Here is the fourth installment in Meghan's original story set in the Warcraft world. If you haven't read or don't remember the story so far, be sure to check out Chapter 1, Chapter 2 and Chapter 3. The story is told from the point of view of Salith, a female half-elf, half-troll rogue.
They were back on the road. Varawien had decided to join them on their 'quest', as she called it. She was astride a great black steed with white socks and a white diamond-shape on his forehead, whom she called Topaz .
Y'know, I don't think she believed a word you said!” Varawien laughed.
After a small silence in which the birds sang and the wind gently rustled the leaves on the trees, she continued.
“But it would have looked too suspicious if she hadn't let us go--with the innkeeper watching and all.”
Salith stayed silent, watching a hawk flying lazily overhead.
“It was still a bit of a close shave. However did you come up with all that?” Delaralas asked, riding up so that Drake and Topaz were neck and neck.
“Not all of it was made up. Erilikoth is real, so is Alin'kah, and the Emerald Grove is a myth,” she said, still watching the hawk.
“Not all myths are legend,” Delaralas said, sounding rather mysterious.
Salith slowed Bandit to a walk.
“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered.
“I mean, some say dragons are only of legend, but they are blinded by their own limits. If they opened their eyes, they would see that--”
Delaralas stopped rather abruptly, looking around. Salith shook her head, then glared up at the hawk.
“Will you bring him down, please?”
Varawien looked taken aback at Salith's outburst. She said, “Chill out, I’m getting him, I’m getting him,” then let out a sharp whistle, causing the hawk to soar down onto her shoulder.
Salith sighed and slumped back in the saddle. “So, any bright ideas on where we're going, Bronze?” Salith asked silkily.
Delaralas shot her a look that very resembled her father, who had always had the best disapproving glare. People practically melted before it, and she had never understood why. Salith felt a pang of regret when she thought of her father, but quickly shook it off.
“Well, if you're so easy to track in the Emerald Dragon, then I think we better head for the Red Lion in Emirith city,” Delaralas explained, watching the clouds carefully, as though expecting another storm.
“Quick! This way!” came Varawien's voice from somewhere deeper in the trees. She had bolted off as soon as she had heard extra hoofbeats. Salith turned and kicked the heel of her boots into Bandit's side. Delaralas was last to follow, covering up their hoofprints as he went. Salith didn't see how, but she didn't care. All she wanted was not to be found by Cerader's men, whom she was sure Varawien had heard. Dismounting and taking cover in a large bush, they listened hard. Hoofbeats slowed to a stop and were replaced by footsteps as the men trooped noisily around, searching for any trace of the Half-breed, no, any trace of Salith.
“You! Go check in those bushes!” someone barked.
Salith knew that voice, it was Ronik.
“Yes sir!” The man came tramping towards their hiding place, his longsword outstretched.
“Well, time to get this over with,” and without further ado, she had vanished and reappeared behind the man, slitting his throat.
“There's one of them!!” a man shrieked.
Salith knew that voice, too. It was Skinth.
“Say goodbye to your life, Human!” she hissed, bringing up her dagger for a death blow, but Skinth was smarter (and quicker) than she had thought. He ducked and swung his longsword into her ribs in retaliation. Salith's eyes closed and she knew no more....
Salith heard voices....they sounded distant, yet close.
“Mistress, Cerader should be demoted, yes? For he is the one who lost the Half-breed. Whereas I, have brought her back to you."
The voice came from above Salith, harsh and snakelike.
“Cerader will remain in his current post, Hegoth,” a cool voice replied, soft and feminine, with a hint of coldness. “We need him.”
The snakelike voice spoke again, sounding irritated.
“But why do we need him? What use is he to us?”
Salith gasped quietly as, suddenly, she could see the figures above her. A hunched and rotting Undead warlock stood in front of a silver large throne, where a female worgen sat, wearing a long, flowing dress an even brighter silver than the throne, making the seat look dull and worn against the brilliance of the dress. A darker silver hood covered her face, hiding her no-doubt beautiful features. Though she looked beautiful, there was a certain coldness about her that made her look menacing. The Undead warlock was wearing equally long robes, but his were a dead-looking greyish black color. He, too, wore a hood, but his was ramshackle, covered in rips, tears, and bloodstains. He was clutching a longstaff, leaning against it as if it were nothing more than a walking stick.
The female spoke again, one of her ears twitching.
“He is useful in many ways. For one thing, he nurses a burning hatred towards the Half-breed. and two, he is a Death Knight. He has powers like none I have seen. He is the perfect puppet.”
She flicked one of her clawed hands at the Undead.
“You will continue to put ideas in his head, continue to control his every move, or you shall never see the light of another day.” The female shrugged her shoulders and added, “You are dismissed, Hegoth.”
Hegoth bowed and turned to leave, muttering under his breath. Salith watched the Undead leave, her heart pounding. She looked down at herself and realized her hands where bound to the wall. So were her feet, not by ropes, but chains. In fact, Salith wasn't even sure they were chains at all. They glowed purple and where pulsing slightly. "What kind of strange magic is this?" Salith wondered, attempting to pull her hands out of the strange chains that kept her trapped against the wall. Instantly, she felt pain shoot through her entire body. Somewhere In the distant blackness around her, a door opened and shuffling footsteps approached her.
“Looks like the Mistress has caught you at last, Half-breed.”