A Note from Above: As said before, I don't own Blizzard, WoW, or any aspect of the WarCraft universe (as desperatley as I have tried...), so don't send any thugs to break my legs.
The Little Monk - A World of Warcraft Fable.
Prologue: Shadows and Secrets
The room was dark, almost pitch-black, the only light being a single window, letting in what little moonlight it could. Two figures moved in silence, arranging things, fixing things, preparing things. They wore black, ravens against a night sky, their hoods and masks obscuring their features.
"Do we act?" one figured mutters, bending over a fog-filled sphere. He moves his hands over it, whispering a complex incantation.
"Not yet." The other figure replies just as quietly, pushing books into a shelf, following an order only he knows.
The two fall silent again, going about their appointed tasks, moving speedily and dextrously despite the near-blinding darkness. At some invisible cue, they both move to the table, and hunch over the now crystal-clear sphere.
An image appeared with startling clarity, that of a very well-dressed lady, speaking with a young child. She carries herself regally, and her face is haughty, even contemptuous. Her eyes glint with a feral delight, then disappear, unfathomable pools deeper than even the Maelstrom.
The two figures exchange glances over the sphere, a great tension now permeating the room.
"The situation is desperate." "Desperate indeed." "Do we act?"
One figure sits, contemplative. The other paces, clearly agitated. The sitting one stands, and waves his hand over the sphere. An image of a small robed figure is seen.
"Not yet...The pieces are about to fall in place..."
A rumble overhead. A storm is coming.
A Note from Below: This is my first major work, the longest story I've ever tried to write. I don't know how often I can update, but I'll do my best to make it real regular-like. Do me a favor and review if you can, but try not to flame me too much. cute face