It almost doesn't feel real…
"Victory! Victory at last!" An unknown soldier scurries across the hobble stone path.
It doesn't feel real…
"Celebrate mages of Dalaran, celebrate!" Rhonin stands tall upon the ruins of his citadel, a full pitcher of ale as his closest companion. "Celebrate all who came to bear witness the demise of the false king!"
It cannot be real…
"Ye'laddy's never let ye'Yorg down!" Muradin, Yorgadin, whatever, prances around, arms wrapped around a couple of his fellow dwarven allies. "Swoop'n and saving us like ye'did! Lads…" he wipes a tear from his eye, "Ye'make me proud."
But, despite all denial and internal disbelief…it is reality.
Arthas, the master of the frozen wastes, prophet to many, and false god to the rest; the Lich King…has been…defeated.
And from the denizens marching triumphantly across the partially ruined paths, you can definitely see it apparent. Yellow and blue glistening heroes sing, arms locked with red and black bearing warriors. Victory spews from all their lungs; victory encompasses all those willing, victory for everyone.
Here, all boundaries are blurred, past transgressions overlooked, hatred faded. Here, all lines converge upon the final fight, and the glorious ending. Here…there is only joyous splendor.
Men hold their women as closely as their mugs. Soldiers bear their wounds as deeply as their calls. Warriors conceal their weapons as carefully as their inner mourning. Everyone celebrates.
Tiny gnomes scamper across the rounds, throwing handfuls of colorful confetti haphazardly into the air. I cannot help but gaze at the pack of miniature partiers. Puffs of their spectacular paper cling to the air in bushels; except a lone, tiny, red strand drifts my direction.
Oddly, I latch to this paper with utter attention. It loops round and round, changing directions with the wind. Slowly, it floats past the front of my face and glides harmlessly upward.
With a spiraling loop, it drags around the edges of a large, wooden, red cross with a white background. The large sign diverts my focus briefly before the paper directs me back to it. Another twist and bend sends the fragment wafting past a tall figure.
Dirty blond hair clutches the sides of his rather depressing expression. Eyes glare bemused down at a pair of large, cupping hands. He holds these paws as if holding the world, yet bearing no weight.
A fine red glaze coats the long, partially curled fingers. From here I am certain that that said fluid would be nothing short of blood. This giant, Mark, glances downward, but he sees nothing before him.
His expression tells me it all. I would hope it would, I have worn that demeanor more than any one man. Yes, Mark stands, lost in his own mind. Mark stands silent, but weeps a thousand, invisible tears. He stands…
Suddenly, he twists and looks backwards, locking sight with the small room beneath the red cross. For a long, drawn second, he stares backwards, as if trying to climb into his own past. We both know what is left there will do nothing but haunt him.
A lone tear drags at his face before his lips suddenly move, mouth opening. His eyes continue to glance backwards, but his body is preparing to move on. Quivering lips drag upon the air for a short fleeting moment before he says loudly to himself…
"Forgive me…brother."
Swiftly, the usually soft-spoken man spins. He flinches gently before his sight catches my eyes. Tears gather like floodwaters to a weary dam. He stares into my soul, searching for answers that will not come. He stares, begging me correct the wrong.
"What do we do now, Hope?"
He speaks a raspy, rather confident voice, booming just for me. I, of course, would dare not waste this moment. Quickly, I tap my shovel and smirk.
"We bury him."
A strange expression of confusion grips his face, momentarily, before he smiles and coughs. With a shake of his head and sad step to his trot, he shifts down an alley, and fades behind the edges of a building.
I make to move to him, but a firm slap and a painful pinch snaps my shoulder.
"Worm!" I turn to Nathanos. "Why are you standing here? We need to get these blind twits to see that you are the true hero of this day!"
He turns me to him, "There is simply no way I will let the opportunity for my own statue to fade into nothingness!"
My left eyebrow shifts upwards, "Your statue?"
"Yes, Worm, mine!" He pauses and frowns, "Ah, yes, we will make one for you, too. I will place it behind mine. Half the size. Yeah, perfect."
Bony fingers wiggle in the air, crafting the statue out of imaginary marble. No, crafting the statue out of imaginary gold. Nathanos hates marble. And silver. Also iron…
"Worm!" His rather sharp, spiny fingertips pinch my cheek, "Jump out of that wild head of yours long enough to get to Rhonin!"
Hurriedly, he scurries forward, leaving me alone upon my vacant, T-Intersection. A strange tightening sensation creeps across my chest. An uncomfortable feeling nestles behind my sternum and clings to the bars of my bony cage.
I hesitate to let this rather awkward sensation fade, but it lingers rather harshly. My palm slaps to my armory chest. This armor has to be the problem. You are way off. No, it has to be.
I bend my arms and begin fidgeting with the straps on my back. After a few minutes of struggling, one clasp loosens. The other one is near the middle of my back. Ah, so hard to reach. Come on, you little bugger…
Ah ha!
Swiftly, I throw my plate forward, and promptly remove my shoulder pads. Both clank off of each other as I let the upper sheets bounce against the chest piece. Good riddance. Sorry, Tirion, but I am done wearing that heavy mess.
Sadly, the sensation still lurks maliciously. Fiercely my claws dig at the flesh beneath my loose fitting leather. This is maddening? What in the world is it? You are feeling a rather unnerving sense of loss.
What? Oh…how could I have forgotten? Forcefully, I drag myself forward, letting the pulsing nerves fade into ignorance. You will not be able to hide it forever. I don't plan to. I just don't feel like being slapped by Nathanos again. You ever get bone-slapped before? Not fun. You are right. You must hurry.
Swiftly, I dash down the path. Nathanos waits impatiently at the bottom of the remaining citadel's base, tapping his feet angrily. I skillfully dodge dancing celebrators and prancing partiers. The whole city has turned into a giant source of newfound glee. You were expecting gloom and doom? No…not really.
After a few minutes of surging drunkards and shouting dancers, I finally make it to Nathanos. He shakes his head as I reach him and takes up the steps. His legs take two steps at a time, while my patient limbs pat one at a time.
It doesn't take us long to scale the flight. Once at the top, the large, now illuminated room, is filled with all the heroes and leaders available. Thrall and Jaina stand together as usual. Tok rests near Rhonin, while Chromie and Sylvanas group away from the large mass.
Finally, and most surprisingly, Wyrnn and Garrosh stand together, arms locked, chants coming from their voices. They sing in unison. They sing together like brothers. They sing together…like dying cats.
Wrynn sees me from the corner of his eyes, takes a swig of his drink, the points his glass to me, "Hope!" He cackles drunkenly, "The hero of the moment! Come here, you cras-sh-y hero, you!"
I hesitate, but Nathanos jabs my side, and I find myself rushing forward. In seconds, I come into the room, where all the gatherers cheer and kindly acknowledge my presence. One by one they greet me; however they please, painfully or gently.
Once they are finished their hospitalities, Rhonin approaches me and slaps my shoulder, "Boy, I must admit, I was rather doubting of your abilities, but…" he nods and smirks approvingly, "…results don't lie, Hope. You did it."
I smirk and humbly admit, "No, no. We all did it. All of us. Everyone that was able to witness his dying moments, and those at the bottom, battling to keep control. Every soldier fighting led to the death of the Lich King."
The room lifts their glasses, gives a mighty cheer, then commences mild banter. Thrall, however, gives me a grand bow that is promptly followed by a nod and smile. As I look at him, I cannot help but remember the last time I met him. That, of which, brings to me an array of random questions.
"Warchief… how did you guys escape?"
He hesitates briefly before chuckling, "Hope, it was a grand spectacle!" The orc pounds his chest heavily with a curled fist. "Scourge minions advanced. Only a handful of mighty Horde warriors remained…"
Thrall pauses briefly as he extends his arm upwards, acknowledging the entrance of some unseen figure.
"Muradin there, grand king of the Frostbourne, had his grand fighters glide upon the wings of safety, gathering all us right as the metallic pinnacle of damnation collapsed around us."
Garrosh cackles softly as the Warchief continues, "Riders gripped my bulky arms. Birds latched to the Troll shaman that stands before us, Tok. My soldiers leapt and bound upon the birds as they descended. A rescue of the ages!"
He shakes his body and grunts, "A thousand cries of triumph for the mighty dwarf and his courageous warriors!"
With that, he lifts a once unnoticed mug, throws it to his lips, and chugs heartily. I spin to see a wobbling, rather intoxicated Yorgadin clutching the frame of the door and waving his cup in the air. From here, I can almost taste the pungent fume of his drunken state.
The dwarf shifts and quakes as if to speak, but simply limps lazily upon the frame of the cracking structure. Nathanos grunts oddly, and I twist back to see him glaring angrily at the group around us.
He, however, is unable to speak as King Wrynn shouts loudly, "Nathanos Marris, just the man I was looking for!"
Marris lowers his eyebrows and frowns, "And why might that be, Wrynn?"
The king stumbles to him and chuckles, "Lad, I will be needing your as-sh-sistance." His eyes glance briefly to Thrall and Sylvanas before he continues, "Do to recent skirmishes, it has been brought to my attention that my troops lack proper archery training, and…
"No!" Nathanos shits violently, "Like hell I will do what you just dared vomit from your sickening lips!"
Thrall interjects, "Commander, it greatly advance relations amongst our feuding factions if you would train Wrynn's men in the art of the bow."
Nathanos jerks awkwardly and glares at the orc, "Was this one of your grand schemes, Warchief? It would depress me on scales unimaginable if I have to punch you, Thrall."
"No, Marris, it was not solely his decision." Sylvanas intervenes on Thrall's behalf, "We traded your talents for the legion of paladins. The Forsaken armies would benefit greatly from actual holy bearers."
Her lips curl in disgust, "Not the sick, twisted versions the blood elves have born."
Nathanos' mouth muscles curl downwards as an expression of shock sweeps his face. With mouth ajar, he spins around the room, searching for a figure that stands beside him. Oddly, he overlooks me completely on his way to Garrosh. You know why he did that. Yeah, I really don't know what's going on.
Garrosh shrugs and grunts, "Undead, do not come asking me for assistance. The human woman agreed to depart her magical wisdom upon the orcish horde. A deal has been struck, undead."
Marris frowns and glares at Wrynn, "It would seem, then, King, that I am in quite the dilemma here. Either I kill you for asking, or I spread my fantastic talent amongst your rather disappointing people."
He shrugs, "Given that killing you would only curve my boredom temporally, it would seem…" His eyes divert from the King's as he sighs.
"Is that a yes, Marris?" An inquisitive look sweeps Wrynn's face as his gaze presses on Nathanos.
After a kick of his leg and wave of his hand, Nathanos replies, "That would be a yes, King."
"Fantastic!" Wrynn points to Marris, "We shall depart to Stormwind immediately!"
Strangely Nathanos turns to me. His eyes lock fiercely. Did I do something? You weren't even wandering!
"Worm," he calls to me, "You might be bored in Stormwind. There are no scourge or bodies to bury. And given that your recent focus has gone and died, you might need to return to old habits, no?"
I make to speak, but I am at a lost for words. What in the world is he trying to get at? You know exactly what he is implying. You do! Deep inside I do, but is that possible? Is he really trying to tell me…
"Worm," he now frowns, "Well? Lord of the Mental Cases, what do you say?"
Again I do not speak. This time, I scan my vision across the room, searching each person before me. Garrosh, Wrynn, Chromie, Tok, Sylvanas, Thrall, Jaina and then back to Nathanos, I search all of them. Each set of eyes told me the story needed, and the decision desired.
Then, the one I forgot, Rhonin, asks, "Hope, hero of the hour, where do you wish to go?"
As my eyes lock with his, a warmth of certainty caresses my body. I know exactly where I want to go…
"Rhonin, I want to Plague..." an overwhelming urge to sneeze engulfs me, "…eeh…" SNEEZE, " …Land!" I shake my head before restating, "Err, the Plaguelands." I pause brief as I perfectly form the next words on my tongue, "I want to go home."
Before Rhonin can reply I hear the booming, eerie voice of Darion call, "Plaguelands, Hope?" I spin to look at the figure leaning on the frame opposite of Muradin, "I can get you there in no time."
"Through a deathgate, Darion?" Rhonin interjects from behind, "Seems rather risky for someone to dare use it as portal, I dare say."
Darion chuckles and shifts to his feet, "I am the leader of the Ebon Blade, wielder of remarkable powers above and beyond the standard death knight. I think I can handle it."
I throw a quick glance to Rhonin, who, frowning, nods, "He should be safe in your hands, Darion. Go home, Hope. You have earned some rest." He pauses briefly, "I will send the partiers to their respectable cities, and then, maybe, I will come find you, Hope"
He shrugs, "Just maybe."
With a smile, I spin and head for the door. The scuffling feet of Nathanos shift behind, as do a few others of whom I do not know. Darion turns and marches onward. Quickly, I exit the crushed citadel. To my sides, I catch glimpse of Carlin and Jessica standing together.
As I move they see me, and promptly follow out of curiosity. In seconds we descend the flight of stares and march forward. I am not exactly sure where he is going, but after he pushes through a large crowd, he navigates down a short, empty corridor and into a vacant room. Ah, space. You got it.
Darion scans the area quickly before looking to me, "Sorry for the haste, but the number of people here drives even my skin to crawling. I am ready for the gloom of my floating citadel, once again."
Nathanos shifts to one my sides. Carlin and Jessica shift to my other. To my surprise I see Tok shuffle up besides Jessica. Suddenly something scurries between my legs. My eyes divert downward, but a high-pitched voice distracts me.
"Cutie!" Chromie looks up and squeals, "Looks like I am coming with you."
Confusion settles in, "What do you need from the Plaguelands?"
She throws her hands to her hips, "Cutie, you insult me!" She giggles, "If you must know, I have grown rather attached to those lands. And, if I recall, Andorhal is a heaven for vacancy."
A smirk sweeps her face, forcing one upon mine, "Whatever you say, Chormie. It is good enough for me."
"You are so cute!" She slaps my thigh and turns to Darion.
The Knight lifts his weapon and directs it forward. Dark energies swirl gently around curves of the blade, chanting to us an eerie tale. Clutching tendrils of black energies course to the tip of the blade before suddenly flashing.
After ten long seconds, a burst of black spreads forward, building a hazy darkened arch. A cascade of shadows promptly envelops the area beneath the bend, revealing a passageway of purplish, black power.
Darion makes a noise of shock, "Huh, the skull is gone. Odd."
I do not know what he is talking about at all. He, however, does not seem interested in whatever he was speaking about, and swiftly trots to the twisting frame. There he holds briefly before stepping towards it.
"On the other side, folks."
He marches through. The black wall molds to his form and regroups as he disappears through. I stare forward, filled with a rather confusing mess of disgust and displeasure. It does remind me of a portal, but…it is so creepy…
You need to just jump through!
Jessica churns with excitement and chirps as her body locks to a ready position, "It has been so long since I have see home! I don't expect much, but…its home!"
Without hesitation she sprints forward.
"Jessica, wait, you don't know…" Carlin calls to her, but is too late. In a blur she collides with the blackened drift and vanishes.
The old man pauses as he grasps his sword, "Light guide me, oh how I hate portals." No more hesitation grips him as he barrels forward, disappearing just as the two before.
Next, the troll marches forward, stopping near the gate. There he turns and glances to Chromie, "Come, dragon, might as well do it together, mon."
Chromie takes a step forward, but instantly stops and scratches her head, "Wait, I will just fly! Yeah, much safer!"
Tok frowns, "Mon, dis be safe. Trust me."
"You sure?" She shifts forward, "My eyes cannot read anything beyond…"
"Safe, gnome, mon. Safe."
As she nears him, he reaches down and scoops her into his arms. She squeals and slaps his chest fiercely.
"Troll, give me a warning before you do that!" Her eyes divert to the portal, "You are positive it is not going to destroy us?"
Tok shrugs and takes a step forward, "Nope, mon. I have no idea."
"You said!…"
They are gone.
And just like that, it is back to Nathanos and myself. The two of us, like usual, but soon to be of the unusual. It has been some time since I haven't seen the fool daily, or at least weekly.
A heavy hand slaps my back, and pricks of bony pain tingle down my back, "Worm, it is time. And don't worry, I will be thinking of you every time I look into the eyes of a pigeon, or a wandering street dog."
I smile, "That is sweet Nathanos. And I you when I am pitted against the circular mouth of a giant grub, or the faced with high-pitched screech of a monstrous bat."
Pricks of pain ripple down back as his fingers pinch my flesh. The pressure releases as he lets go. I make to smack the back of the undead figure's head, but the echoing calls of footsteps draws my attention.
I make to look, but a tall figure appears in the left corner of my vision. Shock spreads across my face, and fades fast as I see Mark, clutching a large, rune-bladed sword in his hands. Mark stands beside me, holding the blade of his brother within his massive paws.
"Mark, how did you get that here?" I turn to look at him.
He simply shrugs, smiles to me, and darts forward. I am not able to say a thing as he vanishes into the swirling abyss. Wow. I didn't see that coming. You did, you know it. Ok, maybe just a little. He was bound to show up, Dalaran is not a place for him…
"Hope!" The sweet voice of Jaina calls to me, "Wait, I almost forgot!"
Heavy footsteps ring. Jaina rushes to me as I turn, holding in her arms a strange, blue package. Jutting from the sides of the wrapped paper are four limbs. From the back protrudes a hastily wrapped spike. A large, block like structure sticks from a tiny bulge. It almost likes like a doll with a giant head. That and…is it…
"Jaina," Nathanos sticks his arm forward, a lone finger leading, "Is it alive?"
A tiny screech radiates from the package. The woman flinches, throwing the toy…thing to me. I grab edges of paper.
"We found this wandering in the underbelly." Jaina speaks to me as I pull the paper from the rather wormy package, "We thought of you when we found it, so…it's a gift!"
Emerging from the blue paper is a large, yellow and orange-stripped head. Two tiny horns jut from the top of the creature's head. Four little limbs kick the air as it wiggles. A tiny tail wags, as large, adorable, glowing eyes look at me.
"You wrapped a raptor hatchling in paper?" He reaches over and pokes the small creature, "Is it supposed to be steak, or something?"
Jaina squeals and slaps the back of Nathanos' hand, "Do not eat the cute thing! It is Hope's pet!"
Nathanos laughs, "Yes, big head, consuming all other aspects. Fits him perfectly." He pauses, "Just as my dogs did me…"
Suddenly, a low, rumbling bark barrels from the end of the corridor, and to my surprise, a small, furry animal appears in sight. As it turns, a high-pitched goblin calls to us.
"Bony!" A familiar voice calls to us, "You forgot something!" He motions to the dog," Go get'em!"
Wriggler swiftly darts down the hall, bounding for Nathanos. The undead figure opens his arms, pulling them back in to hug the dog. He whispers sweet nothings to the beast before standing upright and grunting.
"Skippy, how in the world?"
Yeah! How? He should be dead. We saw his ship ram into the side of Naxxramas. It doesn't seem possible?
Skippy chuckles and shrugs, "Sea Turtles. Giant, flying sea turtles, strapped to my feet, mate."
At that he pivots on his heels, rotates, and moves out of sight. What in the world is that supposed to mean?! I glance to Jaina, and she shakes her.
"Don't look at me. He came trotting to our portal below, demanding entrance a few minutes after Naxxramas crashed. Other than that, you got me."
Slowly, bewilderingly I turn to Nathanos. Almost in unison the undead man looks to me. For a minute we gawk, a bemused expression grasping both our faces. Finally, after what feels like a good minute, Nathanos speaks.
"Worm, it is best you go." He looks forward, "Before anything else strange, and all mage-like occurs."
I simply nod and spin. Before me, a slowly fading portal remains. Dark claws call to me. Twisting magic lures me forward. Powerful cascades whisper for me to depart this land.
So, half-heartedly march forward, coming to the gate in seconds. However, as I reach it, I turn to Nathanos. He nods to me and points at the gate.
"Go, Worm! Get out of my sight!"
Yeah, sounds about right. My eyes switch back to the portal, and I lift the wriggling creature into the air. Its large eyes lock with mine again, and its mouth opens. A high-pitched adorable screech booms from its tiny lungs before it…
Ouch!
Latching to my arm, the little beast bites me fiercely. Forcefully, I jerk it from my arm, and prepare to yell at it, but those eyes, it is so cute! I just want to squeeze your little body!
I smile at the thing and quietly emit, "I dub thee, Squealz, Lord of Chomp."
You did not…
My eyes gaze into the darkness, and promptly I stick one leg forward, and then the other.
"Congratulations, Squealz," darkness consumes my limb, "You are about to discover the Eastern Plaguelands. I hope it hasn't changed much..."