Amaeria bit her lip, fingers trembling as she tried not to tear the letter she'd received as she opened its envelope. She'd spent the last week trekking through the wilderness with the patrol. They were seeing more and more undead, but they were never able to find the source. They'd made it as far as the nearest human village, only to find it broken and empty, with corpses shambling through the streets. While they'd thought this might have been the epicenter of whatever was going on, they hadn't been able to confirm anything and had hurried home to inform their leaders of what was going on. Perhaps some mages in Silvermoon could contact Dalaran and find out if the creatures had reached them yet.
On their way back, they'd been attacked by a band of surprisingly organized undead. While none of them seemed to truly have minds of their own, they attacked with unusual precision. It had been taxing to keep everyone alive, but she'd managed it. Jaserisk had not come with them, to her relief, and the others were starting to view her as less of an adorable little city priest the more they traveled together.
After they'd been victorious, as a few of the Farstriders offered each other praise for their kills and one even ruffled her hair affectionately, she had looked out into the woods and could have sworn she saw a human man standing in the shadows, watching them. As she narrowed her eyes to get a better view, she wondered if he might be an elf despite his broader, more muscular build, as his eyes were clearly glowing blue. It was a colder blue than she was used to, and sent shivers through her.
Even as she'd tried to get a better view of him, one of her companions had called her name and caught her attention. When she'd looked back, the woods were empty.
However, mysterious figures in the wood and undead were of little importance at the moment. Her letter was from her fiancé, Gryst'lyn. With everything going as it was, she half expected it to be word that he'd decided against the wedding, having finally had some time apart to think it over.
Their romance thus far had been somewhat of a whirlwind, after all.
However, his elegantly scrawled words were not a dismissal, but a beast of quite a different nature. He had a few ideas for their wedding night, and had gone into great detail with the different things he was interesting in doing with her, assuming she didn't think the Light would cast her aside forever for performing such acts.
He clearly didn't understand that the Light had no problem with what married couples might do behind closed doors, so long as it both parties were consenting.
Though a few of these ideas did involve a park bench.
Her ears, cheeks, and neck were crimson just from reading half of the letter—he'd paused in his musings to ask if she was blushing yet, which had made her want to reach out and pinch him. Realizing he was miles away just made her miss him more.
Still, it had brought a much needed smile to her lips.
It wouldn't be much longer now. In a little under a week she'd be heading back to Silvermoon, back to Gryst'lyn.
Amaeria held the note to her heart and closed her eyes, imagining the look on her lover's face whenever next they would meet. Their wedding was to be a week after she got back and just the thought of having her time taken up with inspecting flower arrangements and finishing last minute details for their union warmed her core. Soon all of this would be behind her, like a bad dream.
Though…she would have to tell him that she'd kissed Jaserisk. She hadn't really wanted to, but it had still happened, and she didn't want there to be secrets in their relationship. Hopefully Gryst'lyn would understand.
If he didn't…
She looked back down at his letter, at the things he'd said, his descriptions of how he wanted to touch her, drive her crazy.
He wouldn't hold it against her, surely.
She somehow managed to finish the letter, though she felt a little lightheaded afterward, a bit too embarrassed from the fact that he'd been able to put such thoughts to paper and send them to her. By the Light, what if someone else had caught a glimpse of this?
The mere thought of someone else perusing what he'd written had the blush that had finally started to die down flood back.
After taking in a few deep breaths, and trying not to think too hard on what he'd written, she started her own—considerably milder letter—to send back.
~"~
That night, during the first pleasant dreams she'd had since she got there, she was shaken awake. Even as she grumpily tried to blink the sleep from her eyes, the Farstrider who'd come for her jerked her out of bed by the arm and began dragging her down the hall. She stumbled over her nightgown to keep up, ears pricking at the sounds that had haunted her nightmares of late. The sounds of fighting and the wails of the undead.
As they entered the courtyard of their base, the Farstrider had to release her to cut down a ghoul that lunged at them. In a breath, Amaeria was casting heals and trying desperately to keep track of everyone. Between spells, she called out to her companions, trying to locate them in the chaos to see who needed healing more so than others.
The man who had woken her stayed close, keeping the monsters that realized she was the one restoring their prey from harming her. During lulls where she was safe, he proved to be a damn good shot, too, and slowly the rest of the Farstriders rallied back to them.
The battle itself seemed to occur outside the realm of time for Amaeria, for she focused so completely on keeping the others up that her own fatigue vanished, and she overcame her bodily restraints for the duration of their fight.
Just as it looked like their fight was won, a man appeared in the distance. She felt as though ice had wrapped around her throat the second she saw him. Her concentration shattered. Even as the feeling subsided, and she looked out to where the man was standing, he pointed a long, wicked looking sword toward her.
Somehow she just knew.
He was there for her.
She shuddered, pushing the notion away as a frantic cry forced her attention back to the task at hand. She would be alright. She would take care of the Farstriders, and they would take care of her.
Despite the fear that punctuated her healing with the thought that any second she would look out and see that strange man working his way through the courtyard toward her, it never happened. Instead of joining the fray, he merely disappeared at some point—even so, her gaze kept snapping back to where she'd seen him and scanning to see if he had come closer.
Even as another heal left her lips, Amaeria was abruptly overcome by exhaustion, as though some spell had been cast upon her. Her world spun, and darkness closed in.
~"~
As Amaeria's eyes fluttered open, she heard a few quick, worried remarks and couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Had something bad happened?
Before she could ask, memories of the undead attack flurried into her mind. She jolted upright, though one of the Farstriders held her shoulder to keep her from moving too quickly. Blinking, Amaeria looked around to see that she couldn't have been unconscious for more than a few minutes.
Several of the elves were dragging what was left of their enemies toward a large, foul smelling bonfire, and a few were standing near the gates to the outpost, keeping their eyes on the woods for signs of another attack. About six of them stood and sat around her. They were mostly from her patrol, and seemed relieved to see that she was well, despite some initial skepticism. One teased her that she looked like she'd seen death himself, only to pause as the color drained from Amaeria's face.
She recounted the man she'd seen. Two others confirmed that they'd seen him too, though they'd lost sight of him as the attack had started to die down.
~"~
Even as the other Farstriders promised to keep a look out for the man in question, Jaserisk slipped away from them to walk the perimeter of the base. He wanted to make sure that the walls were secure in case there was another attack. And he wanted to make sure that there wasn't some other group of ghouls coming from a side, perhaps late to the original fray.
As he walked, ever peering out into the eerie shadows the trees cast, a slight movement caught his attention. He knew better than to go into the woods alone, especially seeing as they had no idea how many more undead might be waiting, just out of sight.
He knew better, but he couldn't go back and see Amaeria. He'd headed to her room to try to persuade her again when he'd seen her reading that damned letter. He'd waited until she had gone down to dinner to read it himself, and it had left a bitter pit in his stomach.
Part of him kept reiterating that anyone would have blushed reading that garbage, but another part of him couldn't help but note how happy she'd been as she read it. It hadn't just been indecent smut to her, it had been promises of a life of love and happiness.
He'd never stood a chance against Gryst'lyn, had he?
If he'd spoken up sooner, maybe things could have been different. If he'd pushed earlier, before she could get ensnared in that bastard's life.
But he'd always been a coward when it came to her. He'd always feared that telling her how he felt would make her smiles falter. He'd always been certain that that would kill him.
It turns out it hadn't, though it had left a hollowness in his chest.
She wanted to be friends, but…how could he? Even if he could get over this, learn to think of her like he did Prynn, there would always be what he'd done between them. He'd kissed her, knowing damned well she wasn't his to claim.
This patrol was turning into such a mess—shambling corpses aside.
Not that they were shambling as much in the more recent attacks. They were getting more and more aggressive, more and more skilled. It was almost like something was controlling them.
Jaserisk crept into the woods, ears perked and straining for any sounds of unnatural movement. A few yards into the trees, he paused when he saw a horse standing idly near a stream that wound its way near the outpost. The beast didn't seem interested in drinking. The creature was decorated with dark armor, skulls etched into it. Even as he frowned and took a step back, he felt his heel bump into something and whirled around to see a human man with glowing blue eyes standing just behind him.
The man's face held an amused light, though that hardly registered with Jaserisk. Rather, what he noticed were the rotting lips, the dark, skull themed armor, and the calculating, intelligent air around him. As the Farstrider tried to duck out of the man's reach, the human easily reached out and caught him by the shoulder.
He laughed lightly, though strange undertones went with the sound. They grated on Jaserisk's ears, and the man seemed pleased when he noticed this. "You seem like a good man, loyal to your fellow Farstriders. Perhaps we can be of help to one another. I'd like to talk to you about that pretty little healer of yours."
~"~
Tinker Goodwrench pouted her lower lip as she eyed the sign she'd just finished painting, the candlelight catching her light pink hair and making it glimmer in the darkness. It was her first official order, and she was going to make sure it was the best, most amazing thing any of these humans had ever seen.
In no time, people from all across Lordaeron would be talking about the amazing Tinker and her signs that simply brought the essence of their wares to life.
She'd put some springs and cogs to work to make it look like the herbalist's new sign had flowers blooming and closing on it, and she was pretty darn proud of how it had turned out so far. She hadn't had a single set back as of yet.
She might ought to add another layer of paint, just to make it more vibrant. Though… she didn't want to make it too gaudy looking. There was a fine line between art and overly done trash, and it was a line she walked every day.
This sign, though? It was a masterpiece. Long after she was gone, people would be talking about the gnome who came to the north and made their cities beautiful.
So engrossed was she in her daydreams of grandeur that it took her over a minute to hear the incessant, desperate banging on her workshop's door.
"P-please let me in!" A man's voice called out, frantic. "There's t-too many! I c-can't fend them off mys-self!"
Bandits?
Tinker's brown eyes widened as she considered it, paling a little.
It couldn't be bandits. She wouldn't let them steal her sign! It was the beginning of her life's work! The piece to make all the others fall into place!
It wasn't until she'd opened the door and the human man had come tumbling into her workshop that she considered he might be a bandit, too, sent to bring her guard down.
Even as she panicked, wondering if she should tell him to get out, he whirled around, slamming the door shut and then dragging an entire table over to block it.
Tinker's eyes widened further, and she cried out as the jostling of the furniture nearly toppled her sign from where it rested on top of her worktable. "Watch out!"
The man turned toward her, eyes wild as he knelt so that he was closer to her. "Is th-th-there a cellar?" Even as he spoke, he shook his head. "N-no. No cellars, I-I th-think they can dig." His gaze was darting around the room, terror barely letting him speak coherently. "What ab-bout an attic? I d-don't think th-they can climb." He stared at her, large hands engulfing her tiny shoulders, gripping her a bit too hard.
When she yelped, he jerked his hands back. They trembled noticeably, and as she stared at him, still dumbfounded, she realized that she could see blood splashed across his armor—it smelled horribly, like it was rotten. Half a sword hung off his belt, fracture lines running up what was left of the blade, and she thought she could see a broken shield resting against his back.
"I, uh, got an attic for extra space, yeah," Tinker finally managed. She darted over to one side of the room and tugged on a string. A ladder began to unfurl from the overhead loft—it was another creation she was rather proud of. Truly, technology was the way of the future.
When it was just barely low enough for him to grip, the man grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder—his pauldrons hurt Tinker's stomach, and she cried out as she thudded against them—and dragged himself up the still descending ladder.
Tinker flailed desperately, trying and failing to understand what the man was so panicked about. "Go easy! You'll break it!"
She could hear the gears groaning. The locks weren't in place yet, and the ladder was going to cave out. Even as she tried again to tell him to be careful, she heard another sound.
A strange, eerie, unearthly wail.
Something banged against her door.
The man cringed, hauling himself and Tinker up onto the upper floor. As soon as they were up, he set her aside and then looked at the ladder. "H-how do-do we pull it up? I-I-I don't want to r-risk being wrong about th-the climbing thing."
"What are you even talking about?" Tinker cried out, throwing her hands out to her sides. "You've done nothing but rant and rave like a madman since you showed up! I don't even know who you are!"
"S-Shawn." He was still studying the ladder. "Shawn Darrow. I-I-I'm sorry, I… I just l-lost my entire company to-to those th-things…those…mon-sters."
Tinker frowned. "There aren't any monsters around here." Another wail sounded from outside, as though to counter her argument before she could begin it. The door banged a few more times. She stared down at it, suddenly wondering what was on the other side. Shivering, she looked back at the man. "No monsters. I should know. I did a very thorough check before I moved here. No trolls, no orcs, no demons. This place is about as boring as you can get. There's nothing but farms for miles!"
"S-seeing as we've be-been running for miles," Shawn started, and then shook his head. "We thought we-we'd outrun them, and th-then they caught up. T-th-they were just everywhere all of a s-sudden. O-o-our healer, Jess-ssica, fell first and…" His gaze was unfocused as memories bubbled up to haunt him. His face was gaunt, circles bagging under his blue eyes. His blonde hair was matted against his forehead as he sat back.
"You mean there's actual monsters here?" Tinker whispered, her voice a bit higher than usual.
The banging on her door stopped.
She glanced toward her windows. She'd already closed the shutters for the nice, though she could guess that some of the candlelight could be seen through a few cracks.
"W-would you help me-me get the l-l-ladder up, and I-I-I'll explain w-what I can?"
"Well, it's not exactly supposed to come up while I'm already up here," Tinker replied with a little shrug. She let out a startled cry as Shawn took what was left of his sword and used it to break off the ladder, sending it tumbling to the floor below. "Hey! Do you have any idea how long it took to make that?"
Even as she looked down, pointing toward the ground where the ladder had thudded against her dirt floor, a hand shot up from the ground.
She let out a shriek, though Shawn grabbed her and dragged her away from the ledge. She could hear the sound of dirt giving way and something pulling itself up. The wails that had been outside came from just below them.
Her whole body went stiff, tremors shaking through her.
He'd said he thought something could dig. What was that?
The hand had looked human—five fingers she thought—but it hadn't been right…
Even as she considered that, the smell of rotting flesh hit her. It hit Shawn at the same time, and they both gagged, jerking their shirts up over their faces to try to block the worst of the smell.
Frantic footsteps and disgustingly incoherent grunting came from down below, as whatever it was moved directly below where they were sitting. She could hear it madly pacing, trying to figure out a way to get up to them.
Despite knowing better, she shifted a little—as quietly as she could—until she could peer through a small hole in one of the boards up there.
Down below was a corpse—literally. It was a walking, shambling corpse, rotted clothes barely covering decayed flesh and exposed bones. Its hair fell around its face in stringy lengths, where it still had hair. Its head was inclined back, its expressionless face staring up, mouth agape as those sickening noises escaped its throat.
She jerked back up into a sitting position, turning toward Shawn, eyes wide. "You said there's—"
The creature below let out a wail as soon as she spoke.
Shuddering, she tried to talk lower. "There's more of them?"
"Dozen's mo-more," he whispered.
"What if," Tinker tried to drop her voice even lower, carefully crossing back over to where Shawn still sat and leaning up on her toes to whisper in his ear. "What if we climb out on the roof? Think maybe they'll go away if they can't hear us as well?"
He considered it for a moment and then nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself, glancing down toward where they could still hear the sound of pacing and gurgling grunts.
Tinker tiptoed as best she could over to the edge of the slanted roof. She'd installed a sky-window in the ceiling, hoping to get more natural light into her workshop during the day so that she wouldn't burn through as many candles. It had worked somewhat well, the square of light sitting on where she normally kept her worktable.
At that, she remember her sign and looked back, heart breaking. If she left it…
The creature only seemed to be interested in them, though, so maybe it wouldn't touch her sign. She could come back for it, once everything calmed down.
Carefully—and as quietly as they could—they eased the sky-window open, and crawled out. Sure enough, Tinker could see figures moving across the yard outside, shambling slowly. However, when they heard Shawn's boot on the roof, all of their gazes snapped toward them, a stillness falling over the whole scene.
Then one wailed and the others followed suit, turning their attentions toward the building.
Shawn scrambled up further onto the roof, laying carefully down so that nothing below could see him. Tinker followed him up, propping the window up behind them so that they'd be able to get back in easily.
They must have lay up there for hours, listening to the occasional shuffle of feet around the workshop, punctuated with soft wails and inarticulate noises.
And the smell.
Gears and sprockets, but that smell just might kill her without anything else laying a hand on her.
Slowly, painstakingly slowly, the sounds died out. They heard the sound of earth getting overturned, of clawing, and then…nothing.
They had to have waited another hour before Tinker finally dared to sit up and peer over the roof. The yard was mostly empty, though a few of the creatures still meandered aimlessly across it.
She took in a slow breath, glancing around and then looked back at Shawn. Whispering as softly as she could, she motioned, "Do you think we should make a run for it?"
"I-I-I don't know," he whispered back. "Do-do you have a horse or…?"
"Well, my means of transportation isn't exactly quiet," Tinker admitted, thinking to her mechanical beauty sitting a few dozen yards away in her barn. "Think we could make it to the nearest town on foot?"
"I d-don't—"
Something slammed into Shawn's forehead as he tried to answer, sending him tumbling backwards, blood spilling down his face from a gash going across his nose and spreading onto both cheeks. He barely made a sound, eyes unfocused and blank as he fell off the edge of the roof.
If he cried out when he landed, Tinker didn't hear.
She was too focused on the thing that had knocked him down. It was monstrous, its mouth full of fangs that seemed to leave it unable to close its jaws, and a strangely bat-like head and arms, with the lower extremities almost resembling a man's. As it perched on the edge of the barn, facing her, the wood creaked and splintered under its weight.
Even as she took a few steps back, heart hammering in her chest, something caught Tinker's shoulders and lifted her off the roof.
As she flailed, looking up to see the same sort of creature carrying her up, she let out a scream.
The air rushed around her, cold and unrelenting.
Still flailing, she happened a glance down and still, feeling all her blood drain out of her face. She was too high up. She could barely make out Shawn's body where it lay beside her workshop, limbs twisted awkwardly and unmoving.
Then, even as she thought to grab at the creature's feet that held onto her, it let her go.
She couldn't even scream as she went crashing back down to the earth.
