Rain poured down on the small town of Brill, as ever shrouded in its veil of dark night. One hunched figure rushed into the inn to get out of the storm, closing the door behind him and hanging up his wide-brimmed hat on the hangers in the porch. To his he added his dripping cloak, and laid his gnarled and worn staff against the wall. This done, he walked slowly into the main seating area, and took a seat near the fire. He stuffed tobacco into a pipe and lit it, inhaling the smoke and letting it pour out the holes in his cheeks.

The temporary bartender, a man named Armand, raised an eyebrow at the newcomer and shuffled over to offer wine and bread. The other man accepted, and began to chew slowly on a crust of bread while Armand filled his glass.

"A good vintage, zis Pinot, oui?" Armand laughed. "Mind you, any vintage older than seven years is good enough to drink! Ze wineries 'ave been closed since then..."

The man replied, his voice stern and strong, despite his ragged throat. "Of course, the land is plagued and so are the crops."

"Yes, yes..." Armand agreed, shaking his head. "I can still remember ze times when wine and cheese flowed like water off ze mountains. Of course, zat was before ze kingdom fell... Ah, my blessed Alterac, no more than ruins and battlefields now."

The door flew open and a hooded and cloaked elf strode in and up to the bar. Armand hurriedly excused himself and went to serve the newcomer. The man was left to sip his wine and eat his bread, although it wasn't long before someone else came to sit with him. This time it was a warrior, wearing burnished plate armour proudly displaying the banner of Lordaeron. This patron slapped the man on the back, and with a hearty laugh broke into conversation, pouring out his life story and whatever else came to mind.

The man just sat and listened, not interrupting or even giving a hint that he was paying attention. Although, as time passed, the armoured warrior ran out of subjects to discuss and posed a question.

"So, what's your story?" He asked, with a grin that showed a surprisingly full set of teeth.

The man removed the pipe from his mouth and raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes fixed on the warrior's.

"My story? It's a long time since someone last asked, but as you have told me yours, I suppose I'm obliged to share mine." He leant forward and drained the cup in his hand.

It was only seven years ago now that they first came to Pyrewood. They were all cloaked and hooded, and in the dark we couldn't see their faces. In fact, they wore gauntlets and boots, helmets and breastplates, so we could see nothing of their true nature. We gave them rooms for the night, we couldn't see anything wrong in it.

Of course, I'd lived in Pyrewood Village all my life. I'd occasionally travel to Ambermill, across the forest, but I don't think I'd ever ventured further north than the lake, or further south than the Wall. But why should I? I was content there, I knew everyone and they knew me.

However, I'm going off track. Yes, the mysterious men who came in the night. Sounds like the typical beginning of a child's ghost story, doesn't it?

They wouldn't let us take their coats, replying in gruff, gutteral voices that they needed only to be shown their rooms. So, we complied, and I was sent to tell Baron Silverlaine of their arrival.

It was a short walk up to the Keep, and the night was beautiful. A full moon hung in the sky, the stars providing a beautiful backdrop against the tops of the pines, and the far off silhouette of the Greymane Wall. I was welcomed in by one of the stable boys and taken to the Baron's study, up on the top floor of the keep. I told him about these strangers, and gave their descriptions to him. I remember his voice now, a kindly old man was the Baron:

"Why, by all means lad, have them sent up to the keep! I'll get the cooks working on a feast for these men, we haven't had guests in some time." So I went back down the winding path and into the Inn. I told the men of the Baron's invitation, and after a quick discussion amongst themselves in a tongue I could not comprehend, they followed me to the keep.

That was my first mistake.

The Baron had been busy, when I returned, we were shown into the dining hall, where the tables had been laid and all manner of meats and wines were upon them, roasts had been set above the fires, and, well... It was a meal fit for kings.

But while they were being welcomed and shown their seats, I saw one of them skulk off. Intrigued, I followed him back to the portcullis and drawbridge, where he began to turn the great wheel that controlled the iron barred gate. I was going to cry out. I don't know what stopped me, but I just couldn't do anything. No sooner than the portcullis was lifted than another group of these armour-clad, cloak-wearing men came through, followed by another. There must've been at least a score of these soldiers standing in the courtyard. I guess I knew what was going to happen, even then.

Fear and my imagination seized me, and I ran, taking the service entrance out to avoid the soldiers. I had just reached the bottom of the path when I heard a blood-curdling howl, and the screams of the keep's citizens. Guilt struck me then. I could've turned back even then and roused the men of Pyrewood to defend the keep, but I ran, and ran and ran as fast as my legs would take me, away from the screaming and the shouting.

Eventually I think I passed out from exhaustion.