World of Warcraft®

The Death of Aleshton Fairweather
-or-
The Sailor
Act 1 - Desperation


Aleshton rode at a break-neck speed, as quickly as his horse would run. His mount was a good horse, but, as Aleshton realized when he looked over his shoulder, it suffered from one disadvantage. It was not dead, and so, was getting tired. A party of Nerubians had been chasing him for near on 15 miles, ever since he had passed Azjol Nerub, and his horse was giving out. The sound of Stormy's hoofs beating against the permafrost filled Aleshton's mind as they raced across the cold ground. He looked ahead and saw nothing to offer him relief, it seemed that the Dragon-blight were to be his place to end. The nerubians were gaining ground, and Aleshton was lost in a wasteland.

His horse was hit first, and tumbled forward with a cry that only a horse in pain could produce. Aleshton rolled to his feet and broke into a sprint, dodging to and fro over the frozen ground, attempting to avoid whatever had brought down Stormy. Looking ahead, he spied a crevice in the ground, which he immediately aimed for, looking for any bit of cover he could find. Seconds from the refuge, he felt a pressure on his back and fell forward, seeing black.

((Nice, I look forward to more of this.))

Act-2 Courage
"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not the absence of fear."


"Fire and reload!" The cry boomed out across the weather deck of a small sloop of war, two shots rang out, and the guns leaped back in recoil. Out across a short span of sea loomed an Orcish Dreadnaught. Aleshton Fairweather, Lieutenant Commander, Kul Tiras Navy, paced across what served as the quarterdeck on his small fighting ship. He eyed his men, fear etched into thier faces as they worked to reload the two port side guns. "Loose all sheets! Hard a'port!"

Aleshton was in his element, he pulled out a brass looking glass and trained it on the Horde craft. As the bow of the sloop came about, making ready to cut behind the dreadnaught, it let loose its own withering broadside. Splinters raked through the crew, a few shots made cantact with med, throwing them over the sides in crumpled heaps, or simply removing limbs in the blink of an eye. The for top mast went crashing down into the sea, and a block and tackel set came swinging down onto Aleshton, knocking him to the deck. He woke, prone on his back, he could hear the orcish laughter as water began lapping over the sides, wetting his back. He looked up from the cold, wet deck... no... the cold, wet snow of Northrend. A nerubian looked down at him as blood spread beneath him, staining the otherwise pristine snow a horrible crimson. Aleshton closed his eyes again. The evil laughter of the nerubians now replacing the cries and crows of the orcs.

Act-3 Regret
"A man once said, I do not regret what I have done, only what I have not done. I wish I were that man."


A light frigate rocked silently in the deep fog off South Shore. Aleshton paced the deck, checking the guns, and gazing into the tops. He wore a silk bandage about his head, the left side stained a particular shade of red. Many of his crew sported similar badges. They all gazed out over the gaurdrails, out, into the fog.

A bell rang out, almost impossibly loud in the stillness on the sea. The crew flinched nearly in unison at the sudden noise, and slowly the form of a ship grew. From a slight outline to a clear prow. The vessle seemed human in design, but a sense of fear permeated the very air as it approached. It was as tangible as an emotion could be, though whether it came from the ship, or just from Fairweather's crew was unknowable.

With a silent hand motion, Aleshton signaled his crew into action, and they, without a single word ran out their guns. For minutes they watched the phantom draw nearer. Eyes glued to the misty form, ears straining.

Recently, reports had come to Aleshton's superiors, that the Horde had captured human craft in the south, and were using them to sneak more troops into Hillsbrad. He did not plan on letting any more through.

The bell rang again from the ghostly ship, out across the still ocean. This time followed by an inhuman, blood curdling scream.

With a quick drop of his hand the awaiting gun crews fired their charges, sending hot iron out across the watery span with a leap and a boom. "Reload and stand by!" Cried Aleshton. Just as he finished the order, the ship blew apart with a deafening explosion. Aleshton stared for a moment or two, "Set the main'sl and lower boats. Into the wreakage. Eyes for prisoners."

The frigate moved slowly throught the carnage, and the crew lent out over the gaurd rail, eyes searching the dark water. The smell of burning wood, pitch, tar, canvas, and flesh assualted thier noses as surely as the sight of what they had wrought burned into thier eyes. Just as quickly screams of fear and pain reached thier ears.

"For Lights sake! Help! I can-" They were human voices. Aleshton sat down on the deck, and closed his eyes, tears squeezed through, and ran down his cheeks. The screams soon ended, the sharks knew where to find an easy meal.

"Look, the food crys." observed on nerubian. The screams melted into what must pass for the laughter of the undead. Aleshton looked up. He was bound, chest to toe in what seemed spider silk, only much larger. He closed his eyes.

The nerubians began to drag him off, and Aleshton fell into nightmare once more.

Act-4 Redemption

Aleshton was being drug, he choked as a wave crashed into him. He looked up, mostly to get his head out of the water, partly to get his bearings. Ahead was his ship, and imbedded in its stern, a very large grappling iron, whose line he was a hold of. He traced the run of the line back with his eyes to a small, quick looking ship with blood red sails. This ship was putting down its small boats, filled with armed men.

Another wave crashed over his head, and with it, he came to his senses. He pulled his jack knife and began to saw and hack at the rope. It was slow going, waves worked against him, breaking against him, and throwing spray in his eyes, as if eager for him to let the line go and be swallowed by the sea.

Slowly and surely as the saying goes, the line began to part, until finally, it snapped in two. Aleshton, caught slightly off guard was left treading water when the line parted. As he worked to keep his head above the rolling breakers, he could only watch as his ship leaped ahead as its burden was suddenly shrugged off.

Though, just as quickly as his ship departed, the pirates closed. A rifle flashed from the lead boat, and with a wet smack, tore through Aleshton's left shoulder. He let out a scream of pain, and a cloud of red. As he floundered, they closed still. Until, soon enough, they came upon him, and found him floating face up, pale, all the color seemingly in the water about him.

"The sharks will have him soon enough." Commented one of the pirates, accompanied by a few guffaws, general nodding, and one, "Poor bastard." These words stirred Aleshton, and he began trying to paddle himself towards the wonderfully green jungle shore, which seemed almost within reach.

"Oh no you don't." The same pirate said in a matter of fact voice, grim smile on his lips. A cutlass glinted in the midday sun, and with a singing stroke, sliced Aleshton from the nape of his neck to his naval. He could only manage to let out a groan. He rolled over in the water, now face down. He did his best to hold his breath, they would leave, and he would be able to breath. He rolled back over, face up, and couldn't breath. He couldn't take in a breath. Aleshton Fairweather was suffocating.
He opened his eyes in fright.

Aleshton was encased in silk from his toes up to over his nose. With eyes wide in fear, he looked on as three nerubians advanced on him.

"The Nightmare is over."

Act-5 The Vision


Aleshton stood. "The nightmare is over." the voice said again. He swayed as if suddenly weary.

"What was seen may yet be."

Aleshton blinked a few times in the light and looked about. He was in the Cathedral. A warm and familiar presence drifted away from him, though, he could not see it go.

"It may yet be..."Aleshton mused to himself. "Though, it might not be at all." Aleshton turned and walked down the length of the Cathedral. As he left, he took a deep breath of the fresh, sun filled air. He chuckled as some children ran by. After a minutes enjoyment in the sun, he hefted his sea-bag over his shoulder and turned to head to the pier.

"I can still make the next ship to Valiance Keep, and it may not come to be at all... Light knows its worth it."

I enjoyed this very much. Of course, I'm reading O'Brian now, so it reminded me of that immediately.

*Exhales with a HUGE sigh of relief.* I enjoyed this, too, Lesh. Although ... now I think I'm worried. :)