World of Warcraft®

The guild <Valhöll> is still open for new members.

We are RP focused, but remain open and friendly to all merely seeking for a place to 'be'.
RP is light to medium and at the player's discretion.

About Valholl RP:
IC-ly our home base is in Ironforge.
We occupy a spacious Headquarters in the Hall of Explorers, north end.
I strongly encourage a wealth of dwarf, gnome, and human characters, men and women of all classes, talents, and professions to fill out our roster.
That said; our doors remain open to all races of the Alliance without prejudice. Alts a plenty are also welcome.

Short IC History:
The order of Valholl is an ancient one but never widely known. That's just the way we like it. Anonymity.

Valhöll is never any -one- thing. We are anything Azeroth needs us to be. We are diverse.
We're not 'ninjas', though some of us are while a few pretend.
... not assassins, though some of us are or have been.
... not mercenaries, yet some of us have to make a living.
We are not warriors or soldiers for any particular cause but that of our own choosing.
We are neither good nor evil, though some carry a heroes praise while others bear lengthy criminal records.

In the end, we just simply Are.

[Edit] Originally a shameless bump post, now has been reclaimed as a personal list of story threads in an effort to keep track of them all :)

[Stories and Status]
>Spectral Wanderings
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/10973337407
>Operation Mana Wyrm (complete)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11224202460
>Grimoire of Raven Black (complete)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11674227517
>>>Blood Raven (complete)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12673197464
>The Adventures of Sir Grrgul'grrgl (Active)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12032393375
>Birth of a Gorgon (complete:open for comments)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12471427450
>The Coming Darkness (complete)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11307960875
>>>Respect, Tenacity, ...Power... (Active)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12646944743
>Shadow Priest Lore [Discussion] (Open)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11580768209
> <Karazhan> (Active/Open)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12504780519
>Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences [OpenRP] (Open)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/11308200765
>One. Character of a Villainous Orc'ess
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12674388927
>>>... and smile its Black Tooth Grin. (Story introduction of One and Vallalor)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/12675159105
>Bridge Over Thondroril (complete)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/13594920078
>Little Gnome in the Woods (complete)
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/13437403611
>The Heist -RP- IC ((OOC))
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/13272427871
>Visions of Raven
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/13681548391?page=1#3

------------------------

The stout dwarf pushed open the heavy door. He stepped out of the Ironforge Military Quarter and into the Hall of Valholl, headquarters of the Valholl Mekgineer Chopper Club.

He pushed the door closed with his shoulder and sighed at the hollow thud that echoed throughout. It wasn't so much a "hall" as it was a repurposed home. A large home to be sure, but not the grand hall the grayed dwarf had envisioned.

He moved through the empty upper chamber dragging a large sack behind in one hand and a bundle beneath the other, and entered a large room with a long lonely table standing in the middle with chair encircling. He sat at one end dropping the large sack to one side and letting drop the bundle upon the table.

Unwrapping the bundle let loose a flow of papers, letters, and assorted documents. From the mess he sorted separate piles. Among these he read through various club applications. He glanced over the few pages of signatures he had received just days before. "The fruits of my labors." He muttered into the silence. Dissatisfied.

"Plenty of good people to fill out the club means plenty of dues to collect. Only a few among them are true riders and of those only a handful..." The dwarf sat back in his chair rubbing a hand over his bald head. He pulled and twisted on the long strands of his full gray beard, thinking.

"The Stormwind chapter is nearly established," His deep, graveled, old voice reverberating softly within the room. The emptiness lent a certain ancient quality to his tone. "... waiting only on proper municipal paperwork and payment to clear on the chapter house. I suppose I should be looking to refill this chapter house. It's been standing empty far too long."

Thick powerful hands gripped his head between them and with practiced precision twisted the cranium one way then jerked it the other, each time letting loose a series of loud crackles and pops. The dwarf slowly exhaled his relief. Then tension returned, concern crinkled his chiseled features. He stood and leaned his weight forward on his hands.

"There has to be one among you lot." He growled.

"There must be one..."

The grizzled old dwarf sat in his chair at one end of the large table alone. The two large doors of the chamber were open. Noise from the activity of new pledges finding their places echoed throughout the halls. Sounds of chatter, laughter, footsteps filtered into the chamber as the old dwarf president sat at his seat sifting through assorted paperwork.

It is never ending. He thought, both about the noise of progress and the constant inflow of new applications, letters, recommendations, requests, annual inspections, new rosters recently adjusted, payment of dues, so on and so forth. Then there was the other pile.

Half as thick as the typical stacks, the core of this bundle came wrapped together in twine and sealed with a thick medallion of red wax. There was never a return address. No one ever saw where the bundle came from, just that at the beginning of every week it was there on his desk.

Papers filtered their way in and out of that small pile throughout the week, so its thickness seldom changed. Then there was the matter of the grizzled old dwarf. He watched the pile like a hawk, never straying too far from it, and if he left the bundle was wrapped and stored either on his person or in a small but heavy vault set in flush with the rock wall behind his seat.

A very secure vault only he knew how to access.

This day was as any other day. He sat motionless, eyes affixed on a document pulled from that mysterious pile.

A gnome dressed in casual attire wearing a black leather vest steps into the chamber timidly. On the back of the vest is the patch for the MCC. Below it is another patch of the word "Pledge". The gnome stood motionless, his hands gripping a bound bundle of papers with both hands, trembling.

"Speak." A powerful voice demanded. The gnome glanced around the room and behind himself a moment before realizing that the voice came from the old dwarf sitting at the table, and that he was being spoken too.

"Ah, yes, yes. P-president... uh... I, hmm, I have the mail sir."

He spoke without so much as a glance, turning the page in the document. "Bring it here." He commanded. The gnome hopped and suddenly felt embarrassed as he scrambled to the dwarf's side.

"Put it up here with the rest." He motioned to the pile of papers on the table. "And pledge..." The gnome paused as he set the bundle down on the table. The old dwarf looked up from the document. The gnome thought his gaze was ageless, peering into his very soul.

"Just call me Odin. That is my name. Not sir. I am not your father, and try to stay away from using my title. 'President' just sounds too pretentious to me." His gaze turned back to the document in hand.

The gnome bowed his head as he backed out of the room. "Yes sir... I - I mean Preside-ah I mean... Odin." Nearing the door the gnome turned on his heels and practically bounded out of the chamber.

Inwardly Odin smirked. He ever so slightly shook his head.

A sweetly soft voice came barely above a whisper and slightly muffled from behind him near the corner of the chamber.

"Still instilling fear in the hearts of lesser mortals I see."

"Despite my best efforts." Thick fingers turned the page of the document. "You've been standing there a time."

The soft voice betrayed amusement. "Merely observing an old friend hard at work. The gnome didn't appear to notice me and I didn't have the heart to startle him, especially in his nervous state."

"You always did have a soft spot for the wee gnomes. Tell me lass, what could be so urgent to warrant a visit after so long an absence?" His gaze shifted along the page.

"It's all in that bundle the wee one just delivered. Two reports. On top."

Thick hands put the document aside, pulled the bundle near and untied the knotted cord. Pulling the two document off the top he peered at their titles. "The Twisting Nether: A General Study. Including thesis developed from a study within on the Nether's affects on Time Dilation, Portal formation and suspension across a distance, and Arcane Resonance pertaining to the Fluctuation and Amplification of Energies."

Odin sighed. "Another one of your 'light readings' I see."

"I knew you would find it of interest."

He held up the other document. "No title. Now these I always enjoy."

"No doubt."

The old dwarf skimmed through each page with a well practiced cadence, each page-turn nearly a precise increment of seconds from the next. When he finished Odin sat back in his chair and began smoothing down the long whiskers of his mustache and beard.

"Troubling." His voice was graveled. "This will likely require action."

The soft voice spoke from behind. "A device such as this existing. As fascinating as it is, this device can not be rebuilt."

"And if it already has," The old one sounded more grave. "It can not remain so." He opened the report again and leafed through the pages. "Spread word. A gathering is called."

The soft voice turned flat with a very faint note of an old bitterness. "I will summon him."

The old dwarf grunted his acknowledgement. He lifted the report and turned his head very slightly to the voice behind him. "What of this gnome you mentioned. Is he really everything you say?"

The sweetness returned to the soft voice. "Indeed. A valued asset that if cultivated properly..."

The grayed dwarf nodded his understanding. He dropped the two reports down atop that mysteriously special little pile. He bundled it in twine and stood with it gripped in both hands. He turned to find the corner where the voice had been only to now find it vacant. Not surprising. Seldom was he ever.

He approached the wall, pulled a strangely formed key from beneath his beard, worn around his neck, and inserted it into a nearly perfectly hidden crevasse between the stone block.

A stone shifted and opened.

The old one slipped the pile of papers into the vault, removed the key and pushed the door shut.

The wall returned to its natural state, appearing undisturbed.

He exited the chamber.

The frigid winds of Khaz Modan blew heavy today throughout Dun Morogh.

It pulled loose snow fall from the peak of the mountains, lightly dusting the already snow laden branches of the surrounding pine forest. On the look out, just outside the Gates of Ironforge, the old grizzled dwarf leaned against his chopper.

He remembered the days long past when the frigid winds would chill him nearly to the bone. He would curse and swear as he pulled on a thick cap to shield his baldness from the assault. But that was so very long ago. Nowadays the chill felt more of a comfort than an inconvenience. In many ways it reminded him of who he was.

He longed for it even now, the sensation of the chill breeze filling his beard, pressing against his chest. The ice crystals that would form along his beard and mustache as he rode his chopper through the high mountain passes.

That was the image that he had in mind when he formed this little club. Club membership in Ironforge was stable enough. Their numbers were low but just enough to keep the doors open. The Stormwind Chapter however was another matter.

Seems there was a lot of interest in the beginning, but so few who could follow through. The gray old dwarf exhaled, a cloud of warm breath hanging in the air. It didn't matter much, especially since he had turned the running of club affairs over to more fitting hands. Being the president of anything never really suited him. Too many politics, wheeling and dealing, glad handing. It was a mask he never wore well, preferring a more heavy handed and direct approach to issues.

It was just as well, the old one sighed. He had other pressing matters to tend.

By now his favorite gnome-mechanic, Nixim, should have arrived home. He would pay him a visit. His chopper needed a tune up. He needed to pay the rest of the debt he owed for past service. In gold of course. The grizzled old dwarf also needed to follow up on how their little adventure turned out, and for that he hoped that Tink would be around.

The barreled old dwarf pulled a flask of Alterac Brandy from his saddle bag. On the seat next to him sat a small Alterac pup. A fitting companion for these high altitudes. Intelligent and loyal. A very hearty breed well suited to these snowy peaks.

The pup sat calmly and oddly well behaved, watching as he took a swig of brandy. He tucked the flask back into the saddle bag and secured it, then activated the side car. As soon as the extra seating popped open the clumsy pup tumbled in, falling head over rear and landing on its head. As testament to the breed's resilience, the pup popped its head over the side and panted excitedly, as if it meant to do that.

The grizzled old dwarf grinned a loud chuckle. A rare occurrence.

Mounting the bike he pulled a pair of wind goggles over the pups' eyes before pulling his own on. He paused for a moment and looked at the pup. The pup looked back.

"Brandywine. That will be your name."

The pup barked, its tongue flopping out one side of its mouth. The old dwarf howled a laugh as the chopper roared to life.

Tires squealed.

Whirls of snow pulled up from the roads and cast into his wake as he flew down the hill from the Gates of Ironforge.

He pulled a sharp left, skidding around the corner, and shot off toward Thelsamar.

The old grizzled dwarf pulled his chopper up beside a tree.

The mountain pass north of Thelsamar, the Pass of Algaz, opened up to a small grove of trees. The grizzled dwarf cut the engine.

It's a nice place. Shady. Shielded from most of the high mountain winds. Low enough that it didn't see much snowfall but high enough to stay clear of the murky stench of the Wetlands below.

The old one dismounted and stepped near the ledge, taking in a deep breath.

Nice view. He turned back and surveyed the area.

So this is where the we gnome was taken. He glanced around the clearing and found the most likely hiding spot.

The old gnome said it was an Orc. He spat. A damned clever one. I'll give him that.

He began mentally reconstructing a likely scenario of that event. A recreation that took him up and down the road, following a dance dictated by a tune of his own creation. When he was satisfied he looked down at the ground. The resting spot of the gnome's dear old metallic friend. It was a sad sight to behold.

Not much left. Someone had been by and collected the bigger parts. He would ask around and see what he could turn up, but he didn't hold out any hope of finding SIMS' remains.

A pity.

Dusting dirt from his hands he lumbered back to his chopper and pulled free a flask. From the side car the Alterac Puppy's head popped up and barked.

"Oh alright." The grayed dwarf circled around and pulled the dog from the car by the scruff of the neck.

The two tarried for a time. He enjoyed his brandy in the failing light of day. The puppy chased crickets and butterflies.

I do think I enjoy this particular spot.

It took some time, and no small amount of doing, but after several days the old dwarf was finally able to collect all of those pieces.

The burly dwarf strutted into Nixim's workshop in Thelsamar, Loch Modan. He paused only a moment to consider the sign hanging out front.

[The Gnomerian]

Nixim was hard at work laying on his back beneath a piece of forging equipment for a local smithy. Hearing his doors fly open he peeked out from beneath the contraption. "Welcome to my shop. Feel free to..."

"Oh..." He stopped mid greeting. "Its you." His tone rather bland and disagreeable. The old dwarf simply nodded back to the gnome who promptly went back to his work.

"What'dya need this time?"

The grizzled dwarf dropped a sack of jingling metallic parts down on one of his workbenches. "The bag of parts I was tellin yeh about."

"Right... the uhm... the mechanical squirrel." His tools clanked as he worked.

"Are you sure you want me to look at it? Seem like such a simple job, any tinker worth their salt could put it back together in no t..."

"This one's special." The old one interrupted. "Its not yer run of the mill mechanical pets. Take a closer look when you can and you'll understand what I mean."

A tool slipped and clanked loudly, then clinked as it hit the floor. The gnome underneath let loose a torrent of curse words and creative phrasing. It made the old dwarf grin. Nixim pushed himself out from under the contraption, rubbing his hand and cursing some more. He noticed the look on the old dwarfs' face.

"You uh... you going to stick around for a bit? I have a fresh cask of mead that needs to be tapped."

The grizzled old dwarf shook his head but grinned politely. A far off look heavy in his eyes. "No, but thank yeh Nix."

"Feeling the pull again?"

The old dwarf nodded his somber reply.

"Aye. Been thinkin is about time for me ta disappear again. Don my mountaineer's uniform once more and take ta the snowy peaks o'tha Modan."

The gnome stood, wiping his hands on an oily rag. "How long this time do you think?"

The grizzled old dwarf shook his head, looking more haggard than usual. "Not be know'n." He caught a rather sad look in the gnomes eyes. "Never you fret Nixim, my boy. I'll be in contact from time to time, and you'll still be seein my associates."

The gnome looked a little more relieved. Just as Nixim gestured as if he was going to profess how much his friendship meant to him, how grateful he was for the help he had given, for everything... The old dwarf shifted in his spot and interrupted the notion.

"Don't ya start cloud'in up on me yet laddy. I ain't goin to meh doom. Just spend a while in the mountains. Alone."

Nixim nodded. The old dwarf held out a hand and the gnome took it. The pair shook like old close friends, gripping the other's hand tight and moving close for a moment with a tender but hard slap on the back. They parted and the old dwarf sauntered out the door with nothing more than an empty looking pack slung over a shoulder and dressed in beggars clothing.

After a moment of reminiscence, the gnome cocked his head far to one side. His neck relinquished a horrific series of pops and cracks. Nixim sighed relief. He turned to the sack the old one had left on his workbench. Inside was a simple card with four letters written on it.

S.I.M.S.

He poured the sack full of parts out on his workbench and peered over them. "Alright then SIMS." He spoke aloud to an empty workshop.

"What makes you so special?"

The spry little gnome skipped merrily down the main road of Thelsamar.

She was feeling quite proud of herself. Freshly returned from Ironforge where she had place a particular 'want ad' on the call board that was sure to gain some attention, she giggled again at the thought of the mischief it could incite, Tink was on her way to visit an old friend.

Her old tinker mentor and professor, Nixim, had opened his own workshop in the quaint dwarven town some years ago. Business was steadily increasing in light of recent catastrophes within the alliance and world wide calamities. Nixim was doing fairly well for himself as a shop owner.

Rounding the end of the lane, turning the corner, the familiar edifice came into view along with a rather new edition. Nixim finally named his garage.

The Gnomerian.

The cheery young gnome smirked and gave a nod to the sign as she entered.

Nixim sat atop his high stool cleaning his vast array of custom built tools. Work was finished early today and he looked forward to nothing more than a quiet afternoon of sitting alone in his quiet workshop with nothing more than his thoughts while he meticulously cleaned his too...

The door slammed open with a bang. "OH mister NIIIIIXIIIIIIIIM!" the shrill high pitched voice called out. It pierced his ears, making him flinch and drop the tool he as cleaning. It fell to the floor with a clang that drew the young gnome's attention.

"OH! There you are Mister Nixim!"

The gnome hung his head with a frustrated sigh. So much for a quiet afternoon. He gave a little wave across the empty workshop. "Tink. What brings you by so unexpectedly." The tinker shot her a glare as he dropped down from his stool to retrieve the tool he had dropped. The young gnome smiled brightly flipping the wide brim of her purple pointy hat.

"Like the hat? Its new." She said with a twinkle in her eye. Nixim glared at her.

"You came all the way over here to show off your new hat?" He snatched up his tool and heaved a sigh.

"You need a better social life." He turned back to his work benched but paused glancing back. "No, you need a job."

"Oh! A job! You are quite right Mr. Nixim. Since my glorious graduation from the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences, top of my class with honors," Tink coughed mockingly to cover the last bit. "I have been needing a vocation. A career. Something I can dedicate my life to, or perhaps someone I can live for?" Her rather haughty tone and bold insinuation wasn't lost on the tinker. Nevertheless he merely cast a glare her direction and grunted.

"You'll have to do better than that..."He gestured up and down at the gnome with his tool. "... that rabble if you're looking to call my attention." Nixim climbed back up onto his high stool. Tink frowned down at herself.

"What's the matter with my attire? Why its all the rage in Black Mageweave fashion this year. It came highly acclaimed by the Mistress of All Things Fabulous herself!"

Nixim set his tool back on his workbench and picked up another. He began cleaning it carefully with a fresh rag. "Is that right..." He said, sticking his tongue out one side of his mouth as he worked. "... and, uh, just who IS this Mistress of ... whatever and what-have-you?"

"Khromie Overspark."

Nixim cringed at the name, the tool slipping from his hand and again falling to the floor with a clang. "Oh no." The tinker wiped his face with his rag.

"Oh! So you've heard of her?" Tink smiled up at the tinker. Nixim slipped down off his high stool and snatched up his tool again. He waggled it at the young gnome as he spoke.

"You need to get your head out of the clouds."

Nixim launched into another one of his grand lectures.

There was a day when Tink thought it rather endearing how the Master Tinker could go on and on about something that he clearly felt passionate about, but right now it was more annoying than anything. She planted her hands on her hips and pretended to listen as Nixim droned on and on about standards, dedication, focus, blah blah blah.

His voice droned into the background noise of her mind, even though she knew what he was saying was a criticism of her. Everything Nixim had to say was a criticism of something.

Anyone else might be offended, but she understood. It was simply his nature. One of several qualities that made him a Master Tinker. He needed a critical mind, one that could break things down to their simplest elements and then rebuild it all in a flash, denoting where the potential problems might be and how to make fix them. That's all he was doing now, breaking her apart mentally so he could "tweek" his former pupil.

As Nixim rambled on about responsibilities and accountability, Tink's mind wandered and she began glancing around the workshop.

In truth, if anything at all bothered her it was how he still saw her as one of his students. She was older now and much more advanced, not to mention her passion had shifted from tinkering machine, gadgets and gizmos to tinkering arcane and elemental forces.

Her lip twisted as she thought. What right does he have anyway? Critiquing her as if she were one of his projects. She began to be annoyed. Spying something on one of his workbenches she abruptly cut him off, as was her way when she'd had enough of him.

"Why do you have a Mechanical Squirrel on your workbench?"

Jarred out of his train of thought, Nixim paused and looked over at the contraption. "Oh... uh... well..." Nixim sighed, gathering his thoughts. Tink grinned, knowing that she had completely derailed him. "That old dwarf dropped it by. Said it was a rather important piece of equipment and asked me for a favor."

"Important?" Tink's brow twisted. Her tone condescending. "It's just a robotic pet!"

Nixim shook his head. "Not this one. This one is named SIMS and it is a rather special creation. I've only seen a few like it in my lifetime, and this one is exceptionally unique."

Tink bounced over to the contraption and began to examine. "Why so? Looks fairly straight forward on the outside."

"Ah, but its what is on the inside that matters most." Nixim considered Tink a long moment as she stood by the workbench. "You know, if you'd like, you could deliver it back to its maker."

"A job? So soon? Why Mr. Nixim, I was just settling into my new freelance lifestyle." She fluttered her cloak and twirled in a circle on her toes, grinning. Nixim wasn't amused. Tink sighed.

"Oh alright. We'll discuss my wages when I return." Tink carefully lifted the mechanical squirrel and placed him in a framed backpack, specially built to keep delicate creations from getting smashed, broken or bent.

"Thank you..." Nixim nodded, turning back to his work cleaning his tools. Tink huffed casting a delayed spell as she exited.

Moments later, when Tink was well down the road, a frigid wind blew across Nixim's workbench sending his carefully arranged tools flying off the bench. Nixim too was swept off his stool. He sat amidst the mess, face turning red, cursing the day he'd ever met her.

The old dwarf stood motionless in the doorway.

The rooms within were darkened where once they were lit. Silent where once they were lively. He had made all the preparations needed for his pilgrimage into the mountains of Modan. It was a solitude he has long sought after. Too much time spent in "civilization" tends to cloud the mind and corrupt the judgement. Surviving the harsh cold and unforgiving wilds of the mountains would serve well to clear his mind and help him reconnect with that which was most important.

Softly padded leather soles stepped backward out of the lifeless halls. With a mere glance the old dwarf bid farewell to this home of many years and its memories. It would remain closed until a time he deemed appropriate. He dropped the key to the latch in an envelope. He would seal it later at the AAMS offices before sending it out its new keeper. He slid the envelope into his duffle and hefted the pack up on a shoulder, long double-headed axe in the other, and was on his way.

His thoughts wandered as he weaved his way through the often crowded streets of Ironforge. He dropped by the AAMS office, sealed the letter and paid for its delivery. As he made his way through the wide gates of the great dwarven city his mind turned to the Hinterlands, wondering what successes Jove was having in his search among the trolls.

The old'en grinned to himself. Jove's love for all things troll was infamous within their small circle, as was his affinity for all things curvy and voluptuous. Especially where they were naturally blonde. Yet of the many he'd enjoyed over the years, none could ever hold a candle to a certain mage.

The old dwarf would have to check in on her progress as well. She too was in the Highlands. He'd perhaps beseech her to do the neighborly thing and check in on the man since she was so near his camp in the foothills.

The old one allowed himself a rare chuckle of amusement. The two hadn't so much as spoken to each other in ages. He wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall for this reunion. It might promise to be historic.

High within the Khaz mountains near where they boarder with the Reds, within a small glen of old pine sat an old dwarf, his back flat against the trunk of a very thick tree filled with old green needles.

Winter was waning. Spring would be right around the bend. At this altitude and temperature the snow would likely keep falling, but it would change its consistency a little and become less frequent.

The pine too were sure to start shedding their needles to make way for new growth. Bears, rabbits, deer, wolves, and all other manner of wild would become more active as well.

This place, this glen. This was his center. This old tree had been his silent ally for so very long. Sitting beneath its boughs, back against the trunk, it was easy for him to fall into a deep meditative state. The howl of the chill winds carrying with it the fresh scent of each new day and night relaxed him like nothing ever could.

Knowing the things he did, this profound connection he felt with the earth was completely understandable, but even so he enjoyed letting go of the logic and just allowing himself to drift away with the majesty of it all. That is until the premonitions begin.

Slowly visions of possible futures randomly work their way onto the blank canvas of his mindscape. Rarely did they amount to anything more than incoherent visions and errant emotions. In a way the old dwarf could gather everything together after his time was complete and gauge the condition of the world. He could make a few fairly educated guesses on where he and the Valholl would be needed most. Hardly definitive, but this method has server him and his cohorts well thus far.

Sometimes however, on the most rarest occasion, a series of visions will connect and a story will unfold. The tale spun is hardly set in concrete, but it can sometimes lead him to those few precious souls in need.

And so began a particular series of visions. All of them dark. Filled with fear, hatred and self doubt, but most of all despair. It was unlike anything related to any Sha of Pandaria in that it did not originate from these, though the darkness and negative emotions were very much the same.

The outcome shifted time and time again, and so it became unclear as to how it might turn out. The vision centered around one individual, though their identity was unclear. It was possible that the visions treated more than one individual, and that they were so erratic made it seem that one or more of them were particularly powerful with the Gifts they have been given.

After the passage of a few weeks the visions became unsettling. Something had to be done. He needed someone to investigate, someone familiar with this process. His thoughts turned toward Spectral and Jove.

He needed to contact her immediately.

The old dwarf opened his eyes and stood. Layers of fallen snow shifted and fell from him. It had been days since he had moved from that singular spot. The mail and leather of his Mountaineer Uniform had frozen along with his ample beard. It took him a short while to work out all the kinks as well as warm his joints up again. He needed to get into running condition. His only means of communicating with the mage was left in his city pack, and that was left in a secure stash location more than a few miles from where he was.

He glanced up into the sky and saw that the sun had just started to dip behind the distant mountain of Khaz. The old dwarf drew in long deep breath and held it for several seconds. This was going to be a long cold night run.

The old dwarf made is way back to his stash in good time.

The old hollowed out tree trunk was closer to the mountain than he had been, yet still deep enough into the wilderness that it was doubtful anyone would ever stumble across it.

When the old dwarf retreated into the wilderness, he went deep. Often going without seeing another dwarf, gnome or human for months at a time. Jove and Ceidy liked to call it 'Going Wild'.

The old dwarf just liked the solitude. The silence.

He found it easily enough in the darkness of the night and after sifting through his supplies for a moment he cursed to himself. The medallion wasn't there. Walking backward in his mind he sighed, remembering that it was in a supply belt he stashed in one of Valhöll's many store houses.

Several of these store houses, sometimes called safe houses, dotted the landscape of the entire Eastern Kingdoms. They were also scattered throughout Kalimdor, though in lesser numbers. They were each meticulously established through the lands of Azeroth, hidden where capable, maintained where necessary, and each protected or guarded to different extents, all so that those of the secret fellowship would always have a place to rest, a place of shelter, a place to hide if needed, and a place to resupply on basic goods during lengthy travels.

The particular store house he needed to reach was nearer the Great Mountain than he would like, but he had little choice. Ceidy needed to know. She needed to pass on the information to Jove and then set out. Her personal quest for self re-discovery would have to wait longer.

The old dwarf rearranged the items in his stash and secured it. There was no need to bring any of it with him. He would be returning to his meditation tree soon enough.

Turning in the darkness he hopped into a measured pace with a long stride, for an old dwarf. In short order the snow laden pine of Dun Morogh swished past him in a blur as he cut a path through established deer trails in the snow to make good time.

Regardless of the distance he had to travel, and that he would be trying to skirt settlements to remain unnoticed, the old dwarf would reach the store house just after sunrise, relay the message, rest until sun down and then return.

Few would ever note him coming or going. Few would ever know he had been there. Nothing to it at all.

Down the main street of Thelsamar near the loch a sign hung on an iron pole. It lightly swung in the breeze just above the entryway of a typical dwarven structure. Next to the entry sat a much wider segmented roll-up door, notably something that would be found in a gnomish structure.

The name on the sign: Gnomerian.

It was the work place, the garage, the tinker station of one Nixim Hinris Dibik Darkwrench III. The small name placard beside the door read N.H. Dibik. His business associates and the local townsfolk knew him as either Nixim or Tinker. Only one called him Nixy.

A small gnomette with a wide brim tall pointy hat shoved open the door with her foot. Lugging a crate with both hands, a gust of fine spring air following her inside.

"Heya Nixy!"

Various papers pinned to the cork wall along side schematics rustled in the breeze. A few loose papers flittered, threatening to lift off and fly around the room until the brown haired balding gnome dropped a heavy wrench down atop the pile. He cringed at hearing her voice. Without explanation it had always irritated him... especially how she called him Nixy.

"Tink." Nixim nodded over his shoulder. Turning back to his work bench the highly customized GnomeTech goggles he wore whirred as they readjusted the pair of lenses. He leaned in closer bringing two small tools together to produce a bright series of flashes that washed the room with white light.

"Tell me you brought the items I requested." His voice even, tone flat.

Tink shielded her eyes until the flashing stopped. She nodded her head proudly. "I sure did Nixy Dixy!"

The gnome cringed again. He hated that name even more. Its as if she goes out of her way to annoy him. He gestured to one side. "Set them on that workbench over there."

The bright flashes returned. Tink shielded her eyes with one hand while shoving the crate across the floor toward the indicated workbench. Nixim stopped his work. His head tilted backward as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"Pick. Up. The Crate. Please. There are some delicate items inside."

Tink thought for a moment. An idea promptly came to her. "Oh, I'm silly. I should have thought of this before!"

She pulled a short collapsable wand from her waistband and pressed a button. The wand expanded three times its length. She waved it at the crate while muttering to herself. The crate disappeared from the floor and fell a few inches atop the indicated workbench. The gnomette proudly collapsed her wand and stowed it.

"There! That was much easier. I should remember that for next time."

Nixim cringed at hearing the thud. He fought every urge he had to rip off his goggles and explode on Tink, but self-control got the better of him. His goggles were simply to delicate and expensive to be tearing off his head and his arcanite welder too dangerous to just be dropping willy-nilly.

Removing his equipment and carefully replacing each item atop his main workbench, Nixim swiveled in his seat and pushed off to the floor.

"Now, lets take a look at what you -haven't- managed to destroy."

Shifting items carefully around the crate, the master tinker ticked off a mental check list. He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Tink looked on, concerned.

"Did I miss something Mr. Dibik?"

Nixim did his best to curb the frustrated anger in his tone. "No Froststeel tubing. No sonic booster. Not even an overcharged capacitor."

The pointy hatted gnomette blinked. "Well, you're an engineer. Don't you make those sorts of things?"

"That's not the point." He huffed. "I can make the capacitors and sonic booster, but not having too saves time and effort when all I'd have to do is calibrate the item to make it fit... " Nixim dropped the items in his hands back into the crate and turned sharply to Tink.

"Where are my crystallized elements? I distinctly remember asking for those elements. I even wrote them down in capital common letters alphabetically."

Tink blinked at Nixim and shrugged. The master tinker's face turned red. Counting backward from ten in his mind, in gnomish, he glanced around his workshop.

Having such a keen flexible mind such her's in his employ can at times be a wonderful thing, made all the more advantageous by the fact that she is such a capable and talented mage, novice though she may be. However, her apparent illiteracy and utter incapability to focus on one simple assignment is more often than not a serious drawback.

Nixim chose his words carefully. "Tink."

He breathed. "Watch the shop. I'll go get the items I require." Sometimes, it was just easier to do it himself.

"Are you sure Nixy? I can teleport up and back faster than..."

"I know!" He raised his hand cutting her off then swiped up the keys.

"I'm taking the X-53. Don't touch anything if you can help it, just makes sure the place doesn't burn down while I'm gone." His satire thick as he left.

The door slammed behind.

Chill evening wind ruffled his brown hair, filling his mouth as he grinned. His cheeks billowing in the wind like a squirrel hiding his nuts.

Nixim loved screaming through the air astride his X-53 rocket. No matter how down he felt or how frustrated the day had been, it all melted away the moment he fired up the main booster and was thrusted into the air. The initial and sudden burst of the rocket into the air always takes him by surprise. He had learned to hold on tight as the rocket occasionally threatens to sharply twist in the air.

In half the time it would take him on the roads, even astride his chopper, Nixim was cresting Khaz Modan. Half the distance to Ironforge. From there, if he couldn't find what he needed, he could always skip over to New Tinkertown.

Making his approach to the main gates of the expansive dwarven city within the enormous mountain, the master tinker adjusted the thrust systems accordingly. His custom-modified flight goggles feeding him a constant stream of data from an internal heads up display. Nixim glided into the city with ease.