Whispers of the Lich King Stoutmantle and the Familiar Whispers

by ZhadeBell

In Westfall, Gryan hears whispers from the Lich King of an impending doom.

1

A massive, hulking monster blustered forward, swinging his blade and reaping the area in front of him, mowing down his own kin as well as his enemies that were white with fear. He had skin of emerald green and eyes of blood red as though he had been invigorated by some bestial wrath unheard of by average man. The monster rippled with muscle and size, roaring to reveal his gaping mouth and his blade-like tusks. Surprisingly, a young, prime-aged human warrior wearing gray armor and the blue tabard with the golden lion of the Alliance stood before the monster with his own blade, not wavering as his brothers did when the monster began to reap through their ranks. The monster swung his blade forth that reached the length of an arm, but the human knocked it back with his own sword. As the monster recoiled, the human lunged forward and stabbed the monster through the lower chest before removing his blade and leaping back immediately.

The monster only smiled and laughed as his bleeding wound did not even phase him. The color of the blood that shot down was even covered by the massive tattoos that covered the monster's body. The monster stood back as the human swung again, slicing a massive gash across the monster's chest. The human stumbled back and gulped, as the monster gave him a disappointing glare.

"That all you got?" the monster asked.

The human took a deep breath as his eyes widened. This monster would be the death of him if not even one of his strikes could affect it.

"Gryan, brother! To me!'

The human with gray armor looked to see the brown-bearded, brown-haired champion rush to his aid, one in armor of gold. He was of a prime age as well and held a sword much larger than the one issued to Gryan. This warrior the human knew was a famous warrior by the name of Bolvar Fordragon, one who had been known as a powerful soldier of the Alliance military throughout many battles. Bolvar leapt as the monster swung his blade, and the brown-haired knight slashed the monster's neck before falling over. Gryan, the human who had originally challenged the monster, took advantage of the distraction and lopped off the head of the monster who fell to its knees. The monster was dead, and Gryan gasped at what had just occurred.

"Excellent work, Gryan!" Bolvar laughed. He placed a gauntleted hand on Gryan's shoulder as he walked over to see the monster's corpse. "From his tattoos and stature, it seems this one was of the Burning Blade… an orc," Bolvar spoke. "It seems rather strange that a Burning Blade and his gang would be all the way out here in Redridge, but I suspect they may have just been here to harass a few merchants…"

Gryan pointed to another orc's corpse. "What's even stranger, brother, is that his men are of the Blackrock clan." The orc he pointed to had a darker-skin than the orc of the Burning Blade. "I believe he may have come from Burning Steppes."

Bolvar nodded as he bit his lip and stood up. "I shall have to discuss this with Lady Prestor and the other advisors and Stormwind upon my return." He then smiled at Gryan. "But for now, let's just let the Guard handle all the dirty clean-up! Why don't you and I retire to Lakeshire for a drink, old Gryan?"

Gryan shook his head. "I have a duty, sir; I can't just abandon my post for a little merriment."

Bolvar wagged a finger at him. "Well, old man, I am your superior officer, and I command you come with me to Lakeshire to get a drink… We'll say that you were my 'royal bodyguard' for the evening."

Gryan shrugged. "Sounds good enough to me, sir."

Bolvar laughed once more as he wrapped an arm around old Gryan's shoulder and took him off to the local inn of Lakeshire.

Upon entry into the inn, the two sat near a fine window where the two would always sit and ordered the same ale they always drank as they did the same thing they always would do when together—simply talk.

"Stormwind has been in an uproar ever since Varian banished; I needed a break from it all, just something, anything to get me away." Bolvar took a sigh of relief and sat back in the booth. "Lady Prestor and the House of Nobles have made a lot of people angry with the choices they made. And the House of Nobles is in a ruckus simply because Prestor is so stern and obsessive that nothing seems as though it can get done unless you simply concede to her way." He took a heavy gulp of the drink in front of him. "I do have to give the woman credit though, I suppose. She remains level-headed in a big time of stress. At least she didn't just run into the mountains to get out of the troubles."

"Well, the people who rebuilt the fair city have a right to be mad," Gryan spoke, gulping down a little bit of the drink in front of him. He almost vomited from the strong taste. "They built Stormwind again and made it better than before. I do not believe they are in the wrong whatsoever."

Bolvar lowered his head. "I knew that you might say something like that." He adjusted himself. "I asked you to come with me on this Lakeshire investigation for more reason than just tracking down a few orcs, old friend. After the riots in the streets and all the cleaning up we had to do… Lady Prestor exiled the unpaid builders to Westfall. And there's rumors of a possible uprising emerging in the village of Moonbrook."

Gryan's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. "What?"

"The young man, Edwin, leads them," Bolvar spoke. "He was the one who led the builders in their uproar and took the life of Varian's dear Tiffin. There's even speculation that he may have even been the reason for King Varian's disappearance, so that there would be even more unrest in the kingdom. Lady Prestor had placed a bounty on the man's head, and now there are many thugs and hoodlums headed to Westfall, some to hunt the man down and some even to join him."

"Surely you jest, Bolvar!" Gryan scoffed. "Edwin was an honorable man; he had a burning passion for the Alliance that was just as bright as yours or mine! There is no way he could—"

Bolvar shrugged. "I am sorry, old friend. But it is done, and there is not much I can do. Being the Westfall native that you are, I am afraid that I must tell you this, so that you will consider my next decision. I want you to return to Westfall… You will not be demoted from my personal patrol, but you will no longer be serving in the Redridge investigations. It shall be up to you to track down Edwin and bring him to justice or kill him—whichever you believe is best for the kingdom and the people that live in it. It is not much longer before more orcs or demons just spring out, and Lady Prestor puts this issue to rest, so I am afraid you will need to take this burden on your shoulders.

"Westfall doesn't have much of a patrol, only a handful of farmers and their farmhands who barely even know how to wield a pitchfork rather than a sword. I just fear what may happen if Edwin and his rabble-rousers become too powerful, and if they become too much of a threat. That is why I believe you to be the best choice to make on being Westfall's last surviving chance against these criminals. You are someone that the people know, and you have military experience—you know the land like no one else in the Alliance military. You are an extremely talented man, Gryan, and I ask you this not just as your commanding officer, but as your friend. Will you accept this mission?"

Gryan hesitated as his face became solemn; his lips tightened, and his forehead wrinkled. "This is an extremely huge burden…" He looked down and chuckled. "… but it is also an extremely huge honor." He looked back at Bolvar, this time with a smile. "If Westfall needs me to return to them once again, then I shall do it as my duty to the Alliance and so that the great king, Varian Wrynn, may eventually be found and honorably set back upon the throne. But, as for you… old friend… I promise that Edwin and whatever criminals he gathers will not take me down without fighting till my dying breath."

Bolvar boomed and clapped. "That's the hard-headed old bear that I fought alongside in the Third War! Your passion is great, and you are greater!" He stood up, and he hugged Gryan. "And let me make a promise to you as a friend. If you and I ever get a chance, I want you and me to meet up here once more in Lakeshire. We'll come to the same inn, we'll sit in the same booth, and we'll order the same drinks just like the times of old."

"Only if it's on your tab," Gryan replied. The two men laughed the night away.

2

That day had been a distant memory to Gryan, who was now middle-aged and hardened with scars of battle, with a bald head except for a white ring of hair around the lower part of his cranium. He now wore a golden mantle and a new, heavier set of armor and had been promoted to Marshal as well as the head of the Sentinel Hill Guard, a milita that had been created and started officially by him so that Edwin could be hunted down and stopped. Gryan had even been able to travel to the distant continent of Northrend, where he and many brave denizens of Westfall aided the Alliance heavily in stopping the Lich King's campaign in the lush forests of the Grizzly Hills.

Twice, Westfall had been threatened in the past few years. The first time was when Edwin VanCleef, leader of the Stone Masons, had not been paid by the Stormwind House of Nobles. After rioting in the streets, he and his people were thus exiled, to which they retreated into Westfall and began to plan their revenge. Edwin recruited pirates and thugs and various other criminals and set a foothold in Moonbrook known as the Deadmine, where he and his followers, the Defias Brotherhood, had worked for quite some time to create a massive warship that would invade and conquer Stormwind. Gryan built a milita from the people of Westfall's capital, Sentinel Hill, as well as the various farms in the area also threatened by the Brotherhood's presence, gaining leverage over the Brotherhood many times as well as giving Westfall a new hope. Eventually, Gryan would find a group of strong champions that had come from Elwynn and had taken out many of the Defias stationed there, hoping to take down Edwin for the treasure they knew he held. The champions infiltrated the Deadmine, killed the criminals, the goblin engineers, the pirates, and even Edwin himself, bringing the head of VanCleef to Gryan in a bag.

The second time had also been by the Defias Brotherhood, but they had been bolstered this time. VanCleef's daughter, Vanessa, had watched her father's death in front of her own eyes and planned her entire life for revenge. She murdered the ones who took her in, the Saldeans, and sent Westfall into a new chaos as she began recruiting allies from lands and areas outside of Westfall so that she would be able to resurrect the Brotherhood once again. Even recruiting some of her father's former followers, she reopened the Deadmine and began trying to reconstruct the warship that her father had once tried so hard to create. Vanessa would even try to rally the homeless and the drifters that had flocked to Westfall, concerning the denizens even more as the poor shared a similar vendetta with the Stone Masons—they had wanted to be paid. After witnessing the burning of Sentinel Hill, Gryan took the Sentinel Hill Guard, formerly the People's Milita, and gathered what forces he could, even being joined by forces that had joined the Alliance over recent years. His forces invaded Moonbrook, and once more, a group of champions infiltrated the Deadmine and killed Vanessa VanCleef and her followers, once more bringing an end to the Defias Brotherhood.

Gryan ordered the Deadmine to be cleaned and swept of any criminal activity, and that Sentinel Hill be rebuilt from the ground up. He wanted Sentinel Hill to be bigger and better than before, so that the drifters and the homeless could find work and have more jobs. And he wanted Moonbrook to be reopened as a new town, so that people could have a place to live. Westfall had been much better now than what it once had been, and the people thought Gryan Stoutmantle as a hero of their land, having been able to lead the land of Westfall through two of the most difficult times that it ever had.

Nowadays, trouble in Westfall had been quite boring. The Riverpaw gnolls who had fought the Sentinel Hill Guard for so long had all retreated to Elwynn; however, their leader had escaped from Stormwind's stockades and was rumored to be lying low along the coast in a possible scheme to rise again. The murlocs mainly kept to the beaches, but their numbers had also been reduced and thinned, and they seemed to know how truly powerful that the Sentinel Hill Guard was. The goblin engineers were gone, leaving their harvest golems in the fields, abandoned; some gnomes would eventually come in and take the technology for themselves so that they could study it and possibly improve upon it to use against the Horde in the war effort. The kobolds had even gotten out of the way, as most of the mines that they had built throughout Westfall were empty and full of material for the Westfall humans to find and use.

However, Gryan had been feeling strange. He remembered that promise that Bolvar had made some time ago, and it began to bother him for the first time in several years. He had heard of Bolvar's terrible fate in the Wrathgate incident and mourned what he thought was his old friend's death, but this feeling felt as though the old friend's voice was beckoning him to meet in Lakeshire once more. He usually just dismissed it as remorse that had begun to pile up after he left Northrend, remorse that only had just come up after he had focused his full attention in putting down the Defias. Now that he did not have much to worry about, problems of his past seemed to be stronger.

Then, one night, when Gryan had gone to sleep, the feeling only got worse as he saw a dream that he had never seen before.

There was a large, blue-silver platform with white snow beating down upon it like rain. The pale, white-haired knight of undeath, Arthas, the Lich King, lie on the ground dead, a shadow of the golden-haired, bright prince who had once ruled over Lordaeron. An image of a strange man that looked strange to Gryan, like that of the fallen king, Terenas Menethil II, looked at his son one last time and shook his head. Terenas laid his dark son to rest and stood to face another man that had been clad in gold armor.

The old man that Terenas turned to had a long, white beard and a stern look on his tan face. Gryan knew him as a hero of the Second War and a member of the paladins of the Knights of the Silver Hand, who Gryan looked up to ever since he had served as a young man. He was Tirion Fordring, slayer of the Lich King and master of the Argent Crusade. In one hand, Tirion held the glowing, vibrant sword of Alexandros Morgraine—the Ashbringer. On the ground was the helm of the Lich King that seemed to seep darkness like blood and looked as though it were a face all of its own, crafted from the most mysterious materials and metals that may have even seemed almost ancient. Tirion looked closely at the helm and then to Terenas.

"Without the master's command, the restless Scourge will become an even greater threat to this world. Control must be maintained. There must always be… a Lich King," were the chilling words that the image of Terenas stated. The image banished, and Tirion began to lift the helm to his head…

But then a voice stopped him. Upon the throne where the Lich King sat was a being burned and blackened beyond comprehension. He looked as though he had been brutally tortured and in immense pain, but his eyes still burned with a passion as fiery as one that Gryan had known once before. Tirion gasped as he said the name, "Bolvar…", and Gryan groaned, simply thinking that the dream had only become strange, like he had eaten something wrong.

Then the being who had been so badly tortured took the crown and placed it upon his own head; he stated, "If the world must live free of the tyranny of fear, they must never know what was done here today." His eyes glowed with a resounding light that stared deeply into Gryan and caused Gryan to have a painful feeling of loss. "Tell everyone that the Lich King died here today… and tell them that… Bolvar Fordragon… died with him."

That moment, Gryan burst out of bed, sweating and frightened. There was no possible way that… There was a knock on his door.

"The king sent a missive, sir!" the voice of his lieutenant called. "You have a visitor from the royal majesty himself, and he wishes you to treat him with all the honors that Westfall can provide! We have your clothes and armor ready for when you are prepared to come out!"

Gryan sighed. "Thank you!" he called. "Any word as to who this guest is?"
"Unfortunately, no, sir! The missive only stated that he was a foreigner and was extremely interested in the stories Westfall had to offer; he was highly recommended by the Huojin emissaries in Stormwind!"

Gryan groaned. "Not one of them…"

3

Admiral Ripsnarl had been a servant of Vanessa VanCleef when she had resurrected the Defias Brotherhood for the second time and a former prisoner of Sentinel Hill, having been indicted of the murder of his own wife and daughter. He had fought the same champions who killed Vanessa in the Deadmine and stood his ground as best as he could, but he ended up getting defeated in the end. However, he had faked his own death and escaped using his own smoke that he had placed upon the ship. He had regretted leaving the woman who had given him a second chance, but he did not feel as though he should die. He had now taken refuge in an abandoned kobold mine that the Sentinel Hill Guard and the homeless tended to avoid. This morning, he had just returned from a nightly hunt, carrying the meat of a rendered boar in his maw. And when he returned to his hovel, he was surprised.

Two hefty men that were bovine-like, extremely huge, and stout, stood before him. They were tauren, and they grabbed him with their hefty arms, lifting the wolf-like worgen up like he was weightless.

"What is…?! Why are soldiers of the Horde in my hovel?!" the worgen snarled. He growled and hissed and tried to fight his way out.

"Oh, calm down now, dearie, we are not here to take your little home or mess with what you have going on here. We are simply here to have a conversation." A female tauren exited from the shadows, having two long, black braids of hair and two black horns. She wore a gray robe and brown, furry shoulders with a feather-draped helm. She was old from her voice and her aged wrinkles, and her smile to Ripsnarl made even a scary being like the worgen quiver in fear. "My name is Magatha Grimtotem, and I am the leader of the Grimtotem Clan."

Ripsnarl sniffed. "Never heard of you. Are you in the Horde?"

Magatha chuckled and adjusted her braid. "Unfortunately, I am no longer. I tried taking justice into my own hands by letting Garrosh hold the life of the late elder Cairne Bloodhoof in his hands, and he killed the old fool just like what our deal had intended. Garrosh used me as his scapegoat and said that I was the one who murdered Cairne…" She scoffed. "…He was the one who killed the old fool in mok gara! I was merely a bystander!" She shook her head. "Anyway, I come here not as a part of the Horde, but as a representation of the Grimtotem Clan and a few new friends that I have made along the way."

Ripsnarl scoffed. "Friends? Who would be friends with you?"

Magatha caressed the wolf-man's chin. "Well, dear pup, the friends I found were ones who share a lot of interests that I had. Like me, they were once a part of a large mass of people that enjoyed being independent and doing what they wished. They were betrayed by their own people for following a different agenda, and their numbers were then scattered in exile… and they became warped in their ways. I found them as I was travelling from Kalimdor to get away from the Horde bounty hunters and Twilight cultists who wanted my head, and they offered me a new deal. They told me that if I assisted them in capturing the Alliance stronghold of Stormwind so that their true invasion could begin, I would be granted absolute supreme power and redemption for my Grimtotem Clan. However, there was a condition… I had to find and create my own army from the resources that were available around me; this would allow them to see me as a competent ally, and they would then grant me a full spot in their invasion force.

"I came to this farmland from my boat and began capturing the various people that came through here so I could gather information on the area. I heard all about the Defias Brotherhood and the Stone Masons and the true identity of Lady Prestor, but the one who interested me the most out of all these colorful characters was in fact you… you… Admiral Ripsnarl… Admiral James Harrington, war veteran of the Alliance. You gave your people everything, you gave them your life and more, and when you tried to dismantle the power that you thought had caused too much corruption within the Alliance, you were betrayed. You were labelled a 'deserter,' 'scum', 'filth.' The curse you bear ruined your life, and you were thrown into a wooden stockade like you were an example… an example of all those who thought independently within the Alliance.

"I heard about your fighting skills, your experience as a naval-man, and your sharp, bestial ferocity in the heat of battle. We could form a partnership… You would not have to join the Grimtotem Clan, but you could be a part of something much bigger when we finally are able to conquer Stormwind and reap in the benefits. I could even give you Varian Wrynn in chains… I could make him into the most vulnerable little whelp you have ever seen… and I would grant you the blade to end the tyrannical king's life. How does it sound, James? Ripsnarl?" She stepped back.

Ripsnarl gulped and licked his lips. "Well, sorry to say, m'am—your boys here are strong and what-not, but even if I joined you, three tauren and a worgen cannot defeat the entirety of the Sentinel Hill Guard. My former master had an entire plethora of folk join her to take down Varian Wrynn… and Sentinel Hill still beat her. Even when she burned down the town where they lived, the Alliance still prevailed." He chuckled. "You got some sort of super-powerful army?"

"The fish-men, the murlocs, outside this mine would be useful… as are the kobolds that I found not too earlier," Magatha spoke. "The both of them were extremely easy to coax toward my cause. There are also a lot of bodies in the Deadmine… many who died from the Defias Brotherhood, the second Defias Brotherhood, and even more beyond that. If you and I were to reach there, we could summon an entire army of the undead to serve our beck and call."

Ripsnarl scoffed. "How are you going to resurrect the dead? You don't seem like the necromancer type."

Magatha stepped aside so that a pale, gray-skinned being could step out. The being wore a skull over his head and had a long, white beard. He wore a long, blue robe and had an extremely slim, almost skeletal body. Behind him came a walking skeleton that clattered with every step that it walked.

"This is another friend I made along the way on my journey," Magatha spoke. "He was offered the same deal as me. His name is Everen, and he is one of the last remaining members of the Cult of the Damned."

Ripsnarl winced and gulped. He bit one of the tauren to let him go and threw down a smoke bomb to cover the entire mine. The worgen leapt out of the taurens' grip and began to run for his life. He dropped the boar that he had successfully gotten from his hunt and hurried as fast as he could, using his bestial movement to assist him in his run. Suddenly he stopped and whined as a great pain echoed in his head. His heightened hearing only made it hurt more.

"The Alliance will never accept you back," the voice of Mrs. Harrington, Ripsnarl's wife, whispered into his head. "No one will ever accept you back after the atrocities you have caused, you soulless monster." An image of her wearing a funeral veil, with tears running down her face, appeared before the worgen's eyes, as she stood over a grave bearing the name of his daughter. "You could have avoided the deaths of both your child and your beloved wife. You could have avoided becoming the monster that you are. You could have avoided every last mistake you could have ever made." She let out a loud scream. "Why did you do this to us, James? Why did you leave your family to die while you pursued your terrible curse?"

Ripsnarl howled and began to weep as a trio of skeletons began to emerge around him. He fainted, but before the skeletons could lift him up, a member of the Sentinel Hill Guard took the skeletons down with her sword and looked at the unconscious wolf-man with a look of shock, disgust, and remorse.

Gryan Stoutmantle stood at the main tower of Sentinel Hill and saluted with each of his lower officers stationed below him standing in a triangle formation as the cart escorting the royal guest of King Varian himself finally arrived. The cart came to a stop, and many servants carrying crates and scrolls as well as the guard escort stood aside to assist the guest in exiting the cart. The draped pulled aside, and Gryan let out a minor groan (thankfully unheard by everyone around him).

A pandaren exited with a short black fuzz of hair atop his head and a long, black, braided beard that he stroked as he walked. He wore a black robe covered in a bronze ring pattern, and under his arm, he carried a massive statue of jade that most men would probably collapse under trying to bear the sheer weight. The pandaren still carried this object as an extension of himself and showed it proudly to the people around him as if it were as great as legends sung all about a famous hero.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stout-Man!" the pandaren exclaimed, waving his free paw. "I am Jojo Ironbrow, of the Huojin Pandaren!" He tried to bow while not dropping the jade statue he carried. "The pandaren know about the strange occurrences having been reported in Westfall, and so we have come to help!"

Gryan scoffed. "Well, you're about a year late, bear-man. The Defias Brotherhood has died twice, and Sentinel Hill is even stronger than it ever was before. Westfall is in no danger that the Sentinel Hill Guard cannot handle itself."

"That is where you may be wrong, Stout-Man," Jojo replied. "A few of our monks and the jinyu water-speakers of our group have started having strange visions as of late. Not being the history buff that I am, I drew the figures down on scrolls and tried to read… though it was hard. And I knew who the beings in the vision were. There was Tear-On Ring and the Leech King and Ter-ran-ass… But the one who disturbed them all the most was one named Bowl-Art Thorn-Dragon."

"Bolvar Fordragon?" Gryan gasped.

Jojo nodded. "I see that you really do know." He chuckled. "Anyways, this vision has been making them all act strangely, and a few of the monks and water-speakers asked that someone specifically come here to Wes-Fell so that we could find a solution to this problem. You ever seen a pandaren or a jinyu that can't sleep, Stout-Man? It's not a pleasant sight… or a pleasant smell."

Gryan sighed and turned around. "Get Mr. Ironbrow settled, and go get him a good meal," he commanded his men. "I shall be in my quarters for the rest of the day. I wish Mr. Ironbrow to be sent to my quarters within two hours. Dismissed." He left and began to walk up the staircase of his tower.

4

Ripsnarl awakened, groaning in pain. He looked up to see the metal bars in front of him as well as the human woman bearing the armor and colors of the Sentinel Hill Guard. She had long, brown hair and bright brown eyes.

"Once Gryan knows about how you escaped, he will be extremely furious," the woman spoke. "This time, you may end up getting executed."

"And who are you to be so confident?" Ripsnarl sniffed.

"I am Protect Deni, of the Westfall Brigade and of the Sentinel Hill Guard," the woman stated. "And by authority of my law, I hereby place you under arrest, James Harrington, for not just the previous crimes you have indicted of, but also the crime of escaping judgment and resisting arrest."

"There are a lot of other problems than just me out there right now," Ripsnarl gulped. "You need to tell the old man immediately…"

"If you are referring to some new set of allies you have, then don't even bother," Protector Deni sneered. "We have already killed the Defias Brotherhood twice; a third would merely be a walking corpse!"

"Protector!" The door to the jailhouse burst open. A middle-aged farmer rushed in. "Protector, I need your help!" He acted frantically until Protector Deni hit him and coaxed him down.

"What is happening?" Protector Deni asked. "If James Harrington murdered someone close to you, it is already taken care of; he will be executed soon."

The farmer shook his head. "No, m'am, it was not him. It was a necromancer… He surrounded my farm with skeletons and killed all of my farmhands and even my wife. Somehow he's taken Moonbrook even… and the murlocs and the kobolds have joined them."

Protector Deni hurried outside to see Moonbrook. The Sentinell Hill Guard camp was filled with skeletons, kobolds, and murlocs that seemed to surround the camp with sheer numbers. The protector looked to see that many of the Guard, for some reason, were asleep and unmoving… like they were under some sort of spell.

Protector Deni marched back into the jailhouse and bit her lip. "Damn."

"I recommend that you let me free and don't look back," Ripsnarl growled. "I am not much of a threat compared to them if they were able to conquer Moonbrook so easily. They want the Deadmine… and they want the corpses within it. Vanessa and Edwin may even be unburied… The Defias Brotherhood may even come back stronger than ever before if this is not stopped."

Protector Deni looked away from him. "We are going to Sentinel Hill, and we are going to warn Gryan Stoutmantle about this," she stated. "James, you're coming too so that we can deal with you later."

Gryan and Jojo sat down at a small table, tending to pandaren wine that made Gryan almost faint from the smell alone.

"Please, Stout-Man, tell me everything about Mr. Thorn-Dragon," the pandaren spoke. "Being a pandaren, I will of course listen fully with an open mind, and when you finish, I will determine the next best course of action then."

Gryan chuckled. "All right, cub, I'll humor you." He bit his lip. "Bolvar was always an old friend of mine. "I was originally drafted into the Alliance military during the Third War. I did fight a few demons here and there, but I never really got many exceptional titles or ranks. Bolvar was my commanding officer at the time and then even on, as when our squad was formed, our squad could never drift apart no matter how much the military advisers tried to separate us. Bolvar and I were like brothers from the start—we shared the same interests, we fought like we had the same fighting style, and we always tried to chase the same women… except for Lady Prestor, of course." He chuckled. "After the Third War, we mainly spent our time in the Redridge Mountains. A few wayward orcs who desired retribution after the Second War and maybe just a few looking to cut off a few heads, had started swarming out of Blackrock Mountain. With Lakeshire being the nearest and weakest Alliance outpost they could find, it of course was the target ripest for the slaughter. Eventually, some troubles came up in Stormwind, so Bolvar had to go there, and some troubles came up in Westfall, so I had to come back here. After several years, we both went to Northrend when the Lich King came to power; I thought that we coulda gotten back together then. Duty kept us apart, and Bolvar died in a territorial battle when the Horde's undead allies betrayed them and poisoned many of their own men as well as many loyal hearts of the Alliance. I tried to mourn Bolvar, but cleaning up my work in Grizzly Hills only to transition back to Westfall and find that there were even more deaths waiting for me prevented me from getting the proper closure I needed. I think that these dreams I have been getting are just normal circumstance—you know, when you feel as though you need to do that one last thing, and your mind just keeps biting at you to do it."

"Well, you know that we pandaren do tend to be extremely superstitious… as we not only commune with the spirits of the nature and the world around us, but we can also commune with the spirits of those who have left this world such as our ancestors did," Jojo spoke. "A monk's meditation is just like your human priests' visages during holy ceremony, but pandaren mainly use it to commune with long-lost relatives to do something such as gain blessing for marriage for acquire rights to a lost property. However, I am of a much different breed, Stout-Man. I am interested in learning the whole story… the whole truth. And not many pandaren are aware of who Mr. Thorn-Dragon is… so as to why his spirit would be contacting my people is an extremely weird notion."

"If your theory is true, he probably only comes to us because of the fact that the other main Alliance leaders are all concerned with that event that happened in the Blasted Lands… Their heads aren't in this world at the moment." Gryan scoffed. "But from the dream, Bolvar does not seem to be a spirit; he is a walking corpse, an undead. He is still in his physical body or at least some terrible experiment performed on him by the Lich King… "

Suddenly a pain jolted through Gryan's head, and he yelped. "The Lich King calls to you! Obey!" a voice shouted. "One of my underlings has defied my commands! He must be stopped! He must be destroyed!"

"Bolvar," Gryan groaned.

Jojo tried to assist, but Gryan threw even the sturdy pandaren back in a sudden burst of strength.

"Westfall is once more under threat, old friend," a chilling voice whispered to Gryan. "And once Westfall burns to the ground, an even greater threat shall come to Azeroth, one greater than both my Scourge and the Iron Horde that the Alliance has chased after so much."

"The Scourge?" Gryan hesitated. "Are you the Lich King?"

"Yes… It is also me…Bolvar Fordragon. I bore the helm of the Lich King so that no other mortal would have to carry such a burden of undeath. I rally the Scourge now so that we may be able to be used as a weapon against this new threat, but I will need all the help I can get to keep the more rebellious dogs under control. One of the necromancers who served me, of the Cult of the Damned, has invaded Westfall… He serves the Naga and their masters… and he will do whatever it takes to bring down the Alliance. The Deadmine is a source full of power and unlimited potential with all the corpses ripe for the curse of undeath… You must take your allies and go there… Find the one, Everen… and kill him."

"Bolvar, I have not seen you in years," Gryan spoke, almost in tears. "I have so many questions for you!"

"Westfall is your first priority," the chilling voice replied. "Destroy the necromancer who has defied me, and then I shall answer whatever question you wish." The voice banished as Gryan turned to Jojo.

Jojo lifted his jade statue weapon. "We can discuss the visions later…"

Behind him was Protector Deni with a look of desperation on her face. She looked at Gryan like a frightened, lost child, and Gryan groaned.

"Where is the necromancer?" Gryan asked.

"There is trouble happening in Moonbrook," Protector Deni replied. "There is a spell that has knocked the entire Sentinel Hill Guard except for the three of us unconscious."

"Do you have any men with you?" Gryan asked.

"Only a frightened farmer and a face from your past," Protector Deni spoke. She stepped aside so that Gryan could see the worgen, James Harrington—Admiral Ripsnarl.

"I can fight for Westfall this one time," Admiral Ripsnarl spoke to him. "A worgen's bestial ferocity and human mind can be useful to anyone."

Gryan nodded. "Release the worgen from his chains for now. Mr. Ironbrow, would you be willing to join our fight?"

Jojo nodded and smiled widely. "That is why I brought my most powerful weapon with me, Stout-Man."

"You're joking, right?" Protector Deni scoffed. "We can't use James! He's a prisoner!"

"Well, for right now…Westfall is our first priority," Gryan Stoutmantle replied, withdrawing his sword.

5

Everen stood in the Deadmine where many had fallen and began to usher a circle of arcane magic around him. He ushered a set of ancient words, and in an instant, many skeletons and ghouls of fallen miners and pirates began to answer his call. He casted and casted until 99 undead servants soon served him… Finally, the corpse of an old tauren, Mr. Smite, came alive, and he roared, "We're under attack! Repel the invaders—! "When he saw Magatha Grimtotem, he immediately kneeled and spoke, "Mistress! I am so sorry!"

Magatha chuckled. "It is alright, Smite, my dear child. You have been asleep for quite some time, and frankly, my dear, it is about time you awakened. I need you to lead my new army just like you led many of the Grimtotem so long ago."

Mr. Smite nodded and stood up. "I will, Mother Grimtotem! I do whatever I can for the mistress!"

Everen groaned and pointed beyond Moonbrook.

"What, Everen, dear?" Magatha cooed. "Your sleeping spell put the Sentinel Hill Guard into rest; they won't be much of a threat, even if they mustered some sort of resistance. We have the murlocs and the kobold and now even 100 undead soldiers ready to serve. I highly doubt that any pathetic army they send will bring us down so easily."

Gryan Stoutmantle, Protector Deni, and even Jojo Ironbrow and Captain Ripsnarl began moving towards Moonbrook. Behind them marched a small army of the homeless and drifters that Gryan had rallied to the defense of Westfall, granting them weapons from Sentinel Hill storehouses. Though the drifters and homeless did not know particularly well how to use said weapons, they still desired to defend Westfall with their very lives.

Murlocs and kobolds gathered around Moonbrook as undead began moving forward, holding screaming living hostages and looking onward with interest as their victims tried to wrestle or fight away from the undeads' powerful grips. Mr. Smite stood at their forefront, brandishing a cutlass, being ready to take on all who ran forth to challenge him.

"Mr. Smite!" Gryan and Ripsnarl exclaimed.

"I shall take out the cow-man," Jojo offered. "The rest of you tend to the others. Free as many Westfall denizens as you can!"

"No, bear-man, Mr. Smite belongs to me," Captain Ripsnarl growled. "The best thing to fight a pirate with is another pirate…"

"I agree with the admiral!" Gryan exclaimed. "Deni, Jojo, take your groups, and follow me! We fight until reinforcements can arrive!" He and Deni and Jojo charged into the village of Moonbrook as Ripsnarl hurried like a wolf toward Mr. Smite.

Mr. Smite challenged him with his cutlass, chuckling as the wolf came closer and closer. Ripsnarl appeared at one angle, and with his cunning, moved to another one before the undead tauren could even notice. Ripsnarl gashed Mr. Smite's back easily and leapt back before the undead tauren could swing his cutlass around.

Two ghouls saw their master in pain and attacked Ripsnarl from behind, cracking their mining picks over the worgen like whips. They threw Ripsnarl to the wall, and Mr. Smite lumbered into the wolf-man, crushing him with his massive girth. The two fell through the wall as Mr. Smite cute Ripsnarl's shoulder wide open before the worgen could recover. Mr. Smite lifted the worgen and slammed him against the wall once more… but then Ripsnarl became covered in smoke. Mr. Smite dropped him and looked around confused. The two ghouls fell instantly as Captain Ripsnarl stole Mr. Smite's cutlass and stabbed it clean through the tauren's chest.

Mr. Smite fell to his knees, but before Ripsnarl could deliver the final blow, Ripsnarl's wife appeared once more.

She furrowed her lip. "Typical of you, James. You're just going to kill this one, too? You really are a monster, aren't you?"

"You already know I regret the very day I got that curse…" Ripsnarl spat.

"Then prove it, you worthless lout," his wife spoke before turning away. "Show me how loyal you truly are to your cause!"

"Alright…" Ripsnarl withdrew a bomb. "I created this as a last resort for an occasion like this… And sweetie, this time, we're going together."

Everen turned over to see a house in Moonbrook that exploded and burst into flame before him. He groaned as he realized that Mr. Smite was now gone. The worgen, Admiral Ripsnarl, had killed the undead Mr. Smite and himself in a giant explosion.

Everen turned to see Gryan hurry toward him, and Everen began to cast once more. Gryan lifted his blade, but another pain began to stop him.

"Release him, you traitor!" the Lich King shouted.

"I am afraid I cannot so easily adhere to your demands…" Everen's voice echoed in return. "Since the fall of Scholomance and the deportation of the val'kyr, you have grown weak, my liege… Too much of your humanity remained when you took the Frozen Throne. Too much of your conscience still reeks within your morality."

"What?!" Gryan fell back. His jaw dropped. "That dream… That… Bolvar? So what happened was true…"

There was a brief pause.

Everen chuckled. "Honestly, dear human, I am quite surprised that you did not figure things out sooner; Bolvar and Tirion Fordring have been trying to keep the Scourge's fate a secret for quite some time. Bolvar was simply lucky that the Scourge had been beaten and separated so much that there weren't any undead who could spread his secret. Whatever undead did not want a moral leader went off to follow the Forsaken under the Horde banner… But then there are the ones like me who got bigger and better offers… The Burning Legion needs ways of entering this world… and when Kel'Thuzad was powerful enough to summon Archimonde without much trouble, Sargeras immediately became interested in what potential the Cult of the Damned and necromancers had to offer. The Naga rescued me from an Alliance police force… and in return… I offered to teach them all whatever necromancy they wanted to learn."

"So the dream actually did happen?" Gryan stammered. "And what this man says is all true?"

"Yes," Bolvar replied. "However, I am not corrupted as Arthas once was. When I bore the crown, my humanity overpowered the corruption that tried so hard to take me over once I sat upon the Frozen Throne. It was hard to fight it off, of course, because Arthas had tortured me beyond belief… but my passion to defend those I cared about outweighed my own personal desires for greed and power. The Scourge is but a fleeting memory, as most have begun to form their own independence or begin following the fallen Sylvanas Windrunner, of the Forsaken Horde. However, the Lich King is still alive, and when the invasion of the most evil forces come to Azeroth, I wish to use the Lich King's power to combat it. However, I needed allies… and from all the people I contacted… you, old friend… you and the pandaren were the only ones who would listen."

"Bolvar…" Gryan gasped.

Everen returned to casting his spell only to suddenly stop in mid-casting. Protector Deni's sword went through the distracted necromancer's chest, and Everen coughed up blood. Everen fell over dead.

"The enemy's leader is at the town hall!" Protector Deni reported to Gryan. "Jojo has gone to track her down and finish this madness off once and for all!"

Gryan took a deep breath and nodded. "Good. Help me clean up the area a bit and find whatever victims or wounded remain."

"Yes, Marshal Stoutmantle!"

"Mother, please don't leave us!" one of the tauren complained.

A red wind serpent had flown down and lifted Magatha Grimtotem from the air to carry her off.

"I am sorry, my dearies!" Magatha called back. "But my plan has failed, and the Grimtotem shall have to rebuild from the ground up once more! Be good when the Stormwind judges condemn you to death!"

Jojo knocked both tauren unconscious with his jade statue and yelled a curse in the pandaren language up toward the sky as Magatha Grimtotem made her escape.

6

The Sentinell Hill Guard began to awaken as guards from Stormwind and monks of the Huojin disciplined pandaren crowded into Westfall the next morning. When the necromancer had fallen dead, the corpses he had reanimated simply fell with him, leaving the murlocs and the kobolds to be easily tracked down and apprehended. Admiral Ripsnarl and 15 of the homeless and drifters had fallen in the battle, and Mr. Smite had also fallen, though his body was never recovered among the ashes of a burnt building. The Deadmine was then sealed off so that an investigation could be held as to the events that had transpired.

Gryan Stoutmantle, Protector Deni, and Jojo Ironbrow all stood before the blond, adolescent, holy prince of Stormwind himself, Anduin Wrynn, son of Varian Wrynn. Anduin looked upon the weary and exhausted figures before him and smiled.

"Gryan, it is an honor to meet you; my father informed me of the strong leadership you showed in some of the most difficult events that Westfall has ever had to go through," Anduin addressed the marshal. "You even brought the one who killed my mother to justice…" He bowed his head. "And I thank you for that."

Gryan kneeled. "A thousand pardons, your master, but I am honored you think of me so highly."

Anduin raised a hand to stop him. "The Alliance needs people as passionate and strong-hearted as you and your followers. And after the events that have happened here tonight, I wish to leave behind a small set of builders to help Westfall rebuild. Sentinel Hill will become a new Alliance stronghold, and the Deadmine will be turned into a port for trade with Stormwind once Stormwind's dock has been fully repaired. I will also leave behind a small token force of sentries to ensure that criminal activity here is lowered at least a little bit." He turned to Protector Deni. "For your efforts of slaying a necromancer that had been a huge threat to the entire Alliance, I wish you to gain a promotion. Would you like to return to Stormwind and become a lieutenant of my father's royal military?"

"I am sorry, my liege, but I must decline," Protector Deni spoke. "Westfall is my home and my priority. I cannot abandon her so easily."

Anduin nodded. "I shall leave whatever reward you get up to Mr. Stoutmantle then. And as for you, Jojo Ironbrow…" He smiled. "I'll have the chef prepare your favorite sweet rolls for when you attend the royal pantry this evening."

Jojo smiled back. "I shall finish my business here and join you and your father at the dinner table when I am ready, Your Highness."

Anduin chuckled. "As for you, Greyan Stoutmantle, I leave you once again as the grand leader of Westfall. The people I leave behind are yours to command, and the progression of Westfall as a stronghold shall be entirely up to you. After all you've been through, I know that it shall be a task worthy of a man of your caliber." He said his farewells, and he turned and departed back to Stormwind.

Gryan returned to his tower in Sentinell Hill and said his hearty thanks to Protector Deni. "Whether Admiral Ripsnarl truly gained redemption or not, we will never know… but he did have his second chance, and I thought he did it well," he spoke to the protector. "Can you look after Moonbrook for me in my stead?"
Protector Deni smiled. "I have lived in Moonbrook for quite some time, sir. I can do many things with it…And as for what James Harrington did… Well… He may never be a hero, but I have a lot of newfound respect for the things he did."

Gryan and Jojo then went together back to the dining room where they originally talked.

"I guess Mr. Thorn-Dragon was simply trying to give the entire world a warning?" Jojo spoke.

Gryan nodded. "Hopefully, the prince listened to what we had to say when we explained everything… Hopefully his father understands. I can fortify Westfall as best as I want, but I have faced the Burning Legion before, Mr. Ironbrow. I have seen them conquer territories in a matter of minutes… We are going to need all the allies we can get."

"Well, friend, Westfall now has the Huojin pandaren monks to assist them," Jojo assured Gryan Stoutmantle. "And I guess… we have Bolvar to thank too."

Gryan gasped. "Bolvar!"

"The curse of undeath has grown slightly weaker this day, and for that, I have to thank you, old friend," the voice of Bolvar whispered into Gryan's head. "But if the Forsaken Horde continue to go about their ways, and if the Naga and their allies are not able to perform their actions, I think that hope for the world can still be maintained. Be wary of Duskwood, Gryan… Be wary of Gilneas… and be wary of what threats remain to come." The voice slowly faded as Gryan's awakened state faded. Gryan collapsed on the floor, and he fell to sleep.

Jojo chuckled. "I guess pandaren ale is pretty powerful then, if he fell that quickly."