Of Blood and Tears: My Entry For Blizzard’s Writing Contest

Back in the later part of June, I reported about  Blizzard’s Global Writing Contest. I had even begun to write my story, which I eluded that I would. After much procrastination and conceptual thinking, I came up with a story ripe with references.

For those who read this and know me, either in-game, or outside the Internet (yes there is something outside of the computer!), you know I am currently writing a book. You also know that procrastination gets the best of me…I haven’t written a word for it in over two months. Well, arch-nemesis Procrastination didn’t get me this time. After much toil, sweat, anger, and hard work, I pulled through and managed to write out a 2,500-7,500 word short story.

Continue on for an excerpt for those interested.

Ironic Justice

“What in the world is that? Grab me spyglass, crewman!” Bronzebeard could be heard bellowing in his thick, accented voice over the loud roar of the Skybreaker’s engines. “By me own beard! HORDE SAILIN’ IN FAST ‘N HOT! EVASIVE ACTION! MAN THE GUNS!”

“Battle Stations! Everyone!” I had shouted. Men fell in line to their duties preparing the cannons for the inevitable coming battle.

Blood streamed from my face as I heard High Overlord Saurfang explain in his gutteral deep voice, “This is not your battle, dwarf. Back down or we will be forced to destroy your ship.”

“Not me battle? I dunnae who ye think ye are, mister, but I got a score to settle with Arthas and yer not gettin’ in me way! FIRE ALL GUNS! FIRE! FIRE!” Muradin rebutted with his bold, Dwarvan arrogance.

“You will know our business soon! KOR’KRON, ANNIHILATE THEM!” Overloard Saurfang angrily ordered.

I cringed as the first shots that fired from both sides collided into the hulls of the receiving ships. “Reload!” I recalled the order after every broadsided barrage. It seemed like hours of fight, of which was just half an hour – so the clerics say.

I looked on in horror as down just two rows, fellow soldiers of the 7^th Legion were blown away by cannon fire. I caught a glimpse of the battle above deck. In awe I continued to maintain the pace of fire as a rag-tag group of people boarded the other ship using the insane gnome’s jetpack.

What seemed likely to be my death was only another gain in strength, as Bronzebeard hollered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, scoundrels! Onward, brothers and sisters!” It seemed Bronzebeard was content with gloating after a near loss of many lives. Chancing my life, I peered through the cannon porthole to view our enemies retreating into the horizon.

Checking the bodies for those wounded and still living, the navigators moved us to the Deathbringer’s Rise. Fulfilling my duties I reported to Captain Bronzebeard, who was busy preparing the advance party into the Lich King’s lower hold. Muradin was in the middle of an order when the gate opened and a single Orc Death Knight came waltzing out.

“For every Horde soldier that you killed, for every Alliance dog that fell, the Lich King’s armies grow. Even now the Val’kyr work to raise your fallen… As Sourge.” The Orc had begun, “Things are about to get much worse. Come, taste the power that the Lich King has bestowed upon me!”

“A lone orc, against the might of the Alliance? Charge!” Muradin had rallied. Unsheathing my sword, I joined in the attack. Filling my strength with rage as I recalled all the slaughter that has been caused by The Lich King and all his minions.

“Hahahaha! Dwarves.” The Death Knight had snickered. I instantly lost control and feeling of my legs as I was lifted up, being choked to death by an invisible force. “BY THE MIGHT OF THE LICH KING!”

I jumped up in my bed in the infirmary, gasping desperately for breath. Panting, I looked around, checking my surroundings and myself. “Only a memory,” I reminded myself. It has been only three months since that infamous battle between those rogue adventurers who aided us in the Gunship Battle, and what later turned out to be Deathbringer Saurfang. Three months, since the Lich King was removed from his ‘throne’, and peace restored to the living world.

I looked over my semi-healed wounds on my arm and legs. Glancing over at the yellow tinted bandages on my right arm, blood could be seen bubbling through the seams along with pus that would make the Abominations turn green. As I thought to myself “That’s disgusting,” I begun to worry and called out in the eerie dark for the clerics of Light. Praise be the Light as an Argent Dawn cleric moved in to assist in cleaning my cut. Muttering her chant of healing, I gave my thanks and prayers to the Light in keeping me alive through those gruesome fights leading up to the fall of the Lich King.

With my gash sealed up again, and my restlessness from the reoccurring nightmares of the past, I conceded to laying back in my cot examining the injuries of the other soldiers from various backgrounds. Westfall Brigade, Argent Crusade, Ashen Verdict, some were even from the mystique Knights of the Ebon Blade. How much we have all suffered and brought together for a common goal: Defeat the Lich King.

Conceding to never sleeping, I threw myself off the standard stiff cot and meandered through the steam-powered ship, Northspear. My frozen bare feet could be heard echoing down the darkened hallways as I limped to the deck. The semi-arctic air from the Gilneas Sea shocked my rigid bones. The graveyard shift deckhands nodded in silent greeting when I stalked past them. I sat down on the edge of the ship to watch the waves pass underneath the ship, trying to remember what life was like without violence, fear, rations, and the Scourge. The latter is the hardest to think about.

Five years ago was the last time I saw my wife and daughter. Closing my eyes I could faintly remember their countenance from my scattered memories. Sara’s red tinted hair glimmered in the summer sunlight of Eastern Lordaeron. Bent down, scooping small heaps of earth, she wave always working hard. Smudges of dirt could be found on her cheeks when she turned to gaze at me. Wiping sweat from her forehead using the back of her wrist, she called to Claire who was running in the yard, chasing one of the wild cats. I was conscripted back to duty and sent to guard the Ambassador on its way to Stormwind a week later. Three days in Stormwind, I received news of Andorhal’s destruction and the murder of my Sara and Claire.

Tears streamed down my wind-blown cheeks as I flushed the last of my memories out. I would never see them again, at least in this life. Light willing, I earned my place by Sara’s side in the next. Exhausted from the lethargic memoir, I stumbled to my feet, just as dawn approached with the warming Sun. Dust shown in the rays from the morning sun while I staggered down the stairs back to my cot.

I’d be delighted to hear what you readers think about my story.  I humbly request any constructive feedback before I submit it. Here’s to hoping I win (Ed. And make LoreHound even more famous!)!