In the Arms of White

[Anski]

In the Arms of White
The solitary adventures from the slayer of dragons...

Libram:
Chapter I:
The Wasteland

Chapter II:
All's Quiet on the Western Front

Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark;
and as that natural fear in children is increased by tales,
so is the other.
-Francis Bacon

Chapter I: The Wasteland

A soldier lay on his back, arched like a martyr.

His arms hung downward, both of them and legs as well unobstructed by any object. One of the gloves had fallen off and was completely missing.
Flies covered his face.

The blue and white hung off of him in burnt shreds, curled from heat. His long blonde hair was stained a shade of dark red, as it too hung backwards like his arms and legs. His front was arched up, as if being lifted by an unknown force, and parts of him swayed with the winds of war. Below him lay his shield, faced downward, its purpose failed. The sword was long gone, possibly stolen.

From his back unto the ground a metal pole rested, and from his chest bone at a near perfect angle protruded a great spike, hastily made to further the war effort by unskilled hands. Its purpose, however, was served. The soldier was gone.

The nearby war machine exploded, a result of a flaming catapult. Shards of metal whizzed through the air, superheated instantly. The young solider had gone flying, landing atop a bridge of bodies in a small ditch. It was at this point she had looked up the hill of dirt to see the sight of the suffering solider, slammed down upon the spear in sacrifice to war. She stared, transfixed. There were no more rally cries, the clash of weaponry had stopped in the moment. The soldier lay there in eternal peace, given to him by strife. The sky was red in fury, the evening taking hold. Blazons of light over shrouded this sight as he looked upward to the sky beyond him, ready to be taken away. Before she could reorganize herself, a great green flame reached out of the sky and slammed into the ground nearby. The solider had vacated her mind, and she placed both of her hands on the stomach of a fallen orc and stood, beginning to run. There was no more war for the soldier, there would be no more war for either of them. The young soldier ran right into consciousness.

When she awoke again, everything was cold and how she left it in a small tent. Daytime beamed through the small port on the top of the tent, held open by metal poles. She pulled off the bedding and crouched upward, unable to stand. The enrapture of the tent was a wing of a large drake, parts of such patched up to prevent holes. The older soldier stepped outside, already dressed for the day, and stretched. Three other tents were around, and two of their patrons were already circled around a fire pit, cooking. One dwarf, highly contrasted from the rest with orange hair, looked over. He nodded in silence and slid over for her to sit. The human soldier took a seat between the two, as a meaty slab of pork was busy turning black on a metal pan. White snow covered the ground as far as the eye could see, reaching into mountains and beyond. Sunlight cut through the clouding in patches, brightening the snow. After a while longer of silence and cooking, the dwarf with red hair grabbed the ham with his gauntlet covered hands, flipping it over.

"So, girlie, how'd yeh sleep?" was the question on his mind, and then on his tongue. He didn't look at her, neither of them did. She wasn't looking at much of anything either.

"Fair enough. Not much warmer." She responded, and the dwarf with brown hair grunted in agreement, keeping his eyes on the meal. The orange dwarf slid the ham around a little, the silence taking hold like the snow did as soon as you were free from shelter. All the small bits of snow that occasionally hit the pan hissed and vanished in a flash, the fire bubbling from the oil. All three sitting were dressed in heavy leather, except their hands and feet, which were specifically heavy metal. All three had burnt leather all the way up to their shoulders, some darker than others. A few minutes more passed in silence, and the orange dwarf grabbed plate and set it into the snow as it sunk down, melting instantly. He picked it back up, and tore the ham into four sizable bits. The three took their own, and left the fourth sitting on the plate over a smaller fire.

"Yeh think he's comin' out this mornin'? We've go'ta be movin'." The dwarf with the braided brown beard asked, in-between chews of the pink and black ham. The dwarf with orange hair, a full beard, simply shrugged and stood up, plodding back through the snow to his tent, which he folded open and disappeared under the wing of the dragon. The soldier looked back to the brown haired dwarf, who was chewing, and he simply shrugged. She herself stood up and walked back to her tent, picking it up out of the snow and rolling it closed. After about five minutes of work, her fingers going numb, the final dwarf walked out of the tent. She rolled the dragon wing tent back up and placed it along her backpack, set to go. He grabbed the chunk of ham and tore into it just as the orange haired dwarf walked out. The latecomer had a massive black beard that reached to the ground, trailing in the snow slightly. He was visibly aged over the other dwarves, and the scars on his face proved it.

"Ahl'right. Long day ahe'd of us. Headin' east nae the' the storm's let up. Rolli, yer takin' point." He noted to the orange haired dwarf. "Dalimi, yer takin' back. Me n' the girl'l ride center. Go' some thin's ta talk about, she'n'i." He finished, as the two dwarves moved to the stagecoach caravan. A massive kodo, won as a spoil of war, stood in front of a caravan that was roughly the size of a very small house. Rolli Ironblade took to the front, grabbing the reins. Dalimi Goldmelter took to the back. The dwarf plodded up to the caravan, opening the door as snow rushed in. He looked back at the human woman, who had abrasively short, blond hair, and a good amount of scars covering her face, one in particular going down an eye, blinded by such an injury. "Alrigh' lass. Off we go to adventure."

She stepped inside.

[Anski]

There will one day spring from the brain of science a machine or force so fearful in its potentialities,
so absolutely terrifying,
that even man, the fighter,
who will dare torture and death in order to inflict torture and death,
will be appalled,
and so abandon war forever.

-Thomas A. Edison

Chapter II: All's Quiet on the Western Front

The soldier lay on his back, arched like a martyr.

The younger soldier continued to run, as the flashes of great, green thunder powered their way through the clouds and smoke of war, smashing into the planet. As she ran, she tore the loose armor from her body, owned property of the Alliance. The shoulders went flying off into the woods. Gloves, breastplate, tabard. She ran lighter, narrowly avoiding trees that blocked the path. The young soldier escaped the light of war and vanquished into the darkness of the woods beyond. All she could feel was the pulsing of blood in her head as the back of her throat dried. It was not long until she collapsed.

The young soldier awoke within minutes, looking around. From behind her, a great green light burst its way over the horizon, and the sounds of war grew closer. She thrust herself out of the mud and continued to run, skin caked in the earth. Soon she was free of the woods and came forth into a wide open clearing, and there was nothing but war. Towering beasts raged against the mixed forces of humans and orcs, all fighting one another in a senseless haze. She looked behind her as fire overtook the woods entrance, smoke rising into the air. The young soldier, nowhere else to go, simply stood and stared, defenseless as the rest of them were.

She was the first to awake this time. Everything was hazy and dark, and as she sat up, she could see nothing. The woman placed her hands on what was nearby. One was hair, the other was a cold, cold wall. She felt around with the hand on the wall, lifting her other as the dwarf the hair belonged to sputtered in his sleep. Her wrist bumped into metal, as it clanged quietly on a hook. She felt it for a while as her eye only slightly adjusted, and opened the glass case. She turned a knob and closed it as a small flame of oil took hold, lightening the caravan. She looked around, scratching her head in silence. She was laying on one of the wide seats. Two of the dwarves, Rolli and Dalimi, were laying on the floor, curled up inside heavy leather sleeping bags. She pushed the top half of her's off, and looked at the last dwarf, who was laying on the seat opposite of hers. Thoramin Dragonblade was also asleep, facing the wall, quietly breathing. The woman got out of her sleeping bag, boots on, and quietly maneuvered around the dwarves, looking out the window with her eye.

She held the lantern up to it and could see only snow blowing around, still. The fellowship had stopped, midst in their tracks, as the storm grew too great. She and Thoramin had spent the day onto the evening talking of life, and why she was here. The three dwarves had been friends since they were small children. All three of them worked for the largest mining force in Dwarven history, one that had carved out a good part of Ironforge when it needed expanding. Thoramin was set to retire early, having ascended to the manager position of the whole project, while Rolli and Dalimi were set to work themselves into their graves. The day before Thoramin was to retire, he announced he would be traveling across the world with two of his strongest workers to seek out the death of all opposing Dragons, so the world could better understand them. He chose his two greatest friends and the three of them set off on a goat-powered caravan the next day, to mass confusion of the mining force. They had gained and lost many people, but these three were always together.

The woman hadn't told them much since she joined them, but she had been traveling with the three for nearly five years. She had been born in the original Stormwind, and that was all they knew. No war, no death, nothing else. She placed on her gloves, slid on a hood and stole her way out into the cold, making the door opening and shutting quick. She leaned against the caravan, opposite the wind direction, and pulled out a cigarette, lightening it with a steel dwarves lighter. She placed the lighter away and began to calm her nerves before the door opened again on her blind side, and she twisted her head to see who it was. Rolli was outside as well, even more packed in leather than she was.

"Oi, how'r yeh holdin' up lass?" He asked, looking up to the bleak, textureless sky. The woman didn't answer, looking back forward. The Ironblade dwarf plodded through the snow, walking up to her left side. "Didn'cher mother teach yeh n'ythin' about ignorin' people?" He asked, the bright orange beard looking up to her, with two small eyes hidden beneath it.

"She did." The woman simply answered, blowing out smoke that was swept off by the wind. "I just came out for a smoke. Nothing more."

"At four'n the mornin'?" The dwarf asked, and the woman nodded.

"Yes, at four in the morning." She inhaled again, having finished the cigarette, and tossed it to the ground. "The storm's letting up. It's probably time to move, we've all been sleeping since early evening anyway." The dwarf nodded in response.

"Ah'll alert tha masses." He said, plodding up the two steps and opening the caravan door. The woman stepped back inside as the other two dwarves were turning on lights and sitting up, grunting.

"Ayuh, when's breakfast?" Dalimi asked, tugging his beard.

"Ah'll make somethin' when we get movin'. Rolli, yer takin' front again. The woman gets back." Thoramin grunted, putting on his boots. He was the only one who slept without them on, said they made his feet itch.

The woman opened the caravan door, out into the blistering cold, and moved to the back. She climbed up the ladder and sat atop the small hut, windows and all, warmed by magic stones. The kodo stood up, covered in snow, shook itself on, and began to plunder outward. The woman leaned back against the chair, arms crossed to keep warm, watching nothing but the chaos of the storm.