use the same type of energy to transform into bears and lions, but hunters such as Klinderas hardly had that kind of skill.

The problem with lycanthropy in a hunter is that, without proper training, the hunter gets overtaken by the beast within and turns into a fully fledged “werewolf”.  With time, the hunter would grow fangs, fur, and lose their sense of civilization.

Klinderas was one hunter who received the training to save him before it was too late.  The hunter trainers in Silvermoon had taught him how to transfer this inner beast into his companions.  This caused the beast to grow to twice its original size, and develop a taste for blood no matter how passive the beast originally was.  Klinderas defeated many opponents with this new found power, and it seemed like all was well.

As time went on, however, Klinderas began receiving stronger bursts of lycanthropic energy.  He could only transfer so much energy to his companion, and so the lycanthropy began to affect him again.

But it was different than before.  Because both he and his companions were affected by the same lycanthropic energy, they both could sense one another’s thoughts.  Together, with his new strength, he could defeat any opponent no matter how powerful they were.

Klinderas was used to the urges, the growls and howls in his mind occupying his senses.  His vision turned red with blood, and his skin crawled with the power that literally flowed through his veins.  He looked at Link, who looked back.

It was as if he was looking into a mirror, and Link and Klinderas both turned to their prey.

The night elf rogue was, at this point, terrified.  When he had attacked, the hunter had been half the size, and pink skinned.  Ever since awaking from his icy prison, the hunter had transformed before his eyes into a large, red monster.  His eyes were red and gold with rage, and his teeth had grown noticeably longer.  Small patches of fur had grown on the elf’s hands, fingers and face, making him look more animal than man.  His beast had grown to twice its original size, his fur had gone on end, and his teeth had become as long as daggers.  The beast’s drool ran thick and fast, and it too had gone red with blood.  Both the beast and the hunter looked like they would eat him, and in sync, both man and beast let loose a blood curdling scream and howled at the sky.

Klinderas was used to it now.  He was used to the beast within.  He was used to the smell of prey, of blood, and of death.

Klinderas was used to becoming a beast.

The Details Of The Dastardly Dueg

conquer_the_world_by_dawn42It was a huge mistake.

You see, I put Dueg, from Holy Dueg! on my sidebar.  This is a huge, huge mistake.

You see, by putting Dueg on my sidebar… I have given him the keys to the world.


It’s simple.  You see, by putting Dueg on my sidebar, I accepted him into my pack.  As a result, more people will view his website.  The amount of visits he will get will now be bumped beyond the mark… the mark that held his notorious scheme in check.

Now with a larger viewer-base, Dueg will become more and more popular.  This will start and avalanche, eventually creating the second largest, foaming-at-the-mouth legion of readers.  Dueg will rival BRK in power.

Once that happens, using his priestly ways, he will sway BRK to help him form the D+DWWA(Dueg and Dan World-Wide Amalgamated).  This massive coalition of blogs will have the power to sway even Blizzard.

Blizzard, understandably being miffed as being used as a puppet, asks the group to disband.  BRK, being the good dwarf he is, will drop out liked Blizzard asked.  Dueg, however, will not.

With the skills of Rilgon, Dueg will create a large mother-computer, and will sell its use to multiple countries around the world.  Due to Dueg’s new slogan of “Win Through Compromise,” Dueg will cause the world to be indebted to him.  Much like the Godfather, people will owe him a “service.”  Most people do not see what is coming.

Ghostcrawler becomes one such man.  Dueg will ask Ghostcrawler to hand Dueg the reins to the creative development department, and Ghostcrawler will have to make a choice he cannot refuse.  Once Dueg maintains control over the balance of the game, he will create unique abilities for himself that will boost his already mighty power(denoted by the monocle) to an all-time high.  He will be as a god.

At this time, using his new power, Dueg will “succeed” the Head of Blizzard, and will bathe in money.  With the new riches at his disposal, he will create an underground, elite army named the Duegles.

After a period of 2 years, Dueg will have enough military might to take over Canada.  However, he didn’t count on one thing: The HATED(Hunters Against Tyranny, Evil, and Dueg).  Led by people such as BRK and Professor Pike, this new insurgent group will conduct a guerilla war on the Duegles for years.  Ground is neither lost, or won, as the combatants just do a corpse run.

Rilgon is Commander General of the Duegles at this point, but he does not like what he sees.  He had been promised buffs, but all he got was nerfs and serious mana-shortage.  Rilgon begins to amass a number of followers to defect to the HATED side.  Among his number are Anea, Faulsey, and Harii.  Together, they make a break for it, and attempt to defect.  But the Dueg is no fool: he captures Anea before she can escape.

The HATED readily welcome the defectees, and the forces of the HATED are re-moralized.  The battle is far from over.  RIlgon creates new weapons, gadgets, and bombs for the group, granting them unprecedented fighting ability.

At long last, a coup is staged.  The fight goes deep into Castle of Dueg, and at the bottom, they find… Klinderas.  Klin has been cpatured and silenced the entire time in order to stop him from predicting what is happening and telling others about it.

In any case, Klin will be freed, and with his help, the forces of HATED smash their way into the uppermost tower.  Dueg immediatly casts holy nova, with a unique pushback effect.  The forces of HATED are sent sprawling as Dueg runs away to the upper-uppermost tower.

Since Klin was lucky and resisted the attack, Klin runs up the stairs to chase Dueg.  When Klin sees him, Dueg is holding Anea  over the edge of the tower railing.

With a cackle and a laugh, he drops poor Anea over the edge.  He then twizzles his ‘stache.

But, unbeknownst to him, Cadistra catches the falling Anea with her bird form.  Cadistra drops Anea off at the bottom of the castle, to tend to the wounded, and begins to return to the upper-uppermost tower.

In the meantime, there will be an epic fight between myself and Dueg.  Unfortunately, it’s obvious he’s OP, and he has Klin’s back against the wall.  Preparing his last Uber-Smite spell, he laughs maniacly.  All of a sudden, he is crushed by a moose.  The last word he says is “Curses!”

A huge party is held, and the HATED disband.  The world returns to normal.  I get 6000 gold for my help, giving me my damn epic flight training!

Everyone gets 75000 honour and for their trouble, and Dueg does a corpse run.

Either that or nothing happens at all.

Just a suggestion.

A Game Of 7 Questions… Twice

Questions? For moi?

Questions? For moi?

Harii over at Control-Alt-L33T decided fit to tag me in another deadly game of… tag.

Well, gauntlet thrown, gauntlet picked up, and now I will beat your game over the head with it!

So what are the conditions of the tag?

… answer questions? Oh my.

Colemand, get up here.  We’ve got work to do.


  1. What is your name, and where did it come from?
    My name is Klinderas, but you can call me Klin.  It might be simpler for you.  It comes from a mix of two things: first, Klin is a namesake of the legendary hero, Link, who I named my wolf after.  The second half, Eras, means “Light” from where I’m from. My name means, in laymen’s terms, “Light of Link” or “Light of the Hero.”  My parents were a little pompous, even by my modest standards!
  2. How old are you, and what is your birthday?
    My age is not of concern to anyone here.  The only thing I will tell you is this: I never was purple.  I hope it helps.
  3. Are you in love, and with whom?
    Ah, love… that happened once.
  4. What is your favorite mount, and why?
    I happen to like my Hawkstrider quite a lot.  His temperament is similar to mine, and he doesn’t eat all the meat.  Plus, his plumage is simply fabulous!
  5. Do you prefer a certian type of Azerothonian meal, and where do you get it from? Take out, or dine in?
    I am a sucker for Elvish pasta, particularly any dishes with seafood in them.  My favourite at the moment is Seafood Elfredo, a marvelous dish with a specifically made elvish sauce.

    Unfortunately, I can’t eat like this all the time.  I normally like to eat Clefthoof ribs otherwise… and milk.  Love the stuff, don’t really know why.  Goes straight to my waist…

    I avoid anything that Colemand cooks! At all costs!

  6. You know those giant mushrooms in Zangarmarsh? What is your theory on how they came to be, and why they are so huge?
    Simplicity itself, really.  Mushrooms existed on Draenor long before the planet blew up.  The energies released from the explosion stimulated the growth of that particular strand of fungus, and up they grew.  The blue in the air is likely caused by spores.

    Happily, it seems a hot bath causes all those spores to disapear from your body.  So take my advice: bathe, everyday, or you might end up choking yourself on mushrooms.

  7. If you saw the Lich King walking towards you, what would you do?
    Ha! Arthas? I’d shoot him in the face!.. then lay down a trap, use the Lollerskates, and run like hell! What the hell else would I do!?


  1. What is your name, and where did it come from?
    My name is Colemand.  My last name used to be Briggs, but since my undeath and re-undeath, I’ve decided to drop it.  It came from my father’s somewhat drunken stupor, and my mother’s complete inability to name things decently.  She named my poor dog Zanzibar.  Zanzibar? Honestly?
  2. How old are you, and what is your birthday?
    Age… hmm.  Here’s a new concept for you: I honestly don’t give a shit.  Age? Pah! It’s a waste of time, that is.
  3. Are you in love, and with whom?
    The only thing I was in love with was my faith.  I had no time for women, for anything… and then faith backstabbed me.  The light turned on me and now… well, I’m this charming pile or rot sitting in front of you.  My only love now is cooking, and possibly Mike, my pet cockroach.
  4. What is your favorite mount, and why?
    Favourite… mount? Why do people get attached to these things? They die, we bring ’em back, we use ’em, the re-die, we do it all over again.  Honestly, it makes no godamn sense to get too attached to these things.
  5. Do you prefer a certian type of Azerothonian meal, and where do you get it from? Take out, or dine in?
    Ha! My favourite dish, eh? That’s simple: Gnome Magepie.  Gnomes are inherently sweet thanks to their small, pint sized bodies harbouring the energy of a small locomotive.  In addition, the arcane magic which flows in most gnomes adds a sweet ‘n’ sour taste to them, making them delicious.  Your bake your Gnome in a pastry crust, then eat like a meat pie, except it tastes like lemon ice-cream! It’s delicious.

    The only gnomes you should watch out for are the Warlocks: The bitterness of a warlock seems to beat any amount of sugar you put on top of them…

  6. You know those giant mushrooms in Zangarmarsh? What is your theory on how they came to be, and why they are so huge?
    Dunno, but it’s certainly not helping.  I would rather they were smaller so I could taste them…
  7. If you saw the Lich King walking towards you, what would you do?
    Ask him to apologize, dammit.  I was perfectly dead, and then he waltzes in and steals my rest from me! The prick… I would walk up to him, and make him apologize.

And that is all the time we have, Harii! Thanks for asking us these questions, I’m sure Colemand would love more in the future.

Seriously.  He’s been begging for questions.

Well, now the last part of the tag… tagging others.  Well, I’m sorry to say, but I’m taggin everyone who read this.  Either write it in the comments, or write your own post if you have a blog!

So, for now, I bid everyone adieu.  It’s time to go and sleep for the night.

Once again Harii, thank you for coming, and don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

Blasted night elves… does she have ANY clue what time of night it is right now?! It must be daytime for those crazy, moonlighting hippies!

Klinderas Gets A Feature!?

That or Sand Ninjas...

That or Sand Ninjas...

I would like to express two things.

1.  For the love of me, I am really surprised.

2.  I am at the same time Honoured, embarrassed, and Ego-stoked.

Windpaw over at Shock and Paw decided to allow my glorious self to have a cameo in the story Windpaw has been writing.  For all those who haven’t read it, go read it now.

Stoke my ego to disproportionate heights.


In thanks to Windpaw, I have decided to add a bit of credence to the awesome title Windpaw decided to give me.

Klinderas the Black, Biznatch.

Klinderas the Black, Biznatch.

To Windpaw, thank you so much.

To everyone else, go and read that fabulous blog!

So, You Really Want To Know?

In ur base, lookin' for corpses

In ur base, lookin' for corpses

Well then, fine.  I’ll talk.  But only because I was promised a present by Klinderas.

My name is Colemand, and I am a Death knight.

I wasn’t a Death Knight by choice, mind you.  I once was a human.  A delicious, tender human.  I was a priest in life, and I did a damn good job.  I ran my own damn church.

Until the Scourge came into the kingdom, and wiped us all out.  Arthas is a bugger, but he’s not stupid.  He harvested my corpse, and I was sent to attack the nearby areas.  I don’t know where exactly, as being a zombie kinda makes your memory about as useless as an elf.

What’s that Klinderas? You’re offended? TOO BAD.  Go back to your hole, you whiny bastard.  Yeah, Silvermoon, whatever.  For the love of Sylvanas you’re a pain, you know that?

Speaking of which, I was released by Sylvanas when she first gained power.  I remembered my roots, and tried to be a priest.  However, my powers over the light had waned, and I realized my powers over shadow had inceased by quite a bit.  Mind you, this didn’t deter me, and I set out to try to re-learn the ways of the light.

This was a completely stupid thing to do though.  I ran into a whole mess with the Spice- I mean, Scarlet Crusade, and I went and beat the crap out of them some more in their cathedral.

Now, this is when I decided I should see the plaguelands.  My home had been in Andorhal, and I wanted to see it.

Bad idea, it turns out.  The Scourge stationed there kicked my bony butt, and I died a second time.  For once, I thought, I could freakin’ sleep.

But nope, Arthas is a prick.  By pure bloody chance, he picked my damn corpse and re-animated it AGAIN.  Now, at this point, I didn’t remember anything, but if I did, I’d be pissed, ’cause this was just too much.  I was another Death Knight, just like all the others around me.

I started doing a few missions, nothing difficult.  Pick up the arrows, steal a horse, slaughter a company of Crusaders…

But after a while, I began to do very well for myself, and I was chosen to  attack Light’s Hope.  At this point, I had a fathom of who I was as I had met a Forsaken prisoner who was once a parishioner at my church.  I had to kill him though.  Pity.  Bah, such is unlife.

In any case, Arthas stabbed us all in the back, and then.. Tirlon? Tirgion? I don’t remember, they all sound the same.  In any case, some human beat off Arthas, and I helped to take back the Ebon Hold.

At this point, I was sick of the Plaguelands, and I was about to leave when Darion requested I go to Orgrimmar.  Now, Orgrimmar is an okay place.  Lots of Liquor, fighting, food.  I said, “sure, why not” and went on my way.

I got to Thrall, and gave him the letter.  He gave me a once over, and said “Colemand, was it? Look, I really could care less.  Do you honestly think I haven’t done this before? Get your bony ass into the Outlands and out of my face.”

Okay, not exactly word for word, but I swear it was similar.  Either way, that’s my story.

Now where the hell is my present you blasted elf!?

You brought me Fel Orcs!? I’ve never tried them! Maybe they’ll go well with some paprika…

*munch* *munch*

… this tastes absolutely terrible.  It’s like eating shoe-leather that’s been wrapped in burnt bacon for a week.


Then again, it does have a nice aftertaste… almost minty.

Story Time!: Klinderas and the Gorlocs

2706232250_6fed000f27Klinderas scrambled through the tall grass, trying to avoid being seen.  The gorlocs were after him like a pack of wolves hunting down a wounded caribou, and Klinderas could hear their mad gibbering just behind him.  Pain throbbed in Klinderas’s shoulder where the teeth of one gorloc had sunk in before Klinderas had finished him off with a quick slice of his axe, letting loose its blood.  The bite went deep into his shoulder, drawing out copious amounts of blood and tearing a large chunk of muscle out in the process.  The blood was flowing thickly now, and the blood loss would soon cause him to go unconscious.  No amount of bandaging would be able to heal this; he required the aid of a skilled healer for a full recovery.

He continued his frantic speed through the brush towards the safety of Taunka’le, knowing that the gorlocs would kill him the instant they could see him.  All of a sudden, a spear crashed in front of the young elf, like a thunderbolt hits the ground and sends anything nearby sprawling to the ground too stunned to do anything about the calamity that has just fallen.  Thus is how the spear fell in front of Klinderas, sending him sprawling in surprise.  He quickly regained his footing, but not before a net had fallen on him like a shadow.  He was captured.  Klinderas tried to move the net, but was too weak to do so, and only succeeded in tangling himself further.  Klinderas became surrounded, as if he were a wounded zevra surrounded by a pack of famished lions who were thinking of nothing more than eating the beast alive.  Such was Klinderas, surrounded by furious gorlocs with nothing more in their minds than vengeance for their fallen chieftain.  Helplessly, Klinderas watched the gorlocs edge nearer and nearer, licking their lips and gibbering with malicious delight.  They were so close that Klinderas could see their fish-like eyes, and smell their foul, fishy breath, almost causing Klinderas to black out.  Klinderas felt a spear drive through his leg, like a needle drives through cloth.  The pain coursed through Klinderas like an electric shock, causing his entire body to go numb with pain.  His vision went red with blood, and his arms gave out as he slumped to the ground.

But then, a familiar presence in his mind: he could feel aid coming to help him.  As he felt it, Jormungandr leapt from the tall grass, his large, gaping mouth swallowing a gorloc’s head whole before biting it off, like a beautiful and sharp sword cutting off clean the head of a ghoul.  The gorlocs turned on their new threat, like a pack of fearful hyenas turning on a tall and proud lion, knowing their fates were sealed.  Jormungandr the worm stood confidently, his long and powerful body barely containing his primal strength.  One of the gorlocs tried to bite Jormungandr, but his thick, scaly hide was too strong, and the gorloc was swatted aside by Jormungandr’s mighty tail and was lost to the brush.  The proud worm then leapt between two of the gorlocs, his bladed sides carving apart their midsections and letting loose their vitals, like water spilled from a cup, and they slumped to the blood-sodden ground.  The gorlocs began to flee from this terrible beast, like a terrorized child flees from a rhinoceros, enraged to protect its pack.  Thus were the gorlocs, running in fear from the beast that had come to protect its soul-brother.    Jormungandr’s belly did not like the taste of gorloc flesh, and so he spat the head he had eaten at one of the fleeing gorlocs.  The missile had lost it’s solidity, and splattered all over the gorloc’s backside.  The acid of the worm’s spit burned away at the hide of the hateful creature like a fire burns at paper: quickly and without stopping.  The screams of the gorloc died out soon after, his body being lost in the grasses of the tundra.  Jormungandr then tore at the net covering Klinderas, like a light tears away at a shadow.

Once Klinderas was free, his spiritual bond with Jormungandr began to heal him and give him strength.  The bond between Klinderas and Jormungandr, the same as any other beast in the pack, was strong enough to heal any wound given enough time.  It would take a long time before the bond could heal his shoulder, but it was enough to get the blood to stop flowing.  Klinderas bandaged up his shoulder, while Jormungandr secured the area around them.  There wasn’t any need for Jormungandr to do so however; Klinderas already knew that there weren’t any more of the gorlocs around near them.  He could sense it, as any half-decent hunter should, through smell, hearing, or sight.

Once Klinderas had finished nursing his maimed shoulder, he stood up and began limping towards his kodo beast, Cole.  Jormungandr accompanied him, like one friend walking alongside another to protect him.  After an hour or so, they reached the kodo. Jormungandr leapt atop Cole’s backside, settling himself just behind the saddle.  Klinderas, with much difficulty, mounted the kodo, and bade him to go to Taunka’le.  The kodo began his walk to Taunka’le, trying not to jostle around the passengers.  Now that he was safe, Klinderas began to relax.  He had hunted down the gorloc chieftain, slain him, taken his trophy, and escaped with his life.  He reached into his pack, and searched it.  Eventually, he found what he was looking for and pulled it out to inspect it closer.  It seemed to be the bottom half of an ancient curved horn, now covered in blood and bile, but the ancient shamanistic runes covering it had not faded at all.  Even broken in half, the horn howled as if a great wind was blowing in it, like a wind howls through a hollow cave.  Klinderas smiled, his mission was accomplished.  He placed the object in his pack again, and then closed the hexcloth tightly.  He looked forward again, and saw the glorious sun begin to set.  It had been a long day, and he looked forward to be able to rest, if only for an hour.

The other half of the horn would have to wait until tonight, when the northern gorlocs would be asleep, and unaware.  The perfect prey.  Klinderas then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and Jormungandr kept watch, like a guard dog patiently watches over its sleeping master, chasing away anyone who comes close.