It's funny, sometimes, how things work out. Whether this 'funny' is interpreted as something to laugh at, or as sheer irony, is truly up to the listener. Yet this story, at least its beginning, contains an irrefutable point of irony that cannot be ignored. This is a story of a single man and his rise from nothing, of the trials he had to face, and his adventures. Now, when one thinks of high adventure, they picture a brave warrior staring down hordes of enemies, or perhaps a noble paladin fighting for his righteous cause. Even, maybe, the travels and gaining of power of some mage who comes from relative obscurity to be the most powerful spell-caster ever seen throughout the lands. This story, however, is considerably different. While it is fraught with dangers and tales of bravery, it is much more the story of a man trying to keep himself alive during a time of great peril, while at the same time holding to his self-obligation to defend those who would otherwise be but statistics among the mass slaughter that seemed imminent.
Now, let us get this tale underway….
Chapter 1- Beginnings
The streets of the city of Stormwind were fabled throughout human lands, lauded as the last true bastion of human power, rebuilt from the ashes of the war against what was, at the time, known as the Orcish Horde. Indeed, many aspects of Stormwind were impressive, ranging from the magnificent statues lining the bridge that led into the city to the towering, intricate stones of the Cathedral of Light. Yet it was the seedier aspect that arose in any city which was not advertised, the thugs and underhanded dealing that happened within the shadows cast by the high and mighty buildings, and the society which took root within these shadows.
The district known as Old Town was a prime example of such a place, as while Stormwind Intelligence, otherwise known as S1:7, was located at one end of this, the guards encased within their polished armor rarely patrolled many of the worst sections of what were, in effect, the slums. Ramshackle houses clustered together, creating a complex maze of close, darkened alleyways. Myriad smells filled the cramped streets, the sweet smells of cooking wafting slowly from the windows of The Pig and Whistle and the much sourer aroma of spoiled food along with far less pleasant things that blanketed many of the alleys.
Many of the refugees from the other human nations, survivors that had fled from the destruction of their homes and livelihood, had clustered here, packed in like rats in a trap, unable to take more than the few pitiful and low-wage jobs that were available to them, and even these were rare. One would think that, with the Keep located so close by, between Old Town and the Dwarven District, that the area would be of considerably higher class. Yet through some cruel twist of fate, it became nothing more than a net that caught and trapped the poor and desperate.
It was this same district which had consumed so many that had likewise taken in Calvin Zalcis, known to what few friends and acquaintances he had simply as Cal. In the damp, shadowy alleys of Old Town, it was best to keep yourself as incongruous as possible. The filthy tatters of what had likely once been decent clothes hung loosely from a frame that had seen years of near-starvation and neglect. This is not to say that he was weak…one could not be such in the slums of Old Town without quickly finding oneself at sword-point and being relieved of what few earthly possessions one had. Yet the muscles he did possess were wiry, a strength not born from training but from the hard labor and poor nutrition one had to endure amid the harsh conditions. A thick mat of dark hair hung limply down, tangled and knotted, partially obscuring a face thick with matted hair and filth, what skin was visible was as pale as the moon itself, the light of day rarely penetrating the close confines of the many buildings.
At this precise moment, however, the icy blue eyes which were normally dull and muddied from cheap alcohol stared about in almost frenzy. Bare, calloused feet pounded the damp paving stones of the alleyway as shouts echoed out behind him. They were after him. Walls rose to each side, twisting and turning like a maze, offering no escape except the path forward. He could hear the distinct ring of a dagger as it was drawn from its sheath. His muscles screamed in protest, and moments later screamed more as he dropped to the pavement, hearing the dagger slash through the air above him, then stick into one of the walls before him.
He was back on his feet in a blur, hearing the pursuit closer now. A hand darted out, jerking the dagger from the wall in which it had lodged, and Cal whirled to face his assailants. Running, he concluded, was hopeless. He knew this particular alleyway, knew that he had missed the only exit nearly a minute ago. If he continued along, he would simply come to a dead end...he might as well face death now, and possibly inflict some small measure of retribution, rather than continue onwards and only face it when he was even more worn down.
Cal was, by his nature, not someone who aspired high. He had no dream in life but to find some small bit of labor that needed doing so he could pay for his next round of drinks. He avoided trouble like the plague itself, wanting no part in the ebb and flow of the world, a refugee from Lordaeron who had no hope of bettering himself, content to burn out his life amid the squalor and darkness of Old Town.
As the two men came into view, each bedecked with an array of polished leather and blades, Cal remembered…the burning of the city behind him, the chilling cries of those taken down by the Scourge, those in the rear. He recalled his father staying behind to fight the undead, and, later, his mother slowly wasting away in their depilated shack in this same district of town. The same frenzied stare that was so unusual for him came to rest on the two men before him, noting the filthy red bandanas that obscured their features. One finally spoke, breaking his reverie.
"The Brotherhood doesn't appreciate people who don't adhere to the laws we set down." The speaker stepped forward, drawing a rapier, one far too well preserved to be of the usual class of weapons available to the inhabitants of the slums. "And when people don't adhere to the law…that means they're against us." Swaggering forward, the man pointed the rapier towards Cal's chest. "And you, Calvin Zalcis, should know what we do to those who oppose us."
Though he wasn't sure what it was, something, instinct perhaps, prompted Cal to throw himself to the side, and his eyes widened as the point of the rapier pierced the air where his chest had just been. He could feel the dagger still clutched within his sweaty palm, seemingly unnoticed by his attacker. Resolution setting in, an unfamiliar thing to his mind, Calvin sprung upwards, bringing the dagger forward in a driving blow that was little more than an attack born of fear and desperation. The assassin's eyes widened, blade swerving, cutting a searing gash through Cal's side, then a wet gurgle erupted from his throat as the sharpened blade plunged into the center of his chest, piercing through the hardened leather as if it were nothing more than paper. As the assassin dropped, gasping out his last breaths, to the ground, his partner stared at Cal in rage, quickly drawing his own rapier.
A feeling of cold settled deep in Cal's gut. He didn't want to die…despite his careless disregard for the life he had, or the many times he went days without doing much of anything, he did not want to give up. The dagger was lodged firmly in the chest of the first assassin, leaving him nothing to defend himself with. As he stepped back, he gasped, falling to the stones below at the intense pain that suddenly erupted in his side. He could feel the hot trickle of blood pouring down his skin, the pain sending strange bursts of color to flash across his vision.
It was in that moment that shouts came from the direction whence they had come, and orders were called back, the voices of the city guard easily recognizable. The second man's eyes narrowed as he stared at Cal in hatred, then suddenly spun, running a few steps then disappearing through a door that seemed to appear from the wood of one of the nearby buildings, sealing a moment later to look as if it had never even been there.
In that instant, the distinct figures of the city guard turned the corner, their plate armor seeming somehow dull amid the dank shadows of the alley. Cal was in far too much pain, mingled with a healthy dose of shock, to do more than stare as they moved swiftly towards him. One demanded something, but the words sounded blurred somehow. A moment later, darkness replaced the sight of the guards, and Cal felt himself hit something hard before all awareness left him.
Thoughts whirled through Cal's head, slow and murky at first, then with increasingly alarming frequency, as the total darkness of unconsciousness faded to be replaced by the more ordinary darkness, interspaced only by the flickering light of a torch some distance away. He was no longer in the alleyway…while the area still smelled foul, and the stones were cold to the touch, there was not even the hint of natural light, and the noise was subdued, murmured whispers the only thing audible throughout the extent of the space he found himself in.
Pushing himself up weakly by his hands, an action that ignited a flash of temporarily blinding pain in his side, Cal's eyes tried to focus for the first time since he awoke. By the dim light of the torch somewhere nearby, he could make out the outline of thick metal bars before him, and the same cold, gray stone covering every other surface. The fact of where he was did not catch up to him for a few moments, his thoughts lingering some seconds behind his senses.
Upon realizing the fact of where he was, Cal's eyes widened, and he threw himself bodily against the rusty iron of the bars, hands clutching them as he tried frantically to find some way through the mocking barrier of metal. The bars were set far too narrow for that, however, and as he realized this, his efforts only grew more frenzied, an inarticulate cry leaving his throat as he shook the bars with all his strength, his mind nothing more than that of a crazed and trapped animal. It was the voice behind him that broke the trance, at once soft and melodious while at the same time sounding tired and somehow ragged. "You won't break them…it's not as if I haven't tried dozens of times."
Cal turned, breathing still quick and erratic but mind coming once more under the control of reason. He hadn't noticed the figure, sitting half-concealed by the shadows in the far corner of the cell. He knew at once that the speaker was not human…the eyes that flickered with a weak glow as well as the elongated ears faintly visible confirmed this. An elf then, one of those from Quel'thalas to the north, rather than the darker-skinned beings Cal had seen occasionally wandering the streets. He had heard that they were accomplished magicians, and ice-colored eyes stared at this one warily, unsure of how to react.
After a few moments, the elf broke this impasse by smiling faintly. "You have nothing to be afraid of, human. If I had the strength to stand, I'd still not harm you. Company in a place like this is hard to come by." At the sound of his voice, the tired melody of it, Cal felt his tension ease, and after a few moments he sank cautiously to the floor, staring at the elf in fascination. He had never seen one this closely, and if he was honest with himself, he found the elf fascinating. He moved his lips, cracked and dry from many hours without drink, voice coming out hoarse and unused.
"What…are you…doing here?" Cal marveled at how clearly he had managed to say even these words. He hadn't had cause to speak overly much through the years, often going days without saying anything more than a grunt or some other sound. Something told him, however, that he'd likely need to hone his communication skills. A hunch, really, but that was the kind of thing he'd always listened to, and as a result it had kept him relatively free of trouble. Well, except for now, he noted with some annoyance. Prison was a new experience for him.
Another smile crossed the elf's face, quickly interrupted by a fit of coughing that made the elf's eyes flicker, the glowing silver light temporarily fading from them. When he looked up, his eyes were once again glowing, though Cal thought it was slightly weaker than before. "A crime I committed long ago, trying to help negotiate a surrender of a particular group of orcs which had broken off from the rest of the Horde. The Alliance High Command, however, believed at that time that all orcs were-" His speech was interrupted by another fit of coughing, and this time he remained hunched over, wheezing, for at least a minute before sitting once more upright. "I apologize…I fear this place has taken its toll on me…as I was saying, they believed at the time that all orcs were inherently evil with no hope of redemption, or at least those who I attempted to talk to did. They condemned me for a traitor when I expressed outrage on their decision to execute the orcs…I was transferred to this place shortly after Stormwind was rebuilt."
By this time Cal had backed into the opposite corner of the cell, eyeing the elf warily. In the streets of Old Town, one learned quickly to avoid those who showed signs of sickness, else they soon find themselves battling a potentially deadly illness. Yet the elf only smiled apologetically at his withdrawal, voice coming out softly. "You've nothing to fear from me. This sickness is one that affects only those who wield magic, and I do not sense that you are such." Smile widening as Cal stayed firmly in his own corner, the elf shook his head. "Truly, there is nothing to be afraid of. What little of my power remains is being consumed by this sickness…and after that, my life will be extinguished."
Thoughts were attempting to worm their way into Cal's mind, actual reasoning, the attempted beginnings of something other than the nearly-animal mental state which had consumed his mind for so long. He shook his head to clear it, to dismiss to the strange feeling. Instinct was what had kept him alive, and he was not about to abandon his ways. He should not have even questioned the elf. Let the other being sit in his own world, and Cal would exist in his. After all, he had no use for anything other than instinct, did he?
Days had passed…Cal knew this from the elf mentioning to him that one could track the hours by each time a guard would walk past the cell. Twice every hour the heavy steps of a heavily armored man would sound from the beginning of the hall, a figure encased within bright silver armor that caught the flickering light of the torch walking past a few moments later, only to disappear without ever once speaking or acknowledging those behind the bars.
On the streets of Old Town, one existed and survived. That was an existence, as there was always something to do, always something to sense on the wind or avoid. Yet within this dark, close place, there was nothing except the monotony of each day, the only thing changing being whether the food dropped off once a day consisted of stale bread or some kind of thin gruel. Personally, Cal preferred the bread, moldy though it often was.
This instinct for survival, the need to throw reason to the wind and trust your senses to keep you out of danger, was completely useless. After the first day, Cal was almost driven insane with nothing to do, reduced to slamming himself repeatedly against the bars in some far-fetched hope to break them. That was, of course, until the elf commented that he should spend less time recklessly attacking the bars and more time, if he was indeed determined to find a way out, considering the problem from a reasonable standpoint. He had spoken of where brute force would not work, cunning and examining a problem in a practical way often would.
So now Cal sat, back to the damp stone of the wall, staring at the bars, attempting to take in each and every tiny detail of the bars themselves, of how they connected to the wall. He took special interest in any crack or flaw in either stone or metal, perhaps where the bars were set not quite evenly. At first he had seen nothing more than a set of bars just starting to rust, but the elf had immediately started to point out the little flaws. From there, once he knew what to look for, Cal had set his mind and eyes to work on finding every inconsistency and memorizing it, hoping that he could find some kind of vital flaw in the design, or perhaps just something that had eroded since the bars were set in place.
Three days, and he had yet to find that vital flaw. Cal sighed in frustration, rocking back and forth, knees tucked to his chest. Throughout it all, the elf had been watching him silently, almost studying him. And, for the first time, Cal was forced to actually think, to consider the problem at hand. This led to more than the observation of the bars, ideas coming to mind of other ways that he could, perhaps, escape, which then led to thoughts of how or why he came to be here. That train of thought, however, was too much for him, and Cal quickly returned his focus to studying the bars. Perhaps there was something he had missed.
Two weeks had now passed. Cal was beginning to wonder at the wisdom of continuing to count the passing of the guard and, through that, the hours. Time, after all, had never mattered to him before. The sun would rise after a certain time, then later set below the horizon. Light and dark were all that mattered, as the atmosphere of the streets changed dramatically depending upon which it was. Yet there was no light here other than the faint, flickering light of the torch.
If anything, the elf's health had deteriorated yet more. The glow that had been in his eyes was mostly gone now, leaving Cal to stare at irises nearly the same shade as his own. He had tried, once, to teach Cal some small bit of magic, but as both quickly discovered after hours of fruitless practice, Cal had no gift whatsoever for the arcane. Since then, the elf had merely continued to pose questions to Cal, often becoming silent for hours at a time while Cal considered and thought about the answers. It was still a new feeling, analyzing something.
Cal had heard once that many people became withdrawn and depressed when in prison, secluding themselves from the world and becoming little more than animals. He cast his eyes down, staring hard at the floor. What had he been, really, but an animal before he came to this place? Living from day to day, simply reacting, never taking the initiative. And beyond that, the question the elf had asked him a couple hours ago still nagged at his mind. At last, he sighed, opening his mouth to speak words that were no longer quite so disused, with the long philosophical debates the elf insisted on having with him, even if he had no idea about the issue at hand. "I give up, why did the Orcs give in to the corruption of the…" He paused, remembering what the elf had told him of the great army of demons that dwelled within something called the 'Twisting Nether'. "…the Burning Legion?"
Yet the elf only smiled, and didn't speak for some minutes. At last, he focused his attention fully on Cal, and that soft, melodious voice filled the cell. "That, my friend, is something you must discover on your own when you get out of this place."
This remark earned him a sigh from Cal, who was beginning to realize what the elf was doing. He was making him think, and cementing his determination to get out of the prison through whatever means possible. He remembered the way he had been out on the streets and knew he could no longer return to that life, not without the elf's damnable questions echoing through his mind. With that to consider, he turned over, closing his eyes.
Another week had passed. It had been two days since the soft glow faded completely from his friend's eyes, and now the elf could barely sit up. His frequent coughing had attracted the attention of the guards, and a priest had been sent down to see his condition. Upon examining him, the man had recoiled, a look that could only be described as horror coming to his face before he rushed from the cell, leaving the guards to close back the door and stare quizzically at the inhabitants. They had since received no visitors.
Though Cal was deeply worried about what had come to be his only friend…those few street-bums he had drunken rounds with at the tavern not being true friends, he realized…he was too afraid to ask him questions about his illness. The elf, however, continued to ask him questions, if anything then with increasing frequency. It was as if he knew his time was short, and he wished to impart his knowledge, and the knowledge he wished he had gained, to be Cal's burden, for him to carry with him and continue his life-long quest. This, Cal came to realize, was exactly what the elf was doing.
"Why…why does the Alliance tear itself apart when th-there are common enemies to be faced….?" The elf's words were faded now, barely audible even within the relative silence of the prison. This was one of the few questions that stood out among all the rest, staying at the forefront of his mind even though he had never even considered the Alliance.
It was two days later that his friend died, passing away quietly during his sleep. It only took the guards a few hours to notice the stillness of one of the figures in the cell, and soon enough a pair of them were dragging off the lifeless body of Cal's friend as though it were mere luggage. Cal stared as it was dragged away, at the utter stillness of the elf's chest, at the chillness of the skin evident even from sight alone.
Cal was no stranger to death, as it was common amid the streets of Old Town. He had watched, crying, as his mother coughed out her last breaths, dying of a sickness the priests in the Cathedral of Light could likely have easily healed. He recalled the pain he had felt then, that strange hollowness brought on by disbelief and shock, numbing the soul while the heart had time to recover just enough to continue beating. He had not felt such a feeling even through seeing the death and misery surrounding him after that, but oddly enough he felt it now. Blinding in its intensity, yet at the same time feeling somehow removed, as if he was an observer watching events happen from outside his body.
He curled up on the floor, shivering at how cold he found the cell to suddenly be. Some part of him thought that when he awoke, the elf would be there once again, asking him question after question, but within his heart he knew he would never see his friend again.
If anything, time seemed to pass even more slowly than before. The calculation of time was no longer interrupted by new questions. Cal knew from watching the guard that it had only been three days, yet it seemed an eternity. His mind was beginning to come up with new questions, but these were ones limited to the environment surrounding him. This environment, however, was becoming increasingly hostile.
Cal had always had a keen sense for danger, instinctually knowing when it was time to leave swiftly before trouble started. This feeling, in the close confines of the cell, was steadily growing. Consciously he had yet to detect anything amiss…a slight increase in the whispered conversations in the cells surrounding him, but otherwise nothing that should have been alarming. Perhaps the others had heard some news he hadn't, and were simply discussing it. He made no attempt, however, to join in, much preferring to stare out between the gaps in the bars at the unchanging stone which faced his cell.
So it was with a considerable amount of shock, less than an hour later, that a guard entered his cell, glaring down at him. "Get up, you're leaving." When Cal made no move to get to his feet, the guard's eyes narrowed, and he reached down, clamping a steel-plated hand around Cal's wrist, dragging him upright, then out of the confines of the cell.
At first he thought to struggle, yet quickly realized that, wherever he was going, he was now free of the darkened cell. This did much to quiet his protests as the guard clamped a wooden block with two narrow holes in it around his wrists so that they were held out before him, then throwing shut a latch that locked the device in place. Cal allowed himself to be led out peacefully, far too busy looking around at his suddenly larger world to bother the guard with trouble.
The halls of the dungeon looked much the same as the narrow view he had of them within the cell, cold gray stone interspaced regularly with bracketed torches and doorways into what were, undoubtedly, more rooms full of cells. This walk continued for a few minutes, making Cal wonder just how expansive the prison was, when suddenly they came to a flight of stairs leading upwards, and for the first time in what seemed to him an eternity he saw natural, pure light. Any move he would have made to rush towards this was quickly stilled by the guard slamming a hand solidly into his back, making him stumble as he took the first step.
He could dimly make out figures above, mere silhouettes against the luminous brilliance, and he blinked rapidly, trying to focus his eyes. The first man he was able to make out had what appeared to be a somewhat scruffy brown beard and narrowed eyes which stared at him suspiciously. For the first time, Cal took his appearance into consideration. A mere glance showed him the long, matted black hair which hung down below his shoulders, and he could likewise feel his own un-kept beard across his face.
As he returned his gaze to the first man, Cal found him still staring at him coldly. At last the man spoke, his voice rough and containing more than a hint of arrogance. "My name is Warden Thelwater. Your name, I believe, is Calvin Zalcis? Not that it matters…I've no idea why they'd order me to drag such scum out into the light of day, but congratulations, you're free." The last line was said almost grudgingly. He continued, handing Cal a sheaf of crisp papers. "You may have been freed, but it doesn't come without a price. You're to report to the outpost kept at Northshire Abbey, I don't know why. Assuming you can read, the details are in those papers. My guards will escort you to the Abbey, and from there you're on your own."
He turned to nod to two of the guards, who seized Cal by his arms. "Take this scum out of my sight." Papers still clutched in Cal's surprised hands, the guards moved him roughly forward; out of a gated doorway flanked by two more heavily armored guards, then out into the full, blindingly intense sun. With no regard to his momentary blindness, the guards dragged him forward, and Cal caught the whiff of dead fish and heard the splashing of water against stone.
As his sight returned, he caught sight of one of the canals that crisscrossed the city, spotting some children on the far side fishing off a wooden dock that extended out into the water. As he turned his head, he noticed the top of a high tower extending above the most of the city, surrounded on all sides by tall houses, every one roofed in an interesting shade of purple. Cal vaguely remembered seeing something like the roofs years before, but the memory was vague, and he soon dismissed it. So many things that were new to him, things he had lived near for many years but never once bothered to explore.
Cal shook his head sadly as they turned away, crossing a stone bridge that spanned the length of the canal, leading toward an archway (each section of the city, he remembered, was divided into a district with its own wall) that would be easy to defend in the event that the city was invaded. Through the archway came a jarring amount of noise, making Cal wince as they rounded the corner into the middle of a busy street, people pushing and shoving to get by, and even a few carts clattering by over the stones.
Old Town, for all its faults, was at least subdued. This place…a place Cal soon learned was the Trade District, thrummed with the ebb and flow of life. Though the majority of those he saw were human, he spotted a dwarf or two, and even once a small group of tiny folk he assumed were gnomes. He stared oddly at their enlarged eyes and childish faces for a few moments before the guards shoved him onwards.
Shop vendors and hawkers from stalls lining the streets called out their wares, and Cal felt his mouth begin to water at the heavenly smells which drifted from the open windows of shops. The two guards beside him had to continually shove people aside in order to make any progress at all through the crowded streets, and Cal heard one mutter about having to do this at the busiest hour of the day.
Finally they arrived at what appeared to be a central square, to one side storefronts and a collection of carts, to the other a massive portcullis cutting through the thick stone of a wall. Though Cal would have very much enjoyed the time to stop and investigate the multitude of things that must have been available in such a place, the two guards to either side of him seemed to be in a hurry, and his desire to explore was not quite strong enough to try escaping and risk getting thrown once more into the chill darkness of the cell again.
Once they started down what seemed to be the central avenue of the district, the traffic around them actually seemed to thin out, though that could have been just an illusion given the width of the street. Under the cool shadows of the tunnel they went, and Cal glanced up nervously at the sharp spikes on the underside of each portcullis as they crossed under them. Though he was unsure of how they operated, he knew that if one were to decide it wanted him dead, it would only have a quick fall to pierce through flesh and bone…he shuddered, focusing his attention forward as they turned right, coming once more into the sunlight, then underneath an arch and out onto a massive bridge that crossed the moat to end at the outer wall of the city.
Lining this bridge were massive statues, standing heroic watch over a city Cal now realized to be greater than the small world he had experienced amid the slums. Even as they walked past them, he attempted to twist his head around, staring at the statues that glinted in the sunlight, and at once Cal understood why Stormwind was called the last true bastion of human power.
(There was an Interlude here, but due to circumstances beyond my control, namely my old computer being an utter piece of crap, it has been deleted.)