A lurking danger

The next day was a rare sunny day. The sun burned away the damp mist early in the morning, weather seldom seen in the Wetlands. Taking advantage of the clear skies, the two set off on foot toward the distant south. They had found a Worg pen in Ragefang Camp, but the Worgs had probably been sent to transport supplies to Grim Batol; the pen was empty. Even if there had been Worgs inside, however, Diago was not sure he could tame those unruly yet utterly loyal creatures, which never accepted a new master, let alone ride one on their journey.

The Druid, transformed into a black panther, romped through the thick grass on either side of the road, burning off his excess energy. One moment he leaped in front of Diago; the next, he suddenly appeared behind him. The enormous beast was over two meters long, sleek, powerful muscles rippling beneath fur that gleamed like satin, radiating wildness and grace.

The panther was fast and often left Diago far behind in the blink of an eye. The hunter could only envy him. He had not yet captured a cheetah spirit and could not cast Cheetah Aspect to increase his speed, leaving him to churn along on his own two legs.

"Hey, big cat, can't you carry me?" he shouted indignantly. Ahead of him, the cheetah had almost disappeared from sight.

But the Druid refused the request. He trotted back with little steps and stared at Diago in disbelief, his eyes full of distrust. The suspicions dispelled not long ago seemed on the verge of returning.

"I will never let a male ride on my back. That's disgusting."

Diago had not thought much of it at first. He had only wanted to save himself some effort, but once Masley put it that way, he realized it was rather disgusting too. The implications were far too filthy, a complete affront to his understanding of morality.

He could not help spitting several times and never mentioned the request again.

Before long, however, he had to shout again. This brat-oh, no, he ought to be called a panther brat now, but that sounded bad too, so furry brat would do, since he was covered in fur whatever he turned into-was far too much trouble. He had already wandered away from the road and deep into a distant patch of grass.

"Stay away from that grass! There are spiders in there!" Diago warned loudly.

"What's so scary about spiders? I could squash a whole bunch of those bugs with one foot." The furry brat's casual voice drifted out of the grass, but a moment later he came bounding out, hopping faster than a rabbit. Diago saw a long line of giant spiders following him.

The red spiders, each more than three feet long, kept clacking their hideous mouthparts. Streams of a special liquid shot from glands in their abdomens, instantly hardening into sticky silk upon contact with the air. Had the furry brat not leaped out of the grass without hesitation, the webs would certainly have caught him.

"Hey, big cat, those bugs are all yours! Squash them with one foot!" Diago called sarcastically as he watched the furry brat flee in disarray. Still, he drew the longbow from his back. "Next time I'm not wiping your ass. Clean up your own mess," he grumbled.

The spiders were not nearly as formidable in battle as they looked, and the fight ended in just ten minutes. Against these mindless insects, the Druid had not even lost a hair, which pleased him immensely. He watched Diago curiously as the hunter took his hatchet and chopped the enormous legs off the spider corpses.

"What are you cutting those spider legs off for? Can we eat them?" Ever since tasting Diago's crocodile chowder the day before, the furry brat had become a complete glutton. His first question about anything was whether it was edible.

"You'll find out at noon," the hunter replied gruffly. That left the Night Elf eagerly anticipating lunch.

At noon, they stopped beneath a large tree beside the road. The herbaceous plants common to the Wetlands clearly could not compete with this enormous plant, and the grass beneath it was sparse.

Diago casually leveled a patch of ground, then built a fire to roast the enormous spider legs, using dead branches broken from the tree. This greatly pleased the Druid, as every Druid welcomed behavior that protected nature. In truth, Diago had only refrained from chopping down leafy branches because they were too wet to burn well.

Preparing lunch did not take long. This had nothing to do with Diago having been Chinese before transmigrating-to be honest, the homebody had not known how to cook at all, and boiling instant noodles had represented the pinnacle of his culinary skill. Instead, he relied on his Draenor master-level cooking skill. Beneath the charred shells, the once-white spider meat had turned golden and smelled delicious. Masley practically lunged forward to sweep most of the food over to his side.

Holding a skewer of crunchy spider meat, Diago chewed as he gazed back the way they had come. In the swaying grass half a li away, he thought he saw figures moving.

"Masley, have you noticed anyone behind us today?" he asked, turning back.

"No," the Night Elf answered without looking up from his ravenous eating, the crisp spider legs crunching in his mouth. "Who would be out here? We've been walking along this road all morning and haven't met a single person. We haven't even seen a Gnoll."

Diago said nothing. He cast Eagle Eye on himself and looked into the distance, but this time he found nothing.

Was I imagining things just now? He considered it but could make no sense of it, so he put the matter aside.

While Eagle Eye was still active, he turned and surveyed his surroundings. Farther away, at the foot of a mountain, he saw an enormous white rock. He had been there before transmigrating.

The rock was famous, known as Searing Gorge. Supposedly, an enormous Thorium vein had once lain beneath it, but after centuries of Dwarves mining, the Thorium in the cavern had long since been exhausted. Only scattered deposits of associated tin remained, too fragmented to be worth mining. All that remained was an abandoned mine tunnel, which had become a nest for giant spiders.

Caravans unaware of the danger often camped in the area at night, then vanished without a trace. Diago had seen abandoned wagons more than once along the way, but the Mossflayer Gnolls roaming the marshes had long since stripped them of their cargo.

After lunch, the two set off again. This time, the furry brat had learned his lesson and obediently followed the road, no longer venturing deep into the grass. Diago, accustomed to the youngster's lively antics, found the change somewhat unsettling.

After seven days of winding travel, they finally saw the magnificent Stonewrought Dam, wedged between two mountains and separating the Wetlands from Loch Modan. This wondrous creation, the embodiment of dwarven wisdom and strength and the most breathtaking marvel in Azeroth, stood roughly three hundred feet high and over four hundred and fifty feet wide. It was built entirely from enormous blocks of stone, fitted so tightly together through the dwarves' outstanding architectural skill that not a drop leaked through. High in the center of the dam stood three enormous protruding dwarven faces.

A famous mystery writer had once mentioned those three enormous dwarven faces in a book. During the reign of Anvilmar, the high king whom the dwarves revered, the Bronzebeard, Wildhammer, and Dark Iron clans had gathered their finest stonemasons to construct the Stonewrought Dam as proof of their unity to His Majesty Anvilmar. They carved the faces of their three clan leaders high on the dam's downstream wall. Ironically, the civil war that had long been brewing among the three clans broke out immediately after His Majesty Anvilmar died. This was the famous War of the Three Hammers in dwarven history.

As the greatest architect of that era, the Dark Iron Dwarf Franclorn Forgewright had designed not only this enormous dam, but also Blackrock Spire and Shadowforge City, two mountain fortresses of astonishing craftsmanship. Yet his designs remained confined by dwarven aesthetics, most notably the characteristic inherited from the dwarves' creator, the Titan the Forger Khaz'goroth: big, enormous, gigantic. Nor was he alone; many other dwarven architects shared similar tastes. The most typical example was Ironforge's gates. Nobody thought the short, stocky dwarves needed such enormous doorways, but they had built them anyway and were proud of them.

In fact, the three faces were not merely intended to look impressive or serve some other superficial purpose. They also acted as spillways and flood outlets. During the rainy season, when heavy rainfall raised the water level above the designed safety limit, floodwaters passed through hidden channels inside the dam and poured from the three faces' mouths.

When the two reached the foot of the dam, it was discharging water. The streams plunged vertically from a hundred feet above and struck the riverbed below, forming three enormous waterfalls. Amid the deafening roar, churning spray drifted through the air like three white gauze curtains, setting off rings of rainbow light reflected in the sunshine. Brilliant colors shifted endlessly, bathing the entire waterfall in a hazy, ethereal dream.

The two marveled at it for a long time before collecting themselves and returning to their original route.

Dun Algaz, the road leading into Loch Modan, lay among the mountains west of the dam. As Loch Modan's northern gateway, this mountain road twisted through the gorges, sometimes with so many bends that it drove travelers mad. After walking for most of a day, they would often discover that their morning starting point was still not far beneath their feet. Wherever there was truly no way around, the dwarves had carved tunnels through the mountainside. As a result, Dun Algaz had so many tunnels that travelers often emerged from one only to enter another a few steps later. Between entering Dun Algaz and reaching Loch Modan, the two travelers spent nearly half their time in gloomy tunnels. By the time they reached the dwarven bunker at the southern end of the mountain road, both felt as though they were finally seeing daylight again.

After passing south through Dun Algaz into Loch Modan, the two were astonished by the dramatic change in scenery. Neither would have imagined that places with such different climates could lie so close together.

Unlike the warm, humid Wetlands, Loch Modan was cold and gray year-round. Sunlight rarely penetrated the fog, and the limited view revealed only a world of branches swaying in the dim light. Constant rain kept the land lush with flowers and grass. Although a warm current from the eastern ocean kept the lake from freezing, snowmelt still had a considerable effect, and biting cold filled every morning and night. Such weather did not suit sensitive humans, but it was perfect for dwarves. Unlike the dry, barren Badlands to the south, Loch Modan had clean, refreshing air that even forest-loving Night Elves could not fault.

Looking west from the road through the screening pines, they could see a rolling expanse of steep, snow-covered mountains. This was a branch of the Khaz Modan range, named after the dwarven god, the Titan the Forger Khaz'goroth. The range separated Loch Modan from Dun Morogh, but the dwarves, skilled in excavation and digging, had forced two tunnels through it, naming them North Gate Pass and South Gate Pass. Although the western route to Ironforge through North Gate Pass was shorter, the exhausted pair decided to detour to Thelsamar for some rest before taking South Gate Pass to Ironforge. Nearly half a month of arduous travel had exhausted their endurance.

With that plan settled, the rest of their journey became much easier, more like sightseeing. The two even left the road and traveled for a while along the western shore of the Loch.

This great lake, formed by the Stonewrought Dam, was the largest freshwater lake in Azeroth. Its vast waters stretched beyond sight, covering a large part of Khaz Modan. Three large islands dotted its surface. The northernmost held ruins left from the Second War, while the two southern islands were also abandoned, with only occasional Stonesplinter troggs and crocodiles to be seen.

In truth, the region more closely resembled a valley surrounded by mountains, with thick coniferous pine forests covering their lower slopes. Its waters were beautiful and its fish plentiful, while the surrounding mountains held rich deposits of precious metals. Near isolation and abundant resources brought peace and prosperity. Apart from a few human merchants, outsiders rarely came here.

The dwarves who had lived here for generations fished, mined, and felled timber. Like all Ironforge dwarves, Loch Modan's inhabitants were hardworking and warmhearted. Almost every dwarf who saw the two travelers greeted them enthusiastically, and some even invited them into their homes.

The lake teemed with fish, including piranha-like frenzies. The number and variety of fish also reflected the diversity of predators in the region. Black bears often appeared on the shore to catch fish, and Diago and Masley frequently saw plump bears standing upright beside the water, waiting for fish to leap out. When travelers passed nearby, the bears merely gave them a casual glance, then returned their attention to the water once they saw no intention of disturbing them.

The enormous, unfathomably deep waters clearly provided ample room for certain giant creatures as well. More than once, the two saw enormous plesiosaurs that fed on aquatic plants surface. Diago had originally wanted to try his master-level fishing skill in the Loch, but abandoned the idea after seeing the size of the plesiosaurs. These prehistoric creatures had left far too strong an impression on him before his transmigration for him to trust that they were vegetarians.

Diago was utterly enchanted by the picturesque scenery and reluctant to leave. It was not that he had never traveled while living in a concrete jungle before transmigrating, but tourist attractions packed like bustling markets had thoroughly soured his appetite and stripped him of any interest in travel. In contrast, the Night Elf scarcely noticed the enchanting scenery. Centuries of forest life had made it entirely familiar and commonplace to him. And so they traveled onward, and after several days along the Loch, the two finally reached Thelsamar, the largest dwarven settlement in Loch Modan.

Thelsamar lay in a small valley, where the dwarves had carved their homes into the surrounding mountainsides. As the travelers followed the path into town, they saw all manner of cave dwellings, somewhat like the hobbits' homes in the Shire in The Lord of the Rings, only rougher in appearance and with added porches.

As the only town in Loch Modan, Thelsamar was fairly bustling, with shops lining both sides of the street. Diago watched people he had once known well busy with their businesses. In the blacksmith Mohan Coppertooth's weapon shop, the Warrior Glenthin Swiftaxe was fiercely haggling with the owner. The tailor Laen Firewing and his wife, the Priest Belda, were displaying newly arrived silk outside their shop. Their neighbor Solbin Shadowgear-his name alone made it obvious he was a gnome Warlock-was sorting his strange enchanting materials into wooden compartments...

In a prime location halfway down the street stood the Stoutlager Inn, run by the married couple Vidra Hearthstone and Nackor Hearthstone. The inn was thoroughly dwarven in style: a cellar-like building with outer walls built from great blocks of stone and several large barrels embedded side by side in the wall, giving it a very rugged appearance. These barrels were filled to the brim with dwarven stout, mead, and Thunder Ale. Pipes at their bases led inside the inn, where the owner or servers could draw fine drinks for the customers. This not only saved space but gave the inn a distinctly dwarven character. It was also the two travelers' destination.

The innkeepers' daughter, Lina Hearthstone, managed the stables and cared for the mounts of visiting guests. The dwarven woman was chatting outside with the huntress Belda Wildheart, a renowned local hunter and an excellent shot. Before transmigrating, Diago had learned the finer points of Steady Shot from her, but she clearly did not recognize him now.

"Hi, Lina. Hi, Belda." Diago greeted the two dwarven women.

The two ladies returned his greeting with surprise but politeness. Seeing that the travelers had no mounts with them, Lina Hearthstone merely gestured for them to head inside on their own.

They descended the stairs into the inn, where a dwarven fire blazed in the hearth. Guns and mounted boar heads decorated the walls, tables and chairs stood in considerable disarray, and crates and sacks were even piled in a corner. Nackor Hearthstone, the hearty, heavily bearded dwarf who owned the place, was laughing and chatting with several guests.

There were few customers. Diago spotted the general goods merchant Yanni Ironheart, the Rogue Gerda Copperblade, the green-robed Mage Gandor, and the Paladin Faldok Stonefaith.

Noticing the two travelers entering, Nackor Hearthstone raised a frothing mug of dwarven ale toward them and called, "Fill a mug with ale and pull up a chair! We'll drink our fill and share our stories!" He was clearly somewhat drunk.

Diago politely declined the invitation, but still greeted everyone courteously, even addressing each by name. This surprised them all. To be honest, none thought they had ever met this human, but out of courtesy, they responded warmly.

After registering at the bar with the landlady, Vidra Hearthstone, the two chose a somewhat taller table and chairs, specially provided for visiting human travelers.

Diago expertly ordered Thelsamar Blood Sausage, steaks, and cherry pie for them, along with several pieces of reheated Mulgore spice bread. These Tauren-style long loaves were incredibly hard when cold and could even serve as weapons for self-defense, but once heated, they became soft, fragrant, and delicious. Blood sausage was Vedra's specialty, richly flavored and excellent with a drink. Before transmigrating, Diago had even learned the recipe from her-after completing a certain quest, of course.

To Diago's surprise, the young Night Elf stubbornly ordered two large jugs of Thunder Ale, looking rather like a high school freshman who had just left home and finally escaped his parents' restrictions, with a distinctly wild, uninhibited air.

"Have you been here before? You seem to know everyone." Well into their drinking, the excited young Night Elf spoke enviously. Few dwarves liked elves, after all. They invariably disliked those "pretentious" "skinny fellows," even though they belonged to the Alliance together.

"Perhaps. I don't remember, but I know everyone's name here, their interests and habits," Diago said proudly. Watching those once-familiar "NPCs" talk, drink, and walk around before him, so vividly alive, he could not help feeling a flood of emotions.

Before transmigrating, Diago's reputation with every Alliance and neutral faction had been exalted, and his name had been renowned throughout the Alliance. Now, however, he was clearly a nobody. I've been dropped in out of nowhere. I'll have to start from scratch, he told himself.

After they had eaten and drunk their fill, the landlady took them to their rooms at their request. The Stoutlager Inn's guest rooms were on the second and third underground levels, reached by passing through the kitchen and storeroom. In the storeroom, Diago saw ammunition and firearms. He even noticed some black powder that looked suspiciously like gunpowder spilling from a large barrel across the floor. Frankly, staying next to a pile of explosives sorely tested his nerves.

With practiced knowledge, Diago chose rooms on the third underground level. He knew that Nackor Hearthstone and his friends often drank late into the night without having their fill, forcing the cook, Miss Honey Goldgrain, to keep working in the kitchen until midnight-and the kitchen was directly above the guest rooms. He did not consider himself particularly tolerant of noise, and the rooms on the third underground level were much quieter by comparison.

Stepping past a heap of anvils and storage chests, they reached the guest rooms on the third underground level. The landlady wished them both good night and went upstairs. The rooms were small, as was typical of dwarven design: interiors were always relatively compact, making use of every inch of space. But they were clean. Given their size, Diago and Masley had no choice but to take a room each.

After wishing the Night Elf good night, Diago entered his room. Irregular flagstones covered the floor, and a small, warming fire burned brightly in the hearth. A cupboard to the left of the entrance provided storage for luggage or clothes. The bed stood near enough to the fireplace to be warm without risking burns. The sheets looked soft and clean. There was also a fairly large square table, just big enough for a guest to sit and read or write, though it appeared to have been intended for two travelers to share a drink...

At the sight of the comfortable, warm room, Diago felt a wave of exhaustion almost immediately. He threw himself onto the bed without delay. This was the first time since Diago Asnar had come to this world that he had slept in a bed rather than a tent. Beneath the soft goose-down quilt, he slept soundly. Thelsamar was very safe. He tossed his unstrung bow and hatchet onto the weapon rack in the corner, never considering that he might need them during the night.

But in the middle of the night, an urgent ringing of bells woke him. He climbed out of bed and heard faint shouting from outside, upstairs. By the dark red glow of the fireplace's embers, he put on his shoes, threw on his coat, and left the room.

There was nobody on either the second or first level. At the hall's entrance porch, he was surprised to find the innkeepers, cook, and servers all crowded together, craning their necks outside like a flock of geese. Both Hearthstones held dwarven firearms. Diago noticed that both guns had their hammers cocked and percussion caps fitted to their nipples, ready to fire at any moment.

"Can someone tell me what happened?" he asked, moving closer.

"That's what I'd like to know!" Nackor Hearthstone turned and said gruffly. He looked as though he had not sobered up, or at least not completely. The gun waved wildly in his hands, making Diago instinctively move farther away. Who knew whether it might go off accidentally?

Just then, he heard the landlady, Vidra Hearthstone, call, "What's happening out there, Kaldrel?"

Peering through the gaps between people, Diago saw Mountaineer Kaldrel and several colleagues running toward them along the street.

"Orcs! Langar says he spotted a few Orcs north of the village!" Kaldrel panted as he ran past the tavern entrance, his heavy plate armor clanking against him. "I don't know how he recognized those big-tusked brutes. He's never seen an Orc, only fought the Gnolls west of town a few times at most. If he's wrong this time, I swear I'll have his father take him home and give him a good kick in the backside!"

Diago's heart lurched. He had a feeling these Orcs had come for him and the Night Elf. But he said nothing. He did not want the dwarves to consider him a troublemaker, even though dwarves and Orcs had historically fought pitched battles more than once, and calling them mortal enemies was no exaggeration. Dun Algaz's outpost still displayed a bounty notice for Dragonmaw Orc heads, with no time limit and no limit on numbers.

Back in bed, Diago tossed and turned for a long time, unable to sleep. Now that the initial excitement of entering Azeroth had passed, he finally recognized the dangers lurking throughout this world. In the end, he got up again, restrung his bow, and placed it beside his bed with his hatchet before finally falling into a deep sleep once more.