I actually had a theorycrafting session with a few of my friends, surrounding a subject like this. Something for consideration, if you wanted to add more ideas to the list of potential Forsaken heritage armor quests.
Plot points:
Stage setup: Lordaeron is in ruins. Tirisfal Glades is effectively no-man’s land, unfit for man nor beast. No banner actively holds it, though smaller, less resource dependent groups can be seen amidst its outskirts. Sylvanas has betrayed the Forsaken and the Horde by waging an unnecessary war, under false pretenses, to effectively wield the fallen’s immortal souls as a resource in a cosmic plot well beyond the scope of mortals. Beyond their military alliance with the Horde, the Forsaken are, once again, alone, just as they were before Sylvanas’ rallying campaign.
- Forsaken communities gather in the Cleft of Shadows, free of the sun’s oppressive heat, in the cold embrace of the dark, a rare comfort of a not-so-distant age, at the behest of Grand Executor Mortuus, Dark Ranger Velonara and Commander Belmont. “Lord” Alexi Barov (who insists on his prominence as Lord. For some reason. Something to do with a dispute with his brother, that he will never confess.) happens to wiggle his way in as someone who had such an air of authority to call such a gathering, and claims perhaps too much credit for something as mundane as this.
Distant figures not as close to Forsaken society, such as Leonid Bartholomew, Lilian Voss and Calia Menethil have arrived at Orgrimmar to share in what is undoubtedly an important discussion for their former countrymen. Although not involved or as involved, their fate and future is still of some concern. There is idle discussion among them, but the prevailing question amidst their conversations is; How did they get to this point, on this path that has inflicted so much pain and suffering, for both those who walk it and those that this road is built upon?
- Reflection, from different points of view, as they await for those who would speak to arrive. All beginning from the cradle of the Forsaken’s inception. The tragedy of brother against brother, of kin hunting kin. People of the land, now huddling in the broken shell of their own homes, beset on all sides by the relentless Scourge and their own living communities hunting them, seeing them less than human, but as the unholy beasts that had been ravaging their kingdom. Horrors they had inflicted upon those they had one called neighbor as a necessity for survival. The desperation that drove some to wield taboo powers. (These can be expanded upon later and given the appropriate attention needed, but, these are the broad themes. They would be largely interacted with via flashback scenarios.).
- These tales between the community are met with scorn by another, remarking with great disdain about their “whinging” about such tripe as the pragmatic neglecting of morality, and their weeping for an age of civility that has long since been lost to them. That to harp about the price for their continued existence is unnecessary baggage from a bygone age, a failing of the human condition and a weakness unbecoming of a lot that is destined to forge a new future for themselves, in the face of a fate that they had been doomed to - a future that requires further sacrifice, if it is to be successful. The remark draws snide rebukes. Had they not sacrificed enough already? At what point does it all become too much? Such pragmatism is cumbersome upon the heart and has already turned some calloused and cold- how could they hope to live through what remains of their existence if they have to live with a burden as extreme as a grave betrayal of one’s values- values that that define them, drive them and give them purpose?
Leonid Bartholomew is quick to offer his rebuttal- that to forsake everything that had made them human and to wall himself off from the outside world was to bring him closer in touch with the identity of the Scourge. He dismisses his claim carelessly and brandishes the word ‘gentlehearted imbecile’ like an insult. Perhaps he might had even agreed with him in some way, had he not sacrificed his humanity atop the altar of apathy in his more desperate hours, in the hopes that he would be spared its pain. But that was then, and this is now. Who he was is dead, and who he is now is a man reborn. Such concerns in a cruel world are fleeting and aren’t worth considering.
- This squabbling rabble is brought to a silence as three arrive (“Lord” Alexi Barov just happens to saunter in half a minute later and stands behind them, out of sight, arms crossed and with a stiff posture, as if he were relevant to the on-goings.). Dark Ranger Velonara addresses the crowd. She speaks of the kindness of Orgrimmar, to have offered them sanctuary, then says that it shall be depended upon no longer, as their hour of reclamation approaches. Their plan is simple; to cross the seas to Silvermoon, then, from Silvermoon, begin their long ride to Andorhal. With it established as a safe foothold for them, they begin moving resources from it and to the capitol.
Questions of how to restore it are brought up, which is answered simply by a neutralizing agent administered by the Royal Apothecary Society. Afterwords, what is required is the handywork of stone masons and wood workers to restore its walls and restore the crypt levels below Lordaeron, as the sewers themselves are fully collapsed and beyond repair without long, great efforts. Mortuus and Belmont begin forming martial planning, should they be accosted on their ride to Andorhal, with Aleric Hawkins looming over the table. He’s just a Deathstalker, nobody of consequence! Seriously. He’s not the leader of the Deathstalkers. He swears it up and down.
At the same time, Barov begins going over a depiction of Lordaeron, pointing out what needs repairing, by what measurements, what have you. Someone scouted this out already. With this information in hand, the vessel sets sail for the port of Silvermoon. From there, the journey is long and uneventful (though, if the player elects to follow the NPCs from Western Plaguelands, starting from Quel’Lithien Lodge and following the road to the Western Plaguelands, there is some side commentary from Calia, as she sees the bellowing smoke of Stratholme from afar, lamenting the monument to Arthas’ sins. Maybe some commentary about how life used to be, as they cross through Corin’s Crossing). A simple welcome is offered from the Forsaken that held Andorhal’s now standing walls. Having won it in the battle during the Cataclysm, it is their closest territory to the capitol, reinforced only by Silvermoon in the event of hardship. Stone and lumber that had been shipped in advance is collected and without need to rest, they begin their work at neutralizing the blight, dismantling the roaming skeletons and, at long last, begin work proper. (The player is given a backpack that can shoot some sort of blue liquid effect on globs of green scattered across the field and is given a ‘kill X out of X’ quest for the restless dead. The work on repairing Lordaeron’s wall is more of a cutscene, with the night and day cycle spinning by as a montage of work is carried out, implying something of a time skip.).
- As work nears its completion, complications arise. From the distant forestry, a host of Scarlet Crusaders emerge from the once emptied halls of the Scarlet Monastery. Rows of soldiers, magi, priests and more. Belmont and Mortuus takes to the saddle of their horses, the Death Guard musters their forces and takes formations on the scarred battlefield. Calia approaches Velonara, who is stood atop the wreckage of a destroyed siege tower, bow in hand. Calia pleads for cooler heads to prevail and diplomacy to rise over violence. Velonara refuses to heed the words of a foe that wishes nothing more than the full eradication of the Forsaken. Calia presses her on this, implying that such thinking is what perpetuates the eternal cycle of bloodshed, but, before Velonara can offer a retort, a signal horn is blown, and the Scarlets begin to charge.
- The Deathguard and Scarlets exchange blows. Cavalry crashes into each other, shield lines connect, spears thrust, guns fire and spells are flung. Grand Executor Mortuus is surrounded by a cabal of warlocks and well behind the shield wall. Together, they are summoning an Infernal. In the meanwhile, Belmont bids the player character to maintain the line. (The player is given an objective to cut through a gap in the shield line, where Scarlet Shock Troopers are sprinting out of, killing X amount of Scarlet Shock Troopers and x amount of Scarlet Mages.) Once X amount of Scarlet Shock Troopers are killed, Grand Executor Mortuus shouts to press the attack. An Infernal comes crashing down upon rows of soldiers in formation, and the formation battle is over, their enemy in retreat. Scarlet Crusaders begin retreating to the Monastary, with others remaining behind for a fighting retreat (the objective updates with fighting Scarlet Crusaders, Scarlet Priests and Scarlet Monks, killing X out of X for each of them. Ambient Scarlet NPCs are seen fighting either Deathguards, Deathstalkers or Lilian Voss).
- Once the player completes his objective, a finale begins. The Deathguard surrounds the Monastery. Belmont, Lilian and Aleric joins the player in a charge into the Monstary, where they fight off defending Scarlets, until they reach the Court Yard (where, in Cataclysm, you’re fired upon by the archer squad.). A Scarlet Seraph, garbed in expensive fullplate (Crusader Lord Lantinga’s red Soulforge recolor) , with a greatsword in both hands (Destiny), enters the courtyard, with an entourage of well armed Crusaders. He offers scalding words, threats of demise, promises of a pyre that shall burn so great that not even ashes will be left to mark their passing.
Lilian Voss speaks up, asking bluntly; to what end does all of this fighting serve? Has feverish adherence to dogma blinded them to the world that surrounds them and the countrymen that pleaded to prove their humanity before them? Are they so eager to surrender all thought and lay all responsibility upon the will of the Light, as they so diligently fulfilled its bidding? If so, perhaps they had more in common with the thoughtless Scourge than humanity.
Belmont is quick to reprimand her, to tell her that such breath is wasted on such lowly creatures that are of no worth beyond the parts they have to offer. The Seraph, amused, takes this moment to answer her question, though there is still smoldering hatred somewhere beneath that wolfish grin on his face. He says plainly that while they might had convinced the orcs of kindly intent, that the world was not so blind. He comments on about how that he saw them for the beasts that they were- Scourge- and that no matter what skin they wore, what banner they bore on their breast or what face they would take to mock life, that they were monsters, all the same. Monsters that squatted upon a land that they had taken, lead by a traitor Prince who’s unmarked grave is becoming of a man with his sins and a Banshee who’s sustained cruelty was unmatched.
Monsters that would be stopped, to protect the world from their likeness. Combat begins.
- At the end of the battle, the Scarlet Seraph lies dead. Mortuus and Aleric Hawkins are seen gathered within the long store halls, with unearthed ledgers that contained logistical information and written orders. The orders contain a plethora of information, from resupplying older forts along the coastline or in the woods, to the notices of a Forsaken convoy traveling from Silvermoon to Andorhal and orders to maintain more frequent reconnaissance upon them, to rallying orders and await for construction to near its completion, before mustering an attack. But it begs the question- move what supplies, to what troops, for what purpose? More importantly, who’s troops?
Aleric Hawkins is quick to identify familiar names, once he begins to comb over the ledgers- names of Knights in service to the Stormwind Noble Houses, from the major family of Lescovar to some of its lesser cadet houses, and a few others, known for their service as a craftsman or as a treasurers, amidst a dizzying list of names- likely unknown retainers- and resources, likely provided by the coffers of Stormwind nobles.
The ledgers implied discomforting information. The Scarlet Crusade, that had been scattered upon the wind at this point, was facing a resurgence. Given material wealth and coin by a distant kingdom, as well as men by prominent and lesser houses alike. The question Aleric asks is; “Why?”. If the Alliance had agreed to enter diplomatic endeavors, why take action against them- and masqueraded ones, at that? Had the throne of Stormwind gone back on its agreement? Or perhaps there was a political angle, with noble houses attempting to subvert the command of the throne by attempting to seize Lordaeron through proxy conflicts?
Belmont was quick to dismiss this line of inquiry. If the initial fall of Lordaeron hadn’t shown the deplorable nature of such fearful, short sighted creatures, then Aleric was lost and he wouldn’t waste his time on him any further. Aleric offers a slight remark of Belmont’s short-sightedness, but doesn’t push the matter any further.
- The player returns to the gates of Lordaeron. The streets are mucked with blight neutralizing agents and have caked the cobble at this point, well baked into the stone by the warmth of the sun. All are gathered together, in one big crowd, with a small host of Forsaken gathered at the central statue just before the moat. All is quiet, until the silence is broken. Lilian Voss asks; our fate is ours to control, where do we go from here?
They begin turning, looking to each other, each searching for answers. One turns to Calia, in the crowd, and asks her what she thinks. More turn their gaze, hopeful that she might have answers. Calia is caught by surprise and stammers out the beginning of an answer, before another voice from the crowd objects with a simple “no”. The crowd turns back. The Black Bride stands there, regarding the scene with a fixated glance upon Calia, two eyes as cool as ice, yet hid an extreme disdain for her. Belmont joins at her side, in voiceless agreement. Some lines begin to form, as people either distance themselves from one another, or join with those that they might agree with.
Velonara detects tension, and immediately interjects with an agreement, that their future does not lay in the whims or visions of one person. Deathguard Darnell approaches Velonara and turns to the crowd to address it. He states that they had already been down this path twice now. Once in life, betrayed by a Prince that condemned them to undeath, and again in the next life, with Sylvanas leading them upon a collision course with disaster to fulfill a selfish agenda.
He goes on to say that the hopes and dreams of the kingdom aren’t to be laid at the feet of any one person- that their salvation cannot be offered by any one person, only they can save themselves. That by fate, they are Forsaken, forsaken by the Light, by the families that surrounded them and by nature, who had no precedent for their existence. It is fate that attempts to unravel them and destroy them, to fix a mistake that was never meant to be, but despite the curse that traps them within their corpses, they are people still, and in their collective hands, their future is theirs to build.
This seems to stir approval with those present, which begins to escalate and eventually erupt into uplifting cheer.
- A cutscene plays, with a slow sweeping shot of Lordaeron from above. A narrative talks over it, as banners are unfurled. Lilian Voss speaks of an end of one bloody chapter, and the beginning of a bold, new one. One that is truly free, without masters or rulers, only tomorrow, that is theirs to shape.
Velonara speaks up next, offering familiar words, spoken by another, now absent from their history. “We are the Forsaken, and those who do not stand with them, stand against them.”
With Belmont joining at the end; “… and those that stand against the Forsaken, will not stand long.”. The camera begins to lower to the front gate of Lordaeron, where the banner of the Forsaken is lowered once again. It is half of a skull, much like Sylvanas’ shattered mask, with splinters digging into its center profile.
Quest reward: Forsaken Heritage Armor.
Design: This can be better hammered out later, but the general theme is: Middle Ages Apocalypse Survivor.
At the top is a pariah’s iron mask, tucked underneath the hood of a padded coif, that might had been dyed Alliance blue once, until the dye faded and all that remained was a dark wool grey. The left of its face is a blank, metal slate, with the right side looking dented and worn.
The shoulders are a wraparound scarf, that is of the same dye, but different fabric.
A worn breastplate fill the chest slot. It might had been engraved and bore the Lordaeron L, but now it’s difficult to fully make out given how badly it had been neglected and deteriorated by the elements, with cloth gambeson sleeves, of the same fabric and dye as the coif.
Gauntlets are leather with plating strapped over the fingers, hand and wrist.
The belt contains a miniature lamp loop (something as small as one’s palm) on the right side and a simple, unassuming iron belt buckle in the middle.
The trousers are a charcoal black and the boots are shin-high boots with roughly kept gussets that unevenly fold outwards, complete with buckles that secure the foot.
The cape slot is filled by a stuffed sack, that looks more appropriate for a scavenger than an adventurer. Some concoctions are bottled and held to the sack by a belt.
- Dialogue options post heritage quest. (Lilian Voss):
“I had a question about our new heraldry. It looks reminiscent of Sylvanas’ banner. Why is that?”
Lilian: "It isn’t in homage to her, it’s a reminder of her. It’s a reminder that the future of the Forsaken does not lie within any one single person’s vision. We are victims of fate but we refuse to grant it purchase where it can inflict upon us betrayal a second time. The fractures represent us - the way many of us see this world and how we interact with it. Whether we deny our fate and find comfort in the previous life, grow to become something else, or succumb to the bitter poison of fate’s misery, we are Forsaken, all of us, and despite our fractured existence, we are on this path together.
I personally suggested ‘The Sable Reminder’. What do you think?". Lilian Voss offers the slightest of smiles. It looked alien on a face that had been worn by hard years and grief.
- Dialogue option (Mortuus):
“I noticed you don’t add ‘nub’ to the end of everything. What changed?”
“If you /must/ know, there was an error in your documentation and someone had decided to add ‘nub’ to the end of your name. Surely you came to that conclusion on your own, nubskull-- I mean, AGH, now you’ve done it! Leave me alone!”
- Dialogue option (Velonara):
“Without anyone to make commands, how do we actually function in times of crisis?”
"We’ve decided to take an approach like the Desolate Council. A representative has been assigned for the Royal Apothecary Society, The Deathguard, The Deathstalkers, the citizenry and the laborers. We meet for concerns or discussion of logistics, but, societal change shall come from the people, not at our whims. Lilian Voss will meet with the Horde council and inform us of their needs, and inform them of ours.
But, as a functioning body, our only priorities are the fulfillment of our obligations with the Horde, the steadfast holdings of our territories and the capturing and freeing of Scourge minds. We will decide where our interests lay, when the future meets us."
- Dialogue option (Calia Menethil.)
“That was a lot to take in. What do you think?”
There is a relaxed posture to Calia, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
“I am given relief to see the well-being of Lordaeron’s people. The world has been cruel to them and the ghosts of their past will not so readily leave them in peace.”. There’s a thoughtful look in her eye as she turns to the walls of Lordaeron. “The people of the Forsaken.” she says to correct herself, after a momentary pause. “So much has changed since last I walked these roads and forests that I barely recognize the people of this land as the same people who once lived here. Would it be right to still address them as if nothing had changed?”
“Where will you go now?”
“Far from here. My help is not needed - maybe it would not be welcome, either. There are some things that require laying to rest, that I cannot address with a satisfactory conclusion. But I will leave with peace in my heart, knowing that they are well, and that is all I ever wanted.”. Calia leaves the Forsaken story and joins Alonsus Faol, where he is, doing whatever it is he does.