Tranquillien certainly did not live up to its name. The town seemed to be falling apart, alternating between mended buildings of Elven construction and blown-out ruins covered with tarps. Evidence of fine grounds keeping, some time in the past, remained in the dead and twisted ropes of shrubs and decorative trees that sprang from the forks in the road. The sides of the cobbled street were overgrown with a variety of course, foul-smelling ragweed and other undergrowth, the only things hardy enough to grow in such blighted soil.
As Fyodora and I walked toward the center of town we encountered as many Forsaken as Blood Elves. I was not used to the presence of the undead. Familiar company as they were in Silvermoon City, Forsaken were almost unknown in Theramore. Their casual mingling with the elves left pangs of disgust in the back of my mind. In a most uncouth slip of judgment I found myself staring at one who lost a jaw, his tongue wagging in the open air as he tended a blacksmith's furnace. He noticed me and I quickly averted my eyes in shame. Such unnatural creatures, I thought, not at all like Fyodora. I began to ponder just what circumstances allowed her to maintain her lifelike appearance.
The thought of the Death Knight made me realize she'd left my side. In fact, she was nowhere in sight. Blast, I thought, where did she get to? We have only been in town a matter of minutes and already I was separated from the one person who could get me through his hellish landscape alive. Gawking around for my lost companion I suddenly felt… not so much lost as vulnerable. I considered what Fyodora had told me just hours prior, how these people would not tolerate anyone who couldn't hold their own in these accursed lands. As I aimlessly meandered the streets, my eyes darting to and fro, I caught more than my fair share of sideways glances and heckles, be they real or products of my paranoid imagination I couldn't be sure. My heart was thumping in my chest with anxiety. Every corner seemed to reveal another grizzled Elven Farstrider or a Forsaken clad in shreds of armor. These were far from the civilized people I was used to dealing with in the city and the guilt of my knee-jerk mental accusations weighed equally with my certainty that I was going to find my undoing at their hands rather shortly.
In a moment of lucidity I realized that wandering around was the worst way to find my companion. Towards the center of the little town was a rather intact two-story building that seemed to be serving as a retreat. Elves and Forsaken gathered around it with their weapons holstered or laid over their backs, unlike those patrolling the streets, who eagerly brandished their arms. I decided I would wait there for Fyodora to come to me, assuming of course she had not simply ditched me. Hurrying inside I found the soldiery resting, drinking by a weak fire, or milling amongst themselves in a corner. Their armor was worn from use and scars riddled the faces of the elves. Although with the Forsaken it was more difficult to tell, I assumed they were just as battle-weary as the Farstriders. A few were missing an ear or a finger, their swords notched; counting off the Scourge they fell. A disquieting sensation welled in me as several heavily-armed men stared with curious amusement, so I took a seat towards the back.
"What is this? A magister's apprentice?" said a terse elf. His companions turned to look at me as he approached, the mug of beer in his hands frothing over. The man looked to be an Outrunner, and judging by his torn ear I'd say one that had been here for quite some time.
"I uh, yes sir," I stuttered.
"Who are you, boy?" He demanded.
"I am Ignatius Dawnsworn, accompanied by Sir Fyodora Rhymewind."
"Oh!" his arms swung back in surprise, spilling the lager on my robes, "You're that Death Knight's squire, eh? Didn't know they took apprentices."
"Not exactly," I replied. "Have you seen her?"
The Outrunner nodded, thumbing towards the upstairs as he took a deep drink. Realizing I was no lone, sorry adventurer, the other elves and Forsaken in his company lost interest and turned back to their meals. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve the man asked, "What the hell are you two doing all the way out here?"
"Looking for my father."
With a smirk he said, "I can count on one hand the number of travelers we get in a month. Tell me what he looks like, maybe I've seen him around."
"He's a paladin, taller than me and much huskier."
Shaking his head, the Outrunner threw his hand up, "A paladin!? Kid, we haven't had a Blood Knight pass through here in ages."
A Forsaken woman in the corner of the retreat stepped forward, her long, stringy hair stuck to her decaying shoulders, "I saw someone nearly two months ago. Smelled human flesh on him but I cannot speak of his profession."
The Outrunner shot her a menacing look, "Mrs. Teasedale, you smell human flesh on everyone!"
Properly creeped out I asked, "You… smelled it on him?"
The old woman nodded, the glow of her eyes fixing mine. "You said you were looking for your father, yes?"
I felt a knot growing in the back of my neck. It appeared this woman caught on that I was a half-breed. These people were certainly a more pragmatic type than those of Silvermoon but that was still information I didn't want circulated. And of course the Forsaken were not exactly friendly towards humans themselves. I saw no maliciousness or accusations in her eyes, perhaps she didn't care, but as I squirmed in my seat, the Outrunner's expression began to shift from dismissive to curious.
"Yes," I replied to the Forsaken woman, "but what uh, makes you think he's human?"
Mrs. Teasedale pointed to her nose, or what was left of it, "I may not be Scourge, boy, but I still know a living human when I smell one!"
"Wait a minute," the Outrunner slurred, "You mean you're a half-breed?" The Outrunner turned to the woman with a wicked smile. "Oh this did just get interesting."
"Ignatius!"
The deep iron bellow rolled across the huddled people of the retreat. Everyone looked up as Fyodora strode down the ramp from the second floor. Without saying another word she grabbed my arm and hauled me through the door outside like a child to be disciplined. The strength of her grip was incredible and I could feel the icy magic flowing through her hands and burrowing in my skin. As we cleared the entrance she nearly threw me into the road, her helmet covering an expression that would have killed me with a glance.
"Do not speak to others of our mission," she said. Her tone was hushed yet stern. "We cannot trust a soul."
"I'm sorry!" I replied hurriedly, "I thought they could help."
The Death Knight considered what to do for a moment and then pointed me along the southern road, "We must move. I attempted to find us shelter for the night but now we cannot remain."
"How come?"
The Death Knight didn't respond right away. Instead she began walking south. I followed closely, and it was only once we were safely out of earshot of what might be considered the townsfolk that she said, "If your father was being pursued it is likely someone in on the conspiracy was left behind, heading off any that come looking."
My face flushed with embarrassment. How could I allow myself such an obvious lapse in tact? I feared I was already interfering with the Death Knight's progress and we'd not been on the trail but one evening together. Humbly I replied, "My apologies, I was not thinking clearly."
Fyodora paused before responding, "We must forego rest. I hope you do not tire easily."
"Not at all, the life of a magister in training is filled with sleepless nights."
"This is no school assignment," she chastised.
We walked on for hours, the waning moon barely visible between the thick overcast clouds. Even though it was still early in the season the unrelenting wind blowing from the west had me trembling with cold. My muscles stiffened and cramped, though this was also due in no small part to me not being used to physical exertion. Walking along this desecrated path, all sense of civilization seemed to fade away, as though these lands were never inhabited. I'd always avoided the Dead Scar of Silvermoon like, well, the plague it was. Aside from some Forsaken and this Death Knight my knowledge of the undead was rather sparse. This was to change tonight.
Eventually the silence between Fyodora and myself became too much to bear. I noticed then that it was not just our silence but the entire woods that seemed eerily calm. There were no chirping insects or rasping frogs, not the slightest hint of life. All that was audible was the crackle of underbrush and the whisper of the wind through the branchless, charred trees.
I looked at the Death Knight warily for a long while before speaking, "How far until we are free of the Plaguelands?"
She stopped mid-stride and turned to me, "The Plaguelands? Young mage, we are not even out of the Ghostlands."
"What!?"
My exclamation was quickly muzzled by an ebon gauntlet as Fyodora wrapped her hand around my mouth. With her head cocked she listened intently. I heard something myself, a shuffling down the road coming through the brush. This quickly turned into the unmistakable gallop of feet on hard-packed earth. Something was coming for us.
Elven eyes are sharper than humans at night but my own were somewhat dulled, be it from my half-breed blood or my long nights reading by candlelight I could not say. Fyodora however seemed to have no problem seeing our aggressors. Before I could spot them she sprung off into the distance, her runeblade glowing in her hand. I tried to keep after her but halted as soon as I heard something growling to my side. Spinning around I caught a rotted zombie, arms outstretched, coming right for me.
Even in this dangerous territory I wasn't mentally prepared for battle, so with little dignity I ran for my life after the Death Knight. I couldn't see her through the darkness, and with the road uneven and myself so rigid from cold and terror, I didn't make it five paces before falling to the ground. My staff clattered onto the half-paved lane as I twisted onto my back. The zombie came closer, its eyeless sockets catching my own glowing emeralds. Without thinking I held my arm out and blurted an incantation. A burst of fire erupted around the Scourge fiend, not enough to kill it but enough to buy me some time.
Still trembling, I tried to concentrate while remembering what I'd learned in Theramore and scrambling to my feet. A mage who cannot defend himself in a duel is no mage at all and for all my hesitation I was well schooled in the art of magical combat. Channeling my mana I unleashed a perfect fireball right at the creature, sending it somersaulting to the ground. As the motionless corpse smoldered with fresh embers I spun around to see two skeletons headed towards me. Adrenaline pumping, I was ready and no longer afraid of such trivial adversaries. As the Scourge closed in I held out my palm, waiting for them, hands trembling as much with anticipation as nerves. When they were mere feet away I unleashed my magic, a cone of freezing wind blasting the monsters.
Slow and frozen, the Scourge could barely pursue me. Leisurely I stepped back and prepared my arcane missiles, taking aim at both creatures. As they gradually came closer I channeled my mana once more, sending the glowing bolts at each of them, pulverizing their foetid bodies. A last moan escaped a skeleton's shattered chest before it hit the ground, the glow in its eye sockets fading. In spite of the dire situation I couldn't help but smile, I had no idea my powers had grown so much! Taking up my staff once again I strutted after the Death Knight.
Down the road I found Fyodora standing over a pile of corpses, or I should say a pile of body parts. Each Scourge had been destroyed so thoroughly that any semblance of their previous form was gone. As she looked up I felt my own accomplishments a bit more trivial. The Death Knight removed her runeblade from a ghoul's head, asking, "Are you injured?"
"No, these Scourge are no threat to a Theramore mage," I replied.
The Death Knight stepped towards me, still holding her sword. "Do not become complacent in these lands. The undead here are merely scavengers."
"Hmph, you underestimate me."
Fyodora shook her head and continued on, sword still firmly in her grip. I had no doubt she would be using it again soon.
The road south contained more Scourge, the severity of their infection growing denser and more difficult the further we got from Blood Elf domain. Fyodora was right, the Scourge to the north were just scavengers, unarmed and mindless abominations rummaging around for scraps left behind by the more powerful undead that lay beyond. Skeletal mages, swordsmen, and even banshees haunted the southernmost parts of the Ghostlands. Worthy as these creatures were for my own abilities, Fyodora made short work of them and anything else we encountered. I counted myself lucky to have her company in spite of her cold demeanor. Even with the strength of the Death Knight at my side though, nothing could have prepared me for the horror of the Plaguelands.
As we marched through tightening ridges and down towards the former city of Stratholme, the scenery quickly changed. The first indication of our arrival was the wind ceasing. In its place was a constant putrid haze, completely still and muggy with an unnatural heat that clung to my skin and clothing. The acrid air stung my eyes and scorched my nose like an acid. If Fyodora noticed it she made no indication. Then again, she was undead herself and had no need for such pedestrian habits as breathing. The charred and branchless trees of the Ghostlands were intimidating but harmless, here though the trees looked more like spires of puss and decay than plant matter. The ground itself stank so much I became fiercely ill. Not five minutes after we cleared the ridgeline I had to stop. Fyodora watched with disappointment as I stood by the side of the road, doubled over and holding my stomach.
"Are you finished?" she snapped.
I gave a couple more dry heaves as the putrid scent washed over me anew, gagging on the pungent, abrasive odor. After a minute I pulled my long, dark hair back, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and gave a timid nod.
"We cannot stop here. This is Scourge country."
"I… I think I'm okay," I replied. "Let's get out of here."
"This trip is far from over, young one."
Although I still felt the bile creep up my throat from time to time I didn't make her stop again. The trek south made me glad I hadn't eaten all day, as the sights and sounds and smells continued in a never-ending bouquet of disgusting. With every step I solemnly wished I'd stayed in Theramore, nothing I endured there could hold a candle to this. To think that I actually regarded my fellow students' taunts as unbearable, ha! How little I knew! And my sister, her intimidating character was nothing compared to Fyodora. I wondered for a moment, assuming I made it out alive, if I'd regard her the same way after having stood side by side with a Death Knight. I'd set off on this journey to leave my playpen, but now it seemed returning was all I could think of.
Something by the side of the road caught my eye and I screamed like a child, interrupting my train of thought and very nearly sending me running to the Death Knight as though she were my own mother.
"What are you doing!?" Fyodora reprimanded, watching me stumble in fear.
Words escaped me. I pointed at a maggot the size of a small house in the distance, writhing in a gully not twenty paces from the road. As I looked through the pink-tinted fog I saw other shapes just as large squirming further off, the sucking of their mouths just barely audible. Ooze from their writhing bodies caked the ground with a fresh layer of mucus. The smell was fresh and familiar, it was the omnipresent vapor that lifted from the grass and choked me since we arrived. Wiping my hands on my robes I could feel the evaporated slime of the maggots clinging to the fibers. Stunted, dry retching forced its way through my lungs and stomach as I fought back the urge to vomit again.
"Those maggots are the least of your worries," she said dismissively.
"They… I've never…" My jaw was trembling too much for speech and my knees gave out. I crumpled to the ground, at a loss to remember whatever trivial motivation brought me to this wilderness in the first place. All I could think about was getting as far away as possible.
With a firm slap, Fyodora struck me prone, "Keep your wits about you!" she shouted, towering over me. "We are in the grasp of the Scourge, here as surely as Northrend, and I will not attend to you as some wet nurse."
"I'm sorry," I replied hastily, "send me back, I am through with this expedition!"
"There is no sending you back, as much as I may wish it!" Her helmet and dry voice gave every word a grating inflection, "The Scourge dog our every step, the presence of life is as known to them as a scent to a bloodhound. Travelling the road north is suicide."
Terror streaked across my heart, "Why didn't you tell me this!?"
"I told you there was no return," she replied sternly. "I told you of the danger, that the only way out was through. You chose to follow."
Tears streamed down my face as she glared at me, my sputtering trailing off, "I had no idea! Please, I'm not prepared for this kind of…"
For a moment Fyodora just stared at me, considering what to do with the useless mage she was now forced to drag along. Seconds piled on like hours as I sat there on the ground, the sound of the maggots shuffling in the gulch making me tug at my fraying robe in anxiety. At last the Death Knight addressed me, "You are no son of Jack Radical."
"What do you mean?" I said, almost choking.
"You share his blood but that is all. You have neither his courage nor his determination. Furthermore, you accompanied me under false pretenses."
"I came along to find my father!" I replied urgently, willing myself to my feet. If the Scourge were indeed following us it was dangerous to linger, we had to keep moving.
"You came to find him, but to what end?" The Death Knight paced back and forth along the road. "You care not for his safety, nor to seek vengeance for his demise. You are here for yourself. To prove your own mettle or insanity I know not which, but your presence now places all of us in jeopardy."
My staff clattered on the road from the tremors in my hands. I had nothing to respond with, the Death Knight was correct. In the heat of the moment I set myself on this course, and in my heart, my own damnable pride was on the line more than my father's life. Even in guilty admission though I couldn't change how I felt. Father was a distant personality to me. He was a curse I lived with, a shadow I lived under, and an obstacle to be overcome. Even now he served as nothing more than a pretext to accompany this Death Knight on an attempt to best my sister. Unable to answer for myself, I just stood there, waiting to see what the Death Knight would do with me.
After some deliberation, Fyodora continued south without a word. Timidly I followed a while before asking, "What should I do?"
Her reply was as cold as her blood, "I do not care."
I could have turned back. For all I knew, the Scourge were not yet at our heels. Even if they were, if I made it as far as the Ghostlands I might be able to fend them off myself. And yet, against all rational thought, I followed her. At a safe distance of course but followed nonetheless. There was a compulsion inside me to somehow set this right, to see my quest through to the end. Be it in shame for my ineptitude in the eyes of Fyodora or guilt for my cool relationship with my father I wasn't sure, but I figured both would be addressed in equal measure when we found him. Even though she didn't acknowledge me, the Death Knight must have been aware of my presence. Even so, I made no attempt to rejoin her. The further out of her way I was, the better.
Before long the path began to curve west. A dilapidated sign hung by the side of the road that read, "Corin's Crossing". Broken and overgrown houses littered the town, their refuse plunged into the cobbled streets like my own insides by the side of the road not long ago. Fyodora started to tread lightly as did I well behind her. I desperately wished that I too didn't have to breathe, as it felt like the slightest noise was liable to disrupt this uneasy calm. Every so often I caught the clatter of stone or the creaking of a board indicating we were not alone. Each house crept with shadows moving just out sight beyond the doors and windows. As Fyodora reached what looked like the center of town, she stopped.
A squeaking hinge announced the presence of the Scourge; a gibbering ghoul that dashed across the street like a shot from a Dwarven rifle. Without hesitation, Fyodora cleaved it with her sword, striking it down before it could even get close. That set off an orchestra of groans, shrieks, and wails from every building. Banshees, skeletons, zombies, and Scourge of all types began to meander from their hiding places.
Fyodora reached out her hand and cried, "Aranal!"
Dark magic poured out and sunk into the earth. From the tendrils emanating from her hand came a dozen ghouls, their arms grasping from the freshly turned dirt. As soon as they pried themselves free they each latched onto another undead and began disassembling the Scourge creatures in an almost indistinguishable melee. Fyodora herself sliced through a dozen skeletons and zombies before they got within striking distance themselves, her long runeblade more than a match for these fiends.
While the battle raged I stayed out of sight, watching from behind a building and desperately trying keep my presence concealed. These Scourge were nothing like even the harshest undead from the Ghostlands. They were fat and glutted on the rank powers of undeath, their bodies strong from years spent feasting on the plague and each other. In spite of their size and numbers it seemed the Death Knight had no trouble clearing these monsters alone, that is until then I caught something.
Being half human granted me a keen sense of perception even if my night vision was a bit lacking. It was a trait I'd always thought my sister alone inherited, but in this moment it was unfortunately brought to light. Also watching the melee were dark and almost imperceptible spirits. These smoke-like undead gathered their shadow magics, eagerly waiting for a break in the Death Knight's defenses. I looked back at Fyodora as she pulled a skeleton closer with her death grip. She didn't notice them.
As she cut the helpless skeleton down, a Scourge abomination thundered down a side street, groaning and waving its massive cleaver high in the air. Fyodora whirled around, blocking its attack as the butcher's blade struck her own. Momentarily pinned under its great strength, the Death Knight staggered backwards, supporting her runeblade with both hands. The shades' eyes lit up for just an instant as they unleashed their spells.
"Get down!" I shouted. I don't know what madness overtook me but at once I abandoned my hiding spot and ran headlong into the fray. With a flourished sweep of my hand I flung a counterspell at the nearest shade, interrupting its incantation and drawing its attention.
The Death Knight ducked and rolled away from the abomination just as two shadowbolts went flying over her head. More shades glided towards me, my keen eyes barely able to track them. I threw a fireball at the closest, causing it to back away in searing anguish as another two came forth, striking me with their ghostly claws and tearing at my cloak. Instinctively I cried out and an arcane explosion forced them back, the torrent of purple sparks scattering across their almost invisible bodies. Icy fingers tore at my stomach and I responded in kind with my cone of cold.
Desperately trying to gain some distance, I backed away and began to charge a frostbolt for the remaining shades. The spirits tried to conjure their own magic but I was too fast for one of them, hurling the ice spell before it could respond. My spell struck true and the Scourge faded from my sight entirely, whether vanquished or hiding I couldn't tell. The other shade flung its shadowbolt, hitting me right in the chest. I reeled back, struggling to breathe as the shadowy darkness tore at my heart. When I recovered from the shock I found the shade had disappeared, fading back into the shadows. In a panic I tried to make out where it went, only to be tackled to the ground by one of the gibbering ghouls still roaming the street.
Frantically I whollaped my attacker with my staff and scrambled backwards on all fours. The ghoul fell away with a growl but wasn't even fazed, lashing out with its claws against my stomach in retaliation. I shoved it off and tried to stand up but the creature tackled me again, it's snapping jaws oozing with fresh plague. Prone and unable to concentrate I found my magic wouldn't heed me. All I could do was grapple, desperately pushing the creature away as it slashed me with its claws. Its unholy strength was pressing my arms back, every swipe leaving a fresh red streak across my chest or stomach. I cried for help as I feverishly wrestled the monster.
Eventually my flailing legs found their mark. A solid kick to the stomach sent the ghoul flying back onto the street. I reached around, clambering for my staff which had fallen just out of reach. As I crawled towards it I felt the Scourge grab my leg and pull me back. My fingers curled around the aged wood, inching it closer to my hand. Then a sharp pain ran down my calf. I spun around to see the ghoul's fangs deep in my left leg, green drool drenching my skin. With all my might I swung my quarterstaff, caving the monster's head in. Its skull collapsed like pottery and the body ground to a halt. Slowly I pulled its fanged jaw from my leg, the plague still dripping from its crooked teeth. Using my staff to support me I tried to stand but crumbled to the ground after a few steps. The wound went straight into the muscle, my leg was useless.
I heard the clomping sound of Fyodora's heavy boots by my head. Gazing down at me, her sword still bloody from fighting the abomination, she noticed my wound. Before I could say anything she plunged her hand out. Icy tendrils gripped my calf, stronger than any magister's spell I'd ever seen. Yelping in shock and anguish I watched as my leg was encased in ice, frozen completely solid. The Death Knight raised her blade high into the air. I barely had enough time to scream, "DON'T!"
It wasn't a dramatic sound, just a muffled thud as the blade went straight through the remaining muscle and bone. So powerful was her blow and so true her strike that the cut resembled a surgeon's excision more than a battle wound. I didn't even feel it when it happened, the freezing cold of her spell numbing the entire affair. Nevertheless, as the blade was pulled away and the deed revealed, time halted. In that accursed moment I saw the leg, my leg, lying on the paving stones like a choice cut. The ghoul's fang marks were still imprinted in the skin, black lines emanating from where they penetrated my flesh.
Grabbing my arm, Fyodora hoisted me over her shoulder and began running west. In disbelief I watched my disembodied leg resting on the ground until one of the few remaining Scourge took it. The last thing I saw through the haze was a zombie shoving the frozen, discarded meat in its mouth. At that point, my mind torn from the pain and shock, I passed out.