All instruments recording the ongoing spread of the scourge pandemic indicated a rapid increase in risk of safety, up to and including the roaming dead in the very streets of Stormwind. What was once recommended to simply be a matter of staying off the streets and increasing security measures has changed with similar rapidity, up to and including the recommendation of immediate evacuation for all citizens of Stormwind, leaving only the Stormwind Patrol, the Argent Crusade, the Ebon Blade, and any of Azeroth’s Champions that were so moved to contribute to containing the absolute carnage at hand.
As the topic was broached for what this means for the great underground metropolis of Mechagon, Luminess Brightcoil balked at the data, though she Observed it in totality and took it upon her processing parameters to integrate this new data into her daily routine. To say the outlook was grim would be an understatement. To say that she was growing exhausted of grim outlooks would be even more of one.
Even a Beacon is prone to bouts of personal dismay. It was quickly becoming one Titans-damned thing after another for her. Starting and ending a revolution. Joining and ending the Fourth of Four Wars. Defeating the encroachment of the Old Gods. The Return of the San’layn. And now, this: Death itself, and whatever forces direct it upon Azeroth. And all of this within a single year.
On days like these, a Beacon would wonder why she ever left the island in the first place...
Luminess sat amongst her peers in the Think Tank that was assembled for the purpose of analyzing and developing an expedient solution to the matter of the scourge invasion with the Gnomish population at its focus. The scent of recirculated air through coppered ducts intertwined with the effervescent presence of warm, freshly applied toner as gnome and mechagnome alike scanned through document after document. Every finer point addressed, every corollary counter-examined, every contingency remodeled and re-assessed… And yet it was the general consensus of those present that not much headway was made just yet.
Except for Walton Cogfrenzy, Chief Architect of Mechagon, who maintained that he had a very simple and direct plan of response, that in any other context would have been seen as antithetical to their current societal trajectory, and now perhaps its only chance for survival:
Complete Lockdown.
“We will establish a temporary teleportation network between here and Tinker Town,” Walton explained. “Citizens of Gnomeregan can be funneled into our now half-vacant halls along with all our Gnomadic kin. Following that, remaining available space and resource accommodation can be afforded to our Dwarven cousins, though it is projected very few would be willing to retreat from their own beloved city. Still, we must press them to do so, and once we have evacuated all that we may hold and accommodate safely, access to the network will be severed from all entry points.”
The King shifted his weight from one side of his seat to the other. By far, the once High Tinker but now King Gelbin Mekkatorque would be the least Kingly King you could meet. He was conscientious to others. He yielded space and listened more than spoke. He sought counsel for all decisions, tall or small. Betraying the good will of his people was unthinkable, just as he would strive against working against their humbler wishes. And more often than not, you had to remind him of his now-regal station. A station, it is said, he has been working to reform away from the obsolete protocol known as the 'Divine Right of Kings.' Perhaps such topics could be addressed more directly when things were Quieter. But in either regard… Luminess, for one, was grateful to have someone so unlike the Mad Tyrant that, for now, she was willing to give the whole Monarchy thing one more chance.
“It will be difficult to convince the Gnomereganians to take refuge,” sighed King Mekkatorque wearily. “Many believe they’re perfectly safe within the walls of Ironforge, despite the surrounding snowy climate being far more tactically advantageous for the Scourge than even the tranquil forests of Elwynn or the unimpeding flats of Durotar. And even so, their pride is at stake to some extent. They won’t take easily to being confined to another underground kingdom, even if it is ostensibly theirs. Over time, we of Gnomeregan have become more and more like our Gnomadic cousins than not as the impossibly high toll taken by Thermaplugg continues to plague our once-hallowed halls, figuratively AND literally.”
“And so I would hope they would be difficult to convince, your highness.” Intamin Diveroll, renowned prosthetist and out-speaker, swiveled his chair towards Mekkatorque just slightly as he respectfully interjected, but kept his gaze upon the Chief Architect. “Your plan puts our now-combined kingdom at risk of recreating the exact same scenarios for destruction that had befallen either of them. Suppose we are all holed up here and one of our vaunted city’s life preservation systems should fail, or worse: sabotaged by ne’er-do-wells known or unknown. Suppose the invasion never ends, and to quell a dissatisfied populace, a new Mad Tyrant emerges to place them back into order under the guise of Public Safety. And should neither fate befall us, and we merely survive through the ordeal to a ruined Azeroth or… continued indefinite life underground, even in prosperity… that would make cowards of us all.”
“It is not… Cowardice to prioritize survival! It is the only acceptable option,” pressed Cogfrenzy with just as much proud conviction on display as he hid his secret guilts. His servos whined under his weight as he leaned forward against the conference table with the coiled-bulb lamps glowing above his exhausted, perspiring brow. “And the only safe one. Our Kingdom is the most secure against external threats of any on Azeroth. Our doors open and close only to us, and our walls are impenetrable against all alien threats. Anyone who enters without the aid of our own kind is instantaneously vaporized by our unparalleled city defenses. For five hundred years, a full-length default gnomish lifetime... our security was so assured that the rest of the planet knew not even of our existence. We were effectively anonymous. Fel, we even have the capability of sealing off all access to the Azeroth’s vast network of Arcane Leylines, guaranteeing that not a single soul enters or leaves through the mightiest of mage portals!”
As the King ran his fingers through his whiskers, Luminess’s face belied only a hint of bemusement as her gaze slide sideways to one of her closest companions to examine his face for a reaction to that last sentence. Indy would offer none. But she knew. They both knew.
“My King,” Indy gently prodded, turning his trademark winning smile towards his liege. “The Rustbolt Revolution demonstrated to us that the answer to our prosperity lies not here exclusively in Mechagon. It lies in Greater Azeroth. And to that end it is not only such that we should not run away, but we should fight to defend it alongside everyone else.”
King Mekkatorque smiled at Indy gently, reassuringly. “On that, we are in total agreement, Good Doctor. We are no longer two kingdoms of Gnomes. We are one, and beyond that, we belong to the mighty Alliance as well. And defending our world from imminent threats within and without is the Alliance’s primary function, after all.”
The Beacon stirred in her seat, squeaking it at the hinge as she leaned forward onto her elbows, fingers tented before her face. She refused to comment on the political trajectory of the Gnomish populace, for now. Instead, she turned to another of her companions that she insisted be included on this Think Tank for the sake of the wealth of information he contains as a single entity. “Cornelius,” she addressed him from across the table.
“Hello, User!” came the chipper response from Mister Tribulatus, self-aware as ever, and the Beacon remained quite proud of him for achieving that.
“Known methods of Scourge Incursion, please, listed."
“Query accepted! Running diagnostics…”
The room fell silent, save the soft stirring of seats in anticipation, and the soft ting-ting of a spoon inside a cup of coffee, one of a great many that were filled and spilled on this auspicious day.
“Results compiled. Scourge are known to make entry into populated areas through the following means, alphabetically: Aerial Delivery. Burrowing. Contagion. Localized Necromancy.”
All eyes in the room, save Cornelius’, slowly drifted over to a mechagnome seated at the end of the table, brow bedecked with ostentatious horn modifications. His focus was trained on an asymmetrical paper football formed out of one of the documents on the table, and his attempts to ‘kick’ it through a ‘goal post’ made from used coffee creamer cups and stirring rods. His clamps fail to provide the manual dexterity needed to perform the maneuver, but after eighty-seven attempts so far, the man was not about to back down now. However, he felt the familiar sensation of an entire room of his alleged peers judging him all at once, and so he looked up.
“... What?! Titans Testes, I’m not a Necromancer, I resurrect myself with CLONES,” protested one Doctor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth. Or was it Seventh, now? The people of Mechagon had only his word for the answer.
“The Fel practices are adjacent to Necromancy are they not?” the Beacon inquired, with earnest sincerity. “Perhaps in this way you can offer us insight?”
“You’re asking an electrician to fix your toilet,” chided Theodorp as he unceremoniously failed his eighty-eighth attempt to score a field goal. “Fortunately for you I am learned of a multitude of means of delivering Doom.”
The King rubbed his eyes with a gloved hand before flipping open the box of donuts on the table, deciding which of the remaining flavors might quell the madness he felt in this moment for including a pseudo war criminal on this Think Tank. Take him away, Blueberry Glazed.
“For certain, this Kingdom is advantageously impervious to outside threats, as the Chief Architect asserts. Titans know I’ve tried and nearly succeeded countless times to perviate it myself. Yes, that is a real word.”
All of the eyes that were cast upon Theodorp quickly volleyed to Cornelius. Instinctively, he clicked and whirred in place before speaking: “Perviate. Transitive Verb. To enter, bore into, or run through. Would you like me to search for more information regarding Perviation?"
Professor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth silently threw his clamps into the air, victorious over all who dared to doubt him, once again. As the gnomes around him (save Cornelius) collectively stifled their groans, he permitted them immediate reprieve of a well-deserved gloating, and continued...
“As my criminal record shows, I’ve only had so much luck attempting to bring various forms of Fel into our kingdom. The Titan-Energy Interference from the Engine that we’ve made our home into is a natural repellent to both the Fel and Necromantic efforts from exterior sources. Our Previous King spared no effort or expense at seeing such impure practices all but eradicated or imprisoned.”
He takes a moment to feel very smug about being the only practitioner of either who isn’t currently technically imprisoned before continuing: “Ultimately, our greatest concern, second only to simply allowing the plague to enter our halls through contamination of persons or produce… would be someone like me infiltrating Mechagon and finding a way to succeed. For the Fel, we have no particular need of concern as ever. But in the case of Necromancy, they would not need to open a portal, they would simply need to locally source some corpses right here. Which could be remarkably easy, considering the whole proposition to keep the walls closed and sealed that no one could possibly enter or leave.”
The Think Tank of gnomes, already silent, somehow fell even more deathly quiet. No one liked that.
“Then it would not be enough to simply close the doors and shutter our windows,” the Beacon spoke wielding a voice laden equally with certainty as hesitance. “It would require a near-constant monitor of every individual’s vital signs, and restricted movement for all throughout the densely populated areas. We would effectively not be merely bunkering in for our physical safety, but we would need to place the population under a functional quarantine for the first few weeks simply to ensure there is no undetected viral agent is able to spread. We would require anyone taking refuge here to comply with these regulations, or…”
She gulped as she choked on her words in this moment. Indy peered at her searchingly. Cornelius smiled at the wall. Theodorp was on the edge of his seat, waiting for her to finish her thought. King Gelbin Mekkatorque simply listened, chin upon thumb, cheek against finger, elbow against armrest.
“... Or be placed under secure, supervised quarantine. Just for the duration. And ethically, of course. This is for… public safety.”
Theodorp clinked his clamps excitedly under the table with a wide, toothy grin while Luminess attempted to meet Intamin’s gaze. But when her optics searched for his, he had already turned away. She sank in her seat just slightly as her lips tightened and her face drooped just a bit.
The King nodded slowly as his own eyes searched in the far distance, into the invisible thinkspace we all have for flaw in this reasoning. And whether he found zero flaws to be had, or he simply accepted the known flaws as they were, it was not made clear in his exhausted sigh that set his moustache billowing in the wind blown forth from his lips.
“You speak the Truth as ever, Beacon,” decreed the King. “If we are going to do this then it would be folly to employ any half-measures. BUT... we will make sure that all who are so quarantined for the duration will have the inconvenience of their sacrificed time compensated, their needs of survival and personal comfort fully provided for. They are our people, our family and friends, and we will make their stay at home a veritable paradise until the situation is under control. To do any less would call into question the foundations and integrity of our very society’s principles in a manner we simply do not have time for right now, or possibly ever. Have we reached consensus?”
The assembled members of the Think Tank all offered their agreement in unison in low grunts of affirmation and/or raised hands. Even Intamin, after a moment. Luminess quietly sighed in relief, allowing her jaw to finally un-clench itself.
“Then the matter is settled upon. Beacon Brightcoil, I am counting on you to ensure that the quarantine efforts are carried out in a safe and ethical manner the people will find agreeable. Spare no expense. The rest of us will reconvene after a one hour biological break to discuss our efforts abroad aiding the campaign in Icecrown and the Eastern Kingdoms. Titans Observe that it will be Gnomish Ingenuity and Determination that brings a swift resolution to this crisis!”
The King’s counsel and subjects before him all responded with an assured nod and an equally assured utterance of “Titans Observe,” even Doctor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth or Seventh.
With that, King Gelbin Mekkatorque bowed his head with a soft chuckle and made haste towards the door, eager to get out of being in a meeting for however long he can manage it today. Luminess, making similar speed, exited behind him as the others shuffled their belongings in order.
Intamin gave chase.
“Beacon? Oh, Beacon?” cried the man playfully behind his companion, who laughed as she slowed her pace to allow them to walk on parallel paths. “I was simply wondering which personal liberties I would still be afforded while imprisoned in my own private paradise prison.”
Luminess rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow, shaking her head as she chuckled softly. “Really, Indy, the situation is dire enough without you nagging at my personal principles over my duties as a Beacon.”
The prosthetist cackled quietly beside her, grinning all too wide as he satisfied himself with her acknowledgement of such a Truth. “I am teasing, of course, my dear… Nothing about this is easy, and though it burns at my very soul to admit it… this is a necessary action to take. So long as it remains a stopgap, and not a solution. And Titans Observe that I may rest easy knowing you are at the lead of such a project.”
“Titans may Observe it so… but they shan’t,” Luminess responded softly.
Intamin jogged in front of her to impede her movement, narrowing his ocular sensors to thin lines as he looked over her features for any sign that she might be joking. She was not.
“... You will not be staying? But you said--”
“I know that I spoke in favor of quarantine and I stand by that. It is what is right for our people, both of them, all of them… But it is not my place. For certain, This Unit could perform the task and do it well, but I am by no means the only one capable of doing so."
Intamin looked her over curiously. "Did not the King ask you to do it yourself?"
Luminess allowed a sly smirk. "He merely asked me to ensure it will be done. I will reach out Wenzli Cogsalvage to manage this in my stead. She is the finest community organizer I have seen since the end of the Revolution. And though I am beloved by many, as a Beacon I am still mistrusted by the same amount or more for our ties to the Mad Tyrant’s Orthodoxy and the work that remains in our reform thereof… By contrast, she is of the people in a way I can never truly be ever again, and will therefore be more efficient in inspiring trust in this time. In addition, since it is Wenzli... I will have the added bonus of most people simply mistaking her for being me anyway, as normal."
The prosthetist clicked his teeth. She certainly had a point, if not several, but he was not letting her off the hook so easily. "And so if your place is not here, Miss Brightcoil… Then where is it?"
A brief question inspires an eternity in a split second of consideration. Where, indeed? Was her place in Stormwind, with the Embassy as an Ambassador? Was her place with Prince Erazmin and the Rustbolt Resistance, now expanding their field of operation to fight back against the emergent Scourge threat? Was it with the other medical professionals of the Azeroth Medical Association, searching for a long term solution against the contagion and the short term efforts of caring for those currently afflicted? Was it with her mercenary allies in the Dragon Corps or the Fence Macabre, beating back the hordes with them and other Champions? Was it by the side of those she held dear, one small clutch of beloved friends or another?
Luminess smirked just for a moment before lifting her gaze to Intamin. Her eyes flickered Gold with the Light before she answered him with a warm tone.
“Uncertain. But what you said earlier rings true again: Wherever my place might be… it is quite clear that the answer is not here, in Mechagon. It is out there… in Azeroth.”
Intamin couldn’t help but allow a smugly satisfied grin plaster his face, flashing that perfect one-millimeter gap in his front teeth as they bit lightly upon his tongue to stifle a boisterous guffaw that would otherwise spoil what could be looked back upon as a tender moment.
“Titans Observe,” he said simply, and embraced his friend tightly with both arms, squeezing as hard as he can, as he always did, knowing that once again, this could be the final opportunity to do so. “But I shall not allow you to continue your adventures abroad unaided. Your previously requested modifications are complete and awaiting installation back at my workshop over a splendid Torcolato I’ve been saving for just such an occasion.”
“Mister Diveroll, there is absolutely nothing that I would enjoy more at this precise moment,” said Luminess, as she sniffled once and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the collar of her ceremonial garb after returning the embrace of a beloved friend and confidant. She then grabbed hold of his arm for escort down the winding path from the High Tinkertory, down to into the city which she held so dear, the city which until only still so recently was all she had known.
And as she walked, audibly promising the matter was settled to her companion, she continued to silently deliberate within herself over it all... whether she was making the right or wrong choice, whether there was an optimization to their plans she failed to find, whether or not it was hopeless to even try, endlessly as she would, as she does, and as she has, every single day of her life.
And as such... she prayed to the Titans, as she did, every single day of her life, that they may Observe her following the ideal path.
Tell me what your spirit says
Show me what you pray
Teach me every single part
I'll be your guide
You are a prisoner
Looking for to be
You can change your face
But can't change your mind
No matter what do you do
No matter what do you do
No matter what do you do
No matter what do you do
“Multiple frostwyrms incoming from the west, at least 5 spotted, accompanied by scourge and cultist ground troops - ETA 15 minutes. Everyone to arms, we’re going to intercept them just outside the Crossroads. Work together, have each other’s backs, and don’t die. Booze is on me afterwards.”
Luminash had never held one of these communication devices that brought him welcome news. After the message crackled out, he tucked it back into his satchel, where he hoped any more dire tidings would be drowned out. He permitted himself a slight laugh at the thought. As if anything so simple as a leather satchel would drown out the beating of wings the magister could already hear in the distance.
The magister moved in a flash. He felt with each blink, each displacement through space, himself come apart just a bit more at the fraying seams. He had rested so little, but he could not permit it, not now. Not with the Scourge running rampant again after so long. Still, each time he stopped, he knelt, and drawing runes in the dry Barrens soil, he further reinforced the battered defenses of the Crossroads.
By the time the frostwyrms were nearly upon the town, and its defenders - regulars and irregulars alike, Horde soldiers and the motley band of mercenaries and travelers he had taken up with in recent days - rallied to the walls and towers, Luminash joined them.
He closed his eyes, keeping his breathing slow, watching through closed lids the delicate threads of space floating like ribbons over the parched soil, wrapping around the frigid, dessicated dragons. He reached out, through the runic wards he had crafted, and pulled as many of those threads taut as he could. Snapping his eyes open, he saw some of the wyrms struggling to move, as if the air itself hindered them. Losing altitude, they would be easier prey for his companions, for all those who were here to defend their homes.
Luminash retreated, then, to the interior of the tower, and slumped against the wall, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. Whatever the outcome of this battle - he had no doubt it would be a victory, though, at least for now - it would not due for the others to see a magister collapse.
( @talonoa / @inistellan for pre-patch merc group mention! )
As promised, a short story detailing Ja’mez’s appearance from beyond the grave!
It felt odd, putting on her old commander’s armor, her Darkspear tabard. She looked at herself in the mirror - Leah, daughter of Zin’Taj and Ayi’da, huntress of the Darkspear Tribe, Spear of Vol’jin, Commander of the Horde - all of those titles seemed miles away from her and the life she had lived in Zuldazar over the past year.
Her uniform fit a little less snugly than it had in the past. Even though she had been trying to do better about taking care of herself and having regular meals than she was after Ja’mez’s death, she still found she didn’t have much of an appetite and occasionally still forgot to eat. Leah smoothed out her Darkspear tabard as she inspected herself. She really should get a new one made, this one had faded a bit over the years. Still, it would do for now.
The huntress moved from her bedroom down the long, winding staircase of her treehouse. In Leah’s mind, the living house seemed less vibrant than it had when Ja’mez was there, and she wasn’t sure if it would ever seem quite as alive again.
Down in the kitchen, Leah prepared a picnic basket with a few slices of raptor haunch, some fruit, a loaf of bread, and some cheese. After packing the plates and utensils, she set out toward the eastern outskirts of Dazar’alor, to the burial shrine where Ja’mez’s remains lay.
As she had many times before, she sat before the shrine. “Hey, love,” she said, speaking to a mate who could no longer hear her. “I, uh, was just comin’ by ta tell ya dat I might not be around for a while. De scourge be back… somehow.”
Leah shook her head. She had thought, like many had, that when Arthas was defeated, the threat had been eliminated, and yet here the Scourge was again, attacking outposts like the Crossroads and Razor Hill. And like many others, she was growing weary of the constant calamities that plagued Azeroth. The huntress sat in quiet contemplation of the situation before slowly beginning to put out two place settings from the picnic basket. “It’s just one thing aftah anothah,” Leah sighed.
“What be in de basket?”
“What de?!” Leah’s ear twitched in the direction of the sound. Immediately, she snapped her head around to look. Though it had only been a whisper, it was a voice she could never mistake. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the nearby area. Finding nothing, she shook her head as if to shake away the confusion, then resumed setting out her picnic. “Anyway, I'm not sure how long I'll be away. I'm leavin' de critters at de Kraal just in case…”
From out of nowhere, something whirled around Leah. She looked up to find Sun, the tiny celestial cloud serpent, her mate’s boon companion, who hadn’t been seen since Ja’mez’s death. Before she could address the little serpent, she noticed the hazy outline of her beloved druid reaching out to pet his friend. The ghostly silhouette looked her way and waved.
Leah squinted hard. The look on her face wasn’t one of fright or shock; instead she looked rather perturbed. This was it. She had finally cracked. She heaved a weary sigh. “Ya know...I kinda always assumed my grief would eventually drive me crazy, but I figured it would take longah…”
“I be ‘ere, Leah.”
Great. Now her hallucination was trying to speak to her. She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Oh really?” Her voice dripped with skepticism. “Dis ain’t my imagination?”
Ja’mez broke into a wide grin. “Nope!” he chuckled.
Leah’s face twisted into a scowl. “YOU LEFT ME!!” She screamed as she grabbed the plate in front of her and stood to chuck it at Ja’mez’s head. Then she turned away and folded her arms over her chest to pout.
Ja’mez didn’t try to dodge or even flinch as the plate flew through his body and crashed on the urns behind him. He seemed perfectly accepting of Leah’s anger. The druid tried to smile as he stepped toward her. “I thought ya’d be happy to see meh.”
Leah turned back to face her ghostly mate. The pain on her face was evident. “Well, I'd have preferred seein' ya alive, I gotta be honest. Ya broke my heart, love.” She flopped back down on the ground next to the picnic basket and sighed. “Sorry I threw stuff at ya.”
“It’s okay,” Ja’mez smiled. “I deserve it, I think. Though,” he said as he looked around, “I’m not sure exactly how ta handle dis.”
Leah cast him a sympathetic glance and gently shook her head. "I'm not mad at ya. Not really. It's just been hard. I miss ya so much. You been okay?"
The question seemed to catch Ja’mez off guard. He looked down and tapped his chin as he gave it thought. “I suppose I'm as good as a dead guy can be. It's just too good ta see ya, love."
Sun seemed determined not to be left out of this reunion. He whirled around the couple and came to a stop at Ja’mez’s side. The druid reached out to pet him again. Whether Sun could feel it or not, he seemed appreciative of the gesture, giving a few loop-de-loops in the air.
“Haven’t seen him in a while,” Leah gestured to the serpent, “he didn’t stick around aftah. ‘Course, he was always your baby, not mine.”
Leah wanted badly to reach out for Ja’mez, to have him hold her. However, if the plate was any indication, it would be a futile effort. Also, his spirit was cold, and Leah could feel the chill radiating off him like an early morning fog in autumn. It would hardly be the warm embrace that she had yearned for the many nights since his death. She knew this, and so she refrained.
Ja’mez also sat silent. Just like in life, it was imperceptible what might be going through his mind. Somehow Leah took comfort in the familiarity. And yet, there was something that gnawed at her.
“I got somethin' dat's botherin me. It's kinda a long story, but I suppose you got time." Leah cracked a smile at her own joke.
Ja’mez was glad to see his mate smile finally. He had never been one to handle sadness well. “Apparently I do. I don't even know what's goin' on fully though yet.”
Leah arched her eyebrow at Ja’mez. She wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by that. “Ah well, maybe ya can answer me dis, even so.”
Ja’mez shrugged. He would certainly give it his best. “Ya.”
“So a while back, before... ya know... I started havin' dese dreams. Like, I knew ya were in trouble, or ya were gonna be. What I didn't know at de time was N'zoth had gotten to me, I just knew I needed ta find you. Den aftah ya died, it got so much worse. He almost got me. My friends, dey stopped my heart ta get de corruption outta me. I was only out for maybe a couple minutes, but when it happened, I saw dis place.”
“What did ya see?” Ja’mez leaned forward with interest.
Leah pursed her lips. She didn’t like recalling her vision, but she had to know what it was, if Ja’mez could answer. “It was dark, and I knew it was somewhere I didn't wanna be. But I couldn't get away, it was pullin' me down. And I could feel so much agony. Like, dere be people down dere and dey all be sufferin'. What is dat? Dat's not where you be, is it?”
“Nah.” Ja’mez shook his head. “I wouldn’t be ‘ere if dat be de case.”
Leah felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Ever since she’d had the vision, she’d been worried for Ja’mez. “Do ya know what it be, though?”
Again, Ja’mez shook his head. “Nah. But I know it’s definitely a place ya don’t wanna be.”
Now it was Leah’s turn to lean forward. “You’ve seen it?”
“For a bit I did,” Ja’mez nodded.
“But it tried ta pull me so strong. How’d ya escape?”
“Bwonsamdi. He be out dere doin’ somethin.”
Leah clutched her chest and exhaled with relief. “Oh, praise dat creepy ol’ loa! I knew he got de offerin’ I made for ya.” A smile spread across the huntress’s face. There would definitely be more offerings to be made in thanks. “So you be on de Othah Side den. Dat’s good, I be glad. Well, actually, I’m not. I prefer ya be here… Wait, so can I ask ya somethin’ else?”
“Of course, love.”
This question had burned at Leah since even before she learned of Ja’mez’s death. “Why didn’t ya take me with you? When ya went ta fight N’zoth? I mean, we made a good team, didn’t we? Maybe… maybe things woulda turned out different.”
“Ny'alotha is like de Nightmare,” Ja’mez explained. “I wouldn’t dare ask anybody I care about ta go dere.”
Leah glowered. “So what, ya think I be some frail human wife, sittin’ around frettin’ while my mon goes off ta fight de big bad?” She sucked her teeth. “Ya know dat ain’t me.”
“Would ya let me go if we switched?”
The huntress had to stop herself from blurting out a yes. Would she really let Ja’mez go if she had the chance to keep him home, to keep him safe? However, after giving the question consideration, she found her opinion unchanged. “Yes.” Her tone was calm and resolute. “Because ya be de one I want ta have my back when things get rough. I mean, I kinda figured if we didn't grow old togethah, we'd die side by side on top de corpses of our enemies.”
Firm in his resolve, Ja’mez refused to relent. “It wasn’t pretty in dere, Leah. People lost their minds, turned on each other, even. I wasn’t gonna let somethin make me hurt ya.”
Leah cast her mon a reassuring glance. “You be strongah dan dat.” The look on Ja’mez’s face said that he wasn’t so sure. Leah sighed. “Eithah way, I would have rathah died with ya dan have ta live without ya. You were my everything, love. But I keep on goin’ because what de hell else am I s’posed ta do?”
Ja’mez didn’t speak. What he was thinking, Leah couldn’t say. Ultimately, she supposed, none of it mattered. None of the questions, none of the regret could change what happened.
A change of subject was in order. “So how come I just be seein’ ya now? Loas know I been comin’ here for months.”
Ja’mez shrugged. “I really got no idea. But it was much easier to show, now dat the veil be broken.”
“De veil be broken?” Leah parroted. “Like, between here an’ de Othah Side?
Ja’mez nodded. “Somethin be terribly wrong. Bwonsamdi be doin all he can to save souls from da darkness.”
“Ah, shit…” The realization hit Leah. “I wondah if dis got anything ta do with de Scourge comin’ back…”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ja’mez replied. “But somethin’ gotta be done. De question is, what?”
Leah nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, I be goin’ ta Icecrown ta help handle dat situation, so maybe we can figure somethin’ out.”
“We gonna have to, ‘cause none a dis be right.”
The huntress held up a finger as a sudden thought occurred to her. She then motioned to Ja’mez’s remains. “So, dis is gonna sound dumb. Should I take you with me?”
Ja’mez looked at his body. “Dat… is a good question.”
“Well, I mean, can ya come back anywhere, or did ya only come back here because dis where ya body be?” Leah clarified.
“I ain't been dead long, so I don' know all da rules yet,” the druid chuckled.
Leah was already putting way too much thought into this. “I s’pose I can fold ya up real tight, stuff ya in my bag somewhere…dis gonna be so weird,” she muttered to herself.
“I would leave dem here,” Ja’mez stated. “Dey safe, yeah?”
“Of course.” Leah pointed to the large voodoo constructs patrolling just yards away.
The druid looked at his huntress. The problem was probably much bigger than either of them knew, he realized. “Ya know, whatever work needs done, it probably be on de Othah Side.”
He was right, of course, but that wouldn’t deter Leah. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Leah let her eyes linger over Ja’mez for a moment. “I’m guessin’ ya can’t stay?”
“I don’...” Ja’mez wasn’t given the chance to finish. His spectre flickered out briefly. He looked down at himself.
Sensing this was her last chance, Leah called out to him. “Hey.” Ja’mez looked at her. “I love you.”
His spirit was already fainter, but Leah could see him smile. “Love you too, Lee.”
