He woke suddenly from a deep, maybe unnatural slumber. He knew this place, it was the portal room in Dalaran.
A quick two fingered gesture and his mind was refreshed, his mental powers enhanced. Another simple gesture and his renewed Molten Armour flared, roasting the spiders and shriveling the cobwebs that had gathered on his body.
The last thing he remembered was porting to Dalaran as he had done hundreds of times before.
He remembered running in place for a while as others thoughts drowned out his own.
Price check isle 4, how much for wool cloth.
Entering Dalaran now, updating positions.
FredNoob has earned the achievement [Meaningless Memory]
Too many thoughts crowding his expansive mind, then…
How long had it been? Minutes, hours, days or years?
Other thoughts flash through his mind.
The roar of a mighty dragon… Onyxia?
No it couldn’t be, he and his loyal friends defeated her not long ago. But, the roar is there, stronger than ever.
The weight of dreams of an impending cataclysm wore heavily on his small shoulders.
Was Onxyia connected? Dragons had barely been sighted before the forays into Northrend. Maybe Onxyia’s roar was a warning if events to come.
The Barrens featured prominently in those dreams of Onyxia and her lair is close by on the Duskwallow Marsh.
He conjures some nourishment and, strength now returning, opens a portal to the Duskwallow Marsh.
Theramore, but that is not his destination. He vaguely remembers Druids in the Barrens from his younger years. One of them was going to save the Barrens.
Through villages of Razormane…
Once this journey is over he will return to deal with those forces that encourage the swine that cover these lands. Walking pigs, walking cows, half human horses. These lands were as deformed as the creatures inhabiting it.
The wailing of the caverns drew him. It’s mutated denizens ignored him, but he acknowledged their presence with a swift death. They had already suffered enough.
The Druid waiting for him at the entrance informed him that foul Druids were at work in the Barrens. His master captured and left on an alter to some pathetic Murloc god.
He quickly found the enthralled Druid but there was no hope for him before the Leaders of the Fang were dealt with.
He wasted no time dispatching the Leaders. One carefully aimed Pyroblast was more than enough to leave their smoking corpses littering the ground. So swift was the judgment that their loyal guards didn’t notice.
The only time lost was wandering through the twisted tunnels in search of these leaders. That and following the lesser Druid back to his master. Cows take all day to cross a paddock. Cow Druids take a lifetime to cross a cavern.
The Murloc god was but a gnat to this irritated Mage. Which was good as it ensured a fast release for the Druid that quickly took wing with promises to return the barrens to it’s former fertile state.
If these Druids were going to do their bit for the Barrens, then he would help by removing the source of those Razormanes. Maybe if taught the appropriate lesson they would migrate and live with the deformed cows.
Razorfen Downs, an appropriate name, down at the bottom of the barrens, down amongst the thorns, down under the earth. They have built their grave, now to leave them at rest.
He discovered there was more in the filthy swine pit than pigs. Death walking, skeletons, patch horrors. A swift death, even for these deformed swine, was a better end than subjugation by these Forsaken.
Forsaken, their leader is a Lich. Forsaken are a scourge upon the earth, brought to us by Naxxramas assisted by Arthas in his insanity.
He knew what he had to do, but this filth had to be cleaned from his soul first if he was to stand any hope in the Plaguelands.
Darnassus brings no relief. These city Elves are preoccupied with the war to the north. A big city it may be, but the elves are few and far between.
Ashenvale calls. Elves, woods, peace.
His heart soars while riding the gryphon. It reminds him of his own, still stabled in Dalaran. So many ride their drakes these days, but nothing will match the strength and noble beauty of a Cenarion War Hippogrpyh for him.
Depths, why is it always the depths. Far from finding peace he finds tidings of trouble in Black Fathom Depths.
He has a choice he knows. Relax at the inn for a few days, or swim and trudge through the murk of the ruins.
Driven, that’s his problem. He is always driven to cleanse the world of the seemingly ever present evil. It wouldn’t be so bad if the ruins were close.
Ahh he came to relax and enjoy the woodlands. Time to enjoy the journey as he knows the destination has nothing to offer.
Demons everywhere. Perverted Elves tainting the world. This one isn’t about relieving misery, this time it’s about forcing the demons back, at least as far as Outland.
Well it may not be Onyxia, but the Hydra shares enough to give the Gnome pleasure as he slices it with frost tinged fireballs.
Hydras. There is more than one in the world. Maybe the time has come to reduce that number again.
There are Trolls that worship them and they too need to be sent back. They have no home, the Gnomes have no home, but the Gnomes are more deserving.
How he dreams of a world at peace, a world that only Gnomes could create, a world that it seems this Gnome must make.
He stumbles across a ragtag bunch of adventurers being held captive by the Trolls. Why are there so many fools in this world? Why do they let themselves be taken alive? Where is the fight in them?
Freed, but not without attracting attention. An army of trolls form to stop their escape.
Fools they are dealing with a hero of Gnomeregan. Stand aside adventurers, let me take care of this.
Let the Trolls feel the full weight of the wrath of Gnomeregan!
So alive! This is why he spent so many years studying the arcane ways. Wave after wave of reinforcements find their lives frozen in time, not to be lived again unless at the behest of the Lich King.
Traitorous dogs, you think I can deal with an army of troll yet tremble at the thought of a bunch of inept adventurers making idle threats? Die!
Why Ghaz answered the summoning gong is beyond me. It would still be alive today if it had ignored my challenge.
Now he his nothing but a year of toasted sandwiches for the trolls, well beyond loin clothes for their new army.
Done, I can rest.
Thoughts of the Lich King, of Naxxaramas, intrude while the Gnome enjoys a leisurely dip in Ghaz’s wading pool.
No, his work is not yet complete. The Plaguelands taunt him. Lights Hope Chapel must be his next destination. At least the feel of the wind in his beard will settle the remaining dark nightmare echos. Bring on the Gryphon!
The Argent Dawn troops are listless. Well they have always been seemingly without purpose. Ohh they have a purpose, but rarely the desire to actively pursue it, they would rather send hapless adventurers to their doom for worthless rewards in ther honor.
But now they truly seem without purpose. I feel a new threat in the area, but I can’t put my finger on it, and they don’t speak of it. Still they speak of Naxxaramas and the threat of the plagued ones.
I head to Naxx. I search for a long time around the plagued village, but it has gone, as if it were never here. The only link to it’s existence the number of plagued ones, scourge, waiting to be released.
No wonder the Dawn engage in pointless chatter. No wonder I stood alone at Light Hope Chapel. There is more to this and I won’t rest until I know the whole story. Where could Naxx have gone?
Strange, but while I am here, I may as well cleanse Arthas’ shame. I will venture into Stratholme and cleanse the taint that Arthas permitted, no encouraged to spread. Witless fool he was… is… His doom fast approaches.
Stratholme is a maze. Not sickly caverns, but plagued streets. Still they are no match for a Mage, not even a fragile Fire Mage, nor for prancing minstrels..
The Scourge are scourged for the streets of Stratholme. He walks streets he doesn’t remember walking before.
Balnazzar, another pointless subterfuge. Oh it served it’s purpose well, but none can stand before the might of this Gnome.
Still there is more to do. While no skeletons, no bugs, no wraiths walk this side of Stratholme, there is more to cleanse.
Another lost soul saved for the Argent Dawn. Surely they have more proficient agents than these? He promises to come to my aid in the end. Typical, arrive at the last moment in a feeble attempt to take credit for the Dawn.
There are more distractions along the way. Pyramids, the memories of the ecstacy of power experienced in Zul’Farrak flood back as he quickly dispatches the trivial leaders. He taunts their supporters to come to their aid and die with them.
How they must crave the release from the Lich Kings grasp because the flock to their permanent death. Undeath no more, they are now at peace.
Abominations, why won’t they come at me? I pile the bodies so high that I can’t see my next target, yet they still ignore my presence. It must be difficult to try and remain neutral only to discover fiery death closing in on you… Of course these poor “creatures” are long past such rational thoughts.
The Baron. He has many memories of defeating the Baron, but they seem misplaced here. Where are his 3 apocalypse riding companions? Ha! Maybe he will claim the Baron’s mount. Surely he is bringing the Apocalypse to Azeroth, the Armaggedon is coming in the for of his great balls of fire, it would only be appropriate for the Gnome to leave this forsaken city on the back of the Baron’s mount.
So many illusions and delusions this day. He draws forth his own illusion. An army of frostbolt firing Gnomes will make short work of the Baron.
The Dawn arrives, too late to be trouble for the Baron. He offers me words of support and thanks, but the Gnome goes his work is not yet done.
The Argent Dawn maybe here as the new day dawns, but it is the Gnome that must carry the flaming torch to light the darkness. The flaming torch will be his fingertips and the darkness will fall back before his fury.
A long day for the Gnome. A day that started with saving the Barrens and ended with destroying the Baron.
A most unusual day… but them every day is an unusual day for this Gnome.
Gnomer and Out!
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