Chapter 7

Falling into Place

"Show me."

Rok'Roham's words echoed around the empty room endlessly, repeated by what sounded like a dozen, pained voices. From a small orb in his palm, an image was projected into the air before him. It was clouded over at first, tiny images peering out of the cracks like rays of sunlight. But eventually, a picture came into view. He was watching through the eyes of a something that was stalking through an unknown wood, pushing past branches and leaves without the slightest distraction. With a methodical precision that defied humane ability, the picture settled onto a small group of tents that sat in a clearing close by. A number of figures were moving about. All were Human, of different age and sex, but they all bore the same symbol in bright red paint upon their cloaks: a demonic skull being split asunder by a hammer. Witch hunters. Rok'Roham frowned. They had been hunting him for days, and they only drew closer. But the Eredar had one more trick up his sleeve.

Now.

The picture was suddenly alive with activity. There were shouts and screams as some of the witch hunters appeared to be pointing directly at Rok'Roham, or whatever point of view he was observing them. Then, the Eredar's perspective began to change rapidly as it closed in on the Humans. The first to fall was a young man, frozen in place by fear. His throat was torn open in an explosion of blood. The picture swiveled to the side, where a group of Humans were running in the direction of a larger tent. Some charged with weapons, but they were easily turned aside, and the Humans were slaughtered in a flurry of blows that left them dismembered.

Now the witch hunters had mustered in full force. They charged their attacker, striking simultaneously. But their weapons hit nothing, and in a moment it was about them, slashing left and right, ripping open chests and tearing out jugulars. An overly-unfortunate woman nearly had her head split down the center, and another old man's head was knocked out of place on his spine, without the skin tearing. It was a ghastly sight.

All the while, Rok'Roham was smiling. When it was over, he simply nodded. His view was directed all around, the corpses of the entire camp strewn about in bloody heaps.

"Well done. Your work is finished," he said. The image faded.

I trust the other Shadowfiend is making good progress as well, he thought as he left the room.

---

"Nice shocks, Koramosh! This ride is as smooth as that gobbo Ziggy Wigglesnub's machine!" shouted Gordreck.

"Oh was that the squirt's name? I'll be sure to send them back to him express, once I'm done with 'em," replied Koramosh. The Dwarf roared in laughter.

Stefan smiled. He was pleased to see that beyond their obvious differences, the four of them were getting along fine. In times like these, such a sight was rarer than good liquor. This was defied as well, as the drink that Gordreck had salvaged was one of the best he had had in a long time. Koramosh only furthered the point; his driving was a bit sluggish, and he swayed from time to time.

Stefan noticed Guro'jintal look out the back, staring into the flats.

"Guro! Something the matter?" he asked. Guro'jintal turned to him, a look of passive indifference on his face.

"Eh, nothing, mon. Thought me saw something out there. Probably jos' 'deh heat."

"Or the booze!" roared Gordreck. They chortled heartily.

"Maybe, mon! Me dunno what 'teh think. I sleep on it, ya?" said Guro'jintal, easing into a more comfortable position.

"If you want, but we'll be in Tanaris just over this hill," said Koramosh. The ground was steadily rising beneath them. Stefan peaked out up the incline, but only saw the sky above.

"That's a hell of a hill!" exclaimed Stefan.

"Aye! And this engine's liable to choke any minute! I'd be ready to bail at a moment's notice if I were you all," warned Koramosh.

That's reassuring, though Stefan. The odd sounds the engine was making didn't help the tension. He turned to look back down the hill. He took a double take.

He thought he had seen something, a dark shadow of some sort. But when he looked again, it was gone. A mirage, no doubt. He diverted his attentions back to the coughing, hacking engine. Every missed sputter had him on edge, ready to leap out over the side before the machine went tumbling down the steep hill. He was certain a cracked skull would look better than whatever a crash in this machine might do to a man.

---

The sun had set just over an hour ago. As the ambient light faded, Gadgetzan's own lighting devices were brought to bare, illuminating the tiny city. The lights were generous in their wattage, and could temporarily blind anyone who looked directly into the bulbs. One such Goblin bruiser was doing this, out of aggravated boredom. The guards posted outside rarely saw any action; most of the good stuff took place within the walls of Gadgetzan. Thus, the bruisers resorted to simple amusements to pass the time.

The Goblin pulled his eyes away from the giant lamp, staring off into the dark vale of the desert air. Stars danced around in his vision, and he smiled in childish delight. He heard a noise, something between a dying buzzard and a basilisk with chest pains. He payed it no mind, trying to shake the stars from his eyes. Then he heard the shouts.

"Look out!"

"Get outa' the way!"

"MOVE YOU STUPID GOBBO!"

He recognized the popular derogatory term. In small pockets between the blind spots, he noticed that something big was coming towards him. And the noise was growing steadily louder, until it was roaring in his ears. Without hesitation, the bruiser leapt aside, burying himself in a sand dune in the process. A moment later and there was a squeal of metal grinding against metal, and then the loud sputtering died outright. The bruiser pulled himself free, turning to see what his adjusted eyes had been blind to a moment before.

There was a large vehicle sitting in the sand where he had been a minute ago, smoking and steaming. Next to it was an Orc, followed by a Dwarf, Human, and Troll. He shrugged, approaching the small band.

"Welcome to Gadgetzan, folks--"

"Crazy runt! Were you trying to get yourself killed?!" said the hysterical Orc, peering at the Goblin from behind a pair of comical goggles.

"Err no, I couldn't see all that well, cuz'--"

"Then you better get some motion sensors to replace your eyes if they aren't working! I can send you to a fine engineer, or I can do an on-the-spot surgery if you're feeling cheap!"

"Relax, mon. Deh' Goblin be mindin' his own bizness'," eased the Troll. Koramosh grunted in reply.

They small group moved on, leaving the Goblin shaken, but otherwise undisturbed. He took a glance back at the lamp light, but looked back at the machine that had nearly run him over, and thought twice about it.