"And damned if I do even wake up!"
Fargor slams his hairy Dwarven fist down on the wooden table, angry at the ruling Wizards of Dalaran for their impositions on him and everyone else.
All Osull and Marcella can do is look back and nod in acknowledgement, as they too feel more and more angst at the Wizards for their mysterious ways.
"At least it will only be part of a day," Osull offers up in comfort of the Dwarf. Marcella lays a supportive hand on the Osull's shoulder and nods her head in agreement, "Indeed kind Dwarf, it's only for eight hours."
The platitudes seem to do nothing for Fargor, as he shakes his head and says "Eight hours or eight years, it doesn't matter lass. No one should have a right to tell a Dwarf what to do!"
And as he says that the Wizards can suddenly be heard throughout the city, "The realms will be down from three to eleven in the morning, as the mighty pacific clock tells time. Sleep well now citizens of Azeroth, for when tomorrow you awake things will be fresh and new..."
The voice trails off into nothingness and across the realms everyone stops what they're doing and falls asleep as they are.
The Wizard's maintenance has begun.
One week ago...
"What in the nine hells? Why didn't I awake earlier?" the Paladin asks.
Marcella replies softly, "The Wizards told us some had to sleep longer, noble Paladin. But now," she gulps, "it appears everything is okay."
The Paladin nods, not really sure what to make of everything. He then sees Osull sipping his mead, watching him. "What the hell are you looking at, Human?"
"Be calm, my friend. I am only here to reawaken from the sleep the Wizards have placed us under," Osull tells the Dwarf. "What's your name?"
The Paladin looks at the Warrior and sizes him up, his eyes fixating on the orange glowing draconic symbols positioned on the hilt of the Warrior's sword. The symbols continue down the length of the weapon, glowing as if thrust into the blood of a mighty beast, yet forged in the hottest of fires.
"What in all of the Underworld is that?" the Dwarf thinks to himself. "I best not fight with this Human. Although it does not bode well for him serving the light if he carries with himself such enchanted weaponry. Only the greatest in the realms would dare display such wealth and power openly."
The Dwarf straightens himself up and says to the Human, "My name is Fargor. I am a servant of Dwarves and of the light, here to clear Northrend of the Lich's plague by myself if I have to." As he says the last part those around him are filled with a sense of devotional spirit, almost as if the very utterance of the Lich King's demise brings them hope.
"And who are you, barer of such a finely crafted weapon?"
Osull's hand distinctively settles on top of his sword as it's mentioned. For the sword of a Warrior is never something to be brought into conversation unless it's intended to be used.
"My name is Osull, and I too am here to seek an end to the Lich King's deviance and wicked ways." He leans back and continues, "but it appears that the Wizards of Dalaran and their sleeping spells are making this more difficult each passing week."
And with that Fargor nods and plants his mace on the floor, using it to sturdy himself as he moves towards Osull with a hand extended in greeting. "Well met then adventurer," the Dwarf says as he shakes Osull's hand.
"Sit with me and tell me more about yourself, and remember not to look me in the eye. Dwarves hate being looked in the eye."
Author's note: Thank you all for the wonderful feedback last week. It's encouraged me to continue with my little creative writing experiment. I've changed a few things around, namely switching from second person to third person. This installment represent Part III of the story, and you can check out Part I and Part II if you'd like to get caught up. Assuming tomorrow morning is quiet around WoW Insider HQ, I should have Part IV for you all when the realms come up.