Chapter Text
For some fitting background music, check out: "https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ztYPn3QvV8"
Illuminated by the light of several oil lamps hanging on poles around them, Orthorin was crouching over the (currently) motionless body parts of a Bone Chewer, carefully sprinkling the ghoul’s remains with the softly glowing liquid from the vial in his hand while ignoring the rotten stench rising from the decaying flesh that still covered the bones in places. At the edge of the illuminated area, Elarynn – his patrol partner for today – was standing watch, a lantern at her feet as her gaze was wandering over the soft hills and eerily gnarled trees of Raven Hill Cemetery. The glass container was empty before the monk was done with the corpse and, with a touch of dissatisfaction, he grabbed another vial from the small crate nearby.
They were burning through the supply of Holy Water quicker than he would have liked. They would need to get some replenishment and the stuff was rather expensive, especially when measured against the Spinecrafters’ limited budget. It wasn’t too urgent yet, though, and in an emergency they could also rely on the company’s Light-wielders alone. For a short while at least. Even if he placed either Gert, Syran, Thelri, Grimoth or Luthir in each squad on cemetery duty, that would cause trouble in the long run. On top of it, Grim and Luthir weren’t as fast as the paladins. It had already been a positive surprise that the void elf priest could do it at all. Thelri and Gert had both deemed it extraordinary. (However, Saewron had secretly revealed to Orthorin that using the powers of the Light in such a concentrated form was rather painful for the silver haired elf, despite him putting on a brave face, so the monk was even more reluctant to appoint him to that task.) But even the other three couldn’t sanctify a corpse as quickly when working manually as the treatment with the Holy Water did.
Making Holy Water themselves was sadly out of the question, as preparing the stuff wasn’t as easy as one would think. Every anointed cleric could produce holy water, but creating Holy Water was another matter entirely that required the correct setup and ingredients on top of a skilled hand. He would definitely need to think of a solution to that problem soon, especially now that it had become very likely that the Spinecrafters would continue their work in Duskwood for months, maybe even years, since – thanks to the mightiest champions of Azeroth – reality wasn’t going to get reforged: the Jailer had fallen.
As wonderful as this development was, it also meant that the everyday worries everyone was dealing with had once more gained in importance. Even though the Knights of the Ebon Blade had slowly started withdrawing from the Shadowlands and were resuming their duty as supervisors of the mindless undead of Azeroth, this mainly meant that Northrend – as the center of Scourge activity – no longer needed the attention of all the combat forces of the Alliance and the Horde combined. Small centers of undead activity – like the Plaguelands or Duskwood – would still require special surveillance by other forces than the Ebon Blade.
Maybe the Spinecrafters would be able to recruit some newly laid off priests and paladins or at least make a deal with some of them to help out at the cemetery? But that solution would have its own set of drawbacks. He sighed inwardly. It was a problem for another day, currently there were more urgent things he needed to focus on.
Orthorin rose, plugging the vial of Holy Water and then set about burying the ghoul’s remains with the help of a spade in the current necromancy-safe mass grave that already contained the corpses of all the undead the company had sanctified during the past week to keep them from rising ever again.
Elarynn joined in on the grim task, her spade soon finding a matching rhythm to his. Her even, unmarked face looked serious and she remained quiet, which – as Orthorin well knew not only from the experience during their time here – had little to do with their current activity. She was clearly deep in thought about something else, though the void elf didn’t doubt she would have nonetheless noticed any sort of danger approaching them.
“I still hope Tyrande will present us Sylvanas’ head on a pike”, Elarynn eventually said after – fittingly – having dumped the zombie’s scull into the pit in front of them. “They can’t possibly just have let her walk free, right? That would cause an unmendable rift between the night elves and the Alliance.”
“I can’t imagine something like that happening either”, Orthorin agreed, though they had been over this matter already a few times in the past weeks, not commenting anything on the first part of her statement. He didn’t particularly like how the topic of Sylvanas always brought forth this bloodthirstiness in the white haired mage, overruling her usual intellect. It was something where he hadn’t managed to reason with his girlfriend so far.
“It’s just…”, Elarynn continued, “after what Luthir told us yesterday evening, I’m worried Sylvanas might have succeeded in bringing Anduin to speak up for her. Despite everything that happened, he has a kind heart and I don’t doubt that bitch has no qualms abusing it.”
The direct line of his twin’s boyfriend to Magister Umbric had once again come in handy and had allowed them to gain some information that was usually limited to the ears of the faction leaders, not because it was some top secret information, but because it wasn’t considered important enough to get relayed to the public. After King Wrynn had been freed from the Jailer’s domination, he had informed the other heads of the Alliance that before Zovaal had simply taken control of him, Sylvanas – seeing her beloved deceased brother in him – had tried to convince him to join the Jailer willingly by telling him her own motivation in detail, thereby also accidentally revealing how she had been unwittingly manipulated by the ruler of the Maw.
“Even if she has won his sympathy, I doubt King Wrynn will let his heart overrule his sense for the political role he fills”, Orthorin argued.
For a brief moment, an amused smile made Elarynn’s mysterious black eyes light up.
“What’s so funny about that?”, he wondered, briefly pausing his work, amplifying the woman’s mirth.
“Nothing”, she said in a manner that was anything but convincing.
Nonetheless, Orthorin didn’t pry further, accepting that this was obviously a point the night elf didn’t want to elaborate, forcing her into the lie.
“Anyway, in a few hours we will know more, so I’d rather wait until later on to discuss this further”, he said, continuing to cover the remains of the Bone Chewer with some earth.
“Of course, you’re right… Captain”, she added, noticing the bobbing lantern carried by Benthras and Rohan who were approaching them with another dismembered undead on a stretcher between them.
As they had just finished covering their latest kill with a thin layer of soil, Elarynn and Orthorin handed over their spades as well as the vial of Holy Water, exchanged a few words with their fellow temporary cemetery keepers and then set out on their patrol again, always attempting to spot rising undead as soon as possible. It wasn’t an easy task in the darkness of Duskwood’s ever persisting night and not a job for people who got scared easily. Apart from possible ghouls and skeletons suddenly moving between the large tree trunks, countless tombstones that stood awry and overgrown by vines from age and neglect or the few crumbling buildings around the place, there were also huge spiders frequenting the cemetery. Contrary to the undead, those were usually smart enough not to attack them, but the soft noises and movement their passing caused in the surrounding darkness was nonetheless something making ones pulse spike in unsettled anticipation far too often.
Like large parts of Northrend or the Plaguelands, Raven Hill Cemetery (and most of Duskwood) was a place so soaked with Death magic that often times the mortal remains that had been buried here over the past millennia developed a life (or rather unlife) of their own even without the interference of a necromancer. For the unholy spellcasters these grounds were especially attractive as they allowed them to summon their minions more easily and in bigger numbers. All in all enough reasons to keep a close eye on the whole area even at this point in time when things in the Shadowlands – the realm of Death – had finally started stabilizing, its bearing on Azeroth reclining now that the hole in the sky above Northrend had been sealed. Just this week, the Night Watch had agreed to prolong their contract with the Spinecrafters despite the earlier news of the Jailer’s defeat. Duskwood’s militia was glad to be able to focus the efforts of their own forces on Darkshire and its close environs, increasing the safety of the town to allow it to slowly return to the prospering state it had once been in.
Orthorin and Elarynn hadn’t come far on their route yet, when they were approached again.
Myreath and Naethir, the latter carrying his sword that was engraved with frost runes on his back as he was teamed up with the sturdy demon hunter, were escorting an obviously still alive figure between them.
The closer they came, the better the words the male human was uttering became audible. When the two men entered the radius of the lantern in Elarynn’s hand, it became clear that the shadows on the human’s face were actually the typical markings of a member of the Cult of the Damned. He was struggling – with little success – against the hold of his two captors.
“I’m warning you one last time: let me go or you’ll bring doom upon yourselves! Stop! I’m beggi-”
He abruptly fell silent as a blue rune lit up beneath the trio’s feat, closely following Myreath’s gesturing in the air in front of them.
“Bothersome bugger won’t stop yapping… that will keep him silent for a spell”, the Illidari growled and then addressed Orthorin: “We caught him at the western entrance to the Dawning Wood Catacombs, Captain. He’s clearly a necromancer who was trying to raise some minions. I’d have made short shrift of him, but Naeth insisted on bringing him to you first.”
“Good call, Private Naethir”, Orthorin said, “Since the man is still alive, it’s only fair to take him to court. He might even reveal important information while being questioned.”
The Illidari uttered a skeptical noise. “I doubt that. He looks like just some small fish, Captain. Barely put up a fight when we spotted him, but I guess-”
“Curse you living pests!” Obviously the effect of the Sigil of Silence had run out. “You won’t get anything out of me!”, the necromancer sputtered, “This is a mistake! I’m not surprised a stupid half-demon doesn’t understand that… but you!”, he tilted his head toward the death knight, “I’m working on turning this world into a kingdom for you and your kin. How can you betray me like this?!”
“My kin aren’t the undead. This world belongs to the living, not the likes of me”, Naethir stated, his reverberating voice tense.
The necromancer gave a laugh. “You’re one of the deluded ones, aren’t you? Thinking you can simply coexist with them, freely move among the living? Fool. They’ll never accept you. They’ll never truly understand you! The-”
“Enough!”, Orthorin interrupted the man sharply, meeting the undead void elf’s gaze in a what he hoped to be reassuring manner since Naethir had started looking clearly uncomfortable after the necromancer’s last words, before he spoke to the human again. “You were lucky my brother showed you mercy, but I might still change my mind if you turn out not to be worth the trouble. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll have you gagged. Your choice. We’ll take you with us to Stormwind later on and hand you over to the city guards there.”
He paused, daring the cultist to raise his voice again, but surprisingly the human only glowered at him but actually remained silent.
Orthorin addressed the other two Spinecrafters: “Bring him to the village. The worgen researchers left some nice cages. Those will be a suitable accommodation for our uninvited guest until we leave.”
–.o.O.o.–
Orthorin took in the group assembled before him. All worgen and night elves combined made up more than one and a half squads of the Spinecrafters’ full company. To one side, Elarynn, Benthras (with his wolf Narbeleth at his heels), Gal’dir and Myreath stood close to each other, while Rohan, Lauren and Jonathon formed another group keeping closer to the fourth worgen around.
The monk briefly met Valentian’s gaze, who was freeing the cultist from the cage at the back of the village square. Orthorin didn’t fail to notice the gag in the necromancer’s mouth. Obviously the man hadn’t kept his silence for long and the lieutenant, who had been watching him while supervising the Spinecrafters who weren’t on cemetery duty, had clearly run out of patience listening to the necromancer’s empty threats.
Valentian gave a curt nod and Orthorin in turn gave Elarynn a sign that she could start opening a portal to the Alliance capital.
“All right, time to set out”, he commented, “Everyone’s ready.”
Naethir, who had been lingering close by, stepped up to the monk.
“Stay safe”, he said in farewell, as always during the past months favoring these words over a casual See you later or a Have fun.
“I will”, Orthorin replied patiently.
“I’ll of course see to it that the same remains true for Saewron around here”, the death knight added.
“I’ve no doubt about that.” The monk didn’t understand why his older brother had felt the need to especially point this out. They both knew it was a matter of cause for the undead void elf. Maybe he had done so because the rogue, who was Orthorin’s twin, and his partner Luthir had only returned to the Spinecrafters the past evening after their regular off duty days, which they usually spent hunting for herbs across Azeroth in Saewron’s case or researching matters of the Void in Telogrus Rift in the priest’s case.
Their presence today had also been one of the reasons why Orthorin had decided to accompany Elarynn to the night elf gathering that was about to take place: his absence didn’t carry as much weight as it might have another day. Since the worgen gathering would take place at the same time, he had initially been very reluctant to leave the Spinecrafters not only without their lieutenant but without their captain, too, but the monk’s officers had eventually convinced him, together with his very own thirst for more detailed information about the outcome of Sylvanas’ trial. Getting invited by Elarynn was his only means to receive such, as not all races – only those most affected by the Banshee Queen’s deeds – had called special meetings before everybody else would merely be told the outcome in form of a publicly released statement by the faction leaders, who had been the only ones – apart from the Maw Walker – allowed to attend the trial in Oribos earlier this morning.
While the shimmering hole in front of Elarynn was starting to take shape, Orthorin moved over to Lendi, who was the senior officer of those Spinecrafters remaining in Duskwood.
“Now then, Sergeant, command is officially yours until our return. I hope there won’t be any unpleasant incidents while we’re all gone.”
“Thank you, Captain”, the gnome piped and then gave him a cheerful wink adding in a low voice, “Try not to worry too much. The past weeks were calm. The Corporals Agia, Josie and me will certainly manage to run the show here smoothly. Let yourself enjoy your trip to Kalimdor at least a little!”
She is making fun of you! The whispers hissed in his ear. You can not let such insubordination pass.
Despite knowing his officer’s words weren’t meant like that, Orthorin felt a hint of heat rise into his cheeks. Clearly he had failed to conceal his remaining reluctance to leave the heavily shortened Spinecrafters to their duty.
“I’ll do my best”, he answered with a wry smile, before he and the rest of today’s excursionists (with the captured necromancer in tow) stepped through Elarynn’s portal.
Once in Stormwind, exiting the Wizard’s Sanctum where all arriving portals were directed to in order to prevent accidents, they – Orthorin, Elarynn, Benthras, Gal’dir and Myreath – split off from the group of worgen whose gathering would take place here in Stormwind, and set out toward the location of the Mount Hyjal portal. Along the way, they dropped off the cultist at the Stockades before continuing on their way to the Eastern Earthshrine at the opposite end of the city.
Usually the portals there were no longer continuously maintained as they – reportedly – had been during the time of the Cataclysm, but one mage was always on duty in case a traveler needed a magical shortcut to Vashj’ir, Deepholm, Uldum, the Twilight Highlands, Tol Barad or – in their case – Mount Hyjal. The woman rose and stepped over to the archway of entwined vines and branches to open the special portal even before their group fully reached the Earthshrine, able to tell their destination beforehand.
Orthorin noticed Elarynn’s curious – and slightly envious – attention on the woman as she finished her casting. Obviously the white haired mage wasn’t happy about the distribution of the limited licenses handed out to create portals to Nordrassil.
After another stomach churning transition through space that delivered them once across half the known world and onto the continent on the opposite side of the Maelstrom, Orthorin raised his head to stare at the gigantic tree under which they now stood. They weren’t just standing under its branches, but virtually beneath it. Like a spider that had for some reason pushed its body off the ground and was balancing on its long legs, Nordrassil was… crouching above them, sitting over the crater atop what Orthorin knew from maps was Mount Hyjal. Throughout the crater, the World Tree’s roots pierced down into the ground beside the normal trees that also grew here.
Behind them, directly beside one of Nordrassil’s massive roots, stood a large wooden lodge in the same elaborate kaldorei design their inn in Lor’danel had been built in. Surprisingly, it appeared to be the only building around. Given this place had become many kaldorei’s replacement home after the Burning of Teldrassil, Orthorin had anticipated to find himself in more of a village and – craning his neck – neither did it appear as if there was a whole city mounted on the World Tree’s branches. A part of him immediately wondered where all those people had been accommodated, as there weren’t many tents to be seen either. But maybe more houses were located further down the mountain slope that simply weren’t visible from their current position.
The monk took a deep breath of the fresh air that carried hints of sweet flowers, earth and resin – the latter reminding him of Elarynn’s own scent – and was especially pleasant after Stormwind’s city air that had been dominated by chimney smoke and the stink of the canals. Despite his efforts to keep himself from openly gawking at their surroundings like a child, he apparently didn’t quite manage to hide his amazement.
“You’ve never been here before, have you, Orthorin?”, Myreath asked, as usual – and in contrast to most of the other Spinecrafters – not being timid about addressing him without his honorific as soon as they were off duty.
“No”, the monk admitted plainly, “Apart from my apprenticeship in Pandaria, I only started traveling more after joining the military and then it was to Kul Tiras, Zandalar, Nazjatar and Uldum during the Fourth War… and afterwards me and most of the current Spinecrafters were briefly stationed in Lakeshire and Moonbrook before being sent to the Shadowlands.”
For a moment, the monk wondered if Saewron had been to Mount Hyjal before. Ever since the two of them (along with the other void elves) had been exiled from Quel’Thalas, the rogue had been traveling all across Azeroth, enhancing his alchemy skills by widening the range of ingredients he was using. Orthorin had to admit to himself that the by seconds younger twin probably knew Azeroth better from experience than the monk, although Orthorin was sure he had been the one paying closer attention to their geography classes.
“I sometimes forget how young you are”, Elarynn teased him softly.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “You aren’t that much older than me!”
Still more than double his own age, a fact that probably would have earned them some weird looks around humans, but for elves they were virtually of the same age.
“True”, the mage agreed with a wink, “but I’ve come around a lot during those years and wasn’t mostly sticking to the same small place.”
He didn’t raise to the bait this time. On the one hand, it was a simple fact that the kingdom of Quel’Thalas was very small in comparison to the dimension the kaldorei empire had once had before the Sundering or even afterwards up until the Third War and, on the other hand, verbally defending the blood elven territory in their current situation might cause trouble with people overhearing their discussion.
While they were strolling toward the large clearing beside the lake in the center of the depression that had so far been hidden behind the lodge, Orthorin didn’t miss out on the fact that his own presence – and not just that of the demon hunters accompanying them – was drawing some stares. He was quite glad about the clearly visible tentacles that peeked out of his blue hair, identifying him as an Alliance ren’dorei. However, at one point, Elarynn demonstratively linked her arm with his and met the clearly disapproving look of a compatriot in a challenging way, which caused the other elf to avert her eyes eventually.
Despite the fact that – according to the mage – everyone was allowed to bring their acquaintances to the gathering, the vast majority of the thousands of people present were night elves, which was especially curious given the fact that the kaldorei had kept close connections to the worgen since the Cataclysm. It was unusual that King Greymane had called a separate meeting for his people.
“I hope you don’t already regret coming here”, Elarynn said quietly, giving him an uneasy sidelong glance.
Orthorin smiled at her reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I never expected to be welcomed warmly. I’m glad as long as I’m allowed to stay, not only for the meeting itself but because I wanted to visit this place anyway. You mentioned once that you were born here, didn’t you?”
She nodded, her soft curls of white hair bobbing with the motion.
“I was wondering about that a few times…”, the monk felt a twinge of hesitation, unable to tell exactly how the night elf would take the question.
You definitely should not ask her that. You virtually intend asking her why she is making such a fuss about the loss of one tree if there is still the other. She will get offended.
Ignoring the interference of the voices of the Void, he asked anyway: “Doesn’t that mean you were living here in Nordrassil for longer than you did in Teldrassil?”
A soft frown marred Elarynn’s forehead and she didn’t answer immediately.
It was the scaly Illidari who replied first after a soft chuckle. “Nordrassil was never a home to us like Teldrassil became to manyafter the Third War”, he pointed out gently, “I was surprised to learn about that development myself after the Wardens finally realized the Legion was too much to handle for them without Illidari. Before that, I believed night elven cities were a thing of the past. Me and my family never knew a single place or a city we would have called home… it was Kalimdor as a whole, if you would have asked us back then. We were continuously moving from one place to the next across the continent, never staying anywhere long enough to leave a lasting impact on nature.”
It was Orthorin’s turn to frown. The demon hunter had correctly understood what he was getting at, but apparently the history lessons the monk remembered had given him an inaccurate picture of the kaldorei’s life after the Sundering. He knew that – after theprohibition of the practice of arcane magic –they had abandoned theiralready destroyed cities and turned to a lifestyle in harmony with nature, becoming careful caretakers of their lands.
“Neither were we”, Gal’dir chipped in. “My late sister still remembered life back in Elun’dris – as Zin-Azshari was called before the cult around Queen Azshara drove many nuts – but I myself was also born after the Sundering. The home I grew up in was my family’s company. Whether we were spending our nights in our tents or in some settlement and where exactly that was never mattered. Places like Nordrassil or Nighthaven were administrative centers for gatherings or to go to in times of especial vulnerability like during the weeks before and after the birth of a child.”
Elarynn nodded. “That’s what I meant when I said I was born here.”
“I see. That’s a cultural difference between night elves and Thalassian elves I haven’t given much thought to so far”, the monk admitted, still struggling a bit with the concept of growing up while always being on the move like that. However, it perfectly explained why Elarynn had never appeared to be bothered by the simple and roaming nature of their travels in the Shadowlands.
Now that he was thinking about it, it was rather obvious. Apart from Darnassus, no new night elven cities had been built since the War of the Ancients and the kaldorei settlements he knew about – like Lor’danel – were but small villages, not built to continuously house an entire people even if split between them. Orthorin simply couldn’t imagine his own childhood without well-organized places like Fairbreeze Village or Silvermoon. Living with the Wildhammer dwarves in Aerie Peak for a while had already been a huge adventure. Deep down, he had missed an orderly home during recent years and was glad Raven Hill was now slowly starting to feel like one again.
“I’d still expected Nordrassil to be more like what I heard aboutTeldrassil”, he lifted his head again, glancing at the tree above them, “though it’s somewhat difficult to imagine a whole city – a whole region – existing on top of it, even as big as it is. Now I regret even more to have never got the chance to visit Darnassus.”
A twinge of sadness flickered across Elarynn’s face and Orthorin briefly regretted having raised the topic, but thenfortunately a pleasant smile curved her full lips. The monk welcomed her closeness at his side as they all moved together a bit while weaving their way through the crowd that grew denser the closer they drew to the lake shore from the people already awaiting the kaldorei leadership there. A wooden stage was set up at the lakeside, though so far it remained empty.
“Nobody lived atop of Nordrassil, not even before the Third War”, Elarynn explained willingly, “Teldrassil’s growth was guided by the druids beneath Fandral Staghelm. That’s why it grew bigger in such a short time than Nordrassil has ever been.”
Orthorin nodded, having already heard about that before. The new World Tree in the Veiled Sea had been especially designed to house all night elves on top of it. After the Third War and the loss of their immortality due to the course of events involving Nordrassil and Archimonde with his demon army, many of the ancient kaldorei had grown worried about the future, of growing sick and frail in lands repeatedly invaded by enemies. Unlike Nordrassil, which was surrounded by territory that had often been contested since the Third War, Teldrassil had been located deep in the night elven lands, offering security… or so everyone had assumed, until Sylvanas had proven otherwise.
“I guess a part of me just keeps wondering where all those people live now, if there is no city here.” The monk gestured at the crowd surrounding them.
“B-b-burrows, c-cap-… err… t-there are m-many b-burrows inside the m-m-mountain”, Benthras said with some effort, his stuttering worse than in recent times. Obviously he was stressed out by the amount of people present, but he had insisted on attending the gathering nonetheless.
“Burrows?”, the void elf repeated curiously, not having considered that option before.
“The-they’re co-cozy!”, the olive haired hunter pointed out, one hand buried deep in his maned wolf’s long fur and with a hint of vindication in his tone, “U-usually. N-now they are ce-certainly t-too crowded.”
Orthorin opened his mouth for another inquiry, but his question was turned into a foremost startled rather than pained “Ouch!”, as Elarynn nonchalantly tugged on one of his ears.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, mister haughty elf”, she chided him, her black eyes sparkling in roguish amusement, “But they aren’t like animal burrows. Kaldorei dens are more like the rooms and corridors of a regular house built into the ground instead of on top of it.”
Careful, your blood elven upbringing is shining through, the whispers immediately taunted him. You need to be more careful if you do not want her to realize she is just deluding herself.
The monk blushed, realizing that he actually had been thinking along those lines in spite of himself. Although his parents certainly hadn’t ever mentioned anything like that, night elves were considered primitive and uncivilized by many blood elves.
“Sorry”, he muttered, feeling rightfully abashed, but the rest of his apology as well as his awareness of theircompanions’ reactions – apart from a barked laugh by Myreath – was lost in the mage’s affectionate kiss.
Their talk was cut off after that, as some excited shouts rose around them. The dense crowd that had by now not only filled up the clearing but was even extending in-between the surrounding trees was pressing in as everyone moved forward a bit to get closer to the shore of the lake. Quite a few heads with leaf adorned hair and elongated ears were poking out of the trees’ foliage and some children had beenhoisted up on their parents’ shoulders to give them a better view. Everyone seemed to hold their breath in anticipation, leaving a silence Orthorin hadn’t expected from an unsupervised gathering of so many people. A small boat with an arched neck had appeared on the lake, gracefully sliding toward the stage and carrying four people: a rower was sitting behind the dignified forms of Tyrande Whisperwind, Malfurion Stormrage and Shandris Feathermoon.
Immediately their previous banter was forgotten and Orthorin felt his eager tension return, the trial of Sylvanas Windrunner from this morning fully back on his mind ashe was once again wondering about its outcome. Some of the Spinecrafters – including Elarynn – had complained about the decision of the officials to hold the trial in the Shadowlands and closed to the public, only allowing the faction leaders to attend. The monk fully understood that decision, though. Although Sylvanashad wreaked havoc on Azeroth for years, her collaboration with the Jailer had caused the denizens of the Shadowlands just as much suffering and the victims of all the deaths she had caused on their world now resided there.
Orthorin had also welcomed the trial not being public for several reasons. Although the Arbiter’s Attendants in the Eternal City would have certainly agreed to make an exception for the event, the portals in the capitals leading to the Shadowlands had been closed to the common people following the defeat of the Jailer – at least in one direction. Luthir’s warlock friend Thinnadis and her draenei shaman partner Remah were currently still in Zereth Mortis as far as the monk knew, and the same held true for Pilinor, the purple haired hunter Saewron had come to know recently. They would naturally be allowed to return to Azeroth and no one had explicitly asked them to leave the Shadowlands yet, but none of the common citizens or even adventurers from the mortal plains would be allowed to visit the realm of Death any longer. Since the hole in the sky above Northrend had been closed, it had apparently already become harder to maintain those bridges between the worlds, but the main reason was a different one:
Having the afterlife easily accessible to everybody simply wasn’t good for the people’s mental health. Orthorin had noticed that firsthand. Someone like Elarynn, whose parents had been dead foryears already, had begun struggling again with speaking about them in the past tense. Surprisingly – and to the monks big relief – that had been something Saewron hadn’t had any trouble with. Maybe he had taken Orthorin’s reminder back in Keeper’s Respite to heart, or it was because they had only met with their mother but had remained unable to reach their father, too. It weren’t just the others, though. Even Orthorin had sometimes needed to remind himself that the recovery of the souls from the Maw, especially those of Jeyden and Sura, hadn’t actually brought those people back. It had only given them the chance to find some peace in the afterlife. Now that their souls were out of reach again and a clean cut had been made, this had become easier. Nonetheless, Orthorin had a feeling that their deaths hadn’t fullydawnedon neither him nor Elarynn yet, but he was certain that time would fix that. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it was how things were supposed to be.
The confirmed knowledge that the Shadowlands existed and the circulating stories about Maldraxxus, Bastion, Revendreth and Ardenweald were already something that worried the monk now and then. It would change – if it hadn’t already – people’s attitude towards death and sometimes he actually dreaded possible aftereffects this whole episode could cause. The rise of some new death cults was probably the least of the things to worry about. People arguing that killing somebody wasn’t as bad since they only sent them on to the next realm of their existence was something worse the monk could imagine. No, to keep the borders between Azeroth and the Shadowlands closed was definitely important, yet alone to allow the people who had lost someone as well as those who had died to move on with their respective (after)lives. That shouldn’t – couldn’t – be allowed to change or it would cause new trouble for both worlds, like anima droughts or even wars started by people wanting to meddle in the other realm’s affairs.
At the same time, Orthorin felt as if his thoughts were somewhat hypocritical, given one of his brothers was a death knight. Naethir – or rather Inean – was a soul that, strictly speaking, belonged to the Shadowlands, but who had been bound to Azeroth by necromancy. Considering the Scourge’s existence on Azeroth, which had been caused by the meddling of the Jailer in the affairs of the living, the presence of the Knights of the Ebon Blade as keepers of the undead had its eligibility, but the ultimate goal of their job should actually be the utter reversion of that event, which also meant the death knights’ souls would eventually need to cross over to the Shadowlands. A part of Orthorinstrove against that notion, as he didn’t want to lose his older brother, but it was the final result if he followed his train of thought to its logical conclusion.
Maintaining the status quo (at least in regard to the Forsaken and the death knights) was another option, but this also held some dangers. Orthorin didn’t doubt that sooner or later people would get used to the presence of the undead, which in turn could lead to risingdemands to bring back the deceased in this form, which could start a trend. That would eventually turn Azeroth into a second Shadowlands, because unlike the living, the undead would never die and eventually outnumber the former. To prevent such a development, other forces – be they cosmic or just regular guardians of Azeroth like for example the dragons – would intervene, once again causing a war.
“Oh, by Elune’s grace, I just hope they made the right decision or this might start another war.”
Elarynn’s words and the tightening grip of her hand on his arm brought Orthorin back to the present and back to his initial train of thought. It was the second reason why he was glad the trial hadn’t been public. One thing was absolutely clear to him: whatever the outcome of it, there would have been riots on site, which in turn could have had all the worse consequences the more different parties were present. Maybe that was also the reason why Tyrande and Greymane had decided to keep even the kaldorei and the worgen separate for today’s announcement.