Conquest of the Horde

It always seems to be raining in Elwynn, nowadays. The man before me smells of a butchery, with the occasional dash of death filling my nostrils, and in one hand he holds a crooked cane, while with his other he drapes a burlap sack across his shoulder. Tattered brown robes tightly hug him, a hood shadowing his olive eyes. Or eye, as it were; the other covered by a dirty bandage. While the stench somewhat troubles me, I must ignore it. There is important business to deal with, currently. I let a smile grow on my face, staring upwards and letting the gleaming droplets splash into my eyes and onto my cheeks. In my head I count the seconds, and as I murmur 'five' under my breath, my head swings back down to the extremely tiny man before me.


The man looks at me for a long moment before his lips begin to move, spreading into a toothy grin as he talks. "Yes yes, sure! What can I do to help a man of the cloth?" With one hand I wave him in front of me, and I can't help but feel mesmerized by the squelching sound of our footsteps in the muddy soil of Goldshire's poorly constructed pathways. I've always disliked how, whenever it rains, the dirt becomes liquid and bubbles up from between the loosely placed cobbles. It is especially vexing to me due to the scum seeping through my sandals and sticking between my toes, somewhat like the feeling of my fingers after I eat something with syrup, but worse. And though I suppose I could rectify the problem by simply wearing different shoes, it seems far more convenient to remember that when the Master reorders this chaotic planet he will empower me to eliminate such annoyances and more from existence. And in fact, while on this subject, why would the Master even allow such impurities to exist? Beasts like that wretched Death Knight, and the disgusting elf Sangreala. I will find them, quite soon, and they will pay.

I digress.

We sit down next to one another in two poorly carved chairs, so terrible in fact I believe I felt a splinter or two jab into my backside. I turned to him, nodding as I hand him a mug of water while sipping my own. He continues to smile, though in a rather unnervingly cheery manner, an act I am familiar with myself. Clearly something to hide. Not being one to pry, I simply cut to the subject. My voice slightly raises, several inflections and stutters included simply to appear less...

...lethal.

"I-I.. I'm l-looking f-for a night e-elf. A.. d-death kn-knight. D-do y-you know a-any?" He raises a hand to his head, scratching at the hood with the clear strain of thought. He pauses, and I watch him intently, giving his raggedy form another once over.

"Yes yes. I recall... in the Booty Bay. I remember the name started with an... A. Had other business, didn't pay attention to much else. Sorry." Her name... starts with an A. Perhaps I can use this to my advantage? I thank him, and we talk for a bit longer. There is a long lapse in conversation, the inn quiet except for the light drumming on the rooftop. For a few moments I imagine that the raindrops are the fingers of one of my ancient masters, rapping boredly as they wait for me to break them free. Though such fantasies will have to wait, as my business within Goldshire is not finished. I bid the man farewell, and scurry out into the dying storm.

Soon I come across a wagon, my hair drenched and robes soaked, I wonder if I'm a spectacle to them. They seem to pay no heed to my condition, and so I continue with the questions. Present are a Draenei female wearing bunny ears, and three human males. One of the humans being exceedingly childlike in appearance, another an old angry man, and the third an undead aberration with flowing blue smoke instead of eyes. Another imperfection in this world. "E-Exc-cuse m-me."

They glance towards me, and I'm glad I don't have to waste time asking more than once. "I-I'm... looking f-for a D-Death Kn-night. A n-night e-elf. H-her name st-starts w-with A." The Draenei blinked a few times before opening her mouth, stepping a bit closer to Tom.

"Do... you mean Alywien?" She describes her to me, and having not truly remember much about her other than her brutality, I nodded. "It s-sounds quite l-like her." They offer no further information excluding one interesting piece. Epsilon's bar in the Park District. I will head there soon in search of further knowledge.

**
I enter the bar, a few men and women stand around the counter, and I see a woman nod, heading into another room. I follow her, my footsteps quiet for little reason other than my own compulsive desire to be silent. "E-excuse m-me. I-Is E-epsilon h-here?" The woman turns from her table, a half butchered pig lying on it. She opens her mouth, saying nothing as she lowers herself, grabbing me and tossing me over her shoulder like the robed man's burlap sack. She returns to the main room, setting me down gently, though the floorboards creak under the added weight. "Kitchen... is for employees only. And Epsilon... is me." I bite my tongue, holding back a comment about her odd method of speaking. It must be a death knight thing, being weird.

"O-oh. I-I'm... I'm l-looking f-for a D-death Kn-knight n-named A-alyw-wien. H-have y-you s-seen h-her?" She nodded, her blonde hair bouncing up and down mesmerizingly. "Yes, having seen of long time ago. Not having know where of now." The rest of this conversation means nothing to me, as no information has been offered.

I am coming, my sweet. And your thieves shall pay for this transgression.

Nothing. I have found nothing.

I've hired an illusionist to steal it back. I've told him to go where no living men walk, simply because I would rather him be torn apart by the ravenous ghouls of that plagued land instead of myself. I continue to search the south while he looks there, though I can't help but wonder if the death knight and the elf might've fled there.

Demitrius is a loathsome and ignominious fool, by the way. I met him again in Booty Bay, in the foul scented tavern laughing and drinking with the other heathenistic louts. He tried to tell me his name was 'Fred' and told me the elf I'm looking for is dead, the Blood Elf at least. She was supposedly incinerated by the flames of a blue dragon.

Why he'd lie to protect that disgusting bandit, I can't guess. Perhaps he's working with them too. Even if he was telling the truth, it would seem that the dead aren't so for long these days. Such powerful priests and paladins holding the powers of both life and death in their hands. I find it funny that they've yet to realize how corrupt and twisted they've become. Little puppets of their Light, playing gods by slaying whom they dislike, and resurrecting those they love.

It's selfish. Truly, it is those like me who are selfless. Every breath the will of my master. Every heartbeat, every step is his. Am I truly the selfish one, as they think? I give my entire life for my master, to bring an end to the suffering of this world, so it may be remade into the wondrous utopia they so fervently fight against. They cut down the undead and the demons, and even us. The Light seems to bear great hatred and demand the death of everything that stands outside of its vile golden glow, and yet in the cool shade of the masters we simply await the Hour of Twilight. I find it hard to believe that we are the evil ones.