(2022-09-20) A New Dusk

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Author:	Aly
Summary:	A man formerly known as Harvey Morningdew (re)visits some familiar faces in Ironforge.
Rating:	T for Teen

Ironforge. Walking its streets was like pawing through a thin black curtain of familiarity. Tall stone buildings were carved into taller stone walls, the vaulted ceilings arching high above. It was unbearably warm thanks to the magma flowing throughout and those large braziers set up every ten paces. He ignored the stares of the dwarf-men as he strode towards his destination. Their opinions didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. He was, after all, here to indulge his curiosity about a group of humans.

After the Battle at Light’s Hope, when the Lich King’s oppressive voice had left his head, two had approached him, offering their service. It couldn’t have been because he impressed them. Not after that cursed paladin drove him to retreat. If Mondragon hadn’t taught him how to protect against magic, he would have been incinerated by the Light. And yet, they had nearly prostrated themselves before him, begging for another chance to serve. It might be amusing to play with them for a time.

His legs remembered the way, even if his memory was hazy. The Stonefire Inn. He passed under the wooden sign hanging from the building and stepped into the establishment. The interior was as one might expect of the living. A cozy seating area tucked into a corner, complete with a colorful carpet, a set of stone stairs straight ahead, and to the right, some manner of eating area, which was currently occupied by a group of three humans and a night elf.

A rosy cheeked dwarven barmaid came out of the kitchens, carrying a tray of drinks. She froze as his shadow fell upon her, her expression one of pure horror, and the glasses slid off the tray, shattering on the floor. He watched as the liquid made its way towards his boots at a crawl. Two other dwarves came rushing to clean up the spill, one of them the owner, likely named something Firebeard, for his bright orange mane the color of fire. One collected the shards of glass, while the other tried to soak up the spill with a rag. The liquid, however, had reached his boots, and, like the barmaid, had frozen, though in a manner more befitting of liquid.

With an angry sigh, the owner climbed to his feet and addressed him. “Can we help ye?” He wore a disapproving frown.

The inn had gone silent after the crash, and the people seated at the table had risen to their feet, the tabards of the Argent Dawn now on full display.

“Watch yourself, Death Knight.” The night elf regarded him warily.

A smug smile came to his lips. “Didn’t you hear the words of your Highlord? We are allies now.”

Two of the humans fought to restrain the provoked night elf, but the other took a hesitant step forward. “Sir…Morningdew?”

“Hm?” The man paled when he met his gaze.

“I-I served under your command, during a…a patrol, to Andorhal. It was my first assignment, and you made sure everyone came back alive… Oh, Light, it really is you.” The man looked as though he was about to be sick. “When Bren said you’d fallen, I couldn’t believe it. What’ve those monsters done?”

He scanned over the dismayed faces of the Argent Dawn soldiers. Yes. This was a good look for them.

“My Lord! You’ve arrived.” The boy from Light’s Hope scrambled down the stairs, taking them two at a time, followed by his dark haired female companion at a slower pace. At last, the ones he was here to see.

“I would have thought you’d be waiting for me.” He took in the state of the pair. They looked as though they had thrown their gear on only a moment ago, their hair was uncombed, and one of them was, in fact, missing a shoe.

“We were, my Lord,” said the female. “But you were supposed to arrive twelve hours ago.”

“You couldn’t have waited twelve hours?” He brushed past them and started up the stairs. Leave the dwarves to their scowls and the Argents to their sickness. Sure enough, once he was out of their sight, he heard the sound of retching from below.

The boy cast a concerned glance in that direction, but he and the female followed. “We waited as long as we could, but some of us have lives.”

He felt the boy’s panic as soon as those words left his mouth. Spicy panic, sweet sorrow, and from the female, the burning taste of anger. The stimulation made him shiver, and he fought to keep calm. This was no place to sate the Hunger.

The stairs led into a series of wide hallways lined with doors, and the female guided him to one specific door on the left. Inside was a long table which had been pushed against a wall to make more space, and a number of stacked chairs. Another female awaited him there, this one with short sandy hair and long robes, scarlet in color.

As soon as he cleared the doorway the priestess began murmuring a prayer, and Light erupted from the ground in a cage. Chains tangled around his arms, pulling them tightly apart. He observed the other two entering the room, the dark haired female closing the door behind them.

“What is the meaning of this?” These amusing humans thought to attack the Lord of Blood in such a place, despite the truce?

“It’s more of a precaution, really,” the boy said. “We just want to talk. And this is just a hunch, but…do you not remember us?”

He examined them again, but it was as though the black curtain hid their faces. “Should I?”

“So we’re starting from there.” He felt the boy’s sorrow again. “This is Tabiana Lynds,” he gestured to the dark haired female, “And Jenzelle Halveris.” Again, but to the sandy haired one. “And my name is Brendol Westwind.”

Westwind. Pain erupted through him. It was as though someone rang a bell too close to his head. Why should a mere name evoke so much agony? It echoed through his mind again and again, bringing a fresh wave of pain each time. He was grateful for the chains keeping him upright.

The three humans exchanged glances, and Brendol took a step closer. His sorrow had been replaced with concern. “…My Lord?”

He gritted his teeth together and planted his feet, straightening into his natural posture as well as he could. “I am called Mourn, also known as the Lord of Blood. Do you truly wish to serve me, or shall I consider this an attack instead?”

Brendol’s eyes widened. “No! Not an attack. Definitely not an attack. You are…or, you used to be, Lord Harvey Morningdew, and we were your retainers. Well, Tabiana and I were. We…we failed you, and now… You’re here again, and we’d like to offer our services.”

Mourn glared at them. “Why would I keep defective retainers? If you failed me once, you will do it again.”

Tabiana and Brendol visibly flinched at this.

“I-it wasn’t…just their faults.” Jenzelle took a timid step forward. “You sacrificed your life for us. We’re grateful, but also sad, and…I know they just want to stay with you.”

“A Lord should never fall before his retainers.” Mourn focused his attention on Brendol, in particular. The boy with the painful name. Why? Why did it hurt?

Brendol’s sorrow began to boil over into frustration. “I don’t care! I’m not leaving you.”

I’m not leaving you.

Someone else had said that to him. Somewhere distant. A shattered sky. A broken world. So far away it barely felt like a memory. He was ill. He couldn’t move. Yet she sat beside his bed day and night, even when she had other duties. Who? Who was she?

Westwind.

The agony returned, forcing him to his knees despite the chains. “What have you done to me?” he growled. The chains. It had to be them. “Dispel your cursed Light at once, before I slaughter the lot of you!”

Jenzelle sent Brendol and Tabiana a panicked look. “Should…”

“Do it.” Tabiana gave her a reassuring nod. “Let him go.”

The Light dispersed, and Mourn crawled to his feet. “If I see any of you again, I will kill you.” He stumbled past Tabiana, opened the door, and left the room, leaning against the wall for support until his legs decided to obey him. Their quiet voices drifted from the room.

“I’ll follow him.” Brendol’s voice. “We’ll need to keep track of him, in case he…does something dangerous.”

“Bren, that is not a job for…”

“I said I wouldn’t leave him, and I won’t.”

Tabiana sighed. “I will alert the Argent Crusade. Jenzelle, get in contact with Cobalt Company. Some of them have met him. Let them know what we’ve seen. That he is…unstable.”

Anything more was cut off by Mourn’s march down the stairs. He paid no mind to the dwarves or Argents, cleaning up the messes he’d caused, and he didn’t stop until Ironforge was long behind him and the frigid air of Dun Morogh caressed his face. Cobalt Company. It sounded…familiar. Perhaps they would be his next diversion.