After two years, walking through Darkshire was still depressing. The people there had a perpetually gloomy countenance, spending their lives waiting for the next great disaster. Several building were abandoned-they were either burned out husks, splattered with the blood of their former owners, or just neatly left and locked up, the denizens having packed up and left. Commander Ebonlocke told me that things had gotten better since I had shown up, which just tells you how miserable these people were.

Clerk Daltry was in his usual position, hovering within the entrance of the town hall. Skittish young man, hyperaware of the previous Clerk's….fate. Never done a hard day's work in his life, and rarely ventured outside of the town. He kept detailed records of the town and its history, and had been invaluable to me when the locals were feeling unreticent.

"Ah, Lieutenant!" He greeted me with a forced smile as I hung my cloak by the doors. "So good to see you again! Can I help you?"

"Yes, Daltry. I'm enquiring about the whereabouts of someone who used to live around here….ever heard of one Stalvan Mistmantle?" I kept my back straight, my tone even and brisk. People tend not to lie to consummate professionals, especially if they happen to be guards.

The effect on Daltry was immediate. His fake smile fell in a heartbeat, shoulders suddenly going limp.

"Tobias put you up to this, didn't he?" His tone was unaccusing, but full of dread. "You want to know about Stalvan…."

"Don't you lie to me Daltry." I warned. "I know you know, you know about everyone here. Just cooperate with me on this and everyone comes out okay. Okay?"

He pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose-a nervous tic, I'd observed.

"You're not the first, you know. We get outsiders coming through asking about him every so often. Always outsiders. Everyone who lives here knows better." I tilted my head, curiously, but he hurriedly ploughed on, regardless. "You're out of luck, anyway. I'm missing half the archives. Feral worgen broke into the town hall not a few nights ago and tore the place to shreds." My eyes widened in surprise.

"They did what?" I yelped. "Why did no-one tell me?" He pushed his spectacles up his nose again.

"The Commander said that the town defenses weren't your problem-that if some insane wolf men get past the guards, it's their problem, not yours." He said, tersely, obviously fearing my wrath.

"Damn her!" I barked, angrily. Two years working together, and I was still some meddling Traveller in her eyes!

"The documents you'll want are probably strewn all across Brightwood Grove by now, deep in the woods to the west. Not worth it if you ask me." He babbled, in a 'I want this conversation to end now' tone.

"No, it's-thank you, you've been very helpful, as usual." I'd deal with Ebonlocke later.

Brightwood Grove, huh?

It was a worgen camp/den/whatever you called it. Positively infested with the creatures. Not a very smart breed though, little different than dire wolves. I'd ventured that far afield while culling spider and wolf populations, seen the worgen darting about in the distance. The militia took a very 'eye for an eye' approach about worgen, so I'd had little opportunity to travel into the camps. Even so, the Grove was the nearest den to the town, and most worgen raids originated from there. It was the place that mothers frightened errant children with, told them that if they misbehaved, they would be dragged there in the night and devoured. Or they would, if it wasn't a terrifying reality.

Worgen aren't as hard to fight as people think. Put silver caps on each end of your staff, aim for the mouth, arms, and legs, finish them off with a knife through the throat. Yes, silver really works. I'd had a few skirmishes with the wolf men in my career. The mechanics of battle weren't that difficult, especially for the mindless grunts in the Grove. It was only when they got intelligent that things got….interesting.

Fighting through the worgen camp, watching the ground for any paper kept me on my toes. I was a touch rusty, slower to adapt to a creature that fought like a wolf but thought like a human. I was at the back of the camp, near some sloppily erected tents. They were poorly constructed, and the leather canvases didn't look even remotely tanned. I could've sworn one of them was made out of human skin. Then I saw them-a stack of slashed papers, firelight flickering across them from a nearby bonfire, material fluttering in the breeze. I swooped down to pick them up, then whistled for my horse, a black palomino named Beam. He cantered over the path of dead worgen I had left behind, and I swung myself onto his back.

"Take us back home, Beam!" I yelled, snapping his reins.

As he galloped, I read the papers I'd recovered.

To the Honorable Headmaster Crillian,

My former Master, I write to you so that you might know what your apprentice has been doing of late. Paying heed to your advice, I sought to build my knowledge and wisdom through travel outside the gates of our beloved Stormwind. My journeys took me to many places but I have decided to take up residence here in the lovely town of Moonbrook. The surrounding fields of Westfall are most beautiful as the harvest approaches.

Within just a few days of my visit I found myself tutoring the local children from the nearby farmlands. The lessons went so well that the town mayor commissioned me to run a school and construction has begun on a brand new schoolhouse! From Silverpine to Stormwind and now Moonbrook - who would have guessed I would see so much of Azeroth!

Warm regards,

Stalvan Mistmantle

Dear Noble Sir,

Word of your need for a tutor for your children has traveled to me here in Goldshire, where I take up temporary residence in the Lion's Pride Inn. Due to the unfortunate state of events in the region, I was forced to abandon my post as Headmaster of the Moonbrook Schoolhouse. Please, accept my application to serve as tutor for your offspring. Headmaster Crillian of the Academy can speak to you of my abilities if necessary.

I shall travel to meet you in person, when the winter rains subside and the roads are suitable for travel once again.

Until then,

Stalvan Mistmantle of Silverpine

They must have been letters sent by Tobias' brother. I should have known someone so dear to his heart would be a scholar. Interesting, but it didn't tell me much. Maybe he took up a position teaching in Duskwood, where he met his fate? I needed more information-there must have been other letters.

There was something else that was interesting. Tobias told me that he'd grown up in Elwynn Forest. So why did Stalvan think himself as being 'of Silverpine'? It could have been an attachment to his birthplace, but why didn't it say 'of Gilneas'? I shrugged it off and resolved to ask Tobias when I got the chance.