Silverpine Forest was dotted with orchards and country homes, and the Sepulcher was the central graveyard for the neighborhood. It had never been a place of human habitation. Coveted by the upper class due to its peaceful vantage point over Lordamere Lake, the graveyard and death pits of Brill had swollen beyond capacity rather than inconvenience the elite of Lordaeron and Alterac.

There were only a few large family crypts and the rows of headstones were even and well-tended. Yuriv’s was located next to the crooked metal fence at the far corner.

There was little reason to have any respect for the sanctity of the dead now, especially since she was one. Hyzanthlay jumped on the short metal partition. She stood on it for a moment before hopping directly onto a stone coffin before the headstone, moving with all the playful apathy of a child jumping on the furniture. As she scraped some of the grime from her boots with the insignia at her feet, she inspected the stone symbol carefully. It was the sign of the Scarlet Crusade that she had come to despise, along with a few other emblems referring to the kingdom of Lordaeron.

Hyzanthlay dropped the silver pendant on the two stone hands gripping a stone hilt. Then she dropped off the tomb to the ground and stood still for a moment.
A profound quiet seemed to settle over the hillside. The air stood still.

There was nothing here.

Hyzanthlay kept walking, and made no other attempt to tend to the grave.
Strellabelle had emerged from the largest family tomb at the western end of the cemetery, where the Forsaken had their base.

“We’re going to Shadowfang Keep,” she muttered. “Have you ever heard of it?”

“Of course,” Hyzanthlay replied. “But there can’t be much left of it?”

“Of course not, and we aren’t the first to pick over its ruins. But recently one of our Deathguards has gone missing, and we’ll face Arugal himself. The Forsaken have decided that raiding the lower levels for supplies and specimens isn’t enough this time. Windrunner herself has decided that the Archmage has to die. Stealing his research isn’t enough anymore.”

“I know a rogue, if we need help,” Hyzanthlay ventured. But Strellabelle waved her hand dismissively.

“This mission is too important; the Dark Lady and High Executor Hadrec have seen to our companions personally.”

“And what is our mission?”

“To determine what happened to two of the Lady’s agents, kill Arugal, and collect any more research or communication that we can. Special consideration should be given to any correspondence with Dalaran and a certain tome known as The Book of Ur. I will continue the debriefing as soon as the rest of our party arrives.”

Hyzanthlay grinned. They were the warlocks, and the demonic powers they had included a spell that could summon others regardless of their location. This was Strellabelle’s way of saying the party would arrive and the mission would begin only when they were ready. She was in no hurry, as humans and wolves did little to excite her.

“Perhaps,” Hyzanthlay suggested, “we could infiltrate the Keep in secret, and summon others once inside?”

“We can’t summon from inside. Our spies have already determined as such. Do not forget, we are dealing with Dalaran. I see inside your mind, my dark sister, and understand your hunger. The Scarlet Crusade must wait for now. You are Forsaken, and you will respect for the wishes of the Dark Lady.”

The two Taurens who joined them were summoned with the dark powers, and did not have to travel all the way from Mulgore. A Troll hunter, with shining eyes and a wolf pet, also joined them. He introduced his scruffy wolf as Fang, and cautioned the other party members not to touch him, as he was always ravenous and indiscriminate. It sounded more like a boast than a real concern. Hyzanthlay remembered the Troll hunter from the tavern in the Crossroads, and was glad to have him.

The Tauren warrior and druid were cool and businesslike at first, clearly out of their element in the shadows of the Sepulchre. Hyzanthlay sensed they did not want to be here but were taking the situation very seriously. More interested in Elune than Lady Sylvanas, Hyz thought, but she knew little of the Night Elf goddess and even less of the Tauren spirit world.

The potions were brewed. The weapons and armour had the correct enchantments against shadow and poison. The ideal pathway through the keep had been mapped. And two warlocks meant two soulstones, and plenty of healthstones just in case of emergencies. The Warrior, a Tauren named Earthroot, cautioned the warlocks about the use of Fear in the enclosed spaces they would be encountering.

Hyz grinned with wicked appreciation, even though Fear was a spell that she herself rarely used. It had an unpredictable effect, sometimes causing the victims to turn and blindly run as their skin rotted off or burned, which provided a rather miserable anti-climax to a fight. Hyzanthlay preferred to finish her victims with her sword and savour a hot, fresh meal rather than chew a clammy corpse that had been hidden in the underbrush. It still pleased her immensely that it was their signature spell.

“The Worgen also have the power of Silence,” she added, casting her eyes over the spellcasters and hunter, to the Druid healer. “See that you are prepared, lest I fall.”
“You will not fall,” the Druid replied calmly, and for the first time Hyzanthlay regarded their healer. He carried the same noble air as his brethren, but with none of the silent pity or politely hostile demeanour they often reserved for the undead. In fact, he almost seemed to regard the warlocks with a keen interest. When Hyz looked at him, she was greeted with a toothy, comical grin instead of the usual stiff, serious nod. He looked vaguely familiar but she could not place him.

Hyzanthlay pouted and snarled all along the road to Pyrewood Village and the Keep. Loopy mages and mangy dogs! Hyzanthlay didn’t care for mages, as she was frequently mistaken for one until she picked up a sword or summoned a demon. She didn’t care for the Kirin Tor, as they were Alliance. They were also extremely powerful, and held considerable influence in every human kingdom.

Hyz actually almost regretted killing a few of the weaker Worgen and wolves along the road. Something about their eyes reminded her of a mysterious place beyond the tomb from which she had crawled, the missing memories of her former life.

The air in Silverpine Forest was always cold, bitter and tainted with a rank coppery odour. The worgen who roamed the hills were not native to Azeroth. Only a Night Elf could be so careless as to unleash such a thing upon the world, and only a human would be so foolish as to think they could be kept as pets. Hyzanthlay was grateful that the reek of night elf was miles from here. Her looming voidwalker, who had very politely introduced himself as Phannuz at their recent meeting, did not have a nose and made no comment on these observations.

The Kingdom of Gilneas still stood, but stayed in stubborn isolation. From the drawbridge leading to the keep, they could see the Greymane Wall in the distance. The two Warlocks could hear the wails of the refugees huddled along it. No help would come to them from cursed kingdom of Greymane.

Strellabella spat, and cursed the name of Elune.

Hyzanthlay laughed quietly, and reminded Strellabelle not to take the name of the Moon Goddess in vain lest it offend their Tauren allies.

“Besides, if these creatures are half as vicious as they sound, perhaps we should give Elune a little credit. They would make worthy opponents.”

“Enough chatter.” Earthroot unsheathed her mace and strode over the wooden drawbridge. “Let us begin!”