Of Trials and Sacrifices

[Quezt]

There is a saying in Gilneas. Power means happiness; power means hard work and sacrifice.

I was given but one final task. A trail of sacrifices. I was trapped in thoughts as I rode through the Forest of Silverpine with only the noise of Horse's slow trotting on the paved ground to keep me tied to reality. I look up into the sky. Terror, who always keeps within calling distance, flies high overhead. Circling as if waiting for me to die. Perhaps she cannot help herself, even in death she maintains her instincts.

An abrupt stop. I reach for my gun's stock. As I scan the surroundings, I see the remainder of the Gilnean front still marching, still keeping its ranks. I release my grasp and sigh. Though, with a pulse of pain from the old wound, I remember: It was not long ago that I fought against this.

I trot past the filings, some salute in my direction, others merely look away, while some simply stare. So integrated, so unseen. I used to snipe you, kill you. I am the reason you lost family, friends, allies. I look away from their gaze, I can't help but feel a little guilty. However, as I pass into the shadow of the former Gilnean Wall, I can't help but feel that guilt dissolve. We were content in our own little world, at least I thought so. However, as I leave the Wall's remains into Gilneas proper, I am flooded with the memories of my life before it all came crashing down. I pull back on the reins and sit there for a moment. There is only the sound of crows and the soft Gilnean rain. My shoulders tense up and I begin to cry, or perhaps, I am not and only am only remembering its misery. A memory of a feeling not to long unforgotten. Those nights, lying in bed, crying myself to sleep. The rain stops and the droplets cease pouring onto my face. I push the emotion down easily now, the experience now removed, and move forward.

I pass the farm houses along the main path, many have been dismantled or burnt down. I knew these people, I knew their kids, what they grew, what they sold, and what you could trade to get the best deals. As I get to the crossroads between Aderic's Repose and Gilneas City, Terror's cries ring out in the sky, someone is close. I reach for my stock again and begin to pull the gun from off my back. I can hear the growling of a beast, but it is one I've heard before. Oh Gilnean brother, you have chosen your mark poorly. I spin myself and point my gun behind me firing off a shot. I've hit my target. A Worgen writhes in pain on the pavement behind me. I got him in the hip, he won't be moving far anytime soon. I descend from my steed and move over to him. He growls and bears his teeth, but I have seen that look before: fear. I point my gun at him and give him release from his pain. As I look down upon his corpse, I wonder why he is here. The Gilnean Resistance, lead by Lord Darius Crowley, had surrendered to the Forsaken War Machine. Perhaps there were a few left still that would not heed his white flag. I close his eyes and give him a proper send off with two shots to the sky.

"Sleep well, my brother. You rest in the Eastern Kingdom's greatest land."

I do not blame him. If I were stronger, if I weren't turned, I would be right here with them. Fighting for Gilneas, dying for Gilneas. I look up at Terror who circles up in the sky and close my eyes, giving the thought its own reality. The moment passes as the rain returns. Opening my eyes brings it all back, I am not on their side, least not in their eyes. I turn sharply and mount my steed. I give one final look at the Worgen's lifeless body and then continue on.

The streets of the city are slick with rain. I remember these alleys, these stores, these walls. As my horse trots pass, I place my hand on the stony texture and let it drag along with us. My fingers remember its touch, but I don't really feel it. Not anymore. I can't help but close my eyes and feel like I am still there, in the city's true majesty. My hand skips a beat and I open my eyes in defense, the wall had been caved in. I stop for a moment and look inside. This was someone's home. Someone's family lived here, grew up here. I can hear the feint laughter of children, the sounds of a roaring kitchen, the spirits of a now dead. I turn my head and look forward. With my leave, so to does their lingering regrets. They are with the sleeping now.

Mounted on the bridge, I look down into the valley where Duskhaven used to be. My family lived down in that land, now removed from existence. I want to feel sad by it not being there. I want to feel anger that it happened at all. I want to have something, anything, but I do not. All I can do is stare down upon where it used to be and see only water. Empty as I am now. I turn my head to the east and see the dark forest, the place of my raising, the Blackwald. I make my way there and remember my time in its care. My grandfather was a harsh man, gruff and full of spite. I was nothing like he desired and he always let me know it. I was always two steps behind even when I thought I was in front. I sigh as I get closer. He raised me when my mother's new husband did not want me. I suppose he didn't want remnants of the previous life there in his new family's home. Or perhaps, like most, he didn't want a weakling like me around. I can thank my grandfather for that I suppose. He never once wanted me gone, just stronger. I stop in Stormglen for the moment and dismount. I search its homes, businesses, stocks, supplies. I suppose I'm looking for something to remember. Maybe something of mine left behind. I find nothing. I leave the inn and look out into the sea. I remember this feeling, wondering what else is out there. I thought maybe nothing at all. My horse huffs and brings me back from my daydream. I stare at him as he does to me. I turn my head and look into the Blackwald. I came here to see if I could do what needed to be done. I tie my horse down near the inn and gird myself for the trek in.

I hate this place. I hate what I had to do in it, I was forced to do what I couldn't, day in and day out. All for the possibility of becoming stronger. I swallow as I stand in front of my 'home'. I shift the gun on my back to be more comfortable and enter. The house is wrecked. I suppose the elements? But I can't tell for sure. I move about the debris and look for anything of worth. Again, I find nothing. I kneel down and place my satchel on the ground in front of me. I have a decision to make. Can I let go of my past? Can I truly become not only a member of the Horde, but of the Grim? I then hear the sound of a match light and the burning of tobacco.

"What do ye think ye doin' in me house, filth?" I ready my gun and stance myself, pointed to the corner of the room where the sound originated. Whomever it is, takes a large puff, illuminated their face- my grandfather. He squints to take a good look at me in the dark, then exhales. "Anotha deadn came to clean 'ouse. Ye blasted abominations thinkin' ye can come in 'ere and take ol' Gilneas without a fight, de ye?"

I ease up and lower my gun, I cannot believe my eyes. He stayed behind this whole time. He stayed here in these broken home and protected it. You stubborn old man, I missed you. I completely lower my gun and take my helmet off, I can almost feel real tears swell up as I try and put on my best smile.

"Grandfather it's m-" At that moment, he lunged and unsheathed his blade. He stuck at me, caressing my left eye and scarring my tissue. The pain is unreal and I reel back. I distance myself from him, stumbling in the small home. His attacks are relentless as I try to get my barrings. I hold my left eye, trying to desperately keep what was left intact, in place, but the attacks in the dark are almost unavoidable. As he brings his sword to bare and readies another strike, I gain what little footing I could and launch himself, crashing through what remained of a window. I ready my gun, I- I have to protect myself. My right hand shakes at the Wolfslayer's burdening weight. I can't calm down, the pain is excruciating. I have to calm down, I don't really feel it, I don't really feel it. I hesitantly pull my hand away from my face, I can't see. I let out a shrill yelp at my new blindness as he barrels through the remaining wall as a Worgen. My grandfather is a Worgen. I cannot avoid this and tense up, I block with my arms and close my eyes. I'm going to die.

"No! Grandfather!" I yell out waiting for the blow. A moment later, nothing happens. I slowly open my eye to see him fighting with Terror, who had descended from high and was clawing at him. I push myself away on the ground and find myself back against the cliff side. I am scared, everything is coming back at once in my head and this time, I can't open both my eyes. I call out for Horror, he who is never far. He flies through the air off the cliff and confronts my grandfather with Terror. I am scared. I pull myself up and run off into the forest, away form the fight, away from him. He has always been a strong man, even for his age. Did he not recognize me? Did he not remember? I stop running, to catch my breath, but hear a twig snap. I turn to see my grandfather. He is cut, he is bruised, he is bitten, but he stands. Where are Terror and Horror? I ready myself for another attack.

He moves his blade and points it at me.

"Ye call me ya grandfatha, ye kin only be Fortuna." I feel a bit of relief, but it is quickly stifled when he grips his hilt with his other hand. "But if ye truly be Fortuna, ye 'ave let Gilneas down by joinin' the ranks of the undead. By me son's name, I strike ye down."

I need to fight back. I ready my gun and aim at him. My hands still shaking from the pain of loss and my sight is off. I notice his sight shifts upwards, he's not looking at me anymore. I feel the presences of something behind me. I turn my head to see a large, lumbering shadow, Dread. He lets out a bellowing roar to assert his dominance and grandfather returns with an equally loud roar. Dread lurches forward and attacks. I need to be ready and again, try to aim. I fire off a few shots and miss horribly. I begin to re-aim and get nudged by Panic, who darts out from the brush towards my grandfather. I don't have much time, I need to aim. I ready again, another miss. I curse myself, I am shifting to much. I am in pain and I shouldn't be. I am frightened and I shouldn't be. Panic gets cut down easily, but Dread continues his attacks. Fear jumps in from overhead and also begins kicking and bucking against grandfather, but he too is cut down and Dread continues. I'm losing, I'm losing everyone. It's happening again. I begin to hyperventilate and I watch Dread die again before me. I can do little else now. I begin to shoot wildly.

"I trained ye better than that, Fortuna! 'Ave me teaches done nothin'?!" He lunges as I barrage. I clip him, twice in the shoulder, once in the chest, two- three times in the leg. He slows, but continues his attack.

I've got nothing now, I can't aim, my pets are gone. I've got nothin- stabbed. I'm pierced over the right breast, right in my old wound

"A failure in life, a failure in death." He removes his blade with ease and I start to fall. Everything is moving so slowly now. He turns from me and begins walking away. I'm going to die here. I guess I couldn't become Grim after all. I really am a failure...

"What are ye doin' Fortuna?!"

"I can't do it anymore Grandfather, I'm tired." I'm hit upside the head.

"Tired?! Fortuna if ye ever are goin' to make it in Lord Crowley's rebellion, ye goin' to 'ave to do betta than 14 hours!"

"But the spiders keep attacking me and-" I'm hit upside the head.

"Child, why do ye think I make ye go out there for? To drink tea with the grave 'eeper?! You can't nary hold a sword nor can ye raise a shield. Ye need to be 'old that gun and learn 'ow to hunt. 'Ow to survive!"

"Survive!"

"SURVIVE!"

SURVIVE!

I am ripped from my dream mid fall and catch myself. I can feel my body trying to fall. Legs, my sight has failed me, my arms have failed me, this body is weak and frail, you have to stand! I begin to lose myself, it's just like then. I stand up and roar out. A low, guttural bellow, it feels like it shakes the very earth and heavens. I can feel them, Terror, Horror, Dread, Panic, and Fear. I can feel their presence, their life. I feel them getting up, them stumbling to their feet. I feel them regain their power, their strength. I feel nothing now, the pain is gone. I see my grandfather stop in his tracks and turn his head, he is shocked. He doesn't understand. I raise my gun with my right hand, its weight is gone. I can't aim still, so I barrage again. At least one of these bullets will hit. I rush him this time. I feel everything moving faster and faster now. I barrage again, but only half of the bullets come out. I'm empty. He takes many of the bullets though, this time, as I am so close. He swings his blade as he roars out, I dodge. I slash at him with my bayonet and again and again. He brings his blade down and I dodge. I need to survive and the only way- the only way-

I pierce my grandfather with the bayonet and put my whole weight behind it, bringing him to the ground. I remove it and raise it into the sky. I glare down upon him, he's shocked. He doesn't understand. I bring the gun down again and again and again. I continue, I keep going. I stab and I stab and I stab. I stop, my body heavy, my strength gone. I haven't let him leave my gaze, he's unmoving, but I cannot understand why he has a smile. I get up from him, using my gun as a prop. I grab his sword and move up the hill to the house above. I stop. He's standing behind me, I feel him. I turn my head to see him, he's holding himself, but barely. I want to believe he understands now, maybe that is why he smiles. I turn my head back and limp up the path, I motion my hand and they descend upon him, Horror, Terror, Dread, Panic, and Fear. I hear his muffled screams as I enter the broken home.

I stand before a burning home, my home. I watch as its dreams, its memories ascend into the rainy skies above.

"Sleep now, my grandfather. You rest in the Eastern Kingdom's greatest la-" I can't continue. The rain slicks my face and I fall to my knees. If I could cry, I would so now. All I can do now is wail. All I can do now is wail.

[Quezt]

A simple message along with a brown paper parcel is left on Atticus's desk.

Sir Atticus,

Herein lies my final task, my final trial.

Please do take proper care of it.

-Fortuna Quezt

[Atticus]

Atticus replies:

Quezt,

Forgot to mention this when we spoke tonight: You might want to talk to Fanyare about the eye. She figured out how to get my leg back to functioning proper, after all. Maybe she can help you too.

Anyway, I'm pleased that you survived your three trials. The mandate will bring you peace.

- Attie