[Story] Tales of the Furious Fishmongers: The War Within (Parts 1-6)

Defias Brotherhood / Ravenholdt et al.
1

We are the Furious Fishmongers!

After many years of angling together, with a fair amount of idiocy and mishap along the way, we are generally open for recruitment on Defias Brotherhood again.

We welcome chatty, friendly and social people to our close-knit, foolhardy fishing crew. We follow the roleplaying realm guidelines. New recruits are usually interviewed in-game. You can apply through the guild finder tool or come and chat with one of us.

For a flavour of what we are about, please read on:

CONTAINS MILD SPOILERS FOR THE WAR WITHIN

TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

ONE: LANDFALL.

In the lee of a storm locked mountain, five anglers of varying height were lined up along a tranquil shore. They were sporting a good collection of fur, horns, pointed ears and tusks between them. All of them were wearing the same red and black tabard.

Nobody seemed to be catching anything.

“Water’s too shallow here,” rumbled the largest of the crew, a Tauren warrior. Part angler, part walking armoury, his fishing pole was strapped to a large axe.

“You’re right Tunril,” said one of the monks, a portly male Pandaren, “This has started poorly, reminding me of our failed venture in the Dragon Isles!”

“Don’t blame me, Zhugan!” said the third angler indignantly, “How was I supposed to know the local Tuskarr had the entire fish market covered?” He was a green-skinned goblin, clad in a set of black leather armour, his features obscured by a jaunty pirate hat.

“It was your information we were acting on, Dacomos” said the second monk, another Pandaren, this one a female. She was wearing a robe which had been drawn in at her furry brown ankles to allow her to wade out into the water.

“Are you questioning my methods of gathering information?” demanded Dacomos.

“No,” said the final angler, a colourfully tattooed, warty blue troll, whose white hair was escaping from beneath the broad brim of his crimson hat. “We are questioning ya’ actual intelligence!”

“Pah!” said Dacomos, wandering off to sulk. I’ll show you Mudija, he thought. Stupid old troll ‘Fishmaster’. One day soon, this whole operation is going to be mine.

“Pretty peaceful here, mind you,” Mudija said, thoughtfully. “You two scouted pretty good again. How did you find this place, Sidh?”

“Visions of light aside, let’s just agree that we Pandaren make far better sailors than the dreadful combined navies of the Horde and the Alliance.” replied the female monk, “Every other year they seem to miss another island!”

“Once our first catches come in, we should have the market to ourselves,” said Mudija. “Long as nobody else beats us to it!”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence as the assembled fisherfolk contemplated past failures. Then that silence was replaced by a deep sense of unease. They all felt it at the same moment, a shift in reality around them. Something big and magical was happening.

The guild looked up as one and a city materialised in the sky above them. This was Dalaran, the airborne home of the Kirin Tor sorcerers, wielders of the violet eye.

“Great,” snarled Mudija, “Every time!”

There was a peal of magical thunder and a large group of people appeared on the rocky shore behind them, enveloped in a hemisphere of violet energy.

“Look, Mudi!” said Dacomos gleefully, “Customers!”

The energy field vanished with a pop. They turned to look at the newcomers, who looked exhausted and scared. There were representatives of every race of Azeroth. They were grim faced and exhausted. Some of them simply collapsed on the ground as soon as the barrier was down.

“Something is wrong,” said Sidh, her voice radiating concern.

They looked up again, in search of more information. There appeared to be a number of dark creatures circling the floating city, were they bats?

The entire city was shaking and its famous floating islands were dropping towards the ocean, as if they had lost their magical anchors.

“Drop your gear,” shouted Mudija, “Get to cover!”

The guild did as they were told and dived behind some rocks.

A vast globe of void energy expanded to swallow the city from its core. There was a moment of silence before the entire city simply imploded, sending chunks of Dalaran plunging to the world below, ripping new leylines up into the shore. Fires were smouldering, smoke was rising. Sections of fallen masonry and shards of stained glass littered the coast. Arcane golems roamed around the scattered remnants of the city, attempting to patrol a city that was no longer there.

“Look at all this shiny stuff! Think of the resale value!” said Dacomos, inspecting the smoking debris, “Ooh, a wizard’s cloak!”

“Never mind that!” said Sidh, “There’s someone trapped under the rubble on the beach. We have to help them, come on!”

An armoured figure was partially buried under some heavy stone debris. A pointed golden plate helm with a white skull motif lay nearby on the beach, possibly having fallen off during the destruction of the city.

“Tun” called Sidh, “Help us! You’re the best of us at throwing heavy stone objects. We can’t free this one without you!”

Tunril duly waded into the water and lifted the required stones with a grunt.

“I think it’s an elf,” exclaimed Sidh, “but he isn’t breathing!”

The pale skinned elf had a pair of blue shining eyes that started to glow as he recovered.

“Death Knight, my love,” said Zhugan, “Probably doesn’t need to.”

The ground around them was rumbling with increasing ferocity. This felt wrong. The city was already down. Now what?

A multitude of huge insectoid creatures erupted out of the earth, reinforcing those that were already circling above. They towered over people, with multiple eyes and mandibles, their numbers exacerbated by the sheer number of limbs that they brought to the fray. Arachnoid creatures of all sizes and shapes, casters wearing hoods that almost looked humanoid and some bulky warriors in heavy chitin armour, they all looked ready for battle.

“Nerubians.” muttered Tunril, swinging two great axes to literally cut an advancing hulk off at the knees. It flapped its remaining limbs in the air before falling in front of him, and he crushed its head with a firm stomp of his leading hoof.

“I hate Nerubians!” Mudija shouted, as he summoned raw electrical energy to shield himself from them.

“And Elves!” said Dacomos, who was using his daggers to carve up an overconfident nerubian soldier, who had strayed too far from the vanguard.

“And Paladins!” chipped in Zhugan, who was twirling an iron staff to keep his foes at bay.

“You hate everybody!” said Sidh, temporarily stowing her maces while she and Zhugan helped the elven Death Knight to his feet.

“Thank you for freeing me.” said the Death Knight politely. His hollow tones didn’t really clarify his true degree of gratitude. He retrieved a long metallic polearm from the shore, before gesturing towards the nerubian forces that surrounded the rocky beachhead. “Allow me to assist you with this rabble.”

Amongst the survivors from Dalaran was an Orcish veteran, sizing up the advancing forces in the sights of his long gun. When he spotted Mudija amongst those gathered on the shore, he pushed his way over to him.

“The Furious Fishmongers!” exclaimed the new arrival, clearly recognising the black crawfish motif on the old troll’s tabard, “I didn’t notice you in the city, are you here to help?”

The hunter frowned as he peered beyond the anglers and noticed a large iron platform of some kind, wedged into the rocks. Broken crates and untidy fishing nets were bobbing around it in the surf.

“You were already here,” he muttered. “Why is it you Fishmonkeys are never where you’re supposed to be?”

“Shut your yapping, Angorr!” barked Mudija, blasting a nerubian in its chittering face with a torrent of hot conjured lava, “You know we’re only here for the fish!”

Just as a gigantic tank of a stagshell was pushing the gathered defenders backwards, a sortie of stormrooks descended on the archipelago, their squat armoured riders blasting the monstrosity with volleys of azure lightning.

“Ooh, that was handy!” said Dacomos, admiring the excessive use of firepower.

The tide was quickly turned and the battle decided. The nerubians retreated back under the ground, to wherever they had come from.

“Let’s hope they stay down there,” said Tunril, looking uneasy, “We stay here, where we can see some sky!”

“Yeah,” said Mudija, “The last thing we need is to end up fighting in some desperate last stand, deep within Azeroth, fighting against an army of freaks who got too many legs!”

The five furious fishmongers stood together, mostly enjoying the calm after the battle, although Tunril looked more like he was sulking, now that it was all over.

The recently rescued death knight stood alongside them. Behind his skull mask, his icy blue eyes glowed fiercely, analysing the site of their victory.

Unbeknownst to those present, a second elf was magically watching the proceedings from many leagues away, beyond the Maelstrom, in the Broken Isles.

A much older male with long platinum hair, his flawless dark skin marked him as one of an ancient race, known as the Nightborne.

His fine golden robes were made from an expensive fabric, accented in red. He was sipping arcwine from a slender goblet - an exclusive blend that didn’t leave the confines of his opulent estate within Suramar City.

The elder placed his cup down, took hold of his scrying orb with both hands and trained his clear white eyes upon the visions within, attempting to view everything that his agent could see.

Beyond the immediate shore, to the north east, he could make out a massive stone tower that had been built atop a cliff, topped off with a huge tree. In the far distance, there were many grey mountains that appeared to have been rounded off somehow, as if they had been designed that way, rather than gone through the natural processes of erosion.

“So this is Khaz Algar,” said the elven mage, addressing his emissary in a voice that only he could hear, “Follow these Fishmongers, Xalaen. Represent the House Archonnoir.”

The Isle of Dorn, how interesting, he thought, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his armchair. I wonder what will happen next?

Feel free to dig around across the EU forums for older tales - they’re probably around somewhere!

Thanks to the usual suspects for the flagrant abuse of their characters.

This tale is dedicated to Marmot, long time friend and occasional member of the guild.

May your adventures long be associated with the smell of fish.

Mudi.

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Hey!
I did actually catch some fish while you lot were having fun with nerubians.
At least one of us is working here.

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TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

TWO: FOREGROUNDS

Dornogal was a wide grey quarry of a city, situated high in the northern mountains that dominated the Isle of Dorn. Undoubtedly ancient, the settlement appeared to have been excavated with consideration for its natural surroundings. Pre-existing rock formations had been incorporated into its original construction. Any trees that had needed replanting had been given pride of place, lending the entire site an aura of verdant beauty.

Gigantic chains and pulleys were at work throughout the place, lit red from the perpetual forging levels that ran below them. A metallic cacophony of industrial noise echoed out across its many bridges and plazas. The warm glow of its many hearthfires boosted the flow of thermal energy that spread from the city’s squat stone buildings and strong geometric towers. These were clear dwarven architectural influences here - or perhaps it was the other way around?

The stone-skinned native inhabitants were collectively known as the Earthen, and they could be found throughout their city of wonders. Some were crafters and others were soldiers, depending on their programming. Oathsworn and Unbound, they were all mingling freely with a contingent of visitors that had survived the recent fall of Dalaran.

These newcomers were busying themselves around the mezzanine level known as The Foregrounds, gathering supplies and quests with which to curry favour with the locals. There were stalls here that catered to all kinds of professionals, including Fishmongers.

Mudija, Tunril, Dacomos, Zhugan and Sidh, along with their elven guest Xalaen, were sat together under a high stone portico that was serving as a lounge bar. They were engaged in conversation with Kornd, an Earthen bartender who was working a section of flat stone tables, serving up a variety of drinks in heavy goblets and tankards.

“There’s hardly any smoke!” complained Dacomos, staring at a distant forge, “It ain’t natural!”

“Why would there be any?” asked Kornd, whose low cadence made the whining goblin think of caves and grottos, “Our work is tempered by our respect for the environment.”

Kornd stood a head taller than the average dwarf, although he looked much like one, under his full fiery beard. The bright amber gems that occasionally protruded through his smart purple tunic gave away his true nature, as did his slate blue skin. His eyes were clear and bright, like fire opals. They probably were fire opals, Dacomos thought.

“We are finalising our attempts to open up the Coreway,” continued Kornd, “It is good that the advance forces from both your Horde and Alliance will be working together to help us.”

Dacomos looked over to the table opposite, where a regular-sized dwarf sat, looking a little uncomfortable as the locals loomed over him from every direction. A passing Night Elf glared at their party, whilst a broad Kul Tiran merchant sneered in their general direction.

The Furious Fishmongers exchanged straight-faced glances, before Mudija grinned under his tusks and looked away. Dacomos snickered.

“Why is there no food?” complained Zhugan, ignoring the tension in the air with the practised calm of a true monk, “What do they eat here? Moss and rocks?”

“Actually, yes.” said Kornd, serving up a few pebbles for Zhugan’s other half, Sidh.

“Be polite, dear,” said Sidh, mischievously sliding her unwanted plate over to her mate with a swift prod from her paw.

Zhugan gave the food a snuffle, momentarily confused as to the nature of the offering.

“What about drinks?” he asked, keen to change the subject.

“We already looked into that,” said Mudija. Both he and Tunril were already cradling a pair of large stoneware flagons, whose contents appeared to be bubbling with fire. “Priorities, right?”

Tunril nodded happily, his long horns reflecting the light that seemed to flare up from within their drinks.

“You mean our Cindermead?” Kornd asked, with a trace of pride, “One of the greatest treasures of Khaz Algar!”

“I have my concerns,” said Mudija, eyeing his drink with suspicion. The old troll got the distinct impression that the reason his tankard was made of stone was that it might be the only material capable of safely containing its contents.

“You are largely advised to sip your Cindermead,” Kornd stated flatly.

Tunril snorted and took a big gulp.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Tunril sat motionless, his expression unreadable. Steam appeared to be curling out of his ears.

Mudija carefully put his drink down and moved it to one side.

“What’s the local currency? demanded Dacomos, “how are we supposed to trade for anything here?”

“Perhaps you can utilise the gilded exchange?” suggested Kornd.

Dacomos’s green pointy ears pricked up.

“Gold was that?” he asked, before he rudely ran off to investigate.

“Once the Coreway is clear,” continued Kornd, “we will need your help to go below into the Ringing Deeps and assist our brethren, the machine speakers.”

“Below?” slurred Tunril suspiciously. He seemed to be struggling to sit upright. “Ain’t going under no ground!” The big Tauren listed slightly to one side, before slumping off his bench and rolling onto the flagstone floor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a drunken Tauren!” exclaimed Zhugan, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Apparently these machine speakers are experiencing some problems with Kobolds,” said Xalaen, ignoring the stricken Tunril, “Since we are both allied with The Horde, it would make sense for us to travel together. For now.”

“You won’t believe it,” said Dacomos, “They have an auction house! I’m…I mean we are gonna make so much gold!”

Nobody had heard him return - his soft steps had made no sound on the rocky pavement.

“Oh yeah, by the way, the Coreway is open now!” he mentioned, as an aside.

“Not sure we want to head off down into the depths without a plan,” mused Mudija, “How we even gonna get down there anyway?”

They peered over to where numerous adventurers were launching themselves up into the air on a grand assortment of flying mounts, heading West over the city. The alliance table was amongst their number.

“Do we really want to do this? We could use some backup,” pondered Mudija, absent-mindedly stroking one of his long bony tusks, “Maybe Vexo and Zumba will come over, once the Horde fleet gets here.”

“Yes, because what this situation really needs is two more trolls!” said Sidh, rolling her eyes at the idea.

“I know lots of people!” said Zhugan, as he apprehensively attempted to nibble on some moss.

“Getting back to the matter at hand,” Sidh said, “We can’t leave poor Tun here, we might need him later.”

“If we have to go underground, he’d probably rather stay behind.” said Zhugan.

“How’re we going to move him?” asked Dacomos, “It’s not like we can just strap him to a dragon and push him down there?”

The Fishmongers all looked at one another.

“It will take all of us to get him up again,” mused Zhugan, swifty changing the subject, “unless another solution presents itself.”

The broad Pandaren found himself eyeing up a hooded Oathsworn, who was sitting atop a heavy iron cart that was being pulled by a strong pair of rams. Moss grew along their stony flanks and they bore enormous curled horns that were unique to their breed. The cart driver frowned at the party as she steered her mighty charges past them.

“Ey, stoneface,” said Mudija, bluntly addressing Kornd, “There much water down in those Ringy Deeps?”

“There are many rivers and streams,” he replied, “we draw much of our power from the Waterworks there, generated from our main facility at Gundergaz.”

“Water means fish….” began Zhugan.

“…and fish means profit!” interrupted Dacomos.

“Let’s go, ya ‘mongers!” ordered Mudija, and the guild sprang into action.

Dacomos quickly powered up an oversized mechanical suit, the rockets in its boots propelling him upwards at speed.

Mudija strapped his shield to his back and jumped onto a haggard looking Pterodactyl. The blue and gold leathery skinned creature had a huge wingspan, which it used to drift cautiously off the ground, in pursuit of the eager goblin.

Sidh and Zhugan stayed behind to look after Tunril. They watched Xalaen as he reluctantly summoned up a demonic grey horse and rode it into the sky, its dark hooves leaving a trail of amethyst fire in its wake.

Everybody was headed in the direction of the Coreway, a massive lift mechanism that had once served as the city’s main transport into the deeps. It was largely in disrepair, its huge chains broken and smashed. It was clearly going to take years to restore the facility to full working order.

Dacomos, Mudija and Xalaen landed to one side and peered into the board passageway.

A faint trail of warm air was emanating from within. It was a straight drop, hundreds of feet down.

“Pretty deep!” said Dacomos, whistling in awe.

Dozens of fliers from both factions were now launching themselves en masse down into the Coreway. Mudija recognised the veteran Angorr, who had previously accosted him on the tranquil shore. The Orcish hunter didn’t see him this time, as he was fully focused on guiding a wide scaly drake high into the air before diving gracefully down into the newly cleared tunnel.

“You sure you want to go first, boss?” Dacomos asked, “You know you’re not exactly the best skyrider amongst us.”

“Yeah, well…,” said Mudija, cautiously nudging his reluctant steed over the Coreway’s edge, “…shaddap!”

With unfortunate timing, a local engineer had chosen that exact moment to attempt some further maintenance in a hovering mechanical construct. The troll on his dinosaur and the Earthen in his flying lifter became hopelessly entangled. The top of Mudija’s shield clanged against a girder on the way down, briefly causing the jumble of riders and mounts to strike a wall. There was an awkward lurch before they plummeted downwards before disappearing through an archway far below.

“We’ll see you down there, boss!” called Dacomos.

This one is for Daco, our resident goblin master of all things financial.

Your guidance throughout The War Within has been very much appreciated.

The Furious Fishmongers wouldn’t be the same without you.

Mudi.

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TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

THREE: DESCENT

The Coreway was a deep underground tunnel that had been designed to accommodate and transport a regular supply of goods and passengers. Any adventurers that chose to descend its many hundreds of stone steps would quickly see the error of their ways, as a steady stream of flying travellers swooped past them high up under the rocky ceilings overhead.

Regardless of the nature of their chosen vehicle, these pilots would need to make eight corkscrew turns to navigate the passageway - clockwise to descend, or anti-clockwise to return to the surface city of Dornogal.

The founding engineers of the Coreway had designed everything to be big and functional, yet geometrically pleasing in style. The natural darkness of the traverse was countered occasionally by a variety of light sources. There were bright amber gemstones ensconced between cracks in the walls and flickering lanterns suspended from long iron chains. Fiery stone braziers and heated iron vents glowed red and steamed along the way down, providing a background hiss to the workings of the machinery that ran here. Giant gear wheels could be seen turning behind wide metallic guards.

At the very bottom of the Coreway was an abandoned cargo of cindermead, its hazardous cargo pooling over the stony floor, along with an overturned shipment of blue jewels, whose light lent an eerie azure hue to the rubble.

Beyond this, there was an opening that led out into the busy workings of Ironhaul Station. Stout purple banners, reinforced with iron frames marked this area as the forward position of the machine speakers, representing the Assembly of the Deeps.

A small army of high cranes bore heavy loads and long iron viaducts spread their tracks out in numerous directions, suspended high above the operations below.

The caretakers that worked here treated their duties as more of a faith than a vocation, using a wide variety of digging and mining machines, some of which were airborne. They ensured that the natural resources of the deeps made their way into the hands of the Earthen rather than the ratty grasp of the local Kobolds.

The sounds of industry echoed here unbound, some close and some from miles away, carrying throughout the vast cavern network beyond and giving it its name - The Ringing Deeps.

The whole place felt elemental, the fires of its great forges blasting heat and light out from the North, before giving way to an enormous natural grotto.

High daylight holes allowed low levels of natural light to make it down to these depths. Long trailing plants that showed decades of growth trailed unbound through the cracks in the rocks above.

Centuries of erosion had created a vast array of flowstones, stalagmites and stalactites here. Even now there was an audible supply of water at play here, some of it funnelled through pipes, whilst the remainder trickled away more naturally, flowing between the banks of the Cataract River, before disappearing into the darkness beyond.

In the heart of this subterranean region was the settlement of Gundergaz.

Essentially a huge processing station that had been constructed between the natural rocks, Its thick pipes and chimneys towered for hundreds of feet above the recessed homesteads and paved courtyards that stood in their shadow.

Today this was a hub of activity with swarms of visiting adventurers bewildering the locals, who were doing their best to point them in the directions of their quests.

The Earthen weren’t the only people that went about their business here. There were Kobolds present too. Curious creatures that were part humanoid and part rodent, their lean bodies commonly and unadvisedly decorated with lit wax candles.

One of the kobolds was running a booth that seemed to have been recently constructed. Waxed candles were hanging precariously from every part of their wooden stall. This questionable method of decoration continued onto the stallholder himself. Half a dozen further candles were loaded on to his backpack and smock with little regard for fire safety. Pink-skinned and grey-haired, with buck teeth protruding from under his long snout, his scaly tail flicked agitatedly as he discussed his wares with an elven death knight and a troll shaman.

The elf was mainly outfitted in regal crimson and gold, paired with a smart grey doublet and matching cowl. A long jagged sword was strapped to his back, its haft glowing ruby red with magic.

The troll was also clad in red, his shoulders protected by stout wooden boards that had been fashioned into the shape of primal masks. His white hair was bound up in a tail, under a hat that appeared to have been recently dented.

“I don’ want to know what’s in ya candles, Janky.” said Mudija, the light from the overloaded stall reflecting warmly from his bony tusks.

“Ohhh, old troll picky!” said Janky, scratching his whiskers, “Why you and your furious mongrels here then?”

“We just be here for the fish,” said Mudija, causing the elf at his side to raise a long blond eyebrow.

“You say that a lot,” said Xalaen, his electric blue eyes trailling magical light as he spoke, “I think to convince yourself as much as anybody else.”

Mudija grunted, keeping his cards close to his chest.

“You want to know where I get my wax from?” asked Janky, absent-mindely picking his hairy ears, “One trader to another?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know!” interrupted Dacomos the goblin, who had snuck up undetected and was now tallying up some numbers on a chart. “That being said, the wax here can be pretty valuable. The stuff of kings, apparently. I reckon there’s some profit to be had here.”

“I don’t want to be gettin’ into no other trade, Daco” said Mudija warily, “You didn’t buy any, did you?”

Dacomos looked a little awkward, trying not to glance behind him, where an angry looking Tauren was hauling a wide cart that was loaded up with giant candles.

“Of course not!” said Dacomos, desperately trying to keep his Fishmaster’s attention on the matter in hand.

“We’ll leave ya to it, Waxmonger” said Mudija, waving Janky aside, before walking away.

Dacomos and Xalaen followed him, making space for some new customers to occupy the merchant’s attention.

“Speaking of which, I think it is time for us to part ways,” said Xalaen.

“Ya got better things to do, ya mean?” asked Mudija.

“I am heading off in search of more…advanced company,” said Xalaen, glancing back over at Janky, who was attempting to palm some more wax off onto an unsuspecting gnome.

“My ride’s here,” said Xalaen, indicating a flying vessel that was approaching soundlessly from the northwest.

The simple skiff would have been unremarkable, had it not been for the fact that it was gliding through the air. Strapped neatly to a dirigible and carrying four passengers, it was being guided expertly into dock by the local flightmaster.

“Well, that looks safe,” said Dacomos, adjusting the brim of his black hat to get a better view.

“Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.” said Xalaen, exchanging a nod with Mudija before ascending some steps up to the sky platform.

A couple of golden cloaked humans got out of the transport first.

“Arathi,” muttered Mudija, recognising some of the new arrivals, “Just what a troll loves to see.”

The remaining passengers were a pair of familiar looking Pandaren monks. Sidh and Zhugan bowed to Xalaen in recognition as they exchanged places, before hurrying over to see Mudija.

“Boss, you aren’t going to believe this,” reported Sidh, adjusting her thick black ponytail, “there’s another network of caverns deeper down!”

“The locals say there’s a whole ocean down there!” added Zhugan, “I heard they need the help of some fish people…or maybe that was with some fish people?”

Mudija grinned a little at this, his interest piqued. “Well you know what that means.”

“Drowning?” asked Zhugan, stroking the furry braids of his beard.

“Swimming!” suggested Sidh.

“Fishing!” said Dacomos, “Woohoo!”

“Fine, let’s wrap things up here, everybody get ya anglin’ gear together. Best fetch Tun as well. Just don’t tell him where we’re going.”

“Is he still mad at being underground?” asked Sidh.

A distant crash could be heard, as though a heavy cart had just been purposefully dropped to the ground.

“What do you think?” asked Mudija.

The monks headed off to the market to gather their supplies.

“Oh and Daco,” Mudija asked.

“Yes boss?”

“Make sure ya put all of the candles back.”

Dacomos struggled to conceal the disappointment on his green face, whilst Mudija looked back over to the market area.

Zhugan had now reached Janky’s candle stall and was engaging in conversation with him.

“Don’t let him ask,” warned Mudija.

Dacomos raced over to intercept Zhugan, waving his arms frantically, but he was too far away.

“So, where is it that you get the wax?” Zhugan asked.

When Janky told him, Zhugan’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

Happy 20 Years of Wow, Defias!

Mudi.

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Tale Four is coming. Trying to tie it in with our guild anniversary for next week.

Mudi.

6

TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

FOUR: LIGHT

A pair of Arathi children were seated together at the southwest corner of Mereldar, their legs hanging over the edge of the stone battlements. This was usually the best vantage point from which they could survey their homeland of Hallowfall, but their holy star was dark right now. Their night time world was a shrouded realm of dark purple shadows, held fitfully at bay by the light of a few lanterns and torches.

“Why are we up here, Alyza?” complained the first child, a boy, “We can’t even see anything!”

“Oh Keth,” Alyza replied, reaching out to pat his shoulder, “You worry too much.”

At times like these, It felt like being inside the maw of a gigantic dragon, thought Alyza, as she squinted her eyes in a vain attempt to see a little further.

“You know I don’t like the night!” continued Keth, “Bad things happen, strangers roaming around, messing with our stuff, refusing to join our games. Last time the light went out, we lost a whole barrel of mead from the cellars!”

“That’s why we’re up here,” said Alyza, her voice resolute, “It’s true we get more than our fair share of outsiders nowadays and the grown-ups never let us have any fun, but I have an idea about how we can help. Besides, you wanted to see the skyfleet again, didn’t you?”

Keth paused. He did love spotting airships of all sizes, from the small transport skiffs to the patrolling gunships. Maybe one day he’d even get to see the mighty Skybreaker! That was never going to go up at night though, nobody wanted to risk losing that one.

“But it’s so dark,” he whined, “We won’t see any ships tonight!”

“Just wait,” said Alyza, “Beledar never lets us down.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the buildings of their town looming out at them, like giant tombstones in a churchyard at dusk. Then the shadows began to fade and the world began to change around them.

“Here it comes!” said Alyza excitedly, grabbing Keth’s arm with enough force to make him wince.

From its fixed position, high in the west, the lodestar known as Beledar lit up the world with its magical light, chasing the darkness away. A massive geometric crystal, suspended from the misty sky like a crashed starship, its incandescence revealed a high underground coast, filled with fields and industry.
Some of the local flora had grown to fantastic heights, their wide yellow heads turned permanently to bathe in the glory of their artificial sun.

No wonder our people were called here, thought Alyza, following the legend of their fallen star across the seas into this cavernous domain, below Khaz Algar.

“This place always amazes me,” said Alyza, glancing past her dress to her feet. The light had revealed how muddy her shoes were, not that she cared.

“My dad says that we built all of this in less than ten years!” boasted Keth, his mess of black hair now visible in the dawn.

Alyza looked around her at the homes and streets of Mereldar. It was an imposing sanctuary, as much a fortress as a settlement. Its many towers, bridges and platforms were overlooked by the high church of the eternal flame. Far to the north, the even more imposing sacred priory held court from its peak, situated hundreds of feet above the ocean waters that churned below it.

“Don’t be ridiculous!!” she said, grabbing a large plate mail helmet that was clearly designed for somebody three times her size, before hiding her head and upper body inside.

Alyza searched the horizon, taking in the distant sight of the massive water wheels that powered the local farmlands, before directing her gaze downwards to the road that led south out of town.

“There!” she said, pointing.

“What?” asked Keth, craning his neck to see.

“There’s our quest!”

He looked again and noticed a trail of smoking amber puddles leading out along the road, continuing into the rough beyond its end.

“Now we just need backup,” Alyza mused.

“Look!” said Keth, pointing out a medium sized airship that was turning towards the town, their captain taking advantage of Beledar’s light to head into dock.

“That’s a lamplighter patrol coming in!” said Alyza. “Come on, we can get them to help us!”

The youngsters scrambled clumsily down from their spot on the wall, abandoning any pretence at stealth as they did so. Alyza insisted on dragging an oversized longsword behind her, which clattered across the stone steps as they ran down to Mereldar’s central courtyard, where they blundered into Auralia Steelstrike.

“Were you two up on the wall again?” she demanded crossly. Their faction quartermaster’s green eyes showed concern from under her cropped grey hair. Her arms were folded over her light armour in a no-nonsense manner. “I’ve told you before about being outside the orphanage in the dark time!”

“Yes Miss Steelstrike,” said Alyza.

“Sorry Miss Steelstrike!” added a conflicted Keth, who was being dragged along in Alyza’s wake.

“Where are you…,” began Auralia, watching helplessly as the two children raced past her, leaving her scolding empty air, “…going?”

Auralia felt reluctant to leave her post, but decided on balance that she probably ought to follow the children.

It wasn’t hard to find them.

A returning trio of armed guards, all clad in red and gold, had almost made it to the Empire’s Edge tavern before they had run into the orphan’s ambush.

“Hey, watch out!” said the first guard, a soldier with a broadsword strapped to his back, the edge of its blade limned with a faint holy light.

“Sorry!” said Alyza, “but we need you!”

“Why? What’s going on?” asked his second, a weary elder in a white robe, who was leaning on a pointed iron staff.

A third guard said nothing, pretending to check the seals on a nearby lamp.

They all looked at one another, unsure of how to proceed.

“There’s trouble just outside the town,” said Alyza urgently, “You have to come quick!”

“Is it the Order?” asked Auralia, walking over to take command. Were the cultists of the Order of Night planting their dark seeds of discontent amongst the people again?

Alyza shook her head, causing her helm to rattle.

“The…nerubians?” suggested the first guard. The chitinous forces of Azj-Kahet were an ever present threat. There had been rumours of an army of the hideous creatures massing in the south, close to the aegis wall. Auralia shuddered at that thought. We’re always ready to fight, she thought, but we’re not ready for warfare on that kind of scale.

“No, no!” said Alyza, “It’s the smelly fish people!”

“The Kobyss…,” hissed the second guard anxiously.

If those cold-blooded marauders are this close to the town, thought Auralia, we’ve got serious problems!

“Can you show us where?” she asked calmly.

“Yes, yes!” said Alyza, attempting to yank the third guard’s arm out of its socket in her urgency, “Let’s go!”

The keen children and their weary escort hurried past the orphanage on their way to investigate the threat. Half a dozen children were playing in the yard, being entertained by a pair of Pandaren monks.

“What was that all about?” pondered Sidh, balancing easily on a wooden fence as she tracked the departing humans.

“Don’t ask me,” said Zhugan as he allowed himself to be pushed onto his broad furry back under the onslaught of a pair of determined orphan mercenaries, “I’m dead!”

The search party passed under the eaves of the tavern, leaving the laughter of the pandaren and their young charges behind them. They followed the sticky trail of amber splodges and didn’t get far before they came to a short bridge. As they got closer, Alyza led the guards down a steep slope to a secluded pool, their view of which was obscured by some high rocks.

“The smell!” complained one of the sentries, holding his nose, “It’s like sewage!”

“Be ready!” said Auralia, her stern face illuminated by the lit torch that formed part of her shield.

Blades, lanterns and staves drawn, the Arathi were more than a little taken aback at what they saw when they reached their quarry.

Three representatives of the Horde were encamped by the pool.

A squat goblin and a warty troll were squabbling angrily over a slew of rotten fish that had slid across the ground. A huge tauren, who towered over both of them, was carrying a broken guild standard under his arm, its stained crimson flag bearing an illegible black motif. He was leaning casually against a tall wooden barrel. He turned to raise a bushy eyebrow at the newcomers, the imposing combination of his armour, bulk and horns giving them pause. The goblin and troll stopped arguing and looked over to see what the interruption was.

Auralia frowned and raised up her shield to get a better look at the barrel. Hot amber cindermead was bubbling out of some cracks in the side of the cask. Insects were buzzing around the spilt liquid, which was scorching the earth beneath it.

“There! I told you!” shouted Alyza pointing triumphantly at the furious fishmongers, “It’s the smelly fish people! Get them, they stink!”

For the Furious Fishmongers, past and present. Big sprats on dinging Fourteen years!

Mudi.

1 Like
7

Tale Five should be up next week - apologies to any nerubian fans out there!

Mudi.

8

TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

FIVE: HOPE

Situated within the dark caverns of south east Hallowfall, stood the formidable stonewrought barricade known as the Aegis Wall. A hundred feet high and three times as long, it had been erected by Arathi settlers to serve as the last line of defence against the terrifyingly powerful forces of Azj-Kahet. Vast arachnoid armies regularly swarmed up from the depths of that dark kingdom, pushing to breach the fortifications and invade the bright homelands beyond.

A solitary quartermaster was patrolling the empty battlements. Her long dark hair was pinned back and her arms swung freely. She wore lightweight chainmail under her furs, the links stained red. Her route was illuminated by the holy flames of light that coruscated down the sides of her dawntower. Just a slow walk between there and the barely functional skydock.

She looked up at the masses of interconnected webs that were spread across the cavern as high as she could see, trying in vain to spot the cunningly disguised mines that floated amongst them. She had to hand it to the enemy, their use of munitions had forced the skyfleet to abandon the area, leaving a ground offensive as the only viable option.

The dreadstrike nerubians had become bolder of late, ever since they had struck a dark pact with the powerful entity known as Xal’atath. This was the worst time that Blaeke could remember, since she had first arrived with the imperial armada. Even worse than the day of darkness itself, when her world had first been plunged into an uncertain night.

This far down, even the few plants that survived in the locality were hopelessly shrivelled, unable to reach any meaningful light. All Blaeke could do was try to keep as many lamps lit as possible, keep the holy fire of her watchtower blazing, and give everyone a chance to at least see their insectoid foes. She just hoped she would survive long enough to retrieve the tinderboxes of the fallen, to preserve some memory of their commitment to the sacred flame. The flame that burns for us all, thought Blaeke.

She was the only one left now, a capable guard, trusted to repel any zealous nerubians that made it through the battle lines and over the wall. Everyone else that could fight was currently engaged in a last desperate stand against the invaders. She couldn’t see much in the shadows, but she could certainly hear the sounds of war coming from the ragged front, far below her.

That wasn’t all she could hear though. Somebody was coming. Several somebodies, in fact. Blaeke turned quickly, shrugging her heavy cloak aside and spinning her long polearm into a defensive position.

She realised it was Vellas Tearen, her flightmaster and friend, approaching from the skydock. She had company - a tauren, a troll, a goblin and a pair of pandaren monks.

The troll was old and rangy, dressed in mismatched red and black clothing. The furry monks, one portly male and one lean female, wore similar coloured robes. The goblin was clad in studded leather, grinning unpleasantly from under his wide brimmed hat. Aside from the heavily armoured and visibly drunk Tauren warrior, who was carrying a large barrel over his shoulder, this mismatched quintet didn’t inspire much confidence.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Blaeke demanded, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the sight of the newcomers, “I thought you said General Steelstrike was sending us an elite horde unit to infiltrate the enemy’s lines and turn the tide of battle?”

“This is them,” confirmed Vellas, her voice muffled from behind her heavy flight mask and cowl. She removed them both to get some air.

“Smoke and ashes!” spat Blaeke, keeping her guard up and her weapon raised.

“Wash your mouth out,” giggled the first monk, Sidh, mischievously elbowing her companion.

“Yes, do you talk to your…errm…high priestess that way?” added Zhugan cheekily.

The new arrivals ignored their reluctant hosts and advanced to the edge of the ramparts, before sticking their heads over for a better look.

The torchlight thrown by the nearest lamps revealed glimpses of the great battle that was unfolding there, deep below the Isle of Dorn. The fighting was particularly intense around the shattered and smoldering ruins that made up the steeply sloping battlefield. The combined forces of Khaz Algar were fighting as one against a seemingly endless army of undercrawlers.

The stormriders of Dornogal were engaging the nerubians’ aerial forces, skillfully dogfighting with nightmarish swarms of winged flitterers. Their nimble rooks cascaded with electrical energy, lending an eerie blue and white strobe lighting to proceedings.

The Earthen were here in good numbers, oathsworn and unbound working together to repel packs of hunched skitterlings and threadmancers. The machine speakers were using their giant mechanical loaders to trade blows with huge beetle-like dreadfiends and siege lords, backed up by a few hardy kobolds and one particularly brave Niffen.

The soldiers of Hallowfall were leading the line, their lamplighters and stalwarts showing up as small lights of hope amongst the legions of their foes, crusading for the holy light of Arathor.

The advance forces of both the Horde and the Alliance had also joined the battle. The greatest champions and heroes of Azeroth, fighting side by side against their subterranean foes.

The Furious Fishmongers watched in silence for a moment, before the goblin amongst their number spoke. “Yeah, that ain’t good!” said Dacomos, before pointing a stubby green finger down at the skirmish, “Ooh look, there’s that elf we pulled out of the sea!”

Xalaen was indeed there, the death knight that the guild had freed, just after the fall of Dalaran. He was aquitting himself valiantly in battle, laying waste to his enemies with a combination of frost strikes from his greatsword. A second blade was dancing magically around him, parrying and thrusting as required.

“Right, best get on with it then,” barked the troll, stretching his long blue neck to one side in an attempt to better balance his wooden shoulder guards, “Tun, grab the stuff!”

The huge tauren broke open the barrel he had with him, using the haft of an axe. The odour that emanated from within was overpowering.

“Oh, the smell, so bad!” gagged Vellas, fervently wishing that she hadn’t removed her headgear.

The fishmongers took turns at pouring unspeakable sea produce over each other. It made their armour slimy and their skin slippery.

“You look ridiculous!” said Blaeke, recoiling from the stench of the bedraggled crew.

“Well, what do you expect?” asked Dacomos, “we’re smothering ourselves in rotten fish guts!”

“Amongst other things”, added Zhugan unhappily, his fur soggy and sticking out in crazy directions, making him look like he had been rolling on a pile of refuse.

“Wait, so you’re going down into that chaos, and your main plan of attack is to smell of fish?” demanded Vellas incredulously.

“Hang on,” said Blaeke, realisation dawning on her like the crystal light of Beledar itself, “Think about it! The enemy relies on pheromones, it’s how those bristly buggers can find us all so easily in the dark. So if these idiots stink this badly…”

“The nerubians won’t sense them coming,” said Vellas, “That’s oddly brilliant, albeit incredibly disgusting. Trust Auralia to find a way to turn a problem into a solution, but how did she persuade you to do this? What did she have on you all?”

“This is all Mudi’s fault,” grumbled Dacomos, ”That other quartermaster would never have sent us here, if he hadn’t made us borrow that cindermead!”

“Borrow?” asked Sidh, arching an eyebrow.

“Made you?” asked Zhugan.

“Well, if he had noticed us taking it…,” muttered Dacomos sullenly.

“Yeah yeah, you’re all geniuses, now let us through,” growled Mudija, “we’re going to pay our bar tab now and save everybody’s holy faces.”

The party cautiously advanced to the edge of the wall and made awkward preparations to rappel down into the dark.

“How is Mudi going to get through?” whispered Zhugan to his partner, “He didn’t even put any of the bad stuff on!”

“I think we can safely rely on his natural odour,” said Sidh confidently, “Decades of working with fish will do that to a troll!”

The fishmongers descended into the gloom below, hooves and paws clattering awkwardly on the stone walls as they lowered themselves into position.

As soon as they had hit the ground and cut themselves free of their ropes, they were approached by a squad of nerubian marauders. To their astonishment, the chitinous creatures moved past them, unable to detect their presence - the plan had worked!

The crew managed to get into position behind the main line of the enemy, before turning to clear a path into the melee. As they fought their way through, with a flurry of blade strikes, magical lightning, fists and a particularly wide sweep from Tunril’s battle axe, Mudija noticed a familiar orcish hunter close by.

Angorr was busy shooting a few arrows into the chittering faces of an approaching sortie of darkcasters, blowing them to pieces.

“Nice of you to join us!” bellowed the orc sarcastically, “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were only here for the fish?”

“Yeah well,” said Mudija, turning to look at his filthy crew, all of whom were preparing to cut loose, nodding and grinning at each other, “we do this as well!”

“Fishmongers! Fiiiiiight!” he yelled, charging forward and leading his fragrant guild headlong into the fray.

This one is for Ibelin, who didn’t get to see the many lands that we did.

Mudi.

1 Like
9

One last War Within tale planned.

Soonish.

Happy New Year Defias (and others!)

Mudi.

10

TALES OF THE FURIOUS FISHMONGERS: ALGARIAN EDITION

Contains mild spoilers for The War Within

SIX: STEAM

Dawn had come to the Broken Isles, its fiery light undercutting the midnight sky. A Nightfallen elder was standing on a hilltop, granting himself a wide view out over the bay of Suramar. With its cerulean tree canopy, arcane barricades and ornate towers, this elegant city had served as his family home for centuries.

The elven noble was clad in a majestic green robe, detailed with golden embroidery. A dull pointed crown graced his deep blue brow, and his long white hair flowed down around his shoulders.

Time to check in with my apprentice, he thought.

He casually clicked his fingers, before sketching an arcane sigil, leaving a faint tracing of amethyst fire hanging in the air.

“Xalaen,” he called softly, “what can you see?”

The mage closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his view had changed and he was another elf, looking out over another bay, half a world away. This one was younger, clad in red and gold, his icy undead eyes giving away his death knight class.

“Master Marmoreon,” said Xalaen, his voice echoing un-naturally around him, “let me show you.”

Xalaen was standing atop Keepers Terrace, outside the earthen city of Dornogal, close to the main gates. On the rocky promontory opposite to him stood the Storm’s Watch tower, its sentry duties fulfilled.

To the south west he could just make out the ruins of Dalaran on the original site of his arrival here, which seemed like a long time ago now. Some kind of light show was at play on that tranquil strand, magical stars being lifted into the sky - a mystical ceremony of some kind. Who knew with the Kirin Tor?

The sun was bright here today, its warmth making the waters of the harbour twinkle in the far distance. Xalaen could see the sails of half a dozen newly arrived ships, three deep green for Kul Tiras and three blood red for the Horde. Advance fleets of reinforcements had finally arrived at the Isle of Dorn, hoping to secure the day. Yet the battle had already been won and the combined forces of Azeroth had prevailed.

Small groups of the new arrivals were being ferried up to the city on flights of crackling blue stormrooks. Xalaen tracked the latest arrivals, a couple of trolls, as they landed nearby, close to the main gates. He noticed they were sporting familiar looking red tabards, emblazoned with black crawfish designs, and they were heading in Xalaen’s direction.

The trolls drew close. One was a flame haired warrior, clad in tribal armour, bearing a long hammer. The other a masked druid, sporting colourful robes and a staff that sang with natural magic.

“Hey elf!” said the warrior, “Ya seen our boss anywhere?”

“Head inside and then down to the hot springs on your left,” said Xalaen, his flat tone conveying his ambivalence to those present, “you can find your ridiculous guild there, assuming they haven’t been incarcerated for some new offence.”

Without a word of thanks, the trolls headed off as they were directed. Xalaen moved aside to let them pass, before shaking his head and returning to his sea view.

The trolls headed up some steps and proceeded into the city proper.

Dornogal was an imposing place, full of timeless structures and a variety of citizens and visitors.

The trolls looked up at the high towers of Foundation Hall - the looming political centre of the city, where the high speakers and wards of the Earthen people met to decide the future.

“Big place!” said the druid, understating matters.

They noticed some further flights of steps in the shadows to their left and followed them down into a steamy sunken grotto.

The freshness of this natural environment was noticeable. Mossy wall plants climbed the cracked stone walls. Red leaves crowned beautiful brown trees. Bushes that bore flowers in violet, peach and yellow added vibrant splashes of colour to their surroundings.

There were long stone benches, bar areas and heated baths for guests to relax in. Glowing crystal sconces were set into the courtyard style walls.

This was the Steam Vent, a spa facility where the attendants were taking care of visiting villagers, relaxing residents, and four Furious Fishmongers.

The first was another troll, all white hair, warty blue skin and long tusks.

Next to him were a pair of Pandaren. A broad male whose black fur was misbehaving in the spa heat, and a somewhat better-groomed reddish female, who was hauling a metallic float out onto the water.

A hulking brown tauren completed the quartet. He was soaking in the deeper waters at the back of the spa, taking the occasional draught from a steaming tankard.

They had all discarded their armour for comfort.

They looked up at the new arrivals.

“Vecuza and Zumbaji. Better late than never!” said Sidh sarcastically, pushing her float out over the hot water using her padded feet.

“Ey, can we join ya?” asked Vecuza, the druid.

“More of you?” asked a female earthen elder, the matron of the facility. Her amber eyes shone brightly in contrast to her deep grey stoneskin. She wore her hair in a braid and a beard, the filaments of which were glowing. “As I have said to you all several times, this facility is designed for Earthen, not fragile outlanders!”

“What else have we got to do?” asked Mudija, adjusting his body so as to avoid being scorched by the heated flagstones around him.

“Why don’t you go and take part in a performance, down at the Proscenium?” suggested an off-duty stormrider, who was relaxing nearby.

“The what?” asked Mudija.

“The outdoor theatre place,” said Sidh, “We tried that - didn’t go all that well.”

“Some confusion over our roles in the play,” said Zhugan, who was considering risking his toes in the bubbling water, “Apparently there is a difference between dealing with the drunken spectators in the crowd and actually being the drunken spectators in the crowd.”

“Easy mistake to make,” giggled Sidh.

“Cindermead is not meant for mortal consumption,” scolded the matron. She was seriously considering blowing her cracked stone horn to close the spa.

“I think Mister Tun quite likes it now,” said Sidh, looking over at her happy guildmate, who was luxuriating in the thermal waters, looking up at the sunny open skies above him, “He says he enjoys the sugary taste.”

“He’s just happy now he never needs to go underground again,” said Mudija, “We don’t want any more drama.”

A dark grey cloud briefly blocked out the sun.

A sputtering mechanical sound could be heard, increasing in volume until its source was revealed.

A flying machine popped into view on an unadvisedly low angle of approach, causing most of the spa patrons to go running for cover.

The machine was a small dirigible, fitted out with wood panelling and an unhelpfully low windscreen, behind which sat a grimacing green goblin. With a limited amount of care, the vehicle landed poorly by colliding with one of the rocky spa walls, toppling one of the stone benches into the water, causing a great geyser of a splash.

“Greeting minions!” shouted Dacomos, clambering out the pilot’s seat and adjusting his short spiky hair.

“Watch it, Daco.” said Mudija.

“I do apologise, my fellow future servants!” said the newly arrived goblin, before hastily changing the subject. “Never mind about that though, just look at this marvellous machine!”

The locals’ interest was piqued and a small crowd came over to inspect the strange craft. It was resting on a trio of small training wheels. It had a grappling hook on a winch mounted at its stubby nose. There were two small engines with propellers attached to either wing and a larger one at the rear, which sported a quartet of exhaust pipes.

“Ooh, it has funny wings,” said Zhugan, “Can I take a spin on it?”

“Better than that, we can all get one of our own!” said Dacomos. “It’s the latest thing! They’re everywhere!”

Zhugan turned his furry head to listen and found that when he concentrated, he could hear the buzzing of a significant number of flying machines. He’d previously dismissed this as the swarming of the giant bees of the Ironwold, to the east of the Island.

“So there’s this old dwarf, camped out between the foregrounds and the tavern. He represents an organisation called the ‘Exploders Society’, or something,” said Dacomos.

“I very much doubt they are called that,” said Sidh.

“He’s just dishing these vehicles out to any adventurers who help him with his quests!”

“What’s the catch?” asked Mudija, feigning interest as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

“All we gotta do is repeatedly go delving underground with him, do battle in dark places with unspeakable creatures and evil cultists. Gather treasure. You know the sort of thing!”

There was a brief moment of silence as everybody took in what Dacomos was saying.

This was followed by the sound of something angry and large emerging from the far side of the pool, followed by some dripping, heavy hoofsteps. After a few moments, there was a strained grunt and a pregnant pause.

A stone bench sailed through the air, narrowly missing the top of Dacomos’ head and landing on top of his delving machine, smashing it to pieces. Scattered bolts, gears and springs, along with longer metal components lay strewn across the courtyard.

Dacomos looked around helplessly at the wreckage, feeling more than a little forlorn.

Meanwhile, Tunril had returned to his initial position, submerged in the soothing spa pool. This time, only his horns were visible above the waterline. A few contented air bubbles rose up to break the surface tension.

“I think Mister Tun speaks for all of us, when he says we ain’t going back down under the ground anytime soon” said Mudija wryly.

A little shout out to Vexo and Zumba, our intermittent South-African contingent.

This tale, however, is dedicated to Tunril, our resident bruiser in all senses of the word. Long may your coffee-swilling, sauna-dwelling, muscle car antics continue!