I am very happy that this is working now, but begods, this is not an endorsement for Linux in the home. Of course, I could simply have left the little box in the state I bought it in, but where’s the fun in that? Well, upwards and onwards. Fix that little authentication problem, and then get on with building the file store using Samba.

I foresee Homeric laughter from those of my readership who actually know Latin.

“Lok’tar? Ogar?”

“You live. That is always a victory. Don’t worry son, the Horde is not about to lose another son. Just be quiet. Now, did you get a good look at him?”

The Orc shuddered. “It was a creature from the very Hells, Sir. It must have been a Paladin, or a Warrior. All clad in plate armour he was.”

“A knight in shining armour? How could such a person have slipped past our guards?”

“The armour was not shining, Sir. It was black, black as coal, black as a moonless midnight, black as the very heart of Deathwing.”

“Hmm…” The healer looked down on his charge, just woken up. It was probably too early to tell him that the rest of his company was all dead, destroyed in a flurry of steel. He put a comforting hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Did you see any marks on him? A tabard, a badge? Anything that would tell us who he was?”

The guard thought a bit. “His armour had a badge on it. The only thing that was not black.”

“Good. Ever the Humans’ vanity is their downfall. Describe the badge.”

“It was round, Sir. Round, and marked with a lion’s head.”

“I know this badge. It is as I expected. We were attacked by one from Stormwind. Good. Now rest, soldier. Regain your strength. We have brothers to avenge.”

Lord Garrosh was wroth. To be fair, Lord Garrosh was always wroth, but now, he was more wroth than usual. Lord Garrosh did not appreciate his soldiers being slaughtered in his very own city, without the evildoer being caught and killed. He glared at the healer.

“Was our soldier able to speak?”

“Yes, Warchief. He told me enough.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“Yes, Warchief,” said the healer.

“It was a darkened Stormwind Knight.”

I was also going to do a story featuring all the Gnomercy folks, perhaps commission some artwork for it, but I’m holding off on that. For reasons I won’t go into, I can’t write it the way I want to, which is death to creativity. Essentially, I’d have to either carry on regardless and annoy someone, kill off a character and replace it, or ditch the whole project. The second most important thing to a story is that people enjoy reading it. The most important thing to a story is that I enjoy writing it. If I don’t, then it’ll become mechanical and the story will suffer and be a waste of your Chronicler’s and my readers’ time. Hence, the Gnomercy story goes on ice for now. Maybe later.

So… Where next? I think Griggin (even before, when he was Aquaregis), was not questing a whole lot, and mainly languishing in Ironforge as a banking alt. Now that he’s actually a viable end-game character, I need to work on reputations, which means probably crawling through a lot of low-level dungeons completing quests for all and sundry till they like me enough to give me the things I need. Especially the higher level quests (Wrath, Cata) will also bring in some rather essential money. All of my toons have been spending like mad, on weapons and armour, and I need some gold. Maybe I’ll play the auction house for a bit, though actually that sounds quite a bit like work.

Also, my lovely wife informs me that she’s sent me quite a large number of very shiny items, courtesy of the ITP Clearance Sale. So… Time to log in, open the mail and melt faces!

Wow! This might be one specific of the most useful blogs Weve ever arrive across on this topic. Basically Fantastic. I am also a specialist in this subject so I can understand your effort.

There. I needed an ego boost.

1. Describe your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?
   • Bannog: Had a good relationship with his father, mutual respect. Father was killed by Orcs fairly recently. His mother died in childbirth when he was a young boy, which makes him hesitate to have children of his own.
   • Ariciel: Loved her mother, and worked in the same place she did. After they became separated, Ariciel spent two years searching for her before finding out she was dead.
   • Mareva: Not defined actually, and since she’s Draenei, family is rarely a happy subject.
2. What are your characters most prominent physical features?
   • Bannog: A massive, tall, broad, man with a bald head and a neatly trimmed short beard.
   • Ariciel: Short for a Night-elf, tall for a Human. Long snow-white hair, long ears and two crescents tattooed on her face. She also has exotic piercings, but they are well hidden.
   • Mareva: A stunningly beautiful, tall, blue-skinned woman with horns on her head, hooves on her legs, and rather well-endowed in the chest region. She also has a long, smooth-skinned tail. She spoils this by wearing extremely practical clothes and an aura of cynicism that puts off all but the most determined.
3. Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from. If they don’t have any, is there a reason?
   • Bannog: He’s a warrior, had been in lots of fights and has the scars to show it.
   • Ariciel: No scars on her body, as Night-elves don’t tend to get them. Her scars are inside her head.
   • Mareva: Scars on her stomach from Orc-arrows that nearly killed her. They remind her of how lucky she is.
4. How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive?
   • Bannog: Can be a bit boastful of his exploits in battle, but not about his looks.
   • Ariciel: She’s not vain, but aware that she can, if she wants, turn on the charm to great effect.
   • Mareva: Will occasionally joke about her unparallelled beauty, but doesn’t really mean it.
5. What’s your character’s ranking on the Kinsey Scale?
   
   • Bannog: Straight as straight can be.
   • Ariciel: Unashamedly and enthusiastically bisexual.
   • Mareva: Prefers boys, but would not refuse a girl simply for having a smaller tail. (Or in one case, no tail at all).
6. Describe your character’s happiest memory.
   • Bannog: Hard to say. He’s had a pretty happy childhood marred by the odd disaster. One hot night in Ironforge with a certain Night-elf would be close.
   • Ariciel: Working as a house servant in Darkshore, with friends, family, lovers. Standing naked under a waterfall with one of them.
   • Mareva: Listening to the wind-chimes outside her home on Draenor, before it became Outland.
7. Is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? Why?
   • Bannog: He was once betrayed by a woman who he thought loved him, but then kidnapped him for a ransom.
   • Ariciel: The death of her lover Lesta, just one day after she found her back.
   • Mareva: Her husband-to-be was killed by Blood-elves.
8. Day of Favorites! What’s your character’s favorite ice cream flavor? Color? Song? Flower?
   Ice cream is so rare in Azeroth that they really don’t have a favourite.
   • Bannog: The Rising Of The Moon, a rousing warrior’s song. Sung by a young bowman one fateful night.
   • Ariciel: The only song I’ve ever had her sing was the Azeroth version of “The Manchester Rambler” by Ewan MacColl.
   • Mareva: There’s a spacers’ song called “Carry me safe to land“. She sings it as she leaves poor wrecked Exodar.
9. Who does your character trust?
   • Bannog: Ariciel. Unwaveringly, unshakably. His family back home. His friends.
   • Ariciel: Bannog. Her teacher Bearwalker in Darnassus. Her priestess friend Lirael. Mareva.
   • Mareva: Everyone, and no-one. She trusts everyone to have their own interests at heart, and to screw her over when it suits them. She is a woman with very few illusions.
10. Can you define a turning point in your character’s life? Multiples are acceptable.
    • Well, Bannog and Ariciel’s was obviously their meeting.
    • Mareva: Finding out that her calling was to be a Shaman rather than a sucky Mage. Then, when Viral proposed to her, then died. Finally, meeting Ariciel, which opened her up to starting a relationship with her much-beloved Hunter Stetson.
11. Is there an animal you equate with your character?
    • Bannog: Described by his loving sister as “A great big ape”.
    • Ariciel: She’s a bear. Literally. She’s a Druid shapeshifter, and her most potent animal form is the bear.
    • Mareva: Well, she has a kind of Goatish appearance, but I wouldn’t associate any spiritual animal with her. She’s actually quite fiercely Human. Don’t tell her I said that.
12. How is your character with technology? Super savvy, or way behind the times? Letters or email?
    “Tech” in Azeroth varies wildly. Humans and Elves are a little before the technical revolution. Draenei are a space-faring race.
    • Bannog: He’s a pretty good blacksmith and crafter. Can make good quality weapons.
    • Ariciel: Good with her hands, as a house servant should be, can make good quality leather armour.
    • Mareva: She’s a shit hot Engineer, with a working knowledge of trans-dimensional engines, network tech, heating tech. And hates her job.
13. What does your character’s bed look like when he/she wakes up? Are the covers off on one side of the bed, are they all curled around a pillow, sprawled everywhere? In what position might they sleep?
    • Bannog, unless prompted otherwise by a certain Night-elf, wakes up in the same position he went to sleep in. His clothes will be neatly folded over a chair by the bed. He also has a Warrior’s trick, Watchful Sleep, where he will sleep very lightly and spring like a bear trap on anyone who touches him (oh, sorry Ariciel), unless someone wakes him up by hissing.
    • Ariciel has two modes: Actual sleep sleep, when she’s dead to the world from start to finish, and happyfunsexytimes, where her clothes will end up scattered over an impressively wide area and she has to collect them all in the morning under Bannog’s appreciative gaze.
    • Mareva: I’ve only shown her asleep a few times, most significantly the first time in Viral’s bed after a long stint of work. Her eyes shut as soon as her body touched the memory-foam mattress, much to Viral’s disappointment.
14. How does your character react to temperature changes such as extreme heat and cold?
    • They all put on nice warm clothes, or take them off as appropriate.
15. Is your character an early morning bird or a night owl?
    • Bannog: Off-duty, likes to sleep late. On-duty, whatever is called for.
    • Ariciel: More of a… morning Elf. Will wake up early to meditate and practice staff fighting.
    • Mareva: Don’t actually know.
16. Are there any blood relatives that your character is particularly close with, besides the immediate ones? Cousins, Uncles, Grandfathers, Aunts, et cetera. Are there any others that your character practically considers a blood relative?
    • Bannog: His brother, Gerrig, and his sister Selena.
    • Ariciel: She’s taken to Bannog’s little sister Selena, and loves her as her own younger sister. Ariciel’s own sister is dead, which may explain.
    • Mareva: Draenei have spent their lives running away from wars and conflict. She rarely talks about her family, and whether any of them are still alive is unknown.
17. What’s your character’s desk/workspace look like? Are they neat or messy?
    • Bannog: He’s almost obsessively neat and tidy.
    • Ariciel: She’s neat, a habit easy to pick up if you’re a house servant who gets shouted at if you’re not.
    • Mareva: Mind like clockwork. All tools in their rightful place, everything present, correct and labelled.
18. Is your character a good cook? What’s their favorite recipe, whether they’re good or not? (Microwave mac-and-cheese applies.)
    • Bannog: Pretty good, especially a mouth-blistering Westfall Stew for a company of thirty or more.
    • Ariciel: The one you want is her mother. She was a cook to the High-borne. Ariciel will do fine when needed.
    • Mareva: She can open a mean Emarree.
19. What’s your character’s preferred means of travel?
    • Bannog: A horse.
    • Ariciel: On her own four feet, shape-shifted into a cheetah.
    • Mareva: Sitting behind Hunter S’dezo’houn on his large elekk.
20. Does your character have any irrational fears?
    • Bannog: Childbirth. He does not want to put anyone through pregnancy, as they might die.
    • Ariciel: None. All her fears are perfectly rational.
    • Mareva: She is fearless to the point of recklessness.
21. What would your character’s  cutie mark be?
    Ponies?! Oh please…
    • Bannog: Wouldn’t have one.
    • Ariciel: Big, scary, pointy bear teeth.
    • Mareva: A Draenei-standard adjustable spanner.
22. If your character could time travel, where would they go?
    • Bannog: Nowhere. He’s fine where he is.
    • Mareva: Ditto.
    • Ariciel: To when she was taking Puissance to the flight point, and this time kill the bitch, so Lesta would live.
23. Is your character superstitious?
    None of them are. They’re remarkably level. There’s plenty of real magic – no need to imagine more.
24. What might your character’s ideal romantic partner be?
    Mostly, the ones they have already.
25. Describe your character’s hands. Are they small, long, calloused, smooth, stubby?
    • Bannog: Large, calloused, scarred coal-shovels.
    • Ariciel: Nimble, strong, hardened by work.
    • Mareva: Long, slender, delicate, apt to subtle work.
26. Second day of favorites! Favorite comfort food, favorite vice, favorite outfit, favorite hot drink, favorite time of year, and favorite holiday.
    • Bannog: Large Lumps of Meat with Token Vegetables, “embellishing” stories of his own exploits, blackened plate armour, tea with milk, autumn, Brewfest.
    • Ariciel: Strawberries and white wine, a combination of Lust and Sloth, practical leather armour, any time of year, Fire festival.
    • Mareva: Any food that isn’t Emarree, definitely lust, loose shirt and trousers, dark tea with honey, winter, no particular holiday.
27. Pick two songs that describe your character at two different points of their life, and explain why you chose them.
    • Bannog: The Rising Of The Moon suits him perfectly early on, as he’s eager to fight, to protect his loved ones, and to remove their enemies. Later on, he’ll become battle-weary and dispirited because he can no longer see the end of War. “War, what is it good for?”
    • Ariciel: “What a wonderful world” – She is very much connected to Nature, takes delight in growing things. Can’t pick one for later.
    • Mareva: Can’t say.
28. If your character’s life was a genre, what would it be?
    • Bannog, Ariciel: Fantasy, obviously.
    • Mareva; Sci-fi.
29. How does your character smell? Do they wear perfume or cologne?
    Personal smells are notably absent from my stories, but none fo my characters would wear perfume. Soap and water, more likely.
30. And finally: Write a letter to your character, from yourself.
    An exercise for another day, I think.

A most useful exercise, as I’m planning a lot of story on Mareva and Ariciel, and Bannog later on.

So, I’ve just about got my bear icons up and am wondering what to do with my Cat icons, when from across the room comes the shout.

“Oi! They’re inviting you to a Firelands run.”

“Oh. Tanking?”

“No. DPS.”

I look at my empty cat screen, and at all the lovely WeakAuras options… Oh man this is going to suck.

“Sure!”

So I get invited to the ITP raid, and bundle into the Firelands with nine big heavy raid-geared players. First, trash. Now Ariciel may be a tank through and through, tough chick as she is, but this is a bit above my tier. Still, I manage to stay out of trouble most of the time and on occasion even pull something like 9K DPS, which for a bear girl with nary a kitty talent to her name is not too bad, especially without my usual indicators. And of course, Ariciel can battle-rez, which is nice.

So we start hitting bosses. First up, Shannox of the Doggies. Cute doggies named Rageface and Riplimb. My job here: Get behind Shannox, hit Shannox, don’t step in the traps. Righto. Shannox is really free with his traps, though. He also plays “fetch” with his dogs while hitting Wolf, and gets right pissed off when you kill one of his dogs. Shannox goes down without much mishap.

Next up, Beth’tilac the Spider. Beth’tilac quickly climbs up a thread, and a few of the DPSes and healers go up to kick her there. Meanwhile, all is not well down below. So you’ve got yer Drones, you’ve got yer Spinners, and you’ve got yer Spiderlings. The Drones are the heavy hitters, the Spinners are medium size, and the spiderlings are, well, lunch to the others. These all come down from various sides to bother you and you nuke them down. They all hit like trucks, but if there’s a Drone up, the spiderlings make straight for it going “Eat me! Eat me!” and won’t even turn round to snack on pussycat. Beth’tilac took a few rounds due to something quest-related and bad luck.

Then, Lord Ryolith. It has been a while since Ariciel had to fight individual body parts. I was on foot duty, and had to hit one or the other of his feet. Apparently, if you unbalance him too much, then he falls over and does something that wipes the raid. At some point, he turns into a burny thing that gets nuked. Next!

Next, as it turned out, was Alysrazor. A firebird. The encounter starts out with Staghelm looking meaningfully at a few doomed Druids of the Talon. You annoy him, Staghelm kills the druids, calls in the bird and the fun begins. There’s Initiates, who cast fireballs. Kill them. Alysrazor lays eggs now and then. Hatchlings come out of the eggs, fixate on someone and keep attacking that person. Hapless DPSes stay away from the eggs. The eggs are for the Owsla Tanks. Meanwhile, Alysrazor goes through different mood swings, up, down, up again. Then, there is a great blast and lots of fiery whirlwinds start blowing round. You run away from them. I’m proud to say that Ariciel was fast enough on her feet  to avoid the whirlwinds. “You will die” indeed. Pah!

Next. Baleroc, the gatekeeper. Get rid of the extras, get rid of Baleroc. I only remember his back. Then he fell over.

Then Major Domo Staghelm. Ariciel never liked him much. He turns into a variety of shapes, depending on how close together you are. Hug, and he turns into a scorpion, scatter and he turns into a cat and puunces on people. Whichever form he’s in, he does more and more damage to you. When the magic number reaches eight, it’s time to change from hug to scatter, then on the next eight, from scatter to hug. Repeat until dead.

Then, we hit a snag on the way to Ragnaros. There’s this piece of trash who floods the place with lava, and get out of the lava onto the strips of non-lava. Sadly, the non-lava strips also hurt today, at which point we declared the encounter bugged and an end to the raid.

So… Thank you ITP, that was a most instructive run, and Ariciel even got a new pair of weergaloos mooie sportpantoffeltjes out of it, and a tanking trinket that will absorb damage if you get poorly.

So where next? Well, first, I tame WeakAuras. This is as good an opportunity as any to do a bit of a review on the rotation, glyphs and whatnot. Which is the subject for another post, I think. Then, I do the same for Bannog and try to get him into something better than these handcrafted bloodthirsty pyrium togs. Also, Griggin needs his on-screen indicators.

Also, people of ITP, I like you guys, and I’m very happy and grateful to run with you, but I will never take Ariciel or Bannog out of Azeroth Buccaneers. For several reasons. First, ITP is, in essence, a raiding guild, with all the rules, websites, politics, don’t roll on this, why aren’t you that sort of an attitude that comes with it. I am devoutly casual and I will not get into Suicide Kings, or for that matter anything more complex than “If you need it, need it”. Second, Azeroth Buccaneers is home. I joined it as my second guild, the first being some random guild whose name I don’t even remember and just joined to keep people from inviting me all the time. They were the AFP gang, and Azeroth Buccaneers will by now be one of the oldest guilds on the server. Yes, it’s small and mostly dormant, but it’s home.

MERRY CHRISTMYTH

A Mythbusters Christmas Carol

Adam grinned like he would split at the ears. He pulled the reins, and the bells tingled. He looked up at Jamie, and nodded. The tip of his red-and-white pointy hat fell over his face, and he shook it back with a toss of the head.

“Ready! Let’s do this!”

“Right,” said Jamie.

“I’m gonna fly in a sleigh, man! I love my job.”

Jamie took a final walk along the contraption. They really had outdone themselves on this build. Nine jet engines, painted brown, lashed to the sleigh. Antlers were attached to the front of each of them, and of course, the central cone of the first jet engine, a nine-thousand-pounds-of-thrust beast called ‘Rudolph’ was painted a bright red. Jamie did the round past the engines, and one by one they sprang to life.

“Dasher… running!”

“Check.”

Ye gods, the things you find on Youtube these days. Viral videos were going to keep Mythbusters in the money for years to come.

“Vixen… running. Throttle back a bit.”

“Throttle back.”

Jamie briefly glanced out over the runway. The familiar ‘what the heck are we doing‘ twinge passed up his back and set his teeth on edge. This was going to be spectactular.

“Comet… running!”

“Tory? Are you stuck?” Kari kneeled in front of the fireplace, and stuck her head in, trying not to get any soot on her hair, currently a bright orange.

“‘m Alright,” came the muffled words from somewhere halfway up the chimney.

“Well keep going!”

“Ten minutes, forty-two seconds,” said Grant, looking at the stopwatch. “If he’s going to do everybody tonight, he’d better hurry up.”

Kari banged on the mantelpiece with her fist. “Hurry up!”

“Next time, you‘re doing this.”

“I wouldn’t fit even before the baby,” said Kari, with a big grin.

“Just got another five inches.”

Grant shook his head. “This’ll take at least another ten minutes. And he has to get back up again afterwards. Five seconds to drink the sherry… No way he’ll be able to do all the kids in one night.”

“Should’ve used more lard,” said Tory.

“Gross!”

The old, heavy, nine-thousand-pounds-thrust jet engine coughed, sputtered into life, then roared in a deep voice of an enraged creature of the Deep, looking for blood.

“Rudolph running! Here we go!”

Jamie ran behind the lexane safety glass, and watched as Adam pulled the reins.

“Ho ho HO!” shouted Adam. The nine engines roared in unison, and in a great spray of ice, Adam’s sleigh zoomed off into the distance. Jamie blinked, and looked over his shoulder at the cameraman.

“Did we get that on high-speed?”

Adam shook his head, and looked round. The engines had cut off, just like Jamie said they would. Safety first. He sat up, and on unsteady feet wobbled back. Jamie and the crew came running up.

“That was great!”

“We didn’t get much lift-off, though. Just two feet or so.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not ready to call this one busted just yet. We’re just missing that initial bit of upwards thrust.”

Jamie’s eyes misted over. “Well, when in doubt…”

Adam laughed, and slapped Jamie’s shoulder.

“C-4!”

Once he got his shoulders free, the rest was easy. With some assistance from Grant and Kari, he wriggled out of the chimney and onto the floor.

“How about that sherry?”

Kari beamed at him. “Drank it. Sorry. You can have some mince pies, though. Wouldn’t touch the things.”

“You drank Santa’s sherry? Do you expect any presents this year?”

“And I ate the carrots,” said Kari. “It’s not like we have a real reindeer up there.”

“I’ll never get back up there if I eat any mince pies. How long?”

Grant held up the stopwatch for all to see.

“Twenty one-minutes and ten… eleven… twelve…”

Kari looked at him with large eyes. “You’re going back up there?”

Tory reached for the bucket and started slathering lard onto himself in copious amounts. He made a move to smear some on Kari’s nose, but Kari was too quick for him and sprang back like a deer.

“There’s no dignity in television,” said Tory. “Here goes!”

Retired FBI agent Frank Doyle scratched his head, as Jamie and Adam were prepping the sleigh. The small addition was a generous amount of plastique underneath the sleigh. He was a regular guest on the program, called in whenever Mr. Hyneman wanted a bigger boom than was legal under the jurisdiction of San Francisco, California. He’d blown up plenty of things for this bunch of loonies: Cement trucks, a safe, a train station mock-up, and on one memorable occasion, a twenty foot long polystyrene shark. Privately, he thought that this one probably took the cake for sheer insanity. Still, it wasn’t his ass that was gonna be blown into the next county. He watched with interest as Mr. Hyneman started the jet engines, then waved at Mr. Savage and joined him behind the safety glass.

“Jet engine sleigh ride, with extra booster charge for lift. Heads up folks! Take it away Frank!”

Well, it’d been nice knowing young Adam, thought Frank.

“Fire in the hole!”

With a final wrench, Tory finally managed to raise his head above the opening of the chimney.

“I’m up,” he was going to say, but he didn’t. Instead he screamed. In a ball of fire, dressed in flaming crimson, Adam stood straight upright on his burning sleigh, being pulled along by nine roaring jet engines, hurtling towards Tory. Tory closed his eyes and dropped back down in to the chimney.

“HO HO HO, MOTHERF-CKERS!”

Down came three brightly wrapped packages that dropped neatly down the chimney, onto Tory’s head, containing upon later inspection a servo control system for a robot, a Vegetarian cookbook (“Two thousand delicious recipes with tofu”), and a super deluxe first aid kit containing plasters, pressenings, slings, scissors, painkillers, and enough hydrophile gauze to make a hospital jealous.

“Did he say he was up? How long?”

Grant pressed the button on the stop watch. “Sixty-seven minutes twenty-three. I suppose up is more difficult than down.”

“Ya I reckon. This doesn’t look good for the myth does it?”

“No way you’re going to do millions of kids if it takes you one hour to get up and down the chimney.”

Kari gave a little nod. “So. Busted?”

“Busted,” said Grant.

“Busted,” came Tory’s muffled voice from inside the chimney. “Can someone get me out of here now?”

Jamie stood behind the sooty blast scree, and stared in the distance, at a slowly disappearing ball of fire. A little grin, mostly hidden behind the trademark walrus moustache, was on his face. Being a scientist at heart, he loved it if his initial instincts were proven wrong by events. Science isn’t about being right, it’s about becoming more and more right as you go along.

“Gosh darn it,” he said. “Myth confirmed.”

A small Gnome woman was sitting on the wall overlooking Stormwind Harbour. She’d watched the ship come in all the way from the West, make fast to the docks. The gangplank was laid down, and people ran off, summoned mounts and ran off to goodness knows where. Even the arrival of Doom made flesh, didn’t change that. There was still money to be made, tasks to be completed, cargo to move. War was not about swords. The country that could keep up producing steel, food, soldiers, was the country that won. She craned her neck to see better. Ah. Bird Chick came walking down the plank, followed by some Dwarf girl. The Lieutenant followed. A few soldiers, followed by… Interalia grinned. Oh good. Nails had managed not to get herself killed. She got down from the wall, and ran down the ramps to the waterside.

“Nails! Didn’t find any dragons to leap down the throat of, then?”

Nægling kneeled down, and held Interalia’s shoulders. “He flew off before I could volunteer. I see he has been here. It is good to see that you stayed away.”

“Are you kidding? I was in the park when he went off. I had to carry Nix to safety on my back, after the dragon blew off one of my legs.”

Nægling looked down, then back up into Interalia’s face.

“Well, I got better,” said Interalia.

The last chapter. Everybody is heading home, old, new. The calm before the storm. Everyone who is still here, thank you for reading. I have no more chapters, but more will follow. Follow Bannog or watch this space. I will see you again.

This is Deepholm. It is a place, deep beneath the surface of Azeroth, deep beneath the seas. It is the home of creatures made from stone, moving about with alien expressions on their unmoving faces. There are newcomers here. Soft, squelching creatures made of flesh, or grown from spores. The stone-mother is Queen Therazane, and she is troubled. A little way away from her Throne, there is an area of pain. A red, burning area where there is suffering in ways unimaginable to creatures made of stuff that neither burns nor bleeds. Rivers, seas of magma have flowed from one end of this place to the other while this creature suffered, growing in anger, growing in strength. And now, there are tremors. The force held back will not be held for much longer. Soon it will break free. Queen Therazane ponders slowly. None of her scouts have returned. Sending her stronger servants might be seen as a sign of aggression. Does she care? Maybe. Maybe not. It is always better to take care of problems when they are still small. Perhaps she has left it too late. She considers her children. Are they strong enough to contain the threat? Most likely. Not certainly.

Therazane ponders.

In the penultimate chapter, I’m afraid we are going to hell in a handbasket. By now, everyone knows who lurks, deep below the sea, below Azeroth’s crust. But not much longer.