Wildfire Riders

The letter sent is much closer to that of a package, an envelope stuffed to the point of bursting with papers and photographs. All of these have been bound together as a makeshift book with pieces of twine. Seperate from these, a hand-written note carries the easily-recognizable scrawlings of Ulthanon Kaidos.

My friends-
Greetings from the north! I'd like to first let everyone know that we are, in fact, alive and well up here, though I wouldn't have thought it would be thus at certain points of the past week. Indarra, Ghost and I made our landing at the settlement known as Valgarde, after sailing from Menethil Harbor.


The town is under constant siege by a race of human-like barbarians known as the Vykrul, if I remember their name correctly. Whatever they're called, they're monstrous sonsabitches- easily standing ten feet tall. They've got some breed of dragon/drake-things tamed, and they made airborne raids against the Allied forces here almost nonstop. I think you can see one of them getting ready to lob one of their harpoons -they're big on harpoons- in the first picture.

To give you some idea, here's another picture.

That's Valgarde, in the lower-left, with Vykrul structures in the bottom-right and dotting the hills across the bay. To the left of the tree taking up the centerground of the shot is, you guessed it, an Allied destroyer, dangling some hundred yards out of the water from two chain-bearing harpoons.

The Vykrul are really big on harpoons.
"Really" is underlined three times.
I've heard rumor of another tribe of these people in the Borean Tundra, but I've yet to make it that far west.

Anyhow, the Vyrkul threatening Valgarde are based in a stronghold just minutes away by a fast horse, called Utgarde Keep.

I haven't seen any of the advance scouts forming up to go explore it too deeply, but what snooping around I did do yielded this:

...Now, I have no idea who or what those things are, but I've seen them working with the Vykrul, so I assume they're some form of... shit, I'll be honest, I don't know what they're a form of. They're winged and they look dangerous, so bring some hooked nets up with you if you intend to go dancing with one of them.

Here's another shot of Valgarde and the bay. I like this picture.


Back to the point. North and east along the coast, you can see a Forsaken settlement, known as Vengence Landing. From what I've seen, the deaders have gotten a lot more aggressive since they hit the shores, and rumor has it that they were finally "successful" in cooking up an anti-Scourge plague.
...Rumor has it said plague isn't just anti-Scourge, but anti-Everything. This wouldn't surprise me in the least, but I've found no evidence personally. Yet. I'll keep you posted.


This is all I have time for at the moment. Next we move up into the Grizzly Hills, where I hear there are some logging camps that get mail service.

Oh. Before I forget, I've also included a few other papers you might find interesting- where the various Shires' forces were reportedly sent to, troop movements of both Vykrul and Forsaken that I observed over a few days' time, and weather readings. For instance: At this, the supposedly hottest month of the summer, the average daytime high temperature is fourty degrees. The water is cold enough to support icebergs year round, and is said to routinely freeze solid during the winter. I said it before I left, and I'll tell you again-
Dress warm, guys.

-Ulth

This letter is sent not as an envelope, but as a very large package. Upon opening it, a small wave of packing papers and cloths spill out over the table- digging through the contents carefully, a small vial of greenish liquid can be found. Wrapped around it's length and cork, which appears to be airtight, is a glaring scrap of linen with the words "DANGER! USE EXTREME CAUTION" painted in red. Below that are a collection of papers and pictures much like Ulthanon's last shipment home.

If this package is intercepted or lost, no matter what you do, DO NOT OPEN THAT VIAL!
For those who know it, there is a similar sentance written in crude Orcish directly below that one.

Ok, now, I assume this package got through to my Riders safely. If the above vial is cracked or damaged in any way, immediately quarentine yourselves. Don't leave the Pig. Remember that "anti-everything" superplague I told you about?
You're holding it.
Now, don't worry, as long as the vial is undamaged and sealed you're in no danger whatsoever. I think I put enough cushioning in there to keep it safe... sorry about essentially sending you a virus bomb, but I figured we'd want to get alchemists on this shit immediately, hopefully devising a counter-agent. The Forsaken have lost their minds on this project of theirs.


They've decided that using single-subject experiments back in Undercity isn't heinous enough; they're starting to wipe out entire towns with this stuff! They've moved into the hills around a Vrykul town (I was spelling it wrong last time) and started raining hell down on them.


They're keeping it in those tanks you see there. The Forsaken you see with the spray-guns aren't to be trifled with either- I got into a firefight with one or two of them on the outskirts of their operation, and while none of that shit could spew far enough to hit me at the range I had them at, what it did touch died almost instantly. Plantlife withered on the branch and smaller animals in the way keeled over within minutes. I cut one of the squirrels open after the fact, and its innards looked like it had been smoking a hundred pipes a day for the past ten years; withered, black and puss-filled to bursting. Whatever the stuff in that vial is, it would seem it goes for the lungs. I don't know how easily it evaoprates at Stormwind room temperature, but up here it is sprayed as a fine mist. Not quite a gas. Still, unless you're a trained alchemist with the best protective equipment you can get, I wouldn't go handling that stuff. Nearly spilled some on my arm filling the vial- Indarra almost had an aneurism. She sealed the thing pretty damned tight after that with some Priestly hocus-pocus. You might need a few casters, or Genise, to open it again.

Anyhow, my own misadventures aside, the Vrykul town stood no chance against this stuff. Here's a shot of their village from a bluff about a hundred yards away. They'd been gassed about two minutes prior to this picture.


This next picture was taken a few minutes afterward.


Six minutes, tops? Eight on the outside? These are strong men. Whole lives outdoors, working, fighting. Culture based around physical prowess and worth. All that stamina, and this slime killed their menfolk in under ten minutes.
Now, as far as I can tell, they're cooking this stuff up in a place they're calling New Agamand, which is maybe an hour southwest of Valgarde? Easily within striking distance, regardless.


They seem to be mustering their holding tanks here for the time being. I managed to snap this and the picture above after requisitioning a griffon from Westguard Keep, which is an outpost half a day's ride to the west. Don't know if I mentioned Westguard in the last letter. Here's another shot of the tanks.


Scrawled in the white lining of the picture, Ulthanon muses- "Unsure of effects of superplague on Deaders. Willing to experiment. Heh heh."

In a few days we'll head north through the pass near Fort Wildervar into the aforementioned Grizzly Hills. As I said before, I've heard there's a lumber camp up there, and an Army camp -Westfall brigades?- that we might poke around in before heading further west into the Dragonblight. Now, that... that place worries me. I've not heard one good piece of news coming out of that region.

I'll keep you posted.
-Ulth

The box arrives with far fewer safeguards on it than the last one did, though it is filled with a greater variety of things- grasses and flowers with Ulthanon's scribblings tied to them, sealed containers of fruits and berries, cuttings of strange cloth... along with the "usual" collection of maps and pictures. As previously, the cobbling-together of documents on the top of the box's contents is Ulth's personal letter to the Riders.

Hey, kids. Here's the skinny.
Indarra and I couldn't make it through the Wildevar Pass, as a nasty-lookin' blizzard started brewing there the morning of the day we were supposed to go.

We instead decided to take our chances with the eastern pass, known as the Broken Bluffs. I've included a picture of the cliff edge, not because I think it's a good display of my photographic skill, but because I was struck by the continental shelf you can see down below. Look at the lower right side of the picture- Northrend dropps off into the deeps almost instantly. It's an idle wondering, but I can't help but question how geologically young the continent is. I don't remember there being any northern part of the old world that fell away that quickly... though in fairness, I don't remember much of the old world period...



Anyway, we move through the bluffs without major incident. No sooner do we come down into the northern foothills than we find ourselves stumbling onto some project the Iron Dwarves are in on.
Now, allow me to go into some detail about the Iron Dwarves. While I haven't been able to figure out who or what is leading them in particular, I have been able to snoop some information out of them about their goals. They seem totally opposed to the dwarves that we've come to know and their ambitions of excavating ancient ruins. In fact, they managed to oust the Explorer's League from a dig site back down in the Fjord and are working day and night to re-bury the place! They also seem as fervent in quoting a "maker" of some kind as the Earthen did in the lower halls of Uldaman. I've seen a few similar-looking statues, but nothing concrete at the moment. I'll get back to you if I find anything conclusive.

Anyhow, we'd run into the Iron Dwarves in the Fjord for their efforts in summoning and binding the giants of the region to do their will. Nobody had been particularly clear about what their goal had been, or even where they had been going, but it turns out they'd been commanded to head north into the Grizzly Hills (Grizzlies for short).


There you can see a migration of four of them.
"Oh, but Ulth! What's that thinggy in the right-hand side?"
Thanks for asking, Rider who asks questions by writing them!


THAT, my friends, seems to be some sort of channeling artefact the Iron Dwarves use. I can't be certain without starting a fight and trying to take one apart (and lets be serious, we all know how that would end), but they appear along the path that most of the giants move along. If you follow that path, called the "Path of Iron" (creative, I know) by local Army scouts, you'll wander riiiight intooo this.


A no-holds-barred war between the constructs and golems of the Iron Dwarves, and... other Iron Dwarves? Earthen? I wasn't about to go down there and ask, but either way, the little guys facing the buildings in this picture are takin' it to the golems, which are definately of Iron Dwarf construction, sooo... I dunno. Make of that what you will. The "city" is called Thor Modan, I know that much. Anyone heard of it?

Regardless, this is where we're staying for the moment.


This camp is a collection of Westfall's boys, and they've been nice enough to put us up for a day or two as long as Indarra helps their wounded and I bag a few of the local silver elk. In a few days we move west along the length of the Grizzlies for an outpost called Amberpine Lodge, which is the last safe holding before you hit the Dragonblight.
...I've heard a lot of ugly things about this place, I won't lie to you. Floating cities of the dead and that sort of thing. Obviously we're here to look, not to fight, but I can't shake the feeling we're gonna be getting cozy with the Scourge before we know it. Keep us in your thoughts.

PS- Iron Dwarves' skin resistant to bludgeoning weapons, like living metal. Piercing weapons lay them out just like anyone else, though. Also, lightning doesn't seem to phase them.

PPS- to leave on a happier note, here's a picture of some wild horses I managed to take.


-Ulth

This box from the north is severely jostled, but otherwise unharmed. It is packed full of far more maps, pictures, and smaller sample-bearing containers than previous shipments. As always, the item on top of all the others is a hand-written letter from Ulthanon, though his penmanship seems much more hurried than previous occasions. It reads:

My friends,
Appologies in advance for taking so long- mail a luxury here. I assume this will take longer to arrive even after it is sent, carriers frequently harried by gargoyles.
Moved west through Grizzlies into Dragonblight- immediately regretted it. Total warzone. The Blight is both a drop in elevation and temperature; average daytime high estimated at 10 degrees. Midnight lows around... much colder. Constant, light snowfall the norm.

Came down out of the hills to total carnage. Extreme Scourge presence wiped out preliminary structures surrounding Wintergarde Keep. Floating citadel of structure unlike others in area- chillingly similar to Naxxramas.


Wintergarde Keep holding for now- "7th Legion" to thank for that. Also, the presence of certain Highlords also keeps the men confident.


Moving west, more crisis in the 'Blight proper. Dragons having a crisis.


Blue Dragonflight gone completely batshit, attacking other Aspects. Dragon council under seige by the Blues, Alexstraza -THE Alextraza- seeking help. Currently stalemate through perpetual dragonback dogfighting. You can see some of them here.


Blues are redirecting ley-lines to their own mechanations, final goal unknown. Suspected to be anti-Scourge, but they're not recieving diplomats. Other Aspects say they've lost it and just need to have their teeth kicked in until they calm down. Seem worried about prospects of success. Here you see the Saphire Dragonshrine, currently one of the foci for redirected ley-lines.


Here you see magi redirecting them. That grid is both their plan and their interface; all attempts to use it has failed thus far.


Lastly, another foci- known as "The Nexus". This picture given by another scout, name unknown. Nexus is located far to the west in the Borean Tundra. Guard strength and purpose unknown.


On topic of dragons, Scourge has located and is attempting to revive the original dragon- Garrakarond? Check spelling, but its close. They are thus far unsuccessful but only because of scout-force intervention. Keeping beast dead is utmost priority.


Lastly, Highlord Bolvar set up shop at the gates of the Glacier.

"But Ulth, he's back in Stormwind." No, he's not. Its a double. The real Bolvar is overseeing the seiege of the Wrathgate; this offensive was a success but has stalled for the moment. Neither army nor scouts able to penetrate into Icecrown yet. Doubt I will attempt.


Included below these pictures should be various things I shouldn't be sending you, mostly ammunition samples. The first is real fun; explosive oil bullets and arrowheads with great splash factor. Works wonders vs rank-and-file zombies, burns hot for 3-4 seconds. Next is even better- miniature Darnassian bolt-thrower glaives that explode out from standard size bullets/arrowheads and unfold to the size of a fist. Wicked deadly.
Last thing, for our pickpockets- word comin down the pipe says our chemists are this close to getting two poisons to coat one weapon fully without diluting potency of either. If I can get some I'll send it back for you to start producing on the low-down.

...Shit's getting really ugly up here. Not staying much longer.
Shirvallah protect you,
-Ulth

(( Indarra's Post ))
Priestess Alathea,

I wished to explain my disappearance, and offer an apology if it seemed sudden. My ward and I have taken to the north, as I'd suggested we would at our last temple visit. Ulthanon Kaidos is doing well, and I assure you I have kept him safe upon our journeys.

I understand your aforementioned concerns; it is a wild and unsafe land, and there are many dangers here, but I believe the strength of Elune will help me prevail. There are many good souls here that Arthas has not yet corrupted, and they do much to push him back from their borders. All is not yet lost.

The land is, as we assumed, riddled by shadow and ice. It is odd; I feel like I know this place. There is familiarity here that I cannot place though I cannot say why. It is like I once walked here, though I know that's not really possible. Once I figure this strange sensation out, I will be sure to relay my findings to you. I know you and Priestess Tyrande have taken a keen interest in my advancement.

Good journeys to you and yours, and I do wish to speak with you soon.

- Leafwhisper

Gotta keep moving. Draw them away, away from camp. From Indarra. Keep moving.

The snow was easily three feet deep on the slope, five feet or more in banks, and the mountain would have been unforgiving enough even without the storm.

Just a little further, a little further. Reach the cliffs, hold them off, go back to camp. Easy as... easy as pie. So easy. Just a little...

Ice forming in his hair, Ulthanon clambered his way up the mountain. The abysmal cold and his own exhaustion made his movements clumsy and slow, his normal fleet-footedness now reduced to a mocking caricature of coordination.

Maybe I... maybe I lost 'em. Haven't heard anything since... a... mile ago...

He stopped for a moment, turning to look down the snow-swept mountain face. Visibility was almost non-existent, with gusts of cloud and ice rendering anything beyond fifty feet as ephemeral as ghosts; there one moment and gone the next. He stood stock-still for a moment, trying in vain to pierce the shroud of the storm... but try as he might, he couldn't see any-HOLY HELL!

Only because he'd happened to glance in the right place at the right time was he able to jerk out of the way of the spear, flung from somewhere beyond the cover of the storm. It embedded itself into the snow just behind him, and thus he was sent scrambling through the snow once again, firing wildly behind him with his pistol whenever he could.
The cliff face was near, now. It was ten or fifteen feet high. There wasn't a cave that he could see, but an outcropping of stones and boulders at the base could serve as cover. It was the best he'd seen all day, and lacking a better option, he scurried over and turned to take aim.

The storm howled and screamed around him, through the cliff's cracks and down over the sparse, dead trees that had tried to make it at these hostile altitudes. It made unearthly sounds that were rumored to drive men mad; countless souls, searching for shelter, had wandered off into the white oblivion after hearing the voices of loved ones long gone. But there was no mistaking the storm's trickery from the actual restless dead, thus, he heard them before he saw them; the low, constant, guttural moans of the zombies; the punctuated hiss of the skeletons. There were no shades, thank the Spirits, as this was merely an undead troll's hunting party, sent to track down the interloping Kaldorei.
As if 'merely' could be used here...

The storm would provide too much cover to wait until he could see them, so with a resigned CA-CHINK he mashed a clip into the pistol and unscrewed the latch for the double-trigger release. Even with his fingers aching from the sub-zero temperatures, the double-trigger would allow him to lay down a hail of fire much faster than the slower, more accurate aiming he usually took. The arcanite firearm roared to life as it was meant to, informing the undead horde that this elf would not be taken without a fight in short, staccato bursts. A moment later he could see them, and his shots-in-the-dark had been true- walking corpses withered under the storm of lead.

Click. Click. Click.

Click?
The pistol wasn't out of ammo, he'd been counting his shots to himself- why wasn't it firing?
The undead were fifty feet away.
He turned the weapon over, inspecting it as quickly as he could. Nothing looked amiss.. except that a tiny stream of ice had solidified, apparently leaking from between two of the gun's body casing panels. Something must have frozen inside.
The undead were twenty feet away.
I'd never be able to clear this thing in time...

Casting the pistol aside, he reached out to his matron spirit.
Shirvallah!
He always wore the claws of the Primal Champion when hunting, mostly for good luck. But occasionally, the connection to the primal spirits they held would actually align, granting him the strength and speed of the tiger spirit. He had no control over when this happened, but... he liked to think that if he really needed the help, the spirits wouldn't abandon him.
Fill me with your rage!

The claws exploded to life with a blast of purple fire, but... no transformation.
Still... the undead had stopped. Ten feet away, they'd formed a line, but... no movement. If they'd have had individuality, they'd have been looking at each other, unsure of what to do, but instead they simply wavered in place in the way that the undead do.
Ulthanon, sensing an advantage, screamed his defiance, banging the wrist-weapons together and generally making himself seem as large as possible. Could it be they were afraid? Could they sense spiritual power? Were they wary of the claws?

Then, suddenly, the entire collection of undead simply fell to pieces without another sound.

Ulthanon stopped mid-scream. For a moment, he didn't feel tired or cold, or afraid; just wholly confused. Carefully, he walked up to one of the collapsed zombies and nudged it with his boot. No response.
What the hell...?
He ran a hand through his ice-collecting hair and looked around. Nothing but the white of the storm and the gray of the cliff face and the deep blue of the armored riders at the top of the cliff face.

A detachment of five heavily armored knights gazed down on him. Their faces were shrouded by deep helmets, but their eyes burned a brilliant ice-blue from within. Skeletal warhorses idly stomped their feet and snorted hot steam. But it was not so much their horses that Ulthanon's eyes had locked on to than the banner the central knight carried. Even through the blur of the storm, its livery was clear: against a jet black background sat a bone-white eye.
An eye, Unblinking.

Without a noticeable signal, the riders turned their horses and galloped away, with a speed unmatchable. It was as if their steeds had no concept of the cold, or the depth of the snow. In a heartbeat, they were gone, and Ulthanon Kaidos was alone in the storm.