Kiul walked down the dusty road, following the local farmer the best he could. The man was smaller and walked faster, and it took some effort to keep up. Their hooves clopped as they hurried, ignoring the braying to the talbuk carrying their bags.
A soft breeze pushed the verdant grasses of west Nagrand like waves on the ocean that afternoon. There were few trees by the old country road, and it made for a beautiful sight under the blue sky with few clouds. Kiul had originally been from Nagrand on his own timeline's version of Draenor, just like his wife, Yaromira, though neither of them met until they crash landed on Azeroth. Their work with the Steamwheedle Cartel on this version of the planet was nostalgic for them both even though they knew they would eventually go back through the Dark Portal once the war effort against the Iron Horde had made some ground. Until then, they expected a nice trip of work they loved and weekends in pleasant little places like this one.
That is, until word of rather grisly murders in that end of Nagrand reached them.
"Thanks for coming again, friend," the wheat farmer huffed as the two men jogged. "It's difficult to get attention from the local authorities, seeing as how remote these parts are. I understand that it's a bit of a hassle for you to make it out this far."
"And I understand that your village is in need of help. That's what's most important," Kiul countered.
The farmer smiled as they continued down the dirt road, seeming reassured. It wasn't until the village came into view that they spoke again.
"So you say nobody wants to talk about the nightmares your whole village seems to be experiencing?" Kiul asked.
The farmer slowed down, creeping along the dirt road as though he wanted to delay their arrival. "That would be correct. Some people mention it, but once word spread that all the adults were experiencing it, we got scared. We hoped it would go away even when the first murder happened a week ago. But then two more happened, and what with that woodland sprouting up overnight..." The farmer's voice trailed off, and Kiul could tell that the mere conversation was difficult for him.
"Perhaps I should ask around to see what sort of nightmares the others are having, after I see the latest murder scene." The farmer just nodded. He had dodged questions about his own nightmares previously, and seemed grateful when Kiul didn't bring it up again. "This would be the fourth murder in a village of only seventy people, correct?"
"That is correct, sir."
"And the children haven't been experiencing these nightmares?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," the farmer replied, apparently more comfortable as they reached the village signpost. "Nothing that would seem strange for youngsters, anyway."
A few of the locals took notice from their porches and street corners as the two men and the mount walked through. Dressed in his Steamwheedle Cartel shipping uniform, Kiul only stood out slightly from the other civilians. Such a small village likely saw no regular postal services, especially from a consortium operating out of a different planet and from a different timeline, but all the same, the locals didn't appear particularly interested. They were all draenei of various ages, almost all of them local farmers or simple craftspeople save what appeared to be a forge used by only two blacksmith families. There didn't even appear to be any sort of manor for a noble family, and from what Kiul knew of the more isolated people of his homeland, these ones might essentially function autonomously. It wasn't the norm but it wasn't particularly strange, either, and for the most part such communities would be left to their own devices, settling their own internal disputes and paying no taxes to any outside authority. It was a beautiful, if quaint, way of life, and his heart felt a wistful tug knowing that in his own timeline, such communities had all been destroyed during the creation of Outland.
The farmer began speaking about the nature of the community itself, and Kiul just tuned him out while nodding and agreeing. He was too enamored by the lifestyle that had become such a distant memory; he felt as though he were walking through an open air museum. Shaking his head in disgust at a poster of Garrosh Hellscream being used as a dartboard by some teenagers, he muttered to himself under his breath about the Iron Horde. Kiul still didn't quite understand how the whole alternate timeline thing worked. Even his wife, who had spent two years at a mage's academy for preliminary studies she never finished, didn't quite comprehend the explanation given by their work contact representing the Kirin Tor on Draenor. If they stopped Hellscream, Gul'dan and the Shadow Council, would things change in their own timeline? Or would they stay the same?
As he passed by a burly local that almost looked like a long lost twin aside from the bigger nose and lazy eye, Kiul wondered if he would meet himself. For sure, others from Draenor - draenei and orcs alike - had met their earlier selves by now, he thought while passing by a glass maker's shop. The universe hadn't imploded, the space time continuum hadn't been disrupted and a black hole hadn't opened up in the middle of the planet. So what would it be like? A part of him almost didn't want to meet his old self. It might be painful, to see what was lost, and to answer tough questions about what might happen. Yes, he would never have met Yaromira had things not happened the way they did, and he wouldn't trade his new life for his old one. But that didn't mean that remembering wasn't painful, and it didn't mean he would find it easy to explain to his old self that he would have to watch his neighborhood be swallowed as the land beneath their feet cracked into a raging chasm...
"And that's the village water hole," the farmer said while pointing to a rather large, efficient looking well.
They had already passed through to the other side of the village via the main road, and the small forest that supposedly hadn't existed just a few days before. The man had been trying to convince anyone he found at the brand new Nagrand Alliance garrison of what had happened, but nobody would listen; the adventurers from Azeroth were all focused on stopping the Iron Horde and the locals who had taken up residence at the garrison didn't view the villagers in a serious light. Illiterate farmers, the man's settlement had been branded, and Kiul felt rather upset that the humble man's pleas had been ignored. Just a few hours later and there they were, staring at the blood stains in a ditch just off the side of the dirt road.
"This is where the fourth murder happened last night," the farmer explained sadly. "A young man, had a bright future ahead of him. But he always had this phobia of scissors - he didn't like to use them because he was always afraid of accidentally getting his fingers caught in them." Glancing off to the horizon for a moment, the farmer's face became grim as he held his hands behind his back. "The wounds were from scissors. He had hundreds of them, everywhere."
Kiul pinched his nose at the blood. He'd been a pacifist for much of his life, and although he had to defend himself a few times shipping parcels and merchandise, he'd only seen blood a few times despite being a few thousand years old. Even when the planet had been ripped asunder, he watched the carnage from afar, having been one of the refugees that made it to safety relatively unscathed. He wasn't used to violence. But as he thought of the idealic village thrust into literal living nightmares, he feared he might have to face it once again to help these people.
"You mentioned back at the garrison that your people found nothing when you entered the woods as a group?" he asked the farmer.
"Nothing at all. It isn't a particularly large place. It's a dense wood, but we didn't find anything of note."
"Did you go during the day or the night?" Kiul asked while squinting his eyes, trying to spy what he could of the normal, healthy looking trees just barely in view.
"Oh, we went during the day! Nobody could be convinced to go in there at night...do you...think whatever is attacking us might be there only at night?" the farmer asked nervously, already glancing over both shoulders.
Kiul pursed his lips and took a moment before answering. "It seems like the next thing to try. And if we leave right now, I very well might get a team of people assembled tonight."
Eyes widened, the farmer looked speechless. "Oh...sir, I know I went in there asking for help, but I...guess I didn't know what to expect. We don't have much-"
"Don't worry about any sort of payment," Kiul chortled.
"But why? This could be dangerous work just to help a village...well, nobody ever really cares about us out here."
"And that's exactly why I think I can have a group of people here tonight." Kiul turned to the man and nodded toward the village with his head, leading the talbuk back. "The group of people I'm thinking about would jump at the opportunity to help for free."