Chapter 8

Chasing Shadows

They had arrived at Gadgetzan. Rok'Roham had expected as much. The infamous trading town was as good as any place to start. From there, he was sure Stefan would find something, but perhaps he won't. It did no matter to the Eredar, because his plans had matured too far for Stefan to spoil anything significant. At this point, he was just a bothersome nuisance.

Hide yourself from prying eyes, and follow, spoke Rok'Roham's psyche. The mental resonance of the Shadowfiend's awareness answered him.

The picture was moving once again. Rok'Roham watched as the Fiend passed by a Goblin without as much as a glance in the direction of a passing breeze. Through the semi-packed grounds, he watched as Stefan and his small gaggle of allies entered the inn. Typical enough.

But when the Fiend moved closer, Rok'Roham noticed a figure through the briefly-open doorway, one that he recognized.

Well...this is truly a surprise, he thought. The Fiend recognized the anger and worry his master was feeling, and suggested it act now.

No, my pet...Not yet...wait...

---

"Cheers, mates!"

The trio clattered their brimming mugs together, spilling some beer onto the table. They threw their heads back, closely followed by the beer mugs. In large gulps then each downed their drink, and slammed the empty mug onto the table.

"More, barkeep!" roared one of them, a heavyset bear of a man. Another man of similar shape and build furthered his notion.

"Make it two rounds!" replied the third, sitting between the two ogre-like Humans. He was a Human as well, but not as burly. In fact, the man appeared to have little muscle at all. He was dressed in fine attire, quite unlike the bearskin-touting thugs sitting on either side of him. As the man took the fresh liquor and payed the tavern girl a healthy sum and a vulgar smack on her rear, he looked to the doorway where a ragtag group had just entered.

There were four of them, a Human, Orc, Dwarf, and Troll. They wore no common insignia or tabard, which only made them appear even more out of place. Now thoroughly drunk, the man felt it was time he had some real fun. And with the pair of hired thugs at his side, he felt quite safe indeed.

"Hey, you lot!" he slurred loudly, pointing at them. The Human thumbed himself in reply. "Yeah, you! C'mere, an' lemme' buy you a drink!"

After they joined him at the table, he called over one of the tavern girls.

"A round of your lightest brew, for my friends here. I think we'll start 'em off easy!" he said, admiring her generous cleavage.

"That's mighty kind of you, sir," thanked the new Human.

"Ah, 'tis nothin'! The moment I saw you lot walk through them doors, I knew you'd be in for a bit of trouble if I didn't save 'yeh! It's a tough crowd here in Gadgetzan!" roared the man, swaying drunkenly.

"Aye, I nearly shat my britches passing through the gates," replied the Human. The drunk found it a bit too funny.

"I like you, lad! What's your name?" he asked after forcing the giggles down.

"Stefan Dreis."

The drunk had lost his urge to laugh, let alone smile. He sobered up in an instant.

"Percilus Brent, if I'm not mistaken," said Stefan. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Damn!"

The man slid away in his chair, lifting the table up and at the four of them. The mugs fell to the floor in a shower of glass and beer, catching the attention of the entire room. The two brutes stood up, fists balled. One took a swing at Koramosh. The Orc ducked it, and drove his own green fist into the thug's nose. He turned back bleeding down the middle of his face, but still in the fight. The other thug was not as eager, eyeing Gordreck's large battle axe cautiously. Guro'jintal took the distraction to leap on the man's back, and attempt to choke him. But the brute lifted the Troll off of him, and threw him into another table. Then, hell broke loose.

The next moment, the entire bar had joined the fray. Chairs went flying, and mugs were shattered over heads. Guro'jintal was toss about by the angry patrons he had unwillingly ruined the drinks of, disappearing into a heap of people at the other end of the room, where another fight had broken out. The bartender began to shout, but not at the random fights; Gordreck had finally brandished his axe, and was making firewood of the floorboards as he slowly pressed the advantage against the giant thug. Meanwhile, Koramosh and the other thug were trading blow after blow. There was a cut over the Orc's left eye, but he was in pristine condition compared to the brute, who had lost a hand from hitting Koramosh's thick skull the wrong way. The arm with the broken wrist hung uselessly at his side as the man tried ducking another of the Orc's swings, but was not fast enough and took a clip to the ear.

Percilus tried to run while the hired thugs dealt with his attackers. But he had forgotten about Stefan, who leapt over the fight and tackled him to the floor. Stefan reached over to grab his hair, but Percilus put an elbow into his forehead. Taken completely by surprise, Stefan fell away and the man scrambled to his feet. He ducked into the kitchen, Stefan not far behind, cursing and swearing violently.

"When I'm finished with you, your family jewels will be a pair of indistinct coals in the fireplace!" he shouted. His quarry's reply was a scream of fright.

Percilus ducked behind a cutting board. He pulled free a butcher knife and chucked it at Stefan, who ducked. The large blade sunk into the wall behind him uselessly, and Stefan looked from it to Percilus with wide-eyed astonishment.

"Holy hell, man! That was a bloody--" he stopped short as the man threw another knife, this one much thinner. The throw was much worse, disappearing out the doorway and into the massive brawl of the tavern.

Percilus had readied a third blade, but as he prepared to launch it, he was thrown back as a heavy object smacked him on the bridge of his nose, momentarily blinding him with pain. He threw his hands up to grip the wound, tackled to the floor a moment later. Stefan pulled a mace around Percilus throat, and pulled the man up from the floor.

"Gotcha," he said to the sobbing, broken man.

---

By the time the bruisers had settled things down, there had been several casualties. Two men had cut each other across the throats with broken bottles, and a third had been thrown out of the inn before he could launch his molotov cocktail, which shattered after breaking his fall, enveloping him in a sea of flames. Percilus's two thugs, unanimously voted as the idiots who started the fight, both lay dead at the center of the bar. One had suffered a powerful uppercut to the nose by Koramosh, shattering the bone and sending it into the man's brain, killing him instantly. Gordreck had been winding his axe up, intent on splitting the other clean in two, when the thug suddenly fell, a knife buried in the man's back. No one had seen where it had come from. Guro'jintal had calmly pushed his way out of the mosh pit, clocking an unruly Forsaken across the face who had tried to gut him with a cruel-looking dagger.

Now the bar was empty, save for Stefan and his three mates. Percilus sat in the middle of them, glancing fearfully from one set of angry eyes to the next. The bartender payed them no mind, perhaps a result of a little talk Stefan had had with him earlier, after the fight had been settled.

"Wh-what do you want with me? I've done nothing to--"

"Shut your mouth and listen," interrupted Stefan. Percilus looked offended. "I haven't come to kill you, Percilus. You've done me no wrong, as far as I know."

Stefan leaned in closer, leering at the man.

"I hope that by telling me the truth, you'll prove me right."

Percilus sighed weakly. There was resolve in his eyes. "Alright, I give up. So I spill my guts."

"That's a good start," said Stefan, not letting up on his stern interrogation. "Why did you run when you knew who I was?"

"Because if he knew I was talking to you, he'd have me killed," said Percilus.

"Who? Rok'Roham?"

"Yes, or the Prophet, as some call him! Can you believe it? They think he's a bloomin'--"

"Focus, Percilus, focus! Do you know where Rok'Roham is now?" asked Stefan. Percilus shrugged.

"Hell if I know where he is now, but I've got a good idea of where he's going."

"Where, Percilus? Where is he going?"

The man opened his mouth to speak, but was suddenly shrieking as a hole was punched through his chest. Stefan and the others whipped about to see where the shot had come from. They didn't see a man with a smoking gun. What they saw was beyond plausible reason.

It was a shadow, just sitting in the doorway. It had no visible shape, but appeared to be an apparition of some kind. A wicked pair of yellow eyes leered back at them.

"Shadowfiend," said Gordreck. The monster hissed in reply. Normal weapons could not harm such a beast. As the creature began to conjure another bolt of shadow magic, it seemed that they could do little to stop it. But then, Stefan ran at the thing, maces at the ready. When he swung at the beast, his allies were greeted with an unexpected reply: a psychic howl of pain.

Stefan battered the thing with one blow after another. Each time his maces struck, they began to glow brighter and brighter, illuminated by a dazzling white light. Slowly, Stefan was pushing the monster back, out of the inn and into the open desert air. The creature was screaming in pain all the while, and portions of its essence began to fall away and dissipate.

"Bugger off, Rok'Roham."

He winded up and smacked the Fiend across what would have been its face. It tumbled in the air, then vanished in a shower of dark, inky mist. For a moment he remained, scanning the air for any sign of the beast's return. Satisfied, he returned to the others, breathing heavily. Percilus was bleeding freely from the wound in his chest, but he was still alive. His breaths were short and weak.

"Ste...Stefan...I'm so sorry. I...I..."

"Sshh. It's alright Percilus," said Stefan, gripping the man's shoulders reassuringly. "Where is Rok'Roham going?"

Percilus gulped dryly. "Outland."

Then, under their sorrowful gaze, Percilus Brent drew his final breath. Stefan looked away, then turned back and drew a hand over the man's eyes, closing their lids peacefully shut.

---

Rok'Roham watched with controlled rage as the picture before him sputtered, and then died out completely. The last thing he saw through the Shadowfiend's eyes was Stefan's magic-infused mace coming down for another blow. No doubt he had taken them to an expert smith after the encounter with the Doom Guard. He had not underestimated Stefan, but he had underplayed him dearly.

Rok'Roham continued to stare off blankly into the empty space before him. He had no idea if the Shadowfiend had succeeded in silencing Percilus. Steps would have to be taken.

"Yorgrim," he said. From the corridor outside, a hooded figure joined Rok'Roham.

"Yes, my Prophet?"

"Gather our brethren. Our time for ascension has come earlier than I had expected. We must leave at once."