Grave Tidings

[Allison]

"Urgent delivery! Make way! Coming through!"

Allison glanced over her shoulder, looking for the cause of the ruckus. It was a young boy, of no more than ten, pushing his way through the crowd of concerned citizens that had been gathering in front of the Cathedral since noon. Peculiar, she thought, but then, what wasn't peculiar about this past week? She turned back to the note she had been reading: a hastily scrawled missive tacked to the community bulletin board, warning of end times and death. She sighed heavily. The earthquakes continued to unsettle the populace; the cultist propaganda and agitated crowd were symptoms of the same disease.

Scowling, she ripped the note off the sign post.

"Miss Amberwood!"

Allison froze, her hand still clutching the offending paper. Sheepishly she turned around, expecting some denunciation for tearing down a public note in her flash of anger.

But it was only the boy standing in front of her, not a self-righteous busybody. He was bent over at the waist, panting. She gave him a few moments to catch his breath before responding.

"Yes?"

"Miss Amberwood, I have a message for you. Urgent!" He pulled an envelope from the stack he was carrying and waved it in front of her face frantically. No sooner had she grabbed it than he took off, heading towards the Dwarven district.

"Thank you!" she called out after him.

Peculiar.

The envelope was addressed in a familiar handwriting, but she couldn't quite place it. It wasn't sealed. Inside was a brief letter:

Allison-

I'm writing this with hopes it reaches you in great haste. Lydel has gone missing. She never returned home after her shift at the Blue Recluse ended last night. I fear the worst.

If you know of her whereabouts please, please tell her to send word. We are all beside ourselves with worry.

-Matilda


Lydel. Missing. Allison suddenly felt nauseated. Lydel had been a close friend when they were children. The passage of time saw them grow apart, but it was not so long ago that the two were inseparable. She could still recall the silly rhymes Lydel was fond of. One, two, buckle my shoe. When had she last seen her? Six months ago? Last year?

She hurried out of the square, weaving through the ever-growing crowd, headed toward the stables behind the Cathedral. She wasn't sure of what use she could be, but Allsion knew she could at least offer some measure of comfort to Lydel's family.

[Allison]

Lydel's family lived in a three-story town home bordering the Park in Stormwind. It was a quiet neighborhood, replete with all the trappings of landed-gentry life, without the hassles associated with maintaining a sprawling countryside estate. There was a heavy guard presence, and Allison had never before felt unsafe on her visits. Given what she knew of Lydell's disappearance--which was very little--her perception of the area was altered. Every shadow seamed sinister, every noise trumpeted ill-intent. Hedgerows and flowerbeds were no longer charming additions to the landscape, rather, they were irresponsible frivolities providing cover for all manner of unscrupulous individuals lurking amongst the foliage.

Allison tied her horse to a nearby lamp post. A perceptive creature, he seemed to sense his mistress's unease. She took a few minutes to calm the agitated stallion before crossing the lane to Lydell's house.

The door was open. She knocked on it anyway as she stepped gingerly over the threshold. The house had a heavy air, as if the very life had been sucked out of it. It reminded her of a sickroom, only there was no dying patient in need of comfort and prayer. Or anyone else, for all she could see.

"Hello? Is anyone in?" she called out into the seemingly abandoned house. A muffled cry was heard in response.

Allison's unease hardened into dread. The sound appeared to have come from one of the upstairs rooms. She silently cursed her lack of forethought in her rush. Weapons and robes had been left at home; the flimsy linen dress she wore would offer little protection. Fearing the worst, she ascended the stairs cautiously.

Just as she reached the landing, Allison heard another muffled cry. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as a chill ran down her spine. She glanced around, but could see nothing save from four closed doors: the master bedroom and guest room on the left, Lydel's bedroom and washroom on the right. She paused to listen, hoping for some audible clue to guide her.

It took only a few seconds for the muffled cry to repeat itself. It was coming form Lydel's bedroom, she was almost certain. Allison took three steps toward the door before prudence intervened. She was without wand or staff, and in her civilian dress. Wouldn't it be safer to leave, alert the authorities? But what if the person inside was critically injured? Or what if Lydel's kidnapper was still in there, holding Lydel hostage? Or her family? What if she was being harmed right this second, maimed or raped or tortured? While I just stand here like an idiot! Move!

Allison whispered a prayer for fortitude, and another for courage. She felt the holy light course around her, bolstering her spirits. Silently, she crossed the last couple feet to the door. She placed her hand on the doorknob and waited.

An anguished wail erupted from the other side of the door, and Allison hesitated no longer. She threw the door open, readying a spell to defend herself against whatever foe awaited inside the room.

"Irribellium encanta--" Allison cut her incantation short, blinking. There was no kidnapper, nor any other miscreant.

Only Lydel's mother, Matilda, sitting on her daughter's bed, sobbing into her hands.

[Allison]

Allison poured a glass of wine for the shaken woman. They had migrated downstairs to the kitchen, after a quick detour to close the front door. She handed it off and then poured a second for herself, feeling more than a bit foolish for letting her nerves get the best of her.

"Thank you," Matilda muttered, not lifting her eyes from the hole they were burning in the butcher-block table. The woman's eyes were red and swollen; her hand took the goblet with a slight tremor.

Allison smiled, but it was hollow. "It's nothing. The very least I could do." She reached her hand across the table, covering Matilda's with her own.

"Jackson went to the guards. I guess he left the door open. I didn't even think..." The woman's voice cracked and then trailed off. Allison responded by squeezing her hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. A memory bubbled up to the surface: Lydel and her sitting at this very table, playing with papercraft dolls. Matilda had baked chocolate cookies for the two girls as a treat. By the light, the woman looked as though she had aged three decades in the ten years since. And much of that in the past twenty-four hours, I bet.

Matilda took a sip before beginning again. "Jackson reported her missing this morning. There's nothing. No note. None of her things are missing, save what she was wearing when we last--we last--" The woman's voice hitched in her throat. A moment later, she resumed sobbing, an awful, raking sound that filled Allison's heart with grief.

Allison stood and walked around the table. She put her arms around Matilda's heaving shoulders and waited for the tears to abate.

"I'm sorry. I'm not normally like this. It's just--Allison, I miss my girl. I keep imagining the worst. That she's lying in the bottom of a canal. We don't--we don't have any leads. None of her friends know where--where she is. And I just keep replaying the last few days, over and over, seeing if there was something we missed."

Matilda took a breath that rattled deep in her chest. "The guards--Jackson went to look for her himself. The guards were little help. They said there's been a rash of disappearances. They insinuated she ran off with some boy. But I know my baby, and I know she would never just up and leave us!"

The woman seized Allison's arm. "You have to help, Allison. You have to find my daughter."

[Allison]

Lionel Cromwell, a captain of the Civil Authority division of the Stormwind Guard, sat at his uncharacteristically cluttered desk, massaging his temples and trying--quite unsuccessfully--to relax the vice grip threatening to crush his head. Now I know, he thought ruefully, how the anvil in the middle of Ironforge feels.

There was a knock on the door. Lionel winced. "Come in," he said reluctantly.

James, a newish recruit of twenty-three (who, like the rest of the guard, appeared to have aged ten years in the past week) poked his head in. "Captain, Ambassador Amberwood is here to see you."

"Send her in," he sighed. Lionel had met the Ambassador twice before: once, at an official state dinner when they were seated at the same table, and the second time at a dinner party hosted by his in-laws, ostensibly to celebrate the successful completion of the Northrend campaign. Both times he found her pleasant enough company. Unfortunately, this was not a social visit. He recalled her letter, one of more than a dozen he had received since lunch. "I am formally requesting an audience with you to discuss a matter of great urgency. Please respond by courier at your earliest possible convenience." It was only due to her official position that he had agreed to this meeting, and even then it was with great reluctance. Just what I need today. More 'urgent matters'.

He stood to great her.

"Captain Cromwell, thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice." She curtsied.

"It's nothing," he lied, bowing. "Please, Ambassador, have a seat. And please, excuse the mess." Lionel hurriedly gathered up most of the offending papers--missing persons reports, mostly--and sat down. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I have a confession. I'm not here in an official capacity."

His smile faded. "What do you want then?"

"I need a personal favor. A dear friend has gone missing, and I-"

"Look, Miss Amberwood-"

"Allison."

"Allison, if you need to report someone missing, you have to--"

"She's already been reported misisng."

"How long ago?"

"This morning. She's didn't return home last ni--"

"Just this morning? Look, Allison, you're a nice girl, and I'm sure you're worried about your friend, but we're up to our eyeballs in missing persons cases, and I don't have the time to--"

"Lionel, I'm here to offer help."

"What? You want to play detective?"

"I don't want to 'play' anything. I know the guards are overworked, and I'd like to help. On this case. Her name is Lydel--"

"Miss Amberwood, with all due respect, she probably ran off with her boyfriend. And if not? Then it could be dangerous and I don't have guards to spare to protect you. This isn't going to be a tea party in Darnassus."

Allison stood up and leaned over the desk, her normally soft voice now steely.

"Captain Cromwell, do not patronize me. I was there, in the Citadel, when Arthas fell. I've seen abominations and horrors you couldn't even imagine. But nothing, nothing, will haunt me more than the look on Lydel's mother's face as she begged me for help. I am more than capable of protecting myself, as my station shows. Let me help you. Please."

Lionel leaned back in his chair and looked her over. Perhaps he had underestimated the Ambassador. He sighed heavily.

"What I'm about to tell you is for your ears only, understood?"

"Discretion is half an Ambassador's job."

"Good. We heavily suspect one or more of the cults that have sprung up since the earthquake started are behind the rash of disappearances--whether by persuasion or force, we just don't know. We don't want to act hastily-- arrests at this stage will just drive the cults underground. We've sent several people to infiltrate the largest cult, gathering in Ellwyn Forest."

He stood and locked his eyes on hers. "If you're dead set on pursuing this, go to Old Town and convince them you're a sincere believer in their end-of-the-world bullshit. But watch yourself. Military experience or no, it's easy to get in over your head."

[Allison]

Old town. Allison didn't often venture to this section of Stormwind, and certainly not after dark. With wary eyes she made her way through its maze of cobblestone streets, mindful of her surroundings as the fading daylight pushed shadows long into the streets. Memories of the Northrend campaign and the atrocities she had seen there pushed their way into every dusky shape. She shook her head to clear it.

She could hear her destination long before she could see it--the sizeable crowd chanting and cheering in perfect response to the clarion call of the cultist's rhetoric. Allison followed her ears, and a few twists and turns later she joined the crowd, slipping next to an elderly woman and, presumably, her granddaughter.

A young man of perhaps twenty-five stood atop a makeshift stage in his purple and brown regalia. His voice was clear and deep, confident and soothing. He was working the crowd with practiced ease. They followed the pacing of his voice, swaying like charmed vipers with every intonation, leaning forward as he dropped to a whisper, rearing back and screaming in unison as his voice crescendoed.

"Hear me, citizens of Stormwind! We have long been in the dark. I beg you to open your eyes as I have. The end of our world nears, my brothers and sisters! Azeroth will be no more! Flames will consume the world. Storms will wash away all hope. The elements will reign at last! Do not despair! Turn away from the false Light, and instead embrace the hope and truth I offer you! Cast off your lives of war and drudgery, be reborn in elements and claim your rightful place in this new world!"

The crowd went wild, clamoring in response. "I don't want to die!" "I want to be reborn! Tell us what we must do!" "Yes, tell us!"

"Calm down, friends," the cultist continued, quelling the crowd with his smooth, assured voice. "There will be plenty of time to answer all your questions. If you are interested in our message, I will be holding a gathering. Speak with me if you wish to know more, but beware, for Stormwind is full of people who would silence the truth."

An especially stout dwarf passed out leaflets to the group. Allison nodded in thanks. She read the text as she waited for the crowd to thin.


Finding Security and Comfort in a Doomed World
We live in tumultuous times.
War, invasion, and famine have swept the world, but the real trial is yet to come: the end of Azeroth itself.
How will you cope with the loss and destruction of everything you hold dear?
The answer is that you don't have to. Bring your friends and family to one of our gatherings and learn how you can survive the apocalypse together, with us.

Persuasive, she thought, if you were frightened enough. And judging from the still-considerable numbers left in the crowd, they were. She maneuvered her way to the front, stepping around old and young, well-heeled and downtrodden.

"Excuse me, sir," Allison said with a look that she fervently hoped displayed the right mix of emotions for one about to throw their lives away in a doomsday cult. "Please, please, tell me more."

[Allison]

"Welcome to the orchard," the night elf said, smiling warmly in a way Allison found incongruous with a doomsday cult. You catch more flies with honey, she reminded herself. Still, it was unsettling. "There's much to do around here. Would you mind taking these apples to the laborers on the other side of the hill? I'm sure they're hungry by now."

"Yes, of course. And I'm glad to be here," Allison replied, taking the proffered basket filled with freshly-picked fruit. She affected a polite bow, feeling awkward in her newly acquired attire. The robes clung tightly to her chest, exposing her midriff and hanging loosely off her hips. She felt uncovered. Holding the basket in front of her, she made her way through the camp, keeping her eyes open for any sign of Lydel.

She stopped at the top of the hill, resting the basket against her hip.The property below hummed with activity; members of the various allied races fluttered about, busy with their tasks, smiling and laughing. It was all a bit surreal. These people think they are bringing about the end of the world. And they are joyous. She shuddered in revulsion.

On the other side of the hill, a large group of men worked on completing what appeared to be a cross between a stage and a portal of some kind. The banner of the cult, the Twilight's Hammer as they called themselves, had been placed behind it; its purple fabric rustled in the mid-morning breeze. The cacophony of construction ceased as the laborers spotted the basket of apples.

"Lunch!" a burly dwarf exuberantly called out.

"Not lunch, just a snack."

"Kind of ya t'bring it lass," he replied, grabbing an apple in each fist. The others followed suit, swarming the basket.

Allison was smiling politely, waiting for the men to finish jostling for the fruit, when something caught her eye--a flash of red. She whipped her head around just in time to see bright locks of red hair disappearing behind the hill. Lydel? Could it be?

"Excuse me. I should--I have to be getting back."

"What's the rush, sugar," one of the laborers drawled.

"Yeah, what's the hurry," another chimed in. "We haven't relieved you of all your fruit yet." The group laughed merrily.

"Sit down and stay awhile," a green-haired gnome said as he started to lead her to the half-finished stage. "Azeroth is going to end in fiery doom. Might as well enjoy a nice day like today while we still can."