How loud this silence has become - the thunderous pounding of my breath is deafening. He is here. The dark claims him. But he is here. I know it.
You need to do more finding and less knowing. Young one…he doesn't make any sense.

Please, you two, not now. I really need to –

You don't make any sense, you ancient nitwit. Young one, I will smash this puny little bug.

Seriously. I really need to focus.

You will be whittled into a fancy walking stick! Young one, I will grind you into fertilizer.

Stop –

With a crash, the voices are stayed. Something dense shakes my world. Smack, the ground greets my skull angrily. The world spins, yet it is but a swirly concoction of pure black. I feel someone clawing, ripping at my shirt.

Fingers grip at my collar, digging for my neck. I try to fight back, but the twisted barbs push down with the utmost of intensity. Air hisses to a stop. A sharp pain buries into my back. My shovel – I reach for it. It doesn't budge. I cannot budge.

Faster the world spins. I try to suck in another breath. Another. Only the dreadful hissing and my strained lungs. The world seems as if darkening. As my lungs begin to burn, the entire world grows darker. Through it all, however, I can see him. I can see his silhouette.

Suddenly, a soft smack accompanies the wheezes. The silhouette vanishes; with it, the sweet taste of air returns – albeit bitter and holds a hint of iron flavor upon each hasty breath. My mind stirs for a moment before settling upon the reality of things.

Immediately I sit upright – a mistake. I grasp the sides of my head, swaying to-and-fro as I do. Through the motions, however, I notice a lump a few feet from me. It is still, void of any signs of life; a mere silhouette of a once lively figure.

Still a mystery, but I know of a simple solution to that. With what little energy I can muster, and with quaky legs, I shift over to the wall nearest to me. Creaking brass sings softly, emitting a soft click and crack as the wall moves to my efforts. Light floods past the dam of a door, spilling across everything, lighting the dark mystery that tried to take me in the dark.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. As expected, a lifeless man lays upon the floor. Clothing as dark as night still shrouds much of him – say for the arrow protruding from his side. I turn to see where the shot came from, but I mustn't look far. Just visible in the door in my hands is a small hole.

It doesn't even seem possible. No normal man could take such a shot, especially when there wasn't any sigh to do so. He would have had to shoot blindly. There is only one man I know of capable of doing that, and he, unfortunately, hasn't been seen for quite some time.

I say that, of course, as my wandering curiosity catches sight of something. Creeping towards the doorway is the outstretched hand of darkness, forming as an elongated shadow cast my way. Its maker: a hunched figure draped in black – or possibly a dark green. He holds not a bow, but an eerie aura that sends shivers up my spine.

He doesn't, however, frighten me. "Hello?" I muster the finest of greetings for my supposed savior. It is almost delightful that he has even less to say than me. His only words are born from his unseen eyes that pierce his shrouded veil and prod at my very mind.

Slowly, he reaches towards his side, and with a flick, sends a small object skipping to a stop at the steps. I squint, peering down at the ground I don't tread very often any more. It should bother me, my seclusion, but I no longer have anywhere worth going. More accurately put, I have nowhere where I am wanted. Alas, I digress.

I hesitate briefly before scooping the glinting item into my hands. At first it appears as simple, mangled metal, but as I stare, I realize what I am looking at. Its complexity makes it seem as nothing more than mundane, yet it says so much. It is the marking of the "Forsaken". What, exactly, does it mean?

My eyes drift upwards. The rising sun gleefully pokes them with its playful hands. No longer do the claws of shadows crawl for me, but only the warming fingers of day. It is a nice touch, really. It has been some time since I went out into the sun. I imagine I must be pale.

You are actually rather pale in your head. Young one, where did your savior go?

Gone. Obviously.

You aren't bothered by that? Young one, you should be more concerned by such.

Why? There is no point. I cast the thought from my mind; instead, I take one last look at the welcoming sun. It really is delightful. Alas, as much as I enjoy it, it is the darkness for me. I wish there was more to this empty void outside the bland furniture and the slumped, slightly stirring figure, but –

It would seem he is not as dead as I thought.

"Hi," I am a man of many words. But why stop there? My foot has a thing or two to say to this man. Once to his stomach. Once to his ribs – actually, why not one, two, three more times? "Welcome to my house. I would have prepared some food, but I didn't know you were coming."

Gentle groans are his only response. It is plenty for me. He writhes upon the floor, gripping at the impact spots futilely. They always do that. Seems rather pointless, but then again, I think I do it too. Pain has a funny way of making people do strange things.

I kneel next to the man. I give him a quick look, but there really isn't anything worth mentioning. His attire hides much and says even less. His stirring hood, however, says much more.

"So," my fingers find the only interesting part of his person. They squeeze tightly around the shaft of the arrow and give it a gentle tug. It is really stuck in there. I would be able to get it out, but this man won't stop screaming. "Calm down," I grumble, rolling the projectile like a stirring spoon in a large pot, "you are only going to make it worse –"

"Curse you!" he hisses at last, "curse you, you damn monster!"

That word is the key. I am nearly paralyzed by it; despite how often it seems to have come up as of late, I am still dumbstruck by it. Monster.

"Who sent you?" emotionless words roll from my mouth.

"Piss off," his are filled with enough passion to make up for mine.

Strangely, they always are. Each and every one sneaks into my house, tries to kill me when I am preoccupied, and then gain some righteousness when they end up like this. While I want to say they are rude, I am starting to see a pattern here. Sadly, I am the only constant, so maybe it has something to do with me?

"I am only going to ask you this one more time," my free hand shoots to the side. With a jerk, a dense object lifts careens and slams against a hollowed skull. "Who sent you?" The metal vibrates softly, matching the quiet moans of the man as he grips his head.

Sadly, he doesn't answer my question.

Clank, his skull sings so loudly.

Again, only whimpers.

Clank.

Cries of pain.

Clank.

Moans of – "Stop!" He howls, patting his defenseless paws at me. "Stop it, you wicked little man."

"Just tell me who sent you, and I won't crush your skull. Any more."

"'Who sent me?'" harsh words escape his lungs. A hint of aggravation and disbelief coats them. A bit confusing, but not as bad as the laughter that begins to pour out of him. The laughs of a deranged man, one teetering upon insanity. That or a man coming to terms with his situation.

He bites down hard. A crunch echoes straight from is jaw and into my spine. I know that sound. "No," I shout uncontrollably. "No!" Frantic hands grip at the thick cloth. I jerk his head from the floorboards and draw his face close to mine. It will not be that easy. It will not –

"You know exactly who sent me," laughter chases his words. Harsh, fluid coughs are hunted by a grotesque gag. Silence. Silence, say for the laughter that still sings in my mind and those last words.

A mild anger fills me, and I shake the stubborn, cowardly man. Pointless, but it does make me feel somewhat better. I say that, of course, before the hood that shrouded his face slips back across his ears. An unpleasant chill snaps at my heart. My mouth opens, but not a word spills forth.

He was right. I know exactly who sent him. His head smacks against the floor. The once mild anger erupts into a full, raging fire. That face…that broken face. How dare she? Of all the people in the world, how dare she?!

Once more, the door swings upon. Light smiles upon me, but all I can feel is a cold chill; the chill of a wind that whispers only for me.

I have had humans, dwarves, goblins, trolls, orcs – hell, even gnomes – come knocking at my hourglass, but they all failed to stop its falling grains. They came looking for the man, the traitor of the already forgotten cataclysm. They came looking for a monster, but they were left wanting.

I am not a monster. I don't care what they think. I don't care what any of them think. But to think that she would dare come for my head. She knew better. She knows better.

For the first time in three years, I descend my steps of my home upon Blackwood Lake, and march down the lonely, broken road. In one hand, the darkened digger of my past. In the other one, a mundane medallion of my rage.

I come for answers, my Queen.

I come for you, Sylvanas.