Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

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Part XVII
Blood and Thunder

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For the first time in almost a century, Trowa Sunbender found himself hopelessly lost. He supposed it was his own fault for storming off with aimless course after Duo had betrayed his loyalty, but he had been too angry to stop and consider what he best ought to do next when getting as far away from Thelsamar seemed so much more important at the time. Now he found himself treading along harrowing mountain passes that were caked with dirt that was charred and grey. He could not tell what time it was or how long it had been since he’d started out on his own, for the sky above was blotted by an impenetrable, black haze of cloud. In the distance, he could see a great mountain that belched fire rising up above the jagged peaks that stabbed at the unfriendly air, and it was by this landmark that he set his course, though reason told him that there was probably very little good to be found in such a place. Heavypaw’s trepidation at venturing any further into this blasted land was indicator enough, but Trowa ignored his pet: such an evil place was bound to have a plethora of evil creatures just ripe for slaying, and there was no other way Trowa would rather blow off steam.

Sliding down an ashen slope to the foothills of the dark mountain range in the distance, Trowa couldn’t help the spiteful thoughts that came to mind when his mind wandered back to Heero and Duo. How dare that puny warlock tell him, lord of all the Sin’dorei, that the affection of a sniveling human was more important to him! Had they not been the greatest of friends? Trowa snorted at the memory as he wandered onwards, determined to never allow himself the weakness of having friends ever again. Unless, of course, there was some sort of way he could benefit out of the camaraderie, an amendment he hastily came to terms with when he remembered his reliance on Heero’s priest friend. “That’s different,” he told Heavypaw, who didn’t seem to care either way.

He paused for a moment beneath a cindered tree, considering the priest for a moment as his hand absently trailed towards the pouch where he had secured the stolen owl charm. Next to his face, the ominous remnants of a noose swayed eerily in the hot breeze. Would Quatre still be willing to help him if he knew that he had abandoned his friend? The notion did not sit incredibly well with Trowa, particularly when he tried to reason why Quatre made any more difference in his life than Heero and Duo had. “It’s because he’s useful to me, whereas this is no longer so for Duo,” Trowa concluded aloud for the benefit of Heavypaw, who still didn’t care. He elaborated: “No loyal friend has ever been there for me, so goodbye!”

That sounded much more assuring to Trowa’s ears, and he nodded firmly to himself. Any sorrow on Duo’s part for what had come to pass would be too late. But just as he was about to shoulder that resolve and march onwards without another pause to look back, he was suddenly alerted to the presence of another. Unsure if he would find friend or foe, he scanned the area for shelter and, upon spotting a large boulder, quickly darted behind it. From there, he had a good vantage point of the road and the tree he had just been loitering under, and with his breath trapped in his belly, he waited to see who would appear.

He soon espied a small band of Dark Iron dwarves on the path, and it was then that Trowa realized that he had somehow wandered into the smoldering valley they had claimed as their homeland. He had only ever heard whispers of this desolate area at the heart of the Redrock mountain range, which the banished Dark Iron clan had destroyed in the service of the fire elemental they called their lord and master. It was said that it was from this burnt land that they were ever at work in their machinations to exterminate the other dwarves of Azeroth, and what he witnessed with his own eyes seemed to give claim to exactly that.

The quartet of Dark Irons flanked a single orc in bondage, who was being forced to drag an enormous anvil by himself. The orc was so covered in soot that he was hardly recognizable from a golem, his heaving shoulders the only indicator that he was of flesh and blood. One of the Dark Irons wielded a whip with which he drove the orc on with brutal lashes, while the others were each armed with sturdy dirks and chain mail. The entire spectacle made Trowa gnash his teeth in rage as he grabbed for an arrow to nock in his bowstring.

The first arrow caught the Dark Irons completely by surprise, finding its mark deep in the neck of one of the guards. The others immediately dragged to a halt, frantically trying to find the source of the attack. Trowa didn’t allow them enough time to distinguish his location before he let the next arrow fly, wounding the slave driver in the thigh. As the dwarf bent to rip the arrow from his flesh, Trowa burst from hiding, Heavypaw dashing ahead to leap at the incapacitated target. While Heavypaw was engaged with that, Trowa moved on to the other two guards, who he prepared to take on with the small knife he kept in his boot.

These other two Dark Irons, after seeing their other comrades fall, weren’t caught as unawares. As Trowa launched himself at the first one, he had his dirk out, already swinging it for Trowa’s throat. Their blades clanged with a spark, and it was only Trowa’s size advantage that allowed him to stave off the Dark Iron’s dexterous onslaught. Still, the dwarf managed to catch Trowa just above the cuff of his bracer, cutting him deep enough to bleed. The injury send a painful sting up into Trowa’s shoulder, but he didn’t have time to stop and tend to it, far too busy trying to keep himself alive as the other Dark Iron saw fit to join into the fray. Wrestling one to the ground and fighting to bury his knife into a major artery, Trowa was only able to survive thanks to Heavypaw, who, after finishing off his prey, quickly ran to the aid of his master. The large cat, elf and two dwarves tore at each other in frenzied combat, knives and claws flying so haphazardly, it was likely they were each just as dangerous to ally as they were to enemy.

At long last, Trowa finally managed to stab one of the Dark Irons through his temple, which allowed him to help Heavypaw subdue the other with much more ease. Once he was satisfied that all the Dark Irons were dead enough for his liking, Trowa rose to his full height, panting and covered with the dark spatter of dried blood. His wounded arm still hurt, but he had gotten somewhat used to the pain and continued to ignore tending to it in favour of helping the imprisoned orc out of his bonds.

The moment the ash-caked orc was no longer bound to the anvil, he sunk down on one knee and bowed his head at his saviour. “Thank you, Prince of the Sin’dorei,” he said, discreetly wiping the soot from his face. Before Trowa had a chance to ask how the orc was able to so easily recognize him, the orc looked up to meet his eyes and said, “I, Wufei Hellscream, chieftain of the Warsong clan, am forever in your debt.”

Trowa blinked at the orc in surprise, now recognizing the face beneath the soot as one of the most prominent leaders of the orcish Horde. “Rise, hand of Thrall,” Trowa commanded with equal respect. “Rise, walk with me, and tell me why I found you in this hellish landscape in such a state.”

Wufei complied and moved to stand beside Trowa. At full height, he only reached Trowa’s nose, but what he lacked in measurement, he made up for in raw strength, for his body was far more muscular and powerful than that of any elf. Together, they walked back to the boulder behind which Trowa had initially hidden himself so that they might be discreet while they spoke and tended to one another’s injuries.

“It was by my own misfortune that I fell into the hands of those pithy sons of the earth,” Wufei said as he sank back to the ground, clearly still too worn out move much more. Trowa wordlessly handed him a bottled potion that might help rejuvenate his spirits while he listened to Wufei’s story.

“I ventured to the Eastern Kingdoms in search of one whose disappearance concerns not only my lord, Thrall, but even the foolish friends he keeps in the Alliance,” Wufei continued, gripping the bottle in both hands as he sipped at the red liquid within. “I have heard whisperings of one who might be the person I seek, but the trail grew cold as I ventured away from Horde lands. It would have been my luck that when I came to Kargath, the Dark Irons lurking in the nearby Badlands chose that very night to assault the outpost. We were outmanned and unprepared for the attack, and it was with great shame that almost all of us were lead away in chains.”

“And what became of you next?” Trowa asked as he attempted to bandage his wounded arm. He hoped that with more detailing, he would hear more about Wufei’s purpose, for he had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly who the orc had been bade to find.

“You saw,” Wufei answered vaguely, not at all keen to speak of the inhumane way the Dark Irons enslaved even the mightiest of prisoners. “But enough of that,” he said with a wave of one hand; “Tell me of your adventures, prince. Why does the Lord of Quel’thalas wander through these unsavoury parts instead of residing upon the throne at Silvermoon?”

It was Trowa’s turn to mask details, and he made a great show of tying off his bandage as he said with a shrug, “Alas, such a life is not for me. I left my sister to take care of things in my stead, for exploring this great world of ours is a far more lush fount of knowledge.”

A grim look crossed Wufei’s face as he summed up, “You still seek a cure for your people.” Wufei’s dark eyes slid away as he took a moment to brood, thinking on the plight of his own people, whose cursed bloodlust was still a fresh memory.

“My Lord Hellscream, we are dying,” Trowa said bluntly. He lifted his hands, staring blankly at his fingers: “I’m getting older – older than I’ve been in three hundred years. We once oversaw the secrets of the ages, but now we hardly live long enough to even know the secrets of mere mortals.”

“I fear none of us will be much longer for this world if things continue the way they are,” Wufei commiserated. “This is why I must complete my quest and return to Durotar so that the Warchief and the Lady Proudmoore might find a way to keep us all alive another season.”

“Lady Proudmoore!?” Trowa startled, his throwing his shoulders back and sitting abruptly upright. Of course his suspicions had been correct, but it was only then that he made the connection to Theramore. Speaking faster than he could think, Trowa leaned towards Wufei, asking, “Tell me true, my lord: if I help you find the one you seek, might you bear me back to Theramore and help me receive an audience there with a particular wizard in Lady Proudmoore’s court?”

“It is done,” Wufei said without even stopping to think about it. “You saved my life, and upon my father’s grave, I swear my fealty to you. Ask it of me, and it is done.”

For the first time in a long while, the corners of Trowa’s mouth lifted into the tiniest of smiles. “Then come and allow me to bend your ear with tales of my adventures of late,” he said, settling more comfortably against the huge boulder. “You might then find the scent of your hunt ripened beneath your nostrils once more.”

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Just south of the loch was the arid Badlands, where Faulkner’s map marked the Uldaman excavation. Lingering amid the craggy rocks that surrounded the dig site, Heero wiped the sweat from his brow as he pondered what the best way to proceed would be. It seemed as if the entire operation had been commandeered by Dark Iron dwarves, which added an unexpected complication to Heero’s ability to explore the subterranean ruins in search of the mystical chisel of which Faulkner had spoken. He didn’t doubt that he could sneak by a mob or two, but Elune knew how many more were crawling around inside, or what other kinds of monsters might be lurking in the depths of those Titan ruins. He squinted his eyes in the glaring sunlight and continued to watch and wait, hoping for an opening in the ranks of Dark Irons to soon present itself. Unfortunately, at this rate, he had a feeling he might pass out from the heat before that happened. Absently, he reached for his hip pouch, where he’d stashed a few phials of water for quick replenishment.

But as his fingers dipped into the pouch, an unexpected movement within caused him to snatch his hand back in surprise. Hastily unbuttoning the pouch from his belt, he firmly ripped back the flap so that he might see inside as he rustled through the contents in search of whatever creature had managed to stow away with his rations. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed when he discovered none other than Asahi, Duo’s pet roach, twirling his antennae beneath a biscuit.

The roach seemed to sense Heero’s annoyance, quickly scuttling away from Heero’s pinching fingers and out of the bag, scurrying across Heero’s knuckles and up his arm. It took the insect a moment to realize that he couldn’t seek refuge inside Heero’s undecayed body the way he could with Duo’s, and made a split second decision to settle for hiding beneath Heero’s shoulder armour instead.

Turning his attention back towards the roaming Black Irons at the excavation site, Heero muttered, “I’m not angry with you, little one. It’s not your fault your master is a liar.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to address the small creature, who was tentatively poking his head out from beneath Heero’s armour, but it felt good to be able to voice his inner thoughts without the fear of judgement.

Asahi bounced across Heero’s shoulder, but his protests were lost on Heero, who had returned to scouting out the perfect moment to sneak into the Uldaman ruins. The Dark Irons, whose love for treasure far exceeded even the greediest Ironforge dwarf, had instilled a rather tight patrol route for the dig site, which Heero observed with reservation. “If only I could tell if they were as vigilant inside as well,” he grumbled. Heero may have had a good sense for impulsive action when he was in the thick of something, but how he hated rushing into a situation without being fully prepared. Frustrated, he pulled out Faulkner’s map again, scrutinizing the hasty drawing as if it might help answer his question.

Asahi bounced more frantically on Heero’s shoulder, but Heero continued to ignore him, even when he ran back down Heero’s arm and leapt to the ground. He ran around in a circle a few times, leaving a frantic trail of tiny footprints in the sand. The kickup of dust wafted up towards Heero’s nose, threatening to make Heero sneeze and give away his position. Hastily clamping his hand over his face, Heero glared down at the insect, his palm masking his displeased frown as he hissed under his breath, “Are you trying to get me killed?” He dropped down to his hands and knees, trying his best to make eye contact with Asahi: “Maybe I was wrong: maybe you’re exactly like your master, you little devil.”

There was something almost smug about the way Asahi clattered his wings before bouncing a few more times and then taking off towards the dig site. Still on all fours, Heero glared after him, happy to be rid of the nuisance. A silly bug might think that it was alright to just go running in there, but it was far less likely that the brigade of Dark Irons would notice a stray cockroach than a full grown human. That, or Asahi had merely learned recklessness by example with a person like Duo as his role model. He blanched at the thought, suddenly feeling very hollow: he wished he could just erase Duo from his memory as easily as he’d erased him from his waking life, for it was really starting to impede his ability to function normally.

With a sigh, he rocked back into a sitting position, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. He thought it would probably be best to just wait for the cover of nightfall at this rate. He didn’t expect the patrols to be any more lax once the moon had come up, but he felt more comfortable slinking by them by starlight instead of beneath the garish sun. Scooting back so that he might lean against a nearby boulder, he made himself comfortable: if he was waiting for dusk, then he had a few hours to kill yet.

Somewhere along the way, his eyelids grew heavy with the tiredness that was finally catching up with him after a few days of being unable to sleep well. Unsettling replays of all the things that had led up to that particular moment flickered across the backs of Heero’s eyelids, leaving him feeling rather anxious, even in his fatigue. He kept having to check the ground to make sure that it hadn’t fallen out from beneath him as he tumbled through recent memories that suddenly seemed all so distant. It depressed him to think how easy it was for people to change, and, picturing Duo’s face, blushed and warm as it had been in life, could hardly manage to suppress the notion that he actually missed him a little. The very thought made him almost want to resent the warlock even more.

When Heero opened his eyes again, dusk was setting in, bathing the red desert in cool purples. It took him a few moments to register where he was and what he was doing there, and it bothered him that he’d let his guard slip enough to push him into a true doze. It was only then that he noticed with a slight shock that Asahi had come back and was sitting on his knee, waiting for him to wake. He bounced excitedly when he saw the first blue slivers of Heero’s irises peer down at him from beneath his heavy lashes. He leapt from Heero’s knee and skittered towards the map that Heero had left lying at his side while he napped. Urgently, he nudged at it, indicating that Heero should roll it open, which Heero only did grudgingly after hazarding a guess as to what Asahi wanted of him.

As Heero was doing this, Asahi had crawled back into Heero’s hip pouch and proceeded to make a fuss that Heero couldn’t ignore. As soon as he’d unfurled the map, he opened his bag again to see what Asahi wanted from there, growing intrigued when he realized the insect was clinging to a small ampoule of ink. Deciding to give Asahi the benefit of doubt, he took out the ampoule and opened it for him, pouring a small splotch of it in the sand next to the map. Eagerly, Asahi raced back down to the parchment, dancing first in the ink puddle and then running his tracks across the page, smearing large marks where he’d found particularly vigilant Dark Iron dwarves inside the excavation site. Heero watched this display with his eyebrows arched in amusement, inwardly surprised that Asahi would bother to help him in such a way.

“No wonder an idiot like Duo somehow managed to survive as long as he has – what, with a friend like you,” Heero muttered as he stooped over the map, absorbing Asahi’s notations. He had once thought it strange that Duo called a parasitic creature like Asahi a pet, but he was beginning to think that perhaps the relationship was more symbiotic than he had initially guessed. Glancing down at the insect, Heero gave him a nod of approval and said, “I suppose you’ve proved your worth after all, little one.”

Asahi twirled his antennae happily, taking it upon himself to run up Heero’s arm and tuck himself back into the safety beneath Heero’s shoulder armour. Heero picked up the map and stuffed it back into his tunic, already pulling his mask and hood over his head as he eyed the patrols. He felt a lot more confident slipping by the outside guard with the knowledge he now had about what he might expect on the inside. If only Asahi could have found a way to tell him what sorts of monsters he might come across in the darkest bowels of the ancient city, then he would have had no fear.

It was with the greatest of ease that Heero was able to steal through the darkness, creeping towards the tunnel that burrowed down towards the Titan ruins. There was an urgency to his advance that risked his discretion, but Heero was too determined to find that sacred chisel to allow himself to be anything but. But when he finally managed to plunge into the bowels of the rocky crag, he found himself assaulted with the glow of a thousand torches and lanterns, which illuminated the entire cavern and threatened Heero’s cover. The moment the danger registered with him, Heero swept into the nearest shadow he could find so that he might reassess his plans. He cursed his lack of common sense: of course the darkness within such a place would have been remedied in such a way.

As a wandering Dark Iron excavator happened by Heero’s hiding place, an idea came to him. His hand darting from the shadows, he grabbed the pickaxe the dwarf was carrying and, in one fell motion, swung it into the unsuspecting dwarf’s skull. Then, kicking the body to a spot where it would be easily seen, Heero carefully made his way onwards, hoping that the dead body would panic the other Dark Irons enough to disband their vigilance a bit. It was a gamble, and Heero didn’t like the risk of it, or how exciting Asahi seemed to think it all was, but it was better than nothing.

For once, however, luck seemed to be on Heero’s side. No sooner had he ditched the excavator’s body in the open did another Dark Iron find it, which set off a commotion throughout the dig site that made moving towards the ruins vastly easier for Heero. Before long, he was crouching between a small tent and the rock wall, looking up at the monolithic entrance to Uldaman. Its mason work bore high arches and great brass trimming, its stone tinted a greenish blue tint that contrasted sharply with the red rock that encased it. Heero had to bite his tongue to repress the awestruck hum he wanted to let out, amazed that something so ancient could seem so much more refined than even the modern castles of Stormwind and Theramore. With an air of reverence, he approached the entrance to Uldaman, hugging the wall as he stole into the ruins.

The commotion of the excavation site, its crackling fire and noisy dwarves, seemed to disappear into a vacuum the moment Heero set foot inside Uldaman. It was as if he had fallen back in time, or perhaps even entered another world entirely. There was an eerie calm to the place that put Heero so on edge, he almost felt unsafe taking a moment to consult Faulkner’s map so that he might head in the right direction. Unfortunately, the details Faulkner had outlined for Heero were sketchy at best, based mostly on legend and rumour, which alluded to the magic chisel as a treasure that resided in the deepest vaults of Uldaman. Figuring there was no other way to go but down, Heero chose a random corridor and started along it, hoping he would eventually find a passage to take him where he wanted to be. If there was some sort of central chamber to this place, Heero figured that any direction he took would eventually turn out to be the right one. If not, then Heero only prayed that he would be able to find his way out again.

But as Heero began to wander deeper into the cavernous ruin, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. Sounds he couldn’t discern as the echo of his own footsteps or that of another kept resonating in his ears, and though he paused often to check his surroundings, he found nothing but shadows. For a brief moment, he thought that perhaps this was a place that was best left undisturbed, but his need to destroy the Epyon sigil and its demon made that notion naught more than a passing whim.

At long last, after what seemed to be an endless descent, he reached a corridor that seemed to flatten out, twisting back and forth until it ended in a high-ceiling vestibule. Stone statues of dwarf-like creatures stood in niches around the hall, heralding a massive archway that led unto an enormous, round chamber. A mess of debris and smashed statues littered the floor of the round chamber, surrounding a fallen stone giant that lay askew beside a small altar. It was as if the carnage of a battle had been forever frozen in stone. For Heero, it reeked of magic so ancient, he had to once again fight that recurring urge to abandon his quest and leave Uldaman to forever rot beneath the sand, for even the most amateur magus could tell when the hands of mortals ought not to meddle.

“To hell with it,” Heero declared to no one in particular, his voice reverberating off the walls; “The risk of abandoning this now is far greater than whatever I might disturb thither.” Resolutely, he girdled himself and set forth into the round chamber, kicking through the fallen stone warriors towards the great doorway that stood on the other side. A soft glow emanated through the massive doors, which stood slightly ajar, drawing Heero closer like a beckoning spell. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling that the treasure which he sought would be just inside.

Sure enough, when he pushed the heavy stone door open, he found himself in the midst of the greatest treasure trove he had ever seen. Even he, who was not particularly driven by gold or gem, was overwhelmed by the great mountains of gold coin, trinkets and carved chests. Shaking himself of his momentary greed, he began his search, beginning with the large sarcophagus that stood in the middle of the antechamber, the lid of which had already been pushed open.

Inside, there was far less than he expected. Instead of an even more fabulous stash of wealth, there was only a pair of gold discs to be found, each carved with words of an ancient tongue that precluded him. Though there was nothing he could do about that, it bothered him to think that the discs might bear some kind of clue about the magic chisel, as they were probably also relics that dated back to the age of the Titans. Haplessly, he picked one of them up to examine it closer, hoping there was some kind of visual clue that might be of minimal use to him. He was unable to figure much more than that gold sparkled as if it had been recently polished, which was only noteworthy due to the fact that he’d noticed the rest of the treasure was coated with the dust of the ages. He frowned at his reflection in the gold sheen, cursing it for its lack of use before replacing it in the sarcophagus.

Meanwhile, Asahi had since wiggled out from beneath Heero’s shoulder armour and down to the floor. He was running across the tops of the treasure piles, doing his best to try and help Heero find the chisel. Upon crashing headlong into a small, carven chest, the lid of which bounced open upon impact, Asahi decided to alert Heero to his discovery. Dashing between the gold mountain and Heero’s foot, the roach eventually managed to get Heero to take notice of the stone chest, which he promptly went to investigate. At once, Heero’s heart started to thrum when he realized that the box was decorated with a relief of hands bearing the very item he sought.

Pulling the chest down off its wealthy mount, Heero held it in one arm and pushed the lid the rest of the way open, excited to grab the chisel and leave this godforsaken place. However, his hopes were immediately crushed when he peered inside and found the chest empty. With a roar of displeasure, he flung the box to the floor. “If it can’t be found here, then where in Azeroth is it?” he cried as he turned his fervor towards the vaulted ceiling above. “Am I to be forever doomed to this fate?”

Not even bothering to see if Asahi was following, Heero whirled on his heel, leaving the roach to dash madly in order to catch up with Heero’s angry march. Grumbling to himself, Heero stalked back the way he had come, blindly retracing his steps back to the maze of tunnels that had wound him down to the treasure vault. Not really paying much attention to which way he was going, it wasn’t long before Heero found himself wandering through corridors he had not visited on his original descent. His annoyance became momentarily displaced as that feeling of being followed slowly manifested once more.

A sound like rather insane laughter suddenly assaulted his ears, and Heero froze in his tracks, beyond certain that there was something with him. His eyes roved the tiled corridor he was currently standing in, madly seeking some clue that might help him prepare for the inevitable confrontation that was sure to come, but all there was to take note of was more of that warbled cry from somewhere not too far off.

Suddenly, from around a corner, trounced the source of the noise: a repulsive, hunched creature with a lolling tongue and lumpy, brown skin that reminded Heero of the rubble he’d seen strewn across that basement chamber. It wore a loincloth like something with vague intelligence might, and had abnormally long arms and knobby joints. Wild eyes peered out from beneath its nappy mane as it gnashed its huge, ragged teeth with delight. If anything, it reminded Heero of a very primitive and perverse looking dwarf, like one conceived in ancient nightmares.

Without any warning, it lumbered at Heero, giggling its mad shriek as it bared its clawed hands for attack. Heero barely managed to stave it off with his dagger before he took notice of an entire host of the strange creatures, which had also crept around the corner after their leader had launched itself at Heero. Fortunately, Heero found that the monsters had only a feral understanding of combat, so they were fairly easy for a trained warrior such as himself to fight off. However, their skin was as rocklike as it appeared to be, and it was with chagrin that he realized that a few gashes weren’t going to keep the creatures down for very long. As more of them poured from around the corners both ahead and behind Heero, it was all Heero could do keep them down with his blade as he fought to get through the maze of corridors. He wished he had been able to fade into the shadows and blend in with his surroundings better, but it was too late for that now.

One of the creatures walloped Heero across the side of the face with one of its heavy limbs, its sharp talons gorging Heero’s cheek and sending him into a bit of shock. Dizzy, Heero stumbled back, barely able to recover from the attack as the monsters continued to throw themselves at him. It was only by mere chance that the erratic way Heero was swinging his dagger about managed to impale one of the monsters directly in the eye. It let out a wild cry and leapt back as a dark ooze started to gush between the spindly fingers that it had clapped over the injury. All at once, the chaos seemed to pause as all the monsters turned to look at their mortally wounded comrade, who had collapsed to the ground and was now writhing in pain. An unsettling chill ran down Heero’s back as he watched, all the while backing away from the mob as surreptitiously as he could.

Then, just as unexpectedly as the attack on Heero had come, the monsters all suddenly leapt on the dying one, taking to it with a cannibalistic frenzy that filled the air with the squish of ripping flesh and a crunching of bone that reminded Heero of crumbling stone. Taking advantage of the new distraction, Heero fled without even stopping to wonder if they had torn into the wounded creature before it had stopped breathing. His feet carried him faster than he had ever run in his life, desperate to get out of that hellish place and never again speak of the horrors he’d unearthed there.

Unfortunately for Heero, his luck was only a transient tease. No sooner had he thought himself free of the rock creatures and free of Uldaman and its terrors did he find himself in the hands of another terrible happenstance. He had no sooner reached the mighty portal that marked the entrance to the ruins when he realized that all the hubbub he had earlier escaped from at the dig site was strangely missing. Lost in a momentary lapse of reason, he stood dumbly at the head of the great steps that led up to the ruin, pondering what might have silenced the excavation while he was traipsing through Uldaman. It was in this manner that he was left wide open for the troupe of Dark Iron sentries that had been lying in wait just outside to pounce upon him and wrestle him into submission before clapping him in chains and dragging him off as their prisoner to depths unknown for murdering their comrade.

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TBC