The Argent's Finestby Taylor VincentEarly in the war. Borean Tundra. Varendil Dawnblade stood, still as a statue, as the elevator whisked him downward into Warsong Hold. He calmly walked down the ramp, toward one of the exits to the quarry, saluting Overlord Hellscream, who saluted back. When you're dealing with undead, you see, you call in an expert. One of Highlord Fordring'shandpicked Crusade force, a fighter and healer who served with distinction during the last Scourgeinvasion and concurrent plague. Varendil Dawnblade was good at three things: fighting, tailoring, and enchanting, and he wasall out of infinite dust and frostweave. The Warsong Guards saluted next as the priest quickly strode past them toward the entranceto the heavily infested quarry, his robes swishing quietly around his feet. A few more orcs outsidethe gates cheered as the elf swept past. One nerubian skittered up. A hand extended out, a flash of light swept down into the creature's head, and the nerubian fell. Varendil grinned, and calmly walked out into the quarry. Two more skitterers approached. A bolt of light dropped from the sky, burning through thecarapace and dropping the nerubian where it stood. The second leapt forward at the elf, butbounced off the transparent shield a foot in front of the priest's face. It leapt again, and the priestducked, his arm moving down to his hip and then up. The creature sailed over him, meeting thedagger he'd extended over his head. The blade flashed forward and two halves of a nerubian fell. The elf cackled. Some of the stronger creatures took notice. Winged beasts swooped down on the blood elf who caught one as it dove and hurled it intothe ground, where it crunched and ceased to move. He juked to the side as another snapped at him, waving his hands and summoning chains, binding the creature there in front of him. It hissed, but

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he blasted it into the sky with three short bursts of Light, then slashed through it with a strongerone, and its carcass fell to the ground with a dull thud. The priest continued to walk forward, a persistent rumbling overpowering the sound of hisfootfalls on the packed dirt. The priest stopped, then took one step back, leaving space for theenormous claw that burst from the earth before him, sweeping terrain away as its owner, a nerubianlord, dug its way out of the ground. It reared up before the priest before slamming down in front of him. Varendil smirked. The nerubian raised one claw and stabbed downward, but the elf slunk to the side. He raisedthe other, and this time the priest twirled away, lunging out with his arm as he did and slicing off achunk of leg with his dagger. Howling in pain and rage, the creature slammed itself down,summoning a swarm of scarabs that sprayed forth before it, a wall of pincers and wings. The priest said one holy word, and the shield reformed around him, the swarm hitting it witha flash of energy that sent insect after insect tumbling away from the soldier of the Light. The priestslowly strode forward through the storm, splitting the waves of insects until the web lord wasexhausted and the priest stood a bare foot from the unholy creature's face. The nerubian hissed. Varendil brought his hand down, a gesture of judgment, and a bolt from the heavensfollowed suit, a blast of searing light that immolated the creature's head. Its body teetered and fell tothe side, still smoldering from the righteous brand. The blood elf carefully walked forward to his target, the squirming and straining webbedshape behind the nerubian. With a quick flash of light he sliced the webbing open, revealing thestruggling plate-clad orc within. The orc, suddenly free of its bindings, collapsed to the ground.

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Varendil extended a hand. "Call me Varendil Dawnblade," he said calmly as he helped theorc to his feet. "And you are?""Bullcrap," a familiar voice said. Varendil blinked. "Your name is Bullcrap?""No, that story is bullcrap," the voice said. A nerubian skittered down the side of the quarry and toward the two. The elf and the orc turned to face the newcomer."How is that story bullcrap? I seem to recall that I was there, and you weren't." The nerubian raised one of its forelegs and flopped it dismissively. "

Please

. I know you. Youcan barely lift a sack of laundry let alone a big orc like Bruxinax in full plate." The nerubian pokedthe orc's cobalt harness. Varendil paused. "Okay, I'm not that strong. But, y'know,

technically

I don't really have to lifthim, I just brace myself and hold steady while he lifts himself." The undead spider glanced at the priest's feet and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm supposed tobelieve that the boots

you

make have grip? He'd have whipped you into the ground behind him if hepulled on your arm at all." Varendil tugged the hem of his robe up and glanced down at his boots. He then put on hismost offended face, threw down his dagger into the quarry dirt, and stomped over, leaning into theundead arachnid's face. "Okay, you insect. You wanna poke holes in my story or insult my physicalstrength, that's one thing, but insulting the tailoring is

too

far!" He glared at the Scourge soldier whosmirked derisively."Your boots are fine, sweetie. Doesn't matter, though, you couldn't lift him because yourefused to let your shoes touch that quarry, 'member?" a Warsong mage said from behind them, where she was lazily fishing in one of the nerubian sinkholes.