The Tale of Stratholme's Survivors
This is the story of a hero. This is the story of a lost man. This is the story of a family. This is a story of the dead. As told to me by a dying man on the road from Stratholme to Lordaeron City. The man clearly wasn't long for the world: he had taken several wounds in his flight. Perhaps it was the will of the Light I should be there to hear his story, to watch for his dying breath.
The day before, he had been at Stratholme, a simple guard he said. When the new grain shipment had come in he had been at the gates to watch it--it was spoiling by the minute he told me, a sign that bad things were to come--people hurried to save enough of the grain. They began selling it immediately. The grain was soon spread throughout the entire city.
When Arthas and his troops began to enter the city, he watched from the wall. He watched as Arthas steeled himself, he watched as Arthas drew his weapon, and he watched as Arthas began to slay the citizens of Stratholme. Knowing that his family would be in danger he abandoned the wall. Rushing to his home, he gathered his wife, son, daughter, and a few supplies. He was out the door before two minutes had passed. Hurrying his family away from the front gate and not quite sure where he was going, they ran. The sounds of screaming could still be heard behind them.
Almost to the back of the city he began to hear screaming in front of him. On instinct he drew his sword and began to lead his family away from the screaming, heading west. Uncertain of what they could do, they ran and kept running. Always when they started nearing an exit, the screaming started in front of them. Always when they started to feel like they might make it out, the screaming would let them know they could not. After they could run no more, they stopped to rest. The whole city was screaming now. He almost gave up then, but he took a look at his daughter's scared face, his son's determined look and his wife's worry and knew he would get them out or die trying.
He knew that the gates would have troops; he knew the walls would be unmanned, but once up they would be trapped if anyone decided to check them. He knew the houses would be thoroughly searched and he knew that there would be no mercy in this slaughter. He had also heard tales of secret passages all over the city, passages that if they existed would lead to salvation. He decided the best place to look would be City Hall. They no longer ran, but instead they cautiously approached each corner, every turn, every street was approached with worry and fear. As they reached the street that would lead to the city hall, that's when they saw them, it wasn't Arthas though that would have been a mercy if it was.
It was horrible, the smell of rotting flesh, the sound of incantations, the sight of citizens getting back up when they were clearly dead. The horror was too much for his family, he told me. His family started to scream, and the nearest zombie turned and began to rush at them. He waited till it neared them then slashed at it body, it kept coming as he stabbed, hacked, and fought. Finally the zombie fell to the ground. Resting for a brief moment, he took his family into the nearest building and went up the steps; they hurried through the house to the top floor. They climbed out of the windows and onto the roof, and began to move across roofs to the town hall.
From this new view point they could see much of the city was ablaze, that they were not the only ones to take to the roofs. They could also see that they were not the only ones who thought about the town hall. When they reached the roof of the town hall they found the window open, with about 10-15 people already inside and with 5-15 more coming. They had all remembered the rumors of the tunnels and had like him; come to the conclusion the best place to look was the Town Hall. They all spread out with those that were armed watching the window and the lower levels for Arthas or the undead. As the search went on from room to room, looking for a passage, a secret ghetto, anything that would lead to a chance of survival. Rooms by room, bookshelves were emptied of books, walls were touched and prodded, candle holders were pulled, fireplaces were pushed, and statues were pressed to see if they would move. Room by room they searched, despair grew among the people, but they searched.
In the second to last room on that floor, they found one; it was a small passage that sloped downward. People piled in, there must have been about 50 survivors leaving through the passage. As they walked though some of their number started to feel sick, they started leaning on the others, they continued to walk on, following the passage and hoping for an exit. More of the number grew sick until at least half was being helped down the passageway. Just as people started asking if they should turn back, they found their exit, it let them out just outside the west wall, they could see some of Arthas troops through the bushes.
The survivors started to move south always in sight of the road but not on it. Some of the earliest to fall sick started to fall and stumble, unable to keep walking, some of the group elected to stay behind and take care of the sick, well some of the sick refused to stop. They walked on always toward Lordaeron City, finally even those who refused to stop had to sit down, they then sent one or two forward to get help at the nearest village. Soon the sick were dead, and the survivors prepared to move on.
One of the dead suddenly rose from the ground and began to attack one of the survivors. Before anyone could move the zombie had killed the man. Another and another started to get up, the survivors ran from the clearing screaming in fear. That is, except for he, he who stayed to fight them and give his family time to run. He fought the zombies, there were about 5-6 of them now. He faced them bravely, and quickly rushed forward and managed to cut one's head off, ducked underneath another zombie as it slashed at him. As the fight went on he took a slash or two, but he managed to dispatch two more zombies, the last three were relentless, he took many an injury without being able to stop them. They pushed him back; he turned as if to run then rolled sideways and managed to take out one of the zombies legs. He faced the last two; he cut the arm off of one and took a slash to the head for it.
Bleeding, he was out of ideas. He fought with all his strength only to take more and more wounds. One of the zombies suddenly dropped a knife in the back of its head, his son had come back. The last zombie turned toward his son but the man quickly jumped it carrying it the ground with his weight, stabbing it repeatedly before it could advance on his son. Tired he walked to the road, where he fell; he gave his son his sword and told him to go protect their family.
He lay there dying till I came along, having heard this tale and watch his final breath, I searched for the survivors, I did eventually find the dead survivors/undead and the first group who were all dead as well. I looked long and hard for the man's family, I never found them, oh I would hear of a family that passed by a young boy with a strange sword escorting his sister and mother to the capital. By the time I made it to the capital it was so full of refugees that I couldn't even enter the city, let alone find them. I was there when Arthas came back, and I was there when Arthas slayed our king. I was there when the Banshee Queen led us to victory over the Dreadlords and to fight by her side. I was there when Varithas betrayed my Queen and took the city; I was there when my queen led us back to retake it. I never found the family, but I did find the sword. Alas it's a long story and I won't go into details. I will either find the family or their graves, but the sword will continue to fight Arthas. Who knows perhaps it will be the sword that slays him...
