The Forsaken Diver

Reckir stood on the docks as he looked upon the lake next to Fort Wildervar. Captain Adams had him transferred to this snow-covered fledgling town for some reason that he seemed unwilling to share. It was cold, on the border to Grizzly Hills. They were high enough on the mountain for snow to fall, surprising as it was that snow didn't fall everywhere in Northrend.

The town was busy as villagers moved to and fro, setting up buildings and buying and selling land. Weird... Reckir thought, acting so normal even though they're surrounded by murderous giants, rabid animals, and the Lich King too close for comfort... But anywhere was too close for comfort to the Lich King.

"Bahhhh this is going to take forever!" a man yelled.

Reckir turned to see two fisherman bickering on the other end of the dock. He strolled up to the men and greeted them. "Something the matter?" he asked.

"I never want to see another barrel of salted fish as long as I live!" the man shouted in exasperation, "Filling barrels day in and day out, and ther are still more to be filled! I wish I hadn't used up all that bait I bought from Nat Pagle. Worked like magic, it did. Now I'm lucky if I can catch a fish an hour!"

The other man looked up sleepily from his pole, chiming in with his two cents, "I hear the northern barbfish make pretty good bait." the man muttered.

The first man turned to the other and continued shouting, "But who's crazy enough to dive into a freezing cold lake and hack up the water plants in search of them?! Not me! But maybe..." he trailed off as he turned to Reckir.

"Maybe I can persuade you to..." the man began.

"Hold it! What's in it for me." Reckir said, holding his hands up and giving the fisherman a stern look.

"I don't have much... But there's 5 gold coins in it for you if you can get me 5 of those fish. A gold a piece! Fair deal if ever I heard one." The man answered.

Reckir slipped a hand into his pockets, feeling for the pouch that held the Nagrand Cherries he picked up in Stormwind. Let's you breath for 5 minutes underwater each! Great deal!~ the man had assured him. Reckir shrugged with a sigh, "Deal." and turned to walk to the end of the dock.

Popping one of the cherries in his mouth and rubbing himself with Fire Oil, he dove into the water. It was freezing cold at first, but the Fire Oil kept his temperature even. With his Axe in hand, he swam through the lake, chopping up plants in search of the elusive fish. After finding two, and cracking the shells of more crabs than he'd like to, he advanced upon yet another chunk of plants.

To his surprise, a Forsaken spy lunged out from the plants, attempting to strangle Reckir with it's sharp, bony hands. Reckir kicked at the creatures torso, knocking it back before it could dig it's claws into his exposed neck. With a roar that was muffled by being underwater, he swung his axe with all his might and cleaved the Forsaken in two. Twitching, the light in the corpses' eyes faded, and a book began to float to the surface.

Reckir grabbed the book, slipping it into his belt before searching the rest of the body. He found nothing else of importance, and so he swam to the surface. Once on the docks, he dried himself off and donned his equipment. He walked slowly, staring at the cover of the beaten, yet surprisingly durable book. He tossed the few fish he had gathered to the fisherman and collected his coin before proceeding to the nearby Inn.

Once inside, he took a seat next to the fire and began to thumb through the book, which was surprisingly written in Common. Fortunate, since he knew little to none Gutterspeak. The book read the following:

Day 1: The Human scum seem blissfully unaware of my presence here, as intended. They're ripe for bombing, and it should only be a matter of time before I've charted out their position.

Day 2: Charting complete - A trivial task for such an accomplished fellow as myself. Why I got stuck with this job is beyond me - they should have J-Y C. do it. That ridiculous accent should have been justification enough.

Day 3: First breath of air is finally getting a bit stale. Perhaps I should surface momentarily for another in a few days. Still bored to tears - where is that blasted signal?

The ranting continued for several more pages, until...

Day 12: Ah, sweet relief. The second breath tasted like the purest orphan tears I've ever had. The signal remains puzzlingly absent, and I could swear that one of the crabs is attempting to play drums on my big toe.

From there, the rants grew more disassociated...

Day 36: Third breath of air finally expired, and the veins in my left elbow filled with bubbles again on the way up. The drumming of hte crabs is a constant companion now, a percussive backdrop to my blackened little corner of hell. Clearly, I've been forgotten by those wretches. If J-Y were down here, they wouldn't have forgotten him! They wouldn't have left Hans or Sylvia behind! Why me?

From there, the entries trail off in a despondent scrawl... Reckir closed the book and smirked to himself. "Seems I did you a favor, blighter." He mumbled as he tossed the book into the fire.

NOTE: The character Reckir is original, the events are an interpretation of the events that occur while playing through World of WarCraft. Some dialogue and manuscripts are taken directly from the game. (If not modified slightly).