Echoes of Caer Darrow: A Southshore man's tale
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This is a one-shot story about how it feels to explore the depressed, once-humble, town of Caer Darrow, told from the eyes of a man from Southshore. It focuses at first upon his memories of the town, followed by the emotions he feels as he returns to it as it slowly changes, then his service in Lordaeron's Army, then his thoughts as he hides in Agamand, heads down to the towns of Tirisfal Village (now Deathknell), and Ambermill in Silverpine, then his return to Hillsbrad to fight against the Scourge and later the Forsaken in Tarren Mill, and finally his emotions as he comes back to Caer Darrow in the present.
Before I had become one of the scouts sent from Southshore to spy on enemy territory, I would frequently come to this once beautiful island town. On this little island in the middle of the Darrowmere Lake, my best friends and I would party every year, celebrating the fall of Blackrock Spire, the defeat of the Horde, and our victory in the Second War. During the War, an evil orcish warlock named Gul'Dan took his band of ogres and raided Caer Darrow, slaughtering Magister Payson Barov and hacking away a brilliant runestone belonging to our former allies, the High Elves of Quel'Thalas.
I was a boy of only ten or eleven when this happened, but I can clearly remember those monsters uprooting the runestone from atop Payson Barov's beautiful mansion, and carrying it away to create altars of what the adults and fighters called, "unfathomable evil".
My friend and his parents hid me under some crates and tried not to watch as the orcs and ogres slaughtered the townsfolk. They would have built the altars right there in Caer Darrow had it not been for the arrival of Uther the Lightbringer and his paladins.
Uther saved me and my friends and fought against the heathens, eventually reclaiming Caer Darrow. I knew I wanted to be like him when I grew up.
Until the end of the Second War, my parents accompanied to me on trips to Caer Darrow, even after I passed into manhood at age seventeen, probably due to Alterac's betrayal and the Horde's destruction of Dalaran.
I loved Caer Darrow, but things were changing after the Second War. My friends and I partied in the pubs after the Alliance of Lordaeron announced the destruction of the Dark Portal and emerged victorious. But signs of what was to come were already taking place in the town.
The most noticeable change was the Barov family itself. After the death of Payson Barov, his then twenty-two year old son, Alexi Barov, became Magister of Caer Darrow and owner of the House of Barov. The differences between Alexi and Payson could not have been greater. Payson had been an honorable man, giving charity indiscriminately. Alexi was materialistic, greedy, selfish, and narcissistic. As Alexi became the Lord of the Darrowmere Forest—a once beautiful forest to the Northeast of the lake, now the Eastern Plaguelands—he began to wallow in the power he achieved, getting involved in a tax fraud and cover up scandal in the nearby village of Darrowshire. Thankfully, he ended up being removed from this position, but maintained his title as the lord of four villages that paid taxes to Stratholme. Those towns were the towns of my hometown of Southshore, its northern neighbor Tarren Mill, a small village north of the Capital City, Lordaegarde, called Brill, and, of course, Caer Darrow.
"Lord" Alexi Barov's family was even more dreadful. His wife, Lady Illucia, was a snooty and shallow woman who came from the spoiled family of Dabyrie in Arathor. His children were the most spoiled, rotten, little brats I'd ever met. Alexi Junior and Weldon constantly fought, cussed, and generally made asses of themselves at every possible moment. His elder daughter, Jandice, seduced her servants in the mansion and practiced witchcraft. All three of them got what they wanted from their parents at any time, never being taught how to be civilized human beings.
Another couple who came, Eva and Lucien Sarkhov, while friendly, were clearly outsiders, coming from the mostly High Elven town of Tranquillien in Quel'Thalas. Naturally, they were extremely gifted in magic and astounded the town's children with their talents. They seemed like nice people, but I always resented their arcane abilities and thought it harmed the quaint feel of Caer Darrow.
I had seen nothing yet, because despite these shortcomings, Caer Darrow had been rebuilt as one of the greatest towns in Lordaeron after the Second War.
Between the Second and Third Wars, I became a soldier for the Southshore Reserves after it had been rebuilt. I made frequent trips to and from Caer Darrow to Southshore during both break and military times, and saw much of Lordaeron, including the beautiful forests of Silverpine, Tirisfal, and Darrowmere. I met Uther the Lightbringer in Tyr's Hand when I became a paladin at the age of twenty-five.
It was all peaceful for a while, until one day, shortly after the escape of a captive orc named Thrall from his violent master, the corrupt Lord Adaleas Blackmoore, when a wizard named Kel'Thuzad came to Caer Darrow. I could tell this man was evil from the moment I first laid eyes on him, never forgetting his cold stare and demented grin.
Kel'Thuzad met with Lord Alexi, whose two sons were now grown up and arguing over who would inherit their father's fortune when he died, as any spoiled pair of rich siblings would do, and began unveiling some magical experiments in that house.
Unlike the arcane experiments of the Sarkhovs, which, while noisy, were fun and harmless, these experiments were downright vile and obscene. The experiments were a forbidden art of necromancy, which was as disrespectful and blasphemous as its name suggested. A sinister aura began to eminate from the house as Alexi Barov signed it away to Kel'Thuzad, forfeiting his soul in the process.
Alexi, Illucia, and Jandice all became death knights, and inhabited the mansion, now a school of Necromancy called Scholomance. Hideous sounds came from the vile school, and Kirtonos, a Herald of Kel'Thuzad, came to help oversee the school along with Dylan Gandling of Stratholme.
Whenever I visited Caer Darrow, the townsfolk lived in constant fear of the abominations coming from the Scholomance, now sitting atop the town. Some ghoulish residue came out of the observatory periodically, and befouled the beautiful waters of Darrowmere Lake. The trees surrounding the Scholomance began to wither and die, as Kel'Thuzad went on to hatch far more insidious plans dealing with the lands between Brill, Andorhal, Tyr's Hand, and Stratholme.
Around my thirty second birthday, Caer Darrow was taking on the evil aura of Scholomance itself, and the once bright citizens grew increasingly dreary, as students came out of the school bearing strange markings and practiced their vile magic. It was at this time that Uther the Lightbringer brought Prince Arthas, son of King Terenas Menethil II of Lordaeron, to deal with orcs escaping from the Internment Camps which extended from Pyrewood Village in Silverpine, to what the orcs would later name Hammerfall in honor of their fallen Warcheif in Arathor.
The orcs would rally under a new Warcheif named Thrall by his cruel master, a noble running Durnholde Keep by the name of Adaleas Blackmoore. Thrall took his orcs, raided Durnholde, slew Blackmoore, burned the keep to the ground, and then stole a few ships out of Southshore. I had fought against him while he and his new Horde were hijacking the ships, and noticed how different the once savage monsters had become. True, they were still my enemies, so I tried not to focus on it, even though I would later hear news of Thrall's new Horde teaming up with the Alliance to defeat the Burning Legion as they invaded Mount Hyjal on distant Kalimdor.
Not all orcs followed this Thrall, and these orcs were the evil monsters I remembered from the Second War. These orcs of the Blackrock Clan rallied under Jubei'Thos and Rend Blackhand, who was the son of Blackhand the Destroyer, a member of the Shadow Council and Warcheif of the Horde during the First War before Orgrim Doomhammer, who I later learned was one of Thrall's friends and mentors, led a revolt and seized command of the Horde, were determined to continue the evil practice of Gul'Dan and raided the humble village of Strahnbrad on the hills above Tarren Mill. Uther, Arthas, and I went up there to put an end to their villainy.
The Blackrock Clan was the least of our problems, as Kel'Thuzad was already experimenting with the Plague of Undeath in Brill. After he released it upon the townsfolk and fled to Andorhal, 95% of Brill's citizens died.
The Magistrate Severn of Brill, who managed to survive this initial burst but would later be killed by the Forsaken (and turned into one of them) as they took over the town, constructed a massive graveyard to honor the dead. The graveyard was as big as Brill itself.
Arthas and Jaina Proudmore, daughter of Admiral Daelin Proudmore of Kul'Tiras, went up to Brill to investigate what had happened, and I went to check if Kel'Thuzad had struck Caer Darrow.
Upon reaching the town, I saw the townsfolk walking around as if in a stupor, mumbling to themselves on and on. The children outside no longer played around but began to draw strange markings on their faces as they were sent to the Scholomance to study the evil art of Necromancy.
Weldon and Alexi Junior had left the town and began arguing over who was to claim their father's fortune. I was disgusted at them. The whole town was falling under some sort of evil spell and Lordaeron was on the brink of the Scourge invasion, and these two bastards only cared about their arrogant father's fortune. If I wasn't a follower of the Holy Light, I'd have slain them on the spot.
But I couldn't worry about them. The vile experiments in the Scholomance weren't just contained to inside its walls anymore, and I had to find out what was going on. I went to my friend's house, but found him and his family to have fallen under the dreadful stupor that now blighted the rest of the townsfolk.
I tried hard not to despair as I left Caer Darrow, though it would be the last time I ever saw a living thing there, and went back to Southshore to warn the militia of what was happening.
The armies of Lordaeron were preparing for whatever would occur. Kel'Thuzad had infected the grain produced by the fields around Andorhal, and sent them all across northern Lordaeron. Arthas had tracked down the vile necromancer and killed him, but he was too late. I joined him and Uther's army as we barely managed to save the town of Hearthglen to the north of Andorhal from being infected. We destroyed the grain, but learned that the city of Stratholme to the east had received the exports of grain.
I went over to Stratholme with the army, but it was too late. The townsfolk were already eating the grain, and Arthas had decided to purge the city. Like Uther, I could not go along with the order, and he and I were banished from the Order of the Silver Hand, and I was forced to watch the maddened prince of Lordaeron slaughter the townsfolk of that once great city.
I rode away on my horse as Arthas and his army set fire to Stratholme, and rode down to Caer Darrow, only to discover an ugly sight.
The plague that had been brewing in the Scholomance had been unleashed, and great sulfuric smog now covered Caer Darrow. The sky was tinted an orangey-red color, and the smog was slowly killing the plants in the town.
All around me, human corpses lay on the floor. The release of the plague had killed them all, and the necromancers were coming out of the Scholomance, looking greatly proud at the horrible thing they had accomplished.
I was horrified. I hurried over to my friend's house, and although I knew that they had suffered the same fate, some skeletal creatures were coming out of the Scholomance, hoping to kill any survivors before taking the corpses in to be reborn as undead minions.
I have no idea how I managed not to be found by those horrid creatures as they swept over the ruins of Caer Darrow, kicking corpses aside looking for survivors. I just know that after I escaped, the rest of Lordaeron was next to be transformed.
Things only got worse from there. The armies of the Scourge came down from Northrend and invaded Lordaeron. Arthas had gone to Northrend in search of a runeblade capable of desecrating the undead. The fool! If he had waited a week longer, then Alexandros Mograine would have been able to give him his finished blade, the Ashbringer. But no, he went to Northrend in search of a fabled runeblade that might have even been a trap. The Scourge had come from Northrend, but they did little to stop him from getting the sword. Arthas never once though that there was something suspicious about it, and even slaughtered his best friend Marudin Bronzebeard in order to claim that obscene blade, Frostmourne.
I try not to blame Arthas, wishing to believe my friends in Southshore that he was simply trying to protect us and never wanted to be turned into a mindless abomination, but he had been making brash decisions just to get to the cursed runeblade. That arrogant bastard brought that curse on himself!
Anyways, I fled to Lordaegarde, capital city of Lordaeron, as the Scourge armies invaded Andorhal, but backup was in short supply. Daelin Proudmoore had taken almost all of the soldiers of Kul'Tiras across the sea in pursuit of the orcs, and the High Elves of Quel'Thalas did nothing to help us, still holding us responsible for the destruction of the southern lands of Eversong and the runestones during the Second War. Ha! If it hadn't been for us, their entire forest as well as Silvermoon City itself would have been obliterated! But the biggest reason we could not send reasonable backup to Andorhal, was because most of the clerics couldn't heal the troops because they were focusing on consecrating the massive graveyard around Brill, and with good reason. The plague would have risen the dead up as Scourge, and Brill would have been doomed. Although Brill was a small town with no real military significance, it was directly north of Lordaegarde, not two miles away, and having a bunch of Scourge rise up so close to our capital was not a comforting thought in the slightest.
Arthas came down from Northrend, while I cheered his arrival along with the rest of the crowd gathering in Lordaegarde, he had transformed disturbingly. His hair was ghostly white, his skin was extremely pale, and his eyes glowed with a sinister bluish-green glint. This was nothing compared to hearing King Terenas scream, and seeing Arthas rush out of the throne room with his own father's blood staining Frostmourne, cackling madly.
All hell broke loose not a day afterwards. Arthas pretended to be with the reinforcements sent to Andorhal, but soon revealed that he had become a Death Knight, and slaughtered any soldier that stood in his way of reaching the grave where the foul necromancer, Kel'Thuzad, who Arthas had himself killed earlier, including Uther the Lightbringer. This was the end of the Order of the Silver Hand, and its remaining knights simply joined the armies of Lordaeron.
I sent help out to the kingdoms of Arathor, Ironforge, and Stormwind, but even then I knew that they couldn't save us from the Scourge.
Arthas led his armies all across the forests of Tirisfal and Darrowmere, slaying soldier and human alike. I joined the Alliance, which had been fractured since the Second War but now reunited to face this new menace. I fought in as many battles as I could, always losing ones, but somehow never getting killed.
Throughout the fights, I saw just what the Scourge could really do. The forests' once beautiful glades were darkening and the trees and plants were dying. Brave paladins I knew were transformed into Death Knights and slaughtered their own families remorselessly. Alexi Junior, cowering in a hole, was slain and transformed into Scourge. Weldon fled to Hillsbrad, fearing for his life. Davil Lightfire was slain in the Battle of Darrowshire, and a horrid abomination, Ramstein the Gorger, slew the great human ranger lord, Nathanos Marris.
Arthas led his army and carried the ashes of Kel'Thuzad up to Silvermoon, where he wasted the city and slaughtered 90% of the entire High Elf race. He moved up to the Sunwell and used its energies to rebirth Kel'Thuzad as a horrid lich lord.
The armies of Arathor, Ironforge, and Stormwind came to aid us, but I knew that it wouldn't last. Arthas, led by Kel'Thuzad and undead High Elven banshees and dark rangers, came down to Lordaeron and wasted one town after another. Only Tyr's Hand and Hearthglen survived the massacres.
I stood my ground as we prepared to defend Lordaegarde with our lives. The Scourge utterly destroyed our beautiful city, defiling the statue we had built of King Terenas and massacring everyone they could find. I would have fought back, but my friends begged me to leave with them, for they knew the battle was lost. I did what I never thought I would do. I became a coward and fled from battle.
The Scourge decimated and befouled Lordaegarde, and began to build a city underneath, called the Undercity. Arthas ruled over it, and originally intended it to be the capital of Scourge forces in Lordaeron, but was called away to Northrend before it was finished. Kel'Thuzad was left in command of Lordaeron, and established the burning ruins of Stratholme as the undead capital. His necromancers put a spell on the city, causing it to burn forever and ever, but never burn to the ground, and raised several Scourge structures in the city. It began to perfect the plague they started on in Caer Darrow, and soon unleashed it upon the surrounding Darrowmere Forest.
The Cult of the Damned and several Scourge Warlords aided the spread of the plague by placing toxic cauldrons in the once verdant farms of Darrowmere. Its toxins corrupted the land around them, killing the trees, and causing tumors to pop out on the barks. Some of the trees began to mutate into fungi-like flora, and in the particularly devastated area around Stratholme, they mutated completely into giant fungi. Gas from some of the fungi polluted the air even more, transforming the soil into spongy-like material. This area became known as the Plaguewood.
Even outside of the Plaguewood, the devastation wrought to Darrowmere Forest was intense, turning the soil brown, the trees into mutants, causing the carrion worms to swell into enormous sizes, and gargoyles to roam around.
Against what I'd hoped, it was not contained even to Darrowmere Forest. When Andorhal fell, the eastern belt of the Tirisfal Glades, which ran from the Monastery of Light to the Thondoril River, was also invaded by the Cult of the Damned, and the four farms surrounding Andorhal also became the hosts of four toxic cauldrons. This area of Tirisfal withered and died, and the trees began to turn brown, although they never mutated like the ones in Darrowmere did. The soil turned a puke green color and the rocks fell away. The rivers became polluted, and the wolves and bears, which were once a mere nuisance to campers, were transformed into hideous and savage monstrosities.
I was hiding in Agamand Mill by now, hearing the Scourge plot from the Ruins of Lordaegarde, and slaughter any survivors of Brill, including Magistrate Severn. A dark and gloomy aura was starting to descend upon Tirisfal, and the trees were all dying, and the soil was losing its once bright color. The native bats of Tirisfal, which once only came out at night, now disgraced the skies 24-7, and multiplied as they wallowed in the darkening woods, taunting any passerby by attempting to suck their veins dry. The Agamand family sheltered me, and at nights heard the Scourge, but promised that I would be safe, as the Scourge had no reason to come to such an unimportant mill.
They were wrong, as I was heading down the Soliden Farmstead to pick some pumpkins from the patch, which the remains of the Order of the Silver Hand, who had renamed themselves the Scarlet Crusade under Commander Alexandros Mograine, High Inquisitor Fairbanks, High Inquisitor Isillen, Lord Saiden Dathrohan, and General Abbendis, watched over and protected from any nearby Scourge, I heard screams coming from Agamand. I ran back up the hill only to see legions of the undead destroying the friendly family and cannibalizing their corpses.
I felt sick, but knew that I had no chance of fighting the entire onslaught off alone, so I went down to the farmstead to inform the Scarlet Crusade of what had happened. They directed me to a nestled village in the mountains south of the farmstead, where a militia had formed under the Crusade's orders. I called this town Tirisfal Village then, just as the Forsaken call it Deathknell now, but I did not and still don't know what its true name is or was. I didn't perseverate on it, as the Scourge would undoubtedly be coming here after Agamand fell, and even with the Scarlet Crusade protecting us, time to prepare was short.
The skies over Tirisfal Glades grew gloomier and gloomier as the Scourge spread their foul taint across the land, blighting the once beautiful forest. Their armies approached Tirisfal Village within a week of my arrival, but this time, I would be ready for them. I had the town's militia, and much of the Scarlet Crusade backing me, I was confident we could hold them off.
While I was right in thinking that we would win this battle, it proved to be a small victory. After the fight, a few of the Scarlet Crusade, including me, had been called down to Silverpine. While Tirisfal Village was safe for the now, the Forsaken, a legion of undead who later broke away from the Scourge, would consume it for their own empire.
I followed the legion of Crusaders down south into Silverpine Forest. Haze was appearing over the sky, giving the region a dusk-like midday, and an extremely dark and creepy night. The trees here were sickly too, but in much better condition than those in Tirisfal and especially Darrowmere. I received word that Dalaran had been destroyed by an Eradar demon lord of the Burning Legion called Archimonde, and that the smaller nearby towns in Southern Silverpine, Ambermill and Pyrewood, needed help desperately.
Some Scarlet Clerics stopped by the middle of Silverpine to consecrate a graveyard called the Sepulcher to prevent even more Scourge to rise from the ground. The soldiers and I hurried onwards to Ambermill and Pyrewood.
Upon arriving at the two towns, I saw that they had come under heavy siege by the Scourge and that mages of the Kirin Tor where desperately trying to help the militias of the two towns. My arrival with the Crusade could not have been timelier.
We managed to hold off the rampaging Scourge, although it took far too long until Archmage Arugal summoned his army of Worgen to fight the Scourge for us. But the Worgen immediately turned on us once they chased the Scourge out of Silverpine, and slaughtered anyone who wasn't in the security of Ambermill or Pyrewood, which amazingly survived the onslaught of the Worgen.
Arugal went insane, and retreated into Silverlane Keep, haunted by the ghost of the Keep's owner, Baron Silverlane, who was devoured by the Worgen Arugal had summoned. He met with a Night Elven priestess carrying a mystical scythe believed to be blessed by the Kaldorei ("Night Elves" as we call them, or "Children of the Stars" as it means in their native language, Darnassian) goddess Elune. The priestess attempted to control the Worgen, but was unable too, and was chased out of Silverpine by the rabid savages. This was Arugal's breaking point, and he adopted the Worgen as his children and used dark magic to force them to fight for him, and he know tries to take over all of Silverpine from that Keep over Pyrewood, renamed Shadowfang.
I was called over by the armies of Hillsbrad, and for a while, temporarily only dealt with the native mountain lions and bears. But later on, the Scourge invaded the northern area of Hillsbrad, at Tarren Mill, and Thoradin's Wall on the boarder of Lordaeron and Arathor. I went with the armies of what remained of Lordaeron, now joined by Arathor, Ironforge, and Stormwind. We repelled the Scourge from Thoradin's Wall, though not without seeing it, already damaged by the Second War, practically collapse. Some Scourge forces tried to waste Stromgarde, the capital of Arathor, but were also repelled. I found out later that Illidan Stormrage had weakened the Scourge and their Lich King up at Northrend by use of dark magic, which is probably why the Scourge suddenly lessened in numbers while assaulting Arathor.
The weakened armies of the Scourge where pushed back to the north, and fiercely clashed with us at Chillwind Point along the Darrowmere River. Some forest trolls from the Raventusk Tribe actually aided us from the nearby Hinterlands, which the Scourge never breached.
The Scourge was driven back up into the Tirisfal Glades, the eastern portion of which was now the Western Plaguelands. The where reinforced at Andorhal and prevented us from penetrating their territory too deeply. Commander Ashlam Valorfist of Stormwind as well as the Scarlet Crusade set up Chillwind Camp at the boarder of the Plaguelands and the Alterac Mountains, and fights the Scourge from that small camp to this day.
Around this time, the weakened Lich King lost control of nearly a quarter of his army. These renegade undead formed the Forsaken, rallying under the freed banshee Sylvannas Windrunner, the former Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas. The Forsaken claimed the western belt of Tirisfal Glades, which had fallen under the eerie green gloom by now but was never fully transformed into Plaguelands, and killed the Scourge as well as any survivors of Lordaegarde, including Admiral Garithos and the brave soldiers of Tirisfal Village.
The Forsaken later joined Thrall's new Horde, but while the Horde had changed from its old ways, the Forsaken were still almost as evil as the Scourge. They attacked our forces stationed in Tarren Mill, and unlike when we were fighting with the Scourge, we did not repel these new undead. The Forsaken claimed Tarren Mill, and it became the southernmost place where the effects of the Plague of Undeath could be seen. Most of Hillsbrad was left untouched, but the area around Tarren Mill is eternally gloomy, its once beautiful orchards dying do to the presence of the Forsaken.
As if all this weren't enough, ogres soon returned to pillage the lands of Arathor and Alterac. Across Southern Lordaeron and Arathor, a human criminal organization called the Syndicate rose up, determined to destroy both the Alliance and the Horde. The Horde returned to Arathor to renew relations with their old allies the forest trolls, but unlike the Horde, the forest trolls remained the same as they were in the old days. So, the Horde now focuses on taking down the Syndicate in Stromgarde, as well as on the ogres of Arathor. A few of their new Raventusk allies seek to retrieve a sigil stolen by Thoradin Trollbane during the Second War and rumored to be hidden in Stromgarde Keep, although it was shattered and the pieces are held by both the Syndicate personnel and the Arathor defenders vying for control of the city. Their Forsaken allies are considerably more insidious, determined to wipe out the humans remaining in Arathor and Lordaeron.
I retreated to Southshore, and learned that the Scarlet Crusade had gone insane and now slaughtered anyone who did not wear their tabard. Their derangement led to the breaking away of some members to form the Argent Dawn, who vowed to purge the Scourge out of Lordaeron once and for all, and accept help from Alliance and Horde alike in doing so. I became a scout, and since then, I have spent most of my days as a spy in enemy territory.
I have spied on Tarren Mill, on Strahnbrad (now Syndicate controlled), and on Caer Darrow. On that note, this brings me back to the beginning of my story.
Caer Darrow is an abandoned ghost town, its ruins dreary and depressing. The soil is tinted brown, reddish-rusty smog covers the whole town, and the Scholomance sits at the top, still teaching students the arts of necromancy. The vile school is locked up tight; its key carried by Araj the Summoner in Andorhal.
As I walk through the town, I hear the voices of townsfolk all around me. I hear the children playing in the streets, I hear the townsman chat and argue, and I hear the arcane arts of Eva and Lucien Sarkhov astonish all. But I see no one, not a living soul. Caer Darrow is a cursed town, its citizens now ghosts damned to live their happiest day for all eternity.
As I approach the Scholomance however, I spotted two familiar figures. I moved closer, and saw to my astonishment, the ghosts of Eva and Lucien Sarkhov.
I talked with them, and they explained what had happened to Caer Darrow, and what had happened to them. They explained their desire for revenge on the leaders of Scholomance for the atrocities committed against them.
Looking around at the ruins of Caer Darrow, I realized that I wished for revenge too. But unlike the Sarkhovs, who were ghosts and could not do anything, I could do something. Alone, it would be impossible, as even getting into the Scholomance would require an army. But I returned to Chillwind Camp, and informed Commander Valorfist of what I had learned. I expected him to think of me as a madman, but to my surprise, he wanted to break into the Scholomance and destroy the leaders as well.
I'm now back in Caer Darrow, staring up at the Scholomance. Getting in there would be hard enough, since the lord of Andorhal had the key. Actually destroying the vile academy would be next to impossible. But I plot to avenge my friends, Caer Darrow, and all the victims of Lordaeron nonetheless.
The time has come to take the night back from the Scourge.
This is a one-shot fic, and I don't plan on doing a sequel. I just wanted to post this after I got to thinking about it one day, after my 20th Scholomance run, or something like that.
Tell me what you think.