Chapter 4

Written in Blood

In its haste, the creature had lost its robes. In the glow of the Felwood moon, long, spindly legs whipped to and fro. A long body, similar to the centaur but with a pair of extra legs and more of an insect than a horse, flitted in and out of the tree cover. A passerby would have thought they'd seen a ghost. Perhaps they had. The spider-like legs seemed too rickety and wasted to support a creature of such mass, and the tattered skin that covered the belly appeared dead. The creature's face appeared solemn and unmoving, though its black, beady eyes were in constant motion. Its head darted about, searching the land around it for signs of danger.

In the sense of the word, the thing was a ghost. It had died decades before. But its service hadn't stopped when its heart had.

Your work is complete, my servant. It is time you returned.

It obeyed, continuing its tireless, speedy ascent up the path of Felwood toward the Furbolg stronghold. But as it neared the final turn, something caught its attention. It darted its head right as a pair of figures swerved into view for a moment. But as it made sense of the pixel-like image in its head, the creature realized there was no threat. They hadn't noticed him. He continued on, directing his attention to the road ahead.

---

"Did you hear something?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason," mumbled Stefan, turning to look at the deserted path behind them. He returned his attention to Iyana, who came out from behind the tree, a handful of herbs in her hands.

"All done," she announced, stuffing the plants into a small pouch at her waist.

"Shall we check on our Gnomish friend? I'm sure he could use some company," suggested Stefan, turning back onto the path.

"Why not? It's almost dawn, and I've got too much energy from that bear to sleep," answered Iyana.

The walk was relaxing. As they descended the dirt rise, Stefan and Iyana passed a large pond. Strange plants littered the area, their only company a tribe of Furbolgs. One of them had come close to the road, sniffing the ground for a scent. As they passed, Stefan cautiously raised a hand in greeting, and was glad to see the creature return the gesture in a similar fashion. Conflict with the primitive creatures was not uncommon, but often the Horde and Alliance's fault. As the Furbolg disappeared from view around the bend, the pair directed their attention to a small glade, where a group of agravated elementals stalked about eternally. Their large, sinewy arms dragging across the floor, the beasts were both terrifying and pitiful sights. How such a deadly creature could appear so dismal was beyond Stefan. Iyana couldn't find an explanation either. They concurred that it was simply how nature worked.

As they rounded a bend, the Gnomish scholar's cabin-shop appeared out of the gloom. Stefan noticed a candle burning inside, and wasn't surprised if Vineus still had his nose wedged in a libram. The old Gnome had said he would be working all night, and he had believed him.

"If you walked in, and he still has his eyes glued to a book, what would you say?" asked Iyana as they trecked up the cobbled path to the cabin.

"Not sure," answered Stefan. "Probably something like..."

He pulled the door open, running through a plethora of witty remarks in his head.

---

"Uther's left buttocks!"

It looked as if a cyclone had walked through the cabin. Books and scrolls lay in heaps everywhere, tipped over from their resting places and strewn about on the floor. Vineus's desk was bare, save for a few scrolls and books that had survived the storm. Stefan and Iyana spread out, weapons at the ready.

"Vineus! Can you hear me?"

"Mr. Bobblegrind, where are you?"

Stefan peered around a rickety shelf. To his relief nothing stared back at him in the gloom. He looked around, scanning the books as he searched for hidden enemies. There was a loud creak, and he leapt back in surprise, lashing out involuntarily at the shelf. He had merely stepped on a loose floorboard, and as a result had added on to the mess with a broken shelf. He cursed himself, stepping in tiny pockets of the mess to work his way around the room.

"Stefan! I found him."

He followed Iyana's voice, tripping over a dilapidated furnace along the way. Rubbing his smarting knee, he traced her voice to the only source of light in the room, a waning candle that had fallen behind Vineus's desk. When Stefan reached Iyana, he found that the old Gnome had also fallen there as well. As his heart sank into his chest, Stefan knelt down to look upon the fallen scholar, pulling the lids over his blank eyes. He looked at the damage inflicted on his face and chest, and the vicious wound that had opened up Vineus' throat. He winced at the blood that covered the floor.

"Who the hell would do something like this?" asked Stefan, the saliva in his mouth turning sour.

"I don't know," answered Iyana, looking around. "So cruel."

Stefan noticed the Gnome's clutched fist. There was something in it. He leaned in, pulling against the corpse's tense muscle and pulling away the object he held in his death grip. It was a page, torn from a book. Amongst the pile, it would be impossible to tell from which one. Nevertheless, he held it up to the candle. From what he could see, it was a page on the Nerubian history. He looked back to the dead Gnome, biting his lip.

"What are you trying to tell me, Vineus?"

He looked at the Gnome's other hand. That's when he saw it.

"Iyana! His finger, it's covered in ink!" he said, pulling the scholar's cold hand toward the light to ascertain his finding. "Maybe...maybe he wrote something."

"I know," answered Iyana, somewhere in the darkness.

"What do you mean you know?" He stood up and searched for her, bringing the candle with him. He found close by, staring at the floor. He followed her gaze. There was ink everywhere, strewn about in a pattern of sorts. He held the candle closer.

PALEDUST

It was a name. He recognized it, vaguely. But the next word unsettled him, just be its very letters. He grew very chilled, and he didn't know why.

KHA'TZEEN'AZYR