Vigil, Part II

From his perch in the ruins of Lordaeron, Mograg watched. A footbridge crossed the river of green. It was this place he hoped to find the one he sought. Many would come here, during the celebration of the undead. He had a good view of the ruins. Should his quarry pass through, he would see it.

This place made him uneasy. It was a dead place, and haunted. He had never seen it previous to its ruination. Stories were told to him of it. From the other human cities he had seen, he thought he had a decent idea of how it must have appeared.

Spirits lingered here. Few of them if any were happy about it. When he had passed through this place with shamans, he could see the toll they took on them. Though his eyes could not, at least without the aid of magic, see into the spirit realm, the fur on his forearms stood up. They were there and he knew it.

Steeling his resolve, the bull waited.

More than a day had passed. Though people of interest crossed the footbridge several times the one he sought did not. The bull was tired. The spirits of the ruins continued to keep him uneasy. It was time to clear his head and abandon his hunt, if for just a few minutes.

Crossing the ruins and ascending staircase opposite the one he had just come down, he strode toward the orb that by touching it would carry him to Silvermoon City. As he walked, two began to speak over the stones. Vandrian sought to speak with Issaela. She informed him she was in the city. When he inquired as to which city that was, she replied that she was in "-The- City."

Mograg stopped mid-stride. The assumption was easy enough to make that, as a pale elf speaking to another pale elf, she meant Silvermoon. Mograg hesitated as more plans were made. He was tired and had little use for being social. Issalea suggested they meet by the fountain.

In his weariness, the beast was given voice. "-The- fountain?" asked Mograg across the stones, eliciting a round of chuckles from others listening.

He thought perhaps he would get past the fountain before they would meet there.

Mograg placed his hand on the red orb. No more than a heartbeat later his eyes took in his new surroundings. He had been carried far to the north, to Silvermoon City. The pale elf home was one of luxury and fineries. They were wealthy and they spared no expense showing it.

He walked out of one building, between the columns of guards along the walkway, and down toward the aforementioned fountain. Issaela was already present. She smiled as he passed and he waved to her without breaking stride.

He took a tour of the city and the grounds immediately nearby. Outside, he refilled water skins in a stream and hunted small game for a meal. He would not eat or drink anything from the area near the ruined city of Lordaeron. The parts of the city the pale elves kept, for all that was wrong with it, was at the very least healthy.

Inside, distrusting and judgmental eyes followed him wherever he walked. When he took occasion to speak to some of the pale elves he was rarely greeted kindly. Most times he was told, "Your gold is welcome here." The implication was obvious to the bull. He would not tarry long.

He sat on a bench and watched a broom. It swept up and down the cobblestones autonomously. He drank of the fresh water. Heavy eyelids closed of their own volition.

He woke with a start. In a dream, he had found the one he sought. It was neither here in the pale elf city, nor in the ruined city of the undead. In fact, he seemed to have been nowhere in particular. Whether it was a vision granted him or nothing more than an ordinary dream, the bull decided to change his tactics. He would remain watchful, but let the wind carry him where it would.

He went past the fountain once more, nodding to Issaela and Vandrian as he passed. Through the columns of guards, transported by the orbs, and down the steps into the ruins once more. He checked the ground one last time for the tracks of his quarry. Finding none, he let his hearthstone carry him home.

Mograg slept.