"When you ask me about **Humans**,
You speak and think of completely different sentients.
Not at all like the ones I imagine.
I have had the chance to observe their race since the beginning of time,
From the heavens I watched their species, observing and analyzing.
Back when thick and wild forests stood where these mighty states are now,
I saw how their tribes slowly huddled together, creating something new.
How the **Empire of Arathor** grew from the small town of **Strom**,
Whose greatness and power
Will never be matched by the current human states.
And although **Stromgarde** calls itself its heir,
It identifies with only one side of the fallen state,
Whose power was lost due to the stupidity of the **Humans** themselves.
The human race possesses many qualities,
Bad and good, though the bad ones, of course, are more numerous.
The **Dwarfs**, by the way, have an excellent saying on this subject:
**Humans** can do everything. Everything that **Dwarfs**, **Elves**, **Orcs**, and **Goblins** can't..."
"Well, not as bad as I feared, but not as good as I hoped," I muttered, burying my fingers in my beard and giving my chin a good scratch. "And as my late father used to say, 'They don't beat you for a red beard, but for a shameless life.'"
Picking up the backpack nestled by my knee, I swung it onto my shoulder in one motion, turning my back on the Thandol Span and the **Dun Morogh** fortress, whose gates were slowly closing while the sentinels on the walls kept their eyes fixed on me.
Some of them were acquaintances; others were even members of our clan, and it was they who saw me off with sincere regret and understanding. The rest... well, they didn't spit in my back, and that was something.
My sad gaze swept one last time over the peaks of **Khaz Modan** rising into the sky. Spitting out the growing heaviness and bitterness in my mouth, I hopped in place a couple of times to settle the backpack more comfortably and set off.
The first steps were difficult, but I was already used to hitting the road. Giving my legs free rein, letting them carry me wherever fate led.
"Hot today, isn't it, **Smetchik**?" Patting the melancholic ram on the scruff of the neck, I exhaled heavily through my mouth, feeling a tightening pain in my chest. After a coughing fit, I couldn't resist casting one more glance back. "Ancestors..."
Despite the glorious summer day, I didn't feel like singing or marching briskly, enjoying the easy road. And although my legs carried me into the distance, my thoughts remained behind, giving me no peace.
I understood why I was in this situation, but the bitterness and resentment didn't lessen because of it. Clenching my fist until it cracked, I closed my eyes to calm down.
I didn't blame King **Magni** for my exile. I didn't even blame him for the broken rib and a couple of new bruises. The head of the **Bronzebeards** was within his rights to impose an even harsher punishment; he had enough influence and power to simply execute me without ceremony...
But he held back.
The death of his brother had hit the eldest of the **Bronzebeards** hard, and he hadn't been known for a peaceful disposition before. Harsh and quick to judge, the lord of all mountain dwellers was extremely hot-tempered. I was sure ten, maybe fifteen years would pass and I would be allowed to return, but it was so painful to leave my home, especially since I had only just returned from a long campaign for vengeance.
I would never admit this to anyone, and discussing the royal will when loyal friends and clanmates no longer stood behind me would be true folly. My thane and family had already done a lot for me, negotiating the best terms and helping me pack for the road.
Sturdy and well-made light **Armor**. A backpack stuffed with supplies and tools. An **Enchanted** flask with the finest moonshine mixed with our wheat beer, and a tightly packed pouch of tobacco threatening to burst.
In any case, for a fairly long period, I was now left to my own devices, and it was time to decide what to do with myself.
"Let's go, **Smetchik**, one day we'll return," I said. Perfectly understanding my current state, the stubborn bastard didn't show his usual temper, submissively following at my heels without prodding. "But for now, it's better not to irritate the guards of **Dun Modr**; those beardless retches were carrying out the King's will far too zealously."
Relatives and many acquaintances had advised me to head to the lands of the **Wildhammer Clan** to establish contact and perhaps even settle with them during my exile.
To learn and share secrets, maybe find a family, bind myself with ties to our splintered brothers...
Though, I suspected they would have gladly kept me there as a representative of **Khaz Modan** just to avoid irritating the King further, but I couldn't blame them for that. In my life, despite many achievements and fame among my kin—I had brought no less, and perhaps far more, trouble through my behavior, actions, and words.
And so, the journey to the **Wildhammer Clan** was postponed... not rejected entirely, but... the later it happened, the better.
"I have plenty of time, so I'll drop by if the chance arises, but I won't head there purposefully."
Nodding to my thoughts, I turned off the main highway, coming out toward a human fortress that controlled the bridge from this side. A decent castle, surrounded by walls, rose on a hill, protected on two sides by water.
Simple but sturdy stone towers, embrasures in all the right places, battlements for ladders, and even recesses in the walls to set surprises for those storming below.
A large moat fenced off the other sections, and I was sure that during a siege, they would let water into it, cutting the settlement off from the mainland.
"Well made," I thought, a pipe instantly appearing in my hand. Stopping fifty meters from the fortress entrance, I began to examine its architecture and the various solutions adopted during construction more closely. "You wouldn't even say **Humans** built it."
"And that's because they didn't, my red-bearded friend."
A squad of soldiers on horseback stopped beside me. Tall, well-built, all packed into identical **Armor** and tabards with a red fist against a white shield. Most were armed with swords and shields large enough to protect most of the body and slay a **Troll** or an **Orc**, but some had short bows peeking from behind their shoulders, and they were armed with round wooden bucklers and short blades.
"Not bad blades, and the **Armor** is decent overall, but it's awfully crude."
The quick thought flashed through my mind before the human spoke.
"Allow me to introduce myself." Taking off his helmet and tucking it neatly into the crook of his arm, the commander of the riders placed a clenched fist to his chest with his free hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered. A light stubble adorned his chin, and above his upper lip sat small, well-groomed mustaches that had clearly received much attention. "My name is **Maximus**, a decurion in the service of the **Kingdom of Stormwind** and this fortress."
"**Rodgirn Steel Barrel**..." My own name slipped easily from my lips. My words were full of confidence, but as soon as I remembered the reasons for being here, most of my spirit evaporated, which did not go unnoticed by my interlocutor. "A traveler."
"One doesn't often meet your kind outside the mountains, Master **Dwarf**." Not dwelling on my words and showing a tact unusual for a human, **Maximus** cleared his throat before continuing. "Though lately, I've been seeing too many **Dwarfs** heading north."
With a hint in his gaze, the human expected me to enlighten him on all matters, but we continued to stand in silence while his soldiers shifted awkwardly on their horses, glancing at each other.
"You're not particularly talkative," **Maximus** spoke again after a couple of minutes, hiding his dissatisfaction behind a crooked smile. "Where are you headed, good **Dwarf**?"
"North."
"Concise..."
Whispering to himself, the youth looked around, noticing that locals were beginning to gather, curiously eyeing me from head to toe. Among them were many peasants and soldiers of the local garrison, but even more common among them were former **Stormwindians**—refugees with a characteristic appearance.
"It's getting a bit crowded here." Seeing that the crowd was still growing—and not necessarily just to admire me, but likely to pester the patrol for fresh gossip and news—**Maximus** gripped the reins tighter. "I think we should continue this conversation elsewhere..."
"Subtle point."
At first, it was almost amusing to watch this lad, unaccustomed to such things, trying to play the diplomat and courtly conversationalist, but now it was becoming increasingly annoying.
"Allow me to invite you into the fortress; I'm sure Commander **Oswet** will want to speak with you."
"Eh..."
Exhaling tiredly through my mustache, I didn't even hide my irritation. If this was going to be repeated in every human settlement and I had to entertain local human rulers with my presence, then **Bronzebeard**'s punishment was starting to make a lot more sense.
Saying nothing, I followed the patrol, whose members slowly boxed me in, while a couple of soldiers dismounted to walk behind me. **Maximus** himself showed a bit of respect and walked alongside so I wouldn't have to crane my neck.
"And yet, perhaps you'll tell me where you'll go next?" Despite his poor phrasing, he didn't lack for attentiveness and insight... Bah! Though there was nothing surprising about that—they wouldn't have made anyone else the head of a scout patrol! "Forgive my persistence..."
"**Burm Doh**," the ancient insult my kin used for **Humans** slipped out before my brain could stop my lips. "I knew you had porous rock for brains!" Waving my hands, I shook my head furiously, trying to ignore the sound of a blade being drawn from its scabbard. "Speak normally, for mother's sake! I'm no delicate lady! You look like a sturdy lad, but your whole beard has grown inward!"
"Um," flustered, **Maximus** could only give the command to sheath weapons before continuing the conversation normally. "Forgive... me."
"What did I do to deserve this?"
"Alright, I'll try, Master **Dwarf**." At my stern, almost angry look, the poor guy held up his hands placatingly, even letting go of his horse's reins. "But I won't promise anything."
"Either do it or don't," I said, spitting on the ground. I wanted to blow my nose too, just to show my full attitude toward manners, but I noticed in time that there were some pretty girls among the patrolmen, so I didn't want to ruin my reputation for nothing right away. "I'm not royalty or some high-and-mighty type. Simple speech is better for me; I'm an inventor, a researcher, a discoverer, at most a soldier, but certainly not some blessed aristocrat who values a cushion under his arse, perfumes, or words more than life."
"Is that so..."
Such a swift transition from high style to common speech threw me off. As if hitting a wall, I looked anew at **Maximus**, who was smiling with just his eyes, and unable to hold back my laughter, I slapped the lad on the shoulder. Granted, I almost sent him face-first onto the road, but let's forget that for now.
"You're craftier and more perceptive than you look, **Maximus** of **Stromgarde**! Ha-ha-ha!" My bassy laughter startled a couple of particularly sensitive horses and soldiers, but the rest reacted positively. Some even joined in my laughter, especially the decurion of the "Stroms" himself.
The short road to the fortress went even faster. Once **Maximus** dropped the act of being an important prick, I immediately started liking him ten times more. I questioned the lad about how everything was set up here, where one could go, and what was allowed for travelers from other countries like me. What to say to people I met, and what was better to keep quiet about. And although no one has ever been able to make a **Dwarf** talk if he doesn't want to, my new acquaintance still advised me to keep my tongue behind my teeth, especially in **Lordaeron**.
While **Stromgarde**, a human kingdom famous for its warriors and tough life on the border with the **Trolls**, somewhat resembled **Khaz Modan** with its simple manners and attitudes, the softies from the largest human state were quite different.
Living next door to the **Elves**, having the world's largest city of wizards at their disposal and vast farmlands, the residents of **Lordaeron** were not the most pleasant companions.
Only the eastern part of the kingdom was somewhat familiar with reality, constantly clashing with the **Amani** **Trolls**. But the western part, where the capital of the same name was located...
"My advice to you, **Rodgirn**, don't go there," **Maximus** whispered, leaning close to my ear and gripping my forearm in a friendly manner. "In general, the west is a decaying place on the continent for us."
"I hear you." I wasn't a fool to believe the first person I met, but I would stick to the advice—such judgments didn't arise from nothing. Nodding in confirmation, which brought a satisfied smile to my companion's face, I finally decided to ask the question that particularly concerned me. "Listen, do you know anything about my kin..."
Before I could finish, my companion smirked and, stepping back slightly, raised an eyebrow ironically.
"I thought you'd never ask." Shaking his head, **Maximus** pointed north, shifting slightly toward the east. "Go straight down that road, you can't miss it; there are signs at every turn. Just be careful, the **Amani** **Trolls** have been very active lately. Their squads prowl along the roads and villages, daring to attack not only peasants and lone pilgrims but even small detachments of soldiers."
"Shit." The road was apparently going to be long if there were many signs, and then there were the **Trolls**... I was never afraid of a fight, but a lone pilgrim is too tempting a target, especially for those abominations. "Is it like that everywhere for you?"
"Along the entire border with those beasts," the lad continued his story, shrugging carelessly as if talking about the weather rather than an endless war with cannibal-warlock-savages, ignoring my stunned face. "It happens often. Every eight to ten years. We've sort of gotten used to it."
"No beard, it all went into your ears..." Clutching my head, I think I began to understand why some human kingdoms didn't react at all to the **Orc** threat from the south, perhaps not even fully taking them seriously. What difference did it make what kind of savages they were, right? Green, gray, blue... it was all the same—we'll survive, kill as many as we can, and then they'll come back anyway. "How do you live here? If so many of those fanged freaks wander freely through your lands."
But it wasn't Max who answered my question, but a gruff, dissatisfied voice from behind. The commander of the decury drew himself up to full height, striking his fist against his chest, and his subordinates repeated the gesture exactly, lagging only a fraction of a second behind their leader.
"We live as dozens of generations before us did," the stranger said, walking around me, measuring me with a suspicious gaze from head to toe, especially focusing on the weapon at my belt. He stood before me at full height. "We kill, we survive, and we become stronger."
"Have you tried wiping those savages out?" Deciding to further question the commander of the human fortress—and he couldn't be anyone else—I tried to provoke him. "I thought you had a strong army and many allies nearby."
"It's not that simple, Master **Dwarf**." The man's eyelid flickered, but he managed to keep himself in check. "Your fallen brothers don't give you peace for long either..."
"You know a lot, **Bran Umgi**." It was surprising to meet such a smart and educated human who knew at least something of our history. "Well, then let's speak no more of it."
"I agree."
Nodding in agreement, the fortress commander dismissed the eavesdropping soldiers with a look and gestured for me to follow him inside. Following through narrow corridors, each of which could easily be turned into a defensive line, I felt pleasant and nostalgic.
Dwarven fortresses were in many ways similar to this one, and in every corner or turn, one could feel the strong and steady hand of my kin.
Running my fingertips along the walls, I felt goosebumps across my body. Cold stone, so smooth and even... The history of this place was hidden within it—victories and defeats, feats and failures, heroes and victims. By the will of **Khaz** himself, the stone carried all this burden, unbearable for the living, through the centuries, and one small touch was enough for me to understand how much it had had to endure.
"Your kinsmen helped build this fortress," the human commander noted, pausing patiently as he noticed my delay, even slightly twitching the corners of his lips in a semblance of a smile. "Back in the days when the Empire of **Humans** stretched across the entire northern continent."
"A generous gift, and worthily made," I said, shaking my beard in rhythm with my own words as I caught up with the man, in whose eyes sparks of warmth began to creep. "I would give much to see how this fortress was created."
"Perhaps one day you will build a castle no worse yourself..." my companion said with strange intonations, sweeping an unseeing gaze over the walls.
"Anything is possible," I replied, roughly understanding what **Oswet** was getting at, but I was in no hurry to answer. "Maybe we should have a drink to make the conversation flow easier?"
"Why not."
Letting me into his office, the captain of the local fortress continued to surprise me. His stores contained a fairly large collection of alcohol, including some very decent specimens, and I almost felt sorry to drink them all.
Good tobacco from various parts of the world, even from the **Goblin** bay in the far south. Hundreds of different gadgets and not a gram of golden junk or jewelry, only real rarities and interesting items for which one could trade a batch of good modern pistols, a herd of battle rams, or even take a couple of brides from middle-tier clans in **Ironforge**!
Our conversation with **Oswet** was a strange game where I pretended not to understand what he wanted, and my interlocutor talked up the price, bribing me with promises and gifts, suggesting I visit the capital of **Stromgarde**.
His pressure intensified especially when I casually mentioned my inventions. The captain of the fortress at the Thandol Span was no fool, and they wouldn't have put a fool here; it was far too important and lucrative a post, in every sense.
A huge, even giant bridge built in ancient times, connecting the two halves of the continent. One of the greatest structures of the past and present. Possibly the most important trade route, constantly traversed by caravans, peasants, masters, travelers, mercenaries, adventurers, and many others.
Of course, there were other crossings around the Thandol Span, but they didn't compare to this work of architectural art.
A legion of **Dwarfs** in battle formation, sweaty and smelly, clad in steel from head to toe, could easily march across it... and the bridge would have endured the test with honor, without even shaking!
But back to the conversation with **Oswet**.
In the end, I gave a positive answer; I would travel with an escort squad to the largest city of these lands. Immediately, a letter was thrust into my hands, stating in black and white the importance of the bearer of this message. At the end of the paper was a massive seal and **Oswet**'s own signature.
Actually, I was surprised at how deftly this drunken little human scribbled the document. Between the two of us, we had drunk a tenth of his supplies, which is why bottles were now clinking on the floor, unsuccessfully trying to roll under the heavy desk.
**Oswet** was swaying, frequently mumbling to himself, but the even lines fell easily onto the paper. An intricate, slanted handwriting, gracefully drawn letters describing all sorts of fluff.
It seemed to me he wrote about my importance at least three or four times and apparently wanted to repeat it just in case, but I didn't bother with it, peacefully sipping an elf tincture made with magic.
I had never met **Elves**, but so far my first impression of them leaned toward the positive, for bad sentients couldn't make such magnificent booze. If they also had beautiful, busty girls, then all those lies and legends told by grumpy old men would be forgotten by me!
When a third of the fortress commandant's supplies were exhausted, we started on my native dwarven moonshine. The office was filled with a thick, smoky haze and the stench of two sweaty men who had been swigging every kind of swill imaginable from around the world for five hours straight.
"I swear by the name of our glorious King, this is a truly amazing drink," the man said, holding the mug with both hands and hypnotizing it with his eyes. "For this alone, you should settle in **Stromgarde**!"
"Ha, you don't say." Taking the flask from the swaying captain's hands, I took a hearty gulp, accidentally failing to mention it was a mixture of a couple of different drinks. "Now, my uncle brews a moonshine so strong that after ten shots, you can meet your ancestors!"
But like all good things, our gathering eventually came to an end. After delivering his last line, **Oswet** downed a whole mug of suspicious-looking mushroom brew and, with a happy face, passed out, hitting his head on the table. His hair was scattered across papers and plates where the remains of snacks lay.
"Well, that was a good sit-down," I snorted, taking one last puff of my pipe. Thoughts raced through my head that perhaps **Muradin** was right about **Humans** in some ways. Maybe not all, but some of them certainly deserve sympathy. Minutes, seconds, or hours... Reflecting on this, I didn't even notice before quietly closing my eyes. "I'll just sit for a bit and then go find somewhere to nap..."
Well, what can I say? My first acquaintance with the residents of this beautiful kingdom was a success! With difficulty, I pried my eyes open and nudged the snoring and farting commandant awake. I was forced to climb entirely into a barrel of ice-cold water just to come to my senses a bit.
The hangover was simply hellish, and yet I was soon to set out. Just the thought that I would have to bounce in a saddle for at least the whole day made me feel a growing pain everywhere... in my groin, in my head, in my stomach.
And judging by **Smetchik**'s face, who had apparently sensed my condition, the journey was going to be particularly tragic and painful.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
**Oswet**'s face when he came out to say goodbye to me was more beautiful and precious than any medicine or words. The poor man could barely stand, trying not to lose face before his people. Literally.
His uneven gait and glazed look helped me stay on **Smetchik**'s back, and every time nausea rose to my throat, I remembered the commandant's eyes, devoid of life, and all my troubles suddenly vanished! Now that's real magic, damn it!
Our journey through the **Kingdom of Stormwind** was extremely pleasant and educational. **Dwarfs** were not often seen here, which was at least strange, considering the **Wildhammer Clan** shares a direct border with these lands. And my appearance caused a thousand questions, delights, and rumors that seemed to spread even faster than our squad moved.
People, both commoners and military, watched me with surprise, often approaching for a chat or treating me to food and drink in the evenings when we stopped in villages or fortresses.
Oh, how many glorious soft bodies of peasant girls I managed to squeeze while our fairly large group crossed the **Arathi Highlands**, the vast valley where the **Kingdom of Stormwind** lay.
You know, I didn't even want this journey of ours to end, and I suspect I wasn't alone in that opinion. The soldiers escorting me were in wild delight, and a couple of times I even had to knock some sense into those jokers when they suggested getting a personal **Dwarf** for traveling through the kingdom.
But all that was jokes, of course... simple and direct as sticks. Pleasant in conversation and without much guile in their speech. Most of the **Stromgarde** soldiers I met on my way were exactly like that, and because of that, my opinion of these human people only improved.
As we approached the walls of the capital rising on the horizon, most of my escorts let out a sad sigh, showing disappointment. Simple boys and girls who had dedicated their whole lives to the war with the **Amani**, who crawled in an endless stream from the thick jungles in the east. And this small break was a real salvation for them from the gray everyday life filled with the blood of **Trolls** and comrades.
Before entering the city, we were already met by a small delegation, which included several dissatisfied old men in aprons and guild clothing. They stared hostily in my direction, perfectly understanding where this was going, and that only added to my mood.
Turning **Smetchik**, I reached out and firmly shook the hand of the lad, the commander of the escort. The young boy placed in charge of the squad was as straight as a crowbar, so we found common ground quickly—after the very first fight in the nearest tavern along the road from the Thandol Span.
"It was a pleasure to learn," I said, squeezing the beardless youth's hand tighter and smirking boldly as I looked him straight in the eye, "that there's more good in **Humans** than they gossip about in our halls."
"Not your best compliment." Trying to maintain a decent smile in public, the little rascal tried to respond to my show of strength, and something was even starting to work... but not this time.
"But it's an honest one." Accepting my deserved victory, a triumphant grin lit up my face, at which most of the escort squad—already used to such entertainment—only rolled their eyes.
Leaving the last word to myself, I rode into the capital to the cheerful smiles of the soldiers, already sensing that something truly interesting awaited me.
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