Sean Dempsey was running for his life.
The Worgen curse that had ravaged Gilneas had all but destroyed the nation. Gilneas City, the capital, had fallen to the murderous wolf-creatures. The last that Dempsey had heard was that Darius Crowley, a prominant nobleman and someone Dempsey had trusted and followed during the Northgate Rebellion, had gathered a small group of humans and had made a last stand at Light's Dawn Cathedral, located in the centre of the city. Dempsey was part of a small group of evacuees who had left with another group lead by one Captain Broderick, heading toward the Greymane Wall. However, just four hours into their journey, they were ambushed by Worgen and forced to scatter.
Dempsey ran through the thick foilage that was the Northgate Woods, just north of the city. He jumped over large roots that stuck out of the dirt, some as high enough as to grab at Dempsey's knee. Blood trickled down his stomache as he ran; an injury at Gilneas City's Stoneward Prison had required his chest to be bandaged heavily. The bandages were very worn and several had ripped off during Dempsey's run, and some of his massive gashes were exposed now, having scabbed over like ice over some of the lakes during winter. Behind him now he could hear the snarling roars of what sounded like dozens of Worgen barreling through the brush, feet and claws pounding through the thick trees and soil, gaining rapid pace on him. Pain shot through Dempsey's body as he ran, which made it feel as if a thousand worgen had stuck their razor-sharp nails into his chest.
Dempsey kept running, however, knowing that if he stopped even for a moment, he would be doomed for sure. As his mind was in overdrive, he failed to notice the massive tree root sticking out of the ground like some kind of overgrown cucumber. His foot caught on it, and he gave a shrill cry before tumbling down a small path into a ditch-like crevace.
Grabbing at his leg in pain, Dempsey kept quiet. He looked around, finding himself totally lost still. He had lived in Gilneas all his life, but still could not work out which way was up, it seemed. He hugged the wall quietly, biting at his lip in order to keep himself from crying in pain. Eventually, the worgen's massive crashing movements grew louder and louder until they were right above him, snarling with primal fury, looking around frantically with their snouted heads. He could see them through a small break in the crevace, but they it seemed could not see him. He saw one massive worgen wearing what seemed to be the tattered remnants of a military uniform drop onto all fours and begin sniffing furiously almost as if taking in air for the very first time. For what seemed to Dempsey like hours, it simply sat there and sniffed. The others barreled around the forest, their awkward flailing movements seeming so out of place on creatures so ferocious. Eventually, however, the one on all fours stood back up and howled so loud that it took every bone in Dempsey's body to stop him from running away. He then saw them move almost like a flood during the stormy season; as one and with massive stomps tearing into the earth.
Waiting several minutes before moving on, Dempsey got up slowly and began to follow his way down the new section of forest he had stumbled, literally, onto. Coming to a small clearing, he found himself facing a house. "A house out here, in the middle of nowhere?" Dempsey wondered aloud to himself as he approached the house.
As he got closer, he saw the house had clearly been ransacked and attacked; claw marks lined the door, which had been torn off it's hinges, and blood stained the walls leading into the home. Assorted things such as books and clothes lay scattered throughout the house. Approaching the door, Dempsey decided to check inside. He crept in, peeking in with only one part of his body, just in case there were still worgen present inside. Finding none, he stepped in and began to search the house for something useful. Stopping at an overturned bed, he found the corpse of what he assumed had been the previous owner.
The man, who looked to be roughly Dempsey's age, was laying upright on his bed, which had been turned on its side. Deep gashes and claw marks lined his stomach, and it was obvious the man had suffered greatly before he died as his face was contorted in pure terror. Beside him was a rifle and several dozen pellets. Eying this, Dempsey went to pick them up but as he did, he realized that the rifle had been torn almost in half, with splintered wood and twisted metal being all that was left of it. "Well..that's not going to work out very well for me." Dempsey spoke in a whisper, not wanting to alarm any worgen in the area. Spending another few minutes searching the home turned up nothing, so Dempsey turned and left the house. However, before he did he stopped and mumbled under his breath a prayer for the dead man inside. Dempsey was not a deeply religous man, but in times such as these, Dempsey thought, it was good to have a little faith.
Continuing on his search for any survivors, Dempsey continued his trek into the woods. The last vestages of sunlight dissapeared from view, and darkness descended upon Gilneas. Looking around fearfully, Dempsey decided that it was time for him to quicken his pace. Walking slightly faster, he found himself quickly lost in the nearly pitch dark forest.
As his breath quickened, he began to panic again. Dempsey was usually a calm man, but the events of the last several weeks had shaken him to his core. Seeing his nation now in near-destruction had driven him into a state of near-permanent fear, something he was not used to in his nearly four decades of life.
"I will make it. I must make it...for Gilneas and for myself. I'll be fine." Dempsey told himself as he kept walking.
Walking further, the moon finally came up and gave an eerie illumination over Gilneas. Even still, so far away from the capital he could hear the howls and roars of the worgen that had claimed it as their home. He had hoped that Lord Crowley and his band of holdouts had died well. Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he grasped a nearby tree for support as he looked down at his wounds. The scabbing was promanent now, but blood still caked his chest almost as like some kind of disturbing food topping. Pain still shot through his whole body, but Dempsey still could not quit. He knew he had to find something. Someone. Anyone. As he wrapped his rotted bandages around a wound near his side, he heard the same thundering footsteps as before and instantly, the fear returned to him.
The worgen had found him.
Breaking into a jog, Dempsey ran again, jumping over assorted tree roots and debris littering the forest. The thundering sounds of the worgen grew louder, and Dempsey knew that he had been found out. Running now, he quickly attempted to throw them off his scent and ran down a different section of the forest. However, he knew that this would not do much, and increased his pace instead, hoping to finally find refuge somewhere. Panting now, his legs cramped with exhaustion, but still he kept running on. Eventually, however, the sound of the snarling worgen was replaced with a new sound-water rushing. A river! He was near a river!
"Thank the Light..now let's hope these beasts can't swim!" Dempsey thought as he pushed himself harder.
His body groaned and ached in protest, but he ignored it and continued on. Eventually, he came to the river in question, which flowed in from a small lake above a section of the Greymane Wall, built nearly twenty five years ago to protect Gilneas from the outside. Looking around frantically, he ran up and down the shoreline trying to find a boat, but he could not. He also could not go into the water without being swept downstream, as this time of year the water was fast moving and rapid. His anxiety reaching an all time high, Dempsey waited to die, arms cowering over his head, anticipating the onslaught that was to come.
However, the onslaught did not come. Replacing the snarling worgen barreling out of the trees was the sound of howls..not of delight, but of pain and suffering. Mixed in also, Dempsey could hear, was the sound of grunting...a human! Dempsey had found a non-infected Gilnean! Uncovering himself, he rushed into the trees and ducked behind a large old oak, looking to where the sound came from. In a small clearing, he saw it. At least a half-dozen worgen lay dead on the ground, their blood seeping out from large slashes to their necks and chests. More lay wounded, yelping and yowling in pain. Looking over further, Dempsey saw what appeared to be a sword flashing in the moonlight.
Getting closer, he saw it: It was a human, presumably male, clad in the armor and tabard of the Gilnean army. He was fighting with three large worgen, who clawed and gashed at him futley, as the man was much more athletic and dodged them easily. One worgen went in for a side slash, but the man blocked it with his shield and promptly sliced off the worgen's left arm, up to the elbow, in a blink of an eye. Howling, the worgen fell onto the ground, emitting the same yowl of pain as the others, with blood pouring out of the fresh stump. The other two doubled back, stepping over their fallen comrade, still snarling and roaring fiercly. The man charged one, rushing with his shield out in front of him, until he bashed right into the centre of the second of the worgen, sending it flying back, howling in agony. This gave him the momentum to stab deep into the stomach of it, sending blood spurting out onto the grass, and sending the worgen to the ground, presumably dead. The remaining worgen swiped at the man from behind, but the man rolled to the left and sliced off the worgen's left paw, sending it to the ground to join its two fellows. Standing up now, the man sheathed his sword and put his shield away, looking around thoughtfully, as if searching for the source of the sudden appearance of the worgen. It was then Dempsey decided to reveal himself.
Walking into the clearing, Dempsey held his hands high, even though doing so caused him great pain. He stepped carefully toward the figure, who, after a moment, noticed him and drew his sword, bellowing "Halt! Declare yourself!"
Dempsey answered back, "I am a friend! I'm not a worgen!"
Lowering the sword, the figure was finally visible. The man was roughly a hair taller then Dempsey, and was far more built. His armor was worn, but still in very good condition, as was his tabard. The man wore the helmet of the Gilneas City Guard, and thus, Dempsey thought, was one of those who was in Gilneas City with him. "Who are you, soldier?"
The figure stepped to within striking distance of Dempsey. "Cleese." The figure responded, removing his helmet to reveal a thick red beard and short, red hair. "Sergeant Bernard Cleese, Gilneas City Guard. And you?"
Dempsey nodded with relief, but grasped at his sides in pain. "Dempsey. Sean Dempsey." Nodding, Cleese stepped closer.
"A pleasure, Mr. Dempsey. Now what, may I ask, is a badly-wounded civilian such as yourself, doing all the way out here? We didn't let anyone slip through the defenses while the city was in our control."
Nodding, Dempsey spoke of Captain Broderick's patrol leaving toward the Greymane Wall, and how he had watched several of his fellow evacuees be ripped to shreds by bloodthirsty worgen, before the party scattered into the brush. Nodding sadly, Cleese turned to face the river. "Sorry to hear. Broderick was a good man, but he was brash. Refused to listen to the King and Lord Godfrey to flee the city with them."
Dempsey looked away, face going slightly red with fury at the mention of the King. "Something the matter?" Cleese, noticing this, looked at him curiously.
"Sorry. It's just that..I'm not, let's say, too fond of the king or that toad Godfrey."
Dempsey had lost many friends in the Second War, and he strongly disagreed with King Genn Greymane's decision to wall off the nation.
Instead of the expected response, Cleese chuckled. "One of Crowley's lot, are you?"
Dempsey nodded.
"That's fine. Honestly, we don't have much time for divisions. I never thought highly of Crowley or his band of terrorists, but he sacrificed himself to let us escape. I was there, you know, in Greymane Court, when Crowley and another...I'm not sure who they were, if they were even a man or a woman, now...rode off on Crowley's horse, firing off torches into the massive crowds of worgen to draw them to the Cathedral. It was their actions what let us get away."
At Cleese's revalation, Dempsey couldn't help but feel proud of Crowley and his unknown companion. After all, another person had helped defend Dempsey himself when he lay wounded at the top of Stoneward Prison, with hundreds of worgen swarming near him. It was Crowley, Vincent Hersham, Tobias Mistmantle, and someone Dempsey did not know the name or even gender of, now...who had protected him enough so that Hersham could stabalize his wounds.
Cleese interrupted his daydreaming by tapping him on the shoulder. "Come now, Dempsey...we can't wait around here forever! Those worgen are probably on to us...they'll see us as a nice, fresh dinner...follow me!"
As they walked up the river's edge, Dempsey tried to look over the river to the nearby town of Emberstone. Due to the fog that rose from the water's edge at night, however, he could not see it at all.
Cleese continued to walk at a faster pace then Dempsey, who was obviously slowed down by his injuries. "Come now, Dempsey! We don't have time for dallying. I have a boat waiting up-river."
Nodding, Dempsey jogged back up to Cleese and continued to walk with him. "Tell me, Sergeant. How did you end up alone?" Dempsey inquired, curious to know.
Cleese sighed from within his helmet, and nodded seemingly to himself. "I was with a group of my men. We were searching the Northern Headlands for survivors when we were ambushed by a large pack of worgen. Most of my men were killed within seconds of their attack...I and a few others escaped and met up at an abandoned house. They came for us still. They butchered the others, but I managed to get out by using one of the windows. I've been wandering around ever since, trying to find help."
Returning Cleese's nod, Dempsey sighed, still grimacing slightly as he walked. "It seems we're in the same boat now...Tell me, though, do you know if..if anyone else survived?" Dempsey, even from the helmet, could make out Cleese's smile.
"Oh yes. The last I heard, there were two groups. One was lead by the King, and he was taking a large group of survivors to Duskhaven, a village by the coast. Another group was lead by Lord Hewell, and he was taking a group to Keel Harbor. The King's group probably faired better, as I heard before my detachment was slaughtered that Keel Harbor was overrun almost immeadatly following the loss of the capital."
These words struck Dempsey hard. Keel Harbor had been where he had called home for his childhood, before he struck out into rebellion against the Gilnean government. "I hope that at least some of our people manage to make it out of here. There's got to be a way, Cleese. There just has to." Reaching the small boat Cleese had commandeered, Dempsey found himself staring up at the waterfall that filled the river, just above a section of the Greymane Wall. The wall had collapsed slightly there, with the large chunks still to this day, floating around like a chain of islands. There was still lots of fog permiating the area, so Cleese and Dempsey would have to be very careful.
Climbing into the boat, Cleese pushed the boat off the shore, and it floated in the water without incident.
As he reached for one of the oars, Cleese stopped him. "No, Dempsy. You just lay back and relax. I'll get us across to Emberstone on my own."
Nodding, Dempsey fell back, able to relax for the first time in what seemed like ages. The roar of the waterfall seemed to take away all of his stress for just the briefest of moments.
Cleese then began to row the boat across the river, the roar of the waterfall all the while still prominant in the background. Dempsey finally could gather his thoughts, and at least think back to happier times-times he knew would not come again, but still happy times, none the less.
As the boat approached the shore-line of the village, Dempsey was snapped awake from his semi-rest period by the sounds of gunfire and the loud howls of worgen.
"Damn it!" Cleese growled as the boat grew closer. "It seems Emberstone is under attack by the beasts. What do we do, Dempsey?"
Raising his head up weakly, he looked toward the shore, and squinted. Through the fog, he could make out large amounts of worgen...most of whom were laying dead on the ground, blood soaking into the ground. "It looks as though the villagers have the upper hand! It looks at least semi safe..."
As he finished speaking, a sudden, massive wave of pain shot over his body, embracing him like some kind of twisted cocoon, and he collapsed to his previous position, the pain washing over him almost non-stop. As he lay there, the pain eventually became too much to bear, and darkness washed over his vision.
Dempsey awoke screaming, shooting into a sitting position and panting madly. Looking around, however, he noticed that he was not in the boat anymore, but inside a home.
"We made it to Emberstone after all.." he noted to himself weakly.
Looking down at his wounds, he noticed that some of them had been stiched up, but others still were scabbed over very strongly. His bandages had been changed, however, and Dempsey marveled in the soft embrace of new cloth. Standing up off of the bed he lay on, he walked over to the door and opened it.
Outside were several dozen villagers, all gathered around the village centre. Emberstone was a small village, consisting of roughly twenty to thirty people, at most. There were but four houses in the village, and most of the income from the village came from the mine to the north-west. Wagons littered the square, all full of clothing and furniture; presumably, these were evacuees from elsewhere. The entrance to the village was barred by a crude barricade consisting of ruined wagons and several large pieces of furniture; a door here, an armoire there. Wooden spikes lined both the outer and inner part of the village entrance to provide extra protection. Gilnean soldiers also littered the streets, with civilians standing off to the sides of the village near the river's edge in small makeshift tents. The three other houses seemed to be occupied by Gilnean snipers who had barricaded the doors and windows with wooden planks. Four cannons-the pride of Emberstone, renouned for it's artillery as well as it's ore-lay unused to the side of the street.
Stepping over to the largest of the houses, Dempsey saw the entrance flanked by two guards. They stopped him as he attempted to enter.
"You shouldn't be up and about, civilian. You were badly wounded when we found you." one of the guards said to him, in a stern but compassionate voice.
Dempsey nodded and sighed, looking off to the side of the street. "I'm looking for Sergeant Cleese. He brought me here."
Nodding, the second of the guards then spoke up. "Yes, he mentioned you would want to see him when you awoke. He's in a meeting with Lord-Mayor Richardson, and will be finished shortly."
With this information in hand, Dempsey stepped back and went about exploring the village.
Walking over to the barricade to get a closer look at it, he saw it was littered with the bodies of dozens, if not hundreds of dead worgen. Some of them were torn apart gruesomly with swords, others shot to death with the firearms; large, gaping wounds indicated that they had been shot at close range. The guards at the barricades looked weary, and some were coaked in blood; obviously the blood of the worgen littering the area. The barricade itself looked much different then Dempsey expected it to; blood nearly obscured the original brown paint of the wagons and armoires. Climbing on top of one of the wagons, Dempsey looked over to the mine and saw that it had obviously been abandoned in a hurry, with tools and mine carts still out as if workmen were working there still.
Turning to one of the guards, Dempsey approached him. "Guard...what happened here?"
The guard faced him and nodded. "Ah, you were the civilian who arrived by boat with the Sergeant. Well, we came under attack last night just before you arrived. We took several casualities, but managed to drive the beasts off. We were prepared, however..it's not the first attack. Since the capital fell, skirmishes have been nonstop from small packs of the beasts."
As the soldier spoke, Dempsey nodded. As he was about to open his mouth to respond, a voice called out to him from the house back in the village.
"Dempsey! Over here!"
Excusing himself from the barricade, Dempsey ran over to the voice and found Sergeant Cleese standing just outside of the door of the house he was at earlier. Beside him was an older man with long, white hair dressed in Gilnean noblity regalia, mainly a black suit jacket that was lined with yellow and white buttons going up the front, and pants of the same matching scheme.
"Cleese! I'm glad you're alright. I..don't remember what happened. I must have passed out in the boat."
Nodding, Cleese patted him on the shoulder. "You did! I was worried about you, but when we arrived at the village, you were taken right away to the makeshift infirmary. I went to help in order to repel the worgen assault."
Dempsey then turned to face the other man present. "You must be Lord-Mayor Richardson, then?"
The older man then nodded to Dempsey. "Yes, I am. It's good you recovered-Dempsey, is it? We were worried..your injuries were very severe."
Clutching at his side strongly, he again faced the Sergeant. "What are we going to do now?"
Cleese's eyes went wide, and he chuckled heartily. "Nothing, my friend! We stay here...The Lord-Mayor is letting us stay as long as we need to. He has been taking in as many refugees as he can."
Nodding, Dempsey could not help but feel a tinge of dissapointment, however. "I was hoping to get beyond the Wall, honestly...I have heard rumors there is still an Alliance presence in Silverpine, still. I was hoping to warn them and get their help."
Scoffing loudly, Richardson faced him. "You're mad, Dempsey! The Alliance and us have had nothing to do with each other since the last war. And that is how it should stay!" Richardson nearly spat out the last few words.
Cleese sighed and turned his head to face Dempsey. "I agree with the Mayor. Dempsey, we're safe now...we can rest here, and when an attack force is launched, we can link up with them and strike back against the beasts, and take back our city!"
Nodding confidantly, Richardson clenched his fists tightly, balling them up so tight that Dempsey thought his gloves would rip. "We'll drive them out easily with support that will come, assured of it! The worgen won't last very long against the might of the Gilnean armed forces!"
Sighing heavily, Dempsey looked straight at Richardson. "With respect, Mayor...the support you talk of will probably not come. We don't even KNOW if the Army command structure is still around! You cannot place your faith blindly, especially now."
Richardson glared at Dempsey threateningly, and stepped back. "Listen here, Dempsey. You arrive in my village without any reason, and are unable to aid us in our defense. I could throw you out right now, but I do not because we are all Gilneans, and must work together. Do -NOT- make me regret my decision."
Dempsey growled at this, seeing that there was no convincing Richardson to allow him to leave, and stormed off back toward the medical hut.
Arriving back at the hut, he passed the guards at the doorway, waving them off irritably.Climbing back into his bed, he lay down and stared at the ceiling for a while, searching for patterns and trying to lose himself in thought. As he looked up to the planks of wood holding up the building, he stared deeply into it and slowly began to lose himself in the design of the wood, which made him feel as if all of his problems dissolved away into the wood itself.
Just as he was about to drift off into a troubled sleep, however, a voice shocked him back to reality.
"Dempsey?"
It was Sergeant Cleese, who walked in, grabbed a stool from a nearby desk, and sat down right at the side of his bed. "Look, I'm...sorry about the Mayor. He's on edge. We all are."
Nodding, Dempsey wiped his eyes free of the tiredness he was feeling wash over him. "I know, Sergeant. But the man has to understand-we might not be able to hold out on our own! It might not be possible. Does he not see that?"
Cleese nodded at his words, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "You know that the Alliance doesn't care about us. At least...they haven't shown it in the last twenty-something years."
Dempsey sighed loudly, irritation present throughout his voice. "That's because we walled ourselves off from them! Isolation didn't work out too well, did it? It's what me and Crowley and the others were fighting against...what good did it do?"
Cleese smiled at this, clucking his tounge. "Perhaps you're right. I don't rightly know...but even if you did, by some miracle, manage to make it to the Wall, how are you going to get out? It's sealed shut, remember?"
Dempsey smirked a michevious smile now as if he was a child playing a prank on his father once again.
Puzzled, Cleese noticed this and inquired with a thoughtful tone, "What are you up to now?"
Turning his head again to face Cleese, Dempsey smirked a large smile. "It's simple. I'll blow my way out."
Now it was Cleese's time to be surprised. "Blow your way out? With what, imaginary ammunition?"
Laughing now, Dempsey could not contain his delight. "With the explosives that are still inside the Greymane Wall, Sergeant."
Cleese blinked at this revalation, taken aback. "Bombs? How the ruddy hell did you get bombs into the Wall?"
Dempsey sat up now, the pain he felt having vanished several minutes ago. "It was during the Northgate Rebellion, you remember?"
Cleese nodded, motioning with his head for him to continue.
"We had an agent in the garrison stationed there...he helped us smuggle in several dozen barrels of gunpowder into a hidden compartment in the Wall, near the gate. We were going to detonate it as a sign of rebellion against Greymane's isolation and free Gilneas from our prison. The plan was called off when Crowley was arrested, however. Now with the wall sitting abandoned, I figure it is the perfect time as any to do it."
Cleese now looked shocked, his eyes staring at Dempsey now with a mix of anger and disbelief. "You would kill Gilnean troops to prove your stupid political point? And I'm working with you?" he said increduly.
Dempsey sighed, patting Cleese on the plated shoulder. "It was in the past, Cleese. It doesn't matter now...all that matters is that I can get out and help our people. Come with me! We can make it to Ambermill after we blow the Wall, inform the mages there about the events of late, and we'll be able to talk to Stormwind or...whoever else is in charge now in no time. Trust me, my friend...Gilneas cannot remain sheltered forever, or it is doomed to be forgotten in the annals of history."
Sighing, Cleese looked away, toward one of the large windows inside the building. Staring out of it for a moment, he then focused his attention back to Dempsey. "You're right. Even though parts of me say you're wrong, that the King did the right thing to seal us off...you do make a convincing argument. I'm sure that one day, after we've defeated these Worgen, that Gilneas will become a major power again within the Alliance, or..at least what's left of it. But enough dallying, Dempsey..you need your rest. I'll leave you be."
Nodding, Dempsey lay back down. Before he drifted off into a more peaceful sleep, he managed to speak, just before his eyes closed for the final time. "Thank you again, Cleese. You're a good soldier and Gilnean..." Smiling, Cleese got back up and crept out of the room, leaving Dempsey's mind to wander in the vast expanse of sleep.
"DEMPSEY! GET UP!" were the words that shocked him out of his peaceful sleep.
Stirring slightly, he awoke to find Cleese standing at the foot of his bed, but it was not the calm, gruff demeanor of the Sergeant he had gotten to know over the last few days, but one of urgency and fear.
"Hurry!"
Sitting up, he looked around and cleared his head. "What's wrong, Cleese?" Dempsy's eyes were clear enough to be able to see that Cleese was covered in blood and was in full battle stance. "What's going on?" his voice perked up, fear rising to the surface like a tide creeping in.
"We're under attack! The Worgen managed to swarm into Emberstone..they've got us surrounded on all sides. We have to leave, now!"
Shooting to his feet, Dempsey threw on his boots and nodded to Cleese, who motioned him to the door.
After they both left, Dempsey saw what Cleese meant; the streets were total chaos. Dozens, if not hundreds of worgen were swarming in through a breach in the barricade like a non-stop flood; guards were fighting back hard and the streets were covered in the dead and dying beasts. However, many guards also lay dead among them, as well as some civilians. The snipers, Dempsey saw, were picking off the majority of the worgen flooding in through the barricade, but many more managed to indeed get through and wreak havoc upon the population.
Dempsey and Cleese stumbled out of the house and Cleese quickly took the lead. "Dempsey, come on! I've got the boat ready and waiting. I've gathered up a length of rope, as well..if this is going to work we'll need it!"
Nodding, Dempsey followed hurridly after Cleese, who was moving at such a slow pace due to the congestion of chaos surrounding them.
Hastily, Cleese cut down at least two worgen blocking their path, but Dempsey could not see how- they merely collapsed dead at Cleese's feet. Fighting their way further down the way, Cleese threw another worgen off to the side like a toy with his shield, the worgen smashing the ground hard with a sickening thud that Dempsey was sure broke the creature's neck.
Dempsey ran now to keep up with Cleese, who was slashing into a rather large worgen blocking their path. The claws of the worgen were large and thick, much deeper then that of the others - it must be an alpha male, Dempsey thought.
Cleese managed to parry several attacks before slicing the creature across the stomach, sending in recoiling in pain, allowing Cleese to slice up it's stomach, evicerating the creature and causing it's innards to spill all over the ground, followed by the crumpling of the now-dead creature itself. "Hurry, Dempsey! We're almost there!" Cleese pointed down at the riverside toward the small rowboat, and tucked away inside was indeed a large length of rope-perfect for the two of them.
Making their way down to the riverside, Dempsey climbed into the boat while Cleese grunted and groaned, pushing it off the sandbar and into the water.
Cleese was just about to hop into the boat when a loud cry echoed out, and Dempsey saw Cleese's form fly into the water, covered by a worgen who had jumped him from behind. Crying out for Cleese, Dempsey paddled the boat over to where the duo had landed, and scanned the water frantically.
After several seconds, Cleese's head popped to the surface, gasping for air. He grabbed ahold of the side of the boat. "Cleese! I'll pull you up!" Dempsey cried, reaching out with his right hand.
Cleese, however, shook his head. "No, Dempsey! You go..I'll fight off this beast below me..it's trying to destroy the boat!"
Shaking his head frantically, Dempsey responded with an almost authoritarian tone, "No! I'm not leaving you, Cleese!"
Cleese sighed, smiling up at him. "Go! You have to get word out to the Alliance. I'll be fine...I've got this bitch."
And with that, he dove under the water again, and the last Dempsey saw of Sergeant Bernard Cleese were large splashes and howling.
Grasping the oars frantically, Dempsey paddled hard away from the sandbar and Cleese's last location. The loss of the man who saved his life, and someone who he considered a friend-had shaken Dempsey to his core. However, he knew he had to press on, not only for Cleese, but for all Gilneans. He had to make it, or else Gilneas itself might not make it. Dempsey could still see and hear the chaos in Emberstone - artillery was now being used, as he recognized the loud blasts of the cannons that sent worgen howling in pain and, quite possibly, fright. After several minutes of rowing, he managed to reach the other side of the river.
Grabbing the length of rope that Cleese had salvaged for him, Dempsey sat out up the hill and into the forest once again. The sounds of battle still echoed in the distance which unnerved him, as he thought about all those who were dying -Cleese included - to protect those still-sane Gilneans, while he was fleeing into the brush.
"I'm a coward...a spineless coward." Dempsey thought to himself, becoming discouraged by his self-percieved lack of a spine. However, he knew he had to press on as, coward or not, it seemed he was this nation's only hope.
After what seemed like several hours of walking, Dempsey sat for a brief rest on a large rock that he saw in the forest. Panting now, he relaxed slightly-in his mind, he was still exceptionally tense and fearful. After only roughly five minutes, he stood back up and continued on. Looking toward the towering Greymane Wall, he saw his target: a small balcony-type ledge that had bent slightly due to the abandonment of the Wall by it's garrison some time ago. The wood was rotting away, but was still stable; he knew he could use the rope to rapel up the Wall also, due to the chunks of the structure that had fallen out over the years.
"Almost there...almost to freedom." Dempsey said to himself as he continued on.
After walking another several yards, he nearly ran smack-dab into a large wagon that was sitting abandoned near the Wall itself.
Inspecting it curiously, he found it to be a merchant wagon. Walking around one side of it, he noticed claw marks and blood caked nearly the entire right-side of the wagon. Cautious now, Dempsey walked closer to the door of the wagon, but before he got there, he let out a startled yelp; in front of him, on the ground was a worgen. It was dead however-a sword had been run through it's back, and blood coated the ground around it. The worgen was looking up, eyes open even in death, teeth barred and face locked in a permanent snarl.
Dempsey kicked the worgen once to make sure it was dead, and confident it was, moved to the door of the wagon. The door was ripped off of it's hinges, and inside lay the presumed owner of the wagon. He had been evicerated by the claws of a worgen; his innards lay scattered in the wagon, and his chest had been nearly torn open fully by the ferocious creature Dempsey presumed was now dead at the side of the wagon. Staggering back in shock, Dempsey covered his mouth and nose as the smell was overwhelmingly putrid. Panting harder now, Dempsey stumbled away from the macabre scene, rope still coiled around his shoulder, and stomach churning now due to the experience of seeing such a sight.
Dempsey sighed, leaning up against an old oak tree for support. He was nearing the sight of his hopeful escape now, and having left the merchant wagon behind, his mind was finally clear. After a brief rest, he continued on, but, after taking only several steps came across another grizly scene; Tents, roughly a dozen, were set up in a small break in the foilage.
Most of them had been torn open and lay disabled by claw marks. Stepping around the tents, Dempsey saw the true source of the carnage; there were at least a dozen dead worgen littering the area, along with several carts scattered about. Covering his mouth and nose again with his free hand, he stepped carefully over the corpses of the worgen, who also had managed to slay a great many soldiers, who also scattered the field. Most were torn open in some fasion, but some, Dempsey saw, had deep bite wounds.
Looking around, Dempsey spotted a nearby sword inside one of the carts. He stepped into the cart and reached down to take the sword-it was resting in the hands of a dead soldier, who's head had been torn clean off, presumably in the chaos. The smell was overwhelming for Dempsey however, and after he had claimed the sword he stumbled back to the side of the cart, where the smell was less pronounced. Holding the sword now, he smiled as he gave it a few practice thrusts.
"This will go a long way in protecting me..hopefully." he thought to himself as he stepped around the other side of the cart, heading towards the Wall. He wasn't far now, he thought.
But as he left the scene, he took but only one step outside of the carnage and heard a bone-chilling howl.
Grasping the sword, Dempsey gasped and began to panic. He went into a combat stance that he vaguely remembered Crowley teaching him in prison, and looked around, frantic to find the source of the howling. And, just then, as if it was reading his mind, the sound found him. A worgen stepped out of a path off to his left, and faced him.
It stood a good seven feet tall, and wore the tattered garb of a military officer. Blood caked its mouth and teeth, and it's eyes locked onto Dempsey with murderous intent. However, that was not the end of it; two more worgen, one looking decidedly female, stepped out from behind the original one; all wore the same feral, bloodthirsty composure as the first. At this, Dempsey lost all of his nerve, and still with the sword in his hand, ran. The creatures howled and began to chase after him.
Pushing himself harder, Dempsey ran faster and faster to escape the worgen. As he ran, he still held the sword in his right hand and the coil of rope was fastened around his left shoulder. As he ran, he could hear the worgen behind him howling, and soon enough, the footfalls of the worgen grew louder and louder-he knew that there were more joining the original group of three. Panic shot through Dempsey's body, and he was nearly overwhelmed with fear and pain from running for so long and as hard as he was. However, he knew that once again, he could not stop, as stopping even for a brief second meant death at the hands of these creatures.
As he ran, he saw the sight of the rotted balcony on the Wall grow closer and closer; only a few minutes more, he thought to himself, trying to inwardly convince his body to not give up and to give it all that he had left. As he ran, he gave a brief glance over his free shoulder toward the worgen; There were at least two dozen, perhaps more, barreling down behind him. Most of them were standing bipedally; their arms flailed about as they ran, snarling and screaming as they did. A few of them, Dempsey noticed, were down on all fours almost like a pack dog; it was these ones who were much closer to him then the others, he noticed.
At that realization, something happened to Dempsey; his body stopped fighting him for a change and he began to run harder and harder with each step. As he ran, pain shot through his body, but he was so full of adrenaline he ignored it, and due to this, he felt nearly unstoppable. The Wall was now only roughly ten feet away, then five feet, then one foot, and then, he was there.
At the wall, he saw the rotted balcony up close; a large piece of wood hung loose beneath it. It was a perfect place to throw his rope. Frantically uncoiling it, he spun the rope around several times, the cries of the worgen still getting closer and closer, and flung it upward; a miss would mean a death sentance for him. However, the rope connected with the wood and spun around it several times. Sighing with momentary relief, Dempsey pulled on the rope once to test it's strength and, finding that it held, grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself up once.
As soon as he was up, barely a foot off the ground, he used his feet to grapple to the Wall itself, which was very slippery but still stable. He began to climb, slowly but surely, up the wall. The worgen finally reached him, stopping at the wall and swiping up at him, but their claws were too short; they missed him by inches. The pack then began to howl and snarl in frustration as Dempsey climbed higher and higher up. As he climbed, his body shook with pain and every slide his climbed the wall made him want to let go and just give in to the pain. However, he shook it off, and climbed. After several tense, agonizing minutes he was up onto the balcony. He quickly pulled the rope up, which was strangely untouched by the worgen's onslaught, and collapsed onto the balcony, pain shooting through his body rapidly. He groaned and tears ran down his face, both in pain and in relief that he had made it; he was at the Greymane Wall. Sitting down now on the part of the balcony that was still stable, he looked down and saw that the pack was still growing; it was up to at least a hundred of them, howling and snarling still.
"They..just won't give up, will they?" Dempsey wondered aloud to himself. Standing up now, body still in pain, he went over to the large wooden door at the balcony.
He tried to open it, but found it was locked shut. Sighing, he looked around.
"That's just great, isn't it?"
However, he noticed a loose piece of rotted wood off to the side of the Wall. Smirking, he pulled it off the Wall with little effort and began to hit the door with the plank. After several large hits, and each hit causing Dempsey massive pain, the door splintered and finally swung open. Smirking to himself, he picked his sword, which had somehow survived the ascent to the balcony, up off of the ground and gripped it tightly. With the rope coiled around his shoulder once again, Dempsey entered the Greymane Wall.
Collapsing to his knees upon entering it, Dempsey attempted to get his bearings. He began to cough now, and when he spat the contents of his cough onto the ground, found that there was a large amount of blood in it. He knew that his wounds were becoming infected.
"I don't..have much time. I have to get through, though...even if I don't make it, Gilneas will."
Standing up weakly, he looked around. The corridor he was in branched out in three ways; the first way was simply a staircase leading up to, presumably, a higher level of the Wall, and there as both a left and right path.
The Greymane Wall was, oddly, still light with torches even after the abandonment by Greymane's forces. A fine layer of dust covered the area, and also permiated the air, causing Dempsy to cough even more. As he stood there, he tried to remember; during the Northgate Rebellion, he, Darius Crowley, and Vincent Hersham had snuck into the Wall and planted the explosives in a small section of storage on the right-most side of the Wall, which was the section that he was in. Remembering the path he took, he recalled that there was a set of winding staircases that lead down to his destination. Deciding to make his best guess, he went down the left path.
Stepping carefully down it, he noticed the hallway was narrow and, of course, permiated with dust. Doors on his left and right marked some sort of living quarters for the guards who once manned these walls; long since abandoned, many of them still had shoes and boots collecting dirt on the floors outside of them. Making his way down the short hallway, he came to another junction, only this time, there were windows facing out into Silverpine, however, they were boarded up with rotted pieces of wood; presumably, Greymane had done this to prevent his soldiers from seeing the outside world. However, after all of this time of disrepair and abandonment, some of the wooden planks had rotted away, letting tiny streams of light flow into the corridor. Looking down both ways, Dempsey noticed on the left-hand side a staircase leading down.
Figuring that he was on the right path, he went to the staircase and followed it down to a set of doorways. Pushing on them curiously, he found that they were, thankfully, unlocked. Stepping through them, he entered a meeting-room type place; a large table and chairs littered the room, with Gilnean flags still flying, however tattered and mouldy they were now. Half-eaten food also rested upon the table, waiting to be consumed by owners who would most likely never return now. The one thing that struck Dempsey was how many weapons were still here; there was at least one rifle shelf per every room, with at least two rifles and large amounts of pellets rusting and rotting.
"To think, Greymane could've used these to fight the worgen. Instead, he just lets it rot." Dempsey's hatred of Greymane returned again as he saw how careless the ruler had been.
Moving from the briefing room, he headed down another long corridor to a large door at the end. Opening it, it creaked with a loud, shrill sound, almost as if worgen were waiting inside. Dempsey slid inside of the room and saw what he was looking for-the spiral staircase that he and his fellows had used to get to the room with the ammunition. Heading down it carefully, Dempsey almost lost his balance several times and coughed up more blood as he went. He felt weaker by the minute; his breathing was shallow and eratic, and his wounds were pale and some were turning sickly green.
He pressed on, however, and was soon rewarded with the room he needed to be. Inside the room full of crates that were simply rotting, was a small alcove that was used by Dempsey's cohorts to push the explosives down into the storage room. Dempsey gingerly got onto his knees and climbed down into the alcove, dropping down into the storage room with a thud, which stirred up the dust that had settled into the room.
The storage room was lit, but only by one torch-the others having gone out. Dempsy did wonder why the torches were still burning even after the Wall had been abandoned, but he reasoned that Greymane ordered them always lit to make Gilneas seem strong and steady. Getting up, he dusted himself off and looked around. The storage room was stacked high with crates and barrels, all of which had rotted down in some form. Looking around carefully, Dempsey spotted what he was looking for-the explosives. Hidden in large, blue barrels, they were hid off to the side of the rest of the crates. Going over to them and, again, kneeling down tenderly, he looked through them, attempting to see what kind of condition they were in. His happiness turned to bitter dissapoinment when he found that all but one of the barrels had no powder-the powder having presumably turned to ash in the long incubation period. Grunting with frustration, Dempsey moved the now empty-barrels aside with much effort and time, and eventually was looking at the remaining barrel, still with some powder in it, but not much. "
I suppose I can blow a small enough hole in the Wall to get out." he said to himself confidently.
Taking the explosive wire out of the barrel, he ran it around the whole foot length that it was and went over to the torch nearby, which flickered and sputtered as if on it's last legs. He grabbed it out of the socked it was in, and held it in his hand.
"Here's hoping this works."
He went into a small alcove that lead to another door and stood between the thick wall and the storage room, before he tossed the torch behind him and ran behind the wall.
The torch hit the wire, which fizzled out fully within roughly thirty seconds. A loud, thunderous explosion rocked the room, sending Dempsy down due to the force of the blast. After several minutes, Dempsey looked out and saw that his plan had worked...the powder had indeed blown a human-size hole in the floor-also taking out several of the rotting crates with it.
Smirking happily to himself, Dempsey looked around for something to tie the rope off to. Finding a lone nail sitting underneath a fully rotted barrel, he wrapped it around the nail and barrel both, as to not have it break upon his descent. He tied a knot and climbed into the hole, which was a good thirty-five feet down. He threw the rope down, and it descended to about roughly ten feet off the ground. Dempsey sighed as the rope came to a halt.
"Still a bloody long drop...ah well, I can do this."
He took a few deep breaths before he grabbed the rope and slid down. The descent was rapid, as the wind blew against him with nearly enough pressure to blow him off the rope. However, he made it to the end of the rope and promptly fell the rest of the way. But as he fell, Dempsey angled himself to land on his back instead of his stomach, as to minimize his already ravaged body.
As he hit the ground, he blacked out.
"Ugh..."
Stirring again, Dempsey awoke on the stone path that was the Gilnean border. Looking to his right, he saw the oppressive towering gates of the Greymane Wall looming over him like a beast. Smiling to himself, he looked to his left and found himself near a fog-covered marsh-he had made it into Silverpine Forest, and out of Gilneas.
Great pain echoed through his body, and as he looked at his left arm, he saw it was twisted in such a way that he knew the bone was broken. The arm raidiated pain, and Dempsey wept due to all of the pain he was feeling-his infected wounds, his newly-broken arm and his exaustion had taken its toll on the man. However, he could not give up now, being that he was so close to his destination. Getting to his feet slowly and grasping his sword, which had somehow made it down with him, he smiled and staggered away from the Wall. He was free-after so long, he breathed in the Lordaeronian air.
"Even the biggest walls cannot hold the most determined of us, Greymane.." he said with as much sound as he could, which was not much due to his dehydration.
Stumbling into the marsh, he knew he was close to the Dalaran settlement of Ambermill, having heard about it in passing rumors. He knew that Lordaeron had fallen to the Scourge long ago, but he did not see any undead beasts in his path, so he decided it was safe to press on through.
The bog-water did nothing for his pain, but he stumbled through it irregardless. The fog was not letting up-even here, it seems, fog was common. Grasping onto a nearby tree for support, Dempsey heard something in the distance. The sound was almost like a hissing that a cat would make, but it was much lower and much more guttural. Gripping his sword tighter, Dempsey knew he had to be careful. He didn't know what horrors awaited him, but he knew he had to watch his surroundings at all times. After a brief rest, he pressed on, the bog sloshing and squelching under him.
The sound, however, got closer and closer, it seemed. Sword still clutched tightly in his hand, Dempsey finally found a clearing in the fog. He was at the remnants of some kind of house, or structure. Stepping through the "structure", if he could even call it that, he was greeted by the sight of a massive crocolisk.
The crocolisk was a large animal, with large incisors that could tear flesh from bone, and a spiny, armored hide...it had claimed many a careless adventurer in it's day, Dempsey could tell.
The creature noticed him and hissed loudly before lunging at him. Dempsey was ready for it, however, and made a forward slash at the beast as it lunged, severing one of it's whisker-type appendages and slashing it's eye. With a savage roar, the beast flipped onto it's back, frantically trying to stop the bleeding with the water, which flooded over with blood. Seeing his chance, Dempsey stabbed into it's stomach several times, which caused the beast to stop struggling and fall over, blood and other fluids oozing out all over it. Dempsey could not help but feel pity for the creature, but the pity was replaced by determination within seconds- he could not afford any delay. Wiping his sword off in the bog-water, he pressed on.
After several minutes of walking, Dempsey found himself in yet another clearing. The fog seemed to be dissipating, but he could not be sure. Staggering forward weakly, Dempsey knew he had to be close to Ambermill.
"Almost...there...I...will...s-save...Gilneas." he mumbled weakly. His wounds were fully infected, and his left arm was hanging uselessly at his side. Pain was now as much a part of him as breathing was. His senses had suffered from the long journey; his hearing was replaced with constant ringing, his smell was replaced with that of his own putrid skin, and his eyesight was blurry, constantly blurry.
Sighing, he knew he had to press on, however. Stopping for a moment, he leaned against a rotting tree with his sword arm, putting the sword on the ground. Groaning, he attempted, unsucessfully, to clear his vision.
"I..don't..know..how..I..can.c-carry on." he again mumbled to himself, energy leaving him by the minute. It was, however, at that moment, that the silence was broken by the hissing sound of a crocolisk sinking it's teeth into Dempsey's right leg.
Screaming in agony, Dempsey fell to the floor, face landing in a pile of muck. He struggled against his attacker, who only inflicted more damage with each thrash Dempsey made. Trying to reach his sword, he could not; the crocolisk puleld him back just enough to stop him. With his other foot, he attempted to kick the beast in it's face, but could not muster the energy to. As the beast tore through flesh, muscle and almost to the bone, he managed to break free, fast-crawling away. His right leg below the knee was a mangled mess, which slowed him down as he kept falling into tthe muck. It was at that moment that another of the beasts made it's move, sliding through the water and clamping down onto his left side.
Screaming again, Dempsey thrashed, but again, the thrashing only inflicted more pain upon him. The screaming brought another crocolisk to the gathering, who sank it's teeth promptly into Dempsy's right shoulder. Hysterical with pain now, Dempsey tried to get away, but the crocolisks had him in their vice-like grip. He screamed in hysterical agony now as the crocolisks bit into his bones with their jagged teeth, as the one on his side managed to sever a large piece of flesh from him. He coughed up and breathed blood now, as he shook in a seizure-like state of pain as the crocolisks feasted upon him.
The last thing that Sean Dempsey saw was a third crocolisk come upon his prone form and close it's jaws upon his head.
ONE YEAR LATER, IN THE SWAMPS OF SILVERPINE FOREST...
Lord Vincent Godfrey was not happy.
The undead Gilnean nobleman had been through quite a lot in his years, but nothing ranked as high on the irritation list as this. After he took his own life due to the failure of his coup attempt against the now-Worgen King, Genn Greymane, Godfrey had been raised as an undead in the service of the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, Lady Sylvanas Windrunner. Greymane had tried to tell him during his captivity about the cures that had been found for the Worgen, but Godfrey hated the Worgen with a passion and refused to accept them. Now, with his fallen comrades Baron Charles Ashbury and Lord Joseph Walden, who had conspired with Godfrey but had been assassinated by an agent of Greymane's, at his side, the trio was assigned to wipe the remnants of the Gilneas Liberation Front, a worgen resistance group lead by Lord Darius Crowley, Godfrey's old nemesis, off the map.
Usually, Godfrey and his cohorts had been accompanied by a rather irritating Forsaken adventurer, but the adventurer had been called away on duty and it was now up to Godfrey and his men to destroy General Marstone, a Wildhammer Dwarf Shaman who had been aiding the worgen, and commander of the 7th Legion, the Alliance military force sent to destroy them. Trudging through the swamps of Silverpine, Godfrey and his men came to rest. Ashbury stood, arms crossed, muttering to himself while Walden sat with Godfrey.
"Godfrey. Tell me something." piped up Walden.
Godfrey looked over at him with visible irritation. "What? I do not have time for this; I do not even know why we stopped."
Walden smirked and thumbed to Ashbury. "It was his idea. We have things to kill but he wants to stop and smell the roses."
Ashbury scowled and turned to face Godfrey. "Be silent, Walden. Godfrey, we cannot just simply march into the 7th Legion camp and kill the short bastard." he paused to look around cautiously. "We have to make a plan, dammit!"
Godfrey yawned in boredom. "We go in, slaughter the rats, and walk out. There's your plan, Ashbury."
With this, Walden laughed, but Ashbury was not happy. "If you want to get killed...again...that's your call, Godfrey. But I would rather-"
Ashbury's sentance was cut off by a massive crocolisk slithering into the group and lunging for Godfrey. Godfrey cursed and dived out of the way, and the crocolisk splatted down into the mud.
Pointing at the two still standing, Godfrey barked to them, "Kill it! Kill it, you idiots!"
Ashbury drew his sword and stabbed the crocolisk in the soft spot between it's plates and the skin of it's back, which caused it to roar in surprise, which allowed Lord Walden to cast a spell he had learnt years ago, which sent a firebolt into the creature, partially incinerating it. Godfrey got to his feet, helped up by Walden, while Ashbury blinked in surprise and walked over to the burnt remains of the creature.
Godfrey was visibly iritated by Ashbury's decision, and pointed to him as he was searching the corpse.
"If you are looking for a souvenir, Ashbury, I suggest you take it from the Wildhammer."
Ashbury ignored the comment, and instead came back up to his full height several minutes later, while Walden and even Godfrey watched him curiously. Coming up, Ashbury held a severed head in his hands.
The head was heavily decomposed, but still had a large chunk of it's skin still on it.
Godfrey perked up as he looked at the head, motioning for Ashbury to hand it to him. Godfrey looked at the head closely. After a moment, he recognized it.
"I never forget a face, gentlemen...This is the head of a former Gilnean by the name of Sean Dempsey..."
END
