Pheonix's Corner

I'll be updating this post as i write more, so it'll probably end up relatively big.

Anyway, i started this as a semi-funny semi-serious campaign, but then my 3D card died and i decided that i couldn't be stuffed transferring the whole thing over to my laptop (since i'd had to do that for HoS already) so instead i decided to put it in story form. Which i think is much more rewarding in the end, as this part of the story in the campaign only lasts for about the first 20 seconds.

Anyway, here we go, Act 1, Chapter 1. Uses Warcraft as a base for races, magic and so forth, but uses my own imagination for the world and the lore.

Tales of Altan

Act 1 – Old Hatreds
Chapter 1 – Unwelcome Visitors
The storm appeared from nowhere, the black clouds condensing from clear air to obscure the sky, within seconds of their spontaneous existence they had built into a mighty thunderhead, which promptly broke with a shattering roar, a bolt of lightning ten-thousand miles high roaring from the sky towards the hapless earth below. The white-hot surface of the pulse outpacing even the centre of the sun for a split second as it slammed into a fireplace with the force of an angry god, discharging enough electrical current to keep America running for half a year.
Crazy electric blue fire sparked and crackled up from the smouldering ash of the logs, incinerated at the moment of the initial impact, air began gathering together above the jagged flames, swirling tighter and tighter into an almost physical presence before forming a vaguely avian shape, a pair of sparkling yellow eyes gazing down upon the land. The elemental spirit, a chaotic being made of pure cyclonic winds of unmatched power had been summoned, and all would feel its wra…
“You can cut that out now Aerin, I need to speak with you.”
Aerin, Prince of the Sky, turned his crackling gaze down upon the mortal that had dared to summon it, a middle aged Orc stood before him, gazing disapprovingly up at the Prince, wearing shoulder-pads and leather armor made of sewn wolf fur and holding a long staff carved into the likeness of an eagle, the Orc was an intimidating sight, but he was still a mortal, and even the talisman clasped in his free hand did not deter Aerin, Master of Storms. The spirit turned the full force of his will upon the mortal Shaman, preparing to crush the lif…
“And you can stop that damn narrative too, I’m not interested in listening to you bugger around for another twenty minutes while I stand here and listen to all that rubbish.”
Aerin, Prince of the Sky, was defeated, his head drooped and his power waned as he descended slowly towards the mortal who had not only summoned the Master of Storms, but succeeded in dominating the Prince, he raised his head mournfully and opened his beak to ask the Orc, his master for now, wh…
“Right, that’s it, I’m going to summon Akiris next time, she doesn’t bugger around like you, or put on those stupid airs.”
“Alright, alright! I’m the Prince of the Sky, the Master of Storms, Lord of Thunder, I can’t just show up and go “What’ll you have mate?” can I?” Aerin responded sullenly.
“Look, I’m not completely heartless, I usually let you prattle on for up to half an hour, it’s just that I’m in a bit of a hurry at the moment.” There was a trace of sympathy in the Orc’s voice, and his craggy face softened slightly as he spoke.
Aerin sighed and shuffled slightly on his perch, a sort of solid tube of air, before he spoke again.
“Alright Gathrok, you’ve been a pretty good Shaman in general, I’ll let it go this once. So, what do you want?”
“Well…” Gathrok began, “it’s pretty simple really. Somone attacked me in my sleep last night, and I’ve barely got enough strength to summon you, much less fight anything serious. I want to know who, where, why and when, and then I want to borrow one of those thunderbolts for a few minutes while I make whoever it was really regret buggering around with my head.”
Aerin’s glowing eyes dimmed, for a moment he wavered ethereally, seeming to jump out of existence before he returned, he had used his knowledge of the sky to search for the antagonist Gathrok was speaking of, but, to his surprise, he picked up very little.
“He’s cunning, every time he comes above ground he is masked and wears a mist cloak that hides his vibrations, last night he was near the old graves to the south-west, that’s about all I can tell you.”
Gathrok frowned, the lines upon his face deepening, he was sixty-three, not very old for an Orc, but his induction into Shamanism at the age of forty had not been easy, it never was.
“Precious little to go on Aerin, are you sure you can’t get me any more?”
“Sorry Gathrok, you’ll have to ask the Earthmother, it’s her realm your attacker hides within.”
Gathrok paled slightly, turning an interesting shade of lime as the blood rushed from his normally vibrant green skin. He had run into the Earthmother before during his Shamanism test, and the long and the short of it was that one of her daughters, a Dryad, had fallen in love with him. This had helped him greatly, and he’d passed the Earth Narcoa with a perfect score, but the Orc wasn’t quite ready to have a girlfriend who was made out of stone and blocked out the sun when she stood up straight.
“I think I’ll just wait for a bit more evidence myself.”
Aerin sniggered slightly, showing the usual patronising side of himself that he used whenever he didn’t get his own way. The Elemental Spirits weren’t really any better than the Mortals; they just had a closer bond with magic.
“Wise of you, you won’t shake her off though, she’s as persistent as her mother, who thinks you’ll be a fine son-in-law by the way.”
Gathrok, if anything, paled even more, he was now a rather fetching shade of aqua with a lime tint, and he grunted slightly as the full effect of those words washed over him.
“The Earthmother thinks I’ll be a fine son-in-law?!?”
Aerin, seeing the look on Gathrok’s face, burst into hysterics, barrel-rolling through the air several times before he took control of himself.
“Don’t worry about it eh? They’re both content to wait until you’ve cracked your second century, problems of the future, speaking of which, theres a messenger coming for you, Kugar wants to see you at Shatterstone, it’s very urgent, so urgent in fact, that he apparently forgot to tell the messenger exactly what it was!” And with that remark, Aerin began rapidly fading away as his pet storm quickly dissipated.
“Wait!” shouted Gathrok “What about borrowing that lightning bolt?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve left you a little something in your hut, it should tide you over.”
And with a snap, Aerin was gone.
“Bugger.”
The sound of an approaching wolf reached his ears, and Gathrok turned around in time to see a young Raider, barely managing to stay astride his overgrown Dire Wolf mount at the pace it was making, crash through the underbrush. The well-trained wolf stopped dead in front of Gathrok, nearly sending the Raider hurtling head first into the ground, but he quickly composed himself and began speaking.
“Shaman Gathrok, Warchief Kugar…”
“Wants to see me at Shatterstone, it’s very urgent and you don’t know exactly why. Anything else?”
The Raider, well knowledgeable about the powers that the Shaman wield, merely bowed his head, and with a quick goodbye was heading back again, hastening to return with the news that Gathrok was coming.
Gathrok sighed and headed back to his tent, his various talismans and beads clacking against each other as he walked.
What is Kugar up to this time? The thought wandered through his mind.
In the hut, Gathrok found a small cushion with a curved dagger upon it, the blade was about as long as a banana, with a grip half that size, it fit perfectly into Gathrok’s oversized Orcish hands, there was no hand guard, but he doubted that one would really be needed for this weapon. The blade was shaped with a slight S bend, engravings of soaring birds, storms and cyclones rippling across its surface, never quite the same twice.
The blade shimmered with a subtle light and the whole thing hummed with power. Gathrok smiled to himself as he placed it within the plain leather sheath that lay nearby, Aerin had never failed him yet, and it looked like he’d lived up to his usual form again.
Stepping out of his tent, Gathrok took in the view around him and smiled, here at his own private oasis, surrounded on all sides by a small cliff, a small semi-tropical jungle had grown, a spot of life against the barren, endless wastes of the Dehydrated Ocean. Birds flitted from tree to tree, their calls echoing in the air, fish splashed as they leapt from the surface of the crystal waters to gulp at the myriad of insects, the number of which Gathrok was sure doubled every time he looked away for more than a moment.
All in all, it was a truly perfect location for a Shaman, the oasis, named simply Clearwater, hummed with the strength of the Elements here, all saving Fire were present in their natural forms, and Gathrok had brought Fire here in the form of a little blaze that burned merrily in the corner near the lake. A small white lump of stone, a piece of pure Elementium that had been tuned to Fire was its source, and it resonated in harmony with the rest of Clearwater.
Smiling to himself, Gathrok gathered his few possessions, a small Hawk figurine carved of wood with sapphire eyes, another figurine, also carved of the wood from the palm trees that grew in Clearwater, was shaped like a wolf with rubies for eyes. A third was a bear, emeralds gracing its head, and the last figurine was of a marsh glider, a small manta ray-like creature that could swim through air as easily as water, though it found moist air easier to move through.
They, his clothes, staff and a small carved piece of stone; his Runic Emblem, were the only real possessions he had, like all Shaman he did not own the hut nor any of the furnishings within it, he merely used them, and when he died his apprentice would take over and would be left with everything except the Emblem and any personal tools that Gathrok had made, those would be buried or cremated with him.
Moving slowly but with a sure tread, the walk of one who was in perfect tune with the world around him, Gathrok headed to the small pass in the east of Clearwater, the only way in or out for any land-dwelling creatures.
Gathrok was in perfect tune with the land around him, he could accurately visualise any piece of terrain within a twenty mile radius, which is why it was such a shock when the earth exploded beneath him and a bony hand shot forth from the earth to grip his ankle.
“What the hell!?!”

Chapter 2 – Unexpected Surprises
Gathrok’s surprise was short lived as the skeleton levered itself from its sandy prison, a rusty war axe clasped in its hand. At the sight of the weapon Gathrok’s well honed reflexes kicked in, bringing his staff swinging around in a rapid arc to impact upon the skeleton’s head, the hardened palm wood causing the skull to explode like a bomb, sending small shards of bleached and desiccated bone flying in all directions. The skeleton, the focus of the Necromantic magics that had been used to raise it now destroyed, fell lifeless back into the loving grip of the Earthmother.
Gathrok had little time to celebrate his victory, within moments the earth around him began churning like the sea and it cried out in pain as the lost souls who had finally come to rest beneath the soil were torn haplessly from their resting places, their souls ripped from the Great Dark Beyond and slammed into a cage of bone. Gathrok mentally counted off a dozen skeletons, the remains of old Orcs and Tribesmen who had died fighting aeons ago. A challenge for sure, but still safely beneath his capabilities.
With a quick spin Gathrok leapt into action, one smooth movement had the dagger unsheathed and his staff flicking out to pummel the skulls of the two nearest skeletons, the undead monsters falling to pieces in seconds. As one the remaining skeletons moved into the attack, but Gathrok was ready, another fluid motion had put him outside their circle and toppled another skeleton, it’s skull sliced cleanly through from the razor edged blade of the dagger.
Drawing magical energy from the elemental weapon, Gathrok pulled forth a bolt of lightning from the heavens, the white hot skyfire blasting from his palms with a resounding explosion to impact upon the first skeleton, leaping from undead to undead and incinerating five of the remaining monsters before losing its power. With only four more skeletons remaining, Gathrok knew he had won.
Charging into another of the clumsy monsters, Gathrok drove the dagger clean through its ribcage and out of its spine, spinning its skull into the path of the axe of another, his staff then snapped upwards, pulverising the chest and shoulders of the second skeleton. The last two monsters attacked in tandem, but were felled by a concentrated blast of static electricity drawn from the dagger.
Gathrok looked around him at the fragments of bone and rusted armor that now littered the desert, Necromancy was a banned magic and Gathrok doubted that Kugar nor Drakkan would have been mad enough to lift that ban, he doubted the Tribes were involved, they abhorred Necromancy as much as the Orcs did, and after dispatching a second group of skeletons that ambushed him further on, Gathrok was beginning to think that his unknown assailant and these unwelcome visitors were connected.
Forty-two skeletons and half an hour later, Gathrok was beginning to seriously reconsider this whole ‘lets travel to Shatterstone’ idea, and it was about then that he ran into the Raider who had brought Kugar’s message. Gathrok had exactly enough time to hear him roar a warcry and watch as half a dozen skeletal Orcs hacked him to pieces before the earth around him erupted again, this time with a mix of archers and Trolls, these two were dispatched with relative ease, the Undead were generally quite pathetic and weak, and were only really useful because of the sheer numbers of soldiers one could raise with little effort, that and their complete obedience and undying loyalty.
Several hours and at least a hundred skeletons later, Gathrok had just about had enough, things had started getting easy at around the thirty skeleton mark, boring at about sixty and were now just plain dull. The undead Orcs and Tribesmen were still attacking him with depressing regularity, and Gathrok swatted another one off-handedly as he tried to come up with a way to bypass all this nonsense. His adversary was persistent, but apparently not much smarter than the minions he used to assault Gathrok.
Stopping to rest at an old seep, a small geyser where clear water bubbled up into a relatively still pool at a constant pace, Gathrok considered his options. Were he at his full strength he could have just whipped up a Cyclone and ridden it to Shatterstone, possibly making a short detour to cause havoc amongst the Centaur tribes, but he wasn’t and he doubted that even with the dagger he could summon, much less control a Cyclone big enough to carry him any reasonable distance.
Similarly, transport via underground was out of the question, as was just about every other means of supernatural travel, after half an hour of thinking Gathrok finally decided to resort to the only option still available to him; taking a small amount of energy from the living things he passed and using it to increase his speed. The amount of energy taken from each plant and creature was unnoticeably small, and would be regenerated with little effort an hour or so after he had left, but even in the desert there were many thousands of creatures within range, and all those little bits of energy rapidly added up.
As he stood and prepared to begin the spell, Gathrok realised that it had been some time since the last skeleton attack, fearing the worst, he creeped up to the top of a rocky outcrop to see his fears well justified. There were at least two-hundred undead waiting for him, a mixture of Tribesmen and Orcs, many still wearing rusty metal armor and desiccated cloth, the Razorwinds stripped flesh from the bone within minutes, but the arid waterless air left artificial materials almost untouched.
Swearing voluminously to himself, Gathrok descended from the precipice and reconsidered his plan of attack, two hundred skeletons would have been no challenge at all were he not weakened, but damnit, he had to stop thinking like that, he was weakened and there was nothing he could do about it, yet. A different approach was needed.
And such an approach was relatively easy thanks to the notorious stupidity of the undead, Gathrok spent ten heart-stopping minutes scaling the mountain that the seep bubbled from beneath, the undead legion below merely watched his ascension, their command having been to attack Gathrok once he hit the plains again, not to attack him if he climbed a small cliff. Gathrok reached the top of the cliff with little problems, clearly the Necromancer responsible for the army below wasn’t looking out of their eyes at the moment, and after tossing a thunderbolt down into their mass for good measure, he turned around and continued towards Shatterstone.
Or at least, tried, to continue towards Shatterstone. It appeared the unknown Necromancer wasn’t quite as stupid as Gathrok had hoped, a dozen skeletons waited for him at the top of the cliff, their eyeless grins watching him with what could only be called indifference. Cursing to himself, Gathrok dispatched them in pretty much the same way as the hundred before them, sending most plummeting over the edge of the cliff to shatter on the rocks below.
Grumbling to himself about the indecency some arch-foes had, Gathrok quickly checked his surroundings and continued on towards Shatterstone, this time the path refreshingly free of sudden ambushes and undead monsters shambling about and eyeing him apprehensively. It seemed that Gathrok had lost his pursuers, and he continued under that mistaken assumption until, much to his chagrin, he came around a corner and walked full-tilt into the skeletal army again.
“Bugger.”

Good job, Phoenix. I like it a lot. Aw... it would be a good campaign intro... Continue!

Added Chapter 2, Chapter 3 - A Slight Error of Judgement coming soon.

Bugger?

It's a pretty good read, but you overly use commas where you shouldn't (or should end the sentence/line of dialog).

I really like the way you write, so vivid. Anyway keep up the good work.