Hyzanthlay had never gone looking for the dog. It always seemed to find her as long as she was fairly close to Darkshire.

The first time she had seen her without her master, she had been gathering herbs near the small city, just like she was doing tonight. The dog had quietly walked up to her, sniffing carefully. Upon seeing her, Hyzanthlay had carefully drawn her sword, moving slowly so as not to spook the creature.

Slaying this dog would be a boon to any undead that travelled through Duskwood. Her orbs flickered around, quickly and thoroughly taking in her surroundings. It seemed odd that Torch Boy was nowhere to be seen.

The dog looked up at her with large, dark eyes, which strangely enough, seemed to dance for joy as she approached. Its tail wagged in frenzied happiness. Poor foolish creature, the warlock thought. I’ll make it clean and quiet. It was rather a pity that animals never tasted quite like humans.

Suddenly, the dog spun in a happy circle, lept to the side, scampered to the base of a nearby tree, and starting digging fiercely among the tangled roots. Hyzanthlay was still holding her sword firmly, ready to strike at anytime, but her curiosity got the better of her and she hesitated.

The dog stopped digging, poked her snout into the shallow hole she had dug, and took a few short sniffs as if to confirm the find. Then she sat back on her haunches, ears forward, eying the warlock with enthusiastic confidence.

Still brandishing her sword in case the dog decided to set off an alarm after all, Hyzanthlay slowly knelt next to the dirt and examined the find. It was Earthroot; not rare or valuable but fairly useful. And there seemed to be something else as well. No, it couldn’t be!

Ghost mushrooms!

Hyzanthlay was amazed. Such a rare thing, and to find them here! She had last seen them in the caves of Mauradon, when she had helped a party of Trolls and Tauren take revenge on a centaur stronghold. One of the trolls had mentioned there were some in the Hinterlands as well, far to the north, in a place that she herself had not yet ventured. The animal had proven her usefulness, and so far there had been no followers and no alarm. She smiled, and sheathed her sword.

“Good dog,” she rasped, and reached out to touch the dog’s head. The little creature’s tail wagged happily, and when the warlock rose up, she fell in step immediately.

***

Eucalypto was checking his mail frequently these days. Guild recruitment was keeping him busy. On this particular early morning he had a pile of mail in front of him at the breakfast table. Both he and Rik were shifting through it. One rather fat envelope caught Rik’s attention. It was from the priest. Rik had not met her yet, but Eucalypto was quite taken with her. An accomplished engineer, apparently.

“Shadow, I assume,” Rik said in a bland voice. He had yet to meet an undead priest who focused exclusively on healing. It was naturally difficult for the Undead to dabble in the Light.

“We need more healers, Euc.”

“She does heal,” Euc replied, pretending not to notice Rik raise one of his furry eyebrows. He didn’t have time for a follow-up question, as the chunky little envelope suddenly made a funny noise.

Rik sniffed it, and tilted his head back in surprise when it made the noise again. Eucalypto laughed, then reached forward and opened the envelope.

A small machine fell out. The way it buzzed and flashed reminded him of something a gnome would design.

“Ah, what they can’t build these days,” Eucalypto said. “Here, let me show you how this works.”

Rik watched with rapt curiosity as Eucalypto touched one of the flashing buttons. The annoying noise stopped repeating, and when he held it up to his face and started to speak into it, the Druid realized it was some kind of communication device.

“Greetings, my dear! How good it is to…” Eucalypto’s voice turned from cheerful to dour.

“Oh, well that is a shame. Yes. I’m afraid so.”

There was a tense pause. Eucalypto’s orbs flickered.

“Focus, Sorena. It’s still a bit dark. You can make it if you stay on the rooftops. Now, stop wasting time talking to me.”

Eucalypto pressed another button and put the device down. Rik waited for an explanation but the rogue didn’t offer one. His cheerful mood had become nervous and unhappy.
*       *       *
“I think we should get off the road.”

One of the gnomes was getting nervous. The wind whistled menacingly along the cobblestones, sending a whirlwind of leaves into their faces.

His three companions ignored him. They had found some succulent fungi and were distracted from their jittery companion. But he could hear unmistakable hoofbeats approaching him, and the thought of a felsteed galloping towards them got the better of his nerve.

“Get off the road!” He exclaimed, jumping behind a nearby tree. “Quick!”

His friends finally took the hint, and scrambled into hiding with him, still whispering to each other about the succulents that they had found. What finally hushed them was the fiery snort of a warlock mount, and the unmistakable hiss of an undead’s raspy breath.

She stopped by the tree, and it almost sounded like she was sniffing the air. Then she dismissed her beast, and reached past the tree. The gnomes froze, thinking that she would grab one of them. Of course she was going to snatch one and eat them as a snack! They never should have trusted that gunfighter from Tanaris!

They all exhaled with relief when she reached past them and ripped a few fragrant herbs from the ground. She turned her head, revealing a grey and yellow scarred face, and grinned at them wickedly.

“‘You…you’re the Warlock?” One of them asked, cautiously standing up.

The undead female put the herbs away in her pack and bowed in acknowledgment. Then she reached into another, much larger pack and produced three large bags. She threw two of them on the ground, and the third she set down with considerable more care.

“Kingsblood, of course,” one of the gnomes said, examining the first bag. “It’s more than decent as far as quality goes, anyway. Shouldn’t be tough to move.”

“Dreamfoil!” The second gnome exclaimed. “And Steelbloom! This stuff is tough to come by!”

“This is what we were waiting for,” the first gnome said, carefully examining the third bag. “Firebloom, and still highly volatile.”

“Firebloom!” One of them hissed, than lowered his voice, “our engineers are going to have a field day with this!”

He was quickly shushed by his companions, one of which was already counting out a sizable amount of gold for their unwelcome guest. He handed it to the undead warlock and backed away slowly. She held the bag of coin in the palm of her hand, savoring its weight, her smile widening to show rows of pointed teeth.

Without a reply, she summoned her felsteed back. The gnomes (at least the ones that weren’t distracted by the bags she had left) slowly backed away. She didn’t return to the road, but instead drove her flaming mount into dark woods.

***

At seven feet tall, Lafti was actually an average height for a Night Elf. It was the stark, ropey muscles, bodily scars, filed teeth and tattoos that made the humans in Stormwind raise their eyebrows when she strode past. She wore an imposing double bladed axe that looked more like it was made for an orc. In truth, it had been; she had pried it from his cold, dead hands in Warsong Gulch and taken it for her own after defeating him.

Her companion, Zephe, was a hunter who had not suffered the same ritualistic body scars that mark the militaristic Sentinels. With her tight leather clothing and smooth purple skin, she was more of a stereotypical night elf and drew attention for different reasons.

On this early morning, she let Lafti lead their way. They would need the element of fear for the hunt they were on in this dark hour.

The area in question was in a dark corner of Stormwind’s Trade District. The humans, in their usual arrogance, were notoriously lazy about keeping vigil in their own city. True, Stormwind was well supplied and guarded, surrounded by thick walls and populated by any number of elite heroes all day, every day. The flagship city of the Alliance deserved no less. A Night Elf knew how quickly such fortunes could turn, however, especially one like Lafti. Behind her cold grey eyes was a memory of the Sundering, a great cataclysm almost ten thousand years old.

The relatively new enemies represented by the minions of the undead (both Scourge and the Forsaken), had been targeted by the Darnassian priests and druids as worthy of the Sentinels’ attention. Lafti lived to hunt and slay anything that threatened the already ancient and venerated Night Elf civilization.

Lafti had grown tired of slaughtering trolls and orcs in the misty northern forests, and taking her fearlessness and vicious countenance into consideration, she had been sent the Eastern Kingdoms to face the undead. And what better companion than a hunter, who could detect an undead within a few miles and could kill a blackfly with a single shot from a hundred feet away?

“She is here,” Zephe whispered, as they neared the ramshackle house. Apparently, the city’s security had been breached, and a Forsaken spy was hiding in a dank little room by the wall.  No doubt a rogue, or one that had been helped by a rogue.

Lafti nodded, having no doubt that her friend was correct. The Stormwind guard had already been notified, including SI-7. A few guards were waiting outside. Their captain approached Lafti and Zephe as they walked towards him. He puffed out his chest in a way that suggested he was about to tell the imposing Sentinel something she didn’t want to hear.

“We’re taking care of it,” he said, proudly and stupidly. “I’ve sent my best men in already.”

Zephe raised an eyebrow and shook her head. Lafti narrowed her eyes, which had begun to glow fiercely.

“You were given very specific instructions, Captain.” Lafti spoke Common with dull, flat tone that grated on the ears of most humans. “The orders were for your own protection.”

The Captain replied to this with a mocking snort.

“I think we can handle one little dead girl,” he said.

Lafti seemed to ignore this. She turned to Zephe and said something quietly in Darnassian. The hunter nodded calmly and started to prepare her bow. Lafti walked towards the dark doorway, past the Captain as if he wasn’t even there.

“I said, I’ve sent my best men in already,” he said in an annoyed voice. “They’re bringing her down now.”

“No, Captain,” the Sentinal replied without looking back, “your men are already dead.”

***

Sorena had ridden through the dark night. From the little farmhouse by the cemetery she had driven her skeletal mount north, across the river, taking a cautious sweep past the sleeping city of Goldshire, then to the secret place on the wall that she and Eucalypto had prepared. The sloping, rocky hills were not well guarded, as it was mistakenly believed that they made the thick walls even more secure. Most of the Stormwind guard were prepared for an open assault with larger numbers. One or two covert spies did get in from time to time, usually stealthy rogues.

Or, in this case, an ingenious priest.

She was working on a map of the city at the time, piecing it together with clues she and Eucalypto had gathered. They were trying to formulate a plan that involved setting communication devices in certain opportune places to plan raids and counter-attacks.

Then she heard the heavy clump of metal boots on the hollow stairway, and realized that their hideout had been discovered.

She barely had time to turn around before the door burst open, and she was faced with several armed guards. Two already had their crossbows trained on her. Two others had their swords drawn. The fifth had a thick pair of manacles ready.

Sorena spoke a horrible word. The two guards with crossbows screamed in uncontrollable horror as they turned and fired their weapons on each other. In the second that it took for them to fall in a crumpled heap on the ground, Sorena had turned to face the unfortunate guard who had been holding the manacles.

She broke his arm, and then cast a devouring plague that sucked the life out of his body and threw him across the room, knocking one of the swordsmen down. The other was attacked by a malevolent, invisible force that seemed to leap from the upper corner of the room. Both stricken swordsman were afflicted by pain and disease, and neither got up from the floor.

It had taken Sorena only a few seconds to finish off five of Stormwind’s best men.

She did not run. There must be more outside waiting. She dismissed her shadow fiend, reached into her pack, and pulled out a device that Rik would have recognized. It also had flashing buttons and lights. She pressed a button and waited for a moment before hearing Eucalypto`s voice.

“We’ve been discovered,” she said shortly. “Perhaps this line was traced.”

“A Sentinel.”

“I’ll have to hurry.”

She hung up the phone and stepped towards the door. When she looked into the corridor, she was able to discern a pair of angry, white eyes from the distant doorway. She did not stay long enough to see the flash of the Sentinel’s huge axe. The priest turned and ran, not looking back.

She could hear the heavy footsteps on the corridor, smell the old scars on her skin and the worn but still sharp edge of the massive axe.

The Sentinel could run unhindered by petty annoyances that would slow down a human. Darkness would not stop the night elf. Sorena also sensed her advanced age. A creature that had witnessed the apocalyptic Sundering would know little of fear.

The Sentinel that pursued her would be resistant to the magic that had destroyed the human guards. She would have to be quick.

And lucky.

A balcony at the end of the hallway gave her easy access to the roof. She and Eucalypto had arranged an escape route that would lead from the rooftops to the outer wall, then the rocky cliffs.

How far in advance had her pursuers anticipated her escape? If they had their cat mounts ready, she would not be able to outrun them.

This last thought made Sorena catch her breath and focus on escape. As she lept from the first rooftop to the second, a low whistle on the wind distracted her. A dull, searing pain in her side followed. Of course, the Sentinel had not come alone. She had brought a hunter, and despite Sorena’s speed and agility she had not been able to dodge or even sense the approaching arrow. Even if she had, her shield would have to be saved for the jump from the cliff. She could not have used it against the soldiers either; it would not have recharged in time.

She was reluctant to reveal her knowledge of the Light to the Alliance, but had she not cast a simple healing spell on herself in that moment, she would have careened from the rooftop and into the arms of the Hunter and the Stormwind guard. Even then, the wound and the poison the arrow had carried slowed her pace. The Sentinel was close enough that Sorena heard her draw her breath in anger and surprise.

The priest could not look back. She jumped again and landed on another rooftop. Pain and fear did not affect her speed. The smell of the oiled metal of the axe filled her nostrils.

She felt the heavy steps of the Sentinel shift as she drew the weapon.

Sorena jumped, and the blade nicked her cloak. The weight of the swing shook the air. It could have easily sliced the frail undead creature in half. The next swing was sure to hit her.

The Sentinel was unwounded and determined. Her pace had quickened.

The priest lept again. The axe sailed through the air, this time a solid hit. But it never reached the Priest. It was deflected by a Divine Shield. However, this compromised Sorena’s ability to protect herself from the fall from the cliffs, and she was badly wounded as she landed on the grass by the other side of the wall.

The Sentinel could not make the same jump and didn’t have to. Even if it took a scant few seconds for the night elf to find another way down, Sorena would need a good head start to outrun the cats. For a moment, she wished she was a warlock. It was unlikely that there were any here, at least any that would help her.

***

Hyzanthlay had little use for the herbs that grew in Elwynn now. She gathered a few with the intention of donating them to the Clan as a means of appeasement, but did not plan to stay long. She was debating whether or not to use her hearthstone to return to Undercity and report, or ride south to Grom Gol and perhaps even visit Eucalypto in Booty Bay.

Then she heard the alarms from Stormwind. It seems some serious trouble was afoot, as the alarms from Goldshire also began to sound. Whatever was troubling the humans of Elwynn, it was on the move and trying to escape.

The Warlock was still near the road, but she also could hear and see much of what was in the dark woods. If it was running from Stormwind, it would likely cut north through the forest and head for Duskwood.

In a few moments, she was not surprised to see a skeletal horse lumbering through the underbrush, and the way that the rider was hunched over indicated that she had already been wounded.

It was Sorena, the priest she had been watching not two hours ago. She was riding hard, but the undead mounts of the Forsaken were known for their resilience and not their speed, and she would not be able to outrun the two nightsabers that were pursuing her. So involved was their pursuit, however, that they did not notice the Warlock`s glowing eyes nearby, glaring at them with utter contempt and disgust as they drew closer to their quarry.

Hyzanthlay waited for them to pass by before summoning her flaming demon mount. She would be able to catch them and overtake them easily, but she was more interested in an early breakfast. She had not tried night elf, and from the smell she suspected the taste would be equally putrid, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try. Maybe a nice scorching would improve it.

***
It had only taken a few seconds for Lafti to find a safer place to climb down from the wall. They had anticipated that the priest would take this route. Zephe was already waiting, as were their two nightsabers. The beasts could smell the thrill of the hunt on their mistresses, and ran as swiftly and silently as shadows over the dark grass.

The night elves did not need to speak. Zephe knew her shot had hit sailed straight and true, and from the determined but content look on Lafti’s face it was clear the priest was injured and near capture. Zephe knew she was close, heading east, and their mounts were faster. With any luck, they would be able to catch her before she even crossed the river.

The undead horse let off a luminous glow that bobbed and weaved through the trees. Lafti spurred her mount on ahead. Zephe fell back, drawing her bow, and prepared for another shot.

Lafti drew her axe and prepared to strike the priest. She would knock her from her mount, perhaps try to keep her alive for a few minutes. Communication would be difficult, but they might be able to get something out of her before hacking her up.

She would also have to be careful not to damage any of her belongings. An undead priest that was a master of the Holy Light, or so their sources had claimed. Some form of evidence or proof was required.

Using the weapon’s massive weight, she leaned back and prepared to swing forward and leap from her mount. The priest turned for a moment and looked at her, and Lafti was actually shaken by the resigned yet defiant look on her grey face. She bit her lip and swung.

A scream shattered the air and shook Lafti’s normally firm grip. The axe glanced off the Priest’s shoulder, knocking her from her mount but not mortally wounding her. She turned her nightsaber and watched with surprised horror as Zephe’s mount bolted past her, riderless.

A great swath of fire was stretched across the grass where they had just ran, and a hapless figure, covered in flames, came blundering out of it. It was Zephe, writhing in the grip of Immolate and consumed by Fear.

Then the great demon, snorting fire and pawing flame, appeared through the curtain of smoke and ash. The undead Warlock snarled proudly at the chaos it had created, its eyes filled with joyful fire.

Lafti gagged with anger, and forgot the priest. The air was still filled with Zephe`s screams. Flames began to lick at the limbs of the trees and the wind carried the small burning tongues over the dry grass.

The Warlock dismissed her mount and faced the Sentinel, who raised her axe and charged. Her world had shrunk, from the trees of Darnassus and the walls of Stormwind, to this single rotting Warlock’s neck. Where she had come from didn’t matter. All that mattered now was her messy demise.

She jumped and roared her challenge, and the warlock returned it by speaking a horrible word. The Fear spell did not miss, but withered and fell from the target, not strong enough to stop the enraged Sentinel.

The heavy axe swung, but like before on the wall, it bounced off its target. The force of the blow sent Lafti reeling through the dark space and hurled her into the burning undergrowth.

By the time she scrambled to her feet, both of the Forsaken were gone. She turned to Zephe, who was lying on the ground, her body still smoldering, her cheeks and eyes still swollen from the heat and pain. They were both calm, but also visibly excited. The thrill of the chase was still on them.

“She came upon us in the woods,” Zephe explained, as Lafti helped her up. “I only sensed her at the last moment.”

“One thing we do have,” Lafti said, retrieving her axe, “we have seen an undead priest use the Holy Light with no small amount of skill. And we know our informant is real.”

“Yes, he did mention a warlock.” Zephe took some potions and elixirs from her bag and consumed them. She offered them to her friend but the Sentinel refused. She was busy with their nightsabers, who had been thrown into a stubborn and agitated mood by the attack.

They did not speak again as they walked back to Stormwind, calming their mounts as they did so.

***

Hyzanthlay was tempted to take a bite out of that Hunter. She was pleasantly surprised to find that barbequed night elf smelled rather succulent. But that look in the Sentinel’s eyes made her think twice.

The priest’s bubble had saved her from a quick and clean decapitation, a certain death this time. Hyzanthlay was impressed that the priest had used the opportunity to save her with a Divine Shield instead of healing herself and running.

She followed the Priest at a safe distance for a while, more out of curiosity than anything else. She turned south after reaching Duskwood and continued to Stranglethorn Vale.

Hyzanthlay went no farther than the mysterious Twilight Grove. She was sure they were no longer being followed. The Sentinel had taken quite a fall, and her friend would eventually recover but had been badly burned. Their mounts had also been very spooked. Nightsabers were fast and fierce but skittish when surprised.

It was uncomfortably close to dawn, and Hyzanthlay had lost her taste for adventures. If she followed Sorena any further, it was possible she would be suspected of being an accomplice of one she was supposed to be following. All of these political intrigues made her feel even more hostile than usual. Hang Sylvanas, and the bloody Clan!

What she needed was a nice romp through a small human town to clear her head and cheer her up. Then she remembered the Scarlet Monastary. Oh, the sweet, fresh blood of Crusaders! It was just what she needed to clear her undead head.

Strellabelle was no doubt already waiting, as was the Tauren. But first, clear up this silliness with the Dark Lady.

She used her Hearthstone, and in a few scant moments she had returned to Undercity.

Hyzanthlay had felt rather drained upon reaching Undercity. She had hoped that a few hours of dabbling in the Apothecarium would rejuvenate her, but she found herself casting a fishing line over the old sewer instead.

The fishhook trembled violently, and Hyzanthlay sighed with boredom as she reeled on yet another moldy human skull. She sighed and threw it back. As she did, she noticed an Undercity guard who seemed to be on an urgent errand of some kind, and he was coming towards her.

“You are Hyzanthlay, the Warlock?” He asked in a crisp, professional tone that meant serious business.

“You know who I am,” she answered curtly. “What do you want?”

“The Lady Sylvanas has requested your presence,” he answered with a salute.

“I will come directly,” Hyzanthlay answered without looking up. She was wondering if she could make it to the zeppelin before they sent another messenger.

“You are to come with me immediately.” the guard answered. “The word of Sylvanas is law.”

Hyzanthlay groaned, and reeled in her empty fishhook. She should have known that trick wouldn´t work twice.

She glumly followed the messenger to the Royal Quarter, her ragged fishing hat pulled low over her eyes. Hopefully Strellabelle wouldn’t be here. She didn’t feel like “donating” the proceeds from her desert adventure to the Clan of the Fallen. She smiled to herself, thinking of how impressed Eucalypto would be when she told him about it.

She winced and twitched her nose with annoyance as they began to walk down the long corridor. She was very careful who she spoke to about it, but there was always had the faint stench of night elf hanging about the Royal Quarter. Of course, she wasn’t about to ask why. Residuals from an old failed raid, many said. But there were many that also quietly confessed that Sylvanas looked rather odd for someone who had died a High Elf.

The undead guards saluted her and their compatriot as they swept into the Royal Chamber. The guard fell to one knee before the Queen of the Undead, and Hyzanthlay, after a rather withering look from the Dreadlord, reluctantly did the same.

“I have brought you Hyzanthlay, of the Clan of the Fallen, my Queen,” the messenger said. Without waiting for a reply or even looking at her face, he slowly rose, saluted and backed away.

Hyzanthlay had winced when the messenger had introduced her using the guild name. If Strellabelle was not here, certainly another representative of the Clan would be. She stared fixedly at the floor, waiting stubbornly to be addressed.

“Hyzanthlay,” Sylvanas finally said. “You were from Andorhol, were you not?”

Hyzanthlay bit her lip. How did she know that? What else did she know?

“Yes, my Queen,” she replied, and added nothing else.

“It is my understanding that you lurk in Duskwood, even in Elwynn. Is this not true?”

You know damn well it’s true, Hyzanthlay wanted to spit. She had visited Duskwood frequently since her first encounter with man she had nicknamed “Torch Boy”. She had made a few forays into light and leafy Elwynn as well. What was the Queen wondering about? Her visits to the Apothecary tower, her business with those shady gnomes, or perhaps the partnership she had struck up with that scruffy little dog?

Instead she answered calmly;

“Indeed, it is, my most Esteemed Lady,” she answered, her glowing orbs practically burning the stones beneath her into embers.

There was a moment of tense silence. The Queen seemed to be thinking. Then she stepped forward, so the toe of her boot was just under Hyzanthlay’s forehead.

“Rise, Warlock,” she said. Hyzanthlay did so, and when they were at eye level she spoke again.

“Something in Duskwood troubles me,” she said in a cold voice.

The orbs of Sylvanas’ eyes were not the same as those of the other undead. They were not yellow but grey, almost blue, and her pupils were almost visible. It was almost as if she still had eyes.

“It must be dread indeed, to trouble your Ladyship,” Hyzanthlay smiled with mock politeness.

“Even my power is not absolute,” the Queen said severely. “There are traitors among us, Hyzanthlay. There is a priest you will seek out in Duskwood. Her name is Sorena. I am suspicious that she has been consorting with members of the Alliance, and that she may turn on us.”

Sylvanas turned away and walked back a few steps, as if pacing. Then she turned back and snarled,

“I have no time for games. Seek the priest, and report to me. If she is a traitor, she will discover a fate worse than undeath. Now, go!”

Hyzanthlay bowed low, and backed up a few steps before turning away. The Dreadlord laughed at her softly as she walked quickly out of the throne room. She avoided cutting her orbs at him as she scurried off. Even as powerful as she was, she did not have the might to face a Dreadlord.

At least not yet.

Her anger was also tempered by the sinking feeling that the warning Sylvanas had issued regarding traitors was really meant for her, not this ‘Sorena.’

AZEROTH POST

Eucalypto;

I have been sent on an errand by none other than the Dark Lady herself. Thankfully this pesky task won’t take me too far out of my way.

I am looking for an undead priest by the name of Sorena. If you have word of her, I will compensate you handsomely for it.

There is plenty more Kingsblood where this came from, and I have quite a few new ones for you to try as well. The Dreamfoil is exceptional.

Enjoy.
Hyzanthlay
***

AZEROTH POST
Hyzanthlay;

It is quite serendipitous that you have asked me about Sorena. I will explain this later. For now it will suffice to say that you will most likely find her in Duskwood. She lurks by a little farmhouse south of Darkshire, near the Rotting Orchard.

Thank you very kindly for the herbal remedies. I look forward to enjoying them, along with your esteemed company upon our next meeting.

Dinner and a show?

Yours in darkness,
Eucalypto

***
The journey south took a few days. Hyzanthlay had a lot to do and used the time to plan.

She decided to start with some fairly innocent herb gathering by Stonard in the Swamp of Sorrows. This was also an opportune place to check to see if there was word from Eucalypto as well. As it happened, there was.

She read his short note with interest. “Dinner and a show” for the two of them usually meant a short walk in Elwynn followed by a few freshly killed Stormwind guards and a moonlight picnic. She had been thinking to ask her friends at the tower about this Sorena, but the information that the rogue has sent her was adequate. She was glad to skip the independent-minded apothecaries for now, as a visit to them would have been suspicious and it was likely she was being followed.

Elwynn was unpleasant enough, but it was much worse in the daytime. She had an appointment that she didn’t intend to miss. As long as she didn’t have to spend too much time looking for Sorena, she could move east and arrive in time.

She found the farmhouse without any difficulty. Grave Moss was a rare herb and not used often, but when she did need it, there was always some here. A few mindless zombies and skeletons wandered among the shabby gravestones, but they never ventured outside the gate and were of little danger to anyone, even a blundering novice.

Occasionally one (usually a human, as the capital was nearby) would show up and use them as target practice, but tonight it was quiet.

Hyzanthlay waited nearby, but her vantage point high in a nearby tree saw to it that she was out of sight. She didn’t use her Eye of Kilrogg spell often, as she liked to catch her enemies up close. Not even a fellow undead was likely to notice the small, green orb that floated above the highest beam of the cottage roof. Lidless, unaffected by dark or shadow, it could see any movement anywhere near the dark little farm.

There was no light in the cottage windows, but the place was obviously not abandoned. A small herb and vegetable garden outside were well tended, and the creeping vines on the stone walls had been dutifully pruned.

Nothing to do now but wait.

In these idle moments, Hyzanthlay’s dark thoughts wandered. She deeply resented Sylvanas for turning her into a slinking spy. The Dark Lady must have known this was outside her usual realm of expertise. Had the undead Queen already decided on her guilt?

Any fool could have come here to follow this bloody priest. Perhaps this errand was really a set-up, and the real spies or assassins were simply waiting for her to show up. That did not displease her in the slightest. It would mean some real action instead of this silliness.

A high, clear note, almost like birdsong, cut through the gloomy night. No, it was not a bird, but it sounded like singing. A movement in the graveyard, clearly not one of the mindless zombies, shimmered and flowed over the ground.

In a moment, Hyzanthlay recognized the form of an undead female, and from her robes and the mace at her side, it was a priest.

Hello Sorena, Hyzanthlay thought.

Yes, she was singing, and slowly moving closer to the house as she did so. As she grew closer, Hyzanthlay could make out the words.

Way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of,
Once in a lullaby.

The green orb glowed faintly, taking the scene in. The priest drew closer to the cottage. Perhaps she was luring out the hapless victims within, to be murdered and eaten.

Hyzanthlay licked her lips in anticipation.

Someday I’ll wish upon a star,
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me.

She crossed the arched threshold and walked into the garden, where she stopped an knelt on the ground among the herbs and flowers.

The cottage door opened a crack. The green orb twitched and spun but remained invisible.

A small child, perhaps three years old, peered out into the garden. In one hand he clutched a ragged blanket, the other hand was clenched into a fist that he had jammed in his mouth. Even from her vantage point high in the tree, Hyzanthlay would have been able to see the whites of his huge eyes.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops,
Away above the chimney tops,
That’s where you’ll find me.

Sorena raised her head and opened her arms. The little boy toddled across the garden as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. He dropped his little blanket and fell into her embrace.

Interesting technique, thought the mind behind the green orb. Wouldn’t suit me, that’s for sure. What will she do now, eat him? Not much of a meal.

Sorena continued to sing softly, and the spy could no longer hear her. But she could see her carefully pick up the blanket, shake the dirt out, and wrap the drowsy child up. She then placed his sleeping body in a rocking chair by the house, which moved gently as she sang the last few notes.

Birds fly over the rainbow,
Why, then oh why, can’t I?

The last few notes made Hyzanthlay want to gag. She wasn’t sure what Sorena was doing, but it was making her extremely uncomfortable.

The Warlock decided she had seen enough. She reached out and made a fist with her hand and snuffed out the Eye like a candle. She quietly moved towards Darkshire, and decided to tell the Queen Bitch little or nothing of what she had seen. Maybe she would flat-out lie. She couldn’t explain it anyways, and didn’t care if the Dreadlord herself smacked her around.

Reducing her to hiding in treetops like a rogue…or worse…an elf!

She spat on the ground with contempt.

Tiponi closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The sun warmed her face and a cool breeze gently ruffled her mane. She sighed in absolute contentment. This was exactly the kind of thing she had imagined during her childhood daydreams. Here she was, exotic travelling companions by her side, on an airship sailing across the sky to an exciting unexplored wilderness. She could hardly contain her excitement. However, the airship operator had failed to mention exactly how long it took to sail across the entire continent, and as the days passed her excitement waned into sheer boredom.

At first she had been mesmerized by the miniature landscape passing by below her, but that had been quickly obscured by the clouds as the zeppelin soared higher. It had been an amazing sight, seeing the white clouds stretched out below like a fluffy blanket. She almost felt like she could reach out and grab them. But days and days of the same sight had dampened her enthusiasm, and now she longed to see something other than those billowy hills of white.

She had explored the airship from top to bottom, and had even been chased out of the engineering room by angry goblins. She admired the little creatures; usually they were fascinating and full of fun stories. These goblins, however, were very much fixated on their work. Her undead companions were better conversationalists, but they seemed to tire quickly of her questions. And that warlock. A demon summoner.

Tiponi frowned. She had respect for all creatures of Azeroth. Living or dead, animal or elemental, all were part of the Earthmother. She had created them, and when they finally drew their last breath they would return to her or watch on from the halls of their ancestors. But not demons. Demons were apart from the Earthmother. They had been brought to Azeroth by the Burning Legion. Corrupt evil creatures whose only purpose in existence was to destroy and conquer the works of the Earthmother. Tiponi growled in contempt.

In opposition to everything she valued, a demon stood on the opposite side of the deck. The beast was hideous. It stood in a revolting parody of a female, with accentuated breasts and thighs that were covered in jagged markings. Its attributes were easily recognizable, from the wicked curved horns on its head to its sharp barbed tail. It veritably reeked of wrongness, and yet Tiponi had to suffer its existence.

As if to laugh at Tiponi’s innermost thoughts the demon let out a giggling squeal and lashed itself with its whip. Tiponi turned away in disgust. She had distracted the warlock with this reaction, interrupting the conversation she’d been having with Eucalypto.

They had been speaking of the Undercity, and Tiponi had interjected.

“How was I supposed to know that?” she had asked, “It seemed ridiculous, who would pay that much for an insect?”

She glanced over at Eucalypto and cleared her throat, “Uh, that is to say…and the armor! They can’t really believe people walk around with that much gold on them. Oh Eucalypto that reminds me, I met this really crazy lady who…”

Tiponi had hissed with a sharp intake of breath.

“What is that abomination!?” An intangible mass of blobby blue stood beside Hyzanthlay where the demonic lady had once stood. Its only distinguishing features were its glowing eyes, devoid of emotion, and metallic bracers on its arm-like appendages. She had then tried to explain the significance of the Earthmother to the undead and why demons were by their nature, evil undesirable creatures that should be destroyed on sight.

It had not gone over very well.

Now she sat on one end of the air ship while the warlock remained on the other. She hadn’t meant to offend her. Forsaken were so hard to understand! She sighed. At least she was leaving the undead lands behind her. Perhaps the people of Stranglethorn would be more amiable. At least something good had come of this trip. She had made fast friends with a troll woman who acted as one of the ship’s guards.

Du’una cackled wildly at Tiponi’s latest question about the Darkspear Clan, and why they fought with other trolls.

“Well, because dey be our enemies. Ya know? Da different tribes be all at war. Like you and the Grimtotems. Da Skullsplitters hate us Darkspears, cos we be Horde now! Ha! They be scared of dat, ya know? But den dey always be hating on us anyway! Haha!!” The troll snorted wildly. Tiponi sat bemused by her extravagant hand gestures as she spoke.

“Dis troll in Stranglethorn you did speak of, I know of him. He be a powerful witchdoctor, strong mojo. You best be careful.”

She dropped a small ball crafted from tree rubber and, while it bounced, attempted to scoop up a handful of troll knucklebones. Tiponi had been disgusted at first, until the troll explained they had been a gift from her father. She had laughed loudly at that for some reason. It was a game Tiponi had come to enjoy, and it made a fine distraction from the monotonous clouds and that thing with the undead.

Tiponi struggled as well, although she was accurate and her reflexes deft, her fingers were simply too large and clumsy to pick up as many tiny bones as Du’una. Once she had nearly lost the rubber ball over the side, but the experienced troll had tied a small length of cord to the ball to prevent such an occurrence.

Tiponi laughed and clapped as the troll fumbled. She might be able to win this time! She concentrated, sticking her lolling tongue out the side of her mouth as she did so.
“I think I’m getting the hang of this!”

Meanwhile, Eucalypto was actually looking forward to an entertaining trip; he expected some tension between his two companions and wasn’t disappointed. After a slight tiff over a demon, Hyzanthlay and Tiponi avoided each other. The warlock retreated to the lower level to smoke from the balcony, and it was not long until Eucalypto joined her.

Tiponi continued her game of knucklebones until it grew dark, drawn by Du’una and her tales of trolls. She decided Hyzanthlay must have cooled down some and decided to rejoin them. They were relaxing on a small balcony that extended from the lower level. Some sort of discussion about politics. The way that Hyzanthlay was ranting, one could tell that she’d had a few. The succubus perched nearby, purring and fussing over her nails. The sun had set over the Great Sea to the west.

“..any doubt about them, just look at the human misery piled against the Greymane Wall. How any of them even survive the night is beyond me!”

“Our family didn’t know the Silverlaines very well,” Eucalypto quietly let a small detail of his former life slip away like the landscape of the Eastern Kingdoms beneath them. He was sitting on the edge, letting his feet dangle over the railing. A line of smoke trailed from the cigarette dangling from his mouth and wafted high over Menethil Harbor.

“As if the gate will ever open. Is there really so many there still?”

“If you don’t believe me, ask Phannuz,” Hyzanthlay raised her voice snapped her fingers. The succubus moaned sadly and faded away. In her place the voidwalker appeared. Eucalypto laughed. Tiponi did not understand the joke.

“As you command,” it said in a deep monotone, and Hyzanthlay could not help how her demon’s presence agitated the young warrior. She had called it an “abomination” earlier and Hyzanthlay had been tempted to remind her that those were the Undercity guards. This thing was actually called a Voidwalker.

“Tell us, Voidwalker,” she sneered, “you were there; what did you think of Silverpine Forest?”

The voidwalker did not have a mouth, but a metallic voice that seemed to come from behind its beady black eyes said,

“I…don’t like this place.”

The two undead collapsed into peals of inebriated laughter. Tiponi frowned.

“I’ve got one, I’ve got one,” Eucalypto leaned back, and as he spoke smoke seeped out of the numerous holes in his head, “Tell me Phannuz, what is your opinion of the delicious Devaite Fish?”

The voidwalker answered without hesitation, “Cannot…resist.”

They collapsed in laughter again, and Hyzanthlay dismissed her minion with a wave.
He muttered, “I go.” And vanished.

Tiponi shook her head and said, “I really don’t understand your humor at all. It’s like paying for a bug. Is that a joke?”

“Are you really so bothered by bugs and demons?” Hyzanthlay said. “When Jeremiah sets up a shop in Thunder Bluff, then you can cry about it. And Azeroth is filled with demons. Better get used to it. Euc?”

He didn’t turn around but simply handed her his lit cigarette, which Hyzanthlay used to fire up the unlit cigarette in her mouth. She placed it back between his fingers and took a long draw from her own. It had to be long, as she was short of breath these days. As she did Tiponi spoke;

“As I said, the Earthmother created all life on Azeroth, and to her and the ancestors they will return. But not demons. Demons are apart from the Earthmother.”

“Tiponi,” Hyzanthlay stared at her, “has it occurred to your Earthmother that Eucalypto and I would rather be pushing up some nice daisies somewhere?”

“I always wanted to be cremated and used for gardening, actually,” Eucalypto’s wide grin was lit up by his cigarette. His orbs glittered with mischief and the stars wheeled overhead. The smoke, combined with a generally relaxed atmosphere, had allowed him less formal speech.

“Ah well, to each his own,” Hyzanthlay said. “At least, that’s what I kept telling myself in Thunder Bluff.”

Tiponi looked at her in surprise. “You…you’ve been to Thunder Bluff?”

“Indeed I have, and I must say I was impressed by your people and the city they built on the mesas. But as for my journey, when I was but a ‘lockling,” Hyzanthlay began, and Eucalypto laughed and coughed, “I was given a staff by a superior with that odd sense of humor. And who is the master of the staff?”

Tiponi didn’t answer. She knew it was Ansekhwa, and where he resided.

“I knew better than to have my demon with me then. At least I knew better than to draw attention to myself in your city. Didn’t seem to make a difference to that warrior outside the master’s tent. Someone you know, no doubt. No, no, she would never have told me her name. Introduce herself? Not likely!”

Hyanthlay let out a loud, drunken burst of laughter before continuing. This startled Tiponi but she didn’t show it.

“Did they tell you to go wait in a cave in Undercity? Did they tell you to go crawl underground where they wouldn’t have to look at you? Perhaps you should visit the Pools of Vision and get a good look at the rotten freaks!”

At this last word, Hyzanthlay tottered to her feet and began to walk towards the stairs leading to the upper deck, muttering to herself.

“Protection from evil?” She snickered, as she stumbled out the stairs and let out a belch; “I AM evil!”

Eucalypto chuckled and waved. Tiponi stared after her swaying form as it disappeared up the stairs.

“I offended her,” Tiponi said sadly.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Eucalypto chuckled. “It is a difficult feat to offend an undead warlock. Hyzanthlay’s demons won’t be much of a bother to you. The beasts she calls from the nether are but mere trinkets to her eyes. Demonology is not her specialty.”

“What is?” Tiponi was almost afraid to ask.

“Destruction,” Eucalypto said, smiling proudly into the starry sky.

Hyzanthlay made it to the top step, and swayed for a moment with the movement of the airship. She stood on the landing for a moment, hiccupped, then sighed and moved towards the railing where a few hammocks were set up. She slowly eased down on one, yawned and stretched, then turned her orbs towards the open portal next to her.

The two troll watchers had been chatting rather loudly until she appeared; now they lowered their voices. Du’una nodded towards her, and then gave Umjin a suggestive shove. The troll reluctantly took a few steps towards the Warlock, who slowly turned and stared defiantly back at him.

“You…you got the good stuff,” he said, his head lowered, smiling. “You leave some for us watchers, yes?”

Hyzanthlay grinned viciously. Leave it to a troll to smell the Kingsblood, and ask for some sight unseen. It was not only a handy herb for alchemy but a classic troll favorite. Not only for smoking but also for tea and cooking; the herbalist in Orgrimmar had gotten a little excited talking about it.

“Indeed, friend,” Hyzanthlay wasn’t the least bit surprised. “But it was not easy to find, and it’s not cheap. My supply is limited, but for the right amount I’m sure…”
“We trade, and not for gold,” Umjin said carefully. “You want some information? That be valuable.”

“Go on,” Hyzanthlay nodded slowly and let her eyelids droop, hoping he would loosen his tongue if she seemed less likely to jump up and melt his face.

“Your friend, the Rogue. He be headin’ north?”

“Why do you think that?”

“It be Alliance territory. Old orchards, farms, small towns. Fun for an undead Rogue and Warlock. There be other things too.”

He paused and leaned closer.

“You be Hyzanthlay, the Warlock that killed Arugal. We hear of you.”

Hyzanthlay turned and glared at Umjin. She was already testy about the delay in attacking the monastery and there was nothing that the Scarlet Crusade wanted in Stranglethorn Vale.

“You know a place called Duskwood? There be undead there. A grove filled with dragons. And a city called Darkshire A small city, that has many…umm…”

He seemed to have forgotten the word in Orcish, and turned to Du’una with a helpless gesture.

“Refugees,” she said. “From the north, from the war.”

Hyzanthlay sat up and turned to look at both of the Trolls. Her round orbs were now shining brightly and she gave no further heed to the Troll’s discomfort.

“They say you don’t know, but that you have a mark.” Du’una touched her breast, close to her heart. “Maybe you be there that day the Scourge came.”

“Before I was a Watcher,” Umjin nodded and continued, “I cross the bridge, and brave the undead to sell the Kingsblood. There be one good customer, he know them all. From Andorhol. He was there, that day. And they say he know the Scarlet Crusade, too.”

“I understand,” Hyzanthlay said softly. “Very well Troll, your price is fair.
Darkshire, was it? And did this…human…have a name?”

“Sure, but he never tell me,” Umjin chuckled. “Nah, he be too smart for that. But he easy to find. He has a dog, about so big.” The Troll lowered his hand to knee-height. “This dog can sniff undead. She be famous for it. But you be clever, you can fool a dog. He have a scar too, on his face.”

Umjin drew his index finger down the side of his face, from his forehead, past his eye, to his chin.

“My thanks, Troll,” Hyzanthlay reached into her bag and pulled out a generous amount of the pungent plant. “Now leave me, and don’t speak to me again.”

Her orbs were flickering with a threatening light. Du’una hurried back to her post and Umjin backed away a few cautious steps before doing the same.

Undercity was a practical name for a horrifying place. For any living creature it was a nightmare come true, a city teeming with the living dead and ruled by the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner herself. Here the undead were free to surround themselves with anything their putrid and rotten hearts desired. This included everything in the undead index, from cockroach pets to exposed entrails.

Hyzanthlay arrived in Undercity via giant bat, and was immediately greeted by a page from the Dark Lady. She was relieved to find that Strellabelle had already delivered the report (along with the head), and that her presence in the Royal Quarter was not required immediately. However, Sylvanas herself had requested Hyzanthlay’s presence at a later, as-yet-to-be undisclosed time.

Freedom in Undercity was the best commendation Hyzanthlay could have wished for. The absence of windows, natural light or clocks reflected how little fatigue or time made to the denizens of the undead. Hyzanthlay freely walked along the candlelit corridors with her new demon, a svelte succubus. Heswena was more for show than anything else, smiling suggestively and dipping the ends of her fingers into her mouth as they strolled along. If the demon felt she wasn’t getting enough attention she would crack her whip above her head and moan loudly.

Her business at the bank and auction house concluded, Hyzanthlay decided to relax by casting a fishing line into the moat of green goo that circled the four quarters of Undercity. And here Eucalypto found her.

“My sincerest congratulations, dear Lady!” Eucalypto greeted her with the usual formality. “Such a shame I wasn’t there to see it myself!”

“You didn’t miss much.” Hyzanthlay snarled, peering at him from under the rim of her ratty fishing hat. Eucalypto’s orbs flickered past her however, to the tattooed thigh of the succubus.

“Oh,” he said, eyes flickering with mischief, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your…friend?”

“My what?” Hyzanthlay blinked. It took a moment for her to understand that he was referring to Heswena, since introducing a demon to anyone was just plain silly. This would be like introducing someone to your cooking stove. And it made Hyzanthlay intensely angry.

“And to just WHOM,” and as her jagged, yellow teeth snapped on the last syllable, she waved her hand and the succubus faded away with a sad little moan, “are you referring to as my friend? And you, rogue, Rik told me you got…lost…somewhere?” And she snickered viciously.

“Ahem, well,” the rogue smiled and raised a patchy eyebrow, “not all who wander are lost, as they say. Leather and steel is as good as gold these days, that is, if one can stand the smell of night elf.”

“True enough. You have been commissioned for some armour? A Tauren warrior turned up at the Sepulchre. If there was any doubt she needed new armour before, I assure you, she certainly does now.”

“Ah, Tiponi,” Eucalypto said. “I warned her about the road from Tarren Mill. Take the zeppelin, I said! Would it be inappropriate to refer to Tauren females as ‘bull-headed’?”

“No, just inaccurate. She will be detained; our common friend Rik asked me to pass on the message. Wailing Caverns, is it? Yes, I know the place, near the Crossroads. I find the Barrens disagreeable, but the fishing there is good.”

“Ah, yes,” Eucalypto smiled, “no doubt, you seek the deviate fish?”

“You know of it?”

“The Trolls are poor at keeping secrets. They also like to show off. But come, Hyzanthlay; there is a tavern in Brill and I would be honored to buy you some spirits, and hear your tales of Shadowfang Keep and Arugal!”

“Ask Rik,” Hyzanthlay reeled in a slimy old skull, and recast her line dismissively. “As I said, the mage was devoid of either power or will, and his defeat was hardly glorious. I have no more to say about it.

Do you not have any tales to tell, rogue?”

Eucalypto was quiet for a moment, but he was smiling gently.

“There are jungles to the far south; pirates, herbs, gems…and good hunting. And you will find no better fishing anywhere in Azeroth.”

Hyzanthlay nodded, focusing on her fishing line. The rogue continued.

“The hunting is the best sport. The best of all. And the best game…is Alliance.”

Hyzanthlay reeled in her line, put away her fishing pole and rose from her crouched position.

“Lead the way to Brill, rogue.”

“After you, My Lady.”

Undercity was too business-like to provide any meaningful repose, so undead looking to unwind found their way to Brill. Both Eucalypto and Hyzanthlay could still enjoy spirits and smoke, in spite of their state, and some storytelling.

Over a foaming tankard, Hyzanthlay described the more entertaining points of Shadowfang Keep. Mainly the time that she had been knocked down the stairs. And the battle with Fenrus. She said little to nothing of Arugal. She took to arranging her herbs on the tabletop and draining her tankard as Eucalypto told her about Wailing Caverns.

“It’s the night elves, of course,” Eucalypto explained, and Hyzanthlay nodded her head in mock surprise, gulping down her mead. He went on for a while about a druid named Naralex and his attempt to use the Emerald Dream to rejuvenate the Barrens. His dream had become a nightmare, and a mysterious taint had spread through the place.

“I was only there to skin dinosaurs, perhaps discover some nice gear that some unfortunate had dropped or some great beast had swallowed. And then this Tiponi turns up. Not by mistake, of course; she was there to assassinate the corrupted leaders of the Fang.

“It was partly your herbalism that drew her to me. I must thank you for the mageroyal; not only is it a fine smoke, but you were correct when you said it was commonly used among the Tauren. I was resting by a newly skinned corpse, puffing away, and it was this that drew her to me.

“I greeted her with the usual formality. Oh, snicker all you want, but she is still a proud lady, and a proper warrior none the less! And I am but a humble servant before such nobility, as you know. Of course my greeting surprised her. Such a shame that chivalry is dead. She was also surprised that an undead would be smoking anything, let alone her grandmother’s favorite blend. And what was an undead rogue doing so far from the Eastern Kingdoms? A young thing, but bright enough, and not the least bit repulsed by me.

“I agreed to help her find and kill the leaders of the Fang when I found out they were night elves. Yes, the smell of the place was difficult to endure. I’m grateful for the herbs, as they also masked the reek. Do you have…”

“I’ve put some things together for you.” Hyzanthlay enjoyed how her skills in herbalism never failed to draw Eucalypto’s interest. “The Liferoot is a little tricky to cure, so don’t hassle me about the wait.”

“Of course, my dear; as long as it’s no trouble.”

The sound of raised voices interrupted their conversation. The heated discussion seemed to be drawing closer. It was in Orcish, and seemed to involve a number of undead voices and one familiar Tauren. Eucalypto paused to raise an eyebrow, and then rose from his chair to limp quickly outside. Hyzanthlay waved at the barmaid to refill her mug and continued puttering with her smokables. The scene outside was considerably less tranquil.

“We have been directed to take you to the zeppelin,” the Deathguard said to the young Tauren warrior. “Until it arrives, you will stay where we can see you, or until Eucalypto appears and gives us an explanation for you.”

“There is no need for all this fuss!” She replied tersely. “I was perfectly within my rights when I told the cockroach vendor…”

“Jeremiah Payson has been selling cockroaches underneath the Undercity bank since the day the Dark Lady set foot in the Royal Quarter. That is well before any Tauren muddied our doorstep with their hoof prints!”

“Be lucky we agreed to escort you out of town,” the other Deathguard sneered. “Shall we carve you up instead, and sell the cuts to Stormwind for a few gold?”

Their cruel laughter was cut short. A figure had emerged from the inn nearby and reached them in a split second. The Deathguards didn’t even see him until he appeared before their eyes, hand raised.

“Enough, cur!” Eucalypto snarled and gave the nearest Deathguard a sound slap on his grey cheek. “What insolence! Is this how we treat guests?”

“Your ‘guest’ was harassing Jeremiah,” the Deathguard sounded defiant but he was cowering. The other was pouting and rubbing his sore face. “Accusing him of extorting foreigners!”

“And good for her, because he does.” Eucalypto spoke firmly and quietly. “Gold means little to us, those trapped in a never-ending cycle of undeath. Now, tell me gentlemen, how is a cockroach like a writing desk?”

This seemed to confuse to Deathguards, who wandered back the way that they had come muttering angrily. Eucalytpo turned to the Tauren warrior.

“Greetings, Tiponi,” and he bowed. “Forgive me; Undercity is not known for its hospitality.”

“Well, I should say not!” Tiponi shook her mane defiantly. “Can you imagine? So much silver to buy a bug for a pet?”

“A travesty indeed! Perhaps we should ask Richard what he thinks?”

Tiponi opened her mouth to say, Who? But the word never came out. Eucalypto tilted his head to one side, and a huge dark brown cockroach poked its head out from under his collar. It waved it’s feelers in Tiponi’s direction rather resentfully.

“This is Richard,” Eucalypto grinned wickedly and lifted the little creature off his shoulder. It clicked affectionately in his direction, “purchased from Jeremiah some time ago. They’re great survivors.”

Tiponi could not help but laugh quietly.

“Would you care to join Hyzanthlay and I for a drink while we wait for the zeppelin to Stranglethorn Vale?” Eucalpto carefully tucked Richard back into his collar.

“Indeed, Eucalypto,” Tiponi nodded with relief and saluted her companion before following him inside the inn.

The patrons took little notice of the foreigner who had to duck her head down a bit to keep her horns clear of the beams in the ceiling. Eucalypto’s companion was an undead female, and before her on the table were smile piles of herbs and an empty tankard, still frosty from the now absent contents.

“May I present my esteemed colleague, Hyzanthlay.” Eucalypto raised his voice so the whole tavern could hear him. “She is the accomplished warlock that recently stormed Shadowfang Keep and slew Arugal for the Horde!”

The few patrons roared with approval, and the barmaid provided Hyzanthlay with a brimming tankard on the house. If there had been any blood left in the warlock’s body, it would have been rushing to her cheeks.

“Pleased to meet you,” Tiponi carefully took her seat, as the bench was rather small for her. One undead warrior at another table nodded in her direction, clearly impressed by her size and apparent strength.

“We did meet, before,” Hyzanthlay’s command of Orcish was not as accomplished as Eucalypto’s and Tiponi had to listen carefully. “You were badly wounded, and Mura was tending to you in the Sepulcher. I do not expect you to remember.”

“I do remember the potions. My thanks for that. I see you are also a herbalist.” Tiponi took note of the various herbs on the table, and was distracted by what looked like a bit of Swiftthistle.

“This is difficult to find,” she said, “and very valuable among my people. Do you know its use?”

The warlock looked at her with a raised eyebrow and shook her head. Tiponi opened her mouth to continue but was interrupted by the low, long horn that was mounted on the zeppelin tower just outside. A scratchy goblin voice yelled,

“The zeppelin to Stranglethorn Vale has arrived! All aboooard for Stranglethorn! Vale!”

“We will have much to talk about during the trip, Tiponi,” Hyzanthlay quickly gathered up the herbs; some she had already rolled into small cigarettes. She handed a few of these to Eucalytpo as he tossed a few gold onto the table.

“I’ll see to this,” Eucalypto said, “for today, I travel to the tropics with two lovely ladies, and could very well be the luckiest rogue in the whole of Azeroth.”

The pale furred Tauren breathed deeply, trying vainly to buckle her armor straps.

Tiponi had outgrown her armor. The leather was old and well-worn but well oiled and loved. It had been her mother’s before hers, made by her grandmother. It seemed a shame to discard it on a far distant continent from her homeland.

Try as she might, she could not hold onto the traditions of her people forever. Times were changing. Already the Shu’halo had settled from traveling nomads into an established city of their own. They shared influences of their own with the other races and could not help by be changed by them in turn. Times were changing yes, and she was changing ever faster.

The leather strap holding her shoulder pad in place snapped free and she roared in frustration. Looking up sheepishly she noticed a forsaken farmer gazing at her, mouth open and glowing orb eyes wide. In shock at her outburst…Or, maybe he just looked like that normally, hard to tell with these people. She smiled and waved enthusiastically and the fellow got back to his work.

New armor, yes. She couldn’t keep wearing this old relic and longer. She should find a leatherworker and have him fashion her a new harness and…no! She stopped her train of thought cold. In her mind’s vision she saw her memory of the orcs of Orgrimmar. They wore armor of metal and chainmail. Great metal plates with spikes. She would look truly fearsome in that armor… Her mind was made up, she must travel to the nearest city and have a new suit of armor commissioned, in the fashion of the orcs but made for her figure. She nearly skipped with glee as she made her way back to the inn.

“I have a message for Eucalypto, he can find me in Undercity.”

There was a strange stillness to the forest of Silverpine that Tiponi could not quite place. It was as if the forest itself held bated breath in dreaded anticipation. The woods were dark and gloomy and the trees had a sickened look to them, but that was not what had the young Tauren looking over her shoulder. It was just so, quiet. Her hooves seemed to clatter too loudly on the cobblestones of the road leading to the Undercity.

The air was cold but without a breeze and a thick mist clung heavily to the forest floor. She could barely see where she was headed, without the road she would have been lost for sure. She had never felt so alone in her life. She hadn’t appreciated the comfort of her friends and family when they were around her, but here on the other side of the world without a friendly soul in sight she longed for their presence.

Two shapes appeared in the mist ahead of her, one small and one tiny, coming towards her down the road. She scrambled into a nearby bush, attempting to make as little noise as was possible. The fog parted, revealing two people in rich purple robes.

One was a human male, judging by his grey beard and furless head, who walked with his hands clasped behind his back. The other was a miniature female, not much taller than Tiponi’s kneecap. The little woman had a pile of green curls atop her head and was gesturing wildly with her hands. Tiponi had encountered few humans before, none friendly, but she could only guess that the tiny figure before her was a gnome.

She tried to hold very still as they approached. She held her breath as they passed by her on the road, the gnome was speaking in an unfamiliar language as her compatriot nodded along. As soon as they disappeared into the fog behind her she rose to hurry along her way.

“Veld! Odes!!” the shouts arose behind her. Quickly she looked and saw the two figures running out of the mist. She cursed and darted into the trees. A bolt of ice flew past her horns as she scrambled into the undergrowth.

“Mages!,” she thought, cursing her luck. She had little experience with wielders of the Arcane. The fog thickened amongst the trees and before long she had become turned around. Her heartbeat thumped loudly in her ears as she ran. She could see nothing ahead except the limbs of great trees rising out of the grey blanket of fog. The fog lit up bright orange as a fireball hurtled towards her.

Tiponi’s warrior instincts kicked in and she threw herself aside, but her reaction was too slow. She howled in agony and rage and the flames hit her breastplate below the shoulder. Her armor was blackened and burnt through and her chest throbbed with pain. The gnome emerged from the fog, a grin splitting her face as she conjured up another blast. Growling, and clutching her wound with one hand, Tiponi lashed out with her hoof, throwing her body weight into the tiny creature. She felt the crunch against her hooves as she crushed the gnome’s ribcage and she ran on assured that her adversary was no more.

She slowed to catch her breath against the bough of a large tree. She was beginning to feel light-headed and her hand came away from her chest thick with her blood. Conscious now that she was running out of time, Tiponi loped onwards, trying to get back to the road. Her vision was beginning to go blurry so she did not even see it in time to react to the bolt of frost magic unleashed against her. The human had returned.

The ice magic had numbed her fingers such that when she thrust her spear into the mage she felt it jar into her shoulder, but the weapon slipped free from her numbed fingers. As the human lay dying, Tiponi stumbled. She did not remember hitting the ground.

The first thing she noticed was the light. It was a warm ambient light, not glaringly bright and not too dim. Then she saw the hooves before her eyes. She picked herself up from the ground that wasn’t there and tried to fix her eyes upon her rescuer. It was a Shu’halo woman. She could not see her face, it was somehow obscured by the glowing light, but she knew she was beautiful and that she was safe here.

“Thank you for saving…”

“Hush child,” the woman interrupted placing a finger upon Tiponi’s lips, “You mustn’t give up yet child, there is too much left for you to do…”

“What?” Tiponi asked, confused and now trying to work out where she was, there was a forest?

“Open your eyes, that’s it…”

Tiponi opened bleary eyes as the sounds began to coalesce into sense again. She was on a pallet under a wooden roof. She began to sit up. Pain shot through her body and she collapsed again.

“Easy now,” a soft voice said, “you need rest to recover.” A Shu’halo woman with lightly tanned fur and a kind face sat beside her. She did not look familiar. “I am Mura, rest now, you’ll be safe here.”

“Where…there were wizards! In purple robes…” Tiponi felt as though all the strength had left her. Looking about she saw her weapons and armor had been recovered and placed by her side.

“You’re in the Sepulcher. Those were wizards of the Kirin Tor. They have established themselves nearby, you were fortunate to escape them. Worry not, you must rest now. The healing herbs need time to work. Sleep now, young one.”

The woman left Tiponi’s side and she quickly felt her eyelids drooping. Her worries were forgotten as sleep took her.

* * *

“Congratulations, Hyzanthlay;” Rik said, as they began to make their way along the road. “The mage Arugal has officially been killed by Horde agents.”

“My superiors will indeed be pleased.” Hyzanthlay’s voice was flat and dull.

“You are clearly not enthused,” the Druid asked, with some interest. Earthroot’s brown eyes flickered.

“Oh, I AM enthused,” Hyzanthlay waved her hand dismissively. “The Keep was interesting enough. But I feel better about killing Crusaders than mages.”

“Ah, of course! We can all be united in our hate of the Scarlet Crusade.” Rik chuckled and Earthroot tousled her mane in agreement. “So, I suppose they killed you, then?”

Hyzanthlay was not shocked by Rik’s blunt tone. In fact, his theory made sense.

“That’s what could have happened. It seems I’m unique among my brethren in that I have no memory of my death and the life before it.”

Rik was about to say something, but they were nearing the gates of the Sepulchre and one of the guards was gesturing towards them.

“Greetings,” he said, “we have been told to watch for you, Druid. Please speak to Mura. She has need of a healer.”

“I am busy today,” Rik raised an eyebrow, and in a flash of shining mist, turned into a cat and ran towards Mura Grimtotem’s small campsite on the far side of the Sepulchre. Hyzanthlay casually followed. The two guards both saluted her as she walked post.

Hyzanthlay could smell fresh blood, and it was not from Arugal’s head. Strellabelle was standing by the tomb, almost in the same place Hyzanthlay had met her before. She was tinkering with some vials and nodded towards Mura’s camp, and muttered, “Steak?” in Gutterspeak.

Hyzanthlay was confused. It was not until she looked inside Mura’s small wigwam did she understand the joke.

A young Tauren warrior was lying inside. She had been badly wounded, it seems by spellcasters. Mura said something about the road past Ambermill. Some of her fur had been scorched, and there was a bad wound by her breastplate. She was unconcious, but muttering in a troubled way in the tongue of her people.

Rik was speaking gently to her and casting a few spells. Earthroot pushed past Hyzanthlay and stared for a moment before falling upon one knee and lowing softly, as if in pain.

“She is young, but strong,” Mura said in Common. She spoke to comfort Earthroot but looked at Hyzanthlay.

“Tiponi will live and fight again. You trained her well in Mulgore, sister. She wounded a few and even killed two. A human with her spear, and a gnome that she crushed; we found his body close to where she fell.”

“Crushed? A gnome? Is that so?” Hyzanthlay looked past Rik’s shoulder and saw that Tiponi was breathing a little easier. She fished around in her bag and brought out a handful of red and yellow vials.

“For strength and health, see that she gets them,” Hyzanthlay dropped the vials in one of Earthroot’s surprised open hands. Rik had finished his casting and smiled at the gift, which did not seem to surprise him at all.

“I thank you, and so will Tiponi when she is well. She is on the mend,” and he looked to Earthroot when he said this, who rose to her feet and took a deep breath. “If you will, Hyzanthlay, I suspect you and Strellabelle will be headed to Undercity to be commended. It seems that Eucalypto is waiting for her there; if you happen to see him,” and Rik seemed to snicker at this a bit, “let him know, will you?”

Hyzanthlay nodded, not understanding what was so funny, then turned to meet a rather dour Strellabelle. Something here did not meet with her approval.

“The Dark Lady awaits,” she said curtly, as Hyzanthlay waved goodbye to Rik. “And you will no longer be handing out your potions to Tauren like wildflowers to cattle. You and your profession belong to the Clan of the Fallen now.”

“I’m not wearing your guild tabard yet,” Hyzanthlay snarled back.