Good Intentions

[Jim Raynor]

Thank you? Thank you?! What was he doing? What kind of childish fool was he becoming? Manners were not essential to changing his path. Doing good deeds was hard enough. Did he have to make himself physically sick by spurting out useless pleasantries as well?

Illidan made his way through the dreary town, untrusting eyes noting his every step. Was this how it was going to be? Even though he was on their side, fighting for their cause, he would still only be an outsider? Would he ever be able to prove himself, or would his appearance always precede the night elf beneath?

A soldier approached him. His eyes hovered on him, but Illidan sensed no hostility in them. "You must be Illidan."

"Indeed," the night elf replied.

"Dobson Skender," the soldier said. His wide round eyes, thin face, and sparse stubble all spoke to the man's young age. "I'm the commander here."

Illidan arched an eyebrow but stilled his tongue. "I see."

"News travels fast," Dobson said, looking towards the town gates. "I got the message that you saw Boone."

Illidan nodded. "I need information about this Dracula. His fortifications, armies, commanders-"

Dobson put his hands up. "Whoa, let me stop you right there. We don't know all that much about Dracula."

Illidan frowned. "You don't? Then how do you intend to stop him?" What a ludicrous situation this town was in.

"We don't have the resources to stop Dracula," Skender said. "We're just doing our best to survive."

"Well it seems I arrived with impeccable timing," the night elf said. "I intend to kill Dracula and end this curse on this lands once and for all."

Dobson raised his eyebrows. "Wow, that's ... quite a lofty goal."

"I'm not interested in your estimations of my ambitions," Illidan said dryly. "Do you have any information at all? Anything that will help me?"

"Well," Dobson said, finger and thumb on his chin, "there was another village a few miles down the road. Some of the undead seemed to have taken up residence there. I have a feeling they're launching attacks from that place. If you go there, you might find some answers."

"Which way?"

Dobson pointed. "But you should wait until morning. There will still be undead on the road, but there will be less of them."

Illidan shook his head, his thin hair waving. "I don't care."

The night elf walked off, through the gates and into the chilled, foggy wastes.

How long would this night last? It seemed like days had passed since he arrived in the haunted plains, but then his perception of time was warped and distorted by his ten thousand year imprisonment. In the dark, alone in a cell, there was no way to count time as it ticked over, nor much need to.

You weren't alone, Illidan. You had me.

He looked to the sky. The moon shyly flashed its face before a cloud ran over to conceal it again. It had lowered since he last checked, closer to the horizon, but if morning was approaching, it made no subtle sign. The path Illidan followed was likely built by trampling feet over a long period of time, but the grass reached out and over it, attempting to bury it like so many dead bodies that had fallen in this forsaken land. The path led into a small forest, the trees forming an honour guard on either side, their branches entwined to form a roof over his head.

It occurred to Illidan that he hadn't encountered a single undead since leaving Darkshire. He sent his magic gaze over the trunks of the trees. Thin ribbons of yellow light twirled from one, but on closer inspection, he saw nothing. Illidan fingered the bucklers on his belt as he continued down the path.

Two dots of red caught his attention. Illidan snapped his neck in its direction, and there they were, smouldering.

There were undead here, but they weren't mindless. They were watching him.

Illidan snatched his bucklers and the warglaives' blades sprung out. "All right! Enough of this chicanery! Show yourselves!"

At his voice, the lights blinked out.

"Come out!" Illidan yelled. "I've no patience for this foolish stalking! Face me!"

Rustling came from behind. Illidan spun, blades flashing. A man stumbled out of them, a dark cowl over his head.

"Shhh! Are you trying to get us all killed?" he whispered.

"What is the meaning of-"

"Shhhh!" the mystery man shushed again. "Are you investigating the village up ahead?"

"Yes," Illidan said. Normally he wouldn't give away such information, but this man's head would detach quite easily if he didn't end up trusting him.

He motioned for Illidan to follow. "Then come with me."

Crouching, they passed through the trees, winding their way through, away from the path. Soon the moonlight bounced off a distant spear, and Illidan noticed a camouflaged tent resting against a palisade.

"That's our camp," the man said in hushed tones. "The village is on the other side of that wall."

"What are you doing here?" Illidan asked.

"Staking the place out. We've noticed larger and larger squads of undead are leaving from this place. We were sent here by Dobson to find out what's going on." They skulked closer to the camp. Three other men sat on thick logs, staring at the failing embers of a dead fire. "All we've learned so far is that the place is crawling with undead, but they're not just walking around aimlessly. It's like they're all working for a purpose. They're being directed."

Such a sentiment put Illidan in mind of the Lich King. Without him, the Scourge were animalistic and purposeless. With him, they were a destructive force unlike any Azeroth had ever seen. Even the Burning Legion never conquered like Arthas had when his soul was first claimed by Frostmourne. At least he was dead now, slain by Illidan's own hand.

You didn't kill him. I keep telling you. You are more insane than I thought.

They reached the camp. The cowled man sat upon a log and sighed. "I don't know what we're going to do about them."

One of the guards, a thick blonde beard over his face, thrust a thumb at Illidan. "Who's this, Falstan?"

"Illidan," the night elf offered. "Here to sort out whatever mess is in this town."

Beardy looked him up and down, his heavy brow covering most of his eyes. "Oh yeah? All by yourself?"

"Come on now Barland," Falstan said. "Any help is welcome here, isn't it?"

Barland chewed a few times, locked eyes with Illidan, and spat a brown liquid into the grass. "If you say so, captain."

"Don't mind him," Falstan said. "He's got trust issues."

Illidan humphed. "Don't we all."

"This here's Eyra," Falstan said, lifting a hand towards a lanky brunette, clanging a whetstone against a dagger. "She's our archer and scout." The last of the group ripped a hunk out of a chicken leg. "And this is Joni. No one handles a warhammer better than him."

It was all white noise to Illidan. "Why did you bring me here? What if the undead saw us? They could be leading a force to take us right now."

"Oh, that," Falstan said. "I'm sure they know we're here by now."

Illidan's eyes flared. "What? Then what are you doing here?"

Falstan pointed back to the corridor of trees that joined to the village's gate. "When we first came here, we ran into an undead patrol. They studied us, sizing us up, I don't know, and then just ran. We haven't found any more of them harassing us since."

"Then why did you tell me to be quiet back in the trees?" Illidan said.

"Because it's not just these village undead out that far," Falstan said. "A normal one'll just charge at anything it hears. If you set them off, well, it's never a fun time."

Illidan didn't like their explanations at all. If the undead were spying on them, why didn't they do something? What could they learn from these four? Whatever was happening in the town, there had to be a sentient mind at the root of it all.

A necromancer, no doubt.

Illidan sized up the soldiers. Apart from their apparent listlessness, they seemed a suitable team to assist him. If the town was indeed full to the brim of those monstrosities, it would behove him to have allies. But with a squad of four, how was Illidan going to take the town?

"What do you know so far?" the night elf asked.

"Not much," Falstan said. "We know they're preparing something, no doubt for Darkshire, but we can't find out what. They have guards at the north and south gates to the town, and the wall is too high for us to scale."

"Then why stay here?"

Falstan sighed. "Because we can't go back to Darkshire empty handed. Dobson knows there's something of importance happening here, and so do we. But what's the point of going back with no new information? The army is stretched as it is. We can't mount a siege of the town. No, we have to find out something before we go back."

Illidan's eyes scaled the wall. He was right. It was too high to climb and they had no ladders or rope. If only he had the Skull of Gul'dan, his wings would be more than powerful enough to propel them onto the wall.

Wait! He was no ordinary mortal! He was Illidan, the greatest night elf to ever live! What was a wall to him?

Illidan crouched down and an amazing power welled in his legs. Perhaps he wasn't as weak as he first thought.

Pushing up, Illidan launched into the air, surprising even himself, and landed atop the wall.

"A Prime?" Barland said, jaw slack.

"Well?" Falstan said, apparently unfazed by the night elf's leaping height. "What do you see?"