Chapter 1: Counting Sheep
Saironus walked silently down the winding alleys of the Mage Quarter, invisible behind the cacophony and ruckus of the evening hours. The sun had dipped beneath the Harbor into the gentle lap of the Great Sea, leaving behind an orange-red glow and gentle breeze that smelled of late summer.
Apprentice and junior Mages raced hastily to the top of the Wizard’s Sanctum, pushing one another to catch their portals home after a long day of studies. One junior Mage tumbled from the top, after being mere feet away from the entrance, screaming in desperation as she missed the ramp by inches with her grasp. Large pink feathers appeared in the sky like birds, whirling around her, slowing her somersault as she crumpled to the ground in an angry heap. “That’s what you get for Sheeping Mocha! I told you, CATS DON’T LIKE TO BE SHEEPED!!” Saironus heard the high squeal of an even younger junior Mage, followed by a roar of giggles and laughter. He looked up to the top of the tower, but everyone had already raced into the Sanctum.
Tonight is the Harvest Moon, he thought to himself again as he looked at the deep purple sky behind the imposing tower, now the same color as the roof of the tower. He crossed from the glittering white cobblestone onto the rich green lawns, his soft, purple silk slippers always silent. “Try Blinking next time,” he said, reaching his hand out to the young Mage, now purple herself with embarrassment. “You Mages do it all the time to cut in line, thinking we don’t notice,” he said with a smile, his arm extended, slightly revealing years of scarring between his purple gloves and robe sleeve. The girl peeked for a second at his arm before grabbing his hand and pulling herself to her feet. “How will I make it back to Kul Tiras now,” the girl said as she brushed herself off. The Darkmoon Faire is back in Elwynn, I’ll NEVER get to the front of the line before the portals close for the night!"
“Alright, little boy.” Shadowbolt was tugging at the hem of Saironus’s robes, reminding him that they were already too late when they arrived at the Mage Quarter, and worse yet, they were headed in the wrong direction. “It’ll just be a second.” Fel pups were marvelously self-sufficient pets, but miserable nags when they wanted to be. The girl looked at the young Fel pup and broke into a smile. “They can’t be Sheeped,” Saironus said as he smiled even wider, the long scar above and beneath his left eye inching closer to both corners of his head. “Instant Counterspell if you try.”
Next to Saironus, the small Imp Zorpep chuckled, clutching his long and thin bony fingers together in a fist, as a ball of fiery purple Shadow magic seemed to fold outward from thin air a few inches above his hand. “That’s what they told you in Area 52!” cackled the Imp, as the incipient Shadowbolt fizzled into thin streams of white and green smoke. “You’re just mad they thought you were a naked Goblin” Saironus retorted. “I COULD HAVE BLASTED THEM ALL TO HELLFIRE PENINSULA!” Zorpep roared as he pushed a shock of Shadow magic outward from his open palm that left a burning tinge on a column of grass leading toward the base of the Mage Tower.
Saironus’s smile was gone now. “I told you Pep, any shenanigans and you’re done for the night.” “How’s about a wager, eh,” Zorpep continued, unphased by Saironus’s threat of de-summoning. His ruby eyes moved from Saironus to the young Mage, who shrunk as her gaze met his, even though she stood a head taller than him. “Polymorph this little Fel pup, Mage, and Saironus here will personally escort you home.” Shadowbolt barked loudly. “We don’t have time to go to Kul Tiras, Zorpep.” Saironus said. “We didn’t have time to come to Stormwind, yet here we are,” the Imp returned with a grin.
“And what if I can’t,” asked the girl. Saironus and Zorpep turned from facing one another to looking at the young Mage. Shadowbolt stood between them, his tail wagging quickly, barking at the junior Mage. “You won’t,” Saironus said. “SHE WILL” Zorpep growled, “but, if you don’t, little Mage, I’ll buy you a Mage Portal back to Kul Tiras, and make sure those pesky brats NEVER leave you stranded in Stormwind on a night like this again. I mean seriously, on a night like this? With all these big, bad, werewolves running around everywhere? I mean, seriously, what are they even doing in the Keep these days? Nothing if you ask me. 10,000 gold doesn’t even cover robes these days, now does it? Just a pure insult if you ask me.”
Saironus shook his head. “No. No bets. No portals. Shadowbolt is right; we’re late. Let’s go.” By now, the sky was a deep purple, the same color as his robes. He didn’t have much time. He looked down at the girl. “Come with us to the Blue Recluse. Get yourself some dinner. I have some quick business in there, and then we’re off to the Faire. There are so many portals outside the Faire, that if you trip you’ll fall into the wrong one. You’ll find one to Kul Tiras. Last night a Gnome in Goldshire offered me a portal to a Goblin pool party in Ferales. Who knew.” Saironus glanced wryly at Zorpep, whose red eyes burned. “What do you say? No bets. No Sheep. Just a paid dinner and a trip to the Faire.”
“Why are you being so nice?” the girl asked. Zorpep jumped. “Do you know how the full moon turns some humans into werewolves,” he asked, before Saironus could respond. “Yes…” the Mage responded curiously. “Well the full moon turns THIS human much, much too nice!” Saironus shook his head even harder, his long, blue-black foxtrot hair gently swaying in the nighttime breeze. “What do you say,” he asked the Mage. “Sure.” She said, “but you have to explain this to my mom.” Zorpep laughed.
Saironus and the Mage then proceeded back onto the walkway and toward the tavern, Zorpep and Shadowbolt trotting in their wake. “What’s your name, Mage,” asked Zorpep, putting in more effort to keep up with the two humans than he cared to let on. “Rana.” “They don’t have Mage schools in Kul Tiras?” Rana ignored the question. Saironus ushered them into the dimly lit tavern, which was considerably louder than the quiet that had quickly befallen the nighttime Mage Quarter. “We’ll be quick. Order whatever you’d like.”
The group worked their way to one of the few empty tables secluded under the old staircase. The tavern buzzed with the sound of dozens of Magi, Warlocks, and Priests drinking and laughing, undoubtedly all congregating and dining before venturing to the Faire just south of the city. Saironus scanned the room. A group of Gnomes, a couple of Dwarves, and two humans crowded the center table, as one Gnome faced off against a human in a highly contentious round of Hearthstone. Golden coins and sloshes of beer bounced and bubbled on the table and floor around the game while the Dwarves banged the table with joy as the young Gnome sent a roaring miniature Deathwing on a rampage against the elder human’s wailing Silver Hand recruits. The Gnome happily tossed fistfuls of coins into her lump, velvet coin pouch as the human ran weary fingers through his tired white beard and picked up his burned recruits. Rana watched, clearly impressed.
Saironus kept scanning the room. A lone Draenei sat at the bar, taking long, measured drinks of a clear liquid in a crystal goblet. Beside him, a pair of Pandaren in rich red and gold robes sat inspecting small intricate statuettes with several heaping bags of gold scattered about them. Saironus watched as one large Stormwind rat inched too close to a bag of gold and its enchanted casing sent the rodent running in the opposite direction, only to realize in dismay its four limbs had been mysteriously replaced with four mop heads, making it impossible to move. Beside them, an Undead enlistee sat quietly and took long drags from a Silverpine Deer horn pipe, and watched the rat struggle in vain while thick clouds of smoke escaped the gaps in his mouth.
A stocky man with bushy red-brown hair approached their table. “Are you here by mistake?” The man questioned them with a deep, booming voice that seemed to effortlessly rise above the roar of the tavern. “No slaughtered lambs here tonight.” He looked at Rana, then Saironus, then smiled. “Same line every time, Angus?” Saironus smiled back. “This one’s a Mage, he nodded to Rana. So leave us alone. But feed us first.” “I’d like Giant Nagrand Cherry Ice Cream!” Rana yelled almost immediately. "Maybe for dessert, young acolyte, ‘’ smiled Angus. “You can’t ask the Head Chef of the Blue Recluse for dessert first, can you? You wouldn’t want Archmage Nakada knowing that, would you?” Rana looked down at the table, then at Saironus. “This isn’t going how you said it would.” Saironus looked back at Rana from scanning the tavern. “What?” “You said I could eat whatever I want!” Saironus looked at Angus. Angus let out a hearty chuckle and placed his hand on Saironus’s shoulder and said, “She’ll be fine. Fresh Harvest Fish tonight. Everyone loves it.” Zorpep smiled to himself and looked at the chef with his shining ruby eyes. “Doesn’t every chef think everyone loves everything they cook?” Angus looked at Zorpep for a brief second before turning back to Saironus and lowering his voice. “I haven’t seen him yet. I’ve told them behind the bar to let me know if they see him.” With that, Angus turned and headed for the kitchens. Rana asked Zorpep, “Do you play Hearthstone? Maybe we can bet on that.”
Before Zorpep could respond, Saironus interjected–“there–by the bookcase!” Standing by the bookcase near the entrance was a Night Elf, nearly as tall as the bookshelf, looking right at their table. Rana took a deep breath. She had definitely seen Night Elves; they lived in the Mage Quarter and attended class with her. But she could not hide her amazement with this particular Night Elf. Tall and muscular, he stood with a a cool confidence and poise that matched his pale blue skin. His long, shoulder-length snow-white hair fell perfectly around his face, broken only by his long, pointed ears that made him seem even taller. His deep blue eyes met hers for one second. She looked away in fright. One second later, she looked back. He was gone. She gasped, and turned to Saironus, but his chair was empty. He was gone too. “He’ll be back. He said eat. Don’t wait for him,” said Zorpep absentmindedly, as he watched the Hearthstone table overflow with gargling Murlocs.
A few moments later, Angus returned with plates of hot food and glasses of cold drink. Rana suddenly remembered how hungry she was and peered up curiously at the large tray. Angus set down a large plate in front of her. “Fresh Harvest Fish, my lady, caught this morning off the shores of Pandaria! Portaled in this morning. Served with freshly-picked roast Harvest Pumpkin. To wash it down, some fresh-squeezed, ice cold Tanaan sweetmelon juice!” Angus then laid out a small silver bowl filled with some shiny green kibbel for Shadowbolt, then turned to Zorpep, “I didn’t think your lot ate or drank anything,” he said with some mild scorn to his voice that quickly warmed to a smile. He slapped a large mug on the table, filled to the brim with a dark, smoky liquid. “I’ll leave Ron’s food on the hotplate until he’s back.” “I’ve never been to Pandaria, but this is delicious!” Rana shrieked with joy as she conjured multiple mini ice cubes from her fingertips and into the glass of melon juice. She savored her meal, and even had time to go stand closer to the Hearthstone table and get a better view of the Gnome. She was a Mage as well, Rana could tell. A small Kirin Tor badge was pinned to the Gnome’s robe. Shadowbolt barked and raced around the tavern with joy with mouthfuls of green kibbel in his mouth, tail wagging furiously.
Saironus waded back through the crowd to return to his table, lost in deep thought. Scythian did not seem nearly as concerned as Saironus was by the news Scythian himself just broke. “Damn Night Elves,” Saironus thought to himself as he approached the table. "You’d think after thousands of years, they’d learn how to act empathetic, "he thought to himself.
Rana was happily enjoying quite a large bowl of pink ice cream with an even larger cherry seated on top, its curved stem twisted into a heart-shaped bow. Shadowbolt was napping under the table. Zorpep met Saironus’s gaze from a few yards away and rose to his feet immediately. “Come on,” he said brusquely to Rana and the sleeping Fel pup. He hadn’t heard a word from Saironus, but the look on his face was enough. As much as he enjoyed a prickly exchange with Saironus, he knew how much this meant to him. Rana seemed to understand and rose to her feet without a word, leaving behind quite a fair share of her delicious frozen treat. Shadowbolt yawned, shook the sleep away from his eyes, and trotted to Saironus, rubbing his body across Saironus’s robes. “To the Faire,” Saironus asked the group with a look of genuine excitement on his face.
The Trade District was busier than usual, even for this late hour. Gryphon-carriages lined the main road and down the bridge through the Valley of Heroes, ready to shuttle scores of eager locals and travelers alike down to the Faire just on the outskirts of Goldshire south of Stormwind. Packs of Azerothians filled the roads, and more kept emerging from the Deeprun Tram tunnel in the Dwarven District. Portals from Outland and Northrend tore into the night sky every few yards, as creatures tall and short of all colors and shapes emerged from them, racing to catch the same carriage as their parties.
Saironus looked around briefly before telling Rana, “we’ll take a more exclusive route.” Rana watched as Saironus seemed to work a slight exercise with his fingers and mutter a few incoherent words under his breath, before a magnificent, resplendent magical carpet of thick woven threads of green, purple, blue, and white drew itself on the ground beneath him. Saironus began to hover in the air gently, standing on the flying carpet with complete ease and poise. “Come on,” he said to Rana, his arm extended out again, “we’re almost out of time!” Shadowbolt was already on the carpet. Before Rana could ask what he meant, Zorpep picked her up with remarkably surprising strength and ease, and jumped onto the carpet along with the other two. Rana rose to her feet steadily, thinking the wavy carpet would knock her off balance. To her surprise, it felt smooth and steady beneath her feet, like the soft lawns of the Mage Quarter. They rose high enough into the night sky to reach level with the large stone arms raised triumphantly by Alliance heroes standing guard over the Valley of Heroes. Rana forgot her question as she saw the first glimpse of the beautiful, full Harvest Moon rise beyond the walls of the city and pour its white light over the nighttime city.
Sept. 5 - proof read.
October 29
Chapter 2: Gnomes, Gnolls, and Frogs
“Get your Faire Striders! Faire Striders, here! Only five Coppers!” Dusty bellowed as he bounced on the tips of his toes, his head bobbing among the tallstriders’ knees. Though he had been working all day, he only got busier as it got later. The thick, purple-grey clouds everlasting over the island churned harder, as if aggravated by the increasing noise and bustle below. Tinged red, orange, and white by the glow of tents, spires, and magic beneath, the illuminated stormy clouds were a spectacle of their own. The sound of waves and swells breaking on the island cliffs was washed away by the roaring laughter, singing, hooting, cheering, squawking, and all other manner of celebratory noise emanating from deeper down the central path. The air smelled of firecrackers, smoke, melted sugar, roasted meat, and many other mysterious aromas, pleasant and otherwise.
“GET YOUR STRIDERS HERE! BE THE FIRST IN LINE FOR EVERYTHING! THUNDERHORN’S ALMOST OUT OF CRUNCHY PLUMP FROGS!! YOU WON’T WANT TO MISS THOSE!!”
Dusty hoisted himself onto a smaller pale green foal to get a better view of the masses. The Faire brought everyone to town; young and old, rich and poor. Dusty had been working on the island longer than he could remember at this point, but rarely was it packed like this. The last war had consumed much of the world and its spirit; young, old, or poor…especially the poor. All felt pain or loss in some way. Dusty was no exception. The Faire brought the promise of normalcy, safety. Profit.
Dusty looked over at the giant portal, staring for a few moments into its gripping, swirling abyss. Under the current schedule this month, it would lead its entrant either to Elwynn Forest or Mulgore, depending on the departing location. Dusty was an accomplished engineer by trade, but distrusted all species of magic, Arcane, Fel, Holy… the lot. His resentment was only confirmed by the recent invasions onto the Island. Only when open to Azeroth, of course. Weaker funding from the Horde and Alliance compromised the portal’s integrity, permitting all manner of uninvited guests to stoke the fanfare from blissful chaos to something more sinister. Officials from Stormwind and Thunderbluff had long promised to tighten security from their side, but lately it appeared they seemed to view anything that happened on the Island as not their problem.
But last month, they had to respond. A horrible dispute that escalated from petty to deadly in moments left stains on the ground for days and headlines that ran until the portals reopened in Azeroth again mere days ago. It started when a band of shady Trolls laced with tribal tattoos indicating particularly dangerous affiliations, waltzed through the portal well past midnight. Darkmoon never slept, but at that hour, most traffic was exiting the Island. Dusty solemnly recalled their silent, menacing gait as they slowly encroached the space of two behemoth, angry-looking Tauren, whose deep scarring left their hides looking like Gnomish schematics—
“HEY–HE JUST STOLE MY GOLD!! THIEF!! HE TOOK ALL MY GOLD!! THIEF!!” Dusty blinked and casually peered to his left, where a young Draenei boy was gesticulating furiously in the opposite direction toward a lightly geared Gnoll desperately racing into the bushes. A glint catching the corner of his other eye caused him to snap his neck quickly in the other direction.
Every step echoed like steel on ice. An adult Draenei slowly approached. He towered over seven feet tall and was clad in heavy, dark blue plate with ornate skull motifs and glowing, imbued, enchantments. The crowd hurried out of his direction but stopped at some distance to watch the unfolding spectacle. His eyes glowed a bright blue-white. He didn’t blink, but it was impossible to see which direction he was looking because there were no discernable pupils. Just lifeless chaotic energy. A large greatsword sat across his back, encased in a rich, deep blue leather scabbard. The throat of the scabbard was encrusted in dark steel, embroidered in runes and insignia commemorating the warrior’s many affiliations and feats, before and after death.
Dusty winced. He hated Death Knights. The Death Knight stopped next to the boy and peered out into the brush. “He’s gone. He took all my Gold,” the boy cried, tears splashing in his eyes as craned his neck up toward the Death Knight. The boy seemed unphased by the undead giant whose greatsword alone doubled the boy’s height.
The Death Knight silently peered off into the brush. In an instant, he jabbed his left arm out and pulled it inward in one swift motion, as though he was pulling someone toward him. At the same time, a flash of purple lightning cracked from his extended palm into the brush, boring into the branches and shrubs as it pursued the fleeing Gnoll. Everyone’s gaze followed it, Dusty and his tallstriders included. A few tense seconds later, the bolt quickly raced back into itself, pulling with it a furiously howling Gnoll.
Before it could rise to its feet, the Gnoll found itself just inches from the deathly-sharp tip of the Deathknight’s greatsword. The blade was more than six feet in length, seven inches wide, and wrought with detailed, incomprehensible engravings that traced the smooth metal with otherworldly precision. Small cracks of lightning danced and shot around the blade, appearing in random locations at irregular times. It appeared to emit a deep, dark, magic that was slowly enveloping the Gnoll, whose vicious fangs were bared wide.
“The Gold.” A cold rasp washed over the now-much-larger crowd around the Death Knight, quickly quieting it once again. Dusty gripped the foal’s reins tighter and scanned the area around them. He hated the sound of their voices. It always seemed to boom and you could never tell where it came from. He started to think. If things went south, he would gather his string of striders and head down to the stables, without riders. He had lost too much lately to gamble for some empty heroics.
The Gnoll bared its vicious fangs wider and growled. It rose slowly to its feet, its eyes never leaving the blade, whose engravings began to emit a faint white glow and the cracks of lightning became quicker and angrier. The boy stood immediately next to the Death Knight, not behind him. His eyes were dry now, and focused. The Gnoll turned and stared at the boy.
“The Gold,” the sound repeated, louder. The Gnoll gave the slightest glance out of the corner of its eye before focusing on the Deathknight. “Don’t try to run. You won’t make it to the brush this time.”
“Cut its head off!!” a voice yelled from the crowd. “I think some of that Gold is mine!” came another. “So much for safety and normalcy,” Dusty said to himself as he glanced around the ragtag peanut gallery, feeling better about his plan for escape. “Well, normalcy, maybe.”
Before he had time to chuckle at his own wisdom, he heard a loud scream. The back of the crowd quickly dispersed, as an elderly human lady carrying a toddler in one arm yelled, “Gnolls!! DAGGERS!!”
Amidst the frenzied rush emerged four or five Gnolls, emitting fiercome, primitive howls and clawing angrily into the night air, grabbing anything in reach. Gold coins fluttered into the air like island sparklers. From a distance, the horror behind the screams would be mistaken for thrill and excitement usual of the Faire.
Dusty held his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, beckoning his panicked creatures. A tallstrider’s personality was a permanent, torrential clash of impulsive aversion to fear and a longing to serve and assist. The tallstriders peered anxiously among themselves, the fear and desperation in the sound of their would-be riders unmistakable to their ears. They knew what Dusty wanted and it was fraying their nerves.
A group of younger humans donning tunics bearing small Stormwind Guard crests quickly approached on foot from the path leading down to the Faire. Without giving Dusty a glance and perhaps without seeing him, the humans jumped onto the tallstriders and rode into the frenzied crowd. The off-duty guards hoisted the young and elderly onto their mounts, who were petrified but pranced around the field with purpose. Dusty cursed under his breath and pressed the button on his Gnomish Harm Prevention Belt. He raced angrily after the off-duty guards yelling, “HEY!! THESE AREN’T WARHORSES!!”
The Death Knight stepped over the split halves of the Gnoll’s bloody corpse. The Gnoll’s blood evaporated off the greatsword in seconds; its primitive chemistry no match against the enchanted metal. He slid the clean blade silently into its sheath as he scanned the area for the nearest Gnoll. A gang of stupid humans had dispersed the Gnolls back to the brush. But these weren’t average Westfall feral Gnolls.These were hired assassins, acting at someone’s direction. The Death Knight recalled the small pendant hanging from the deceased thief’s neck. But why target helpless citizens? Not the best return on investment.
The swirling portal sucked Dusty in like a pillowy magnet. He needed help. He wouldn’t be able to round up the tallstriders alone anymore. Plus, if there was any shot of keeping his job after tonight, they had to see this for themselves. He landed gently on the soft, green lawn just behind the Lion’s Pride in Goldshire. The air was much cooler. They had a room at the inn, so he’d be right back.
“Brandon! Still, short, bald, and ugly, eh?” Dusty whirled quickly around to find Zorpep staring at him with a large grin. Dusty met his gaze with a straight face. “Who, you?” Dusty returned, “Pretty much, I would say, except way uglier.” Zorpep cackled. “We heard it was hitting the fan in there, what happened?” “I couldn’t be bothered to tell someone who actually cared. Excuse me.” “He does.” Saironus said calmly. Dusty looked up at the dark wizard, whose features looked eerily canine in the mix of the moonlight and the portal’s glow. “Go in there and see for yourself. Excuse me.” Dusty walked past them and into the path up to the inn. Zorpep watched. “Someone didn’t get their frogs, it seems.”