The sea, you know, though it is angry, it is predictable...
You see a wave, you prepare for the blow.
But the air... the air doesn't like jokes...
Strength alone is not enough here; you need cunning, a gut feeling,
To feel every gust of wind.
Not just to hold a course, but to dance with the storm,
To whirl in the vortex along with it.
But whether on the sea or under the clouds—
Bravery is bravery...
So let's drink to the brave ones who conquer both elements!
"Get off me, you shitty Mampas menu penu (Troll belch)," driving my axe into a bat's snout, I kick the large beast overboard. Breaking the railing, the monster plummeted down, almost dragging my weapon and then me along with it, "where are my marksmen? Why are these bastards still around us?!"
An answer was heard instantly. An answer in the form of a combined volley from two dozen blunderbusses and crossbows.
Knocking down the Troll riders and their vile animals, the Dwarves and Humans hid behind small shields and the railings, trying not to stick out too much while a pack of fifty freaks swarmed around the zeppelin.
"Gorbin, Menu shirumund you dick!" With a spin, I drive my axe under the knee of a Troll who had jumped onto the deck. The fanged bastard fell on his side with a shriek, but even as he was falling to the floor, I drove the blade into his dirty hairy neck—almost severing the blunt-nosed head. "Give them a proper volley already!"
"I can't, Master Rodgirn!" Spinning the wheel, the captain dodged a spear that flew past his head, then dashingly drawing a pistol—he put a bullet into a rider on a bat racing past the Beer Lord—smashing the Troll's head. "Otherwise the ships will get too close!"
The Beer Lord lurched to the right. A combined volley from a dozen guns pulled us aside, shifting us slightly toward the main formation of the horde fleet. Somewhere below, an explosion thundered, after which the air was filled with the cries of the crew from a sinking ship.
"Then get us out of here quickly, otherwise..." Twisting, I knock away an axe thrown at me mid-flight. Picking up a Troll spear from the deck, I throw it at another bat, piercing the beast's wing. "...Otherwise they'll pin us like a ewe at mating!"
"I love your phrases, Master Rodgirn!" Another turn of the wheel, and now thunder from cannons erupted from the other deck. There was one fewer on this side, but even so—it was quite enough for another swift tub, which the Trolls foolishly called a frigate, to go to the bottom. "We need to turn toward the shore! We'll go along the coast; there's no other way!"
"Damn you!" Cursing, I drop to the gap in the railing, then carefully peer out, spotting dozens of horde ships persistently pursuing us for the second hour now. "Fine! To hell with you, turn toward the shore, we'll go along the coast! How much will we lose?"
"A day at most..." Gorbin paused briefly. A Troll jumped from a bat hit by a well-aimed shot and lunged at the old sea wolf. A quick exchange of blows, swings of a saber and a bone axe... And now the fanged rascal falls on his back, clutching the guts spilling out of his stomach. "Maybe two days if they don't fall behind and keep tracking us..."
Another volley from the starboard side and another explosion far below us. For a few minutes, nothing happened, but gradually the ships began to turn away and regroup, leaving us alone with the riders on flying bats.
"That's unlikely!" Smirking wickedly, watching the clumsily turning Troll boats, I turned to Gorbin, who was waiting for me to continue. "New plan! Turn! Let's give those idiots a couple more volleys just to make sure they lose interest!"
A crooked, malicious smile crossed the face of the Beer Lord's captain. Without a second thought, Gorbin gave the command, then sharply spun the steering wheel, simultaneously knocking down a slow bat along with its rider.
***
"Hard to port!" Captain Gorbin's cry, for the umpteenth time on this endless day, rang out across the deck, just a second before the zeppelin lurched to the side, nearly throwing half the crew overboard.
The already trained air sailors gripped the ropes tighter. Wrapped around their waists, the taut cables stretched to the mast and the railings, tightening until they creaked as the Beer Lord made another sharp turn.
The propellers worked at full power, filling us with their steady rhythmic hum, and flames occasionally shot out of a pair of nozzles in the stern when our helmsman performed the impossible in the air.
"Master Rodgirn!" Gorbin's new shout caught me at the bow of the ship, where I stood frozen with Tim, staring into the distance. "We won't have time to pass the storm by the edge; it will overtake us faster! We need to turn around and fly deep into the continent!"
"Menu shirumund," muttering under my breath, yet unable to tear my eyes away from the weather changing before my eyes, "Khaz is clearly very displeased with me... Gorbin, how long will the flight across the continent take?"
"Three, maybe four days," a new gust of wind rocked the Beer Lord. The echoes reaching us already made an impression, but there was no retreating. Every minute counted, which meant we would have to do the impossible.
"This bodes no good," I growled at the thunder spreading across the area, spitting brown sludge onto the already dirty deck, "but there's no choice... Captain! We fly through the storm! Straight to Kul Tiras!"
A crimson dawn spread across the sky like blood on sand, foretelling not just a storm, but a true Khaar Azzar (End of Times).
My beard, whose strands resembled a tangled crow's nest rather than the pride of a true perpetually-drunk Dwarf, whipped in the wind. The charred tips, a memory of dragon flame, trembled from the tension.
Gorbin, the old devil, stood frozen at the helm, surly as ever. Even in the eyes of this jackhammer, who had seen everything in his time, a flicker of unease was visible.
"Everyone to your stations!" he barked. He took my order with resilience, understanding, and awareness; instead of dilly-dallying in the style of the Pointy-Ears or those Lordaeronian high-and-mighties, Gorbin began issuing commands. "Steel Barrel, you and yours to the engine room! Tim, get your backside up to the side sails! The rest of you, to the helmsman, move your legs, you blockheads!"
One of the sailors, sliding across the deck on his knees, slammed into the bulwark with a hollow thud near the ship's siren. Ignoring the bruises and scrapes, the lad vigorously cranked the lone lever, alerting all decks of the impending trouble.
The wail of the siren pierced the air, hitting the ears like the blunt end of an axe.
Every time, this sound serves as a reminder that our lives are but a spark in the great flame of the world.
Grunting, I cast a final glance at the deck. The folk were scurrying about, running with mounting panic in their eyes, but...
Everyone knew their job.
My Dwarves, hardened in battle and knowing their way around iron, rushed toward the hatch to the engine room, while Tim... that big lug, my assistant, was already scrambling up the mast, cursing under his breath. Though he was a total psycho, the lad was brave and loyal; there was no denying that.
The final minutes passed.
The wind roared like a frenzied troll-Berserk, and the rain struck with such force it felt as if an Ironforge cast-iron press had collapsed upon us.
The waves, surging upward, resembled living water Elementals, thirsting for one thing—to smash our Beer Lord into splinters. The airship shook so violently that I nearly lost my balance.
The wind-torn sails were retracted instantly. The sturdy, high-quality fabric—refined by my kin—could barely withstand the strain.
"Down! Move it!" my shout drowned out another clap of thunder. Standing frozen by the hatch to the lower deck, I couldn't tear my eyes away from what was happening overboard!
The first bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. Huge and radiant, like the Holy Light in the middle of the night, it illuminated us, banishing even the smallest Shadow. Another followed right behind it. Mighty and branching, like the Elven trees of ancient legends.
The airship tilted dangerously to the side. The gas bags were dragged one way, then the other, and for a moment... just for a brief instant, we leaned so far that I saw the raging sea beneath us.
Enormous... giant waves... crashing against the shore time and again. The earth trembled from the force of the impacts, and my heart skipped a beat at the sound of that god-like thud, the weight of the largest forge-hammer settling in my soul.
"Faster, you shits! Go-go-go!" Forcing my eyes away from the mesmerizing and terrifying sight, I was the first to jump into the hatch, already hearing the footsteps of the dawdlers and stragglers behind me.
The descent down the second ladder passed in a blur. I leaped over steps, trying to listen to the hum of the machinery, which provided at least some muffled cover from the madness raging outside.
In the engine room, it reeked of soot and oil; it was hot, like the old ritual furnace of my departed clan.
My kin—just as stubborn, loyal, and thick-headed as the rocks—were already working like they were possessed. They shoveled coal, twisted valves, and squeezed every ounce of steam out of the mechanisms, mixing it with helium. Each of them was an extension of my own hand, my brothers by blood and by our new life.
"Rodgirn! Pressure's dropping like Dark Iron Dwarves from the peaks of Grim Batol!" shouted Dorin, one of my best mechanics.
"Menu shirumund!" A roar escaped my throat while my mind raced through calculations and courses of action. Running to the pressure gauge, I cursed even louder. The needle was crawling down as if yielding to the will of the elements. "Coal! Faster! Those humans up there, damn them, won't make it without us! We need steam like we need air!"
Sweat stung my eyes, and I was suffocating from the heat, but we kept working, sparing no effort. For a moment, childhood memories flashed before my eyes—when my father and uncle first took me into their forge. Back then, unlike me, those two bearded old rams felt right at home, while I choked on sweat, coughing and tears. That was their world. Their place in the heart of the ever-sleepless Ironforge...
And so, the Beer Lord was more than just an airship to us—it was a piece of our homeland, a part of our soul. And we would not let this storm swallow it.
From above came the sound of cracking and shouting. A hit!
The airship lurched. The panicked screams above fell silent for a moment, cut off by Gorbin's formidable swearing—piercing even through the storm!
I couldn't afford to be distracted for long, tracking everything with the edge of my consciousness. A hammer blow to a jammed valve, a turn of a wrench, wrapping a hose that was cracking before my eyes...
"Forward, you sons of bitches! Let's show this storm what the children of Khaz are capable of!"
Time stretched agonizingly slow, like an Elven funeral march. The storm did not subside; it only grew more ferocious. It felt as if we had fallen into the very pit of hell, into the maw of Ironforge magma where the personal forges of the Bronzebeards stood. The Beer Lord creaked and groaned, but it held.
"Keep it up, Master Rodgirn!"
Gorbin's raspy, sandpaper-like shout brought a smile to my face. I was certain that old sea-bastard was standing there right now with the same mad grin, upright and proud, shoulders squared, facing the solid wall of water and any wind—without fear or dread.
"Did you hear that, boys?" A small porthole window was ripped off its hinges, letting a gust of cool wind and raindrops into the boiler room. "We are the proud children of Khaz! We won't lose to those lanky shits on the deck!"
"Khazad ai-menu!"
***
"Too quiet..."
"Too quiet by half," Galen Trollbane said, sniffing unpleasantly as he stood beside me, staring into the endless sea and clear sky. "Something's not right here..."
The lad had been holding up well. He didn't shy away from simple or dirty work inside the airship, making no attempt to play the hero or venture outside, fully aware of his value and responsibility to the people remaining in Stromgarde.
"Right you are, lad."
"Yeah, it reeks of trouble... metaphorically."
And I shared his opinion completely, as did the entire crew of the Beer Lord. After breaking through the blockade, when we were tossed between the mountains and the bay of Tol Barad. Those cursed bats had first driven us into the open sea, and then we had to engage the Horde fleet and crawl along the coast, afraid to go deeper north where the Red Dragons were hiding.
Then that cursed storm—it had taken everything out of us. All night, until the very morning, we fought the elements, though if truth be told, we were simply trying to survive their harsh and undeniable wrath, which fell upon anyone who dared to challenge it.
Now, though...
Now it was too quiet. Peaceful and soothing...
And that was frightening, unsettling, making us constantly look over our shoulders as if expecting a blow at any moment.
Suddenly, a Shadow flickered across the deck. Catching the movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned to see the Shadow flash again, running across the deck and heading higher toward the gas bags.
Suspicion stirred with renewed force. Bolting from my spot, nearly vaulting over the dented railings, I threw my head back to finally see the next disaster we had all been waiting for.
"DRA-A-AGON!"
My cry triggered a chain reaction. The siren wailed once more through the decks of the Beer Lord, while the crew scrambled in ordered chaos, grabbing whatever weapon came to hand.
In response to my roar, a thunderous bellow erupted from the heavens—not as terrifying as the rumble of the storm, but just as fierce and full of ill omen.
"Cannons to the ready!"
"He's coming in from the starboard side!" Someone's shout was cut short by a scream. A sailor, tangled in rope, tumbled overboard, dangling like bait on a hook. The starboard side was lit up by flames.
A flying Fire-spitter swept across the Armor and the hull, miraculously missing the gas bags, which could ignite at any second.
The airship lurched; a massive Shadow blotted out the sun as the body of a red lizard flew past the Beer Lord at incredible speed. The foul beast roared back at our shouts and sporadic shots before making a wide circle, coming in for a new attack.
"Gorbin, bank us to the port side! Don't let him light the bags! Get ready, you bastards!" Gripping the railing tighter, I aimed my pistol at the massive bulk bearing down on us. Many others followed my lead, but not all...
Part of the crew slid across the deck after the sudden maneuver. The airship tilted to one side, and at that exact moment, just as we were supposed to start leveling out—thunder erupted from every gun.
A roar of a wounded beast filled the sky. After spinning in an uncontrolled fall for a couple of seconds, the dragon miraculously straightened its trajectory and began flying in an arc straight toward us.
The lizard was leveling out, and if my eyes didn't deceive me, it was going to fly dangerously close to our side.
"Now you're going to get a taste of good old Dwarven steel!" Snatching the axe from my belt and taking a running start, I leaped straight from the deck onto the back of the cursed beast. "Baruk khazad!"
The wide blade crunched into the back, smashing through the soft scales of the young dragon. Throwing my whole body weight forward, driving the axe as deep as possible, I roared and raged no less than the lizard itself, which twisted in the air, trying to buck me off its back.
I pulled a Stromgarde dagger from my boot. The strong, thick blade entered the joint between the scales, helping me anchor myself and pull out the axe for a new strike!
But suddenly spreading its wings and braking sharply in the air—the bastard slammed my face against its back, causing my grip on the handle to loosen, and I was sent into a free fall.
The dragon beneath me twisted its entire body. Supple as a cat, despite its wounds and bloodied face missing an eye, it remained a dangerous opponent, but...
It was too young. Impetuous and foolish. Compared to its elder kin I had encountered before.
Reaching for me with claws the size of infantry spears, the shithead gave me a way to get to him.
The axe blade struck sparks. The firm grip of a smith and Warrior clenched around one of the digits, and I hauled myself further, slamming this time against the monster's chest.
We dangled in the air like a ragdoll—the lizard's outspread wings slowed the fall. Struggling to level out and more gliding toward the ocean surface than falling or flying.
The blade swung toward the heavens. For a moment, the dragon and I locked eyes... and there I saw a perfect Reflection of my own emotions.
Fury, contempt... hatred.
The soft chest buckled under the axe blow. Hot blood sprayed in all directions, drenching my face. A few drops landed in my mouth, giving me the familiar taste of dragon flesh.
Another strike! Another! And another!
I hacked at the master of the sky to the sound of its pained roars. There was very little distance left to the "ground," and in a bloody haze, I climbed higher, reaching the flexible neck and the face with its single rolling eye.
Grabbing the bastard by a broken horn, I pulled its snout closer, staring into the partially opened eyelid.
"Khaz smiles upon me, beast!" The blade swung up one last time. "But no gods are watching over you!"
My blow to the dragon's head coincided with our "landing." Water erupted in every direction. I was tossed a good five meters into the air. From the force of the collision, the axe handle snapped off, remaining in my tightly clenched palm, while the blade sank beneath the water along with the monster's corpse.
***
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