Refugees

"Wooohooooooo", came the loud, obviously inebriated voice of the Bloodmage. The woman's voice was bouncing off the canyon walls all around the large, gray-skinned Orc as he continued moving forward, seeking out the source.

Graymahlkyn Mae'Stro knew full well that Hemorrhage was intoxicated. He suspected that - as had happened on more than one occasion - Nittering had once again forgotten to lock the guild wine cellar after sneaking in to retrieve a bottle in hopes of plying some considerable favor from the lovely Halzira...thus leaving the cache of exotic brews from all over Telon open to the notorious pilfering of the bloodmage.

The great Orc could only simply shake his head as he remembered the many times before now when such a thing had happened; there was that trip into Tazoon when Hemorrhage had gotten so drunk she had fallen into the grandiose fountain and nearly drowned...only to be saved when the lizardman, Sslarin had come along, found his companion and taken her home...(there were still whispers within the guild to this day about what may have happened between the two of them that night, but they were only whispers mind you); then of course there was that now infamous night back in Azeroth when the Bloodmage had stumbled into one of the guild storehouses left open by Nittering, gotten rip-roaringly drunk and proceeded to streak naked through the main thoroughfares of the great Dwarven city of Iron Forge. The list went on and on...and each time it seemed that Nittering had been the one to leave the doorway unlocked for his old friend. Graymahlkyn had long ago come to suspect that the gnome secretly revelled in seeing Hemorrhage smashed, out of control, and generally making a complete nuisance of himself.

All of this remained in the forefront of the Warriors' mind as he finally ascended out of the canyon and appeared within a large stand of trees. He could make out a small clearing off to his east, and so he headed in its general direction. He knew that Hemorrhage had to be close, he could smell the arcane magicks still smoldering all around him as he approached the clearing. What he didn't know, was who the enemy was whom the Bloodmage was focusing his magicks upon. He would have to be alert, as there was no telling what, where, when or how that enemy might appear. Nor in what size of a force.

"Wooohooooooo", came the voice again, only this time it was a mere few yards to his right.

Graymahlkyn pivoted to the direction of the scream...and was astounded at the site displayed before him.

There, some 40 feet from him, stood not one, but two Refugees' casters flat out blasting away at a triumvirate of oversized Trolls advancing upon them. He quickened his pace to a run as he muttered some nearly forgotten curse in Orcish under his breath and unsheathed both his Arcadian Longsword and his Protector's Sword then unleashed a blood-curdling scream of his own as he launched himself head-long into the advancing enemies.

His mainhand sword drove squarely into the chest of the smaller of the Trolls who had clearly been advancing toward Hemorrhage, and yet the beast still didn't fall. He finished the move by bringing his left hand across the midsection of the beast. And though the creature stumbled backwards, still it did not fall.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha... shall we help ol' grayskin out Nahyr?" he heard the bloodmage's voice behind him. As he swung 'round to deliver a retort in classical orcish form, a large arcane burst flew past his head at a speed bordering on insane, nearly singing the hair off his sideburns.

He stood there, motionless a moment, looking somewhat bewildered as he felt as much as heard the troll he had struck so forecully to no avail fall into a charred, smoldering heap of dead, rotten flesh behind him.

He cast a quick glance to his right and made note of the fact that the other two uglies that had been advancing upon his friends were lying in similar smoldering heaps - on top of what appeared to be at least 12 other bodies.

The Orc shook his, sheathed both his swords and dusted his armor off before raising his eyes towards the two ladies clearly awaiting a reaction from him. The fact that the two of them were so obviously trying their hardest not to burst into laughter was not lost upon him.

All he could do was close his eyes and shake his head once more from side to side as the two women finally succumbed and burst into a virutal cacophony of laughter.

"Wonderful," he muttered. "Bad enough to deal with a drunken bloodmage...but this kind of 'double trouble' is hardly something I would wish upon even Nittering himself."

He turned his back toward the two women and began the search for anything of use amongst the pile of dead trolls...just as the laughter grew even louder than it had been before.

He smirked softly to himself - something he would of course never let the two 'ladies' behind him see - and then could only shake his head...

Aye, nothing but trouble.

thats a fine tale!

Based on a true story i think!