Legacy of Oblivion

The storm came upon them with little warning; a dark speck in the north stretching across the sky, spreading toward them at alarming speed until casting its shadow atop them. A hard rain came with it, blown up under their hoods from the unrelenting wind. On the open hills of Tirisfal Glades, there was nowhere to hide.

In the distance, the low, booming sound of thunder was heard. It was about to get worse.

A stream of bodies were making their way down the hill from the zeppelin tower toward Undercity. Although the traveling masses had been informed there would be no leaving the Stranglethorn post of Grom’Gol once they arrived, undeterred bodies fought against wind and rain to make it to the bat handler, assuming they would find a way out of the post once they had arrived. The races comprising the Horde are not so easily deterred.

Fastening cloaks around their bodies and hiding faces under hoods, Autumnwolf, Airsk, Grimvalt, Raeln, and Matelda blended in with the crowd of disgruntled, soggy travelers who were making their way back inside Undercity. As they reached the entrance to the Lordaeron ruins, the collective outcry of angry travelers reached them; Zeppelins had now officially stopped traveling to the southern half of the continent.

Knowing there would be even more competition for supplies and bats, the crowd picked up the pace and was trying to outrun each other, only to be stopped by the elevator.

Parties were being taken down to the city in small groups, and not fast enough for the impatient crowd. Restlessness moved over the mob and conversation increased to a dull roar as more arrived from the Zeppelin tower and were forced to wait in a line that overflowed outside into the wet courtyard.

Above the crowd, they could barely make out the outline of the elevator door opening. The crowd swelled and pushed toward it like a wave, cramming bodies into every available inch of the small space.

Before long, the party found themselves before the elevator, but there was only space for two more. Grimvalt graciously gave the available spaces to the two orc waiting in line behind. After the unexpected and mysterious attack inside Raeln’s house, it would be unwise to separate outside of the city. Lack of guards and law enforcement would make an ambush all too easy. Even with a crowd of eyewitnesses, no one liked to get involved in the affairs of strangers.

After a short wait, the elevator door slid open. Again the crowd surged at the sight, pushing them forward. Matelda stumbled, but Autumnwolf and Grimvalt grabbed her, pulling her to the opposite side of the elevator where they strategically placed her next to the back door. Hugging her backpack close, the priestess pressed her back against the wall.

The elevator landed with a slight bounce. When the door slid open, everyone began to push, impatient to get out.

Not wishing to be among the first seen entering the city, they waited until almost half of the elevator had emptied. Stepping into the doorway, Autumnwolf stopped the rush just long enough for Grimvalt to escort Matelda, while Airsk pulled an unwilling Raeln out of the elevator.

The majority of individuals leaving the elevator were cold, damp, and irritable, tromping down the darkened corridor, still wrapped tightly in their cloaks. This made it much easier on the group. Concealed and camouflaged, they passed by the guards’ watchful gaze without arousing suspicion.

The top tier of Undercity was a mass of congestion and confusion. A long line at the Bat Handler had already wrapped half way around the room and was continuing to grow. Tightening his grip on Raeln’s arm, Airsk dashed to the back of the line. Muffled protests were heard from the sage who woefully rubbed his recently reattached limb.

Grimvalt and Autumnwolf escorted Matelda to where Airsk and Raeln had gone, amazed at how many were filing into line behind them.

“Guard Matelda,” Grimvalt said quietly to Airsk. “Autumnwolf and I will get supplies.”

The shaman nodded back, and turned to Raeln. The sage looked up at them, clearly unhappy about the situation.

Autumnwolf leaned in close to the sage, bending down so their eyes were level.

“You will also protect Matelda,” the druid said.

Staring at each other, they both waited to see which one would cave first. Again, it was the sage. Rubbing his sore arm, he wrinkled his nose in disdain and nodded.

“Fine,” Raeln sniffed, “but I am only doing this for the protection of the relic.”

Satisfied, Grimvalt nodded and returned his attention back to Airsk.

“Don’t let anyone take the paper either,” the warrior said.

Airsk patted his pocket reassuringly. The perplexing prophecy regarding the Titan’s relic was as valuable as the phallus itself. Both would need to be guarded at all costs. After casting a quick glance around the room, he nodded to Grimvalt.

“Hurry,” Airsk said.

Grimvalt and Autumnwolf turned away in search of the stairs. The platform they were standing on was made entirely of stone, with the center of the room cut out. From the edge, they could see the gridlock that had overtaken the center of the city. Stone staircases led down to a narrow, unfenced ledge that circled the bank. Pedestrians were forced to balance precariously along the path behind bank patrons, and there was barely room for two to squeeze by without falling over the side. More staircases led down from the bank to the city floor, where irritated citizens of the Horde were nearly at a standstill, trying to get through the city.

“It had never before occurred to me just how awkward this city was constructed,” Grimvalt grumbled as he pushed his way down.

Behind him, Autumnwolf was trying to figure out a way to squeeze around three orc. “Food and water should be easy enough to find, but blankets will be more difficult.”

“We can try the auctioneers,” Grimvalt said, “although they don’t normally trade those things. There are some tailors who should have something.”

“If all else fails, we could purchase extra cloaks,” Autumnwolf suggested.

Weaving through the traffic, they passed beneath tall, stone arches into the next layer of the city; a dark pathway that circled around the court. Varied ramps and daises were fixed along the inner track where auctioneers could stand above the crowds, calling out their treasures. The streets here were much wider than in the city center and allowed traffic to flow freely once they were able to push past the crowds clustering around auctioneers.

“Who designed this city?” Grimvalt grumbled, mostly to himself as it was too loud to hear anything other than the loud, rapid succession of auctions being called out.

The general crowd flowed in a counter-clockwise pattern. Knowing better than to fight the current, they joined in the stream, letting it take them along. After a few minutes, Grimvalt turned off of the main road, following a smaller trickle of bodies down a darkened corridor.

Voices echoed off of the rock halls, blending together into an indiscernible low hum. Only as various bodies passed by were they able to make out snippets of conversation, most of it inconsequential.

“…if I wanted a pet cockroach, I’d just pick one out of my hair…”

“…disgusting mind slave should not be allowed out in public places…”

Voices grew louder as they neared the end of the street and they turned the corner into a pavilion of shops. Autumnwolf pulled her hood a little lower over her head and followed Grimvalt, weaving gracefully through the sea of bodies.

A tailor’s store looked discouraging. Rows of shelves had already been picked through and were mostly bare. Anything left for sale had been piled on tables and were being sifted through by a cluster of patrons.

Autumnwolf was only half listening to what was going on around her as she reached over a thin Forsaken female and grabbed whatever her hand might capture. Ignoring the unforgiving look she received, Autumnwolf shook out the fabrics, trying to figure out what each one was.

She sighed. Most of it was small bits of unusable clothing that she tossed back onto the table. Customers clustered around them immediately and snatched up whatever she had discarded, hoping for a good find. Undeterred, she moved to the other end of the table and grabbed up a bundle of ugly fabrics.

A long, thick cloak was too homely to wear, but looked promising as a blanket. A second cloak was unraveling at the end, but was otherwise in good shape. Tossing them over one shoulder, she looked up and across the table at where Grimvalt was standing.

One eyebrow shot up. Instead of scanning the area for supplies, he was talking. It was hard to hear over the general hum of voices, but by straining her ears, she could pick up the gist of the conversation.

“It’s not for sale,” Grimvalt was saying. He sounded irritated.

An orc dressed for travel held a small, bulging money pouch in his hand. His persistent tone matched his expression.

“I’ll pay you more than that cloak is worth,” the orc insisted. “You could buy two for what I’ll give you – three, even.”

Frowning, the warrior looked away and scanned around the room, and seemed relieved to find Autumnwolf looking back at him. She rolled her eyes in support.

“I’m not selling it. Sorry,” Grimvalt said, and picked his way through the cluster of patrons to where Autumnwolf was waiting.

The room was loud and crowded and they were being jostled by other patrons trying to move through the store. Voices were getting louder as everyone tried shouting over the din and it was becoming hard to hear.

Grimvalt beckoned Autumnwolf away, to the edge of where the stagnant cluster of patrons met the swift moving stream of bodies. He took the garments from her, looking them over.

Voices passed by them with the current, most of it being completely ignored while they looked over the potential finds. Satisfied, Grimvalt looked up and handed them back. As he did, they couldn’t help but catch a snippet of conversation that passed them by:

“…eluded us at the sage’s house and escaped…”

The garments were forgotten and both of them looked up at each other. Autumnwolf’s eyes drifted away, fixed to the back of the speaker’s head and followed it as it drifted into the stream. Her height gave a definite advantage to being able to see above the crowd, and she turned to pursue the stranger.

Before he could follow, Grimvalt felt pressure on his arm, and a slight tug. He glanced back over his shoulder. One of the shop clerks was speaking to him, pointing at the garments he held.

Looking back to make sure he didn’t lose sight of Autumnwolf, he reached into a pocket, grabbed whatever coin happened to be in there and hastily pressed it into the clerk’s hand. He probably paid more than the cloaks were worth, but at the moment he hardly cared. Ducking into the crowd, he pushed ahead until he was able to catch up to where Autumnwolf was in pursuit.

He wasn’t sure where they were headed. As one of the shorter races of the Horde, it was difficult to see. Autumnwolf seemed to know where they were going, though. Keeping a safe distance, she dropped back even farther when they veered away from the main crowd and down a side street.

Very few were traveling this way; a dark alley leading to remote areas of the city where questionable business took place. Every body that passed was concealed under a cloak. Traffic became more and more sparse and the roar of the activity in the main city dulled behind them. Feeling conspicuous, Grimvalt tugged lightly on his hood, making sure it covered as much of his face as was possible.

In the open area, he was now able to see who they were following: Two figures in dark cloaks glided quickly along the alley. Although the conversation being held was indiscernible, the sound of hushed whispers echoed back.

As they walked, Grimvalt was trying hard to keep quiet, but his heavily armored boots were making considerable noise against the stone floor. Every step was an attempt to be more quiet than the last, but it was having an opposite effect. Autumnwolf kept looking at him sternly, and he could hardly blame her. The sound of his own footsteps were setting his nerves on edge.

Up ahead, the figures they were following stopped whispering, as if they knew they were being followed. Just before they turned around, Autumnwolf grabbed Grimvalt, hugging both arms around the warrior’s waist and lifting, struggling to move his heavily armored body behind a nearby post.

She set him down as quietly as possible and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

The cloaks they had purchased earlier were still slung over Grimvalt’s shoulder. Grabbing them, Autumnwolf folded the first one in half, and laid it on the ground. Then she tapped his boot once and pointed to the cloth.

Nodding his understanding, he stepped into the center. Autumnwolf wrapped the cloak around his boot and tied it securely around his calf. The same was done to the other boot. When they were finished, Autumnwolf stuck her head out from where they were hiding. Hastily, she beckoned him out.

The two individuals they had been following were almost to the end of the street. Grimvalt stepped out of the shadow, listening for the expected clank of his boots against the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was far from perfect, but quiet enough that they could follow without attracting attention.

The street was coming to an end and they were in danger of losing the chase. Picking up the pace, they made it to the end of the alley just in time to watch their prey ducking under a bridge.

Running on the tips of his toes, Grimvalt followed Autumnwolf to a set of short, stone stairs that curved upward and into to a bridge.

The familiar voices of the individuals they were pursuing floated up to them, and they crouched down low, using the short walls that encased the stairs as cover. Half way up the stairs, Grimvalt tugged on Autumnwolf’s cloak. When she turned, he pointed to the wall.

Crawling back over to where he was crouched, she nodded, listening. The two individuals they had been following were below them on the other side of the wall, using the curve of the stairs as cover.

“He has one of the pieces already,” said a deep voice. “We don’t know how to extract it, so it’s still in containment until we can figure out a way.”

“And the rest of the components?” A hollow, nasal voice asked.

“We’re looking for them. Someone out there has to know something. That’s why he’s tapped into the channels of every organization in the Horde.”

A disbelieving sniff was heard.

“How did he do that, exactly?”

“The goblins created it, and he purchased it.”

Nasal voice sniffed again. “Sounds expensive.”

A quiet, deep laugh was heard. “It was nothing. Our resources are endless and this was a necessity. Now that we have one item, the rest will awaken. Someone must know about them, which is the reason for the taps.”

“You are going through a lot of trouble on a group of nobodies.”

“We wouldn’t even have cared about them, but when they shut off their channels, we figured they knew something.”

“You actually believe they have one of the components?”

“After the incident at the sage’s house, we’re positive,” Deep Voice said. “A few hours ago, one of their mages was taken into custody. She’ll be at the House in another day or so. We are also trailing another one who we believe will lead us to another piece – some paladin. He will be arriving in Hammerfall in a few days. After he has the item in his possession, we will take him into custody as well.”

“What makes you think they will tell you anything?” Nasal asked.

“Prynex is determined to obtain these components at any cost.” Deep Voice laughed quietly. “Believe me when I say he will do whatever it takes. No one will get in his way.”

A pause suggested Deep Voice was about to impress something important. After a tense minute, he continued.

“Many leaders will be joining him soon. It would be unwise for you to choose differently.”

“Like this small group of nobodies you are harassing?”

“They have something Prynex wants. They will cooperate or…”

His voice trailed off.

Nasal sighed a high pitched whistle. “No need for threats,” he said. “I will attend.”

“Good. Take this summons to the House. Directions are in the letter. If you have any problems, show it to them.”

The meeting was over. Grimvalt and Autumnwolf looked up at each other. They had heard enough.

Still crouched, Grimvalt held up three fingers and counted down, then nodded. As one, they stood and reached over the side of the wall.

Autumnwolf placed a firm grip on top of someone’s head and slammed it against the wall. The sound of a coconut being opened echoed softly against the stone, followed by the sound of a body sliding down the wall to the ground.

Grimvalt was not accustomed to that level of finesse. One hand formed a tight fist and slammed down onto the first hard surface it found. He heard a deep groan and the sound of someone collapsing.

Looking around quickly, they made sure no one had seen their assault, then leapt over the wall to the floor below.

Two crumpled figures lay on the ground amidst the spilled contents of an expensive backpack.

Leaning over, Autumnwolf pulled back the hood of one, revealing a male troll who was sleeping soundly. A large bump was forming on the side of his head.

The other figure, a male orc, was slumped against the wall. His cloak had shifted in his fall, pulling the hood away from his face.

“Do you recognize either of them?” Autumnwolf asked.

Grimvalt shook his head. “No. You?”

“No.”

They turned their attention to the articles scattered on the ground. A few uninteresting items were laying about, as well as a rolled up parchment and a black card bearing the symbol of a snake coiled around a sword. Grimvalt reached for the card and flipped it over. The back of the card was blank. As he stood, light slipped over the edge of the staircase and reflected off of the paper. Movement caught his eye. Under the dim light, a small, golden symbol materialized slowly in the center.

Autumnwolf couldn’t help but notice his surprise.

“An emblem of a fallen trollish dynasty,” she said, reaching for the card. “I am not sure why I know of it. The troll kingdoms that once dominated the world are long forgotten.”

She flipped it over, then shrugged unknowingly at the sword and snake. As she turned it back over, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. The golden emblem had disappeared, but when she moved it back into the light, the symbol flickered slowly on the page until it was whole again.

Taking the card back from her, Grimvalt stared hard at the symbol, then brushed his thumb over it. The emblem sparkled at his touch.

Autumnwolf shrugged again and returned her attention to the contents on the floor.

“Here is the summons they spoke of,” she said, holding a piece of paper. “Perhaps we should take it.”

Grimvalt looked up.

“Yeah,” he said, and slipped the strange card into his pocket.

He looked around. They had spent too much time chasing after these two strangers and would need to get back up to Airsk and Matelda. His eyes drifted down to the two unconscious figures on the floor, their expensive cloaks sitting askew. He had an idea.

Autumnwolf was securing the summons in her bag when she turned around and noticed Grimvalt rolling the orc’s cloak into a ball. When he reached for the backpack laying nearby, he felt her disapproving eyes upon him.

Guilty, he looked up.

“There’s no time to get supplies now,” he explained. “As it is, we’re going to starve to death and half of us will freeze from the high altitudes. We have no other choice.”

Autumnwolf’s lips pursed together tightly in thought. By her expression, it was clear she would do nothing to stop him, although she didn’t exactly endorse his behavior, either. They didn’t have time to argue.

Grabbing the backpack, he was surprised by the weight.

“Whoa,” he mumbled as he looked inside. “Someone was planning on a long trip.”

He didn’t bother looking up at Autumnwolf, who continued to watch him in silence. Somehow he couldn’t help but feel as if he had to keep making excuses for his actions.

“This is more than enough for the entire group,” he said without looking up. “We’re lucky. Fortunate.”

She didn’t respond or make a move to help, so he stopped trying to convince her.

The troll’s cloak came off and was rolled up, then two large, expensive bags were sifted through. He left the money but took all of the water and non-perishable food. In a small, leather wallet, he found another black card bearing the sword and snake symbol with the golden troll emblem on the back. Grimvalt pocketed that with the one he had taken earlier. They now had everything they needed for long travel.

The sound of footsteps running was heard on the far end of the bridge, and it came to a scuffling, skidding stop.

Both of them whirled around toward the noise and looked up. Three heads popped up above the bridge wall and one of them pointed in their direction.

Even in the dim light, it was hard not to recognize their faces: They were the same three who had attacked them at the sage’s house.

Turning, they fled back into the alley that had brought them there. Cloaked figures dashed out of the way, unwilling to get involved. It was actually a relief. Abandoning the pretense of staying silent, they pounded down the road until they met up with the swift-moving crowd.

This time, they didn’t let the natural flow of traffic carry them through. Pushing their way forward, Autumnwolf and Grimvalt moved into any available space available to them and tried to cut lengthwise through the bodies to get ahead.

“Turn off,” Grimvalt called up to Autumnwolf.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Grimvalt was pointing to a side street that lead back to the center of the city.

Angry cries of the crowd caused them both to look back. The three strangers who had attacked them earlier were forcing their way through, violently shoving pedestrians aside to catch up.

Turning back, Grimvalt and Autumwolf renewed their efforts to get to the other side and ducked into the street. It was not nearly as crowded as the one they had come from, and bolted down the road. At the end, they found themselves merging into yet another dense, fast moving crowd.

A sharp, angry shout drew their attention back. Their pursuers were half way down the street, running towards them.

Jumping into the crowd, they forced their way through much less politely than they had previously. Before they could make it through and into the next street, angry shouts reached their ears again – their pursuers were entering the crowd right behind them.

The next street was a direct access route into the center of Undercity and was even more crowded than the road they had come from. A long line was winding through the bank, circled tightly around the narrow ledge of the bank, and continued up the stairs. It was barely moving.

Grimvalt didn’t have time for courtesy and pushed his way through. Irritable murmurs were heard around them, but he didn’t stop. Autumnwolf followed in his wake, apologizing to those they passed.

They were almost to the stairs leading up to the bank when Autumnwolf looked back.

“There is a problem,” she said.

He turned. Two of their pursuers had entered the crowd behind them and were forcing their way toward them. At first, Grimvalt thought they had lost the third, until Autumnwolf pointed.

Off to the side, the rogue who had tried taking the relic was speaking with a small group of guards, and he was pointing in their direction. When the guards left had their station, the rogue smiled at them and saluted. It was hard to see what was happening from the floor, but they could tell the crowd was trying to move out of the way for the advancing guards.

“Get moving,” Grimvalt said, and renewed his forceful advance.

At the stairs leading up to the bank, they discovered a new problem. Everyone had become immobilized because pedestrians were using it to make their way up and down, and larger races were monopolizing the staircase completely. There was no room to move.

Angry shouts called out to them, saying they needed to wait their turn, but Grimvalt ignored it and forced his way up.

Half way up the stairs, he looked back. The guards were advancing quickly. Grimvalt glanced up.

Airsk, Matelda, and Raeln were standing directly above him. The group had made it had made it to the Bat Handler, but there was clearly an argument going on. The line behind them was growing restless.

A shout brought his attention back to the bank ledge.

“Hey!”

A large orc in old, worn armor was confronting him, standing a little too close for his liking. Grimvalt thought his breath smelled like a sewer.

“I’m talking to you!” The orc shouted, reaching out and pulling Grimvalt’s hood back.

A thick, green finger jabbed his chest.

“Stop pushing and wait your turn like everyone else,” the orc yelled.

Murmurs of agreement flickered through the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” Grimvalt offered, ducking into a free space near the bank teller window. “I’m in a hurry.”

The orc grabbed his armor, but didn’t pull him back.

“We’re all in a hurry,” the orc said, tightening his grip.

Suddenly, Autumnwolf was standing between them, holding them apart at arm’s length. Grimvalt’s back was up against the bank, and the orc was teetering on the ledge. A few individuals squeezed out of the way to make room in case the confrontation became violent.

The orc decided she was someone new to shout at.

“Hey,” the orc said. “You’re gonna have to wai–”

His voice trailed away and over the side of the bank as Autumnwolf suddenly disappeared and a large, furry bear with an ample backside appeared. Turning sharply, her haunches knocked three more individuals off, and a fourth was sent into the crowd. Bodies began to fall off of the bank ledge and up the staircase in a rippling effect, giving them an escape route. With a flash of white ethereal mist, she was herself again.

They dashed up the stairs to their waiting party. At the top, they found out what the argument was about. The Bat Handler was running out of bats, and was calling for a temporary halt on travel. A small cluster of bats were perched nearby, stinking up the top floor.

“What are those for?” Airsk was demanding.

“Emergencies only!” The Bat Handler hissed. His upper lip curled.

“We really should get going,” Autumnwolf said, looking back toward the bank.

Airsk and Grimvalt followed her gaze to the guards who were emerging at the top of the stairs.

“All right,” The Bat Handler complained. “I can afford to give you four, but no more – one of you will have to stay.”

Before anyone could protest, Grimvalt agreed.

“Fine,” he said, looking around for an exit. “I’ll stay.”

The cloaks that were wrapped around his boots were untied and given out, as well as the two cloaks and supplies taken from their earlier chase. While everyone waited, four bats were brought off their perches and their leashes were handed out, although no one made a move to get on them. The group was looking at Grimvalt.

“Maybe you can fit on a bat with Matelda,” Airsk suggested.

The Bat Handler overheard the idea and spat out a short, pointed lecture, canceling that idea. He had obviously given the same speech countless times before.

Grimvalt started looking around, trying to figure out how to escape Undercity. Despite the guards nearing, everyone was mounting slowly.

“Go,” Grimvalt insisted.

At their reluctance, the Bat Handler was growing impatient and started fresh with a new lecture, until something in the air caused him to look up.

“Stand back,” he hissed.

The group maneuvered away from where the Handler was standing, giving room for a bat carrying a tauren to land.

Grimvalt smiled broadly and took the reigns from the surprised tauren.

“How convenient,” Grimvalt said. “I’ll take this one.”

They were in the air before anyone could stop them.