Warcamp of the Earthshaker, Blade Plains, Aethera.

The old Shaman sighed as his scrying bowl went dark.

The old one-eyed orc got up from his table.

The Warchief would not like this, He thought

He had asked him to keep watch on the Dishonored after his banishment.

Report after report just added to the Warchief's disappointment.

Then he seemed to slip from his sight.

At first he thought he had finally fallen.

But with the help of his students he found him again.

In another world.

He watched as the Dishonored mocked a short Manling, no bigger than the Warchief's own son.

He watched as the Manling, with either great courage or stupidity, yelled and insulted him.

He watched as he fought the Dishonored bravely.

And he watched as the life began to leave the Manling's eyes.

He was shocked when, with a last bout of courage, he got the upperhand on the Dishonored.

And ended his shameful, worthless life in a most brutal, and fitting manner.

He sighed once again.

It didn't matter, once the Warchief was informed that he fell against another, he would have to react to avenge him.

The Dishonored was still blood after all, a last kindness offered by the Warchief.

The old Shaman made his way up the hill that the Warchief's tent was pitched.

Old bones creaking, he waved off one of his students that incessantly follow him like flies.

He entered the massive Wartent, hide rugs were placed for some comfort, a large map painted on hide of the surrounding area placed on the ground before the throne.

And many had red marks painted across them.

The Earthshaker himself sat on the grand throne, made of the bones of the great beasts of the plains, overlooking it in deep discussion with the other Warband Leaders that made up his Great Horde.

As he looked up and saw the Shaman, the tent went quiet.

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"Leave us." His voice was an additional reason he was called Earthshaker.

The hundreds of thousands of Orc's and conquered races that followed his command and will was the main one though.

As the other Orcs saw the Shaman they saluted and bowed to their Warchief and made their way out.

The guards, sensing that this was between the Shaman and Warchief, left.

His own students following.

When they were alone the Shaman walked towards the Warchief, passing the many trophies of his multiple conquests, stopped and kneeled, with some difficulty, before his Warchief.

"What has happened since last One-eyed?" He rumbled at the Shaman.

He looked into the face of his Warchief and said simply.

"Your brother is dead." His voice old and scratchy.

A moment of relief passed over the great Orc's face.

"Did he die with honor at last?"

The Shaman shook his head.

"In the cold dark earth he lies, killed by a Manling."

Pain and anger replaced the brief relief that was on the Warchief's face.

He said nothing as he stood from his throne, helping the Shaman to his own feet.

Then he finally asked.

"Where?"

"Another world, I know not where. He was lost to my sight and only with aid from my own did he return to it."

"Is there a way to reach it?"

The Shaman thought for a long time, even on his way here he knew what the Warchief would ask it of him.

"With an object from the Dishonored, and aid from many Shamans, Sages, and Wise Ones. It's possible."

The Warchief pulled a dagger from his belt.

The same shameful dagger that the Dishonored had tried to use on the Warchief in the dead of night.

A look that heralded thunder crossed his face as he handed it to the old One-Eyed.

"Your Warchief demands results before the end of our current campaign." He growled.

The Shaman took the dishonorable item, bowed before his Warchief, and left the Wartent.

Thunder broke with a great and anguished roar as he made haste to complete the Warchief's demand.

-----

Spindletop, Gnomish Conclave, Aethera.

Sprog has always been prideful and so sure of his intellect and the emerging possibilities of Alchemy and Gnomish Artifice.

Which made the escape of the Kobolds by magic trickery all the more damaging to his pride and the pride of the prestigious School of Human Artifice and Technology.

When he finds a way after the Kobolds he can build his own school for Gnomish achievements and not have to rely on the Humans.

The others had thrown themselves into finding the Lizardmen that fled.

It all had to due with magic of course.

Travis was praying at the Grand Temple hoping that his Goddess would somehow grant him passage.

Astrala was with the Head Mages and were discussing ways to open a portal after them.

He heard Seril was talking with the Druids of the forest about Woadwalking into another realm.

He wasn't sure where Kilpa had gone off to.

Moira was the worst though.

After she returned to the Dwarven Petty Kingdom she "asked", more like conscripted, all the Kingdoms rune-mages and worked them night and day to find a way after them.

Magic was everywhere, but that doesn't mean it has to be leaned on as a crutch, He thought as he had a set of stones inlaid with copper wire and set against a machine that would catch the lightning that was forming in the sky above his lab.

The wire formed various runes into the stones, with the lightning, some alchemical mixtures, and his own brilliance, he would force open a hole into the realm the Kobolds went after.

He held the crude remote that had wires poking out of the sides, and that held only 2 buttons on it.

He opened the skylight, and with a crank, brought up a metal rod to catch and direct the lightning.

He was ready.

Ready to show them all that the future didn't lay in silly "mysticism" or prayers to non-existent Goddesses.

It laid in the hands of the Gnomes!

Lightning struck and followed the rod, to the wires, to the machine, to the stones.

It crackled and zapped and ignited the mixtures and the wires brightened with power.

Then a new world opened before him.

Cold blew in from a great frozen realm, he could see great blue-skinned giants, covered in frost with blood red eyes.

He pressed a button.

He saw twin suns set into a lake, the breeze cooled his face. Black domed buildings and monolithic towers dotted the landscape.

He looked up and witnessed dark stars in the bright sky of this strange world.

He quickly pressed the button again.

And came face to face(?) with a being of spinning rings of eyes and fire.

DEFILER!!!!

It's voice screeched at him like tearing metal.

With his eyes starting to both burn and bleed, he hurriedly pressed the button.

And had to quickly press it again as an ocean had opened before him and had sprayed him with cold salty water.

That realm was no less insane then the others.

What he did see his own mind was trying desperately to forget.

A great temple of cyclopean make and a great being that lay sleeping or dead he failed to remember.

As a nightmarish looking fish flopped nearby he was growing frustrated.

"Why isn't it WORKING?!" He yelled.

Then he saw it.

A scale.

A RED scale.

It was one of the scales from the Dread Dragon.

An idea formed in his oversized head.

He picked up the large dragon scale and tied it to the machine with copper wire.

Then he pressed the button again.

As the power transferred through the scale he saw a new world.

A world with a small town and heavily forested hills.