Chapter 36

Legacy

His roar of outrage shook the Icecrown Glacier to the core. Ice shattered, and tall peaks fell to the ground in a shower of ice and snow. The underground tunnels of the Nerubians felt the tremors as well, causing rock and soil to loosen, along with the occasional cave-in. Large amounts of snow shook free of their perch, causing landslides over the mountains of Northrend.

The others had made it to Azjol-Nerub safely. Fineus was stabilized by the Nerubian clerics. Guro'jintal's arm would grow back in time with the assistance of the Troll race's uncanny ability to regenerate severed limbs. Mae and Geraldros were otherwise unharmed, though the nasty dent in the side of his gadget box might be more detrimental to the Dwarf Engineer than a split skull. Haydric healed up nicely, along with Molgoby, whose only complaint was that his kneecap made a strange popping sound on occasion.

Iyana was silent all the way to Azjol-Nerub. She remained at the back of the group, staring at the cavern floor. There wasn't sorrow in her eyes; it was more of a pondering, questioning stare, as if the answer lied in the ancient stone and dirt. She didn't respond to others when they tried to comfort or console her, merely grunting in reply and continuing to stare at the floor in silence.

When the Lich King's cry of rage echoed through the caverns, some of them stopped and looked back, as if Stefan would appear around the bend, the cheerful, confident smile wrought on the Human's full lips. Others knew he wouldn't return, but questioned the outcry, and finding no answers.

Iyana Moonbreeze finally let the tears fall. But they weren't tears of sorrow. She knew what had happened. He had stared death in the face, and laughed. So she laughed with him, the tears still running down her cheeks.

---

The rain was beating down hard. His footfalls kicked up streams of water as he thumped across the boardwalk, the hood over his head obscuring his vision more than the steamy haze of the Stranglethorn weather. Still he caught notice of the sign nailed to the dock post, and stopped to read. He decided to take it along with him, pulling the parchment free and stuffing the wet contents into a pocket of his burly raincoat. Then he continued his journey through the rain, finding himself at the Inn's swinging doors a moment later. He slid into the warm, thick air of the tavern, exhaling slowly and letting the warmth wash over his cold, shivering frame. The room was empty save for a scant few customers. But it was the dead of the night, so it was to be expected. The man took off his raincoat, catching the Innkeeper looking his way.

"Hey, Ori. Long time no see," said the man.

"Aye, Hayd. Good to see you're still breathing," replied the Innkeeper. "Where's Stefan?"

Haydric's eyes went astray. "I'll tell you later."

He saw something leave the goblin's eyes as the tiny man nodded his head slowly and returned to the cup he had been shining. Haydric turned away from the goblin, focusing on a patron sitting alone at a table in the corner. She was slender and elegant, and as he made his way over he recognized the twin daggers sheathed at her waist. He sat across from her, catching her distant gaze after a moment. He pulled out the poster and laid it out on the table.

"Did you see this?" asked Haydric. Iyana nodded, raising a rolled up parchment of her own for him to see. "You interested?"

"There's a ship taking volunteers for the war effort leaving tomorrow. I plan on being aboard," replied the Night Elf.

"You're going back, then?"

She was silent.

"Iyana, you'll find nothing but sorrow awaiting you in Northrend," said Haydric, leaning forward and cupping his hands.

"That's not true, Haydric," she replied. "I don't mourn Stefan's death as a loss. To his final moments, he stood up against evil incarnate. Stefan was everything we should stand for."

He shook his head. "He sacrificed himself, and yet his triumph won't be remembered. Perhaps the treasures and bounties he's salvaged will be remembered by a few, but who's going to remember that he stood up against the Lich King?"

She stared menacingly at him. "You don't understand, do you? It doesn't matter if he's praised for his actions, Haydric. It doesn't matter if he's put abreast Uther and Antonidas and Jaina in the halls of legend and lore. Countless heroes have died without remembrance. But that doesn't mean we've forgotten them. Maybe there won't be a holiday praising his achievement. Maybe they won't erect a statue in his memory. But Stefan Dreis looked the Lich King in the eyes, and laughed."

"How do you know that? Were you there?" said Haydric, angrily.

Iyana's eyes narrowed. "No, Hayd, I know that because I'm his friend. Maybe if you were his friend, you'd understand too. Because it doesn't matter how many people remember him. The few who do will pass on his tale. On that day, in the dead of the Icecrown Glacier, Stefan Dreis brought the Lich King down a peg. He may be a demi-god, but he's still a mortal. The rest of the world may not know now, not yet. But one day, it will."

She stood up and walked past him, to the door. She turned back as she was about to leave.

"Maybe I'll see you on the boat tomorrow. Maybe I won't. Until then, goodbye Haydric."

The Human was left alone, his only company the soaked parchment of a call to arms for the growing war front that was Northrend. The Lich King's armies were gathering, and the Horde and Alliance were responding in kind. After long minutes of unnerving silence, he let out a deep sigh.

"Ori," said Haydric, catching the goblin's attention. "Get me a beer, and a good, warm meal. I've got a long trip ahead of me tomorrow."

---

Stormwind had grown quiet. From atop the ramparts of Stormwind, Bolvar Fordragon paced with his eyes staring out at nothing in particular. Geraldros and Mae had come to Stormwind from Stranglethorn, intending to take the tram back to Ironforge. They had sought a conference with him, and told the tale. Now Bolvar was at the same spot of casual socializing that he had shared with Stefan on several occasions. He stood on the ramparts alone, with only the face of a sickle moon as an audience. He stared up at the glowing grin of the moon, idly pondering the events that had transpired. Then he sat down in the lounge chair and took the glass of wine from a small table. He raised the glass in the air.

"Here's to you, Stefan Dreis. And thanks. You shall not be forgotten," said Bolvar, downing the last of the liquid.

---

"...And so ends the tale of Stefan Dreis."

Hands shot up. Guro'jintal picked the first of the warriors, a Troll youth with blazing yellow hair and black, beedy eyes.

"Did he kill the Lich King?"

"Nay."

"Why is this man so important, then?"

"Legends are not born from murderers, lad."

He pointed to another youth.

"Did you think he did the right thing?"

"He died a true warrior's death, with his weapon in his hand and his faith upon his breast."

Another had a question.

"Do you miss him, Master Guro'jintal?"

The Troll took a moment before answering. "I miss Stefan every day that he is not with us. There are few like him. We teach that a true warrior can unleash the fire from within, the fury of a boiling tempest that is locked away within each and every one of us. Stefan was directly connected with his own and knew its limits and how to control it."

He had their attentions once more. Wonder and awe was pouring out of all the gathered youths' eyes. "Stefan Dreis has lost his name to the pages of history, another victim of the vile Lich King. But though his name is lost, his memory is all but forgotten. He stood in defiance before an insurmountable power, and laughed. In death, he has achieved the zenith of the warrior: he owns himself, and no one, not even the Lich King, can take that from him. He represents all that a warrior should stand for, and for that I praise Stefan Dreis! You will grow old and you will learn new tricks. But never forget the fire from within. You lose that fire, and you lose your identity. A true warrior maintains his identity, even in death."

He raised his spear above his head. "Let us celebrate the memory of Stefan through the fervor of our warrior spirit. Praise for Stefan Dreis, a warrior unto all that have gone and those to come!"

Their cheers carried over the deserts of Durotar. Guro'jintal saw the fire alight in the youths' eyes as they threw up their own weapons, a fire that burned more brightly than the bonfire that lit the gathering. The Troll smiled.

Your fire is their own, Stefan. Your legacy survives.

---

He left us there, in the room of gold. But something about him had changed. It was the artifact, I surmise. The Ice Crown of the Shifting Times had stolen Stefan away from us and left it with a shell of a man filled with a message from the gods. And though I never saw him again, I know him to be dead. Perhaps he ascended to the heavens to return the god's crown. Or perhaps he traveled to Icecrown and stared the Lich King in the eyes. If I knew Stefan Dreis as I thought I had, no doubt he gave a little chuckle while he was at it. This concludes my research from the journey to Northrend. I would like to personally thank Stefan Dreis for all that I have accomplished. Were it not for his leadership and his undying resolution, we would not have made it to the very heart of the Frozen North. Light bless that man's soul.

She felt a rush of excitement as she signed her name at the bottom of the page. She dropped the quill and stretched her tired fingers. The candle sitting close by on the table was emitting a dull glow after hours of burning. She was finally finished. After yawning generously she picked up the book and casually flipped through the pages, recognizing the many drawings she had sketched of Northrend's many geographical anomalies.

"Mae?"

The Dwarf spun around on her stool to see Muninn Magellas, the High Explorer of the Explorer's League. She smiled warmly and greeted him cheerfully before rubbing the fatigue from her strained eyes.

"The League is ready for you," said Muninn. "Are you prepared?"

She nodded. "Aye. Let's go."

She walked with him out into the circular hall outside the library where the League's officials had gathered. Muninn joined them as they sat in a semi-circle with Mae walking to the center facing them. After silence was called, she cleared her throat to scare off the butterflies dancing in her stomach. Then she began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Explorer's League, good evening and welcome. I am Mae Paledust, and today I'd like to share with you a compilation of my findings that I was able to gather in the past months spent in Northrend."