Tirisfal Glades The approaching dawn did little to bring light to the Tirisfal Glades, where the taint of death and decay was strong and ever present. Suffering from the blight brought by the undead armies of the Scourge, the once beautiful forests now stood in shades of sickly green and brown, not quite dead but far from flourishing. Many of the smaller plants had died off, and those animals that survived had mostly migrated to more welcoming environments. The air smelled of rotting wood, and a constant, though thin, mist seemed to cover the whole of the land.
In the darkness that shrank slowly with the rising sun, two figures moved as silently as possible, pausing at each spot of natural cover to survey their surroundings. They had been on the move since late the night before, not stopping to rest, but only one of them was beginning to grow hungry.
At the next thicket, both dropped low to the ground as they had done dozens of times in the last few hours. One of them slowly raised his head until his eyes could see just over the thorny branches that concealed them. He slowly scanned the woods through which they had just come, his ears listening for any sound other than what nature made, but no sound came. There was no indication that they were being followed, at least not closely.
The man, a human originally from Stormwind, dropped back down to the ground and looked at his companion. It took some effort for him not to flinch at the other's appearance, still somewhat unsettling despite the days they had known each other. A human in life, he had lost most of his hair; his eyes, now dark and cold, seemed to sink back into their sockets; and his skin peeled away from muscle and bone on his arms and legs. The Scourge plague had ravaged the man' body in life, and even in death seemed to consume it. Though he walked and talked, he was anything but alive. The irony of their situation was on both men's minds. For the last several months, the living one had spent his time scouting out positions and strength of the Scourge armies that yet remained in Lordaeron. Like the soldiers around him, every day was spent finding ways to combat the Undead and drive them from the land. The dead one had been a simple man in life, a baker in Hearthglen who left a wife and young child behind, saved because of an impromptu visit to her parents in Hillsbrad. A month ago, had they encountered each other, a fight to the death surely would have taken place. But things had changed since then, changed in ways neither of them likely could have predicted.
With a look, the undead man indicated he was ready to continue, and the pair moved on.
Only once did they encounter any Scarlet Crusaders, and the living man decided the soldiers were ignorant of the pair's escape. But word of betrayal and treason would surely spread quickly, and the Crusaders' superiors would surely exert no small effort to find and recapture the man and the near-skeleton who traveled with him. Escape from their makeshift prison had been simple enough; now if only their luck would hold until they reached their destination.
They had decided to head for Brill. In the past months, many undead had been able to break away from the Scourge armies, having somehow regained their free will and mental independence. These newly-free undead had taken over much of western Lordaeron, setting the former human capital city as the heart of their new kingdom. It was toward these lands the two travelers hurried; both had decided that if the walking dead were to find refuge, it would be among these his kin.
They reached the southern tip of Brightwater Lake near mid-day and rested among some rocks near the water before continuing on. Their luck in avoiding Scarlet patrollers held, though neither was too too surprised. The closer they got to Brill and the undead territory, the smaller any Scarlet Crusade presence would be. After resting for an hour or so, the pair moved on, almost as silent as the dying trees around them.
Miles away, to the northeast, a Scarlet captain let out a frustrated breath and gritted his teeth.
Escaped. The man against whom he had dedicated much of his energy over the last two months had escaped. Worse still, he had rescued one of
them, one of the thousands of abominations against whom the captain and his men fought every day. The scope of this blasphemy, this affront to the Light was enough to clench the captain's fists. By sheer will he kept himself from sweeping everything off the table in a child-like tantrum, but he was close.
For weeks, this man, this traitor, had been lacking in his faith and dedication to the most holy cause of removing the Scourge from the land. Few knew of the man's doubts, but the captain had his sources. He had known, and had assigned several of his best men to finding evidence of the man's growing betrayal.
Betrayal? Despite his rage, the captain wondered if that was too harsh a word. After all, it wasn't as though the man had killed any Crusaders or attacked any holdings. But that thought quickly left, as the captain decided the man truly was a traitor. He had been taken in by the Crusade and give responsibility, not to mention safety and security. And how did he repay the Crusade? By questioning their motives, their methods, perhaps even their very beliefs.
Yes, the captain told himself, the man was a traitor, a heretic, and deserved the extent of justice that the Scarlet Crusade could give out. Especially in light of the revelation that he had helped an abomination, an affront to life and the Light itself, escape the justice that it deserved.
But by now they were far away, likely out of reach of his soldiers and patrols. That didn't matter, the captain assured himself. He had his sources outside the Crusade as well, and he would have them keep their eyes open. A man like this would know how to hide, but even he wouldn't be able to keep the mark they'd given him from everyone.
The captain smiled. It would take time for this man, this heretic, to face justice. But the captain was a patient man, and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
*****
Two floors above him, a young woman wrote feverishly, trying to finish the letter she had started the day before. She had managed to secure one of the messenger pigeons used to carry missives to and from the other Crusade bastions scattered about what remained of Lordaeron, now called the Plaguelands. But she'd had to do so secretly: here at the Monastery, she enjoyed some level of influence, but if anyone knew to whom she wrote, it would raise eyebrows and unwanted questions.
She had been torn about the whole thing, wanting to do the right thing but wondering exactly what that was. Her heart tugged against her mind, and she had lost sleep over it. But fortunately he had made the choice for her, and in a way that kept her safe. And now, she wanted to thank him and wish him well.
My greatest worry is that our paths will never cross again, for I feel I won't leave any time soon, and I am sure you have no plans to return. My prayer is that the Light may see you safely to your destination and guide you to your destiny. Know that I love you and care for you, despite the different way in which we see things. I hope sincerely that we will see each other again.
Light be with you.
Signing the letter, she rolled it up and tied it with a small purple ribbon. She went over to the window where the pigeon waited patiently and secured the small roll to its leg. Using her training to communicate the letter's intended destination to the bird, she released it into the twilight, praying silently that it would find its way south in safety. Wiping a tear from her eye, she left her room quickly, rushing to avoid being late to worship service.
*****
The pair reached the borders of Brill shortly after dawn on the second day since their escape. They worked their way south to the main road leading into the town, where they decided the dead man would have the best chance of encountering those like him without appearing suspicious.
The two parted ways, each wishing the other luck. After that, no words were said as the undead began walking toward Brill. After he was out of sight, the other man followed him at a distance. He simply wanted to make sure his companion of the last few days would be okay. He marveled to himself that he should be so concerned for one whom he earlier would have considered an enemy. But they had become something akin to friends, and he wanted to be sure his friend was safe.
He had little to worry about. Though the patrolmen had been a bit wary at first, after learning the undead man was like them- raised from the dead yet free from the Scourge- they sent him along with a runner to Brill, where he would be taken care of.
The man who yet lived waited until his companion was out of sight again, then began working his way southeast. Where his ultimate destination lay, he didn't know. He rubbed the mark on his forearm that marked him as a traitor- that he would have to keep hidden if he wanted to associate with normal society. He wasn't sure what would happen if anyone saw it, what they would think, or if they would give him a chance to explain. He wasn't even sure where he could live and keep his secret indefinitely.
For now he would return to the Hinterlands, to the place where more than any other he felt at home; where he might, for the first time in months, feel truly safe.
What parts of Northdale might have looked like before the Legion invaded
