Chapter Thirteen: My Kingdom for Your Horse
The great deathcharger galloped from the Scarlet Crusade foaling field with a fury; sparks scattered from its flying hooves and hellfire poured from its mane as it thundered towards Death’s Breach. Behind it, hoots and hollers followed keening laughter, and the sound of a hundred tiny hooves. Clods of dirt, hellfire spittle, and churned mud sprayed from the column as they rushed past Hellvetica and Deathsprocket.
“Woohoo! Go number three!” she shouted, waving her purple pennant as the racers rumbled past.
One of the tauren—they were all tauren—turned, waving as he and his his tiny steed sped by; its short legs blurred like the blades of a fan as it ran as quickly as it could from Havenshire to the Breach.
Chapter Twelve: A Sword for All Occasions
The chewtoy—an eyeball pickled into a rubbery consistency like a hardboiled egg—hurtled across the chamber, caromed off the back wall, rebounded from the floor, and sailed out the window.
Batsmasher followed, arms a-pendulum with barely contained joy. “Raaaaaggwwggh!” he gurgled as he flew through the window after his favorite toy and promptly vanished from sight in the pristine blue and fog. Plummeting.
“That never gets old,” Hellvetica said.
Chapter Eleven: Zen and the Art of Ghoul Maintenance
The Lich King, Prince Arthas and the shade of Ner’zhul combined, brooded over the war torn domain from gaping maw of an icy balcony—great clouds of billowing white foamed in the chill air and whipped past his ragged cloak, stoking the azure flames that fumed from his ghastly armor. His sword, Frostmourne, balanced point-down on the icy rock floor awaiting his grasp as he fiddled with his gloves.
“When do I get to meet the big guy?” Hellvetica asked, gesturing with an onyx gauntleted hand towards the looming figure.
Chapter Ten: Student Necromancers from Hell
“Stand and be measured, death knight,” the necromancer said.
Hellvetica stood, stretched her newfound muscles. She felt good, power coursing through her veins. They had placed upon her a garb of black robes, embroidered with runes of pain and suffering. She could sense the fire in her veins burning in her eyes. A voice in her head whispered sweet horrors to her. Cajoling, commanding, but she pushed that aside and with it the rapture of her resurrection.
“Thank you,” she said, “for…” She paused, she couldn’t see anyone standing in front of her—until she looked down.
Chapter Nine: Waking Up is Hell
Hellvetica’s head hurt. All she recalled—aside from the name change—was downloading and activating the new expansion, Wrath of the Lich King, and rolling a death knight. Of course, this did help explain one thing: why she was currently among the dead.
The battlefield was littered with them, every race and class accounted among the valley of corpses as slouching half-human ghouls worked amid them. Bones exposed, dripping ribbons of rotting flesh, the ghouls labored to carry and drop dead body after dead body onto the backs of creaking wagons, which then conveyed their ghastly cargo unto Acherus.
Necromancers clad in dread black picked their way through the dead, casting boney fingers and watery eyes over the putrid crop. Hither and thither they resurrected the dead. By in large, though, the …
Chapter Eight: At Felendren’s Pad
“Could you pass that? No, not the blue—yeah, the green one. Thanks.”
Felendren didn’t seem so bad; at least Helvetica didn’t think so. It wasn’t like he had any fight in him, certainly not while he was toking on the huge bloodthistle bong. Except that it didn’t look like any bong she’d ever seen in her life. For one, it appeared to be made out of a Burning Crystal—the shard truly took offense to this and continuously shook with rage, producing a strange humming noise. The bong itself burbled constantly with a green-orange fume, and a pair of red eyes glared lazily at nothing. They also seemed to have bloodshot lines running through them.
“Dude, I wish that I had asked that Shara Sunwing chick for extra crispy spider legs,” the wretched …
Chapter Seven: There’s War Drums…In Those Eyes
On her way back to the Sunspire with her plundered goods, Helvetica began to notice a queer thing: cat corpses. All over the place. As far as the eye could see. Dead black cats, dead white cats, calico, torties, seal point, not a single one spared that unknown wrath. It seemed as if a family of rats had gone on a vengeful spree and slaughtered every cat in sight.
She had examined a cat once. “Critter,” it noted, “Level 1.”
Chapter Six: Helvetica Gets a New Wardrobe
She slices! She dices! She also makes kindling of vaguely anthropomorphic trees!
Not too far into the mission, Helvetica quickly found herself wading through cords of firewood as every tree-like creature in the area came for her blood. Between the snapping of boughs, limbs, twigs—and the shocked and startled expressions on the treant’s faces as she cleaved them in twain—she let all of her frustration out on the woody nuisances.
Of course, she had also carefully made certain no other players were camping them before she waded into the fray. She really didn’t want to deal with arrows-from-nowhere thudding into her kills.
Chapter Five: And the Toxic Burning Crystal Spill
“So, you just ran into it and this broke off?” It was Yasmine Teli’Larien speaking. She did so in a hushed, considering tone. Her eyes never left the shard of Burning Crystal that floated nearby and glowered with barely restrained menace, time-sharing between everyone in the group as equally as it could.
Helvetica’s return had assembled a small convention.
In the gathering were Kariel, the Rogue trainer; Sallina, the Hunter trainer; Arena, the Mage trainer; Jestenis Sunstriker—didn’t say what he trained, but from his gigantic sword and disapproving expression she figured that he was her mentor-to-be—and even Shara Sunwing, who sold stuff. Attracted by the commotion, like moths to a flame, two magical brooms also hovered nearby, followed closely by several cats. Always cats. The Sunspire was lousy with them and the amount of
…
Chapter Four: In Which Helvetica Receives a Bump on the Noggin
On closer inspection the Burning Crystal reminded Helvetica even more of a glass of Mt. Dew that someone happened to be blowing bubbles into. All it needed was a crazy straw and it would be complete. Rough, white flagstones paved a circular area around the crystal and supported clusters of frilly benches and strange, hovering shelves filled with random books. Here and there a pot bobbed in the air, spilling over with ferns and flowers of various colors. All the while she stood and examined the area the crimson eyes of the crystal watched her with a plotting, voyeuristic glower.
Upon her arrival at the kill zone, blade in hand, Helvetica girded herself and made a few practice swings with her bastard sword. These warm-ups would have had more meaning, however, if she had anything
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