had understood that with a single thought he could transform to his true self. With that taken from him, he often found himself frustrated with the frailty of his present shape.
And in his dream, that curse suddenly took hold, the weaker mortal flesh binding to his body, squeezing him into a smaller and smaller shape. His wings were crushed into his back and his tail severed. His long, toothy maw was shoved into his skull, replaced by the insignificant little nub of a nose he wore in the guise of a spellcaster. Korialstrasz became again Krasus, who plunged earthward—
And who woke up bathed in sweat.
Krasus half expected to discover that the party was under some attack, but the day was silent save for Malfurion’s rhythmic breathing. He rose and saw that Brox continued vigilant watch. The mage gazed at the sun, estimating the time. Brox had gone long past his appointed watch. It was nearly Krasus’s turn.
Leaving the druid to sleep, the slim, robed figure grabbed hold of the rock and quickly scurried up in the fashion of a lizard. As he reached the top, Brox leapt to his feet and, with reflexes worthy of the dragon, readied his ax.
“You,” the orc grunted, helping him up. Both sat atop the rock, watching while they talked. “Thought you asleep, Master Krasus.”
“As you should be, Brox. You need rest as much as either of us. ”
The green-skinned warrior shrugged. “ An orc warrior can sleep with eyes open and weapon ready. No need to wake the night elf. He must sleep more. Against the dragon, he’ll be more use than this old fighter. ”
Krasus eyed the orc. “ An old fighter worth twenty young ones. ”
The veteran warrior looked pleased with the compliment, but said, “ The day of glory is past for this one. There will be no more tales of Broxigar the Red Ax. ”
“I have lived longer than you, Brox; I know, therefore, of what I speak. There is much glory left in you, much heroic battle. New tales of Broxigar the Red Ax are still to come, even if I must tell them myself.”
The orc’s cheek’s darkened and he suddenly bowed his head low. “ Honored by your words I am, venerable one. ”
Like Malfurion, Brox had learned the truth concerning Krasus’s identity. To the dragon’s own surprise, the tusked warrior had already long known. As an orc who had learned some of the shamanistic traditions, Brox had sensed the incredible power and age of his companion and, watching Krasus deal with dragons, had come to the logical conclusion that so escaped most others. That Krasus and the red dragon Korialstrasz were one and the same had been beyond him, but even that the orc had accepted with but a mild furrowing of his brow.
“And speaking as a ‘venerable one’, ” Krasus returned. “ I will insist that you go and take your turn in slumber. I will watch for the rest of Malfurion’s time—however little left there is—and then my own. ”
“Would be better if you—”
Krasus stared into the orc’s eyes. “ I assure you, my stamina is far greater than yours. I need no more sleep. ”
Seeing that he would lose any further argument, Brox grunted and rose. But as he did, Krasus, glancing past the hulking warrior, stiffened.
“Doomguard…” he whispered.
Brox immediately dropped flat. They watched as three fiery-winged demons slowly headed toward the hills. The demons were armed with long, wicked blades. The Doomguard watched the vicinity with equal wariness, but clearly had not noticed the party so far.
“They’re heading toward where we must pass, ” Krasus realized.
“Should stop them now.”
The mage nodded agreement, but added, “ We need to know if there are more. We dare not take these three if it means giving warning to others in the area. Let me try to discover the truth, first. ”
Shutting his eyes, Krasus let his senses spread out toward the demons. Immediately he felt the darkness radiating from each, a darkness so repulsive that even the dragon was affected.
And in his dream, that curse suddenly took hold, the weaker mortal flesh binding to his body, squeezing him into a smaller and smaller shape. His wings were crushed into his back and his tail severed. His long, toothy maw was shoved into his skull, replaced by the insignificant little nub of a nose he wore in the guise of a spellcaster. Korialstrasz became again Krasus, who plunged earthward—
And who woke up bathed in sweat.
Krasus half expected to discover that the party was under some attack, but the day was silent save for Malfurion’s rhythmic breathing. He rose and saw that Brox continued vigilant watch. The mage gazed at the sun, estimating the time. Brox had gone long past his appointed watch. It was nearly Krasus’s turn.
Leaving the druid to sleep, the slim, robed figure grabbed hold of the rock and quickly scurried up in the fashion of a lizard. As he reached the top, Brox leapt to his feet and, with reflexes worthy of the dragon, readied his ax.
“You,” the orc grunted, helping him up. Both sat atop the rock, watching while they talked. “Thought you asleep, Master Krasus.”
“As you should be, Brox. You need rest as much as either of us. ”
The green-skinned warrior shrugged. “ An orc warrior can sleep with eyes open and weapon ready. No need to wake the night elf. He must sleep more. Against the dragon, he’ll be more use than this old fighter. ”
Krasus eyed the orc. “ An old fighter worth twenty young ones. ”
The veteran warrior looked pleased with the compliment, but said, “ The day of glory is past for this one. There will be no more tales of Broxigar the Red Ax. ”
“I have lived longer than you, Brox; I know, therefore, of what I speak. There is much glory left in you, much heroic battle. New tales of Broxigar the Red Ax are still to come, even if I must tell them myself.”
The orc’s cheek’s darkened and he suddenly bowed his head low. “ Honored by your words I am, venerable one. ”
Like Malfurion, Brox had learned the truth concerning Krasus’s identity. To the dragon’s own surprise, the tusked warrior had already long known. As an orc who had learned some of the shamanistic traditions, Brox had sensed the incredible power and age of his companion and, watching Krasus deal with dragons, had come to the logical conclusion that so escaped most others. That Krasus and the red dragon Korialstrasz were one and the same had been beyond him, but even that the orc had accepted with but a mild furrowing of his brow.
“And speaking as a ‘venerable one’, ” Krasus returned. “ I will insist that you go and take your turn in slumber. I will watch for the rest of Malfurion’s time—however little left there is—and then my own. ”
“Would be better if you—”
Krasus stared into the orc’s eyes. “ I assure you, my stamina is far greater than yours. I need no more sleep. ”
Seeing that he would lose any further argument, Brox grunted and rose. But as he did, Krasus, glancing past the hulking warrior, stiffened.
“Doomguard…” he whispered.
Brox immediately dropped flat. They watched as three fiery-winged demons slowly headed toward the hills. The demons were armed with long, wicked blades. The Doomguard watched the vicinity with equal wariness, but clearly had not noticed the party so far.
“They’re heading toward where we must pass, ” Krasus realized.
“Should stop them now.”
The mage nodded agreement, but added, “ We need to know if there are more. We dare not take these three if it means giving warning to others in the area. Let me try to discover the truth, first. ”
Shutting his eyes, Krasus let his senses spread out toward the demons. Immediately he felt the darkness radiating from each, a darkness so repulsive that even the dragon was affected.
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