“This is history.”

Belloq, from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

 

“The poison is still fresh. No more than three days.”

The air in the Hinterlands was thin and dry. The two hunters, a Night Elf and a Dwarf, knew they were in contested territory. Now that they had found the poison, they knew that there was a rogue nearby, and a powerful one at that. The lingering smell indicated the presence of the Undead, perhaps more than one. A ragged little float plane, no doubt the property of an adept but yet rather inexperienced engineer, bobbed quietly in the still, mossy water. The owner was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe they’re following us,” the Elf said nervously, carefully touching the dead and skinned razor-beak corpse.

“If they knew we were here, they would have killed us already.”

The Dwarf’s reply did nothing to calm his friend, who was now looking around rather nervously.

“We should head back to Aerie Peak, and quickly,” the Elf added softly.

“We can sneak up on them, and finish them off one by one,” the Dwarf would not be so easily discouraged. The prospect of such a trophy was tempting indeed.

They crept through the underbrush towards the quiet waters of Valorwind Lake. There was one there, reclining by the shoreline. She was clearly not worried about being attacked or watched. Her hat was drawn down over her eyes, and she was leaning back and paying little heed to the fishing pole that was dangling in the water a few feet in front of her. Her face was obscured by the thick cloud of smoke billowing from the thick cigar that was dangling from those thick, cracked lips.

The Dwarf smiled and nodded, being careful to hide in the undergrowth. Together, using the element of surprise, they could take her.

The hunters stepped forward, their pets at the ready. The Dwarf smiled through his grizzled beard and cocked the trigger on his blunderbuss.

The Forsaken woman’s head turned slightly to the side as if she thought she might have heard something. The Dwarf took a step forward, raising his weapon.

The crack of a whip shattered the humid air, and the dwarf’s gun fell with a helpless clunk, bouncing off the rocks and falling into the stagnant water. The Dwarf shuddered and clenched his fist as if it had been hurt. He looked at the Forsaken for a moment and caught a glimpse of her sickly gray skin and morbid yellow eyes.

Their nerves finally shattered, the two hunters turned and fled, their pets scrambling after them.

The Forsaken stood up and came out from under the shade of the heavy foliage, her face unmoving but the light of her yellow orbs vibrating. Her succubus, still swinging her whip playfully, giggled with glee, and gaily stepped to her side. The Warlock appreciated her aggression but was growing tired of sitting idle when there was work to be done. Where was the guide she had hired?

Eucalypto looked up from a shady spot by the water. He had seen the two hunters well before they had stepped towards the shoreline, but knowing that Heswena the succubus was roaming freely he took little notice of them.

“Hyzanthlay,” he said, and then pointed to the far side of the lake to get her attention. The guide had appeared, a troll of both Amani and Revantusk descent, or so he had fervently claimed. He also swore on his personal gods that he knew where to find the Ancient Egg.

The old troll in Tanaris had promised a handsome reward for such an artifact.

“Sorena should be back directly,” she answered without looking at him. “Stay here, mind the plane.”

Eucalypto was rather absorbed with his skinning but gave a barely imperceptible nod of acknowledgment.

The succubus was replaced with the felhunter. It was decided that the creature would be more effective against the voodoo magic they were about the encounter. It was also quieter; only the occasional snarl would pass its jagged jaws, compared to Heswena’s constant shrieking giggle.

The Darkspear were firmly allied with the Horde, and some other troll tribes were neutral or friendly. The Trolls of Jintha’Alor were among some of the most hostile in Azeroth, as well as the most powerful. Hyzanthlay had already spent a good amount of gold to pad her new friend’s pockets as well as his courage. Not many were greedy or crazy enough to cross the Vile Priestess Hexx and her minions. The Forsaken, however, was in a league of their own as far as taking risks was concerned.

The forest grew thinner as they reached the walls of the great city, and the looming stone and eerie lights that snaked up the mountainside proved to be too much for the troll.

“Warlock,” he turned and spit to one side, as if trying to hide how nervous he was, “I say, this place has strong mojo. There be none that come out of here alive….”

“I’ve got my own mojo,” she spoke the Troll word dismissively. “And unless you want to return the deposit I already made, I suggest you start doing the job you were hired for. Now, the Egg…?”

“It be at the top…”

“I know that much. Is there another way in?” As much as Hyzanthlay loved to make an entrance, preferably under a mantle of screaming flames and glittering ash, the front gate was well-lit and heavily guarded. The Ancient Egg was hidden in a cave at the summit, not so well guarded except by a number of booby traps and perhaps the occasional witch doctor. The Egg itself was not the greatest treasure of Jintha’Alor, but Hyzanthlay was not inclined to ask questions. The substantial reward she was looking forward to had bought her silence.

“There be other stairs,” the Troll answered, looking about nervously. “They be steep, and ol’. But not be many guards.”

The warlock nodded, and they carefully picked their way through the foliage to the northern side of the troll city. It took some time to find the “stairs”, which were really just a ruined, ancient path that snaked up the mountainside. It was steep and precarious, littered with sharp rocks and covered with a thick layer of loose sand and lichen.

They picked their way up carefully. Only the felhunter had no trouble. It flitted from rock to rock, stepping on its own plane of reality. The Troll knew the terrain but refused to lead the way. Hyzanthlay did not feel the same pain and fatigue as a mortal would, but she still had gravity to deal with, and the crumbling rock and loose sand still gave her trouble.

They did not speak until a looming stone totem appeared. It’s grotesque face displayed a lewd tongue and protruding nose. The mouth of a cave gaped before them, no doubt the secret entrance. The Troll began to mutter rather hysterically, pressing his face and shoulders into the dirt. Hyzanthlay all but ignored him as she began to pull some equipment from his pack.

“This is it,” she mumbled, “this is where Keever cashed in.” She was thinking out loud and not really expecting the troll to answer, but he did.

“A friend of yours?” He asked, raising his head up but keeping his elbows firmly planted in the sand.

“A competitor,” she replied.

Part of Hyzanthlay’s interest in the Egg stemmed from a rumor that had been floating around the Royal Apothecary Society. She had pursued the artifact on her own and had said nothing to Strellabelle or anyone in the Clan of the Fallen for that matter. She felt a deeper connection with the RAS for reasons she did not yet understand. Keever had been an active member and it was strange that he had not been seen since his pursuit of the ancient egg.

“He was good,” she said, staring through the thick sheet of dry moss and cobwebs that clung to the lip of the cave. “He was very good.”

The cave was dark. They waited until they were a few feet in, and safe from the prying eyes of any sentries or wandering priests. Hyzanthlay’s first inclination was that the cave was too quiet. It must be well guarded by someone….or something. The troll kept simpering and complaining about the large spiders that abounded in the cave. They were killed without much difficulty, but Hyzanthlay had to avoid using fire. The cave was dry and cluttered with cobwebs and tinder. They had to move with stealth and caution. The cave soon branched off into different directions, and her guide led them in a steady upward direction.

They came to a spot where the ground suddenly leveled out. A thin strip of sunlight squeezed through a crack in the roof and cut across the floor. In the darkness of the cave, it looked bright and welcoming. The Troll, distracted by the details of the cave, very nearly walked through it. Hyzanthlay grabbed his arm.

“Stay out of the light,” she hissed, and carefully ducked down underneath the sunbeam.

When she was safely on the other side, she drew her sword and thrust it firmly through the shaft of light. For a moment, a clear shadow of the blade was outlined on the floor. Then a wall of spikes, covered in moss and spider webs, came rushing soundlessly out of a secret cavity in the wall. The Troll let out a muted howl, pressing his hand against his mouth, not so much out of fear of the spikes but of the gruesome thing that was hanging from them. A previous adventurer, caught by one of the cave’s inanimate but effective guards.

Hyzanthlay stared at it without revulsion or surprise.

“Keever,” she muttered, in sober recognition.

The eyes rolled towards her, almost as if responding to the name.

Then they rolled distinctly back towards the Troll. Up until this moment, the Warlock’s nervous guide was had been muttering a string of prayers in his own tongue and fitfully rubbing a small charm. Now, he stared at Keever in silent, frozen horror, and dropped the charm the ground.

“Ipth…mthg?” Keever managed to move his right arm a bit, but the damage to his face prevented his speech from being clear. It was obvious what he wanted anyway.

Hyzanthlay examined the wooden spikes for a moment, then grabbed Keever by the collar and pulled. As the weight of his body eased off the wooden spikes, they sank ominously back into the wall.

She handed Keever a few potions, which he drank with some difficulty, holding his jaw in place with one hand until it was sufficiently healed to hold together by itself. His fine, heavy robes were a shambles of loose fabric, dust, and moth wings.

“Thank you,” he muttered, “can’t tell you how relieved I am a fellow Forsaken finally came through here. And none other than Hyzanthlay herself.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Keever. Is this not your first visit?”

“Indeed, no. Every so often a human or dwarf finds the cave and wanders in. They would gawk at what they thought was a dead body and sometimes run away. And most Trolls wouldn’t dare even think about coming in here.”

Keever turned to the Troll with a curious look that might have been sympathy or curiosity. He had collected himself somewhat and picked up his charm.

“You’re after the Egg, Keever. I actually expected to find you here.”

“Ah, for the glory of the Dark Lady?” His voice was mocking. Hyzanthlay refused to take the bait.

“A Troll in the jungle told me about it. He’s paying good money. What would Sylvanas care about such a thing? And what do you want it for, some putrid concoction?”

“The Society will have it eventually, either way,” Keever hissed and rose to his feet.

The Dark Lady was keeping an eye on the RAS, a powerful faction within the Forsaken. And she would no doubt accuse Hyzanthlay of treason should she find the Egg and not deliver it to their Banshee Queen. It was possible the RAS already had a plan in place should the Queen and her agents find it first.

The three of them continued along the rocky corridor.  Hyzanthlay ducked underneath yet another sheet of hanging cobwebs. She was still thinking that the cave was too quiet. Only the sunbeams trap? Even though the cave looked isolated and forgotten, this was still turning out to be far too easy.

They turned a sharp corner and came to an abrupt halt. A small but deep hole gaped open in the floor before them. From the jagged edge, both Hyzanthlay and her guide discerned that there was once a thin layer of rock hiding it. A few heavy branches and tree roots protruded from either side, so the adventurers were easily able to tie a thick rope and swing over. Even the clumsy apothecary had little trouble. Again, the words too easy ran through the Warlock’s wicked mind.

The cave suddenly opened up into a wide, flat room covered in vines. Numerous angry troll gods, frozen in twisted stone, stared silently at the intruders. The floor was covered in what looked like a series of geometric shapes. And in the distance, on a small raised dais at the other side of the room, was the rich, warm glow of the Ancient Egg.

At the sight of this treasure, the Troll became rather excited. And careless.

“Ah! Friend Warlock, there be nothing to fear here!” And he took a few steps ahead.

Hyzanthlay reached out and grabbed his shoulder, then pulled him back and pressed his hapless form against the archway that they had just come through. The ropey Troll was much taller and heavier than herself, but her undead body had few such trivial limitations like strength or weight. She gave no explanation, but crouched carefully on the floor and ran her gloved fingers along one of the octagon shaped tiles. When she lifted up the layer of moss and dust, it didn’t seem to be connected to the floor.

She would not risk her sword, but instead carefully pressed down on the loose tile with the end of one of their meager wooden torches. The tile sank a bit, and then she heard a click.

A hiss echoed through the room, and a small but deadly arrow flew from a small hole in the wall and embedded itself in the unlit torch. No doubt they were also poisoned. The Troll shuddered and shrank into a squat. Keever sank back, but his glowing orange eyes remained fixed greedily on the Egg.

“Stay here,” Hyzanthlay grunted, rising to her feet and handing Keever the unlit torch.

“If you insist.” He said, visibly relieved.

Hyzanthlay calmly opened her pockets and examined her potion supply. Then she cast a soulstone spell on herself, just in case, and started to walk across the floor.

Arrows zipped over the tiles, ripping through her dark, thick robes and leathery skin. She staggered occasionally with the force of the arrows but did not falter from her path. Explosions of bone, fabric, and skin traced her footsteps across the floor until she reached the platform and pedestal with the Egg.

She reached the stairs and used the crumbling rocks and carvings on the side to lift herself up on the raised platform.  She needed a moment to swallow a few options, and it would save some repairs to avoid the last of the deadly octagons that lined the floor.

Finally, Hyzanthlay stood before the pedestal and beheld the Egg. It was an ethereal golden orange and seemed to shine with an otherworldly power. 

The Warlock carefully regarded the pedestal. It was most definitely set with a trap somehow. She took a canvas bag out of her pack and tested the weight. Too heavy, maybe. She took a handful of sand out of the bag and let it drift through her fingers, then carefully bobbed the bag in her hand.

That was about right.

Keever and the Troll watched carefully from the doorway. Keever was still and seemed to be waiting for something. the Troll was rubbing his fingers together greedily as the Warlock carefully removed the Egg and replaced it with the canvas bag.

Nothing happened.

Hyzanthlay’s mouth opened in her signature grin, lined with sharp yellow teeth and stretching across most of her mottled face. She carefully put the Egg in her pack and turned away to return to the far side of the room.

A dull, scratching sound interrupted her. Hyzanthlay carefully turned her head in time to see the pedestal sink into the ground. A heavy click echoed through the room, and then the cavern started to fall apart.

Hyzanthlay turned and ran, now heedless of the loose tiles. The arrows swished past her, and some hit their mark. She gritted her teeth, now fixed in a grotesque grimace, and continued to run. Her lack of blood circulation and total indifference to pain ensured that the arrows would not be deadly.

Keever and the Troll guide was no longer there. The Warlock was on the Troll’s heels when he reached the pit, but there was no sign of Keever.

He barely made it to the other side before the rope came loose, leaving Hyzanthlay trapped on the other side. The Felhunter, which had been quiet up until this point, walked easily over the void and stood next to the Troll. It looked back and whimpered at its mistress.

“Throw me the rope,” she yelled angrily. The troll stood across the pit, holding the rope and hesitating. Then he said, without looking up,

“Throw me the Egg!” 

Hyzanthlay bared her teeth again, this time in a fixed, vicious snarl.

“No time to argue,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm as the cave continued to disintegrate around them and the undead warlock gnashed her teeth in his direction. “Throw me the Egg, and I’ll throw you the rope!”

Hyzanthlay gritted her teeth. He was either very foolish or not as cowardly as he pretended. If he didn’t give her the Egg back, she would burn him to a crisp…and then eat him.

She threw him the Egg.

“Give me the rope!” She yelled again.

But the Troll simply smiled at her and dropped the rope on the ground.

“Dark Lady watch over ya,” he said and then fled.

Her orbs glittering fiercely, Hyzanthlay took a few steps back and ran at the pit. She jumped but fell slightly short. Only her long, claw-like fingers saved her, embedded in the loose stones before her. She clawed her way up with some difficulty, helped by her Felhunter. As soon as she was up, she commanded the Felhunter to find the Troll. She didn’t need to speak, only nod. With a snarl, the beast plunged heedlessly into the crumbling cavern, his mistress following.

The cave would not last for long. Hyzanthlay was dodging falling bits of rock and stone. As she was running back through the cavern, she remembered the sunbeam trap. In spite of the chaos surrounding her, she stopped in her tracks and looked up. In his panic, the Troll had forgotten, and what was left of him was hanging impaled from the deadly spikes.

The Egg was safe. It had fallen in a pile of thick dust and heavy cobwebs. She picked it up and regarded her companion’s remains for a moment.

“Remember; patience, discipline,” she mumbled an old Forsaken adage that might have done him some good a few minutes ago. Then something occurred to her. The cave had stopped collapsing. Why?

Another heavy click sounded above her head. She turned and looked up just in time to see the massive, round boulder come pouring out of the ceiling with a rumble. It was not only set to crush all in its path but also to block the entrance. She turned and bolted towards the exit as quickly as her bony legs would move her. 

Where was Keever?

Her vision was blocked by falling dust and thick spider webs. A few arrows were sticking out of her back and legs, and although she felt little or no pain they did hinder her movement somewhat. She fell on her knees, the boulder still rolling at her back, and clawed her way out of the cave. Sputtering out sand and dust, covered in a thick layer of cobwebs, she fell most of the way down the mountainside, finally coming to rest in a mottled heap at the base of the path.

She sat up and shook the dust out of her eyes. Then she saw the spears and arrows, about a hundred of them, pointing right at her. Keever was standing among them, grinning. His bony body also had a few arrows sticking out of it.

“Hyzanthlay,” a familiar voice said, “again we see there is nothing you can possess which the Clan cannot take away.”

Hyzanthlay looked up in the direction of the voice and saw another Warlock. She carefully reached for the hilt of her sword. In response, the Trolls that were holding the bows and spears at the ready leaned forward and tightened their grip on their weapons.

“Too bad the Revantusk don’t know you the way I do, Strellabelle,” Hyzanthlay gritted her long teeth and took it away from the hilt of her sword, using it instead to hand her fellow Warlock the Egg.

“Yes, too bad indeed,” Strellabelle smiled at the shining prize in her hand. “You could warn them, if only you spoke Revantusk.”

Strellabelle turned towards her companions and raised the Ancient Egg, saying something in the local Troll dialect. The spears and arrows were withdrawn as the devout Trolls dropped to their knees in penitence. In this moment of distraction, Hyzanthlay leaped to her feet and bolted through the trees.

The Trolls looked up and then looked to Strellabelle, whose face broke into her own vicious, mottled smile. She drew her thumb across her throat while making a hissing sound. The Trolls picked up their weapons and followed the other Warlock in hot pursuit. Strellabelle didn’t even look in their direction. She picked up the Egg, stared at it greedily, and began to laugh.

>>>>

Eucalypto had ridden on to Tarren Mill when Sorena had returned. The skins were valuable and numerous and he wanted to trade them quickly. For some reason, the rogue was sensitive about being seen in Undercity in his skinning gear, covered in gore and blood. He would mutter something about being “uncouth” when asked about it. Slitting throats and stabbing people in the back didn’t seem to bother him, but something about being the practitioner of a humble profession that left him dirty seemed to make him uncomfortable.

Sorena prodded the fishing pole that her Warlock companion had left behind. She didn’t fish very much herself but Hyzanthlay was always squatting by some puddle with a stick in her hands. The Priest smiled when she thought of her destructive companion enjoying such a benign hobby, and tossed the line in the water just out of boredom. It was not too long before she actually got a bite! No doubt the Warlock had put some kind of spell on the pole and of course had some delectable bait that no fish could resist. What would Hyzanthlay say if she could see her? She could almost hear her yelling, Get the net! Reel it in!

Oh, wait…she did hear Hyzanthlay yelling. But it wasn’t anything about a net.

Start the engine!

Sorena turned towards the distant voice and was not terribly surprised to see Hyzanthlay, trailing dust and cobwebs, pursued by a group of angry trolls brandishing all kinds of weapons. It was actually a rather comical sight, but Sorena didn’t dare laugh.

Start the engine! Start the engine, Sorena!

They were right on her heels. Evidently, she hadn’t even had time to summon her felsteed.

Sorena sighed and tossed the quivering fishing pole into the water. Her friend would just have to get another one.

The engines sputtered to life, and the little plane started to coast through the water. Hyzanthlay ran to the shoreline and grabbed an overhanging vine. It swung her towards the plane and she fell into the lake. Arrows and spears flew at them from the overhanging branches, disturbing the mossy surface with a hundred small, watery explosions. They started to aim for the plane, and Sorena was compelled to duck her head further into the cockpit. By then, Hyzanthlay had managed to grab onto one of the pontoons and had hauled herself into the passenger seat just as the plane lifted off the water, soaring into the air and leaving behind a cloud of mist and foam.

Eucalypto might have ridden on to Tarren Mill, but two of his many pets had not. His snakes, Jack and Henry, two handsome boa constrictors from Durotar, had been expecting to have the passenger seat to themselves and were rather surprised when an undead Warlock appeared rather abruptly in their space.

“There’s an undead Warlock in the plane, Jack,” Henry sputtered angrily.

“I can see that,” hissed Henry, who had barely avoided the Warlocks dirty boots when she had jumped in.

“I hate Warlocks, Jack,” Henry wrinkled his nose and coiled himself as far away from the dusty boots as possible. “I hate ‘em!”

“Come on,” Jack sighed. “Show a little backbone will ya?”

The plane sailed over the treetops, north towards the Undercity.