Finding Your Way Around

The story isn't dead. I promise. I mull it over in my head several times a day. It's still there, and it's still coming.

In the meantime, the world of Azeroth is a rich one. There's no denying that. Exploring the different areas and lands was part of the fun in playing World of Warcraft. The one time I got onto a public test realm (where the developers tested things before putting them in the game), I focused far less on trying out high-level abilities I hadn't gotten yet, and far more on exploring places I wouldn't get to see on my real character for a while.

What does it say that one of the first places I went to see was full of giant mushrooms and the walking dead?

Now, long removed from the game, I still enjoy looking at the maps and see where I've been and where I never got to go. The in-game maps are beautifully illustrated, made to look like an old piece of parchment, and have the given area's most important locations labeled.

Elwynn Forest....kinda makes you feel all Bilbo Baggins-ish, dunnit?

As great as the in-game maps are, WoW fans have taken Azeroth cartography a step further, making mroe interactive and detailed maps for players to use. The game's mini-map shows the layout of Azeroth in small but detailed-in-better-relief pieces, like so:

Some enterprising WoW cartographers took the technology behind Google Earth and put it to use. The result, essentially pieced together from the same graphics used in the mini-map, is a "satellite" view of Azeroth as it would look from the crow's eye:

Elwynn Forest as seen from the International Space Station

The following are, in my view, the best ways the Google Azeroth technology has been utilized:

Okay, this is the original in-game map for The Badlands.

- WoW Game Pressure offers "Google Azeroth" maps by region, handily organized to help you find the region you're looking for quickly. Each map labels key areas the in-game maps may not have, and has lists of the quests and NPCs that appear in the area as well.

This is WoW Game Pressure's Badlands Map with extra labels. Note NPC/quest lists below the map.

- MapWoW give the full "Google Azeroth" experience, allowing you to navigate and zoom in/out wherever you want. It also gives the option of labeling locations, resource nodes or travel paths.

MapWoW's satellite-esque view of the Badlands, pre-Cataclysm. Note the node display options to the right.

Wyrimaps has the most updated "Google Azeroth" maps, with the changes from the Cataclysm marked and mapped. The downside is that labels aren't an option for the time being.

Wyrimaps' satellite of the Badlands showing the effects of the Cataclysm.

Why do I mention this here? As I develop my stories, I use and throw out a lot of place names to give myself and the reader an idea of where in Azeroth the theater of action is taking place. I try to keep consistent with those already established in the game and Warcraft lore. But sometimes I feel the need to create my own location, be it a town, a port or a natural landmark. If I do that, I'll try to give an idea of where it is in relation to already-established landmarks. Using the above resources will help you know where the heck it is I'm talking about.

From the Diary of Altus Tien I

Strahnbrad

March 5
Near Strahnbrad


We're a day's ride from Strahnbrad and have set up camp for the night. King Terenas has asked Lord Uther and the rest of us to look into claims of attacks by orc raiders. On the road this morning, we were met by a family traveling to Andorhal. They told us the greenskins have been coming at night to take citizens and sacrifice them to their demon gods. We have no evidence of these claims yet, but each day seems to bring more reports of orcs escaping the camps. Having seen for myself the orcs' dark magics, I find myself believing the stories.
We are not to be alone in this fight. Lord Uther tells us Strahnbrad has little more than a token defense force, so King Terenas has sent his son to join us. I welcome the presence of Prince Arthas, but I admit I'm more hopeful to see a courier with some word from Naya. I've been away from her for two months now, I miss her terribly and long to hold her again.

That's kind of what this story looks like. In my head.

There are plot threads and setting strands and exposition filaments and dialog strings and climactic yarns of a hundred colors, lengths, shapes and thicknesses strewn about the inside of my creative mind and making them work is like an impossible puzzle. They're constantly running, playing out up there- I can see them clearly, bright and vivid and vibrant.

Most of them are excellent (if I do say so myself) and would make a perfect addition to the narrative fabric I seek to weave; some are smaller and better suited to a decorative tassel, while others are more elaborate and fit to be woven throughout the tapestry.

I know who the protagonist is and what he does, but I don't know how it happens yet. I know his friends and enemies and what their relationships are like but I don't know how they get there.

Hence, the dearth.

Apologies if you feel abandoned. It won't last.

Free Writing 8/3

Nikolas rolled the thug leader’s unconscious form over on his stomach and reached beside him for rope to bind the man’s hands. As he did, he noticed a small patch sewn into the thug’s right sleeve. A few crossed lines and dots were embroidered into the patch, a pattern Nikolas didn’t recognize. He finished tying the bindings and moved on to the next man, rolling him and binding his arms together as well. A flash of color on this one’s right sleeve made him stop- he twisted the arm to get a better look, and frowned.

It had the same patch- same size, same colors, same pattern on it. Almost the same pattern, Nikolas thought- this one only had two dots on it; the leader’s patch had three. Without finishing the binding knot, Nikolas quickly stood and examined the bodies of the dead thieves. Each had the same patch in the same place, though these also had only two dots. On the last man, Nikolas stared at the patch more closely- the longer he looked at it the more it resembled a bird, but he still didn’t recognize it at all.

“Alira!” he called, looking to where she and Bria sat under a tree. Bria was still crying, though silently now, but stayed by the tree as Alira walked over. She did so slowly, her revulsion from the corpse obvious. When Alira was close enough, Nikolas twisted the thug’s arm to show her the patch. “Have you ever seen this before?”

Alira bent down for a better look, careful not to touch the body, but after a few moments shook her head. “I don’t remember seeing it. What is it?”

Nikolas looked back at the thug. “I don’t know. They all have one, all in the same place and almost exactly the same...” He trailed off, a dozen questions hitting him all at once: who were these thugs? Were they a group by themselves or part of a larger gang? The patches on their sleeves supported that idea, Nikolas thought. Certainly they had been after Alira or something she had, but why? How did they know she would be here? Had they been following since Southshore? Nikolas hoped this last thought wasn’t true- he had tried to be careful after the outfitter’s warning, and if these thieves had been trailing them all along, their skill at staying hidden had to be considerable.

There are no answers here, Nikolas thought, not while these thieves are out cold, and waiting longer was potentially dangerous. Better to keep moving, he decided.

Nikolas stood up and looked to Alira, who had returned to her daughter’s side. “How is she?” he asked.

“Calm enough,” Alira answered, holding Bria close.

“Alright, let’s keep moving,” Nikolas said. “The longer we’re out here, the longer we’re exposed. We should get to the outer sentry watch by nightfall if we move fast.”

Acting on a sudden thought, Nikolas went to the dead or unconscious thieves and cut the small patches from their sleeves. He stowed them in a small pouch on his belt, then went to pick up the handcart. Another thought came to him as he did so.

“Put your daughter in the cart,” Nikolas told Alira. “We’ve stopped too much for her tired feet, and we’ll go faster this way.” He realized his words came out gruffer than he intended, and for a moment prepared to apologize. But Alira was already settling her daughter onto the rucksacks in the cart, and the impulse to say something went away. When Alira had finished and retrieved her own bags, Nikolas picked up the cart handles and the small party moved quickly off.

Free Writing 7/20

His weekly sermon over, Maleki silently ushered out his guests through his kitchen and out the back door. There were no clouds in the midnight sky, but the larger of Azeroth’s two moons was new tonight, and the smaller had not yet risen. That meant his listeners could depart through near-pitch-black allies to their own destinations, safe from any prying eyes out this late.

They had listened well, taking in everything Maleki had said and believing it, at least as far as he could tell. Others like him had sent word of dissenters and spies trying to find out his organization’s secrets, but with no success to this point. Maleki felt confident all those who came to his house each week were true believers, but was always careful to keep his guard up. He and his colleagues were too close to their goal to let anything slip now.

At his kitchen table, Maleki wrote a few letters to his colleagues and readied them to send the next day before going upstairs to his private room. Still fully dressed, Maleki laid down on his bed and shut his eyes, knowing sleep wouldn’t come for some time. It rarely did, and he often slept well into the morning. Maleki preferred it this way, though- the darkness of night felt safer, more comfortable than the shining sun. He had left his employment some months before, telling the curious it was because of his health. In truth, he and the others sharing his rank were well provided for by those they answered to. Maleki never asked where the money came from, and he didn’t care. He knew, as they all did, money would soon no longer be of concern to them. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

Soon, Maleki thought to himself, very soon. The supplies from Northrend would arrive in port in a matter of days in small parcels hardly worth notice. Still, Maleki knew, well-placed members of his organization would ensure they made it to Andorhal in confidence. A few days more and shipments would start going out all over Lordaeron. After that, it would be too late to stop what was coming, what had been coming for a long time.

Maleki’s sermons were to prepare the chosen for the future, for their destiny they didn’t until recently know they had. His was a shepherd’s role, watching over his flock and guiding them in their tasks, and he embraced it. Though Maleki longed for a greater calling, for a greater reward, he knew none would come unless he performed his duties with faith and diligence.

From far away the sound of a rooster’s crow came to Maleki’s window, and he realized dawn was approaching. Finally feeling sleep was near, Maleki changed into his dressing gown and got back into bed. He could hear the smithy next door give a loud yawn, then start stoking his fires for the day’s work. He heard the scratching of a cart on cobblestone as a dairy farmer made his morning rounds. His nose picked up the smell of fresh bread dough just put into the oven, and that made him smile. Appropriate, he thought.
The last thing Maleki remembered hearing before falling asleep was the butcher yelling at some cats lingering near his door, hoping for some breakfast scraps. His last conscious thought before drifting into slumber was that hungry cats would soon be the least of the butcher’s worries.

Katia-

As I write this I am safe from the reach of those who call themselves your friends. I will not reveal details, but with the help of others I was able to escape while on the road from the Monastery to Hearthglen. I have been doubly lucky to have my life today. I believe it was the intention of Falt Greyhaft, the commander of my escorts, to have me killed along the way, likely during a supposed escape attempt. He might have succeeded if not for my rescue. And of course I have you to thank for convincing your lords to spare my life. I know you must have many questions about why I was arrested and eligible for death in the first place. I promise to answer those questions as soon as is practical. For now, I want you to know I am alright. I will write to Mother as well, but if you are able please convey this news to her. I hope you are well, and I will write again as soon as possible.

Nikolas

Another Piece of Chapter II

The Dwarven District in Stormwind City

Bas Oakthorn awoke to the painful sensation of someone slapping him, and between blows managed to see he was nowhere near where he last remembered being. The dark and dank surroundings told him he was in a cellar somewhere, and probably where no one would think to find him. Bas realized he could not move, bound to a chair by thick ropes around his arms and legs.

He had been running through Stormwind’s Dwarven District, somewhere near the Deeprun Tram, and others had been chasing him. They’d wanted something- a necklace he no longer had- and had been pursuing him for two days. But how did he end up here?

Briefly the image of a horse-drawn cart came into his mind- it had pulled out in front of him while he was looking back at the men chasing him, and he’d run face-first into the cart. It must have knocked him out, because the next thing he remembered was waking up hear. That, and his head was pounding.

The slapping continued until a voice said, “‘S’enough, he’s awake, can’ you see?”

It came from a figure seated in the corner. He stood up as the thug hitting Bas backed away- tall and stocky, with thick hair covering his face., his thick arms threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt, and he smelled strongly of dwarven ale. The man grabbed a chair, placed in front of Bas, and sat down.

“Where is it, Bas?”

Bas clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Krant.”

Krant spat on the ground. “You know about my temper, Bas, so don’t get stupid. Where is the necklace?”

“I lost it. Must have dropped it somewhere in the city. Why don’t you go look for it?”

For his snide Bas received a punch across his jaw. For the second time in the day blood leaked into his mouth from where his teeth cut into his cheeks. This he spit onto the floor at Krant’s feet.

“You won’t find it, Krant. It’s out of your reach. I know what you want with it, what your boss wants with it, and he won’t get it. He can try all he wants but he’ll never get it, and without it, he’ll be as powerless and impotent as ever.”

From behind Bas, a cold, cruel laugh rang throughout the cellar. In an instant, all Bas’ fake courage he had tried to show Krant dissolved away. Even Krant and his two thugs seemed to quail a bit.

“Your tongue is almost as sharp as your nose, Bas. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to avoid trouble for so long.”

Bas didn’t recognize this new voice, but like the laugh, it chilled his very insides. There was a harsh quality to it, as if there was no shred of kindness inside the man who spoke. At once, Bas felt a very real threat from this voice, to him still disembodied, and he tried to gather his bravado again.

“I said I’m not talking, and you can’t do anything about it.”

Bas couldn’t see it, but the man replaced what had been an ominous smile with a sneer. He looked at Krant.

“We have no time for this.” As he spoke this statement, he strode forward, stood right behind Bas, and grasped the prisoner’s head with both hands.

Bas opened his mouth to let out a scream, but no sound came out. In his head, he felt a white-hot pain, the intensity of which he could never have imagined. It was as if every hair was burning, the flames crawling down into his skull and lashing at his brain with a thousand whips. Bas believed if he could touch his cheek, his very fingers would turn to ash at once. More than the physical pain, though, Bas thought his very mind was being ripped apart, torn by some intangible harrow. He’d had no time to prepare for this mental onslaught, and was thus laid bare, in mind and body, for this torment of which he could see no end.

Then all at once, it was over. Bas was able to open his eyes, though his vision was blurry and everything seemed to spin a little. He could feel some residual pain, though it seemed more like the soreness a long day of physical labor. He noticed he was sweating, and his breathing was deep. Bas started at the sound of a voice right in his ear.

“Now, Bas, let us try again. You have information I need but won’t give up. It’s there in your head, hidden somewhere in a dark corner. I will have that information, and what you just experienced is a demonstration of how I will assault your mind until I get what I want. So, I ask you this- will you play along with us or do you need more....convincing?”

Bas clenched his jaw, quickly running through the situation. Five years ago in Southshore, Berdin had given him the pendant for safekeeping, and until now there had been no problems. Somehow someone had learned about the pendant and tracked him down to Stormwind. Krant had approached him several times asking to pay handsomely for the pendant, which he claimed was an heirloom, but the veil over the lie was a little too thin.

Bas knew there were other pieces of jewelry that combined with the pendant to grant a wearer abilities no ordinary person would have. He didn’t know about the nature of these powers, and when asked Berdin had always deflected the questions or changed the subject. Bas also wasn’t sure how many of the pieces these brigands had, but he was determined to keep the last one out of their hands, no matter the cost. He shook his head in response to his tormentor’s question.

“Cut him loose,” the still-faceless voice commanded. Krant’s look was just as confused as Bas, who was caught off guard by this order. But Krant clearly didn’t want to cross the one giving the command, and so pulled out a knife and cut Bas’ bonds. Before Bas could even think about trying an escape, he found himself flung forward as the tormentor kicked his chair hard from behind, sending both spinning to the ground. As Bas tried to get up, he felt the man grab him by the hair and with unnatural strength and speed lift him off the ground. The tormentor threw Bas against the far wall, and the latter crumpled in a dazed heap. The next thing he knew, Bas felt a hand around his neck and pain as he was pushed against the same wall. The face that now looked at him stole his breath.

It was like looking at a cutting board- dozens of scars of all sizes adorned the face of the man Bas know knew belonged to his tormentor. The man’s face was gaunt and pale, like his skin had rotted away and new skin had been stretched over his skull. Strange markings Bas didn’t recognize had been etched into the man’s forehead and on his jaw. By far the most unsettling thing about the face, though, was the eyes. Though they burned bright with obvious rage, it was like there was nothing in them, just a strange emptiness. Like daggers they bored into Bas’ eyes, and he found that no matter how much he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.

“I can draw the information from you like poison from a snake bite, Bas. Are you sure you really want to go this far?” The malice on his face was almost palpable.

Collecting every ounce of courage he could, Bas shook his head. The other man didn’t even blink or break eye contact, but instead took his place behind Bas’ seat again, placing his hands over the prisoner’s ears. Bas could only make out a few mumbled words of some unknown incantation before the furious pain erupted in his head again.

This time was different, though- Bas could still make no sound because of the pain’s intensity, but he could see images- no, memories- flashing before his clenched-shut eyes. These were recent memories, just from the past few hours. He saw the bridge in the Canals where he spent last night...walking along the roads through Cathedral Square...breakfast at the Salted Hog tavern...ducking into one of the smaller churches near the Cathedral after seeing one of the men looking for him...now at the Harbor, sensing his pursuers closing in...looking for somewhere to hide the necklace.

Bas now realized, between waves of agony, what was happening- his tormentor was extracting every memory he could until finding out what Bas had done with the necklace. He tried, used every bit of will he could muster to try and stop the images, to protect them from being revealed, but nothing he could do stopped the advancing flashes of memory.

With a sharp pang of guilt, he saw the woman and her daughter he’d overheard buying passage on a merchant ship...they were leaving in the evening...he offered the necklace to the girl, her mother smiling at his generosity...now he was returning to the Salted Hog...behind him, his pursuers, to Bas’ relief unaware of what he’d just done...

The pain stopped. Bas felt more sweat all over his body, his breathing heavy again, but he couldn’t open his eyes- he was too weak. He felt as if he had lost all ability to move, and when he tried to flex even the smallest of muscles, they barely responded. He heard his tormentor barking orders to Krant and the others, telling them who and what to look for, threatening them should they fail. Then heavy footsteps approached him.

“Bas, you should have listened to me,” the cruel, cold voice said again. “You could have avoided all this pain. And where did your bravery get you? We have the information we wanted, and we will get the necklace as originally planned. So all your effort, all your pathetic time has been wasted.”

Bas felt the same cold hands on his head again, and somewhere deep inside him knew what was about to happen. But he lacked the strength to offer any resistance. He heard the voice right next to his ear.

“Such a waste.”

And the white-hot pain started all over again.