"World of Warcraft: The Wrath of Tarren Mill"
Epilogue – Undisturbed
Following the pattern that has always been, the waters of Lake Abassi spill out into the Greenrush River—where it weaves its way through the blackened and scarred lands left over after Arthas Menethil's march to the Sunwell. Flowing past the dried up trees and the mounds of dark ash, the waters unsympathetically continue down into an ancient channel.
When it reemerges into daylight, it cuts its way through the thickened yellow fog so prominent in the Western Plaguelands. On either side of the river, farms that had once been alive and bountiful were all but decayed away into clouds of dust and debris. The roads which saw the traffic of all kinds in their prime, from wagons to curious travelers, now only served to attract the living dead to a faint memory they once had.
Eventually, the waters mingle with the corpse-ridden muck of Darrowmere Lake, but just as quickly escape to safety into the Throndoril River. For miles more, it runs along the border of the Hinterlands, catching the pine mountain winds in its ripples. But the air goes frigid and a light snowfall begins—signaling the entrance to the Alterac Mountains.
Almost knowingly, the river turns south. Away from the ruins of Alterac City, where the stones that made up a proud kingdom have begun to disappear beneath the thick snowfall. Humans had once lived with dignity in these mountains, but now the occupying ogre clan can safely say the same.
On the final leg of the journey, the waters then gently course through the forested lands of the Hillsbrad Foothills. Without hesitation, it lines the fringe of the Horde settlement of Tarren Mill, where the only excitement is the turning of the town mill and the ramblings of a blood elf crying the word, "Betrayal" into the open air.
The Throndoril continues on past a small pond and glides through the forest. A colony of snapjaws rest on the river's banks, content with the sun-warmed breeze that reaches their shells.
Under the bridge that runs along the Meridian Line and across the grassy plains, the river finally reaches the Alliance town of Southshore. The mood is quiet and tranquil. Farmers are tending to their fields and the livestock are grazing without care. A fresh grave has been dug in the old graveyard, with the headstone displaying the name of one Melvin Proctor—a torch and a rusted sword are propped up against the stone in tribute to a man who finally received the death he had always deserved.
On the docks, a small crowd has gathered to watch the guildmembers of Tyranny's Bane return to their battered ship. Everyone cheers and chants songs of praise as the guild departs, believing that the sudden calm in their lands was all made possible by their fearless heroes.
As the ship begins to catch the wind in its sails and drift away, the denizens of Southshore return to their rightful duties, ever thankful that they still have the ability to do so.
Moving faster than ever, the waters of the Throndoril River—satisfied with the serene nature of its passage through the Hillsbrad Foothills—quietly empty out into the endless, shimmering blue of the Great Sea.