Abric - The Catalyst
Abric, November 2, 2006
The night was beautiful in Stormwind. The ambience of the city
was welcoming and cheerful, with most of the people still
conversing about this years Hallow’s End. While at an end, many
decorations were still hanging from the trees and railings of the
city – far too much for the Watch to take down in a day. Even the
shoddy masks handed out by the innkeepers were holding together;
a testament shown by the many adventurers and citizens wandering
with them on.
Though, Old Town was an exception. The decorations were always
scarce during festivities, and this year was no different. The
denizens of the narrow alleys and tall buildings had already sold
what the City Watch did not take down, and the few who walked the
street in the lamp light seemed more concern with their
surroundings than their appearance.
There was one man in particular, who didn’t seem to be enjoying
himself. He was an elderly man, near the twilight years of his
life. Thin, frail hands clutched his thick woolen cloak tightly
to his body, despite the relatively warm autumn air. Sunken brown
eyes darted from shadow to shadow, and a thin sheen of
perspiration glistened on his balding head. Hurried, shuffling
steps echoed from cobblestones, giving the imagination tricks of
somebody following behind him. Even more hastened steps could not
give him calm.
The man was unfamiliar with his surroundings, as evident by his
second guessing of his path. He was aware of passing many
buildings twice, but was unable to get his bearings straight. It
had felt like days since he left the safety of the Keep’s
library, when he logically knew it had only been hours. He meant
to hide in one of the many inns or shelters in Old Town, but each
one had turned him down. His clothes were too fine and his age
too much to be trusted by the rogues and mercenaries who
inhabited this portion of Stormwind.
So preoccupied with his lack of luck, the old man found himself
at a dead end alley. He stood there for a moment, trying to calm
himself with a few whispered words. Turning, his words caught in
his thought as he saw his path out obstructed by a figure.
The figure was, at first, only an outline made by the lamplight
of the street. It was average height for a man, but very thin;
almost to the point of being unhealthy. The old man could make
out that the figure was wearing leather armor, the sort worn by
adventurers. Made of a dark hue, the figure did not hide its
attire under a cloak… or the two sheathed daggers at its side.
When the figure started walking into the alley towards the old
man, its face was covered by one of the Hallow’s End masks – one
of a human male in the likeness of the Highlord.
“It seems you have been found, Scholar. Despite your attempts at
evasion… you have failed.” The figures voice vibrated in the
small confines of the alleyway; adding an eerily base to what
would mostly be called a hollow voice.
Fingers clutching the cloak tighter around him, the old man’s
reply was a quiet whisper, “Who are you? How do you know who I
am?”
The figure stopped at an arms reach of the old man, before
responding.
“I am the one you have felt watching for the past week, Scholar.
I have followed you since your expedition into the mountains,
where you acquired a number of documents and tomes from the
agents in Chillwind Point.”
One of the figures gloved hands moved up to the mask it wore,
pulling it off from the chin. The old man gasped as the figures
face came into view, revealing to him that he spoke to a
Forsaken; one of the undead.
The face the old man saw was deprived of life and form. Skin was
stretched taunt over facial features, almost as if it was only a
skull with skin. Shriveled, cracked lips were spread into a
sinister smirk – heightened only by the pale glow of yellow where
eyes once were. The Forsaken’s head was bald; looking like the
hair was ripped out by the roots. The Scholar knew enough about
starvation to know this Forsaken had died from it.
“It is unfortunate you decided to leave the safety of your city
for desire of knowledge best left lost. There is a reason nobody
inhabits the mountains but ogres and yeti. A pity, truly.”
The old man barely registered the Forsaken’s comment as he
instinctively started to back up into the dead end wall of the
alley. He did not seem to respond when the Forsaken took the
steps necessary to keep the distance between them.
“Since you seek Truth, I will only give you Truth. You will die
this night. Though, it will be your decision if it will be
painless or if it will be prolonged. You will tell me the
location of all the materials you were given… as well as those
who have been in contact with it.”
The old man’s mouth opened in response, but only to give a
wordless gasp of air. His eyes were wide as he stared up towards
the stars. He did not see the Forsaken start to draw both daggers
from their scabbard.
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The night was beautiful in Stormwind. The ambience of the city
was welcoming and cheerful, with most of the people still
conversing about this years Hallow’s End. While at an end, many
decorations were still hanging from the trees and railings of the
city – far too much for the City Watch to take down in a day.
Even the shoddy masks handed out by the innkeepers were holding
together; a testament shown by the many adventurers and citizens
wandering about with them on.
Though, Old Town was an exception.