-1World of Warcraft: Darkness Reborn
Prologue
I am Nozdormu, the Sleeping Guardian.
I see what mortal eyes cannot, know what mortal minds could never comprehend
Much has changed in the world since that time.
The time of the Great Azeroth War.
Azeroth itself was doomed to annihilation when the undead evil of the Scourge horde, led by the dread lord Lich King, invaded and spread its plague across the land. Together with the demonic forces of the Burning Legion, the Scourge swept aside everything that stood in their way, threatening the human, dwarven, night elf, and orcish races that called Azeroth home.
The human kingdoms of Stormwind and Lordaeron flourished and prospered before the invasion, but Lordaeron was one of the first regions to suffer. Even as its two greatest heroes, Prince Arthas and Uther the Lightbringer, tried to rally Lordaeron's forces to halt the Scourge's advance, all was lost. In the end, maddened by desperation and grief, Arthas slipped into insanity and was seduced by the power of the Lich King. As a death knight, the greatest of them all, he slew Uther and his own father, the king of Lordaeron leading the Scourge to complete victory. As if this was not horrific enough, he soon turned against the Lich King himself, destroying him and assuming his title which he still carries today.
Were it not for the alliance formed between the remaining humans and the rest of Azeroth, the rest of the world would have suffered a similar fate. In one shining moment in history, the races of Azeroth laid aside their differences and quarrels and banded together to destroy the Scourge and the Burning Legion. Even the orcish Horde, who once made war with the humans, took up arms in defense of their land. But as is the way with many things, time wore these friendships and new alliances away. Amidst the jubilation that followed the Scourge's defeat, the fragile pact between the Alliance and the Horde deteriorated. It was only by pure fortune that war did not break out again.
Even now, tensions mount and hostilities renew in secret, but these threats pale in comparison to what lies beneath the surface.
I see the corruption and darkness that rises once more.
It begins with a boy.
His parents were revered paladins in the service of Uther during the War, both believed to be slain when Lordaeron fell. Since then, he has resided amongst the priests of Northshire Abbey, deep within Elwynn Forest, oblivious to the heavy hand of destiny looming over him.
I am Nozrdormu, Keeper of Time.
And my story begins with Marcus Ebonlocke.
Chapter One
Dawn in Northshire was always a breathtaking sight. The newborn sunlight embraced the canopy of the forest, trickling down into the meadows surrounding the Abbey like soft golden rain. Morning songbirds of all sorts combined their voices to create one joyous symphony. It was glorious, the perfect picture of tranquility and peace that only Northshire was famous for.
The priest and paladin disciples who trained and studied in the Abbey were renowned for being as shrewd and well-mannered as the elders and veterans who taught them. For hundreds of years, long before the great wars that saw the fall of Lordaeron, that was the norm. But now, as the people within the Abbey roused and went about their daily chores, there was one upon whom the pleasures of such a beautiful morning were wasted.
The building's halls were still and silent, but only until a book slammed violently shut and a sigh of resignation drifted from within the largest room, the library.
Marcus Ebonlocke was exhausted.
Since two hours before dawn, he had been confined to the Abbey library, ancient textbooks and scrolls his only company. Now, even as sunlight flooded through the open windows and into his weary eyes, he could only scowl and groan. Damn Father Paxton! He had been quick to administer this punishment, and even though Marcus endured it almost every day the devout Father continued to believe that one day it would break his rebellious spirit. Because in all fairness, a rebel was what the boy was.
Much to the dismay and frustration of the elder priests, he seemed more willing to defy their teachings than to embrace them. From the day he could stand, talk and walk, he had been more a burden then a blessing in their eyes. The only one who seemed to believe he could be salvaged was Father Paxton himself. The kindly Father had followed the parting wishes of Marcus' parents to the letter, imparting all his knowledge and wisdom to the boy in the hopes that he would grow to become a true cleric of the Light.
Alas, much of this tireless effort and instruction had fallen on deaf ears. For Marcus only seemed to take interest in the history of the Great Wars and the unholy teachings of the now-extinct Burning Legion. Even Father Paxton knew that if he ever became enthralled by such dark knowledge, he would shun the Light and become a warlock, an evil demon worshipper consumed by shadow and darkness. For now, however, shadow and darkness were the last things on Marcus' mind.
He shoved the enormous pile of texts in front of him away, running his hands through his thick, crimson-coloured hair in relief. His penance had finally been served. He rose from the table slowly, eager to avoid the rest of the day's lessons and spend the entire day, glorious as it was, in his dormitory room. But this was not how it was to be.
The creaking of the library doors as they swung open caused him to whirl around so fast he nearly lost his balance. He was strong and well-built for one his age, but his reflexes and gracefulness left something to be desired.
He relaxed almost instantly, however, when he saw his friend Ellorne standing in the doorway, smiling warmly.
Ellorne was not an Abbey apprentice. In fact, she wasn't even native to Northshire. When Marcus last heard from her, she had sought her fortune in the great city of Stormwind, though what exactly she had been doing there was a mystery to him. Everything about her practically radiated mischief and independence, from her long, unkempt black hair and brilliant green eyes that matched those of Marcus, to her slender but athletic body. Perhaps it was this trait that caused the two of them to bond so quickly and remain firm friends since the day they met, years before.
Before Marcus could mumble a reply or greeting, Ellorne shook her head and laughed aloud.
"Hard at work again, I see" she remarked in a playful, sarcastic tone. For the first time in several days, Marcus allowed himself to smile.
"Yeah, Paxton made sure of that last night" he sighed, shrugging dismissively.
Another laugh from Ellorne, louder than the last. "That's Father Paxton to you, isn't it? Respect for one's elders never cost anyone anything, Marcus"
"Easy for you to say! You're not even from Northshire, and you don't have to put up with his lecturing and scolding all day long!"
"True, but I'm two years older than you. Figure that one out, genius"
They both laughed heartily, drawing some puzzled looks from apprentices passing by the library.
Marcus leaned heavily against a shelf stacked high with massive tomes, staring straight across the room at Ellorne. "So what brings you all the way up here, Ell?" Ellorne toyed with a long knife drawn from her belt, tossing it deftly from one hand to the other.
"Oh, this and that, you know," she replied casually, "but mostly keeping an eye on you and making sure you haven't been thrown out yet. Actually, Father Paxton wanted to see you about something. I don't know how he knew I'd come here, but then again there's a lot of things about that old man I don't know"
Marcus sighed in resignation and rolled his eyes. "Probably wants to give me one of his "Why won't you ever listen to me" lectures. I've heard it all before" Ellorne couldn't help but smile.
"Well, if and when that's all taken care of, I'll be around here for some time" She gave Marcus a playful wink. "If he throws you out, I'll take you in" With lightning reflexes she ducked as Marcus hurled a seat cushion at her, chuckling as he did so.
"Sounds good to me. See you later, then" And with that, Ellorne vanished and Marcus was alone once more. Only when she was around did he really allow himself to be in a pleasant mood. But now, realizing he had nothing left to look forward to except for facing Father Paxton's wrath, the gloom returned.
Oh well, he thought to himself, what's the worst that can happen?
Chapter Two
As was commonplace on a summer afternoon, Father Paxton sat in meditation on the lawns of the Abbey courtyard. The faint mists produced by the cobblestone fountains in the central area washed gently over him, soothing his mind and body. He only opened his eyes when the sound of timid, shuffling footsteps reached him.
As deeply as Marcus resented and spited the Father, he still never failed to feel humiliated in his presence. He looked every inch what he was, a wise and powerful priest. Though he was well on in years, one would not know it by merely looking at his face. It was weathered, but showed no signs of aging or wrinkling at all. When he finally stood to acknowledge Marcus' presence, he easily dwarfed him, his pearl-white robes flowing and rippling in the gentle breeze. In his rust-brown apprentice's robe, Marcus felt small and insignificant. Too much so, in fact, to even remember to bow as the Father approached him. He dared not look up, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the ground and his head lowered, hiding the shame in his face.
Paxton regarded him with reproving eyes, studying him, as if searching the boy's soul. When he spoke, he did so in a deep, flowing voice that only a man half his age should have.
"Your lack of respect and punctuality is never appreciated, Marcus, but always expected"
"Sorry, Father" mumbled Marcus in a voice barely above a whisper.
Paxton looked down on him, like a disappointed father scolding his child. "How do you expect me to protect and defend you from the scorn and mistrust of the elder priests when you constantly shame and disappoint me?"
"I don't know, Father"
"I suppose you don't know why I even bother to devote myself to training and disciplining you when there is no sign whatsoever that you appreciate it, or are taking my lessons to heart"
Marcus was so embarrassed he would give anything to be anywhere else but where he was now. "No, Father, I don't"
Paxton sighed deeply and shook his head. "Then I suppose it is time I tell you some things I've been reluctant to disclose until now. Secrets, if you will, that I have kept hidden from you your entire life" Here he paused, gently lifting Marcus' chin with his fingertips until his soft gray eyes met Marcus'. "Things about your parents"
He saw the boy's eyes widen and his jaw tighten, but he remained where he was, meeting the older man's gaze. Paxton patted his shoulder, slowly pacing around him as he continued.
"Your mother and father, Light rest their souls, were without a doubt the most honourable people I had ever met. They came here with you when you were mere months old, which is probably why you cannot remember anything about them. Marcus, I have noticed that you only seem to pay great attention to my history lessons when they revolve around the Azeroth Wars. How much do you know of them?"
Again, Marcus' reply was nothing but a mutter. "Not much, Father"
Paxton's eyes hardened, and Marcus could feel them at his back, piercing through him like a blade of cold steel.
"Then let me enlighten you further" he growled. Pay attention, for this is the first and only time I will ever tell you of this"
"Lordaeron, in the height of its splendour and power, was as strong and prosperous as Stormwind is today. But when the Scourge arose and spread its plague all across Azeroth, everyone, even your parents, knew that the kingdom was doomed to fall to darkness" Marcus remained still and silent, but he could hear the Father's voice quiver with emotion and grow in power as he continued.
"I do not expect you to know what it means to give up everything in defense of a lost cause, but that is exactly what your parents did. Before they were called to Lordaeron to assist Lord Uther in its final stand, they came to me bearing a child. That child was you, Marcus. They must have known they were going to their deaths, but they held you in such high esteem all they wished was to do everything in their power to protect you"
"And so I honoured their wishes, their final wishes, and took you into my care. Even after word had spread that Prince Arthas had slain his father, the King of Lordaeron, I continued to hold a small measure of hope that your parents would return alive and well. But they did not. No one did. The Scourge did not take prisoners, only slaves to corrupt into mindless undead to strengthen their armies. My only hope thereafter was that your parents did not meet that fate. A pair of more loyal and courageous warriors never existed!"
Another pause. Partly for Paxton to regain his own composure, and partly to allow the full extent of his words to strike home for Marcus. Strike home they did, for the boy's body began to tremble with barely contained emotion. Long strands of his hair clung to his face, quickly becoming stained with tears. He tried to control himself, tried to temper his rage, but this proved to be a fruitless effort. He had been lied to, sheltered from the truth by a man from whom he thought such deceit impossible. Everyone within earshot of the courtyard heard the outburst that followed the silence.
"Why?," he screamed, lifting his head so the Father could see his face, now flushed crimson, and the blazing hatred in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me this before? I never knew I had a family! You've led me on my entire life thinking I was completely alone!"
Paxton clasped a gentle hand upon the boy's sagging shoulder. "Marcus, please…I kept it a secret to protect you! If you had discovered this too early, before you had a chance to mature and grow up, you would have rushed off to avenge them or something equally foolish. Can't you see, my son? All of my secrecy was for your own good!"
Marcus twisted violently away from the Father's grip, dashing away while yelling over his shoulder. "You're a liar and a fake! And you've made me wish I was never born! Damn you! Damn you all!" He disappeared into the Abbey, leaving Paxton standing alone, his face tight with pain. With imploring eyes he looked up to the heavens, as if to draw even the slightest comfort from them. His whispered to himself, so no one else could hear, one single prayer.
"Lord and Lady Ebonlocke, forgive me. I have done all I could, shielded him for as long as I could, but no more. His fate, his destiny, is in his hands now"
No one saw Marcus for the remainder of that day. He locked himself in his room, giving full vent to his emotions. Helpless anger at himself for being unable to change the fate of his parents. Hatred for Father Paxton and the other priests for hiding the truth from him for so long. He cursed the gods and the entire world, sobbing and weeping endlessly, oblivious to all else around him. For hours he raved, ranted and raged, until the daylight faded and exhaustion swept over him. He fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.
It was just after the midnight bells tolled that he awoke once more. The sharp tap of a rock striking his window jolted him from his bed. He threw it open, craning his neck to try and see who was responsible. He saw no one, only the silent darkness of the woods illuminated by the pale moonlight, but as he turned away he was roused once more by a low, raspy voice.
"Marcus? Marcus Ebonlocke! Get down here, I don't have all night!"
Marcus squinted into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker.
"Don't bother trying to find me. I'll find you once you come down here. Time is a luxury that neither of us can afford!"
Something deep within Marcus told him this man was not one to be disobeyed. Mystified, but slightly apprehensive, he donned his apprentice robe and stole silently out of the dormitories, taking great care not to be seen by the night watch or awaken the other students. To his fortune, the main gates were ajar, so he was able to slip through without having to open them any further. The night winds were gentle, cooling and soothing, but sweat still beaded on his brow. He stepped out carefully, his eyes darting from one tree to another, one wildberry bush to the next, but trying to keep the rest of his body firm.
"Um..hello?" he called out in as quiet of a voice he could manage.
"Hello yourself, whelp!"
Marcus could not help but jump in surprise. Somehow, as if from out of thin air, someone had materialized behind him. He turned slowly, and came face to face with a shadow. A man cloaked entirely in a robe as black as the night around him. Faceless, hidden by an oversized cowl.
"I've heard much about you, Marcus Ebonlocke. You're young,, rash, arrogant and volatile. And that makes you exactly what we need"
Chapter Three
Marcus' look of confusion quickly morphed into one of pure shock. A hundred questions flooded through his mind, but he didn't know which to ask first. The man, however, seemed to know exactly what was on his mind.
"Before you ask, how I know you is simple. Your mother and father were legendary. I doubt there's a single person within Stormwind's walls who don't still remember and honour their names. I knew them personally, and I regret what happened to them deeply"
"Wh…who are you?" stammered Marcus, his voice finally deciding to return.
The stranger waved a hand in dismissal "Who I am shouldn't interest you. But who I was sent by should. Tell me, lad, are you familiar with Gakin the Darkbinder?" Marcus was, but according to the Abbey texts and the elder priests he was a heretic and evil sorcerer. Once more, the cloaked figure read his thoughts, and laughed heartily. The very sound chilled the boy to the bone.
"I'm sure those Light-blinded Abbey priests would like nothing better than to condemn Gakin in your eyes. But the mere fact that I've travelled all this way to find you makes it clear that he's taken an interest in you, and a considerable one at that. You would do well to honour him and make haste to seek an audience with him"
Dumbfounded and almost speechless, all Marcus could say in reply was, "What do I do now, then?"
"Gakin resides in the Mage Quarter of Stormwind, in a tavern called the Slaughtered Lamb along with many other members of our little…faction. I know you have many questions, boy, but I didn't come here to answer them all for you"
Like a wraith he stepped back into the shadows, his voice trailing off eerily.
"I came to find you, and found you I have. Only Gakin can help you now…"
Marcus completely lost sight of him. In less than a heartbeat, the forest was still, as if no one had even been there in the first place.
The boy was in a daze, rooted to the spot where he stood. Not from fear or dread, but from a sense of overwhelming brought on by the words of his mysterious visitor. The fact that he knew Marcus' name and of his parents made him even more apprehensive than before. At the same time, however, his curiosity, of which he had tremendous amounts, was stirred. He knew next to nothing of Gakin, or of his 'faction' that the cloaked man had spoken of, but he could not help but feel a slight sense of pride. Summons from such a notorious man did not come lightly, even if he was as evil as the Northshire priests claimed him to be.
Although Marcus was impulsive and reckless to a fault, he wasn't blind to danger. Travelling to Stormwind meant also traversing Elwynn Forest, and unfortunately he had no knowledge of that area. He had never even set foot outside of Northshire, or the southern parts across the river which flowed near the Abbey. No one could tell what monsters lurked beyond the Abbey's safe borders, or what horrors would befall anyone who encountered them.
If nothing else, the youthful mind always values adventure and excitement over logic and reason. In Marcus' case, the desire to find Gakin the Darkbinder and the reason behind that night's events overpowered all else.
He crept stealthily back to his room, but only to grab his oaken walking staff and the small leather satchel he always kept at the foot of his bed. It was empty, save for a few dried fruits and day-old bread loaves he had pilfered from the Abbey kitchens, along with fifty pieces of copper.
With these in hand, he struck out once more, leaving the only life he ever knew behind. He felt no regret, sorrow or fear, only a cold determination as he walked. Determination to face whatever lay beyond the Abbey's walls.