“Where…where are we?”
Mori looked around her. It was dark, but her perceptive eyes could make out stone walls covered in cobwebs.
The vrykul sniffed the air. “Hmmph,” he frowned, “I don’t like this. Smells like dead body.”
“We are in the catacombs,” Sahtra spoke up. He had been to many a crypt, cemetery, or otherwise desolate burial site in the search for new heroes to serve the Scourge, so the architecture and surrounding smells were all too familiar. What was out of place, however, was the silence. Ordinarily, a myriad of creatures and small vermin would scuttle around the stone hallways and crawl up the walls in search for small pieces of rotting flesh, but he neither saw nor sensed such creatures in this enclosure.
“Stairs. Here.” Halvor pointed to a flight of stone steps leading upward. “I don’t know where it goes, but it is only way out.”
“Well, I’m out of here, this place is spooky.” Meechi darted up the steps and entered a room filled with wooden boxes and barrels. No one in sight yet again. “At least it doesn’t smell like everything died.”
“Still too dark in here,” the vrykul mumbled. “Here is burnt out torch, and there is another, but I cannot find one that is useful.”
“Wait,” the alchemist pointed at one, “could you get that for me? We’ll just light it ourselves.” Halvor reached the brazier with ease and pulled out a bundle of sticks wrapped tightly with rope. “I’ll sprinkle some oil in it first,” Meechi spoke as she poured out the contents from a small glass vial and held the bundle towards Mori, “and you know what to do, right?”
The young blood elf nodded. Extending her arms, she channeled a small amount of life essence through her fingertips. She pointed at the oil-covered sticks, and a neat flame sprung up from them.
“There,” Meechi declared, satisfied, “now we’ve got ourselves a torch.” The vulpera held out the bundle to Halvor, who was easily the tallest in the group and preferred to walk in the front, to lead the way and illuminate the dark corridor. The light from the torch bounced onto the wooden walls, revealing what seemed to be an endless but ascending spiral ramp.
“Look, up ahead!”
The spiral walkway ended at an open threshold leading into a room lined with books, reagents, boxes, and an assortment of research tools scattered around on tables.
“Hello! Anybody here?” the vulpera called out. No answer. She looked towards the center of the room. “There seems to be a pit for fire here,” she observed, “if we light it, we’ll see better.”
The vrykul nodded and brought the torch to the pit. As the wood burst into flame, the shadows of bodies danced on the walls. Meechi gasped as she looked around the room and six bodies came into view. The alchemist rushed over to the first body on the right and squatted down. “Let me see if he’s still alive; we can treat him.” With a grunt, the vulpera flipped the body over to reveal a human male with long brown hair and a beard that matched. Meechi looked the body over, running her paws over the man’s red, black, and purple robes to check for punctures or embedded weapons. “I don’t know what killed him,” she sighed, “but he’s dead for sure.”
Sahtra slowly walked over to the man’s body and lifted one of its eyelids with his gloved finger. “Suffocation. His eyes are bloodshot.” The death knight passed and frowned before continuing. “It is unclear how, though. He has no marks on his neck to indicate he was strangled, or any on his face to indicate his flow of oxygen was cut off by sealing his mouth and nose.”
“Must be strange artifact,” muttered Halvor. The warrior peered suspiciously at Mori, who knelt before another body. “What are you doing, small elf child?” In the vrykul’s eyes, the fewer undead summons she had around, the better.
Mori turned her head the Halvor. “I’m trying to figure out who these people were. Maybe it’ll give us a clue.” The young necromancer looked through several books lying near the corpse. “Demonology,” she read aloud, and took the spell caster’s staff in her hand. It was covered in runes and tipped with a horned skull.
“They’re warlocks,” she spoke as she got up and checked the other bodies and their possessions, “all of them.”
“A place to train warlocks hmm,” Meechi stroked her chin in thought, “any other clues as to where we are?”
“These bodies are all human,” Sahtra replied, “and I am familiar with several kinds of human structures,” he added, “though I have not been to this specific location before.”
“We search over there,” Halvor pointed to another doorway directly opposite the one the travelers had entered through. He strode quickly to the hallway it led to, and the others followed suit. After ascending another ramped spiral passageway, the group found themselves at the rear entrance of a tavern. Boxes and barrels were strewn about, and a pool of dark red liquor had spilled from one of the cracked containers, leaving a strong smell as it evaporated and left behind a sticky syrup.
“Geez, this place is a mess,” remarked Meechi. She dashed over to the stools at the front of the tavern and hopped onto the counter, inspecting the bartender. He was a tanned-skinned brute with toned muscles and long, dark hair parted in two, each strand bound with leather wraps. The alchemist looked from the stein he still loosely held in his hand to another body slumped onto the ground. It appeared they had died at the exact moment one had been serving the other’s drink. Several other tavern guests sat lifeless in chairs at the tables. Looking at them, Mori thought that the group could easily have been time-stopped, and that any minute, time would flow again, and the humans would resume their revelries. No such thing would happen, however, and she mourned the unnecessary loss of life.
The young blood elf felt a slight breeze as Sahtra’s cloak brushed by her face. She watched as the death knight intently strode towards the open door and stood, surveying the outside. He had a hunch earlier, but now the man was certain. The iconic white stone walls with vibrant purple rooftops could only mean one thing.
“We are in Stormwind,” Sahtra declared, “the mage quarter.”
Mori’s eyes widened. She had heard of the capital city of the Alliance, about its beautiful buildings and large collection of archives and historical accounts in its library, but as a member of a Horde race, she had not been allowed access. The young blood elf quickly ran over to the death knight’s side and look out. The buildings were indeed beautiful, yes, but the grass in between them had been tainted and withered, as if their blades had been stripped away of their life essence. The humans lay on the corrupted grass, dead in the same way as the others, and surrounded by shards of glass fallen from the broken lamps above. There was an eerie stillness in the air, no birds chirping or bees buzzing to fill the silence.
“Wait,” something nagged at Mori. She looked first at Sahtra and then the others, “I can sense something.”
Meechi looked inquisitively at the young blood elf. “What is it?”
Mori closed her eyes and held her hands slightly out to each side, twirling her fingers as she frowned, searching. “There, she opened her eyes and pointed to the northeast, “it’s coming from that direction.”
The vrykul looked where Mori’s finger had indicated, puzzled. He was unfamiliar with the city. “What is over there? More house?”
“Stormwind Keep,” Sahtra replied, “and King Varian’s throne.”
“King Varian?!” Meechi exclaimed in disbelief. “What would the captain want with him?” The alchemist had been used to Moldmane’s treasure hunts; the most she imagined he would want was a precious item or a large sum of gold. The dead bodies everywhere did not add up.
“I don’t know,” Sahtra replied curtly, “you can ask him yourself. Let’s get going; I can lead the way.” Without further delay, the death knight turned around and started for the northeast. Mori ran after him to catch up and gripped his cloak tightly. She looked over her shoulder to check for the vulpera and the vrykul, and sure enough, they followed, but kept their distance.
Mori turned her head back to the front and rested her glowing green eyes upon dead body after dead body. “I’d always wanted to visit Stormwind,” she spoke quietly, keeping her eyes on the road, “but I didn’t think it would be like this.” The death knight did not reply at first but thought for a few moments. This was an illusion after all, but there was no knowing what reality could bring to the city either.
“It is quite the walk to the keep,” Sahtra finally spoke as he looked down at Mori, “would you like to hear some stories about Stormwind and Lordaeron in the meantime?”
The young blood elf quickly turned her head to look up at his. Her eyes sparkled with newfound curiosity. “Yes! I would love to hear them!”
“Very well.” The death knight turned back to face the road. The travelers crossed over a bridge into a sector with white buildings with blue rooftops rather than purple ones. Merchant stalls and auctioneers lined the streets, but the makeshift buildings were tattered and as lifeless as their owners.
“When King Varian was a young boy,” Sahtra began, “not much older than you, the city of Stormwind came under attack by the orcs. The soldiers had done all they could, and several evacuated, but most of the city fell, as well as Varian’s father and mother.”
Mori thought silently for a moment, thinking how Varian must have felt at the loss of his parents. She had lost hers, too, but that was long ago, and she had met a new person who loved her as family. She spared a glance at the death knight. Perhaps two.
“The refugees from Stormwind made their way to Lordaeron,” he continued, “where Arthas’s father, King Terenas, offered them aid and shelter. This was where Prince Varian was introduced to Prince Arthas, and the two quickly became good friends.”
The young blood elf smiled at the image of two boys meeting each other and becoming friends. It sounded nice to have companions one’s own age.
“GOJI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Mori stopped turned her head sharply behind her to the sound of Meechi letting out a horrified shriek. Sahtra glanced in the vulpera’s direction to find her covering her mouth in horror at a furbolg several paces away from her. The creature wore a bandana like hers across his neck, and he appeared to be chewing through the remains of a gnome.
“Please Goji,” the alchemist pleaded, “leave the poor dead soldier alone.”
The furbolg continued to feast on the corpse until it felt the eyes of the death knight upon itself. The creature lifted its head as it slowly stopped chewing, and it spit out a small metal pauldron before it resumed its meal.
“I like this one!” Sahtra exclaimed with amusement as he let out a hearty laugh. “Come, little Mori, let us continue.” Mori nodded and looked around. They had come across a bridge from the sector with blue rooftops to one that had red ones.
“That region over there is the dwarven district,” Sahtra pointed a gloved finger to the left, “the dwarves are known for being some of the best fighters in the land.” The death knight paused as he led the young necromancer through a series of tunnels through Old Town Stormwind.
“When Varian and Arthas were young,” he continued, “they would practice sparring, but Varian was clearly the better fighter between the two. He was only a few years older than Arthas, but his father, King Llane, had begun training him for battle years before. After the war, Varian arranged with King Terenas to have Muradin Bronzebeard, one of the best dwarven warriors, train Arthas personally. With his discipline, Arthas became one of the greatest fighters Azeroth has ever seen.”
Mori looked up at Sahtra. The death knight had stopped and appeared to be staring at the direction of the buildings in the dwarven district. Though he spoke nothing, and she could only see his eyes, she was sure he was smiling. Talking about his beloved king Arthas always seemed to make Sahtra happy.
“That must be Stormwind Keep over there!” Meechi called out as she reached the exit of the tunnel behind Mori and Sahtra. In front of her stood long stairways leading to a giant white stone castle. An archway stood between the stairs, with one guard stationed on each side. The guards, both dead in the same manner as the other citizens of Stormwind, wore silver armor with blue-fringed helmets and the tabard bearing the golden lion, emblem of Stormwind and the Alliance.
“If the soldiers are already dead here, we may be too late.” The vulpera knelt next to one of the guards to check his vitals and shook her head in dismay. “We need to hurry.” The travelers hurried up the stairs past a fountain with more Alliance soldiers collapsed at its base. Behind them was a long stairway covered with blue cloth and gilded edges leading into a long hallway. Beyond it lay the throne of King Varian.
* * * * *
“I found it first, you swine!”
“Oh yeah?” the quillboar snorted, “you don’t even know how to drink properly, you cretin, let alone wield a sword.”
“But I can learn,” growled the worgen, “unlike you, pork rind. Besides, you’d stink it up.”
“I would not, you ugly beast,” the quillboar retorted. The blade over which the two argued possessed a circular hole, and he tugged upon it, pulling the sword out of the worgen’s furry hands.
“You pudgy bastard,” he snarled at the quillboar, “once I get my hands on that blade for good once this tug-of-war nonsense is over, I’m going to activate that big ball of glowing light and fry you until you’re nothing more than crispy bacon!” The worgen reached out for the sword once again and grabbed it. “It’s mine now, lean meat, what are you going to do about—HEY!”
Without warning, an arm covered in blue-black armor and skulls reached over that of the worgen and effortlessly snatched the great sword from his hands.
“Hey mister,” the worgen was outraged, “who do you think you are—”
“Mange, don’t do it!” the quillboar whimpered as he stepped back from the figure that had appeared in front of them. “This one’s strong, I can tell,” He winced as he hit his head on one of the lion statues at the base of the throne, “and we don’t even have the titan artifact with us. The captain ran off with it.”
“No problem,” the worgen scoffed, “we’ll just find him…after I…deal…with this…”
Mange’s voice trailed off as he found himself staring right into Sahtra’s cold blue eyes, their gaze boring into his mind and relaying scenes of war, murder, and bloodshed. The worgen’s face turned from one of cocky confidence to one of anguish, and he gulped a rising lump in his throat as he started to back away.
“Sorry, mate, I uh…meant no offense,” Mange sheepishly remarked as he scratched his mane, “we’ll be, uh, on our way now, got to find our, uh, captain—”
“Mange! Porkins! What’s going on?”
The quillboar turned to the vulpera who had just entered the throne room. “Meechi!” he snorted with surprise, “you’re not supposed to be here!”
“We’ve been looking for you,” Meechi responded, “what is the captain trying to do?”
“And what is this…titan artifact?” Halvor stepped into the room and walked to her side.
“Oh no,” Mange shook his head, “we’re not telling you anything. Captain’s orders.” The worgen grabbed the quillboar and spoke in hushed tones, turning his back to the travelers. “Come Porkins, we’d best find that portal to Silvermoon and get outta here before the captain leaves us behind.”
“Good thinking, Mange, let’s go—”
“I HEARD THAT!” Mori exclaimed, stepping out from behind Sahtra. “Quick they’re going to Silvermoon! Find the portal!”
The quillboar jabbed the worgen with his elbow. “Mange! Why did you have to be so loud?”
“Shut up, Porkins. How was I supposed to know they had an elf with them? The little thing was basically hiding behind the one with the glowing eyes.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore, we need to go warn the captain.”
“I found it!” Meechi’s voice came from the adjacent room, full of books and maps, with a large table at the center lined with small tokens. It had likely been a room where military officials conducted meetings over strategy and resources.
“Halvor! We can’t let them follow us!”
“Understood.” The vrykul nodded to the vulpera and looked towards the worgen and quillboar, who were shaking where they stood.
“I’m not going to kill you,” the warrior laughed, “just put you to sleep.” With a hard blow to each of their heads, the two pirates passed out.
“Go to portal before wolf and pig wake up.”
Mori ran off to catch up to the others. Once they had all gathered in front of the portal, she spoke up.
“The rest of you take the portal in. I’ll damage the source of its power then hop inside. I should have enough time, but it’ll be gone before those two can make it here.”
Sahtra watched as Meechi and Halvor went into the portal but stood firm, watching the child. “Be careful, little one.”
The young blood elf nodded and got to work. She held out her arms over a strange circle engraved into the ground in front of the portal and channeled shadow energy into it until the glow from the inscription began to flicker.
“I’m almost there!” A sweat began to form on her brow; the magic used to make this portal had been more powerful than she had anticipated. Several minutes later, the inscription let out a massive spark and flung Mori backwards.
“Oof! It’s done!”
Before she could worry about whether she would reach the dying portal in time, Sahtra grabbed her by the arm and with a burst of speed, the two made it through the portal in time for it to disintegrate. Mori’s head swam as they journeyed through, and when her head cleared shortly afterwards, she found herself lying on the ground. She felt the familiar smooth stone and looked around at the pink sky and red and golden buildings she had seen so often in her childhood.
They had made it to Silvermoon.
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