New Tools for a New Task

The gryphon's descent came to a sudden halt as its claws dug into the half-dirt, half-ash mixture that formed the terrain of the Shadowmoon Valley wasteland. Nazzo dismounted, and scratched the beast where the feathers met its fur. It crooned in response, and Nazzo smiled slightly. A cough made him turn.

"Your business, sir?" The Draenei towered over him, his newly polished Aldor armor gleaming except for the dust that crept its way up from his boots to his belt. Nazzo smirked to himself at the futility, and imagined the hours the creature must have lost to the wasteland. He drew back his hood and rustled about in his pockets, then produced a badge of rank. The Draenei snapped to attention, but frowned slightly at the Blood Elf.

"Forgive me, Judicator. Do you wish to see the Exarch? She is in a meeting at the moment, but it should not be long until she is available."

"It is not necessary. My business here is urgent. You may give her the regards of Judicator Tinerlen, but apologize that I have no time to see her. Have you mounts?" The Draenei looked over his shoulder towards the Exarch's stronghold, then turned back. "Yes. This way." Nazzo followed him to the stable and accepted the charger. "Light keep you safe." The Draenei saluted, and Nazzo whipped the horse to a gallop as he left the Altar of Sha'tar.

Wildhammer Stronghold loomed over the surrounding terrain, but Nazzo had no eye for it. He placed his badge of Aldor rank in the charger's saddlebags, then looked around for some place to tie it off. "Blasted wasteland." He settled on a pointy rock, and frowned at the weak knot keeping it in place. It would probably hold. He turned to the task at hand. Vast plains of ash and fire swept away from him, broken apart by mountains and volcanos struggling to the surface, many of them stunted and green, as if they were the best idea of trees the valley had. He stood on a cliff overlooking a pool of lava, and the vast void Outland floated in was visible to the south. He turned away from it, the long drop to the lava below comforting in comparison. He produced a dark pouch from his pack, and placed it on the ground before him as he crossed his legs to sit. He loosened the string of the pouch and folded it down to reveal a tiny skull carved from some kind of bone and covered in Orcish runes. He stared into it, and a faint red glow shone from within its sockets. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and lifted a hand slowly towards it, extending his fingertips. As they touched it, a flash of pain shot up his arm, and his hand jumped back. He rubbed the pain out, then reached again, this time, not clearing his mind, but focusing the Light within himself into a tiny ball until it was almost invisible. He reached forward again, and this time, the skull merely felt like fire. He shrunk the Light within him until he could not find it, and reached forward a third time. He grasped the skull and drew a chain from a hole in its top, then slung it around his neck. Now prepared for the work he had come here to accomplish, he stood.

I step forward. The ash gives beneath my feet, almost-forgotten years of trickery in the back of my mind complaining at the footprints. The ground sweeps before me up to the ridge Wildhammer Stronghold sits upon, broken up only by boulders and small pools of almost-molten rock causing a slight shimmer in the air. I lower my hood and shrink into my robe, swathing myself in darkness, and look past the tranquility before me tosearch for the event I've come for. As I fade into the spirit-trance, the world seems to... forget me. My footprints fade. A lizard runs between my legs, unconcerned about the danger I present. Figures burst into the air around me, and at first I mistake them for tricks of the eye caused by the shimmering air. As they come into focus, I truly realize the horror of my masters: none of my order have passed here for decades, and though some of the spirits have found their own rests, many more have not. I soothe some of the lesser creatures' spirits, and frown upon those past my power to resolve. I draw closer to the Stronghold, and find the event I seek. A small battle rages on a hill just outside the walls: three Dwarves, two Orcs, and a Blood Elf, all at each other's throats. As I approach, they separate, and stare at me with awe. I take care not to let my limbs or face show from within the robe, and maintain my focus on the world of the dead around me. Severing of consciousness in the presence of the unresolved claims more apprentices than any other accident. One of the Orcs drops to a knee upon seeing me. I swallow.

“What do you want from us?” The left dwarf's weapons subtly shift from a polearm to a shield and short axe, and his armor grows to cover his face as he stares at me with terror in his dead eyes.

“I offer you resolution: service to the world of the living, and an end to your eternity. Your alternative is a continuation of the struggle that has consumed you here for what has been months in our world, although it may have felt only moments, or an eternity, for you.” I swallow to wet my throat, and the entire world shifts for a moment as I almost lose a grip on the trance. The kneeling Orc's head rises as the other spirits look from me to each other. His transparent hair lengthens and sprouts from the bald top of his head, forming a dark topknot, and the fire in his eyes fades. “I am Agrok. I accept your pact. Sing tales of my valor, and may I grant you victory. I thank you, Necrolyte.” I draw a longsword from within my robe, kneel, and hold it towards the Orc. He steps forward, takes it from me, and gains corporeality for a moment as he raises the sword in salute. In a moment, he is gone, and the blade is in my hands, somewhat more savage than before. I present the blade to the other Orc. He wonders for a moment, then kneels as his elder had. “I am Gornt. I accept your pact. Sing tales of my valor. I thank you.” He, too, takes the sword. I present the sword to each in turn, and they each find purpose, though the Dwarves are hesitant at first. My mission complete, I press the tip of the blade into the dirt, and embed the names in my mind. Agrok. Gornt. Durngrim. Ethielen. Heflen. Kalon. It seems to become warmer in my hands for a moment at each name, then finally cools. I return it to the scabbard under my robe, and rise to exit the spirit trance and return home with my spiritblade. A feeling I haven't experienced before suddenly takes hold of me, and I turn back in the direction I'd come from.

There seems to be a presence on the other side of the cliff the charger is tethered atop. I wrack my mind for anything like this my masters have shown me, but I come up with nothing. Against my better judgment, I walk towards it, still in the grip of the trance. For a necrolyte, curiosity can mean death. I am a fool. Curiosity is all that has kept me sane in these long centuries, but I am a fool. As I top the cliff and look down to the lava flow below, I see an Orc in dark armor gripping a missing ledge of rock that has long since fallen away. He looks up to me with rage burning in his eyes, and recognition flashes across his face. He raises his other arm up towards me, plated gauntlet outstretched. I grasp it.

I am a fool.

It's not an evil practice, really. When I found myself without purpose, cast down from my position of authority in the Aldor with no hope of redemption for my failure to keep that thrice-damned clan in check, I decided to retrace the steps of my life to see just where things went wrong the worst. I realize that the situation I find myself in now, after my fourth hour walking west with no idea as to where I go, undoubtedly takes the prize, but at that point, there were more candidates.

I retraced my travels through Outland, from my quest for meaning in Shattrath and my service in the Light to Honor Hold and my long exile there with the Sons of Lothar. I traveled back through the Portal, and, under the cover of night, snuck into Nethergarde Fortress and ran my hands along the tavern bar that had served as a glimmer of hope for me after the Second War. I traveled north, intending to return to my birthplace of Quel'thalas, and explore the homes my ill luck had made there. But instead, what I found was a young orc with broken legs and abject terror in his eyes laying by the side of a path in Deadwind Pass. From the rocks scattered around him and across the path, it was clear he had fallen from some unknown place above, and I went to help him, intending to use the Light to heal him. At the sight of me, he attempted to scramble away, and the look in his eyes somehow seemed more one of guilt than of fear. I brought my faith to bear, and called on the Light to mend his legs, but to my surprise, nothing happened.

I flexed my powers, and experimentally infused my sword with the Light, having no problems. I attempted to impart a blessing to the young orc, but again, nothing happened. Confused, but with more pressing matters on my mind, I called out to him, “I would heal you, but seem to be having trouble at the moment. Do you need a ride to Stonard? My horse can take two.” The pain in his legs seemed to have overcome him, and he gave up attempting to crawl away, but would say nothing, only staring at me with a hunted look in his eyes. After a few tense moments, he spoke.

“Slay me. It would be better that way.” His eyes went to his own weapon, a dagger among the fallen rocks across the road.

“I don't understand. I am no enemy of yours. Let me take you to safety. Alliance patrol this road on occasion, it's not safe here.”

As if my words had summoned them, by chance I looked up and saw three mounted figures coming around the bend to the west. At the same time, more rocks rolled down the cliff from where the orc had come, and I saw movement and heard voices from above. They were not directed at me, but it sounded as if an argument were going on. The mounted figures came out of the shadow of a cliff, and as I saw them to have the Azerothian lion on their shields, they saw me. I renewed the seal on my longsword and stepped between them and the orc. I heard more stones hitting the ground behind me, and then a voice: “Tie the rope around him. We will pull you both up.” I turned and saw two ropes lowered from the rocks above, and I quickly complied, tying one around the waist of the orc. I smacked my horse in the direction of Stonard, and grasped the other rope. “Pull!” The orc scrambled up the rocks using his hands as he was pulled up, and I did the same with my feet as I held onto the rope with both arms. I heard grunts of frustration from the knights below, and looked back up just in time to see the orc make the top, and the one pulling him take the rope from the one pulling me and cast it over the edge. I managed to find grips in the stone cliff face before I fell to the prowling knights below, and decided that this was, in fact, the point in my life where things had gone the worst. I looked up, and the orc that had cast my rope down was lifting a rock above his cowled head, and it seemed intended for me. The other that had pulled me up shoved him aside, and he hissed a protest:

“He's seen too much! He can't leave alive.”

“And those humans haven't? Besides, he saved Regor's life. We have a debt.”

The other orc relented. The knights below halooed to me, teasing me, and I felt a rock bounce off the back of my greaves. The orc who spared me dropped Regor's rope to me, then grasped a large stone. “Elf, those humans must die, or our home here will be discovered. You owe us little, but please help us.” I looked up, met his eyes, and nodded. I began to lower myself down the rope, and I heard thuds as rocks began falling from above on the knights below. I leapt down the last two yards, and ducked a slash as I attempted to free my sword from its scabbard. An arrow whizzed down and struck one of the humans in the shoulder, and I managed to free my sword as I sprinted away from another blow. I whirled to face the human that had chased me, and with an incantation, brought my sword up across his chest, the speed of the attack surprising him as holy power ripped his breastplate and ribcage open. The other two had moved to the side of the road farther from the rocks falling from above, and seemed torn between trying to make their way towards me or trying to reach their horses that had run past me in the chaos. They seemed to come to a decision, and one stepped to the left of the other, holding up his shield and blocking the falling rocks and arrows while they both stepped towards me. As they came out of range of the rocks, they split and began to flank me. I retreated, stepping over the body of the knight I had slain. As soon as the knights had stepped over the corpse, however, darkness seemed to settle over it, and it began to rise silently. I brandished my sword at the knight on the right, and he stepped back, his companion not yet finished flanking me. The third knight rose to its feet, and came upon the one I threatened. By the time he heard its approach, it and I were both upon him, and the other was breaking for his horse. An arrow caught him in the neck as he began to mount, and he fell just as the other fell to our swords. The dead knight looked down mournfully at the companion he had slain, then a puff of black mist left his mouth and he collapsed.

“Thank you. Won't you join us for a drink?” One of the robed orcs stood at the top of the cliff and shook the rope leading up. I went to the cliff, and grasped it.