Chapter 11

A Meeting at Menethil

A bell's clamor rattled Stefan's skull. His head jumped off the pillow, subsequently causing a relaxed muscle to strain, and the sharp pain in his shoulder brought him into full consciousness. With a moan he sat up, rubbing the bruised shoulder.

"What's wrong, Stefan?" said Iyana, laying next to him.

"The bell, that's what," he growled. "Bloody thing startled me. Now I've got this pain worth one thousand--"

"Don't blame your shot nerves, silly," interrupted Iyana. She earned a scowl from Stefan. "But it's safe to assume the time has come to wake up. Mae will be waiting for us."

"No doubt. Out you go!" he commanded, slapping her playfully on the rear. She responded by backhanding him across the chest, and he reflexively squirmed away, falling off the bed that had disappeared beneath him. He climbed to his feet in a tangle of sheets, cursing.

Iyana closed the door to the bathroom behind her. Meanwhile, Stefan pulled his favorite pair of pants on, stark white livery he had purchased from a fine tailor in Stormwind two years ago. After securing his leather harness, he tossed a jacket of the same fine tailor over his shoulders, sliding his arms expertly into the soft cloth. He reached his hand out, grasping at the air on a nearby hat rack. He had forgotten that he lost the old sun cap a long time ago, back when he was in Silithus. Every now and then it slipped his mind, and he thoughtlessly searched for it. And after each time he remembered the hat's tragic fate, he would forget to visit the tailor. Damn his memory.

"Mr. Dreis!"

The shout was muffled against the cabin door. Struggling to button the last of his jacket, Stefan wedged the door open.

"Aye?"

"It's Finny, sir. You'd better have a look at this."

Stefan wasn't sure if anything could be as important as he made it sound, but his voice was sincere. Humoring the Gnome, Stefan climbed the stairs, straightening his jacket and adjusting a slight fold in his harness. Maces swinging lightly on either side of his waist, he emerged on deck, breathing in a healthy portion of the fresh air. Somewhere in Menethil, bread was baking. He turned to look out at the port town, reckognizing the barracks and high walls that he had sought refuge in on many occasions. As a trail of smoke crept out of its chimney the local inn sat quietly by the docks, no doubt empty after a long night of liquor binging. Menethil Harbor was slowly coming to life.

Fineus was close by, leaning on the edge of the deck to look at something with great interest. Stefan took a position on his right, facing the Gnome.

"What is it, Finny?"

Without averting his gaze, Fineus pointed at a ship that was docked almost directly in front of them, a few lanes away. Stefan quizzically regarded the ship, sweeping his eyes along its sleek, fast-looking exterior. It was a ship meant for speed, no doubt. What interested Fineus so much was not clear to Stefan; until he saw the colors the cutter ship was wearing. The sails, though rolled up for docking, were unmistakably black and red-striped. Though the flag was not up, for obvious reasons, Stefan knew what had bothered Fineus so: Bloodsail Buccaneers.

"I see. I smell a moundful of trouble," said Stefan.

"You and me both. I'll get the others," said Fineus, turning to leave. Stefan grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Nay. The less of a crowd, the easier it'll be to slip past them. You, me, and Iyana will go in alone. We'll return with Mae, and hope the others don't get worried. Otherwise, we might be in for quite a fuss."

---

As the sun crept steadily over the tall walls of Menethil, cutting through the morning mist with ease, a trio of figures descended from the Tide Strider. Making only the slightest of creaks upon the worn planks of the dock boardwalk, they thought they were being quiet. But as they crossed a T-intersection of dock branches, they had no idea the group was already lying in wait, ever since the Tide Strider had pulled into port.

Only now did they appear, dressed in their red and black attire, cruel weapons holstered to their side and mean grimaces plastered on their faces. There were eight of them, including a particularly mean looking one, dressed differently than all the others with the jacket of a ship's officer wrapped around his shoulders. Still, there was no mistaking the colors of the Bloodsail Buccaneers. As the pirates moved to block the trio's path, they circumvented their prey, shutting them out from the rest of the world.

Surrounded on all sides, the three, a Human, Night Elf, and Gnome, drew their weapons. First Mate Eron looked to each of them in turn, first searching their faces for fear, then their weapons. The Gnome wielded a single dagger, twirling the light blade in his fingers with practiced ease. The Night Elf had twin daggers, their blades far longer than the Gnome's short slicer. It was the Human's weapons that interested him the most. A pair of maces, heads in the shape of horned, screaming demons. The strange, purple glow in the sun light only added to the mystery and brilliance of them.

He stepped forward from the gaggle of pirates, and while pulling the hat free from his head, bowed graciously. "Salutations. First Mate Eron of the Red Horizon."

The three remained silent, their eyes constantly scanning the pirates around them.

"Are you Stephen Dreis?" asked Eron, directed toward the Human.

"Stefan Dreis."

"Whatever. My captain has some business with one of your crew. One Dresco Hillok," said Eron.

The Human made a point to appear to be thinking, then shook his head. "Never heard of him."

Eron stomped his boot in anger. "Damn it, don't play games with me! Do you know who we are?"

"Aye. Buttrailer Buccaroos, or something, right?"

Eron's eyes narrowed. "Bloodsail Buccaneers, you lump of Ogre dung."

"Whatever," mocked Stefan.

Eron crossed his arms and sighed. "Mr. Dreis, I haven't come here to deal with you. I merely ask that you hand over someone who owes us a great deal. Do so, and you can be on your way in no time."

"I've told you, first mate, I don't know anyone by that name--"

"Stefan, it's alright."

The voice caused them all to turn, even the pirates that had their attention on the surrounded trio. Standing at the top of the plank that connected the ship to the dock, was Dresco. One hand rested on the side of the ship, the other on his sword. In a single moment, the tense peace shattered.

"Kill the b*****d!" shouted Eron, drawing a scimitar of his own. The pirates answered his command, shouting and jeering loudly.

"Balls," cursed Stefan.

A flurry of comotion ensued. Two pirates broke off and headed toward Dresco, while the other six charged toward Stefan and his companions, weapons drawn. Stefan broke through first, weaving his maces around in deadly arcs to keep his enemies a good distance. He headed straight for the first mate, directing a hail of blows at the pirate.

Meanwhile, the other five turned to meet Iyana and Fineus. Iyana ducked a succession of wild blows from a huge sword, jabbing and thrusting with her own weapons and sending the pirate back on the defensive. Another pirate attempted to flank her assault, but Fineus was there, his lone dagger intercepting a fatal sword blow and disarming the offending pirate. A return slice soon followed, and the Bloodsail was send reeling as he tried to stop a sudden surge of blood from the side of his neck. Iyana finished off her own opponent, feinting a twin strike and turning it into a wicked spin kick that caught the pirate across the jaw. Two seconds and a splash later only three pirates remained.

Stupidly, the pirates came at Dresco one at a time. He whipped his sword out, dodging a wild swing and knocking the pirate aside, his defense raised and ready for the second, more prepared attacker. He parried the attack, but just barely as the blade sliced a clean pocket in Dresco's baggy clothing. He planted a foot on the pirate's own, then slammed his fist into his opponents face. The pirate fell back, tumbling down the plank and landing at the base of the dock. The first Bloodsail was back on his feet, and jumped on Dresco's back, his hands wrapping around his throat in a strong grip. Dresco fell backwards, attempting to knock the wind out of his assailant. He rolled over and over, tumbling around the deck like a man on fire. Seconds later he was awarded with a loud thunk as the pirate's head connected with a bulkhead, knocking him out. From the corner of his eye, he saw the second pirate ascending the plank. Dresco darted his head around, searching for the Bloodsail's fallen weapon. He closed his hand around the shortsword's hilt, and launched it at the pirate. The shot went wide, but the pirate's overcompensation send him tumbling off the plank and into the water below.

Stefan dueled with Eron, trading blow after blow with the first mate. The Bloodsail was an excellent swordsman, moreso than Stefan. But Stefan was by far the better fighter. He ducked a quick slice of the pirate's blade, cracking one of his maces across his knee. Eron stumbled, but fought through the pain and continued his attack. Another cut was deflected off of Stefan's mace, which feinted a blow while the other came around and knocked him in the ribs. He lurched to the side, keeping Stefan away with wild swings of his sword. But as he recovered, the man was on top of him, weaving the heavy maces about, distracting Eron from the foot that felt like it punched a hole in his stomach. He toppled over, the blade falling free of his grip. He held his hands palms up to Stefan.

"I surrender," sighed Eron. Stefan loomed over him, leering at the pirate.

"Damn right you do."

---

Dresco watched as Iyana and Fineus dealt with the remaining pirates, two of which fled back to the ship while the third made a faster escape into the ocean below. Then he trundled down the plank, standing next to Stefan as he subdued Eron. Stefan stepped back, slinging the maces back onto his hip. Dresco knew the man was leaving the pirate all to him.

"Ahoy, Dresco, ol' chap," said Eron with an awkward smile.

"I'm not a chap of yours, Eron. Not a chap of any of your kind," replied Dresco, crossing his arms.

"Once yeh' were! You know what they say, once a pirate--"

"Always a pirate? Bullox."

Dresco planted a boot on Eron's chest, causing the Bloodsail to sputter in surprise.

"I was never one of your kind. You forced me into it. For that, I can never forgive you, or the Bloodsails for that matter," said Dresco.

"That's where you're wrong," forced Eron, gasping for breath. "When you slit the old man's throat, I knew you had it in you. You still do. You're a cold blooded killer, a true Bloodsail."

"I'll see you in hell."

Dresco brought his foot up, relieving the pressure from the pirate's chest. Eron took a deep, relaxing breath before the same booted foot came down on his forehead, shattering his skull and killing him instantly. As Dresco stepped away from the pirate's corpse, he took one final look at his enemy, once his ally, and ultimately what he had become. Then he put it all behind him. He was free.

He turned back to Stefan and the others, smiling. He was about to thank the man when he saw what was coming right towards them. His eyes widened.

---

He was fast. Very fast. In his first life, his legs had granted him an agility insurpassable by few, save his own people, perhaps. But now, in his second life, empowered by the benevolent Lich King, he was but a blur. In five seconds he had darted from his hiding place in the hull of the ship, and had reached the deck. All the while, the Lich King's sudden command was echoing through his head.

It is time! Put an end to Stefan Dreis!

His head darted right. Out on a dock, four figures stood alone in a pile of dead bodies. Only one of them caught his attention. A Human with brown hair, his back turned toward the ship. Spurring his legs into motion once again, he raced down the plank, straight towards the oblivious man. He raised his four arms, their poisonous tips prepared to hook into the man's flesh, injecting their deadly cargo into his blood stream, and claim another life in the name of the Lich King.

But suddenly his prey was out of sight, thrust aside by an unseen force. Then there was another man with a sword in his right hand. Immediately he was put on the defensive, batting aside a flurry of blows from his new opponent. He could not risk expending the poison on someone else, because there was only enough to kill a single target. So he tried his best to weave around his assailant, but the Human would not give any opening. And then his situation got worse as his attacker leapt onto him, wrestling him onto the floor. He thrashed his many legs about, attempting to get a proper footing. But he couldn't.

Then the moment came. It appeared in flashes, a sword, cutting down in a deadly stroke. A spray of black blood, an insectoid head rolling along a wooden boardwalk. He knew it to be his. The time had come.

You have failed me, Nechro'tisoh...But not entirely. Take the enemy with you into the cold clutches of death. You shall have pleased me enough.

He obeyed. His arms shot out, gouging the chest of his assailant. For a brief moment, the man paused in his offensive, and Nechro'tisoh thought he might survive. But then the fiery rage in his attacker's eyes flared, and he knew the end the Lich King had showed him would indeed come true. He ejected the poison into his enemy, a moment before the Human's blade came down in a wide swipe, and his vision was suddenly jarred and tossed about. Then, Nechro'tisoh died.

---

It had happened in a flash. One moment, Stefan was awaiting Dresco's words that had seemed to be dancing on the tip of his tongue, and suddenly the man had thrown him aside. Stefan had landed sideways on the docks, turning to see what had happened. He saw Dresco taking on a strange creature, one with six legs and four arms.

The next moment, the two were on the floor, wrestling to overpower their opponent. Then Dresco had raised his sword, paused for the briefest of moments, and decapitated the monster in a broad swipe of his blade. The thing's head tumbled on the boardwalk for a second before laying still. Its beady, dead eyes stared back at Stefan. Then Dresco had slumped over, and Iyana and Fineus ran over to help him. Stefan took another lingering gaze at the head before joining them at Dresco's side. The man had four deep wounds in his chest, and the blood that flowed from the gaping holes was a sickly black.

Dresco voiced Stefan's worst fear. "Poison..."

"Shh...Don't speak, Dresco. We'll get you a doctor...Priest...whatever you need," said Iyana, gently comforting him.

The man laughed, his choked chuckles turning into a torrent of coughs and black spittle. "Nay...it is too late. The Nerubian toxins will have done their damage."

"Nerubian?" asked Stefan, astonishedly. Dresco nodded weakly.

"Aye. Stefan...I think it was trying...to kill...you."

A large stone lodged in Stefan's throat. Dresco had ascended to martyrdom.

"Dresco...I..."

"You don't have to...thank me...I know."

Iyana wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"Just...let me...close my eyes."

When Dresco's tired lids finally did close, they never opened again.