Yo! It’s Sekana Katayama again, back with what could possibly be another epic-length World of Warcraft fanfiction. For returning readers, this is probably not romance-based, though it will have its share of humorous romances, no doubt. It also does not follow the same characters as my other story, though there may be cameos if I am tempted (here is your cue to applaud and immediately review to beg for said cameos).

For those of you new to my fanfiction, this story is meant to be an action/adventure and humorous tale. There will be action, romance, and drama! And there will also be some interesting characters, naturally. Overall, I hope you enjoy my writing.

Disclaimer: I don’t own World of Warcraft! Although I heard someone was selling it on the neutral AH… hmm… probably a scam. And I don’t have enough gold to find out.

Warning: There may be blood and gore later on, if it ever gets dramatic. There will be some profanity, but nothing to worry about. There may also be hints of yaoi/yuri (male on male action and female on female action respectively).

Extra Warning: (especially to returning readers) There may be straight romance. You have been warned!

This is going to be a bit of a different experience, I think, because I’ve laid out the story in a way that I’ll let you guys choose which one you want me to start with. You might even get more choices after that, depending on how I go about writing it.

So at the end of this chapter, please say which one are most interested in (or I shall have to choose my own favorite… I’m not telling which!).

A Moderately Impressive Hero of Unknown Identity

Somewhere, on the cliffs of Arathi Highlands, a gnome was pushed. His small body tumbled through the air, barely missing the rocky fragments jutting out from the cliff’s side, as he tried to form some semblance of his last words. Or in this case, last thoughts.

If anyone could have heard these thoughts through some telepathic power, they may have resembled this.

‘OhmygodI’-’

But this is not his story.

Somewhere, in the troll ruins of Stranglethorn Vale, an eeeeevil troll king clapped his large hands in joyous malice, summoning the prisoners to be taken before him. They were brought forth, both of them – a human paladin and a night-elf priest – trembling in fear.

“Now,” The troll king grinned wickedly, his face appearing to split in half. “You will dance the tribal dance, the Jan’shyalla!”

The prisoners were silent, and exchanged confused glances. The troll king’s grin faded, and his expression became thunderous.

“WHAT!?” He turned on his own tribesmen, livid with uncontrollable rage. “You did not teach them the Jan’shyalla!?”

And, in the chaotic massacre that ensued, the two prisoners managed to escape, barely making it out in time to hide on top of a palm tree as the fearsome troll king searched for them, having ripped apart the greater percentage of his underlings.

“Good heavens,” The night-elf woman whispered, still shaking.

The paladin girl beside her held a cautioning finger to her lips, and both sat in shivering quiet as the troll king disappeared from view.

But this is not their story.

Somewhere, a rogue reached a very important gate only to find out that he had, in fact, not trained enough in lockpicking to open it. As a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head, he fumbled with the thieving tools and pretended to attempt to force the lock to open, though he already knew it was useless.

“Hey, Jai, can you hurry up? I gotta go eat lunch soon.” The tauren warrior asked anxiously, shuffling his large hooves.

“Yeah Jai, this is taking forever.” The priestess complained, twirling strawberry-orange hair around dainty fingers. “I need to do my nails.”

“Uhh… don’t worry guys, any minute!” Jai squeaked, his spiky hair almost twitching with fright. The dread slipped over him, from his pointy blood-elven ears to his toes covered with fel leather, as he realized what was going to happen.

‘How the hell do I get out of this one?’

But this is not his story.

Somewhere, a human girl, dressed in oversized overalls and a straw hat, sat on the golden grass bordering her father’s fields. Her best friend, a Harvest Reaper called Louie, stomped around the plants gathering the newly ripened tomatoes, moving with mechanical stiffness.

“Louie, you know what?” She pondered aloud.

Louie did not, in fact, know ‘what’, so he remained silent.

“I’d like to get off this farm some day, you know?” She smiled brightly, and gave him a curious look.

Louie did, in fact, know, and he beeped in response.

“Yeah.” She replied, stretching her arms into the air as if reaching into the sky. “I wanna see the whole world! And Outland, too!”

Louie gave a doubtful beep, and she glared good-humoredly at him.

“You silly, of course it’s possible! Tons of people do it!” She stuck her tongue out at him immaturely.

Louie beeped a question back at her.

“That’s true, I dunno what class I would be.” She tapped a finger to her lips in thought. “Maybe a Shaman.”

Louie beeped loudly.

“What!? Of course I can be a Shaman! Pa’s always sayin’ I can be anything I want!”

Louie beeped at her again as if to say, ‘Nuh uh.’

“That’s stupid. Just you wait, I’ll be the best Shaman in the World!” Her powerful green eyes blazed up at the clouds in passive challenge, daring Destiny to take a hand in her life.

But this is not her story.

Somewhere, an extremely handsome blood-elven lord and his night-elf lover made passionate love under the cover of night, the roof of the mansion, several floors and ceilings, the bed’s canopy, and possibly some scattered blankets.

At least, that was what their ‘friends’ outside the room surmised was happening, until the double doors to the room opened abruptly from the inside, and the blood-elf lord himself walked out and blinked at them.

“And what are all of you doing here?” He asked, serious tone very much endangered by the smile that tugged at his lips, as well as the fact that he was in a crimson bathrobe.

They had no chance to answer, because the next moment an adorable night-elf exited the room behind the blood-elf, and smiled gloriously at them as if presented with a chocolate cake, or several such things.

“Oh, Kain, we should have invited them, too! Then we all could have had a sleepover!” The night-elf realized aloud, and then mused quietly, “I bet they’ve never had tickling matches…”

“Is that what you two were doing?” An astonished blood-elf man asked, orange-red hair contrasting oddly with his tanned skin, even in the semi-darkness.

“I should have known… we might as well give up on them.” An undead warrior made an agitated noise and padded back down the hallway, defeated once again, and followed by the human paladin who attempted in his own, highly ineffective way to comfort his friend.

But this is definitely not their story.

Somewhere, an undead woman stumbled along a barren land, hope flickering into her eyes as she spotted shelter. The old lumber mill served as a base for her kind, and if only she could reach there in time, she would be granted much honor, and gratitude from her comrades.

“Get her!”

“Don’t let her cap it!”

“Graaaaaar!”

They left her bones to rot away as they returned their precious Alliance flag to safety, and her spirit cursed at them from the beyond the grave, even as she was being resurrected by the Spirit Healer.

“I’ll get you, you scum!” She yelled. “Horde for the win!”

But this is not her story.

Somewhere, there was a rogue with the most perfect armor imaginable, accompanied by weapons of unearthly power. She was feared by all, revered by all, and idolized by most of the male population of Azeroth. Her eyes were the severest silver, hair of dark ash, and lips permanently dyed with red, red blood of her enemies.

She was a master skinner and leatherworker, a flawless cook, an amazing fisherman, the most excellent lockpick, and more.

She raided with only the best, and even then surpassed her peers in countless battles, reminding the World of her constant superiority.

The only attribute that could have diminished her powerful appearance, the one thing that could have changed minds fixed in the pattern that she was a being of godly nature, was her face.

It was constantly hidden, with one mask or another, a hood, a bandana, anything would do, as long as her lower face was not revealed. Why was this? No one could know except herself. For, should anyone ever discover what lie beneath that mask, her world would have been in peril.

But this is not her story.

Somewhere, five companions entered the Nagrand Arena, each wearing a different expression. The night-elf priest, nervous, was biting her lip, eyes fixed on the gate that would soon be opened. The dwarf warrior had a frown marring his similarly rocky face, although he gave no other sign of discomfort. The gnome mage, her green eyes flitting around the visible start area, smiled naively and appeared to have no idea of her surroundings. The remaining two, both human rogues, were as obviously different as if one had been a paladin and the other a shaman. The woman had short, golden blonde hair and a caramel complexion, and was applying poisons to her blades with a devious grin, while the man, with his black hair tied up in a long tail and skin that had clearly never adjusted to sunlight, wore a completely serious expression.

The gates opened, and the group rushed off into the open, stealthed rogues flanking the warrior as the mage and priest followed at a distance.

But something was terribly, terribly wrong. And it wasn’t the fact that there was no one else on the other side of the arena.

The ground was shaking.

“What’s going on?” The little mage girl asked obliviously, not at all frightened by the great sense of foreboding.

“Where’s the other –” The priest began, but stopped with a sudden shriek as dark tendrils wrapped around her waist, dragging her out into the middle of the arena, suspended in the air from thick, coiling, misty tentacles that had suddenly become visible.

Like a rogue revealing itself from stealth, the monster appeared as if from a haze, and at once the group saw exactly what they were dealing with.

“What manner of creature is this!?” The dwarf stepped back unconsciously, looking up in horror at the shadowy, serpentine monster taking up half of the arena, looming far, far up into the rafters.

“Take it out.” The male rogue said, more of an order than a suggestion by his tone as he attempted to stun the gigantic snake-like beast.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” The other rogue exclaimed, eyes widening at the prospect of ‘taking out’ the monstrous being before them. “This thing shouldn’t even be here!”

“Should we call a GM?” The gnome mage wondered aloud, dreamily, as if this was some vaguely interesting happening she was reading about in the Stormwind Weekly.

The night-elf priest gave a scream as she felt the tentacle around her tighten, but the monster was unfazed at the sound. Her teammates heard, however, and some changed their minds about abandoning the fight.

“Never mind!” The female rogue barked to her companions, springing into a jump that took her onto the snake’s scaly torso. “Just frigging kill it!”

As she slashed into it, the mage nodded absently and began to fire a pyroblast. “All right.”

The male rogue had already been attacking, and he continued to do so with so much skill it was mind-numbing to watch. Or perhaps that was his poisonous blade, dipped in mind-numbing poison…?

“Aye, let it be done then!” The dwarf warrior intercepted the beast from where he had been standing, and successfully garnered the thing’s attention, getting a face full of venomous spit for his trouble. “Agh!”

The night-elf priest was still screaming.

“Why the hell is this happening!?” The female rogue growled to no one in particular, wishing desperately that some random GM would somehow sense that they were in danger, and would arrive to miraculously save them.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s this?” A GM, who had apparently randomly sensed their distress, appeared in a flurry of sparkles a few feet away from them. “How’d that get there?”

“Thank Elune!” The night-elf priest managed to choke out between sobs.

“That’s a kinda cool looking thing, I wonder who put it here…?” The GM mused loudly, not seeming aware that he was speaking.

“Just please… get… rid of it!” The female rogue gasped after she was slammed into the arena wall by a scaly tail.

“You mean you guys can’t kill it?” The GM asked dubiously, and the rogue glanced at him and saw that he had the appearance of a young male blood-elf, big, glowing green eyes that were now blinking innocently in the general direction of the fight. His short, spiky hair, bright red, gave him the look of a naïve teenager, though his equipment, being that of a GM’s, spoke otherwise.

“We’re all gonna die! C’mon already!” The rogue berated him from her place on the ground next to the wall, where she was trying to get to her feet, but kept dizzily collapsing.

“Oh, okay, I guess I can just /kill it then…” The GM shrugged, and then cast his boyishly cute eyes onto the huge monster troubling the 5v5 team. “Here goes!”

The gnome mage slumped over in the middle of casting, dead.

“Whoops. My hand slipped.” The GM apologized hastily, and giggled.

But this is not their story.

Somewhere, a rather goofy-looking troll named Alekk ran along a cobbled path in a sort of daze, having not an idea where he was. His bright yellow braided hair flopped as he went along curiously, as if it was an animate part of his body that controlled itself. He came to a signpost, then, and stopped to attempt to read it. Luckily it was in Trollish.

“Wundahland?” He read doubtfully, and scratched his head. “What be dis place?”

But this is not his story.

Somewhere, in a darkened alley of Stormwind, three rogues closed in on a very suspecting gnome mage, his bald head gleaming with anxious sweat, eyes wild.

“I told you, I… I don’t have the mats!” He gushed hurriedly, looking from one rogue to the other, unsure as to which one to look at.

“We know you have them, do not try to deceive us!” The rogue on the left, face obscured by a dark hood, hissed. From behind the hood, eyes somehow flashed bright red for a terrifying instant.

“N-no, you must be mistaken, I am only a simple enchanter, I-I…” The gnome stopped rambling as a highly sharpened blade came to a rest at the tender skin of his neck, and he dared not breathe.

“You will enchant for us. This you will do.” The rogue on the right ordered calmly, voice like slippery ice, as if speaking through a forked tongue.

The gnome did not defy them, not when they had his life in their deadly hands.

“Yes…” The middle rogue, cloaked in darkness, smirked invisibly, and turned to exit the alleyway, looking back over his shoulder. “Your enchants, my good man, will make us an unstoppable force in the Battlegrounds. No one will be able to stand against us.”

‘Twinks…’ The gnome mage realized with a dawning horror. ‘They want me to make them an army of twinks…’

But this is not their story.

But then, whose story is it? That is up to you, dear readers. Choose one, and the others will follow. Such is the way of the epic tale.