Chapter 13

Bleak Portents

Stefan's eyes forced themselves open as the scent of freshly brewed coffee invaded one nostril and exited out the other. He lifted his head off the pillow, throttling his head of air with a hand. Blinking the sleep away as best he could, he groggily turned to the sleeping form of Iyana next to him, and gently nudged her.

"Morning, Iyana. Rise and shine. We've got work to do," he mumbled. He started to ease himself off the bed, but Iyana lazily tossed a hand up and over, pulling at his shoulder.

"Not yet. Stay for a little longer," she moaned.

He sighed. "Fine, have it your way."

She squealed playfully as he threw the sheets over them.

---

Haydric descended the steps from the main deck down to the lower quarters. As his head dropped below the wooden horizon of the ship's deck, the thick, aromatic smell of caffiene assailed his senses. His stomach growled in protest, but he fought back the urge to fill the empty hole in his chest. He looked to his right and found Mae Paledust sitting at the large table, the very same place he had left her the night before. He worried slightly.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, smiling warmly.

"Morning, Miss Paledust," he smiled back, still concerned. "Sleep well?"

She nodded with little enthusiasm, sipping on a mug of steaming brew. "A good three hours of rest."

He sat down, accepting a waiting mug from the Dwarven scholar. "How long have you been up?"

"A few hours," she shrugged. She stood up and went over to another table close by, returning with a large loaf of bread. "Hungry?"

"Very."

Haydric took a generous chunk from the still-warm loaf, and chewed quietly as his stomach squirmed in reply. Another sound, the soft creak of old floorboards, disrupted his meal. He turned to see Stefan emerging from the rooming quarters, buttoning up a loose-fitting shirt with a frayed collar and cuffs. He waited around for his Elven companion, and cocked an eye brow when she did not soon follow.

"Morning, Stefan," started Haydric. "Where's Iyana?"

"She's coming," replied Stefan, winking slyly. "Just freshening up."

"The water's cold. We won't have it warm till after mid-day, with the little amount of coal we salvaged," said Mae, taking another sip of her steaming drink.

"I'm sure Iyana will manage," said Stefan, seating himself to the left of Mae and pulling a piece of his own from the loaf of bread. "She just better make it here in time, or all the bread will be gone."

Mae chuckled, her nose drawing invisible lines across the rows of text she had unfolded before her. Stefan leaned over to examine the book, but scowled a moment later when he failed to understand the Dwarven scripture. Mae's chest heaved with contained amusement. Haydric continued to munch on his share of bread, admiring the cover of one of the many books that lay in a pile on the table.

Moments later, Iyana emerged from the same doorway that Stefan had, dressed in a leather get-up that emanated true sailor. She looked more pirate than all of them combined. Stefan found this quite amusing.

"What are you laughing at?" said Iyana.

"Oh, sorry, Cap'm! Forgetin' me place! Yarr," he replied in a gruff, growling voice. Iyana took an open-handed swing at the back of his head, but missed as Stefan lurched out of the way.

"Pay no attention to him. You look fine, Ms. Moonbreeze," said Haydric.

"Well thank you, Haydric," said Iyana, sneering at Stefan as she took a seat next to him, jabbing an elbow into his ribs.

As fresh bread and caffiene was passed around, Mae closed her book and waited patiently for everyone to settle down. In a moment the only sounds were the quiet grinding of teeth and bread, and the muffled sound of the ocean. Then, Mae began.

---

"It's hard to say when exactly this particular Nerubian died. However, you can be sure that it did not die when Dresco did the creature in at Menethil. This thing is an Undead construct of the Lich King. Physically, this thing has been rotting for years. But unholy energies have blackened the blood in its veins, and given fresh life to the dead Nerubian. Who knows how long it walked as the Lich King's Crypt Fiend, an insectoid blasphemy to life itself.

"What I do know, is that the attack is far from ordinary. Not only is this Nerubian completely out of the local, but the toxins that ultimately did in Dresco are quite rare. It is a special brew, one amplified by the unholy magics at play, no doubt. Needless to say, this Crypt Fiend was a messenger of death, and its mission was to see to it our journey was not such a smooth ride."

---

"Do you think it was after me?" asked Stefan. Mae shrugged.

"It's possible. What's important is the fact that the Lich King knows what we are doing, and is acting accordingly. We will have to be more careful," replied the Dwarven scholar.

"I agree. Martyrs like Dresco do not come in droves," furthered Haydric. "He will be missed. Let's not have anyone else going around and getting themselves killed. The bar just got raised."

Haydric would have continued his lecture, save for the sudden interruption by Geraldros. The goofy Dwarf trundled down the steps in a staccato of clanking metal and wheezing pistons. Stefan was caught between relief and annoyance by his arrival. But the look on the Dwarf's face announced that his presence was necessary.

"Sorry to bother you all, Ms. Paledust, good morning," he managed, bowing slightly. Mae giggled.

"It's quite alright, Geraldros," answered Stefan, waving a hand. "What's troubling you?"

"Well...it's...err...you better see this for yourself, Mr. Dreis."

Stefan was groaning on the inside, but calmly nodded to the antsy Dwarf. "Very well, Geraldros."

He excused himself from the table, and followed Geraldros up to the main deck. He scanned the ship, but saw no visible signs of trouble. He looked out onto the ocean that surrounded them, but no ship was in sight for miles. Quizzically, he turned to the Dwarf, who was looking toward the sky.

"What's the problem, Geraldros?"

The Engineer pointed up. Stefan followed his finger, and was perplexed at what he saw. Clouds hung thick and white overhead, staring down like the emotionless statues of Uldaman. Flying in endless loops and twists about these clouds, was a flock of birds. But not just any kind of bird.

"Storm Ravens," said Lyra, as if she could read Stefan's mind. The Troll descended from her perch in the crow's nest, coming alongside Stefan and Geraldros. Molgoby soon joined them, idly fiddling with one of his horns.

"They come from the far north. Bad omen, Storm Ravens are. My people fear and revere the birds," said the Tauren.

"Many of our races do, Molgoby," said Stefan. "I'm also not superstitious. But this is quite a rare sight."

"All the more reason we be watchin' our steps, mon'," replied Lyra. "There's no good in the unrest of a Storm Raven."