Bootle: Magical Failings.

It's happy hour, the alcohol is flowing. It's time to pull up a tankard of ale, bottle of wine for the ladies and regail tales of heroism and grandeur.

Topic/Postby Bootle » 20 May 2010, 17:52

Bootle: Magical Failings.

So yeah. For some reason I had a scene pop into my head, and decided to write about it. Plus it ties in with an excuse as to where the hell Boots has been all this time.

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It just another day for the old Champion to show the youngsters how it was done. Once again they got reckless. Once again, they got captured. Once again, they had to be rescued.

Even in the biting cold of Icecrown, Bootle never felt so much as a shiver as he scanned the chaos below him in the Cultist camp. He always prefered the cold. It brought him fond memories of his previous occupation. The only issue was his beard kept freezing over. He'd rather forget the last time it got too brittle and snapped clean off. He hid from his comrades for weeks after that.

His train of thought was cut short after he spotted a cage below. He could see it was occupied.

A Tauren male. Luckily his surrounding captors had not noticed the whirring mechanical monstrosity that was hovering above them. Another reason to love these blizzards, the old Gnome thought to himself.

Casting a rope over the side, he grabbed his axe and dived upon the nearest and softest target. A swift death, his head was in two most likely before the pain sunk in. He hoped he could move on to the fallen Orc's comrades before they noticed what had happened, but the skull did not let go of the axe without a fight. Precious seconds were wasted, a nearby warlock was already glowing with Fel energy, and two guards were already charging towards the diminutive soldier.

There was still some distance between adversaries when the skull yielded, so the Gnome feigned weakness, allowing them to come closer and become overconfident. The first guard paid the price, finding his head some feet away from his body before realising what happened. His Trollish comrade had little time to react before losing a limb, before the gnome dragged him down by the dreadlocks. Thanks to his new gangly blue friend, he survived the incoming shadowbolt with not so much as a fel burn. His trollshield, however, was not so lucky.

The Tauren watched with interest as the tiny figure made easy work of the foes that had restrained him, and made a mental note that it might be a good idea to check what it is you're punting before you take a run-up.

The Warlock was nervous, Bootle could see it in his eyes. A Human, most likely defected from Dalaran. He charged towards the target before it complicated matters with a well placed fear spell. The fel mage tried to splutter out an incantation, but he could only raise his staff to defend against the oncoming blow in the time it took for the veteran to reach him. His life flashed before his eyes, he now truly regretted leaving his life behind for power, it was now coming to bite him in the...

But death did not come. The axe barely left a mark on the staff, it just rested there. The staff was wooden, and both parties knew it stood no chance against the sharpened saronite. Man and Gnome both looked at eachother in puzzlement.

Bootle woke out of the daze first, and swung his axe around once more, this time yielding results. Both man and staff lay in two.

The Gnome rifled through the guard's belongings, finding a key to match the Tauren's prison. Another day, another scout saved. He could find his way back. Or he could be rescued again tomorrow. It didn't matter. Bootle wasn't all there, and barely recalled even climbing the rope back up to his 'Copter. What had happened? That was no reinforced staff, and that was a perfect hit...

After collecting his pay, he set off to his room in the Ledgerdemain. Dalaran was where he felt at peace, even amongst the hustle of the crowds. It brought fond memories of his time as a tutor, back when things were simpler. Back before Gnomeregan, before he lost his power.

Bootle had already resigned to the fact he would never get his talent for Frost magic back. He still did not understand why, but it was very much likely due to the radioactive fallout from Gnomeregan. But still, his magic ability grew stronger as time passed.

Enchanting is the art of sewing magical enhancements into inanimate items to augment the wielder of said item in some form. And even then, magical energy exists innately in most armour and arms nowadays, enhancing adventurers, mages and mercenaries to strengths far beyond their natural ability. Bootle had little to no skill in Enchanting as a mage, it was tedious and fiddly. It was not as natural as controlling the flow of magicks of the surrounding area. But he did use the general idea of it.

As he removed the armour plate, there would be nothing of the small, wizened figure that would suggest he could lift, wear and wield items far heavier than he will ever be. At first, when he could barely control the flow of aether after the Gnomegregan incedent, all it took was one human's gibe at the old Gnome's misfortune in a Stormwind bar to change his destiny forever. With a mix of augmenting his own strength with what little magic he had left, and some telekinesis on the barstool he was swinging at the time, the resulting brawl and unconscious human in front of him earned him a night in a cell.

He had no money for the fine, but a guard who witnessed the event had an interesting idea for the Gnome, impressed at the surprising strength he possessed.And thus, he was signed up for the Stormwind Military. All Bootle had to do was go out on general assignments not trusted for general adventurers, and in exchange was trained to use a multitude of weaponry and armour. As time went on, the gnome trained himself to harness the arcane energy to keep his strikes true, and his shield unyielding.

He had thought his limit reached many years later. He had since moved on from his mandatory service, and was helping assault the Sunwell Plateu with his new companions. He knew this was as strong as he'd ever get. The only way he could ever gain more power was to dip into the darker arts. Too risky, would never be right, he thought.

However, fate had other plans. The Sunwell was freed from the grasp of the Legion and Scourge forces, and made pure once more. He could feel it, a pure magical well had once more been opened to the world. And it felt good. It felt brilliant, even. This was new life, new strength to the old Gnome. Was it coincidence that soon, plans were made to go after a stronger adversary to the north? Most likely. Bootle had no love for ideas of "fate" or cosmic plans that are out of his control.

With a renewed source of power, his power and strength grew daily. He kept toe-to-toe with the strongest warriors in the Alliance and Horde. He helped vanquish dark menaces throughout Northrend, and became a Champion for his people in tests of skill and strength.

But something was wrong. Something has been wrong for a while. Earlier and earlier each night had Bootle found himself drained and weakened, sleeping as soon as his task was done. And now, during the middle of battle, the magical imbued strength had failed him. He was only alive through sheer luck that the Warlock was just as shocked as he was.

The source of Magic was not waning. The Sunwell was free, and Malygos' meddling had been dealt with long ago. There could only be one logical solution in the Gnome's mind. He was addicted. He needed more and more magic each day to fuel his combat prowess. Much more than he could handle.

He had much more that needed doing, the Lich King's threat was still very real. And his companions still needed his help... But he knew it would be all for naught if he continued like this for much longer. Thus preparations were made for a holiday of sorts.

The next day, Bootle accessed his vault for the last time for a long while, making sure he only took what he needed. He intended to come back, but only when he was ready. It was to be a long break. Somewhere peaceful, where he'd have no need for his combat skills.

As he departed on the ship to Menethil, he looked back to the frozen continent. It wouldn't be the last time he'd see it, he thought to himself. He'd make sure of it.
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Bootle
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