The Tale Of Baron Hector Krestan

The Tale of Baron Hector Krestan or: Life and Death in the Burning Steppes. A true story as told by an anonymous son of Stromgarde. Manuscript edited by C. Mishunadare.

Chapter 1: Assembly in Stormwind I remember that it was a rather dreary, rainy day when I arrived once more in the rebuilt kingdom. I had come to the southern human city of Stormwind on a selfimposed break of sorts from fighting the Scourge in the Plaguelands when I saw the note tacked to the doorway of the Gilded Rose Inn. “Excitement! Adventure! Glory! “Baron Hector Krestan is seeking three to five companions for an expedition into the charred lands north of Lakeshire. Applicants are expected to be well versed in combat and able to subsist on meager provisions for days or weeks. Apply at the Stormwind Keep.” That was all the advertisement said. Miss Allison, the innkeeper, smiled her sweet smile and told me she’d just received the note a couple hours earlier. I knew the fight in the north was an important one, but the Argent Dawn couldn’t possibly miss me too much while I was away. I’m not much of a bootlicker, but I knew the value of serving the nobility of Stormwind, and thought I could do some good. Applications for the Baron’s companion party began the next day, so I went to the vault, where I kept my dress armor, and began to prepare to impress. Smithing had always been my strong suit, so I had crafted my own suit of dress plate. I’d traded a goblin’s fortune in thorium to a dwarf in Tanaris for the plans, but setting out my plate in front of me on my bed in the inn, I knew that it had been worth it. Silvery shining breastplate and leggings; blue boots, pauldrons,

Page | 2 and helm. I set to work carefully polishing them, and, admittedly, admiring my handiwork a bit. By the time morning came around, I’d gotten a good night’s sleep, donned my armor, and was ready to go. I strapped my sheath and shield across my back and carefully made my way down the stairs of the inn. Miss Allison smiled and blushed at me as I passed, which put me in an even better mood for the upcoming day. I thought that I just might have a chance as I walked through the canals. The day was much brighter and clearer than the one before. I marveled at the structure of Stormwind Keep that shone in the sunlight as I approached. I am a loyal son of Stromgarde, whose lands have seen grander days, but I am brother to all the human nations, save the traitors of Alterac, and appreciate the strength and honor of the southernmost kingdom of humanity. The Keep impresses me whenever I see its spires stretching out above the Old Town, loyal guards nearly motionless at the entrance that overlooked the city’s canals. The grandeur continued within as arches supported the distant ceilings above my head, polished stone making up the floor and walls of the hallways. I was walking up the main corridor, admiring this construction, when a man in robes strode out of another hallway and right into my path, and even though he was rather thin, with no heavy armor, the look he shot me stopped me in my tracks. He was average height, with long gray hair, a short gray beard, and a stern face. His robes were purple, and every article of clothing he wore was adorned with skulls. A demon, some red thing with no eyes and thick antennae, followed him, as did a female gnome. The gnome was clad in leather and wore ornately engineered goggles. A small mechanical squirrel, in turn, followed at her heels. As I said, he stared at me, looking like he expected me to apologize, though he was the one that cut me off. After a moment, he continued walking, talking to

Page | 3 the gnome, who did not appear to be listening. “With human nobles like this Krestan guy, it usually pays to show him that you’re not afraid of him, because sadly enough, usually they haven’t seen it before.” The gnome nodded obliviously and continued tinkering with something too small for me to see. The demon sniffed something, then continued trailing like a happy puppy. The squirrel skittered along in a distinctly mechanical fashion. Upon hearing the Baron’s name, I followed the little party out of the main corridor of the keep into a side hallway. We emerged into a cavernous room full of adventurers like ourselves. The warlock and his entourage disappeared into the crowd, and I was left standing, nearly blinded by the light reflecting off countless surfaces of finely polished armor. It seemed like every staff was glowing, every blade ablaze with some enchantment. My heart sank as I looked down at my own suddenly pitiful equipment and sighed. I had cared for my shield, but various servants of the Lich King had dented it over time. My sword had been enchanted by a dwarven female with, looking back, more skill selling enchantments than actually enchanting. Pulling myself out of my malaise, I re-sheathed my blade across my back and began to make my way through the crowd. I had to try to force my way between two men in spiky plate, then around an elven priestess who looked as if she’d scream if my armor brushed her robes. My travel continued like this for a while, until I broke through the crowd and saw a line of people leading to a table. At the table sat a tall man with dark skin and medium length black hair. He was dressed in red Alliance military garb with spiky constructions on his mantle and a staff on his back that appeared to be aflame. The warlock and gnome I had entered with were leaving. Every applicant before me greeted the man, bowing, professing respect,

Page | 4 acting like a servant. Elves, men, dwarves and gnomes passed this way, each looking and sounding much more impressive than myself. As each mercenary before me spoke with the Baron and left to work elsewhere, or to chat with the crowd at the back of the room, I realized that I had nothing to offer this man that someone else could not fulfill with stronger armor and more experience. At that moment, the warlock’s words washed back into my mind. Act like you’re not afraid of him. With nothing, seemingly, to lose, I placed my helm upon my head and drew my sword and shield. Two applicants remained ahead of me in line, and I examined my equipment carefully. Finally, the assassin in front of me left, and I walked forward to face Baron Hector Krestan. He stared at me, and I stared back at him, dropping my sword point between two stones in the floor and leaning on it slightly, shield held at my side. “Name, warrior?” He asked, somewhat sternly but pleasantly. I gave him first, middle and last. “Currently I work for the Argent Dawn in the north, where the soldiers of Stormwind seem scared to tread.” Here he arched a brow. “I also have experience fighting to the west in Kalimdor, serving against the centaur and demons in Desolace.” He stared at me again. I stared back at him and tried to will myself taller. He seemed to smile slightly. “Yes. Well, thank you for your interest in this expedition.” He turned to an attendant, who made a few scratches on a scroll, then motioned me over. I sheathed my sword once more, attempting to somehow display ego while doing so, and stepped to the side as a bulky dwarven paladin took my place in front of the Baron. The attendant looked up at me with a slight sneer as he took some contact information from me. He then spoke up. “As you know, the

Page | 5 number of applicants accepted will be quite small. Please return in one week’s time at noon to find out who will be accompanying the Baron. Good day.” Apparently, he thought that my chances were about zero. I stared at him through my helm a moment before turning to walk away, and he seemed to press himself back into his chair, which made me feel a little better. I parted the crowd more easily on my way out, but once I left the keep, something odd occurred that killed my mood once more. A young boy holding a doll literally ran into me, bouncing off my leg and falling onto his behind. Another girl that looked much like him, I’m assuming his sister, was chasing him, crying, and stopped next to her brother when she saw me. Caught up in my show of ego, I stared daggers down at the boy, whose lip quivered. He thrust the doll back into his sister’s hands and took off rapidly in the direction from which he came. The girl looked at me with unmistakable fear in her eyes at my appearance behind my helm and thick armor. Realizing how I had scared these children with my body attitude, I quickly tried to remove my helm and smile down at her, but the second my hand left my side she took off after her brother. I sighed and began to walk back toward the inn. A week passed. I busied myself with various training regimens in Stormwind, but did manage to spend a little time relaxing as I’d promised myself I would do. A week was the planned length of my vacation, so it was a good bit of luck that I wasn’t expected back at Light’s Hope Chapel before I’d receive word from the Baron. I don’t know if I thought I really had a chance of being taken along, or if I was just musing on the potential. I resolved to go to the announcement of the expedition, though, if just to see who did make the cut. When the sun peeked its way through the clouds that morning, I rose and went for a swim in Elwynn, then

Page | 6 returned, donning my silver and blue armor once more and making my way to the Keep. I arrived to see much the same crowd talking amongst themselves. I attempted to work my way into the group and find some conversation, but had no luck, my simple appearance drawing sneers once more. I donned my helm, this time to hide within it. I spied the warlock and gnome I had encountered on my last visit. The gnome was speaking excitedly about something to a Knight of the Silver Hand, and the warlock was arguing loudly with a tall teal druid that looked both bored and annoyed by the demonologist’s presence. A few minutes after noon, Baron Krestan and his weasel-looking attendant emerged into the room. The crowds parted for them, and they took their place at the back of the room. The baron raised his hands, and the conversations in the room slowly ceased. He smiled at everyone, and then began to speak. “Mercenaries, servants of Elune and the Light, heroes of the Alliance. I welcome all of you once again to the hallowed halls of Stormwind Keep. I have done much thinking over the last week, and while I wish I could bring all of you, the Kingdom budgets simply won’t allow it.” A few people laughed quietly. “That said, I have made my decision, and now know which four of you will be accompanying me on my expedition into the Burning Steppes. I would like to present to you, in no particular order, my companions.” Applause broke out. He smiled and raised his arms once more. “First, an accomplished servant of the teachings of Cenarius, and a powerful mender of wounds: Kalendrian Boughwhisper!” Applause broke out once more. The teal elf I had noticed before waved his hand to be seen, smirked at the warlock, who grumbled childishly, and stepped

Page | 7 forward. Some of the audience seemed to know the night elf and shouted encouragements. His mantle looked like claws upon each shoulder and his robes were colored green and brown. He stood beside the baron. “Next, a stalwart warrior, and servant of the Argent Dawn and the constant battle against the Scourge!” The first time he said my name, I didn’t notice and was scouring the crowd for the second winner along with everyone else. The second time, I caught on, and removed my helm, attempting to force my way through the crowd. They stood with confusion and disbelief, and I eventually started shoving myself between them and forward. I popped out of the crowd, and Baron Krestan smiled at me as I took my place beside the druid, helm in hand. I smiled out at the crowd, where most of the plate-wearers grumbled in disbelief. The baron, however, continued on as if I was the obvious choice. “A mysterious and stoic, but efficient dreadmage, Crianas Mishunadare!” The crowd swiftly parted for the warlock I had run into a week before – not out of respect, but because no one wanted to be too near him. He strode smugly up to the front of the room, the gnome I’d seen him with following and standing at the front of the crowd. The druid Kalendrian’s smile vanished. Ignoring the crowd, and with a venomous smirk toward the druid, the warlock took his place beside me. Peering over at my equipment, he quietly stated, “You took my advice.” I nodded silently. “That’s the only way he’d have chosen you,” he added. My smile began to melt a little.

Page | 8 The baron continued. “Finally,” he said, “a daughter of Gnomeregan who brings its technical expertise into the future, Sprit Cogtwirl Spritetoggle the Second!” That female gnome that had accompanied the warlock grinned. She grabbed her mechanical squirrel and hugged it to her as she ran forward to take her place beside the warlock. She smiled down the row at all of us, and the Baron smiled back at her. “To the rest of you, I thank you for your interest in the expedition. Better luck to all of you on my next adventure! Until then, please continue your service to the Alliance, and may the Light protect you all.” The baron ignored the clamor of the crowd, half-disappointment, half outrage, and greeted each of us in turn before addressing the group. “Please inform whoever you need to inform about our expedition. I expect us to be gone for about one month. Food and supplies will be provided. We will meet here one week from now. Congratulations to all of you, and I look forward to seeing you all again in seven days’ time.”

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Chapter 2: From Elwynn to Elementals A week passed without incident. I sent my correspondence off to the Dawn, informing them of my planned absence. I polished and prepared my armor. I stocked up on sharpening stones and some combat elixirs. I exercised and visited with my trainers. When the sun rose on the day of our party’s departure, I gathered my belongings and set out for the Keep once more. I found the Keep free of the crowds of adventurers for once. The baron was there with his weasel of a familiar, as was the druid, Kalendrian, who spoke softly with the noble. Both smiled at me when I entered, and I set my helm down on a tabletop and greeted each. “Good morning, human,” the druid said softly. “I’m glad that I can work with a defender of the northern lands. I’ve spent my time there as well and know how dire the situation is.” “Thank you,” I offered. “I’m not from Lordaeron, but I still feel like it’s my struggle.” “Not mine,” someone said. “With all the idiots that can’t see past their own memories and property values up north, I can spend my time on other fights.” Though I didn’t recognize the voice coming from behind me, I recognized the tone, and knew that Crianas, the warlock, had arrived. The cacophony of footsteps I heard confirmed that he’d brought his demon, and that the gnome rogue Sprit and her companion squirrel had arrived as well. I turned around. “The Argent Dawn isn’t fighting for nobles’ deeds in Lordaeron, they’re fighting the menace that is the Scourge,” I stated. “Do they not pay enough for your refined tastes, warlock?”

P a g e | 10 The older man glowered. “Don’t impugn my morality. You haven’t the fondest idea what I fight for.” I sneered back. “Personal glory or the highest bidder, I’m sure.” My impromptu opponent puffed himself up slightly, and was about to walk over to me when a firm “Gentlemen,” from the baron stopped him. “I will not have such infighting on this expedition. Find out what drives each other through less confrontational channels, please. And we should have time to get to know each other during the travel.” Krestan turned to his supplies, and Crianas turned to deal with his own equipment. Crianas caused no other problems that day. Baron Krestan explained our timetable for travelling from Stormwind to Goldshire and Eastvale; from there, east to the mountains and Lakeshire, and from that town north into the black wastes of the Burning Steppes. We were to leave the next morning, so my enthusiasm and zeal was put off another day. I spent my remaining free time giving my equipment yet another look and walking around the city, taking in the sights. When I was a kid, my parents talked about Stormwind as if it was gone, in the past tense. This made my experiences there all the more magical. Dawn broke on the Valley of Heroes, and I strode calmly between the statues of the fallen to the meeting point at the gates of Stormwind. My sword and shield were strapped to my back, so anyone following us would know I was a son of Stromgarde. I carried a spear as well, one gifted to me by a quartermaster for the Stormpike clan after I served against the trolls and orcs in Alterac. This I used as a walking stick for any long journey I took on foot. About a year prior, I had been with a group of mercenaries that stopped in Hillsbrad Fields for a night’s rest. Our force consisted of a leather-clad skirmisher, a

P a g e | 11 fire mage, a gnomish demonologist, myself, and another armored warrior. We retired to our beds that night peacefully, but after only about an hour’s sleep, we were roused suddenly by a cry from the gnome. We sprang out of bed to find a familiar looking orange mask that the sleepless gnome had spotted among the mage’s other things. Unfortunately, it was that moment that the fully clothed and armored mage walked into the room with the other four of us dressed for bed. When the dust cleared, the warrior was dead, and the skirmisher lay charred atop the mage with both swords buried into the other man’s flesh. The blasts of fire and shadow that had flooded the room knocked my leg into a burned and twisted shape. A Knight of the Silver Hand in Southshore managed to patch me up, but I’ve had a slight limp ever since. And so I use my spear for balance, and to relieve weight on long journeys. Anyway, I approached the gate to find Baron Krestan waiting in the same red, ornate robes I’d seen him in a week before. Crianas stood to the side, seemingly staring at nothing. After greeting the Baron, I cautiously strode over to the warlock’s side – the opposite side as his blind demonic pet. His eyes darted between bushes and trees nearby. “What are you—?” “Duel.” “Duel?” The warlock just pointed to a shadowy patch of bushes. I opened my mouth to speak again when I suddenly saw a dark panther pounce at something. A colorful ball rolled beneath the cat and shoved it away, landing on its feet as I recognized it as Sprit. The cat and gnome leapt at each other once more, clawing and slashing in midair before disappearing into the shadows again.

P a g e | 12 I blinked, and it happened again, except that the gnome knocked the cat down deftly with the flat side of a blade, then tackled it, holding a dagger to the side of its head. The pair froze, then Sprit climbed off and disappeared once more, and with a flash of green-hued light, the cat materialized into Kalendrian Boughwhisper, who waved at me. I waved back. “But where’d Sprit go?” I asked. The druid shrugged and strode over, breathing heavily. “If you couldn’t tell, I couldn’t see her very well.” I shook my head. “I just got here, I’m afraid.” With that, the warlock pointed at the base of a tree about ten yards away. Kalendrian and I blinked, at which the warlock rolled his eyes, turned to his demon, and said “Ma’lak rizal.” The pup bounded forward toward the point and we heard a squeal, then watched the felhound chase Sprit out from behind the other side of the tree. “I hate you, Crianas, and I’m going to gut this demon if you don’t call it off!” the gnome warned. After enjoying a long grin, the warlock snapped his fingers and the beast trod once again toward his side. We all turned to face the Baron, who smiled. “Congratulations, Sprit. Now then. Everyone please grab a rucksack of supplies.” He turned to gesture at the cluster of bags behind him.” I assume you’ve all left your mounts with the stable master…?” He turned to see Crianas astride a black, fiery demonic horse among the rest of us. Crianas gave a remarkably innocent look. “Mister Mishunadare, the rules for this expedition clearly state that—” “Baron Krestan, this is not a horse. It is a Xorothian Dreadsteed, and furthermore simply a physical instantiation, not a real animal. This summoning

P a g e | 13 image requires no food or care yet can carry all of those sacks so that we aren’t burdened in combat.” And it was at that moment that I really began to appreciate that even though the warlock was right, he was very, very, very annoying.

The baron agreed to the warlock’s plan, and we walked off, Crianas mounted, into Elwynn forest. Kalendrian shifted once more into his feline form and darted off into the woods ahead of us. I would occasionally catch glimpses of him between trees, always slightly ahead of us on the path. Nothing much happened as we traveled from Stormwind to Goldshire, Goldshire east to the lumber camps, and from there into the rocky, red area south of Lakeshire. It was in the inn there that we spent our last night in the safety and decency of Stormwind’s lands. Morning broke, and after a brief swim in Lake Everstill, I rejoined my four companions in the inn, where we dressed and prepared for the day’s travel. Once again, Crianas mounted his demonic steed, a fact that again seemed to bother the Baron, and we quietly set out from Lakeshire. The magistrate of the town there warned us of orcish raiding parties that would occasionally venture out from Stonewatch Keep, which had been captured by the Blackrock Clan. He stated that they should be no trouble for soldiers of our caliber, however, and I guess the orcs thought the same. I spotted a few scouts along our way, but none of them ever challenged us, or even got close. However, they might not have had a chance – Kalendrian was moving silently ahead of us once again, and when he rejoined us four at the north end of Redridge, I saw blood on his claws. Between Redridge and the ashen Steppes themselves, there is a large, broken gate that dates from the orcish occupation. Our group paused there for a moment to catch some breath – this was the point that danger really began for our

P a g e | 14 expedition. Cautiously we approached the gate, when suddenly Kalendrian reverted to an elf and halted us. He peered around the corner, then motioned for Crianas to approach. Crianas made some arcane motions with his hands, and a green orb appeared before him. He closed his eyes, and a pupil appeared to impossibly open on the orb before it sped ahead, floating in midair, and looked past the doorway. The orb disappeared, and Crianas opened his eyes again and dismounted. I arched a brow at him. “Elementals,” he said quietly. Purple geometric light channeled about him for a few seconds, and then a shape grew from a shadow at his feet into a fully-fledged Voidwalker. Sprit and Kalendrian snuck to the other side of the doorway. He turned to the Baron, who nodded, and I drew my sword and shield. The Baron and I each pressed our backs against the heavy gate, prepared to turn and attack. However, Crianas just strode forward out the gate, and with a word in Demonic and a wave of his hands, his Voidwalker charged ahead. Sighing, I turned the corner and saw three rock beings on a narrow bridge over a flow of lava. One earth elemental suddenly turned ethereal and greenish, its movement halting as it seemed to shimmer halfway out of existence. Two more charged at us. The Voidwalker intercepted one, and the two beings began swiping and swinging at each other. I charged the other rock form and deflected one large stony ‘fist’ with my shield. Kalendrian suddenly sprung from the side and pounced on the jumble of rocks so hard that it fell into the flow of lava, and the druid leapt to shore. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other attacker blasted into chunks by combined shadow and frost attacks, and I quickly sheathed my sword and shield and drew my spear. My opponent seemed stuck in the lava flow, and began to glow red. I twirled my spear once and drove it hard into the elemental, and the blade

P a g e | 15 plunged into the melting rock. The burning eyes of the elemental went dark, and its limbs stilled, and I withdrew the spear. I heard a sigh, and Sprit materialized out of nowhere at my side. “I didn’t get to do anything,” she lamented. We turned to the third, banished opponent, who still appeared enraged at us from whatever dimension he’d been forced into. When he rematerialized, a blast of magic from the druid, warlock, and mage forced him off the other side of the bridge and into the lava, where he lay trapped like his companion. Baron Krestan turned to the gnome. “Would you do the honors?” he asked, and with a flourish Sprit hurled a throwing knife right between the eyes of the construct, which then stilled. The Baron clapped. “A good showing, everyone. Shall we continue?”

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Chapter 3: The First to Fall We continued our march into the blighted lands of the Burning Steppes. Kalendrian once again assumed his cat shape and scouted ahead for us, while Sprit silently brought up the rear. Crianas continued, mounted, with the Baron and myself at his side. Crianas listed in a monotone voice various facts about the region – its formation when the Dark Iron dwarves summoned Ragnaros, its current occupation by said dwarves, Blackrock Orcs, and black dragons, and the war between the forces. “And it’s those dwarves that we come to fight now,” the baron added. “As a service to our allies in Ironforge and the Alliance as a whole.” We continued on a northward path. The Baron stated that we would not be stopping at Morgan’s Vigil, the Alliance encampment to the east. Instead, we would bear north for the dwarven ruins, and then west toward Blackrock Mountain itself. Crianas and Sprit stated that they had been on excursions into the mountain before. When the subject of why each of us was personally here, Crianas even made a startling admission. “Once, the dwarves here managed to defeat and capture me. My link to House Blackstone made them want to ransom me, but a group of Horde travelers graciously broke me out of the prisons in the mountain and spared me after that. So when this opportunity for vengeance presented itself, I was quick to act.” We made a camp in the shadow of Dreadmaul rock, to the northeast, to relax for the night. The baron started a fire, and we unpacked some dried meats and unleavened bread from our packs. “Isn’t even anywhere good here to fish,” Sprit lamented. The brimstone taste in the air permeated the food, and everyone but

P a g e | 17 Baron Krestan seemed miserable. He happily munched on the bland food while the rest of us glowered. Crianas, predictably, turned his gloom on the Baron. “So. That armor. Military issue, correct? Did you serve, or just want to dress like a war hero?” he asked smugly between bites. Krestan smiled without hint of venom and replied, “No, I’m afraid I have no military decorations to my name. I was awarded this armor, however, in recognition of the skill with magic I learned in Dalaran.” This last point seemed to flip a switch in the warlock’s brain, and for a reason I wouldn’t understand until much later, he began staring at the Baron’s hands. Now, however, the venom came out. “What about your gruesome armor?” the baron asked. “The skulls on the shoulders – did you get those yourself, or just pay someone to look spooky?” “Myself. Drakes,” Crianas replied. “I thought so. What dragonflight?” the Baron probed, a shadow seeming to fall over his face. The warlock twitched slightly, and paused before answering. “Red,” he said. An unsettling silence fell over the camp, so I volunteered some information. “I made this armor myself,” I offered a bit awkwardly, and the conversation continued, but with a much more subdued tone. We retired early that night, with Crianas volunteering to stand watch, and I offered to take the early morning hours. I rose at around one and relieved him, and proceeded to stare into the maw of that ashen land for hours until the rest awoke with the hazy dawn. The baron stated that we should probably leave the camp as it was– travelers here were rare, and the dwarves would likely not track us, if we did things right – elimination of stragglers was Sprit’s task. Since we were also no more

P a g e | 18 than a day from the supplies of Redridge, we left our packs and proceeded only with armor and weapons. We proceeded northwest until Kalendrian stopped us, and we looked out to barely notice the ruins in the distance. Various dwarven agents worked amidst the ruins, and employed golems for manual labor. Crianas summoned a succubus without a word, a creature that promptly disappeared. I drew my spear as Kalendrian and Sprit leapt ahead toward the city, and Crianas, Baron Krestan, and I strode toward the destroyed city of Thaurissan. One dwarf was patrolling the outskirts of the area. Crianas’s succubus faded into visibility ahead of him, and with a wave of her arms, he was entranced. He slowly stepped toward this new form until with a lightning-quick movement, Sprit slit his throat before jogging off into the shadows once more. The succubus vanished and the corpse was the only evidence remaining. We continued on into what had probably been some kind of plaza. Dwarves were around the edges, but none had seemed to see us. The Baron strode out into an empty area, and began to yell. “Flee to your caverns, cowardly dwarves, for your doom has arrived!” he proclaimed, and began channeling something. The dwarves seemed to stare for a moment in disbelief until a column of flame erupted beneath three of them and incinerated them all. A moment later, a blast of shadow energy from our warlock slammed into the gut of one of the golems, making it stumble and fall back onto the ground with a crash, motionless. Another dwarf screamed as Sprit buried a dagger between his shoulder blades and tackled him. Two more dwarves turned toward her as I ran toward her position, and several others pulled out rifles and began firing at me. I

P a g e | 19 charged one dwarf and brought the point of my spear down across his chest, then spun and slashed his neighbor before he could hurl a fireball my way. However, a sharp burning sensation still tore through my shoulder, and I turned to see another mage immolated by the Baron. A cool refreshing wave of healing washed through me, and I mentally thanked Kalendrian before sprinting after my next target. The noise attracted more comers, and before long, the ground was littered with the bodies of dwarves and broken golems. Those stone creations gave our blades and claws trouble, but Crianas and Baron Krestan consistently blasted them into the earth. The Baron seemed to almost be having fun, cackling when his and Crianas’s ranged attacks, plus Sprit’s seemingly random and terrifying assassinations, caused near panic among the remaining Dark Irons. When the Baron, Crianas, and I strode around the corner and bore down on the last line of defense, the remaining enemies fled toward the mountain. Sprit and Kalendrian each dropped one more as they ran, and we returned to our campsite. We chatted and joked with each other after ensuring ourselves of our health, and went to bed early. The Baron and Kalendrian took up watch duty, and the rest of us had a good night’s sleep recuperating from the battle. I awoke around dawn to find Crianas eating some of the ‘food’ we’d brought along, and the Baron meditating. Kalendrian was curled up in that particular feline way resting, so I scratched him behind the ears as I passed. He gave me an irked look that I think no natural cat could pull off and went back to his rest. Sprit emerged from her tent with her pet mechanical squirrel. She told me that it was named Boo, and Crianas had added sarcastically that it was called that because it scared off all Sprit’s suitors. “I hate you, Cri,” Sprit responded, and began chomping on her morning meal.

P a g e | 20 Baron Krestan joined us after a few minutes and stated that we’d be moving our camp farther west today. However, due to the presence of Blackrock orcs on either side of the road, we’d likely have to fight as we went. We loaded our provisions on Crianas’s dreadsteed and began the long march west toward Blackrock Mountain. I walked with my spear, ready for orcs to give us trouble. Sprit and Kalendrian both moved ahead of the rest of us, and we’d occasionally hear the sounds of combat and come across the body of an orc on the road. Unfortunately, it would seem that someone amongst the Blackrocks noticed these absences. We stopped at one point to reload the steed, as some of the packs had come loose. All of our party's attention, save for Sprit and Kalendrian ahead, was on the horse, and when we turned back to the road, eight orcs blocked our way. They howled, and more howls joined in from a hillside to our left, where five shadowcasters stood. The Baron frowned, but Crianas simply strode a couple of steps ahead. “Funny,” he said, “how these Blackrocks think they know how dark magic works.” His hands began to glow black, and the orcs on the hillside began channeling spells. The eight warriors ahead of us charged. “Deal with those eight,” Crianas said, and I would have rolled my eyes if I wasn’t staring at the attackers. The Baron turned and blasted one orc with a quick burst of flame, and he fell. I pulled my shield and blade from my back and charged at another, slamming my bulwark into his face before he could swing his weapon. The other fighters began to converge on me, and I quickly retreated beneath withering blows. I felt the ground shake and nearly lost my footing when the attack continued. One swipe glanced off my helm, another slashed at my shield, but a third went low and caught my bad leg. Another orc howled in

P a g e | 21 fiery misery, but I stumbled back and fell beneath my shield. One orc ran past me toward the Baron, but two of the warriors ran to me, about to finish me off, when a giant, fiery stone arm caught them and hurled them away from my fallen form. Amazed, I watched the infernal, demon of rock and flame, storm the remaining orcs, who immediately attacked it even as its internal heat seared them and it attempted to pound them into submission. When Crianas had summoned the behemoth, it landed squarely on top of three of the orcs on the hillside, blasting them to bits. The other two had been wounded and stunned, and the warlock magically scared off one while he and the other traded shadow magic volleys. Now the human was on one knee, left arm extended with a greenish tendril of energy being pulled from the orc, who continued firing shadowbolts at his opponent.”Where in Azeroth are Sprit and that blasted druid…?” he asked, his voice trailing off until both he and his opponent collapsed, motionless. In the meantime, the other spellcaster had recovered and run back toward our battle site, where his magical assaults, combined with the blades of his allies, finally toppled the mighty infernal, and it fell to the ground as merely a pile of blackened stones, crushing one Blackrock beneath it. I slowly got to my feet once more to see two orcish warriors remaining. With a painful sprint and a diving tackle I cut one down, and a mixed barrage of fire and frost attacks from Baron Krestan defeated the other. The remaining spellcaster ran toward us until suddenly a dark sigil of a skull appeared above his head and he dropped to his knees in what appeared to be terrible pain. The Baron and I turned to watch him writhe and howl until even I could stand no more and walked over to finish him off with a quick jab from my spear.

P a g e | 22 “See…” Crianas said, with a cough, as he shakily rose to his feet. “Told you I could handle the spellcasters.” I bandaged the warlock carefully. He was bleeding heavily from his right side, and that side of his face was also discolored – bruised, but also seemingly webbed with black lines, a side effect of the shadow magic. He made a sort of hood and mask from his cloak and joined me in walking onward once more. The baron had gone ahead to look for Sprit and Kalendrian, and we soon came upon all three of them, surrounded by five or six more orc bodies. Sprit, wounded herself, was trying to bandage Kalendrian as the Baron kept watch for any more attackers. The feline lay in an unnatural position on the side of the road, soaked with blood that appeared to be from multiple sources. He did not appear to have the energy needed to shift back to elven form and heal himself. Crianas and I just stared for a moment, feeling helpless as the druid lay dying. The warlock quietly strode forward, kneeling before Boughwhisper and placing his hand on the cat’s paw. The cat stared back into Crianas’s eyes until Crianas turned away and walked back toward the Baron and I. Sprit came up behind him. “Well, there’s only one option left,” the warlock said, as his hand began to glow black. Sprit nodded and the Baron turned away, but I felt compelled to watch as Crianas turned and nonchalantly fired a shadowbolt into the druid’s forehead. The cat seized, and was still, then slowly reverted to an elf.

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Chapter 4: Revelations Silence fell upon the steppes for a few moments. Crianas began walking back toward his horse and its packs, a neutral look on his face as if he hadn’t just put a Kaldorei out of his misery. Sprit followed, also seeming somewhat cheery, given the circumstances. I turned, irate. “At least be respectful and have a moment of silence for our companion,” I said, unable to contain myself. The warlock turned back to me, looking confused. “What are you talking about?” he asked. I suddenly heard a tone, as if a large bell had rung, and swiveled to see a blast of violet light shoot skyward from the elf’s body, and I heard a cough. Kalendrian gagged for a moment, then began breathing. He then suddenly sat up and produced a round, purple stone in his hand. He looked up at Crianas, who simply nodded, turned back toward the dreadsteed, and said, “You owe me one.” The baron clapped. “A soulstone! Wonderful. Utterly wonderful. Come, let’s get out of these orc infested lands.” I stood, still bewildered, but then followed the others back toward the horse. Crianas mounted up, and we began moving west once more. With Sprit exhausted and Kalendrian still not up to full strength, we traveled in a group from that point on. We came across a couple of orcs, but Crianas simply made them run screaming while his dark magic wore them down to nothing, siphoning energy from them the whole time, until by the time we left the orc territory behind, he looked to be in much better shape. He also continually conjured healthstones for us, handing one out to each of us periodically, stating that any higher dosage could be severely harmful.

P a g e | 24 “Why?” I asked. He looked at me as if I was a child. “Because these are made from soul shards,” he said condescendingly. “There’s an awful lot of wrath within one of these things, and if—” “What?” I said. “Soul shards?” “Yes, soul shards. Are you really that ignorant about magic? Here’s more news – Kalendrian here follows the teachings of Cenarius, and tauren shamans serve the elements.” I handed back the stone he’d recently given to me. “In that case, I’ll pass.” The warlock rolled his eyes. “Fine, your call. If you get killed out there, don’t come crying to me.” Somewhat taken aback, I turned to the druid. “Kalendrian, how can you put up with this?” The cat reformed as a night elf. “The way I figure it, there are two possible sources for these stones. Perhaps this man has only slain those that deserve it, deriving these shards from demons and satyr, silithid and orcs. In that case, this treatment of using them as nourishment is just.” Crianas grinned unbearably down at me. “Otherwise, it is entirely possible that this warlock is out killing keepers of the grove for these things,” Kalendrian said. Crianas turned and glared at the druid, and Kalendrian smiled a wry smile. “I wouldn’t put it past him. In that case, it is prudent that we use these remnants of their spirit to heal, to nourish, and thus give them back to nature.” Crianas turned and faced forward, and said nothing else for a while. Sprit giggled at his misfortune, and he shot a look at her, but he seemed to have lost his

P a g e | 25 power of intimidation. The Baron, having come out of the previous combat unscathed, simply continued walking at the head of the group, and I could not see his reaction. Before much longer, the mountain loomed before us. A grand stone bridge led up to the cavernous entrance to the mount. The Baron raised his left arm, and pointed to the west. “We’ll set up camp west of the entrance itself. Tomorrow we’ll make for the interior of the mountain.” When he raised his arm however, I watched Crianas start staring intently at the Baron’s arm, and then flinch as if struck. I looked at him, and a look of disbelief came over his face. I looked to see what had troubled him, and saw that there was a slash through the Baron’s robes on his left arm. Beneath it, strangely, the skin was smooth – no cut, no scar, no anything except muscle. Crianas was visibly shaken at this point, almost rocking back and forth, and saying something softly: “No… it can’t be… Holy Light, what do I do…” he said to himself over and over. I stared at him, and he caught my attention, and oddly, looked down at me with what appeared to be pity and remorse mixed with fear. The Baron and everyone else began to move forward once more, and the two of us followed. We made our camp a short distance west of the entrance to the mountain, just beyond sight range. Kalendrian seemed to have recovered nearly fully, and spent the evening tending to each of us individually. He healed my leg up to the state it had been in before the battle today, so I expected to be able to sleep in peace. Crianas continued to look a little crazed through the night. He was aloof as Kalendrian tended to his wounds, eventually fixing the shadowy scars until nothing but mild bruising remained on his face and side. When he disrobed for the druid to examine him, I noticed terrible markings up and down his torso, twisting lines with

P a g e | 26 unspeakable words running diagonally across his body. They weren’t scars so much as tattoos, and not tattoos so much as runes… it was odd. Unnatural. And for the first time that I had ever seen, the warlock almost looked ashamed. The Baron didn’t seem to notice his unusual behavior, though Sprit had. After the meal, she volunteered to take the first watch, and Crianas instantly, and insistently, said he’d take the second. We agreed and retired to our tents. Troubling thoughts overtook me as I lay trying to sleep. Crianas was a pompous jackass, but he’d been overconfident enough when we took on the orcs earlier that day. Now he was a wreck. What could be bothering him so much about a near miss when the Baron was attacked earlier? I tried to quell these fears and trust in the Light to lead the way, but the ashen, barren landscape had seemed lightless for so long. I eventually fell asleep out of physical necessity. I was awakened in the middle of the night, however, by a gnome tugging at me. Sprit held one finger to her mouth, then pointed at my armor. Confused, I went to speak, but she shushed me. She simply pointed at my armor once more, looked at me sternly, then disappeared out of the tent. So I donned my armor as quietly as I could, picked up my spear, sword and shield, and slowly clambered out of the tent. I saw the outline of the gnome on a crag a short ways away, and tiptoed as best I could toward her. Past the ridge, I saw Crianas standing a ways away, staring off into nothingness. I approached, and noticed a dark panther brush against me. Sprit came up behind me, still nearly invisible in the inky blackness. Kalendrian assumed his elven form, and Crianas turned around to face us. “Lady and gentlemen, we have a severe problem,” he said. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual about our trip?” “Like what?” I asked.

P a g e | 27 “What have we been carrying with us this entire time?” Crianas asked. “Armor and food,” Sprit answered. “And why in the Nether should we need to carry food when we have a mage that should be able to conjure food and water?” “Perhaps he did not learn those spells when he trained,” Kalendrian offered. Crianas shook his head. “That’s basic stuff that any mage that trains in Dalaran learns. I’d know, I grew up there. And the Baron claims to have been educated there.” “How exactly does that put us in danger?” Sprit asked. “The Baron has a reason to lie about his past. To fabricate it.” “Maybe he just wants to impress us,” the gnome said sarcastically. “He’s too straightforward for that. We all know it,” Crianas countered. “What are you getting at?” Kalendrian asked. “Why doesn’t the Baron have a cut on his arm?” Crianas asked, dodging the druid. “The swing must have missed his flesh and just torn his robes,” I said. The warlock once again shook his head. “I saw the whole thing. That strike hit his arm straight on. And yet there’s no scar or blood, and neither my healthstones nor the druid’s magic was applied.” “What are you saying, Cri, that the Baron’s an extra-powerful mage?” Sprit asked. “Seems like it. More importantly, he’s hiding it. If he’s strong enough to mend wounds like that, he’s probably strong enough to level that entire force of orcs sent after us with one magical blow. And yet he didn’t, he held back and nearly let us all be killed.”

P a g e | 28 “I still don’t follow you,” Kalendrian said, starting to look irritated. “I’d be glad to have a stronger ally in a place like this. He might just be saving energy.” “No. We are all in incredible danger. I think that it is vitally important that we not proceed into Blackrock tomorrow,” Crianas said. “We all should be fully healed, assuming that our stalwart defender here feels okay,” Kalendrian said, gesturing toward me. “I feel fine, and you have too much pride to delay us for your sake.” “I’m not worried about the dwarves in there,” Crianas replied. “Then what, the Horde? You’re worried about Rend Blackhand’s collection of trolls and orcs?” “No, dammit, I’m not worried about anything inside the mountain. I’m worried about what’s out here! Or more precisely, what’s not.” “What are you talking about?” Sprit asked. “We’ve run into Blackrocks and Dark Irons, seen ogres and scorpid from afar.” “Yes, we’ve dealt with dwarves and orcs, but what haven’t we faced?” “I don’t understand,” I said, feeling incompetent. “Our path has been far too clear,” Crianas said, then paled as he looked over my head. I turned to see a human shape contoured on the ridge behind us, and knew the baron was approaching. “Kalendrian, you know a hibernation spell, correct?” Crianas asked. “Yeah, but it only works on beasts,” he said. “Why does—” “Cast it on the Baron now,” Crianas ordered. “What are you talking about?!” “It bothers me to see my four companions keeping secrets from me,” the baron said, looking irritated as he swiftly walked toward us.

P a g e | 29 “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. There’s no time to waste, cast it or we’re all dead!” the demonologist said, irate. “Don’t order me around, human, I’m not your servant!” Kalendrian snarled. “Now!” Crianas howled. “He’s been clearing the path for us, he’s been keeping his allies out of our way, and—” The warlock’s words were cut off by a runic symbol over his mouth, and he could no longer speak. Baron Krestan held a glowing hand out, nearly running toward us. “What is the meaning of this treason?” he demanded, and glared at me intensely. I took a step back and began to open my mouth when suddenly the Baron’s face soften, and his head fell forward to loll in front of him as he stood, motionless. I swiveled to see that Kalendrian had, indeed, cast the hibernation spell. A look of puzzlement was on his face. “I… I don’t understand. Hibernation only affects beasts,” he said. Crianas could still not speak, but he looked extremely worried. A look of fear also came across Sprit’s face. “And dragons,” she said.

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Chapter Five: Journey’s End Having finally regained his voice, Crianas spoke softly. “Well, he knows. It’s too late to run now. Kalendrian, channel that spell, try to keep him out as long as possible.” “The three forces in the Burning Steppes are Dark Iron dwarves, Blackrock orcs, and the black dragonflight,” I stated. “I guess I’m the last to figure things out.” “Don’t worry about it, human,” Kalendrian said. “If he’s black, is that why you told him your pauldrons were from the red?” “Nah,” Crianas said. “That was luck. I was lying, I found these pauldrons up in the plaguelands. I’m not a tailor, I’m an alchemist.” And with that, he tossed me a vial, which I immediately drank unquestioningly. “Fire resistance, Crianas said. “No time to make more, I’m afraid.” The baron was beginning to stir in his sleep, and suddenly broke free of the spell and silenced Kalendrian before he could re-cast it. Crianas tossed him a vial of yellow liquid. “So. You little brats have discovered my secret. I’ll have to go call back the servants that I had hide away so that we could reach the mountain.” He turned to leave when thick, thorny roots burst out of the ground and entwined themselves around him. “Purification potion,” Crianas said. “You’re not going anywhere, dragon,” Kalendrian said. “I don’t care how good of a mage you are, we’ll be escorting you back to Stormwind.” Krestan snorted. “You think your pathetic roots can hold me?!” he asked, his voice shifting up and down in pitch. His body began to glow, and he suddenly

P a g e | 31 started morphing and gaining in size. The roots snapped around him as he grew. I sensed Crianas summoning a demon behind me, but stared at Baron Krestan as he grew, and grew, and grew, and when the glow stopped, a monstrous black dragon stood before us. Forty feet long if he was an inch, he stretched his wings and reared on his hind legs for a moment before slamming down before us. “Well, if I’m not allowed to leave,” he said, “I’ll just kill you all myself.” He raised one massive claw, a fire spell channeling around it, when I heard a snarl from behind me. Crianas’s felhunter charged forward and silenced the dragon the same way the dragon had silenced Kalendrian. Undaunted, he charged ahead, and I was all that stood between him and the rest of the group. I lifted my shield, held my spear in one hand, and braced myself for his attack. He raised his claw to swing when he suddenly curled back, howling, from some attack that I could not see. With a kick from his two hind legs, he launched himself into the air, where a shadow bolt from Crianas hit him in the shoulder. The warlock seemed livid, and issued a constant stream of words in what I can only assume was demonic the entire time he cast. Whether for power or simple stress relief, I do not know. “Raka melar nakrazoth ereduanar sanledag trophanor werklag mal’sanoth!” he cried, hurling shadowbolt after shadowbolt at our foe as he circled skyward. Some hit, many missed. A skull sigil appeared above the dragon’s head and I watched his scales begin to shimmer as shadow energy coursed over them. When the dragon turned so that we could see his back, we saw the source of his torment. Sprit had managed to sneak onto Krestan’s back and was burying her daggers into it at intervals up the length of his spine. The dragon snaked and curled in midair, trying to shake off the gnome or burn it with his fiery breath, but could not succeed. We watched the dragon fly higher and higher, until Crianas’s spells could

P a g e | 32 not reach it and we could barely see the beast. When he was nearly invisible to the naked eye, he suddenly turned and dove, racing downward in what seemed like an attempt to catch a falling black speck. That speck gradually formed into Sprit, calmly diving downward. My jaw hung slack as I braced for her fatal impact, but suddenly she pulled on her cape and it bloomed, forming a large patch of cloth that slowed her descent significantly. Unfortunately, it was when she did this that the baron caught her, and with one quick dive, breathed vicious fire at Sprit. The parachute went up in flames, and Sprit fell uncontrollably down. She was still too high, and I stared as she plummeted and hit the ground with a sickening thud and Sprit Spritetoggle the Second moved no more. The baron charged at us again, and I moved to keep myself between him and my two remaining companions. I heard a feline roar and watched Kalendrian suddenly dart away, running past the dragon and between its legs. Our enemy roared in insult, and started to turn to chase the druid when I charged in, taking my spear in both hands and with one strong stroke slicing through the scales of his hind left leg and deep into the muscle below. He howled and turned, and a vicious looking fireball smashed into the point where Krestan’s left wing met his shoulder. Krestan shot a wreath of flame at me, but I shrugged it off from behind my armor and shield. When his claw came after, I braced myself and caught it against my shield, jabbing my spear into it at the same time. The point penetrated between his talons, but the strength of his blow swept me aside. I barely maintained my footing after dropping the spear, and he hurled the weapon out of reach. Reluctantly, I drew my sword and stood in front of him again.

P a g e | 33 A blast of green light appeared behind my enemy, but I had no time to investigate. I dodged a swipe from his other claw, ran beneath him, and slashed upward with my sword. He tried to rear up and away, but the tip of my sword still drew blood in a line across his torso. The dragon slashed again and knocked me to the ground, then grabbed me with his unhurt claw. He began to squeeze me, and I felt his talons puncture my armor, the armor I created myself. Despair gripped me as I began to feel useless and weak. I watched spell after spell of Crianas’s slam into the dragon, and suddenly heard a high pitched battle cry, and a miraculously revived Sprit sprinted up Krestan’s back and jabbed both daggers into the dragon’s neck. He released me with a cry of pain, and I fell to the ground, unable to feel my right side. It was then that a warm green light enveloped me, and I felt my wounds begin to close. I could see Kalendrian on a nearby ridge channeling healing spells at me. Renewed, I struggled to my feet once more. The dragon breathed a torrent of fire toward me, but I pressed on through it toward his maw. I felt my armor heat, begin to burn my skin, but continued. Kalendrian continued mending me through my progress forward, and I raised my sword when the Baron suddenly twisted his neck and bit down into me, clamping his teeth into my body and hoisting me into the air. I lost the feeling in my side, in my legs. My shield fell from my arm onto the ground. Kalendrian continued trying to heal me, but I knew he could do no good. My head swam in the sounds of the battle around me. I heard my ribs crack, and suddenly thought of my skeleton, when a moment of clarity pierced my deathly haze. I pictured my skull on the top of my skeleton, and that image in my head linked with another, the place I had seen skulls recently: Crianas’s mantle.

P a g e | 34 The skull is hollow, I thought. I felt a shadowbolt hit the dragon’s head, causing a respite in the dragon’s attempt to crush me. My mind focused on the image of the skull, and I realized that the warlock’s armor only had the top half of a drake’s skull on it. Without its lower jaw, there was no protection from below. I summoned every bit of strength I had remaining. The Baron continued trying to chew through my armor, and though only seconds had passed, it felt like years. I slowly pulled my sword to my body, and with my last ounce of strength, I called upon the Light to help me do my job – to protect my companions, to protect Stormwind, to protect Azeroth. Clutching my blade in both hands, I thrust it upward through the dragon’s soft pallet. His vice grip on my body loosened slightly, and I felt his head and my body falling, falling, falling toward the ground. Everything went dark, and I never hit the earth.

I awoke what felt like six lifetimes later. Near silence greeted me, with only the sound of a soft wind reaching my ears. Am I healing in Northshire? I thought. It’s too quiet to be Stormwind. I tried to open my eyes, but could see nothing but dark shades of the same color. My vision was blurry. I moved one hand in front of my face, and it appeared hazy and pale. I tried to stumble to my feet, and realized that my bad leg no longer felt injured. My vision began to clarify, and I realized that I was still, terrifyingly, inside the dragon’s maw. I panicked, and tried to pry it open with some newfound strength, but realized my hands… were passing right through his jaw. I stepped backward, and my field of vision passed directly through his snout, and I was suddenly staring at his face. His eyes were clouded, and he was clearly dead. And then, in a moment of complete surrealism, I saw my own body inside his mouth.

P a g e | 35 I tried to vomit, but nothing came. After retching, I stood, and prepared to accept that I was now a wandering spirit. I looked upward to see an unfathomable void swirling endlessly into the sky. I quickly turned away from that horrifying sight, and saw the hazy forms of Crianas, Sprit, and Kalendrian standing before the dragon. They talked quietly, and all appeared sad – even Crianas. I could not hear what they said, however, merely snippets of words that felt like they washed, like waves, into my ears. “…Rebir—hiss—time—late,” Kalendrian said. I wanted to cry, to scream, but felt strangely devoid of emotion. The gray, phantom forms of Crianas and Kalendrian began to argue, whereas Sprit simply shook, seemingly terrified with her near-death experience. The druid gestured toward the dragon’s mouth, and my physical form, looking disgusted. The warlock pointed at Krestan’s remains, then at the distant southern hills, looking at the druid like one does a misbehaving child. I could no longer hear what either said. The argument eventually ceased, however. Crianas summoned his horse and began to head back to the east. Kalendrian and Sprit slowly turned and began to walk away. Sprit picked up my shield from where it had fallen, and I wished she’d return it to my parents in Southshore.

I was depressed, at first, that they did nothing for my body, but I realized that if they lingered to bury me, the other dragonkin may return – I eventually realized that my remains must have been the subject of the warlock and druid’s argument. Besides, being dead had an effect on me in that things like my little corporeal form weren’t important. I was glad just that my comrades were safe, that I had in some way accomplished my task. I had defended the kingdom, slain the dragon, lived up

P a g e | 36 to the tradition of the heroes of myths and folk tales. I hoped that my acceptance would help me depart this world for whatever comes next, but my relative internal peace did no good in that regard. The next day, dragonkin indeed returned from the hills, and took the body of Baron Krestan away. I could not bear to follow, to watch my own body be eaten or burned or worse by those beasts, so I remained. I still don’t know what happened to me. So, I lingered. I couldn’t count how many days I paced around that blighted land. I think that if I had been alive, the boredom would have driven me crazy, but I had nowhere to be and plenty of time to get there, so it was less pressing on my mind. I gradually realized that my form was becoming brighter, and that I might even be visible to the living soon. I also tried to talk, and noticed that I heard echoes of my voice in the same tidal, intermittent way that I had when Kalendrian spoke. I thought that fact promising, and began to spend time close to the road through the area in hopes of finding someone. And as luck would have it, it would only be two days before I did. I began to pace closer to the entrance to Blackrock Mountain, and one day I encountered an elf riding a nightsaber toward the mountain. I drifted ahead of him and tried to will myself visible, which must have worked. I watched the elf do a double take, then halt his cat to stare. It was only when he stopped moving that we stared at each other and recognized one another. His hair was longer, and he had an eye patch now, but through the immense powers of luck, or fate, this was most assuredly Kalendrian Boughwhisper. His eyes went wide and his jaw slack when he saw my spirit standing before him.

P a g e | 37 Two weeks later and here we all are again, minus the Baron, of course. Kalendrian has an eye patch now, and white armor with antlers – I’m not sure I believe some of the tales that he’s told me about the Dark Portal reopening and the return to Draenor. Crianas’s hair is a bit lighter, and his armor has gone from purple to teal, with floating spikes above his shoulders and little sparks of lightning around his head. He’s no less intimidating, though, or distant, though I haven’t yet seen him argue with Kalendrian. He stands now, scribbling down my words, looking up at me with a smirk as I say this. Sprit looks much the same as she did, but her black leather armor has a blue tinge to it now, and her goggles are even more ornate. Her squirrel looks a little worn, but loved. She stands beside Crianas, tinkering away at something else, smiling at me. I’ve told them my story to give to my parents and those at the cathedral, and that Crianas may publish it if he wants. Crianas says that he has no idea why my spirit has lingered here for so long. Kalendrian thinks that perhaps it’s this very narration that the fates have waited for before I finally rest – that my story is why I linger. So I stand here, saying my goodbyes to these comrades from the most significant battle of my life. Crianas voraciously records every single one of my words in a tome he’s brought for the occasion, saying that he will write every sentence until I say no more. I am struck by an odd feeling: that once this tale is finished, maybe at the end of this very sentence, I may move on from this world forever.