Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property World of Warcraft. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A/N (2017): This story, and those that follow, are under renovations until further notice. I started writing these tales a decade ago when I was too young and dumb to notice how utterly trash most of it is. So, with that said, I think it's high time to bring them back up to speed and turn them into something that might actually be worth a read. I'm updating these chapter by chapter, so there will be some disconnects as the new chapters meet with the old ones that I haven't gotten to yet. With all that out of the way, though, please enjoy Destiny's Warriors 2.0, and thanks for reading.
Destiny's Warriors
Chapter One: Origins
The old dirt paths through Elwynn Forest were damp and miserable. The sole traveler on one such road lamented the fact as the mud beneath his feet splattered onto the thin fabric of the canvas boots he wore. Rain fell in torrents upon the leafy green canopy of the forest that the man once called his home, and droplets of water lazily oozed across the branches until it finally groped its way to the underbrush. Occasionally, white-hot streaks of lightning flashed across the skies like overloading strobes, illuminating the man's surroundings briefly before the oppressive dark of the clouds above reasserted itself. None of this truly mattered to the traveler; he was near enough to his destination that not even such dismal weather darkened his spirits.
Peaking through the low branches ahead of him, the small village of Goldshire met his eyes. Goldshire was a quaint town, full of equally quaint people who were content to lead simple lives. To call the place a village was perhaps an overstatement. Maybe five buildings stood on the path and its surrounding acreage, and it generally served as nothing more than a rest stop in between bigger and better destinations. Small children of the townspeople and travelers passing through would often run around on the path, chasing each other and playing games, but on this day there were no such frivolities. The rain had seen to that.
Steadily, the man trudged through the mud and the puddles, ever closer to the quaint hamlet. As he strode, he reflected on the recent years that tore him away from this place, and everything that happened since. There was a great deal of memories in those years, but not all of them were good ones. Bandits. The Burning Legion. The Scourge. Dragons. The traveler pushed the thoughts away for the moment and continued on.
Soon enough he reached his destination, and with a fond regard, took in the sights. The Lion's Pride Inn stood to his left—a tiny little tavern in a tiny little town, this was the place where the man's adventures started, and was what he considered home. The whitewashed walls and the stark contrast of the wooden beams supporting them sparked a sense of nostalgia to wash over the man, and he smiled. With a few more strides, he entered.
As he stepped through the open threshold, he shook off the dampness clinging to his cloak much like a dog would, and droplets of water splattered against the wooden floor and walls. More comfortable and satisfied, he moved on into the tavern proper. The traveler took a seat at the nearest unoccupied table next to the blazing fire, feeling the warmth spread through him. The waitress on call for the night took his order for an ale, and he carefully removed his packs, dropping them to the floor to his side with a dissatisfying squelch. Rummaging through the pack for a moment, the man retrieved a tube of parchment and a quill. The waitress returned after another moment with his ale, and he spread the parchment across the wooden table. With a stretch, the man began to write his tale.
'The days seem so long ago, when I think about the times I was lazy and carefree. I whiled my days away doing odd jobs for quick coin, and drank my nights away in this very tavern with friends I met along the way. My lackadaisical lifestyle would not stay the same forever, I knew, but it still comes as a surprise this many years later, how quickly it all had changed. On a night much like any other, my destiny finally found me.'
A fine layer of snow blanketed the grounds just outside the Lion's Pride Inn, and brisk winds carried chills through the small town of Goldshire. Twilight painted the forest in whimsical colors as townsfolk enjoyed the white powder, forming balls of snow in their mitts and throwing them at each other and unsuspecting passersby. Simonee watched the revelry happening outside through one of the windows inside the tavern and smiled for a brief moment before taking another deep chug from the mug on the table.
Across from his seat, a night elf inspected him as he continued gazing through the clear glass window. "So, what are your plans for tomorrow? Any more of those kobolds making a mess around town in the cellars?" he asked when it became clear that the human wasn't paying him any mind.
Simonee finally turned to look at the night elf. He was tall and broad, with hair of deep purple that was held back in a long pony tail. He had sharply glowing silver eyes that bore into his own, and wore an expression of mild interest, with one eyebrow raised and his lips cracked open into a toothy grin. The elf was a friend of his, Aeriah, who helped him from time to time clearing caves and basements nearby of the mindlessly aggressive kobolds who often grew bold enough to take up residence within.
Simonee shook his head and grinned. "No, the contract I had with the farmer yesterday is done. I don't think there's going to be much more problem after I sent that one back to Fargodeep with his tail smoldering hotter than the candle on his head," he replied with a chuckle. "No," he repeated, stretching out his muscles, "I've actually been summoned to the city. Apparently word of my... services... has reached some at least mildly-influential ears."
Aeriah eyed him skeptically. "Your services, hmm?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "Tell me, were they aware of whose idea was it to rush headlong into Jangolode Mine wearing nothing but candle wax, calling themselves the ghost of candles past?"
A third figure at the table sighed, his head buried in his arms on the table. "For the love of the Light, not this again," it groaned, lolling its head to one side to level a would-be devastating glare at the night elf. The man was dressed in thick black leather armor, plain but for the silver threads lining the trim. He had a disheveled mop of equally black hair that didn't seem to fall in any particular style, and eyes of deep green that were surrounded by thick wrinkles at the edges. From the way he was having trouble leering at Aeriah, Simonee knew that this rogue also happened to be drunk.
"No, this is important, Dagerly. I really can't see who would be foolish enough to hire someone who would have done something like that in a den full of angry, shovel wielding kobolds," Aeriah said, his grin wider as he shrugged.
Simonee laughed. "Well, first off, it worked, didn't it? They were so scared when I told them that I would take their candles if they stepped foot outside. You should have seen their faces!"
"Right, and that had nothing to do with the giant mass of shadows lurking behind you, I assume," said a fourth voice. Sitting down at the table beside Simonee was a man wearing a thin layer of blue linen robes. Other patrons of the bar eyed him warily, and eyed the prancing imp at his heels balefully. His thick and long blonde locks spilled over his face as he sat. His deep red eyes were nonchalant as he swept them across the room, before settling his gaze on Simonee. "Or the warlock behind that."
With a dramatic sigh, Simonee simply replied, "You guys just don't know a good idea when you see it. Besides, it was hilarious!"
Dagerly sat up straighter, wobbling back and forth as he continued to fight the alcohol's influence. "Hoardale? When did you get in?" he asked, and to his credit, only slurred the words slightly.
The warlock shrugged. "Just now, actually. I see you've already gone and made a mess of yourself. Leave it to you, Dagerly." A warm smile brightened his features. "So what's this about Stormwind?" he asked, poking Simonee in the shoulder.
"Well, tomorrow I'm leaving for the city. I'm meeting with a man named Baros Alexston, regarding some trouble brewing in Westfall. Apparently bandits have taken to attacking Sentinel Hill and they need some creative thinkers," he said, looking at Aeriah pointedly before continuing, "to help the town out."
Hoardale let out a low whistle. "Westfall, eh? That's a fair walk. When are you leaving for the city?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Simonee turned to look at the warlock. "We are leaving at first light. I'll be honest, I wouldn't know the first thing about dissuading bandits and I'm sure they would appreciate the extra help regardless. My specialty is kobolds. Specifically, lighting them on fire," he commented, conjuring a small flame that danced around his fingertips.
"If you ask me, you are wasting your talents," Aeriah said, with a small frown. Out of his three friends at the table, the elf had known him the longest... and the best. Simonee was grateful when he left his admonishment to the one comment, as he extinguished the magic. "Anyway, why would Sentinel Hill need our help with simple bandits? They've got trained guardsmen there, don't they? Something seems off."
Simonee sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had to agree; Sentinel Hill was generally a self-sufficient place, and served as a major trade outpost for the farmers in the area. As such, it had a contingent of well-armed and well-trained Stormwind guards to protect their interests. Something was off about the situation, but it wasn't his place to question missives from high places. He gazed again out the window. The children outside had gone, as night dropped in around the forest, creating deep shadows where the wildlife would begin scavenging for food. Simonee turned back to Aeriah.
"You're right, but we'll figure it out when we get there. I'm sure they're not sending us out there for no reason. But first, we have to meet with Alexston... maybe he'll shed some light on things for us. In the meantime, I'm going to sleep. I'd suggest the same for you guys; it's a pretty long way to Stormwind."
Simonee stood from the table and knocked back the rest of his ale before navigating his legs around the bench he'd been sitting on. Dagerly groaned as he followed suit, continuing to wobble. Simonee chuckled. "Alright, take it easy," he said and walked to his friend's side. He braced the rogue and led him to the stairs nearby. "Up we go."
After a few minutes of guiding his friend up the switchback stairs and into his room, Simonee closed the door and sighed. There's no way he's going to be in traveling shape tomorrow morning. He collected himself again and walked to the next door down, closing the portal as he entered and settling down heavily on the bed. With a yawn and a flick of his wrist, the lantern in the room extinguished, and the drowsiness overtook him. At least I'll be in good company for the journey, he mused as the first waves of sleep washed over him.
'The eve of my sojourn into Stormwind City, I didn't sleep well. Glimpses of the past I was desperately trying to forget played like a horrifying slideshow through my dreams, and more than once the visions woke me. Despite this, I now had a mission—appointed by the chief architect of the city itself—and I was duty-bound to complete it. The next morning, we four left Goldshire and began our trek. Were we brave or foolhardy? I still cannot tell.'
Simonee woke grumbling as the first rays of dawn peaked through his room's windows. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes for a few moments, putting off waking up fully. When he was finally prepared to greet the new day, he rose and walked to a nearby stone basin full of water. The room was a small affair; a bed rested against the wall opposite the door, directly underneath a wide window that nearly took up the entire wall. A lantern rested on a wooden writing desk, which also held a few tomes and periodicals, courtesy of the inn's staff. The basin where he stood had been erected next to the desk, and above it was a mirror hung on the wall. He looked into it and grumbled again as he stared himself down.
Simonee was a young man of fair complexion and slight build. Fine and spindly brown hair grew down to his neck, where same-colored stubble was just beginning to grow in. The stubble irritated and itched, but Simonee disregarded it; it had started to grow later than most human men he'd seen, and he was eager to let it grow into one of those magnificent beards he saw older sorcerers wearing. He had eyes the color of a clear summer sky, and laugh lines that bracketed his nose and mouth. His white linen undershirt hung loosely from his shoulders, beginning to stain slightly from the sweat he'd collected the night before in his sleep. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about that.
The young mage took up some water in his hands and splashed his face with it. The cold water stung a little as it came in contact with his skin, but it served its purpose. He was certainly wide awake now.
The final decoration in the room was a four-pronged garment hook that was posted at the foot of the bed. The sole garment on the hook was a bright orange robe of wool, one that the mage had made himself when he'd finally saved enough money for the materials and spellthread that comprised it. With a sharp yank, he pulled it free and put it on, feeling its familiar weight settle on his shoulders. With practiced motions, he fastened it quickly and collected his last few belongings—a dark brown pack on the floor and a staff he had found in one of the myriad kobold caves in the mines nearby. The staff doubtlessly belonged to a predecessor of his who'd gotten too bold in his methods. A small amount of arcane residue thrummed in the staff's wooden body and spoke to Simonee occasionally of demon fire.
Warlocks were not uncommon in Goldshire, but they were still not trusted very well. Especially not one who openly flaunted their demon familiars, such as Hoardale. His friend was not ashamed of the path he followed, and refused to be cowed by the townsfolk's glares. Simonee admired that fact sometimes, even though it led to trouble more often than not when they traveled together. He'd met the warlock a couple of years prior in the mage towers of Stormwind when he was searching for a particular tome in the vast library. The warlock was a man of mischief and would often set his succubus loose in the great stacks of bookcases, who would then proceed to cause a ruckus with the younger male mages studying in the tower. Such was the case when Simonee met Hoardale. He had found his book and was just making to check it out with the librarian when he heard the warlock chortling a couple of stacks down the hallway.
Simonee confronted the man and they instantly bonded as friends. Simonee hadn't been much concerned with the stigma that surrounded warlocks; in fact he was more curious than anything about the magic they 'borrowed' from the Burning Legion, and the theories they had used to do it. It was something he had resolved to eventually study and write his own book about at some point.
He chuckled softly at the memory and took the staff in his hands. The wood was gnarled and knotted, and bent slightly at the top end in a way that was reminiscent of a scythe's blade.
With his belongings collected and settled on his person, he made for the door. Outside, he heard more than he saw Aeriah pounding at the door adjacent.
"Dagerly, let's go," he called through the wood, rapping his hand against it. "We're leaving soon, and you're not staying here."
The rogue in the room groaned balefully, just loud enough to be audible in the hall. A few moments later he had shuffled to the door and opened it. Dark circles were showing underneath his eyes, and he scowled at the elf. "You're very loud, you know," he muttered.
Simonee smiled. "Come on, aren't you even a little bit excited to see Stormwind again?" he asked while he stepped from his room and closed the door behind.
"I would be more excited if my head didn't feel like a horse spent the whole night stamping on it," the rogue grunted, pushing past Aeriah and into the hallway. Without another word, he trundled down the stairs.
"Is Hoardale already up?" Simonee asked Aeriah as he watched the rogue struggle his way down.
Aeriah glanced at the mage briefly. "I assume he's already in the dining room," he said, shrugging. He paused a moment before addressing Simonee again. "What are you doing, chasing down bandits? It's beneath you," he said.
Simonee sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't really feel like talking about this right now," he replied, frowning. "My past is just that. I'm nothing special."
The night elf regarded him for another moment. "You know it's going to catch up with you at some point. It might be better to head it off and confront it sooner rather than later," he said, before letting the topic go and following Dagerly down. Simonee sighed again. Flashes of a great desiccated land and lumbering flesh-beasts briefly played across his mind's eye. No, he thought, it might not be.
Letting a few moments pass as he recollected his faculties, Simonee stepped down to the tavern's dining hall. The hall was fairly well decorated, with tapestries and wall sconces spaced evenly along the walls. Two windows opposite each other showed scenes of a wintry playground as the kids had resumed their game from the evening before. Three large wooden tables bracketed by benches rested across the dining room floor, and were mostly empty of activity, save for Aeriah, Dagerly and Hoardale settling into one next to the fireplace. Simonee strode down the last few stairs and joined them.
Dagerly was resting his head in one hand as the other deftly maneuvered a spoon, stirring the cup of coffee he was staring into. Hoardale had been twiddling his thumbs as he watched from the corner of his eyes while his succubus tormented the kitchen staff with lewd showings. Simonee shook his head, chuckling. The night elf was just settling in with his own mug, which had a small bag of herbal leaves steeping in steaming water. Simonee joined his company and simply conjured a small skin of water for himself.
"So, about to be off for adventure, are we?" Hoardale asked, glancing at the mage while his succubus began lavishly laying across the bar, running her hands across her body. The demon's tail swished wickedly. She was obviously enjoying her work.
Simonee nodded. "As soon as we're all ready, we're on our way," he said after setting his waterskin down from a sip.
"Can't we put this off for another day?" Dagerly asked, finally breaking his stare away from the inky black coffee. The rogue looked marginally better than he had when he first stumbled through the door of his room, but still had a haggard roughness in his face.
"No," Simonee said, looking the rogue's face over. "Baros Alexston is not a man to be kept waiting. The missive I got was sealed with the royal crest. Not just anyone has the sort of weight that comes with that."
Dagerly's eyes widened a touch as he raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough," he said before glaring into the mug again. "Well, in that case, I'm ready whenever... though my head still feels like it's going to fall off."
Aeriah leveled an inscrutable look at Simonee before replying, "This assignment gets more intriguing with every new detail, doesn't it? Regardless, I'm ready to leave as well."
Simonee nodded again and Hoardale sighed. "I suppose we should get going then. Zalla, come on, before one of those poor cooks makes an even poorer decision," he called with a wicked smile.
"Oh, but master, you never allow me any fun," the succubus breathed. Her voice sounded almost musical to Simonee, but he had known better than to be drawn in. Hoardale told him many a story of how truly unrepentant succubi were with their captured prey, and Simonee was very sure he didn't want to be on the business end of any of it.
Hoardale cocked his head. "Oh? Then what was all of that?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the kitchen, where the men of the kitchen were still reeling from the display.
"Foreplay, obviously, master," Zalla replied sweetly. She turned her gaze to Simonee's. "Oh, but it's always such a pleasure to see you." She giggled almost maliciously as he flushed slightly and turned away.
"Alright, enough, Zalla," Hoardale grunted sternly. Zalla huffed and strode to his side, taking a sudden interest in the wicked talons on her fingertips. "Well then, shall we?"
Dagerly groaned for a moment before emptying his mug. "Sooner the better, I suppose," he said, standing up. The rest of the group followed suit and before long found themselves on the vague path toward Stormwind.
The dirt road had been replaced with snow, depressed a fair bit from the surrounding powder by the traffic that traveled through. Patches of the dirt occasionally peeked through the thin layers of ice, and dozens of muddy footprints emblazoned the trail in both directions. Deer pranced in the clearings of the thickets on either side of the road, oblivious to the small huddled group of travelers.
They walked through almost the entirety of the day before the tall stone walls of Stormwind began to rise into vision on the horizon. The trees were cleared out and a long plain spread out before them, a grand prelude to the city's splendor. Small carts of goods were strewn along the path's edges, and shivering merchants bundled in whatever furs they could afford hawked their wares to the many passersby that filtered through. One such vendor had posted their cart close to the edge of the forest, either bold or having been pushed away from the more lucrative spots by her competitors. The forest was dangerous for unarmed merchants, and not just for the wildlife that prowled within.
Simonee was walking silently in thought as they approached the plain, his eyes plastered to the ground passing underfoot. He thought more about the missive that had arrived in his post not two days before, bearing the seal of the royal court of Stormwind.
Magister Simonee, the letter read. A matter of grave importance has come to our attention, and word of your deeds for the people of Goldshire has reached my ears. A group of bandits calling themselves the Defias Brotherhood have been making trouble in Sentinel Hill, and I feel that you may be able to lend some assistance in this matter. It is my hope that this letter finds you, and that you come to Stormwind so that we may meet and discuss this matter more privately. May your travels bear you safely. -Baros Alexston, chief architect of Stormwind.
A brief flash of motion in his peripheral vision brought Simonee out of his thoughts, and a stifled shriek brought him to alert. Ahead, a man in leather armor and a red cowl across his face was holding the woman merchant with his knife to her neck and a hand over her mouth.
"Give me the money and I might just think about letting you go," he snarled, barely audible across the distance. The woman's eyes were wide, darting between the knife at her throat and the man's eyes. They widened a little more when she drifted her gaze over the rogue's shoulder, catching sight of Simonee's traveling band. The bandit turned to follow her stare and his eyes betrayed the sneer hidden beneath the cowl.
Simonee narrowed his eyes and glared back, raising his hand and allowing fire to engulf it. Despite the anger he was feeling at the merchant's treatment, he exuded a calm air. "How about this: let the woman go, and I might just decide not to roast you alive."
His comment seemed to amuse the bandit, but he released his grip on the woman. He stared at the mage briefly before he began to dash at him. His speed impressed Simonee a little, but he had no difficulty tracking the man. "Bad move," he called. Simonee felt the energy of the spell flow through his body, his veins the conduit feeding the magic. With a gesture, he released the flame and gave it form. The ball of fire raced at the rogue, whose momentum was too great to sidestep the spell. The fire crashed against the rogue, burning a hole straight through the armor and stopping him in his tracks. The man collapsed in a smoldering heap to the ground, and convulsed momentarily before lying still.
"I could have handled that," the woman said as she walked past the fresh corpse. Her tone was full of confidence despite the cold fear she seemed to express while in the bandit's grasp. Her icy blue robes swished across the surface of the snow. "I'm not defenseless, you know."
Simonee arched a brow at her as Dagerly strode forward to meet her. He was looking in decidedly better spirits now. "You could have fooled me, miss," he said, bowing low with a flourish. The woman looked at him with an expression of almost contempt. "But then again, I can't resist a damsel in distress."
"Don't condescend to me," she spat. She swept her gaze to Simonee's, and continued walking past the rogue. "Even if I didn't need saving, I still feel I should thank you." She stood in front of him now, holding out her hand to shake. "My name's Aubrey Witherwinter. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Simonee accepted her hand and shook it. Before he could pull it away, he felt a prickling feeling needling into his nerves and looked down. Both of their hands were encased in a solid-looking block of ice. "Simon Everblaze, at your service," he replied, reappraising the woman with his eyes. She was young and beautiful, with deep blue eyes that almost seemed to match his. She had short-cropped blonde hair that framed a plump face and full lips that displayed a devious smile. "Everyone just calls me Simonee, though."
Aubrey nodded, but didn't release him. "Well, Simonee, my friends call me Aubs. So tell me, what brings you to these parts, and with such company?" she asked, nodding toward the rest of his companions. Dagerly had gracefully recovered from the woman's scorn and fell back in with Aeriah and Hoardale, who were simply looking on with vague interest. The succubus Zalla had wandered off at some point to distract one of the merchants further ahead.
"Official business," Simonee replied. He sent a small flare of fiery energy through his arm, testing the strength of the ice. He was impressed by its resiliency, as it didn't even seem to sweat. Aubrey smiled at him with an almost mocking sweetness.
"Sounds interesting. I think I'll join you," she said, the devilish smile reappearing as she narrowed her eyes at him. "I was never quite cut out for sales, anyway."
Simonee laughed despite himself. This woman was very bold indeed. "Now, Aubs... what makes you think that would happen?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Aubs merely continued smiling. "Oh, sweetheart, you're stuck with me now. Whether you like it or not," she said, patting the ice encasing their arms with her free hand. Simonee laughed again.
"Fair enough," he said. "Welcome aboard, then, Aubs." He stepped aside to introduce the others. "The fellow in black is Dagerly, the elf is Aeriah, and the warlock is Hoardale," he commented, gesturing at each as he went.
"Nice to meet you all," Aubs said, wiggling her free fingers in greeting. "So. Shall we away, then?" she asked, returning her eyes to Simonee's. The ice finally broke apart and Simonee rubbed at his arm idly.
When he was satisfied with the numbness fading, he gestured grandiosely toward Stormwind. "We shall," he replied. Waving the group on, Simonee began walking as Aubs fell in with their ranks. "That's a very interesting sales pitch you have there, by the way. I bet it holds your customers captive," he sniped. Aubs simply laughed.
"Be that as it may, I have to admit; I generally like my bandits chilled on the rocks, not extra crispy," she fired back.
As the group passed by the corpse of the bandit, Simonee noticed that the snow adjacent had melted away, leaving the bare dirt path open to the skies. He smiled. He was beginning to like the latest addition to the party.
Behind them, Dagerly rolled his eyes. "First, denied by the miss, and now subjected to this awfulness. Light take me," he muttered.
Ahead, the behemoth stonewalled fortress of Stormwind City loomed.