Part 2
Free to explore and unencumbered by the burdens of food or sleep, Necri made her way back to the bustling centre chamber of Undercity. Once there, she spent some time on an upper balcony simply observing the ebb and flow of commerce.
Most of the dead were dressed conservatively; colour and fashion seemed to mean little to them. Others, like the Elves (-Blood- Elves, she corrected herself), wore much more vibrant colours and tended toward flamboyant styles. Even they, however, were subdued and reserved in action and demeanor. Necri thought it unlikely that any Elf would voluntarily surround themselves with the dead. Those who frequented the halls of Undercity were probably either here against their will, or were uncommonly accepting of such unnatural creatures.
She took out the pouch of coins that Ropart had given her, and shook a few of the tiny golden circles into her palm. They were all stamped with images of different faces. There seemed to be no consistency in the art styles, implying that these coins came from a large number of different eras and nations. She even found a coin of obvious Amani Empire origin, even though Ropart had told her that those Trolls had been defeated almost two thousand years ago. She stared at it as memories boiled up through half-healed scars in her mind.
"It been a lon' time since d'Amani were strong," a voice drawled from her right. "Dat coin be ver' old."
Startled not only by the unexpected nearness of the speaker, but also by the distinctive accent, Necri recoiled away from it before she could suppress her reactions.
Standing before her was a Troll. Taller than her by a full head, he sported long, curving tusks and a vibrantly red mohawk. His lithe, blue-skinned body was clad in dusky grey leathers that had clearly seen better days. His attitude was casual, his arms clasped behind his back as he leaned against the wall.
Necri stared at him while she sorted out the chaotic mess of emotions in her head. Obviously his presence here meant that at least -one- tribe of Trolls were part of the Horde, but she was having great trouble putting aside the thoughts of the Amani - the only Trolls she had known - as dangerous and violent enemies. It had been two thousand years for everyone else, but only a very short time for her.
Memories of the great battle overwhelmed her.
As part of the Alliance, the Elves had agreed to teach one hundred humans how to use basic combat magic. The brightest, most studious and creative minds had been sent to Quel'thalas for the intensive training, where they had learned to summon and control great elemental energies. While they proved to be excellent students - and subsequently, teachers - these individuals were largely unprepared for the grisly and horrific reality of the battlefield.
Many of the new mages were driven mad by the experience of the slaughter. Most of the rest had the image of their savage enemies burned into their minds: screaming war cries, brandishing blood-dripping axes and spears. -This- was how Necri saw Trolls. And now here, standing right in front of her, was one of them.
She fought her way out of the nightmares in her mind. While she had fared better than many of her fellow mages, she knew she couldn't separate her later decision to walk the darker, demonic path of magic from her traumatic experiences during the war.
But she tried to remember that it wasn't this one's fault.
Finally, Necri's vision cleared. She was back in the cold, dank halls of Undercity.
"Y'okay dere?" The Troll gave her a cautious look.
A supreme effort of will kept her voice steady. "I am ... fine, thank you," she whispered. "You simply reminded me of someone."
"Shen'fon," the Troll tapped his chest and held out his three-fingered hand, palm upward.
"I am called Necri," she responded, though she couldn't force herself to move closer to him to take the offered hand. She gave a very slight bow instead, in order to avoid offending him.
"Might ya be willin' to sell that coin dere?" Shen'fon asked, pointing at the gold disk in Necri's hand. "Ain't many of dem left outside Zul'Aman."
"Are -you- of the Amani, then?" she asked suspiciously.
"Me! No, no. Darkspear be my tribe." Shen'fon thumped his chest proudly. "We from de south, across da sea. Dere be no love lost 'tween us an' de other tribes, 'specially not once we joined wit' da Horde. De remains of d'Amani still hate de Blood Elves, and de whole Horde by extension, includin' us."
Necri had never paid much attention to the political divisions between the Trolls. She knew the Amani were 'Forest Trolls' but understood only vaguely that there were other tribes, far to the south, that identified themselves as 'Jungle Trolls'. Within those designations were a number of independent tribes. The differences had always seemed academic to her - Trolls were their enemies, to be killed on sight, and nothing more needed to be said.
Apparently the divisions ran deeper than she had thought. But even so, the idea of considering Trolls as ... allies ... still choked in her mind.
Begrudgingly, she held out the coin to Shen'fon. "Here, take it. I don't want it. But you said - the Amani still exist, then?"
"Aye, though dey jus' hide in de city of Zul'Aman, now. Dey never managed t'rebuild dere Empire after it fell, all dem years ago." Shen'fon reached out slowly to take the coin, and Necri was sure he didn't miss her twitch at the brief contact of their hands. "T'ank ya for dis." He bowed slightly, took a step back, and turned to amble off.
Necri shook her head to clear it of all the conflicting emotions, but it didn't work. Flashes of memory from the war kept hammering at the inside of her skull.
She deliberately turned and descended the stairs to the trading floor. After forcing herself to calmly peruse the merchants' wares for several minutes, she felt the chaos in her head subsiding.
Her path was relatively clear: she had to return to her burial chamber and look for clues, both to her unnaturally-long incarceration and to her sudden waking. But she could not go unprepared.
With an Enchanter's eye for quality and materials, she began searching the trading floor in earnest. First, she found a tailor selling bandages and grave wrappings, and used one of her coins to purchase specific cuts of cloth. Unused to the culture, she stumbled over the purchasing process, but was appreciative that her undead nature didn't cause the merchant to treat her like an outcast. She keenly remembered her life back in Strom, when her body had begun to decay and the less open-minded of those still living had started to shun her.
Next, she found a weapons vendor who sold her a simple scythe. Like the dagger she had used earlier, it was the symbology of the weapon more than its quality that mattered. It functioned for her in the same manner as a wizard's staff; as a material focus for the effort she put into her spells.
For the rest of her needs, she would need to follow Ropart's earlier advice and make her way to the Enchanting trainers in the Apothecarium. She got turned around several times while trying to leave the trading chamber, but eventually found herself once again beside the quiet, algae-laden moat.
Trudging around the great circle for half an hour, she finally came across the area she was looking for. A number of Alchemists and Enchanters worked quietly at their labs while clusters of students looked on with varying degrees of attention. Necri watched for some time, until finally a figure detached itself from one of the shadowy nooks and shuffled over to her. The figure was female, though cadaverously thin. Her clothing had once been bright pink, before wear and tear and the dust and mold of Undercity had all taken their toll.
Her voice, though raspy, was gentle. "I haven't seen you here before. My name is Lavinia. Do you come seeking training?"
"Actually," Necri whispered calmly, "I am looking for Dragonbone Dust and Essence of Heart's Blood." She wasn't sure what reaction she had been expecting, but shocked recoil was not it.
"Those haven't been in use in centuries!" Lavinia gasped. Her voice was unfortunately raised, and this drew attention in the otherwise near-silent quarter. "It is forbidden to formulate such things!"
Necri sighed, choosing to ignore the many staring faces. "Then surely you have alternatives."
"Well... yes, of course," she seemed slightly mollified. She shuffled towards one of the nooks, with Necri following behind.
"Here," Lavinia announced loudly after rooting around in trunks and chests for several minutes. "Spirit Dust and Ethereal Shards should do the trick for you."
Necri took her time analyzing these new materials, sifting the dust through her fingers and peering deeply into the shards with her aura-sight. Eventually, as she had hoped, her audience got bored and drifted back to their work. She then selected four small pouches of the dust and three of the shards. "How much?"
"Fifty gold," Lavinia pronounced with a smile. Then, after a moment, she muttered, "normally."
"Normally?"
"I saw your performance with Carendin earlier," Lavinia shot a conspiratorial grin at Necri. "I appreciate the way you put him in his place. For you, therefore, twenty gold. But don't tell anyone."
Necri nodded her thanks, then took out her pouch of coins and made a show of slowly counting them out, to make it seem she had given over the originally-stated number. "Now," she whispered, "is there somewhere I may work undisturbed for a time?"
Lavinia pointed at a nearby wooden table, sequestered against a stone column. Its top was covered in burns and stains, and one of its legs did not quite touch the uneven floor, but it would do. Necri carried her materials over to it and carefully set them down.
The Spirit Dust was much more finely ground than the Dragonbone Dust Necri was used to, but it held the enchantments exceedingly well. Still, it took her almost two hours to weave the complex magic into the wrappings. Finally, however, she was able to divest herself of the awkward cloak and tightly wrap the newly-magical cloth around her body from feet to neck, hiding her decayed joints and protruding bones.
Then came the scythe. One by one, she broke the Ethereal Shards open over the weapon's curved blade, letting the smoke-like essence drift down and infuse itself into the metal while she chanted the appropriate spells. Finally the blade gained the faint blue sheen she was looking for.
Sweeping the few remaining particles of dust to the floor and hefting the scythe to her shoulder, Necri gave a last nod of thanks to Lavinia, then headed for the surface.