Please, please read the first story in this series, Before The Storm. It's short, but it has important character introductions and interactions, taking place before the Broken Shore. Mardynn, Ehldrenor, and Islorus are introduced there.
This story means a lot to me, and it's also a lot of firsts for me. First OC based fic in a very long time, first real Warcraft fic, first mystery. I want to grow and improve as a writer, so I cannot emphasize enough to please let me know what you think. If you love it or hate it, I want to know. Reviews help me write better, and I thrive on feedback. It helps motivate me to write more.
Warcraft is very important to me. I hope I'm doing it justice.
Imagine: Stormwind City, crown jewel of Elwynn Forest. It's white walls tower over the tallest trees, the gates stand imposing, yet welcoming - friends may enter, but one who comes as an enemy will never see the inside. Blue shingles everywhere, a kind of chromatic resonance chosen by the Stonemason's Guild, before they became the Defias Brotherhood. Over everything hung the iconic Lion of Azeroth, banners and flags flapping in the breeze.
It's the busiest city this side of Ironforge, hundreds of miles away, dug deep into the mountains of Dun Morogh. Dwarves would say their metropolis is the pinnacle of Azerothian craftsmanship, a gnome would point to the spinning gears and elevators of the irradiated city of Gnomeregon, but humans? Humans knew the real place to be was Stormwind.
But not today.
The streets were empty. The bank, usually the busiest place in the city, patrons standing in line for hours at a time, stood deserted. The great forges in the center of the Dwarven District stood cold. Even the beggars, a common site after decades of war, had disappeared from their corners.
Had there been some disaster? Disease? Had some monster come in the night, sweeping people up without a trace?
No, not unless that monster was named Grief.
Today, Stormwind was in mourning for the loss of a great man.
Varian Wrynn had died valiantly, giving his life to save the survivors of the slaughter at the Broken Shore.
Mardynn hadn't seen it happen with her own eyes - she'd been one of the first aboard the retreating gun ship, and had thus made her way belowdecks - but she'd felt the ship rock as the fel reaver's massive hand took it, heard the screams as the great King had lost his grip on the rope ladder.
The veterans of the Shore were granted a special place at his funeral. They were arranged in a block in front and to the left of the Archbishop, who was giving his eulogy.
It was beyond belief. Someone had died for her. And not just anyone. King Varian himself. She felt… empty. Undeserving. How much good had she done in the end? How many wounds had she healed, only for the grateful men to be felled anyway? Her life didn't matter.
The life of a king? And a king like Varian? That mattered.
Not a poor, orange haired little priest who had only just had her first taste of war.
The Archbishop droned on. To his left, Varian's son, Anduin, stood tall, with his hands clasped behind his back. He was pretty, but she couldn't even take a little pleasure in that today. How much pain was he hiding underneath that princely facade? How did he possibly feel about losing his father, after going through so much with him? Mardynn suddenly felt selfish. They were all hurting.
A nation was hurting.
Beside Anduin, Genn Greymane, King of Gilneas, had his hand on the boy's shoulder. He had taken his human shape for this ceremony, and the lines of his face seemed even deeper than they had a few short hours before. His ceremonial sword and pistol hung on opposite sides of his belt, gleaming in the discordantly bright sun.
Next in line stood the Council of Three Hammers - Moira Thaurissan, Muradin Bronzebeard, and Falstad Wildhammer. Each was clad in a ceremonial coat of mail, emblazoned with the colors of their respective clans. They each looked grim, and it was hard to see from where Mardynn stood in the throng, but it looked almost like Moira's eyes were shimmering.
Capping off the line was the gnome Gelbin Mekkatorque, this time outside of his powered armor. Mardynn had only seen him once before, from a distance, on the battlefield. He was standing straight as well, but tears ran freely from his eyes, thin lines staining his cheeks.
On the Archbishop's other side stood the leaders of the Night Elves. Mardynn wasn't sure what their titles actually were, but Tyrande Whisperwind looked every bit as regal as any of the other leaders standing in a row. Malfurion Stormrage looked… sleepy. Irritation buzzed through her for a moment. How dare he look so… unfazed?
Next to Malfurion was Prophet Velen - though "stood" hardly seemed the appropriate verb. Did an ancient tree, gnarled and wise, simply stand? No, it just was. He had a look of deep contemplation and sadness carved into his wrinkled, bearded face. Had he known what would happen? They said he had dreams of what was to come. If he did, though, it hadn't stopped him from mourning.
Finally, there was Aysa Cloudsinger, a young Pandaren woman. She had only joined the Alliance a few years earlier, and she had only been a leader for as long, but she looked serene and in control. That was the Pandaren way, as Mardynn understood it: to bury emotion deep down in the name of peace. Or something.
Mardynn had never actually talked to a Pandaren about their philosophy.
Mardynn tried to listen to what the Archbishop was saying, but Light, he was so dull. The king deserved so much better than this. He deserved a true orator, a master of the craft, someone who could take a crowd and make them feel every accomplishment, every twist and turn of his life, who could make them care.
That person wasn't Mardynn - she had a tendency to ramble once she really got going, and stuttered in front of crowds, but… He was a great man. He deserved the best funeral Stormwind could offer.
The line of leaders stood before a statue of the king, holding his sword over his head with a triumphant smile. Mardynn doubted it had been commissioned for the funeral, or as a memorial - it was much too soon for that to have been carved from scratch. More likely, it had been repurposed from something else.
Still, looking up at the image of her king, that horrible empty sadness filled her again. He was gone. He was really gone - one of the greatest kings Stormwind had ever seen. And not only that, but he had died for the Alliance. For all of them.
For her.
Her vision wavered unexpectedly, and it took a moment to realize that she was crying. A quiet gasp escaped her chest, and her shoulders shook, trembling like a leaf in the wind and pounding rain of a hurricane, and the tears fell down her face. At first, it was only a single tear, tracing a line down her cheek, but it was followed by more and more, a waterfall of emotion and grief. She grieved for herself. She grieved for Varian. But most of all… most of all, she grieved for Stormwind. They'd lost something they'd never be able to replace. Anduin would have a hard time living up to the name Wrynn.
It was at that moment, tears on her face and her hands over her mouth, that she knew. She knew her calling.
She had always known that she wanted to help people. She had volunteered for the assault on the Broken Shore, and nothing had prepared her for the horrors she'd seen there. She'd been part of it, but she hadn't known. Not in her heart. Not where it mattered.
"For the Alliance," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "For the Alliance."
The sea air smelled not like salt and brine, but sulfur and decay.
It was all Mardynn could do not to choke. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe how in the Light's name supposed to fight or heal this was wrong this was wrong wrong wrong and she couldn't breathe and they were all going to die every single one of them on this ship and all the other ships and and
She took a shuddering breath, slapping herself across the face. It didn't matter what the air smelled like. There was oxygen, and that was enough. Her cheek burned, and she focused on the pain, using it to center herself.
The air felt wrong. That's the only way she could describe it. It wasn't just the way it smelled, though. It was the way it felt unnatural on her skin, too thick, like she was submerged in water. It was the way it was too hot, even now with the sky thickly overcast. It was the way she could almost taste the unnatural magic suffusing everything, bleeding over from the rent into the Twisting Nether.
Ehldrenor looked up at the sky beside her, his ancient face worried. "Reality is thin, here," he murmured, gazing out at the unnerving plume of green light shooting into the sky. The clouds swirled around the beam as if forming a tornado - a common enough occurrence in Westfall, where she'd been as a small child - but it never quite came together. He rubbed the patch of hair on his chin, one of the tentacles there twitching slightly. Mardynn had only known him a few days, but even that was long enough to notice a nervous tic. "The portal must be larger than we knew."
"Does it matter?" asked a growling, oddly modulated voice. Mardynn glanced over at her other bunkmate, Islorus, who was covered in dark, fitted plate, carrying an enormous black sword in one hand. Both the armor and the weapon were covered in glowing blue runes, from a language Mardynn didn't recognize. "The island is going to be swarming with demons either way."
Her stomach swirled unpleasantly, and she pressed a hand to her stomach, struggling to take another deep breath. She gripped her staff, a simple length of white painted wood about as tall as she was, a large blue sapphire she'd picked herself embedded at the head, hard enough to leave marks on her fingers. The feel of the familiar grain soothed her a little. She'd had the staff a long time.
Ehldrenor, sending her discomfort, placed a heavy, gauntleted blue hand on her shoulder. "It will be okay. It is frightening, but it is survivable. You will make it through."
"If you fight," Islorus grunted. "You have to be willing to take life by the claws and hold onto it. Hope gets you nowhere."
That shut them all up for a few moments. The boat rocked placidly from side to side, the wind whispering on the sails. They had about an hour until landfall. An hour to prepare for the horror of war. The island loomed ahead like a gargantuan beast of stone, watching them with eyes of green. Waiting to devour them whole.
"This is. Stupid. But… can I ask you both a favor?" She tugged at her sleeve with her free hand, a blush touching her too-pale cheeks. She was wearing a silver and blue robe that was a great deal more ornate than she felt she deserved, though she appreciated that it was enchanted well enough to block a sword blow. Would it be enough to shield her for a demon's jaws? Or their fel magic?
Islorus was silent, but Ehldrenor nodded. "I will do what I can."
"Can you…" She sighed. "Can you both stay with me? I'll follow you wherever you go, but I don't want to be alone."
"Babysitting duty?" Islorus snorted and looked away, and for a moment Mardynn thought he was going to really laugh in her face.
Ehldrenor gave him a look, then nodded at her. "My shield is yours, child. My shield is yours."
Islorus rolled his eyes. "I suppose there's worse things than being followed by your own personal healer. Fine, kid."
Mardynn smiled quietly. Calling them friends might be pushing it, but… allies. People to protect, and who would watch her back.
She wasn't ready. Not by a long shot.
But maybe she'd get through this in one piece.
After the ceremony, Mardynn didn't know what to do with herself. What could she do? She'd cried herself out long before it had all been said and done, before all the leaders had had the chance to say their peace - Anduin's in particular had set her off harder than ever. The crowd had stood resolute in silence for nearly ten minutes after the speeches were over and the doves released, each arm raised in one final salute, before finally beginning to disperse.
Mardynn had been one of the first to leave.
She walked the streets of the city, her staff slung across her back on a leather strap, it's weight more than a little comforting. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. There were wounded to be tended to at the Cathedral, but she didn't think she could pray in the state she was in.
That wasn't like her, she thought ruefully as she kicked a pebbled down the cobbled walk. Normally, she'd be able to kneel down and say the words and mean them no matter how she felt. No matter what she was dealing with. But today… She'd closed her eyes, and she saw nothing but gruesome images of death. Blood and violence. Silence brought only the sounds of men screaming in agony.
She shuddered, pushing those thoughts away as best as she could. The edge of the walkway was close, and if she squinted, she could see her reflection in the still waters of the canal that ran through the city. Nothing much to look at. Too short, too thin. Her hair was too orange, her eyes too brown. Not enough muscle to look intimidating.
Seeing the streets of Stormwind so empty was unnerving. She passed someone every now and then, but they looked much the same way she imagined she looked herself - ghosts, drifting through a haunted city. The fact that the sun was shining down on them, not passing through them, didn't make them feel any more corporeal.
How long did she walk? She wasn't sure. The whole city seemed so unfamiliar. She saw the sights, she recognized them, but they felt like something alien. As though the fundamental wrongness of the Burning Legion had followed her back to civilization.
She noted vaguely that she'd made her way to Old Town - the only district that had escaped burning at the hands of the first horde, before Mardynn had ever been born. The orcs were still erstwhile enemies and uneasy allies, but Mardynn had heard the stories. Ehldrenor had spoken in vague terms about the orc's genocide of the Draenei, but he hadn't needed to go into the horrid details to get the picture.
Now that she was here, she had an idea where she was going - one of her favorite places in the city. The Pig and Whistle Tavern, one of the oldest establishments in the entire city. Mardynn wasn't a carouser or even much of a social animal, but there was something about the atmosphere - the warmth, the lighting, the gentle buzz of voices all around you - that was one of the best places to sit and have a meal. It helped that the food was good, too. The other races often mocked humanity for their refusal to properly use spices, but that didn't hold here - they had a spicy chicken recipe that burned your tongue and left you desperate for more.
Or at least, that's how she felt. They'd threatened to take that dish off the menu more than once. The order provided plenty of food, but it tended to be bland and unfulfilling. They claimed it had to do with avoiding "arrogance" and "ostentatiousness," but Mardynn didn't really see how those had anything to do with what food you ate.
She paused outside the front door, inhaling the smells wafting from the tavern. Baking bread and cooking meat and the faint undertone of sweaty bodies... It smelled good. It smelled honest. She could use a meal like that.
The door slid open without a creak, and a man dressed in ragged, homespun fashion stumbled out, a half empty mug of ale clutched in one shaking hand. "Coming... They're coming..."
Mardynn took an uneasy step back. Drunkards, on today of all days? It was disgraceful, and a little bit insulting. Didn't they know how to properly grieve?
"Just..." He burped, sending a cloud of ale into Mardynn's nose. "Just the beginning..." He wavered, then took a stumbling step down the stone stairs. His foot caught, and he tumbled, arms pinwheeling. The mug flew, the spilled ale cutting through the air like a splash of blood.
Mardynn yelled something incoherent and rushed forward, catching the poor bum on the way down. He was much heavier than she was, and she nearly went down in a heap under him. "Gah! Light!" She grunted, struggling to hold him up.
The man moaned pitifully, and dragged his feet beneath him again. He looked around, disoriented - Mardynn saw his eyes for the first time, that they were bloodshot and runny.
"Sir? Are you okay?" He smelled foul, but this was what she did. Helped people.
His red eyes widened suddenly, his hands snapping out to grip Mardynn's shoulders like a pair of vices. He leaned in, almost close enough that they could have kissed, and she could see blood on his teeth - his lip was bleeding where he'd chewed it down. "Run."
Mardynn tried to pull away, but his grip was so strong. "Sir? Sir, I don't..."
"Run away!" He shouted, and spittle rained down on her face. "They're coming! The demons!"
the great beast loomed overhead, stinking of sulfur, massive sword gripped in both hands and raised high as it prepared to strike, leathery wings spreading out to each side like great black sails-
"We can't fight them! Nobody can!" He shook her a little. "They're here, and th-this is their world now..." Tears began to run down his pockmarked face. "Maybe i-if you run far enough, you'll be safe." His voice suddenly became very small, and he broke down weeping. "M-my Annie... She..." He sobbed brokenly, and released Mardynn's hands, his arms going limp. "It doesn't matter. We're all just... Just fuel for the fire."
He staggered off, swaying from one side to the next. His cracking voice began to sing a humming funeral dirge, slightly off key, but Mardynn knew the words. A Hero's Reward.
She stood there, frozen, for a long time.
Memories came rushing back.
The great beast loomed overhead, stinking of sulfur, massive sword gripped in both hands and raised high as it prepared to strike, leathery wings spreading out to each side like great black sails in the storm. Doomguard, she thought crazily as the thing prepared to split her head with it's flaming sword. I'm going to be killed by a Doomguard.
A great wolfish roar rang from just behind her, and a form in black armor darted past her as quick as a blink. Islorus. He raised the sword to parry, and the heavy clang rang throughout the din of combat. "Girl, now!"
Mardynn blinked, pushing through the all-consuming terror, and forced her heavy, aching limbs to move. She gripped her staff with both hands and murmured a prayer, feeling the Light in that special place behind her eyes, and touched it to his back. Light flared brightly from the sapphire head, and golden light engulfed Islorus.
With sudden strength, he heaved, throwing the doomguard's sword back, buying enough time to sweep out with a heavy armored leg. The doomguard's poise crumbled, and he fell to his knee with a crack and a roar as something snapped. Islorus struck, opening the demon from groin to throat, and again, severing the monster's ugly head.
Mardynn started to shout an encouragement, a cheer, something to keep her own confidence strong, but something caught her eye, and the exclamation died in her throat. To her left, one of the lines was beginning to fail. A gnome's head was torn from his shoulders by a Doomguard's bare hands, while nearby, a felhound ravaged a screaming night elf woman, blood splattering everywhere. Suddenly, everywhere she looked, all she could see were the dead and dying - to her right, she laid eyes on a corpse that looked like it had been picked up and dropped by something from an impossible height. It was all she could do to keep herself from bursting into screams. This wasn't what she'd feared.
It was worse.
Just before the demons broke through, a shining beacon of light - of Light - had rushed into the breach, hefting a shining shield and a blazing sword too big for anyone less than a Draenei to wield with one hand. Ehldrenor cut left and right with a roar of hatred, impaling the felhound before engaging the Doomguard. He took a blow that would have shattered bones on his shield, and the Light suffusing his sword flared as he struck with it. The Doomguard died screaming.
Keep moving, Mary. Keep moving. If she could keep moving, keep focusing on one thing at a time, she could do this. She could block out the horror and keep her attention on what needed to be done. The night elf needed her.
She ran forward, kneeling behind Ehldrenor's bulwark, laying a hand on the poor woman's forehead. Her throat was torn open, her breastplate opened, and something that looked suspiciously like a set of broken ribs poked out. This woman had only seconds to live. Mardynn closed her eyes, trusting the Draenei paladin to keep her safe as she worked, and began the chant. "Light, hear the plea of this humble woman," she murmured, running through the words. The chant was not magical, but a kind of catechism, something to focus the mind and bring the heart in touch with the Light. The woman was done fighting, no matter what, but Mardynn could at least make sure she would live to fight another day.
She finished the chant just as the night elf shuddered and the golden light in her eyes flickered, but thank the Light, it was enough. The wound on her throat closed completely, leaving a horrible scar. She would be lucky if her voice was unaffected. Her ribs cracked as they came back together, bones knitting, new flesh crawling over the rent area.
The night elf gasped once, air filling her lungs once more, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Unconscious.
Mardynn understood that. Being healed took a lot out of you. Part of the energy came from the infinite grace of the Light, but part of the power of any blessing came from the recipient. She hooked her arms under the unconscious woman's armpits and started to drag her back, out of danger. No matter what else happened, she could do this. She could save lives.
All she could do was remember.
The pain, the fear…
The stench of intestines and worse..
When she finally blinked and managed to look around, the poor drunk man was gone, and she was standing on an empty street. Near her foot, a grate gurgled. Water in the sewer system below. Not the growl of an angry demon.
She was in Stormwind. If she was safe anywhere, she was safe here.
Then why did her clothes still smell like blood?
She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself, as if she could hold her emotions inside by main force. Long breaths. In. Out.
Suddenly, she wasn't hungry anymore.
With a heavy heart, she climbed the stone steps up to the door and pushed it open. It was heavier than it looked, and when she entered, her staff bumped the frame loudly. The few patrons inside looked up, briefly, then went back to their drinks.
The lighting was warm and homey, with wide windows lining one wall, and oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A crackling fire roared merrily in the hearth, and one of the serving girls was tending it with an iron poker. Tables were arranged in an orderly pattern, usually full to the brim - but not today. The counter was long and clean, and the bartender scrubbed at it idly with a wet rag. A set of stairs led upstairs to bedrooms, and a hallway behind the bar let out in the kitchens. Blue runes places strategically around the room pumped cool air into the place - magic cooling was expensive as it got, but the Pig and Whistle was practically a landmark. Several rugs strewn across the floor and murals on the walls added color.
The patrons of the tavern all seemed as ghostly as the people she'd passed on the street. They all seemed to have had one drink too many, and most of them were staring morosely into their mugs. One man was idly drawing circles on the bar with a dirty finger. Even the bartender looked down in the dumps, and he was as cheerful a man as Mardynn had ever had the pleasure to know. Altogether, the atmosphere was about as sad as she expected.
Except for one. He sat at the far end of the bar, black furred back hunched over a huge plate of cooked meat. As Mardynn watched, he lifted a hunt to his snout and ripped off a distressingly large hunk, sharp canine teeth tearing through it like a hot knife through butter. She could hear him all the way from here. Mardynn could hardly tell one transformed worgen from the next, but that shade of fur and those glowing, frosty blue eyes meant it could only be one person.
Islorus.
Cautiously, as a prey animal approaches a watering hole where predators have been known to lurk, she approached him. Yes, now that she was closer, there was no mistaking that musty smell and the rough texture of his fur. If he was here, eating…
A swell of anger rushed through her, and she punched the undead wolfman in the shoulder. "You didn't go to the funeral!"
Islorus' head whipped up to look at her, snarling, and for a moment, Mardynn was absolutely positive that he was about to rip her throat out with his teeth.
She froze.
They stayed like that for a long moment.
The bartender broke the silence. "Er, Mardynn? Is there a problem?"
Islorus narrowed his eyes.
"Nope," she squeaked. "No problem."
The bartender looked unconvinced. "Right. Well, just let me know if you need anything."
Her eyes flicked over to the man. He was tall, with his hair bound back in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. He was clean shaven, but there was a small nick on his chin. "Could I get the usual?" She tried to smile. "Thanks, Jim."
The bartender rolled his eyes. "At least somebody eats that garbage." He turned to Islorus, clearly determined to defuse the situation. He liked to say that it had been 'years' since blood had been shed in his tavern, and he liked to keep it that way. "Sir, how is your meal? Can I get you anything? Another ale, perhaps?"
Islorus still didn't look away. "It's acceptable." Finally, he glanced back to the bartender. "Another ale, yes. And one for my friend, here."
Mardynn blanched and raised her hands as if warding something off. "Oh, no, that's okay. You don't need to do that. I have money, and-"
Light… Was that a snarl or a smile? "It's on me."
Mardynn went white and took a seat next to Islorus. It was probably better not to fight it. She'd have had a single mug of ale anyway.
Maybe punching the scary dead man with the big teeth hadn't been such a good idea.
Jim bustled off to deliver her order to the cook. Islorus ripped off another strip of unidentifiable meat and swallowed without chewing. "Who taught you to hit, girl?"
Mardynn blinked. "What?"
Islorus rolled his eyes. "Who taught you to hit? You swing like a gnome."
Mardynn was pretty sure that comment was insensitive, but she let it slide this time. See? Self restraint. "Nobody taught me. They don't teach you things like that at the Abbey."
"Bloody useless, then." Rip. Tear. Swallow. The bartender returned with their drinks and a bow, then faded off into the distance. "I'll need to teach you to throw a punch if you're going to help me."
Mardynn blinked. "Help you? First of all, I'm mad at you! Second of all, aren't you more of the lone wolf type?"
Islorus barked out a laugh. "Be mad all you want. He wasn't my king, and I didn't ask him to die for me. That's what war is, girl. Loss. Don't get close to anyone. How many people died out there? How many grains of sand were there on that beach? What does it matter?"
Mardynn shook her head. "That's a horrible way to look at that. Those people had lives. Families."
"Did they? Did you ask them?" He waved a hand. "Most soldiers have nothing. That's why they become soldiers. Not for a cause. For food in their bellies. Revenge, for the good ones."
"Life always has value."
"Then what does that make me?" He bit off another piece of meat. "Look, I'm not here to debate philosophy. I'm here because you're useful to me."
Useful? Mardynn's brow furrowed. "Then how did you know I'd be here?"
"Didn't. Coincidence. But after I heard what I heard, I was thinking about finding you. You and that goody two shoes paladin. I need a few extra sets of eyes, and I'm fairly sure you two weren't involved. Timing."
Mardynn shook her head. "You're going to have to do a better job explaining that one."
"You saw that drunk guy go stumbling out of here right before you came in?"
She nodded uncertainly. "Yeah. He was… ranting. Raving. He told me to run far away."
"Name's Aloric." Islorus tapped the counter with one sharp claw. "Sort of my fault. He was a lot more coherent before I fed him all that alcohol."
Mardynn threw up her hands. "Why?"
"He was sick with grief. I thought getting him bloody knockdown drunk would help him."
"When has that ever helped anyone?!"
Islorus grunted. "Not the point. See, he had a story. He recognized me for what I was - a mercenary - and approached me for my help. Now listen carefully."
Mardynn didn't know what to say, so she stayed quiet. Her food arrived, steaming and smelling divine, and she forced herself to dig in. Thank the Light for the ale.
"He told me all about his daughter. Normal as they come. Lived alone, had a dog, no boyfriend, blah blah blah. He's staying with her - he's from Goldshire, she lived here in Old Town - and he hears a bump in the night. Whatever, right? Everyone's bloody house creaks now and then. But this codger, he goes to investigate. Follows the creaks. Opens his daughter's bedroom, and it's a horrorshow." He gestures grandly, almost looking as though he were enjoying this. "There's blood everywhere, but it's not just splattered around the room. Oh, no. It's been drawn out of her, and used to paint ritual signs and runes in demonic all over the floor and the walls. The whole room stinks of blood and sulfur and demon, and she's lying there, on her bed, her mouth open in a scream, her eyes plucked out, her body withered and desiccated like one of those troll mummies in-"
Mardynn went white and put down her fork. "Couldn't this have waited until after I ate?"
But Islorus ignored here. "But this guy, he's not magically inclined at all. He can't read any of the words or identify any of the circles. She's been ritually killed and used for something, but he doesn't know what. So naturally, he goes for the constable. Screaming the whole time, I imagine. He pulls him out of bed and drags him to the room and… nothing. The room is clean. Empty. Not even a hint of blood in the air. Her body is gone. Gets marked down as a runaway. But this guy, he knows what he saw. How could he not? So he starts digging. Investigating, himself. And you know what he turns up? The result of all his bloody searching?"
Mardynn's eyes were wide. "What?"
Islorus took a long draught of ale. How did he do that without human lips? "His daughter. Annie. She wasn't the first. He started talking to family members of the disappeared, and he found five more murders exactly like hers. The moment they turn their backs on the bodies… They're gone. Law enforcement doesn't believe a thing. Thinks it's just hysteria at losing a relative. But this guy knows what it means."
"What does it mean?" Mardynn whispered.
"The Burning Legion. They're here in the city."
Mardynn looked down at her food. It was delicious, but the last vestiges of her appetite were gone. She pushed it away. That lovely smell had turned cloying. "What…" She cleared her throat. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Aloric is rich. He's hired me to investigate. He doesn't trust anyone from the city. He's paranoid. But I was out of the city during the murders. I have an alibi." He looked over at Mardynn. "And you're just a stupid kid, but you've got a good head on your shoulders. My expertise is killing. I need a partner. Someone with different perspective. And I want Ehldrenor because he's been dealing with the Legion for hundreds of years."
"Islorus… I don't know. I'm not a detective. Aren't there… I don't know, private eyes you could ask?"
Islorus shook his head. "I want you two. I'll split the profits forty-thirty-thirty. Don't you want to save the city?"
Mardynn was silent. Wasn't this what she was looking for? A way to help the Alliance? Investigating an incursion by the Legion was certainly that.
But… Light, she never wanted to see another demon in her life.
She took a deep breath, chugged down every last bit of liquid in her mug, and nodded.
"Alright. I'm in."
Next chapter: We meet Salissi, our Horde protagonist!
Please, please review. I want to know your thoughts!