The thrill of coming home has never changed.
- Guy Pearce
A thick, choking haze hovered heavily throughout the Dwarven District, the sounds of bellows, hammers striking metal, and its drunken inhabitants shouting raucously to one another. On another day, Zoen would be content to wander around the enclave, probably stopping by the Hunter's Guild or telling one of the miners she knew where she'd seen an ore vein if she'd come across one while hunting. This, however, was not another day.
"So… uhm… W-we have to go down there?"
She couldn't keep the edge of panic out of her voice as she asked the question, eyes wide as saucers as she stared down into the circular metal tunnel that led down to the Deeprun Tram Station. She could faintly hear the sounds of cogs turning and machinery whirring lively ahead, the stench of oil and other combustible material stinging her nose. Images flashed through her head: the tunnels collapsing atop her head, suffocating her, crushing her, breaking all her bones one by one -
"To reach Ironforge, yes," said Blaine. He gave her a curious look before delving down into the darkness, Markus and Salric following after. Zoen swallowed, tried to move, failed. Tiris pushed at her arm with his nose, whining.
Elwynn Forest, she thought desperately, panic clawing at her throat. Hunting for birds' eggs in tree tops. The sky
"Claustrophobic?" asked Felix. Zoen looked at him, his smile easy and fearless. She laughed, a tinge of hysteria coloring it.
"A little. I mostly don't like being underground." She waved one hand, the other curled tightly around the wood of her bow. "I got lost in the Undercity when I was little and lived in Lordaeron." She shook her head, the cold chill of fear trickling down her spine as the memory of wandering around those wretched sewers for Light knew how long until Sparks found her.
Felix noticed, and he said quickly and honestly, "It's bigger than it looks." He smiled optimistically, drawing a weak grin from Zoen. "You get to see under the sea, too."
She exhaled raggedly, a ghost of a laugh accompanying the air. "Yeah. The sea." She ran a hand through her hair, barely noticing the tangles that snagged her fingers. "I - I'll be fine." She swallowed, took a step. Two more. There was metal and cogs and wires under her feet and around her and above her, right on top and they were going to fall and crush her like a bug.
She could barely breathe. "I'm fine."
Liar.
"Mith! Soras! Hurry up!" shouted Blaine, his voice echoing through the metal tunnel. Zoen ran ahead of Felix, her footsteps ringing as she thought, Lordaeron, blue skies, rain. Tiris loped at her side, his claws clacking against the metal floor.
The ceiling was creaking.
The stars, the moons, the Twisting Nether.
The station itself was, to another, an extraordinary display of the technological ingenuity of the gnomes of Azeroth. Metal and wire and lights and a beggar sleeping in the corner, the paladins sitting incongruously on metal benches as they waited for the next tram. Markus glanced back at Zoen, Tiris, and, as he arrived, Felix. "It will be here in five minutes," he rumbled.
"Great," said Zoen, swallowing thickly. She felt sick and hollow, determinedly keeping her eyes on the ground. There's a sky above me, and it goes on forever, with stars and moons and suns and birds to shoot.Felix moved past her, going to sit with his comrades. Zoen shadowed after him, one hand on her bow, the other knotted tightly in Tiris' fur.
She could hear the not-so-distant clanging of the tram as it rushed to its destination, the platform vibrating under her feet and the rails above shuddering in anticipation. Except perhaps Markus, everything seemed to quiver in excitement as the metal juggernaut neared the station.
The actual arrival of the tram was, in retrospect, highly anticlimactic. No veils between dimensions were sundered, no demonic legions poured forth from the walls, no freak piece of shrapnel flew out to embed itself in her heart. The tram rolled in, gliding smoothly on the rail before stopping just short of a collision with the wall of the pit. Impatiently it idled as the passengers from Ironforge stepped off and its passengers to Ironforge stepped on. There was a lull, a moment between the transition before the tram lurched forward violently, racing towards the dwarven capital.
In the face of the tremendous speed of the tram, claustrophobia was forgotten, the metal tunnels inspiring something akin to awe in Zoen as she and her companions rocketed horizontally and diagonally through them. After some time the tunnels stopped abruptly, replaced with a glass tube that showcased - Gods above - the bottom of the Great sea. Naga, threshadons, even a sea diver or two swam around and above the tube, and Zoen was rendered speechless.
"Pretty, eh?" grinned Salric. She nodded dumbly. "It never loses its touch." Wavy streaks of sunlight filtered weakly through the water, playing on the paladins' armor and strange, bluish polygons danced across their flesh. Despite the tons of water and glass and metal and vicious Naga that glared down at them, Zoen smiled.
Then the glass and the sea ended, and the dark, swift-passing tunnels returned.
Arriving in the Ironforge station was far less jarring than leaving Stormwind had been, the tram coming to a relatively smooth stop. Only one passenger waited to board: a night elf druid, her teal hair bright as the moon. She smiled brilliantly at Zoen as they passed, murmuring, "Ishnu-alah."
"Uhh… hi?" the hunter tried, nonplussed. The elf laughed, the sound like chimes in a forest.
"Ande'thoras-ethil," called the elf just before the tram rocketed away, leaving nothing in its wake but four humans, a wolf, and the echo of metal screeching against metal to grown fainter and fainter.
"Come," said Blaine. And despite the suffocating, nauseous fear the station inspired in her, Zoen hesitated to comply.
"So, you're afraid of being underground," said Felix in between bites of his pretzel, "but you're alright with Ironforge?"
Sequestered in a corner of one of many small, crowded taverns that Ironforge sported proudly, the three younger members of the company waited impatiently for their elders to finalize the finer details of the next leg of their journey. "Get lunch," Blaine had suggested, tossing a few coins Salric's way. "Enjoy one of the last tastes of civilization you'll have in a while."
"Do not divulge of our expedition," added Markus, eyeing Salric in particular. "I do not want to arrive at the ruins, only for a band of liches and death knights waiting for us because a cultist heard one of you shouting to the heavens our plans." Said in Markus' heavy voice, the mental image was lended a particularly dark edge; even Blaine looked uncomfortable, grimacing before he urged Markus towards the Great Forge and the gryphon master that resided within it.
On that highly pleasant note, the three had wandered the city, reaching their current destination after daring one another to jump down to the thermal vents that lined the Commons (Salric had just about done it, before a guard asked what the hell he thought he was doing and chased them away).
Now, with plates of sausages, pretzels, and cheese before them, the nightmare images induced by Markus had retreated to the shadows, leaving in its place an easy air of joviality between the three of them and the wolf at their feet.
"Ironforge's huge," said Zoen, grinning widely as she snatched a sausage from Salric. "The ceiling is what, a hundred feet above us? I can breathe here, at least."
"It's underground, though," insisted Salric. "You're really not scared?"
Contemplatively, Zoen swallowed a bit of sausage before tearing into a pretzel. "Are you two trying to make me have a panic attack? Is that your endgame?"
"Well, it's not like it wouldn't be kind of funny... Hey!" Salric hissed, rubbing his head where Zoen had smacked him. "Light! Fine, I get it, honesty is not acceptable, I'm sorry, you little tyrant."
"Stop being an arse," she suggested, "and I won't hit you." There was a supportive growl beneath the table, and Zoen grinned. "The feral creature with fangs and claws agrees with me."
"Bloody hunter," grumbled Salric, inching away from where Tiris lay. Felix was busy trying to hide his laughter.
Still smiling, Zoen said, "To answer your question, I am not comfortable per se in Ironforge, but it's not as bad as the Tram... in some sections. That cave next to Tinker Town was hell." She shivered at the memory of the dripping, dark, dank cavern. Desiring a change in topic, she inquired, "Why are you two even here? Some... paladin hazing thing? See who doesn't get bit by the ghoulies?"
"Basically," snorted Salric, downing a mug of some mysterious liquid.
"Investigation," said Felix, "and recovery. The ruins are empty, now, except maybe a skeleton or two. Blaine led a company there not too long ago after we got some intelligence that Kel'Thuzad's phylactery was there."
"And was it?" Their corner of the tavern seemed colder suddenly, the hair standing on the back of Zoen's neck. There was a flick of red in her peripheral, but when she turned it was gone.
Felix and Salric exchanged pained glances before the latter said, uncharacteristically somber, "No. Lots of Scourge, though. It had been a trap. Blaine's the only one who got out alive."
"And he's going back?" Unbidden, flashes of scarlet and iron came to the forefront of her mind, making the scars that riddled her flesh tingle uncomfortably. With immense difficulty, she shoved the memories down into a shallow grave, beating back the ghosts and turning deaf to their moans.
Felix was shrugging, picking at a wedge of soft cheese. "He wants closure," he offered in explanation. "Lots of his friends died down there. We're going to - to see if there's anything we can recover for the families." His voice cracked in the middle, and he quickly grabbed a mug of his own to occupy himself with. Zoen was quiet, brooding. Old ghosts, dead light that never stayed in the grave. Maybe that's what made paladins so stoic later in life.
When they had exhausted their funds and ate as much as they could stomach, the small group left the tavern, animated and blithe thanks to Felix's inexorable inability to stay melancholy for any length of time. Grandly, Salric provided Zoen and Felix with a running commentary of facts about Ironforge, the truth behind each one growing more dubious every second.
"And this, lady hunter," he declared, sapphire eyes glinting as he gestured to the wide cavern of the Commons, his arms splayed as high above his head as his pauldrons would allow. His and Felix's armor gleamed in the light of the braziers, the light less holy than comforting. "This used to be the hub of Alliance adventurers. Traffic used to get so bad that the intrepid heroes of the blue and gold referred to this great mountain-city as Lagforge. You can imagine the anarchy when Brewfest came around." He shuddered theatrically, face contorted into an exaggerated grimace. "Drunk adventurers atop their raven lords and their elekk... Absolutely terrifying."
"What changed?" Looking around, the city wasn't nearly as populated as Stormwind. Felix groaned, slapping a palm against his forehead.
Salric grinned. "Squashed dwarves tend to stink."
"Light darn it, Voltra, that's not funny!"
Salric howled with laughter, and Zoen tried not to throw up. As they neared the Great Forge, the so-called paladin commented offhandedly about how the pools of magma were hotspots for suicide.
Markus and Blaine had just settled everything; five gryphons awaited the party, and a phial of pygmy oil was drained down Tiris' throat, the wolf shrinking down to the size of a two-week-old kitten. Zoen stored him in one of the roomy interior pockets of her coat. Explaining how to ride a gryphon to the younger members of the band was a far more difficult process; Zoen almost tore the feathers out of her beast, and Salric got bucked off when he jabbed his heel painfully into his mount's side. Nonetheless, twenty minutes later, the entire party was in the air, soaring through the square holes in the tops of Ironforge's walls, cold mountain air striking them hard as they came out Dun Morogh, the gryphons tilting past the Khaz Mountains towards the Wetlands.
Incredible as the speed of the Deeprun Tram was, the gryphons outdid the gnomish creation with the constant barrage of fantastic scenery. The marshes and swamps, the sea to the west, the sprawling port of Menethil Harbor below - it all whizzed by, green and blue and brown and then they hit the sea and it was lovely. Zoen didn't know if there was a name to this stretch of water between Menethil Harbor and Southshore, and she honestly didn't care. There was so much; as she peered over her gryphon's shoulder, she saw the ocean disappear into the horizon, like back on the Stormwind docks.
Thoughts of Stormwind led to Old Town, led to Sparks, and the glamor of the sea dulled as a pit of homesickness and guilt yawned inside her. Zoen buried her hands in the gryphon's feathers and rested her head lightly on its neck. She didn't look back up until the scent of pines mixed with the salty tang of the sea.
She didn't expect Southshore to be particularly large, and it wasn't. Huddled on the fringe of Forsaken territory, situated so far away from the relative safety of the Stormwind legions, the port city was a vestige of a dying age, decrepit and teetering on the edge of total annihilation. When her gryphon alighted upon the grassy expanse just outside of the city outskirts, she dismounted quietly, dropping the kitten-sized Tiris out of her pocket. By the time Salric and Felix landed, the wolf had regrown to full size, and was alternating between growling at Zoen and trying to sniff at the gryphons without getting pecked.
Salric sidled next to her, unusually somber. Behind them, Felix was speaking animatedly with some of the locals while Blaine and Markus met with the man who held their supplies.
"Welcome to Southshore," said Salric dully, and for the first time Zoen noticed the distinct Alterac accent he had. "The last of a dead kingdom."
On the wind, the faint stench of death and disease carried over to the two of them, an ill edge adorning it that Zoen recognized as undeath. The Forsaken in Tarren Mill, she supposed. Dead men serving a dead lady in their dead kingdom.
She spat. The scent of undeath and the ocean mixed, making her nauseous. "It's nice to be home."
A/N: Thank you, Buglet, for you aid in the creation of this chapter. Fear of you waving your spiny forelegs kept me going.
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