The trip though Westfall to Duskwood was eventless as a squadron of white and blue armoured knights of Stormwind surrounded the prince, and within that circle of protection was Lord Bolvar Fordragon, Scion of House Prestor Menma and Apprentice Arcanist Trixie Blastfuse, accompanying Prince Anduin directly.
Menma's usual habit of talking to himself - one could suppose now also Trixie would be involved - had a lid put on it because of the need to maintain some measure of decorum.
And the Prince was channeling his scared rabbit abilities because the poor boy seemed to have already lost his nerve, looking upon the approaching gloom with trepidation.
Lord Bolvar was surprisingly personable though, not at all like that statuesque man he'd seen at the King's side from time to time, though it was more than likely 'Uncle Bolvar' trying to help young Anduin.
The four Knights were interesting choices, he'd already gotten a small dossier on each of them courtesy of Katrana's butler, Sebas. Strange man, but a good one.
First was Sir Nathaniel Briar, a middle aged man who fought in the war against the first Horde invasion. Somehow both managing to survive the conflicts and also continue into aged service. The man exuded the aura of badass old man, though was only about forty-five.
Knight Jonnathan Strolk, a younger man, about the age of 20 or so, had a burly figure - like he had dwarf blood in him - and was a few inches shorter than Menma himself, the man was stoic but not in an intimidating sense, it was like looking at an oak tree, a sort of serene stoicism.
The youngest of them was a mere squire who served Lord Bolvar, his cousins son, Alastor Fulgrim, Bolvar barely knew the lad before he'd taken him on as his squire, to the point where when he was looking for a squire and took him on, Alastor took a month to even bring up their relation.
He was a squirely thing, thin and wispy but his eyes held a keen gaze, with a glance it was like the boy could spot any weakness, in Bolvar's opinion he'd be an excellent addition to SI:7 but apparently he wished to be a knight.
Menma looked to the little prince and smiled slightly down at the skittish boy as they crossed the border from Westfall and into Duskwood, "Nervous, my prince?"
The young man didn't even hesitate to nod, "I am… but I must be brave, we're helping the people I'll one day rule over, and I have to do my best to help them, in any way I can."
Bolvar smiled warmly at his prince, something Menma saw and had to agree was equal parts adorable and incredibly mature, "A good mindset, little man."
Anduin looked up at the stylish(?) mage and gave a small smile of his own, "I want to be a man my father can be proud of."
Something about that kind of hit Menma in his heart, in more ways than one the little prince was his junior, but something like that wasn't born of naivety, it was born of genuine passion and belief.
It made him question if his parents would be proud of him, with his career choice and his personage.
On one hand, he'd assume they'd be happy given how he'd grown up into what he'd like to think was a decent person, on the other there were genuinely bad parts of his person that he should correct.
Decided to pick the brain of those around him he posed a question, "What's your opinion of the Horde, little prince… and the rest of you?"
Anduin thought about it for a moment, though instead of him, it was Bolvar who answered, "I would say that most of the Horde hold a firm grasp of traditionalist honor, though there are those who surrender to baser, crueler aspects to be sure."
Diplomatic, was how Menma would describe it.
The Lord continued, "Whilst we have no end of troubles with our warring factions, there are times I see peace being approachable, at least."
"Except the bloody undead." Alastor said with a low tone, his face marred with distaste, "Bloody rotting corpses should be in the ground, I say."
"Tolerance, my squire. It could save your life one day." Bolvar scolded gently, getting a hesitant nod from his pupil.
Anduin finally spoke up though, Menma's eyes having not left him, "I think… that if we worked together with the Horde, everyone could achieve so much more for the betterment of Azeroth…"
"I think the orcs should be razed into the dirt they live in, and that the undead should be sent back to the abyss they crawled out of." Jon said with a low growl emanating from his helmet.
"But don't we all have a right to life, Sir Knight?" Anduin asked, "The priests teach that the Light accepts all who worship, regardless of race or birth. Even some Undead retain their ability to use the Light."
Jon had to admit the little prince had him there but remained stalwart, "A right to life, perhaps. But not a right to butcher and slaughter like those monsters have done, the internment camps showed what greenskins are like without their wars and battles, stupid animals that surrender to lethargy, they're all but made for war and war alone."
Jon's voice audible strained to maintain composure, "Forgive my candor your majesty, but I think whilst some Orcs have proven themselves to be honorable, most still have to pay for the crimes of their forefathers, look to the Blackrock Orcs for instance, our people are constantly beset by them."
Anduin nodded, actually willing to dive further into this debate, "I understand that there will always be bad blood between our peoples, but is a better future not worth striving for? A world we can leave in the hands of our children when we're too old to make real changes?"
That made Jon go quiet, he seemed to be digesting those words.
Menma was actually pulled up somewhat by that, who knew the little prince had such far sighted vision for the world?
For all the hate in his heart, he knew that Anduin was right, of course he was, a world at peace, where no one had to fear the dreaded claws of a warborne death? That sounded excellent. It just sounded so unrealistic to the mages ears.
'I suppose that Varian did a pretty great job raising this one.' Menma admitted to himself, smirking somewhat, whilst the man had to raise Anduin alone, whilst also being a monarch, he made wise choices by surrounding the young man with good people it seemed.
Menma often experienced the world by comparing situations to his own, for example, Anduin and his idealistic world view, when compared to his somewhat hardheaded, pragmatic father.
It made him strain to pull memories of his own childhood, he really couldn't sadly, he had vague impressions and memories of his redheaded mother, and his blond father - his black hair made no sense to him either - most of his memories involved his grandfather, Tobirama.
No in fact, most of his formative growth came under the watchful gaze of Lady Prestor, and whilst it certainly wasn't a bad way to grow, it was by no means a household of love and warmth, Katrana wanted him for something, and he knew that, whatever her sweet words and gentle tones, she didn't care for him in any real way, she was using him as she used so many other people in Stormwind.
Like pieces on a chess board.
It actually made him somewhat envious of Anduin, foolishly enough, he envied his close relationship with his father, whereas Menma had no father figures in his life, he pitied the boy for his lack of maternal figure but couldn't put any real feeling behind that pity as his maternal figure was a manipulative witch.
'Twas an odd experience to be sure.
"What about you?" Anduin asked the young Mage at his side, the only sound being the trotting of horses and the distant howls of Duskwood for a few moments whilst Menma formed his thoughts.
"Depends on the day I'm asked, to be honest." Began Menma, "I have a deep hatred for the Blackrock Clan, mostly because I've seen what they do to people they capture and kill, it's… not pretty."
"My parents were killed in the scourging of Lordaeron, so I'm not exactly fond of the Undead but I find as time moves on my hatred for moving corpses is harder to hold on, it's like hating a wild animal, they do as they're compelled to." Menma rationalised, though more to himself than to anyone else.
"The Horde itself… I'm honestly torn, there are parts that expand and do damage to those around them, and yet a massive chunk of their forces remain in Durotar, Mulgore and the now vacant Tirisfal Glades, so once again I find hatred of a distant enemy harder to hold on to."
Menma finalised his thoughts thusly, "I suppose I'd need motivation to seek and destroy members of the Horde but as of now I'm more focused on the threats near my home, my worldview is still quite small."
Anduin seemed to accept that for the moment as within moments they'd come upon Raven Hill, the misconception about Duskwood was that it was a seemingly endless, gloomy wood that seemed to stretch on for days, but in reality it was only a dozen kilometres across, much like Elwynn Forest itself.
It was just the way that most people patrolled that gave these places such vaunted trip lengths, by foot usually.
Either way, when they arrived at the base of Raven hill they were given sight to what once was.
The small town of Raven Hill was dilapidated, the wood was rotted and blackened as though through some manner of unnatural means, the magic in the air was stale on Menma's tongue as he rolled it around in his mouth, a grimace crossing his face.
The ground was befouled with dead foliage and the skittering steps of giant spiders lurking in the dimly lit shrubs dotting about the area.
Menma produced a quartet of cinders atop his staff before raising it into the air, four orbs of flame, roughly the size of his fist shot in differing directions, two sinking into the bent over lamp posts that sat at either end of the town, and the other two diving another two times each to create a small halo of light around the village, sitting high enough that no flames would touch the ground, but also low enough to avoid the treetops.
"We'll set up in the Inn, Trixie I want wards placed at the entrance within 10 minutes, Lord Bolvar as a Paladin I hope you can achieve a basic consecration of these grounds?" Bolvar nodded in response easily enough, Menma continued, "Anduin you and the Knights will sweep the basement whilst I check the top floor, if anyone encounters anything I need to know, the more information we can gain as to the nature of this curse, the easier dispelling it will be."
Without another word the mage entered the dilapidated Inn and moved up stairs, staff at the ready with orbs of fire floating about it, simply by willing it a flash of light appeared over his head and a single bauble of arcane energy lit up the entire upper floor of the old inn.
A few lone skeletons, of those that lived there, laid across tattered beds, Menma frowned and willed the bones to float, though it did not work. A little trick his mentor had shown him to determine if the bones were enchanted in some way.
As the skeletons rose up he returned them to the grave with two potent blasts of fire from his free hand, and with a swing of his staff release one of the fireballs kept atop it.
The undead crumbled under the assault, falling to pieces and fracturing. Clearly these were old bones that had only the barest amount of necromantic energy within them.
Menma popped his head into several other rooms, seeing no more of the afflicted bones laying about, he tapped his staff on the ground and cast a simple Detect Magic spell, there was a… ping, for lack of a better word, on his magical radar.
The whole house itself seemed to have some minor curse on it, to draw in undead, no doubt caused by whoever cursed the graveyard itself.
Menma's face crossed with a frown as he thought about how to go about purging this curse.
'First and foremost I'll need to find the anchors keeping it in the inn, and then go from there.' He followed the repeated ping his magic was picking up and was given sight to the anchor because of it.
The anchor itself was admittedly a little cliche, a small linen doll with runes sewn into the stomach, the magic of the doll was noticeably dark, it coloured the air around it a deep, dark grey. As though the aura of the doll itself stained the material world.
Necromantic energy was something that had a morose appeal to him, to be truthful, and he admittedly wanted to know more about how such spells differed to 'normal' magic.
He'd… dabbled, in a little shadow magic in a purely theoretical exchange of arcane magic with one of the Warlocks from the Slaughtered Lamb Inn, within the Mage Quarter of Stormwind.
His mentor was… extremely displeased upon finding this out.
Regardless he pulled out his spellbook and drew the rune within its pages, thought drew a damping rune around it to avoid it drawing any magic from the tome itself.
With a flick of his wrist he destroyed the doll and purge the magic with a mild counterspell infused in his fire.
Bending and mixing spells was becoming much easier as he grew up, he remembered when he first tried the most basic, a Frostfire Bolt, at the behest of his mentor, and almost blew up his arms with unstable magic.
Because he was an idiot.
Menma smirked at the memory and made to leave the upper floor, walking back down stairs he was greeted by Lord Bolvar, the man nodded to him and drew him over.
"The basement is clean, but there are a few… cursed dolls, around the inn that I've noticed, is there anything you can do about this?" The man asked, most likely thinking inciting the light before they begun their mission propper would draw too much attention.
"I can, bring me any you find." Bolvar nodded and without another word he popped off to do just that.
Menma repaired many of the tables and chairs within the eating area of the inn with magic, a simple Mending spell slowly but surely returned all but a few truly ruined pieces of furniture.
The evening had come and the Inn was fortified, arcane eyes patrolled the exterior whilst charms and wards were placed at each door, and every window. The cellar was their place of rest with a barrier placed at the top of the stairs, Menma spared no time or mana in protecting them, and with Trixie's help he felt comfortable enough to actually rest.
He took great pains to assure their safety because of Anduin's presence, he had no idea what scheme his adopted mother planned but he'd assured himself that he wouldn't be caught up on it, and took to spending time with Anduin to work his way into the boys good books.
Assurance for his own future, as if he could get in good with the future king, it made his life much easier in the long run.
Still, the knights set to taking watch, even Lord Bolvar.
When morning broke, the only sign of it was Trixie's pocket watch buzzing - Menma was unsure why such a feature was installed, but it was.
The first task of shelter was complete so it was onto the beginning of the investigation.
The dolls that lay around the inn were purged but beforehand each and every one was inspected for the same inscriptions, they were anchors for shadow magic that acted as a vacuum and dragged filaments of the void into themselves, staining the building with black magic residue.
What this meant in practical terms was that the site itself was much easier to curse as the dark magic within the curse was amplified by the dolls.
The runes themselves were actually quite ametuer, so clearly whoever cast the curse did so when they were young, or just inexperienced.
Regardless the spell it formed was the most basic Corruption spell, a favourite of Warlocks that traveled the path of Affliction.
Look, he was curious and went to a bar, leave him be.
It was a rather simple cast, didn't require a lot of mana and allowed someone like him - an Evoker Mage (A big ball of destruction) - an edge. So he was going to take it.
Next was creating a consecrated parameter, that's where Anduin and Bolvar came in, the Light was the polar opposite of the Void and thus could purge it from various places, with the Inn itself already cleansed of the anchors it took only a few hours of praying and casting to actually achieve, much faster than Menma expected.
They moved on to the other houses and managed to get almost the entire settlement fixed up by the next nightfall.
The next morning all awoke to Trixie's watch, the previous nights rest was actually worth it, with the lack of shadow magic trying to mingle with their bodies the humans - and gnome - were able to actually sleep properly.
The thing to do at that stage was to send off for any Light wielders to make their way to the Raven Hill, it was a standing invitation, regardless of anything else they were able to complete their task without backup, but someone would have to be stationed at Raven Hill to keep an eye on it.
Menma and Trixie set out towards the Graveyard to discover what was up, the undead littered the area and they were almost immediately set upon when they came to the gates.
Trixie released a massive Cone of Cold and froze them stiff, Menma spun his staff and released a wave of flames that charred even the frozen bones black, with several long waves of his staff he burned everything around them, the graves and the dirt were distinguishable only because of their headstones.
Menma gazed upon the burnt out graveyard with an almost sheepish expression, Yol snickering behind him, whilst Trixie blinked owlishly.
"Fire cleans all." Menma defended, noticing Trixie's expression though he bore a grin that showed how little he cared.
"That is one way of looking at it." The gnome said quietly.
Both of them turned at the sound of rattling bones, from the ashes of the grave rose hundreds of undead, clawing their way out of the earth and staring with burning red motes inside their hollow heads.
"Oh… oh dear…" Menma said with a blink.
End
I dunno, I figured I'd finish this chapter.
If you liked it lemme know.
Raxychaz