When I woke up, there was no light. I expected to find myself in the Lady's warm embrace, in the calm glow of the Emerald Dream. But I was greeted by cold; a frost much deeper than the frozen wastes. Around me, I saw the confused, lost souls of those who had fought beside me staring, like I was, at the halls around us. Occasionally, their gaze fell to me, and again they would stare. We seemed stuck in some kind of limbo; a massive cavern filled with ice, the howls of tortured souls ringing out from two gigantic structures in the centre of an abyssal ravine. I felt the call then.
"Well hello child," the voice was that of a soft, effeminate man. I turned my head in various directions, searching for a source. This seemed to amuse him; he was laughing at me. "No, no child, you cannot see me. At least, not yet." A hulking armoured skeleton nudged past me, grunting. The voice had gone mute for the time being, it seemed pensive. "I do believe the last dragon soul that ran amuck in these halls was Sindragosa." Dragon soul? I searched the room for Verias, afraid that what I had seen meant that he had died as well. There was no sign of the netherdrake anywhere. Then it hit me. Of course. I sat back on my haunches, now aware of why the others had gawked. For so long I had been an orc, in body but not in soul. This felt foreign. Another voice echoed in my head; female this time, with a sultry tone.
"She doesn't know she's a dragon!" it mocked, laughing along with the voice I had heard before.
"A green dragon nonetheless," came a third, somewhat studious sounding voice. "How quaint." This one did not laugh with the others. "Come dragon, I wish to see you for myself." As if guided by a rope I walked, slowly, grudgingly, up the path of the hall. Red souls that looked like skulls whizzed around overhead, cackling and heckling those around me. Various reanimated warlocks lined the edge of the cliffs, guarded by chains. The only breaks in this long trail were long steel ramps that led into the structures I had admired before. As if reading my thoughts, the first voice cooed in my ear again.
"This place is the Forge of Souls, dragon. This is where the Lich King sorts between the souls of the strong and the weak. I wonder what he'll have Bronjahm do to you."
"This one is not for the Grinders," harked the scholarly voice. "I do believe the Lich King will want to meet this one personally." The train of souls I had been following stopped suddenly on the ramp. Up ahead, one of the Kor'kron had grown tired of the trek and had engaged one of the warlocks inside the massive construct. His once light blue soul was burning red as he grabbed the gnome by the throat. It wasn't long before more arrived to subdue him; these faceless warlocks had skulls for heads and were draped in blue magister garb. As they dragged the fighting orc away, the group continued its walk. I could still feel eyes upon me, as those I had fought with so shortly ago saw me truly for the first time. One human even climbed upon my back, only to be removed by one of the boneguards as we passed under them.
"You never told them who you were, did you dragon?" The interior of the engines was golden with fire that sparked and danced around the roof. Some of the more primitive of the orcs ducked in fear. I spread my wings for them to hide under, unsure if the fire could even harm us, but it seemed to calm them all the same.
"Thank you," snarled one of the orcs under me. His wounds in life were displayed across his soul in death. Ghoul scratches mauled one side of his face, acidic spit rendering his left eye nothing but gloop. His armour was cracked on both sides, a hole through his entire body; a Vrykul spear perhaps. "I don't remember any dragons on the battlefield at the Wrathgate," he mused, looking me up and down.
"That would be because there were none," I replied. For the first time in a long while, I heard myself speak with a dragon's tongue. It was something I had forgotten more than how to walk on four legs. "I was an orc, just like you." The battle-scarred orc smiled, at least, I think he did; the broken side of his face made it difficult to tell.
"But female, by the sounds of it. Your voice is like a spring breeze, dragon." He looked onward, his good eye squinting. "Do you know where they're taking us?"
"Something called the Soul Grinders? Some subservient of Arthas will see to us." The orc half nodded, snorting. The fire above the next engine roared violently, the screams of a human in pain filling the cavern.
"It seems they are as gruesome as the name makes them sound," the orc murmured, a hint of fear in his voice. He did not show it much, but even in this ethereal form, pain seemed to be a cause of concern for him. The line halted once more, as we were slowly taken one by one to meet with Bronjahm and our subsequent fates. As we stood on the long, swaying bridgework, I could better see the operations of this dire place. The only thing keeping our souls bound to this room, it seemed, was the work of the risen warlocks, whose pale lips were continually chanting words of power I did not know. They stood, huddled in groups, blue and purple magics sparking off their fingertips and spiralling into the air, creating and binding a foggy haze at the very height of the cave. It wasn't long until we had reached the front of the queue.
"Don't worry about your little friend dragon. I'll see to it that Bronjahm takes good care of him for you," mocked the voice from before. It lulled and laughed as the orc was allowed past by the skeletons standing by the doorway. I raised my head over their polearms to see what lay in store for me. A dark skinned human stood in the middle of the engine, his vivid, pupil-less blue eyes gleaming in the murk of souls that danced around him. He wore red and blue robes that skirted the floor, his shoulders embellished by two pauldrons of snake heads. All three sets of eyes seemed to look the weary orc up and down, and the souls began to whisper to one another.
"He is strong."
"He fights with prowess."
"Not very smart." The orc seemed to overhear and smirked at the comment.
"He would make a wonderful soldier for the Lich King," came Bronjahm's judgement, his voice a mixture of baritone and unholy power. The whispers stopped. "Send him to the Devourer and bring the next one to me." The skeletons opened their weapons again, allowing me to step into the room for myself. This powerful warlock, for all his worth, came up to my shoulder and nothing more. He raised a calloused hand to my face, and instinctively I wrinkled my snout into a sneer and whipped my tail. Undeterred Bronjahm continued, resting a strong palm on the tip of my nose; it was surprising he could even touch me.
"The Devourer has told me all about you dragon. Their whispers say you died at the Wrathgate with the rest of these poor fools. How sad your mistresses have forsaken you to walk with the damned in my hallowed halls," he said softly, his thumb stroking between my nostrils. There was no benevolence in his voice; his words were as empty as the depths of this cavern.
"You speak as if you know my Lady," I growled back, refusing to give in to his manipulation.
"I know not of Ysera, young one. The Dreamer is a mystery to us all. What I do know is that the Life-Binder sent her wardens to cleanse the field. Even now, she sits outside of the steel gates. And yet here you are. She chose to save only one of you."
Alexstrazsa, the Life-Binder or Dragonqueen to some of us, was the Aspect of the Red Dragonflight. The head of all five aspects – the red, green, blue, black and bronze – she was the major decision maker at Wyrmrest. Is that what I had seen before? Did she really send her children to selectively rescue a single soul?
"I believe you know the man in question," Bronjahm continued as my expression of hatred began to waver to one of uncertainty. "Bolvar Fordragon has be resurrected by red dragon fire. Luckily for us however, we recovered his flaming corpse before the dragons even dared to land."
"And what of Dranosh? What of Saurfang?" My thoughts fell to my own war leader; was his corpse naught but ash? Was mine?
"Safe as well. Dead, but preserved. You can visit him if you like. I hear the Devourer is planning to send you to the Lich King himself." Bronjahm's eyes flashed menacingly.
"Send me to this 'Devourer', I must speak with him and have him tell me what he knows," the words fell out of my mouth with no way of pushing them back in. A shiver ran up me as I realised the consequences of my request. A grin spread across the warlock's face.
"Across that bridge, and into the portal room you will find who you seek. It has been… interesting… speaking to you dragon." He paced toward the exit, hands clasped behind his back. I followed, steeling my resolve once more for the unexpected. "Let her through. If you imbeciles even touch her I will send you into the Grinders." The pair of skeletons looked from their master to me and let me past. They skulked along behind me hesitantly, as if completely sentient. From here on the walk was barren; no chanting, no warlocks, no cackling souls that flew… just the call of the voices.
"Ah, she comes to us now," the scholar announced, the most excitement I had heard from him since my arrival. This time, however, the voices were tangible; they rang over the ice and echoed in the darkness.
"I do love company," the woman hummed delightedly, "you two get rather dull after a century." As the bridge ended and opened up onto rock, the skeletons scarpered off. Their boots rattled as they returned to their post, leaving me to face what I had only ever heard referred to as the Devourer. The only other room adjoining the engine hall was a smaller, enclosed cave. At the back, hidden away, was an inactive portal; a round, spiked frame crusted with frost upon a small stage made of the same steel. The entire room was decorated with red and black fangs of metal, joined up near the roof like semi-closed jaws. From long chains, two chandeliers hung in the centre of this abode; fiery sheep skulls pierced onto a circular base provided a small amount of red glow where required. Two braziers of a similar style lay at the foot of the stage. The most striking thing, however, was not the glory of this place, but the monster who resided there. In the middle of the room floated what looked like a massive face made of stone. Bright green eyes glared from a stern, scowling face that did not change expression as I approached.
"You're smaller than I expected," said the violent looking face; I recognised the voice from before as the scholarly one.
"I want to see her, it's not fair if you get to have all the fun!" the second male voice cried; the one who had greeted me when I first arrived was another face on this entity.
"Quiet you! I'm not finished examining her yet!" the forward facing one snapped. He was right; I was a small dragon for my age, only coming up to this creature's lips. "My apologies for my cohorts, they are rather… impatient. You'd think they would learn."
"It's no trouble for me, I just wish to know what you know," I answered as confidently as I could, trying not to be intimidated by the stony maw before me.
"You'd be twice your years if I told you all I knew," the Devourer murmured. "But I take it you want to know why you're here."
"That's right."
"Then there's only one man who can answer you, I'm afraid. He is interested in speaking to you personally on this matter," the female voice spoke this time. "I'd appreciate if you left sooner rather than later dragon; even your soul reeks like brimstone." There was a buzzing of magical energy in the air, and a bursting light from behind the Devourer.
"Come back sometime, won't you?" the gentler male whimpered. "That is, if the Lich King is good to you."
"The Lich King is always good," the scowling face growled. I walked around the floating heads as they bickered, going up the steps on the left of the stage. Passing by I saw what was clearly the head of the quiet man, his face screwed up in pain or anguish. I wondered to myself if the female voice was as pretty as she sounded before stepping into the portal that had been opened for me.