Post by ogrun on Nov 9, 2010 6:40:40 GMT -5
((This is a little rewritten story that I've been considering on writing after listening to 'Blood Upon The Risers' again, and again, and again, and.. Well, you get the idea.))
Roaring engines. Pretty much what was in the ears of every greenskin on the battered plane as they flew over the vast, dark skies above Icecrown. The Goblin sappers, with their Kor'kron escorts. Only a few of the plated Kor'kron to make sure everything went smoothly regarding these Sappers-For-Hire. The mood of the moment, however, was not very pleasant, a common, constant factor in Icecrown and in dealing with an enemy that had no fear, did not retreat, and so many factors that both the Horde and Alliance had become used to.
"HEY!" One of the Kor'kron sergeants yelled over the roar, the grizzled veteran in charge of this small bombing operation, "Is everyone happy?" Posed with this question, no one replied for a few moments, unsure how to answer. His following grunt was unheard, and perhaps even his question, as he stood up in the shakey, partially unsteady, open Goblin craft. "Yes!" The youngest Goblin replied, "I'm happy as hell!" He lied, and was terrible at it. He stood up, steadying his pack of deadly explosives. One of the Kor'kron checked his parachute. Personally, this Goblin would be glad to not hear the dreadful engines roar, since this will be the last jump he'll ever make. Looking at one of the female Goblins in the group, he gave a wide, sneering grin, "And my pop said I'd never make a good sapper!" A gleam of enthusiasm in his eye, without hesitation, he leaped down.
He counted loud and long before he realized he forgot what number he was supposed to count to, exactly. Pulling the 'chute free, the canopy popping free and beinging nothing but a frail piece of cloth as he continued to plummet. "Shit!"
No! His paracute failed! His eyes widened as he looked down below to the unsuspecting, undead monstrosities below. His greasy hands reaching frantically reaching for the closest piece of dynamite. Steel struck flint repeatedly as he soon dropped a few dynamite sticks. His mind raced, hoping that his unborn son would atleast have an explosive diameter that he could be proud of..
Splat! The blood of the goblin shot into the air! The canopy of the parachute draped over the sapper as the ghouls hungrily launched forward to devour the remains. From above, the pilot leaned over to look at the explosion.. The Orc only frowned, "What a damn hell of a way to die.." Some, if not all, of the former sappers comrades look over, all agreeing, that it's been atleast several weeks since a 'chute last failed. The run continued from there, with no failures in parachutes, the fallen sapper soon became a disgraced legend and taught the lesson 'Always light your explosives before jumping to your possible death.'
Roaring engines. Pretty much what was in the ears of every greenskin on the battered plane as they flew over the vast, dark skies above Icecrown. The Goblin sappers, with their Kor'kron escorts. Only a few of the plated Kor'kron to make sure everything went smoothly regarding these Sappers-For-Hire. The mood of the moment, however, was not very pleasant, a common, constant factor in Icecrown and in dealing with an enemy that had no fear, did not retreat, and so many factors that both the Horde and Alliance had become used to.
"HEY!" One of the Kor'kron sergeants yelled over the roar, the grizzled veteran in charge of this small bombing operation, "Is everyone happy?" Posed with this question, no one replied for a few moments, unsure how to answer. His following grunt was unheard, and perhaps even his question, as he stood up in the shakey, partially unsteady, open Goblin craft. "Yes!" The youngest Goblin replied, "I'm happy as hell!" He lied, and was terrible at it. He stood up, steadying his pack of deadly explosives. One of the Kor'kron checked his parachute. Personally, this Goblin would be glad to not hear the dreadful engines roar, since this will be the last jump he'll ever make. Looking at one of the female Goblins in the group, he gave a wide, sneering grin, "And my pop said I'd never make a good sapper!" A gleam of enthusiasm in his eye, without hesitation, he leaped down.
He counted loud and long before he realized he forgot what number he was supposed to count to, exactly. Pulling the 'chute free, the canopy popping free and beinging nothing but a frail piece of cloth as he continued to plummet. "Shit!"
No! His paracute failed! His eyes widened as he looked down below to the unsuspecting, undead monstrosities below. His greasy hands reaching frantically reaching for the closest piece of dynamite. Steel struck flint repeatedly as he soon dropped a few dynamite sticks. His mind raced, hoping that his unborn son would atleast have an explosive diameter that he could be proud of..
Splat! The blood of the goblin shot into the air! The canopy of the parachute draped over the sapper as the ghouls hungrily launched forward to devour the remains. From above, the pilot leaned over to look at the explosion.. The Orc only frowned, "What a damn hell of a way to die.." Some, if not all, of the former sappers comrades look over, all agreeing, that it's been atleast several weeks since a 'chute last failed. The run continued from there, with no failures in parachutes, the fallen sapper soon became a disgraced legend and taught the lesson 'Always light your explosives before jumping to your possible death.'