Chapter I Redux

I made a few differences in the beginning: the dream, of course, and dropped the back story.

"Ered'nash ban galar!"
Mist, thick and dark. Like smoke, heavy black smoke from a burning building.
A house, burning. There, a painting of brightly colored elven warships, the gleaming wooden masts curling in the heat, the painted hull bursting into flame from the hot air.
Flesh. Was that flesh burning? Yes, there in the corner, a blackened and charred form, curled up like a sleeping child. A closer look, the face contorted into a scream of pain. Or was it terror?
A scream, faint, distant. Coming from upstairs. It sounded like a child.
Up the wooden steps, dozens of steps, more than should be there, taking forever to reach the top. On the landing, a large lump under a blanket, almost too heavy to remove. Jessica, sweet Jessica, her eyes closed, peaceful, unaware of the spreading danger.
More stairs, endless stairs. There, little Pamela, screaming and crying. But she's not there anymore, not really. Fading, like a shadow, like a memory...
The mist, still thick and dark, but cool now. Damp, like fog at the beginning of spring. And that voice again.
"Manakh sheek-thrish!"
Growling, snarling, from the shadows just out of sight. Pinpoints of light, like eyes, moving closer. They are eyes, small and ominous. And just below them, a gleam, deep and red. Blood, dripping from ghostly white fangs. They move closer and closer. Hot breath, burning skin as the damp mist cools it.
And the voice. Always the voice.
"Belanora mordanos nenaar ila mornu farlos kada!”
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Nicholas' eyes opened.
He was breathing heavily, and he could feel sweat on his forehead. His hands felt cold, but his body was hot. He pulled his blanket off and swung his legs out of bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, Nicholas covered his face with his hands.
It was that dream again. The last time he’d had it was on the way to Stormwind, more than a week ago. It always left him in a cold and hot sweat, and always left him afraid. Of what, Nicholas couldn’t exactly say. Not death- that fear had left him long ago. And it wasn’t pain, either- he had been trained to withstand copious amounts of pain. So…what, then?
Nicholas Redpath raised his head from his hands. The light of dawn was starting to creep in through the window. Moisture on the glass told Nicholas it was chilly outside. He got up from the bed and walked into the next room, where there was a washbasin and a tub. Trelayne, the innkeeper, had filled both with fresh water. Steam rising from both told Nicholas she had been in here only minutes before.
He undressed and climbed into the tub, his muscles and body slightly tight from the night’s sleep. The steaming water relaxed him almost immediately, and he rested his head back on the lip of the tub, breathing in the steam. He didn’t move, but replayed the dream in his head over and over.
The burning house had been familiar, as had the people inside. The charred body, he didn’t know, but the house belonged to his uncle Joseph. The unconscious person on the landing was his cousin, Jessica, but he didn’t know why she was sleeping through such chaos. The little girl on the upper floor was his other cousin Pamela, crying and terrified. Perhaps the charred body below belonged to his aunt Sarah.
Or even his own mother. But she hadn’t died in a fire. So it couldn't have been her...could it? She had been murdered. Cut down by mindless monsters, her husband only feet away, but powerless to stop it.
That was so long ago, or so it seemed. But he didn’t think much about it anymore. Not that he forgot or had stopped caring.
Nicholas broke out of his deep thoughts, realizing with a slight smile that his skin had started to wrinkle from the hot bathwater. He climbed out, got dressed, and headed downstairs to see if he could scrounge up some breakfast.
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Downstairs, a roaring fire warmed the inn's main hall. All but one of the tables were empty, the one occupied by two men who looked like they'd hit the ale too hard the night previous. Hann, the barkeep, was washing and polishing mugs and steins from the night's business. Chef Grual was busy chopping meat and vegetables- Nicholas caught a strong whiff of fresh sliced onions as he came down off the stairs. He sat at a table by one of the windows, through which the day's light crept in. Almost immediately a barmaid sidled up to the table, tray and towl in hand.
"Good morning, milord," she said in a soft and sweet voice. Nicholas looked up at her. She was young and very pretty, with reddish brown hair falling onto her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep green and she had a pleasant smile.
"Mornin'," he replied back.
"I don't remember you from last evening," the maid asked with a look of curiosity.
"Ah, I got in late. Figured I had a good bit of luck to find a room at that hour," Nicholas said, returning the girl's smile.
"Well, the way things are now in this town, there'll always be a room for anyone who's looking," she said with a slight sigh.
"What do you mean," Nicholas inquired.
"The town's getting emptier every week. Only a few thousand left, many of those from Raven Hill."
"What happened?"
The girl gave him a grave look. "That's a story that takes more time than I have to tell. You'll find out soon, if you talk to enough people. What brings you to Darkshire anyway, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I came to find an old friend. He stopped writing some time ago and I wanted to make sure everything is okay."
"Who is he? I might know him," the girl offered.
"His name is Sven. Sven Yorgen. We knew each other in the war."
The girl chewed her lip as she mulled over the name. "Sounds a bit familiar. Tell you what- give me twenty minutes to finish my work and I'll take you to someone who would know about him."
"That would be great, thank you," Nicholas said. That would save him a day's worth of searching and inquiring.
"My pleasure." The smile was back. "What's your name, stranger?"
"Nicholas. Nicholas Redpath," he answered.
"My name is Alira," she said with a slight bow. "Be back in a bit."

I've Just Had an Apostrophe!

So it hit me as I was driving to work today- if this were to be a movie, Nicholas, the story's hero, would be played by Henry Ian Cusick, the guy who plays Desmond on ABC's "Lost."

Not-a Good-a

Because of changes in work schedule over the next two weeks, there will likely be little story progress in that time period. But there's always room for a surprise or two- stay tuned!

Chapter I - Part I

Nicholas' eyes opened.
He could feel sweat on his forehead, his breathing heavier than usual.
It was that dream again. With the path, and the fog. Where he felt a fear of some unknown danger, some unseen adversary, waiting in the fog. Waiting...for what?
It wasn't a fear of death that Nicholas felt in this dream. Death was something he'd faced numerous times; that fear no longer held place in him. No, it was fear of something...else. What that was, he couldn't figure out. Not that he spent much time mulling it over. There were more important things to consider.
Like his appointment later that morning with Mathias Shaw.
Nicholas Redpath had received the summons two weeks before while on duty in Southshore. His uncle had come to him with a message from Fahrad, asking to see Nicholas immediately. Nicholas rode quickly to Ravenholdt Manor, for such a summons was not to be delayed. There, Fahrad told Nicholas simply that he was to be reassigned to a location of SI:7's choosing. Nicholas had, of course, accepted this, obligated by the alliance between his own guild, Ravenholdt, and SI:7, the Alliance's main intelligence-gathering body.
The two had been allies since early on in the wars against the Horde, a massive empire of orcs and goblins and ogres, bent on conquering the world of Azeroth. Seeing a need for spies and scouts, a wealthy noble, Lord Jorach Ravenholdt, gathered and trained the best thieves, spies and assassins he could find and organized them into a guild. Jorach named the guild after himself, and offered its services to the Alliance.
The alliance was very beneficial both during and after the wars. After the First Was, the Ravenholdt guild began performing deeds both clandestine and sometimes slightly less than legal; in exchange, Ravenholdt agents enjoyed freedom from investigation and prosecution by the Alliance law enforcement. The exchange worked well: the Alliance remained free from many things which could be bad for public relations, and Ravenholdt thrived in their trade.
So Nicholas, without hesitation, returned to Southshore, gathered his belongings, and sailed to Menethil Harbor. From there, he flew by gryphon to Ironforge, home of the dwarves, and from there by gryphon to Stormwind. The journey had been long, but the bed at the Gilded Rose in Stormwind was soft and warm.
Nicholas looked around his room at the inn. Sunlight started to shine through the window. He would meet Mathias in a few hours.
Nicholas sat up and ran his hand over his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. He rose and stretched and walked to the window. Already below, merchants were out and bustling about, trying to sell their wares. The armor of patrolling guards glinted in the sunlight, as polished as mirrors. There was a smell of bread on the air, and Nicholas felt hungry. He decided to step downstairs for breakfast and then explore town. He’d heard the Mage Quarter had all sorts of interesting things to see, and the Park District was supposed to have the best collection of flora from around the Alliance, even from as far as Teldrassil, home of the night elves.
Downstairs, he was wished a pleasant morning by Allison, the innkeeper. Breakfast was a loaf of cornbread, milk, and a wedge of the finest Stormwind Brie. He paid Allison for the night’s stay and meal, and headed out into the street, lit by the bright Azeroth sun.

*************************************

He took a moment to gather his bearings, comparing his surroundings to the map he’d memorized on the journey. He went left, seeing a signpost pointing toward the Mage Quarter.
It took him fifteen minutes to reach the quarter, largely because of the two merchant carts that had become tangled in the road and blocked traffic. But Nicholas was in no hurry, so rather than frustrating him, the bustle gave him a bit of amusement.
He reached the Quarter, and was surprised to see not cobblestone roads, like the rest of Stormwind, but a bed of soft grass, greener than he had ever seen. Surely the work of some sensitive-footed mage, Nicholas thought with a smile. Walking through he saw an odd assortment of wizards and sorceresses, gnome and human alike. Occasionally he caught himself staring at the sight of a passing Draenei. They had only recently started appearing all over the Alliance, and judging by the freedom with which they moved around the city, they must have been on good terms with the Alliance. Nicholas had heard of their appearance near the lands of the night elves, but they largely stayed on that side of the world and in the larger cities, so Nicholas hadn’t seen any yet.
They were large, the males larger than even the tall night elves, Nicholas bet. Blue-skinned, the males had tentacles protruding from their heads, yet they didn’t look odd or repulsive, like the tentacles of a sea creature. The males also had small plates, made of bone, on their foreheads, of different shapes and sizes. Draenei eyes had a soft glow to them, and both males and females had tails. The Draenei had hoofed feet, yet they didn’t walk awkwardly, like cattle; rather, they moved with a grace that defied their size. The males carried a majestic presence about them, and the females were all strikingly beautiful, rivaling even the loveliest human or elf.
Wishing he had more time to get to know some of the Draenei, Nicholas continued. His path took him past tall towers that seemed to pulse with the arcane power undoubtedly flowing through them as the mages within practiced their magic. Outside on the street, some mages entertained passersby and children with magic tricks, be it pulling a dragon whelp from a hat or disappearing and reappearing behind the audience.
Nicholas continued to the Park, stopping to examine the more exotic plant species: blood-red mageroyal and bright wild steelbloom, tall sungrass and chilled icecap. Animals of various species ran around and played among the plants. Here a family walked past Nicholas, the children chasing rabbits and squirrels; there, a class of students practiced art, painting purple lotus plants.
Nicholas felt something, a peacefulness and calm he hadn’t felt since the days before he left home, before he left his parents, Carlin and Marlene. It was the same peace he felt back on his family farm in the Lordaeron town of Darrowshire, growing corn and raising sheep, a peace of knowing you were safe and worries were a world away. Nicholas had left when he was 24, going to Southshore to train as a soldier under his uncle Marcus. But he always knew he could return to the peace of home.

*************************************

That had all changed in the days the Scourge had come. Little by little, more of the lands of Lordaeron, the lands which Nicholas and his family called home, had fallen to the plague spread by those loyal to the Cult of the Damned. Little by little, more people died from the plague, only to rise again as mindless, soulless zombies- minions of the undead Scourge.
The people of Lordaeron fought with all their strength and numbers, but the fight was a losing one. Each man or woman who died at the hands of the undead only rose to join them. Nicholas, who’d been away, had returned home to stand by his father and defend his home. When the Scourge threatened Darrowshire, the defenders sent Nicholas, their fastest rider, to the surrounding regions, mustering all the help he could find. He’d ridden hard and fast to Stromgarde, Tarren Mill, and Southshore, gathering reinforcements to go to Darrowshire’s aid. But even as they prepared to leave, a small band of refugees had arrived in Southshore. They told the gathered soldiers of the slaughter, how the Scourge couldn’t be stopped. One soldier found Nicholas, and with sadness in his eyes, told him of his parents, how both his father and mother had fallen in battle, along with his uncle’s entire family.
Nicholas had little time to grieve, as word came that the Scourge, minions of a larger power called the Burning Legion, was moving in force towards Dalaran, home to the brightest and most powerful mages of the Alliance. The gathered force prepared to move to Dalaran’s defense, though some doubted the mages would even need any help. But again, their courage and muster was in vain- a mighty demon (Nicholas would later learn that the demon was named Archimonde) destroyed Dalaran in one crushing blow. Little remained of one of the Alliance’s greatest cities. With that defeat, and the news that all of northern Lordaeron, including the capital city, were lost to the Legion, the Southshore defenders prepared to mount a final stand.
But the need for it never came, at least not at the time. The armies of the Burning Legion followed the larger remnant of Lordaeron’s forces across the sea to Kalimdor, the massive continent to the west. Southshore, Hillsbrad, and the other remnants of Lordaeron were spared for the time being. Only months later, the Legion suffered a massive defeat on the slopes of Mount Hyjal, where the Alliance joined the Horde and mysterious night elves in holding off the Legion long enough for the powers of nature to gather and destroy Archimonde. From that victory, the night elves became part of the Alliance and a tentative peace between the Alliance and Horde was enjoyed, at least on that side of the world.
Back in the Eastern Kingdoms, the Alliance started picking up the pieces from the Scourge invasion. The Scourge was weakened, but not gone. They still had a large force in Lordaeron, so much that the former Alliance stronghold was considered lost.
Nicholas, at the first opportunity, rode home to Darrowshire. The journey was difficult and perilous- at nearly every turn, the effects of the Scourge could be seen and undead minions roamed the land. Indeed, the provinces where Nicholas had grown up became known as the Plaguelands. But Nicholas was a master of shadows, and hid easily from the Scourge’s monsters.
He arrived in Darrowshire and went to his family farm. The house and barns were burned to the ground, and a grave site marked the burial places of his mother. Hoping that his father hadn’t become a mindless zombie, Nicholas went toward the center of town. There, he came upon a man who identified himself as an agent of the Argent Dawn, a faction dedicated to removing the last vestiges of the Scourge from the land. Nicholas introduced himself, and upon hearing his name, the agent brightened and told Nicholas to go to the Light’s Hope chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands with all haste, for there he would find his father, Carlin Redpath.
Nicholas rode as fast as he could, arriving at the chapel the next day. There, his father recognized him from a distance and ran toward him. Nicholas leapt off the horse and father and son embraced. His father told him how he had indeed fallen in battle, but only wounded. Soldiers from the Argent Dawn found him and nursed him back to health. Grateful for their aid, Carlin joined the Argent Dawn, both in debt to his rescuers, and in a desire for revenge against those who had taken his wife from him. Carlin had returned to bury his wife’s body, which he had burned in order to keep her from joining the Scourge. He had the entire farm torched, to help seal his resolve to visit revenge and wrath on the Scourge.
Nicholas remained at Light’s Hope for several days, telling his father of his life since he left to get help. He couldn’t stay, for his allegiance to his guild demanded his return to service. Nicholas bid his father farewell, with a promise to send word as often as he could, and to return at the first opportunity. He left his father, riding back towards Hillsbrad, wondering if he would see Carlin alive again.
Nicholas broke out of his deep thoughts, realizing he had been standing in the same place, staring at the same bus of Khadgar’s Whisker for some time. Looking at the sun, he realized he had better head toward the Old Town, where SI:7 had its headquarters. He left the Park at a brisk pace, wondering what Mathias had to say that was so urgent.

*************************************

The late morning sun reflected brightly off the large brick structure ahead. As Nicholas approached the large, wooden double doors leading into SI:7, the two guards standing by the entry moved deftly in his path, blocking him.
"And who are you supposed to be," asked the one on the right with a definite smugness that suited his round face.
"A traveler, here to see the Master," Nicholas replied. Rule number one of the rogue's trade- never give out your name if you don't have to.
"From where?"
"Up north."
"Hold on," said the other guard, and he slipped inside, leaving Nicholas and the round-faced guard to stare at each other.
He returned a moment later and waved Nicholas in. The inside of the small keep was dim, but warm from the torches and lit fireplaces. A few people milled about here and there, talking in low whispers. A few glanced in his direction for a brief moment, then returned to their conversations and activities.
Down a staircase to Nicholas' left came a tall and stocky man, with short auburn hair and a short, thick beard. He smiled as he approached Nicholas, who returned the gesture. they took each other's hand in a firm handshake.
"Nicholas, lad, how are you? How was the journey?"
"I am well, Master Shaw, thank you," Nicholas answered. "The journey was long, but comfortable. The Wildhammers do know how to train those birds of theirs."
"Yes, never was very comfortable with flying myself," Mathias said with a grin. "How is your father?"
"Doing well, as far as I know. I haven't heard from him but once since I last saw him. I can't imagine news gets in or out of the Plaguelands much."
Mathias chuckled as they started toward the staircase. "The Scourge probably treats mailmen the same way they treat everyone else. If what I've heard about the Argent Dawn is true, your father is in good company."
"Yes, I'm not terribly worried about him, sir," Nicholas admitted. "He can take care of himself."
"As can you, so I understand," Mathias said with an appraising tone. "Heard from Jorach that you handled yourself pretty well trying to defend Tarren Mill."
They started climbing the spiral stairs.
"Not well enough. All the soldiers fought well, but the Forsaken were too many," Nicholas said. "But Myrokos has been assigned to give them headaches, which he certainly will do, even though I'm not sure zombies can feel headaches."
Mathias laughed. He was a very responsible person, but very pleasant at times. Trained from an early age, his grandmother, of all people, groomed him to one day take over the reins of Stormwind's intelligence gathering efforts. He was still young, only a few years older than Nicholas. But his age was no limit- he carried out his duties efficiently and successfully.
The two men entered Mathias' quarters on the third floor. Mathias directed Nicholas to a chair by the fireplace. He sat in a second chair facing Nicholas. The windows were shut, so the crackling fire provided the only light in the room.
"No doubt you're wondering why I brought you hundreds of miles to our headquarters," Mathias began.
Nicholas simply nodded.
"I've discussed it with Jorach, and we have agreed to give you a new assignment. I'm sending you to the province immediately to our south, Duskwood. Our man there, Flint Shadowmoore, has been moved to the Plaguelands. You know Flint?".
Nicholas shook his head, running through his mind all the things he knew about Duskwood. It didn't take too long- he only knew it was dark and gloomy there.
"Well, we needed his talents up north, which means we need a replacement in Darkshire, the main town."
"I understand, sir. What exactly am I to do there," asked Nicholas, wondering to himself what kind of place Duskwood would be.
"We've heard some interesting rumors from citizens travelling from there. The rumors are a bit ominous, and we need someone of your talent to simply go, keep an eye on things, and learn what you can. See if there's anything to really worry about."
Nicholas nodded slowly. "May I ask what kind of rumors, sir?"
"Well, a few people have mentioned seeing strange creatures around some of the farms, especially the abandoned ones."
Nicholas blinked. Duskwood hadn't always been called that. Before the Second War it had been just as sunny and bright as the rest of Azeroth. But suddenly, and without apparent cause, a darkness had settled over the land. It was more like a thick mist, but one that you couldn't really feel. Some had speculated that it was related to the destruction of the sorceror Medivh during the First War, whose tower fortress of Karazhan was located in the mountains east of Duskwood.
Whatever the case, Duskwood as now a dark and dismal place, worthy of its new name.
"When do I leave," Nicholas asked.
Mathias smiled. "Knew I could count on you."
Nicholas shrugged. "I wanted a change of scenery anyway. All that sunshine was getting to me."
Mathias laughed. "You will go as a blade merchant, travelling the land to sell your weapons. You'll probably make some real money, since people there are jumpy about waht may lie in the darkness."
"My mission?"
"Just keep your eyes and ears open. Send us word from time to time- that will be easy, since your cover says you work for a merchants' guild here in Stormwind, and keep regular correspondence with your superiors. Anything unusual or out of place, let us know and we'll let you know what we want you to do about it. But by all means, if there's something that requires immediate attention, don't wait for us. I trust your judgement- take care of whatever it might be, and we deal with the consequences later."
Nicholas nodded. "Any backup?"
Mathias shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Most of our spare agents are up north keeping an eye on both the Scourge and the Forsaken."
"That's alright. Alone is better," Nicholas said.
"Any questions?"
Nicholas shook his head.
"Alright. Report to Osborne outside when you're ready to leave. He has your equipment, papers, and money. Leave as soon as you can."
They stood. Nicholas nodded and saluted Mathias, who returned the salute.
"Good luck," Mathias said, and Nicholas left the room and the building.

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A little over an hour later, Nicholas was on the cart, guiding his horse, Adil, through the streets of the Stormwind Trade District toward the main gates. He had enough food and provisions for seven days, but the journey would only take five. His first goal was to stay the night at the Lion's Pride Inn. The next night he'd stay at the Eastvale Logging Camp, near the Redridge border. On the third day, he'd sete up camp at the Three Corners, a major crossing for roads leading to the Three Shires: Goldshire, where the Lion's Pride was located; Lakeshire, the administrative center for the Alliance in the Redridge Mountains, and Darkshire, which he would reach by the fifth day.
Nicholas left the Old Town and started to make his way through the Trade District. A cacophonous wave of aromas tickled his nose: fresh breads and rolls, sharp cheeses, and wines ranging from sweet merlot to strong dwarven lagers. Merchants everywhere called to passersby, offering everything from bright clothing to fresh produce to magical charms. He came to the great bridge that spanned the Stormwind moat, over which towered statues of several heroes of the Alliance. These particular heroes, following the Second War, had pursued the orcs into their homeworld of Draenor to reclaim a number of powerful and important artifacts. To prevent the orcs from returning to Azeroth, so the legends say, the heroes sacrificed their way home and closed the portal, sealing themselves, and the Horde as well, away from Azeroth. Their memory was honored by these effigies, so tall they blocked out the sun at midday during parts of the year. At the gate itself, the guards waved him through, not bothering with the routine inspection. Either SI:7 had warned them of his coming, Nicholas mused, or, more likely, they simply bothered more with what may be coming into Stormwind than what may be coming out.