The path is not long, but wounds and twists off the imperfect cobble road meandering downhill to the river below. As I arrive, around the hill's bend, I stop full at a sight that stills the fire in my heart, and briefly flutters a glint of hope within the dark turmoil inside. An intact bridge of perfect, unblemished stone spans the gentle river, and beyond that, lay the great fortress entrance to Dawning Lane; its gates raised, the spires and towers stood tall. Just through them, I feel, is Silvermoon—the home of my people, safe and preserved behind this awe-inspiring fortification.
However, not all is as I dare hope. An Outrunner, couriers for our people, stands to the side of the road next to a broken-wheeled wagon, staring at my approach with reserved curiosity. I remember what Magistrix Erona made mention of, and stop out of what I can only think of as mutual curiosity to the plight of such unenviable, but necessary individuals. Her tale is a simple one: an Outrunner has gone missing down Dawning Lane, and the Wretched are perhaps to blame.
"Wretched?" I ask. "In our Silvermoon? Has this problem become so widespread?"
She stares at me with cold, green eyes. The look on her face tells a story beyond the need for words, and I feel the frozen dagger once more jab into my spine, knowing I do not want to know, but asking anyways. Pain is pain, and pain only grows stronger once ignored.
"Go see for yourself," she says, her words bitter, "If you find our Outrunner, tell her…she's late." Our eyes meet for a moment, but she looks away, turning her back to tend to her broken wagon. I turn away without a word, leaving her to her job.
Dawning Lane lies just beyond the raised gate ahead. I leave the upset Outrunner to brood, understanding the emotion, if not the reason, and walk up the cobbled path, crossing under the high gates, and through to the other side. Dumbstruck by the sight of what truly lay upon the other side of what now seems a cruel façade; I turn my head slow, taking in the grim ruins of the city I once knew. Where there were once great architects and magical beauty, now exists only their cruel ghosts: buildings cracked and broken, violated by maddened, arcane machinations and bent-over creatures lumbering no better than undead Scourge. The statues of our heroes are leaning on the verge of falling, while others lie in shattered pieces as testament to the ruination's inevitable conclusion. Dawning Lane cuts through it all; a straight and bright path through the gloom our Silvermoon has become. Upon the lane, I sense the stir of magic, and know that it beckons as beacon the unfortunate traveler through the decrepit city.
Not all travelers have made it across the lane, however. I look down; my eyes drawn to as many morbid sights as can be perceived by mortal eyes, and see the crumpled and bloody body of a young female. A lone blade rests by her feet, and an untouched package held with a deathly grip to her chest, tells me I have found the unfortunate Outrunner.
I lean down to check for a pulse, but she is long gone from this world. Bruises and long, coagulated slash wounds that look the work of animal claws cover her exposed flesh. I care not to control the disappointed growl that is my reaction to this deed. I do not know this Outrunner's name or life, but a daughter, perhaps a girlfriend or wife of someone, she was, and for that and the cruel nature of her death, she had my sympathy.
I pry the package from the Outrunner's rigor arms, and realize I am not alone. The grass and scrub brush move, and from the shadows come gangly, pale-skinned creatures making cruel mockery of what was once my own race: Wretched.
I stand up slow, sword in hand. "So, you are the foul things responsible for this, are you?"
The Wretched groan and creak; their tight-skinned faces stretch in an individual variety of pain or glee as the group of eight surrounds me. Their weapons: splintered pieces of wood and jagged pieces of metal held with a thug's lack of grace, and in as many grips as novices know.
I stand over the Outrunner's body with my sword raised straight and steady. "Be warned, I do not harbor interests for your problems or your ethics, Wretched, but you raise your stained claws against me, against the remnants and memories of my defiled city, and I shall destroy you without compassion, pity or remorse." I point my sword at the biggest one. "Depart or die. There shall be no compromise for you."
They choose the latter, and I care nothing either way, striking down the biggest one through the long stick he chose as his weapon. The Wretched lumber along, awkward, with little balance, and I slaughter them to the last.
I catch the last one around the neck as his intestines and kettles of blood spill onto the ground, holding him up from his fall. I look into those dim eyes, and see agony, fear and a hunger unquenchable even in the throes of death. "Did you kill this girl?" I demand of him, but between spurts of blood filling from his throat and mouth, he cannot speak. "Shake your head, yes or no. Did you kill this girl?" He shakes his head, croaking on his own vital fluids. "I would not forgive you, anyways." I twist my wrist and snap his neck, letting him crumple to the ground.
The Outrunner enjoys company in death, but I do not let it last. I gather her blade and package, placing them upon her body. I pick her up in my arms and carry her body to the Outrunner on the other side of the gate, who receives the young girl's corpse with shock and a poorly hidden tinge of sorrow.
I leave the Outrunner to her unfortunate task, but I take the package. "Where does this go? I shall finish her last mission."
Her friend does not register my question for a minute, staring at the corpse. I clear my throat, and she turns her head back enough to look at me, and answers the question I know she heard the first time. "An easy route…to Falconwing Square, that's what I thought, at least." She turns her head back to the corpse. "Is the lane no longer safe…? Why did this have to happen…? Why did you die…?" She shakes her head back and forth slow, lost to the world in a gray fog of shock—impenetrable and familiar to me.
The Outrunner mumbles incoherently to no one, and I leave her be. Package in hand, down Dawning Lane, through the ruins of my city, laying a cobbled road of Wretched bodies, slicken by their blood, I travel onwards.