Book that I write in: Arathi Basin

Book that I write in,

Some time ago - before The Shattering, but after the fall of the Lich King - I found myself in the Arathi Highlands. I had not intended to travel there; in fact, my benefactor in unlife, an Ebon Knight named Vaalis, had suggested I go to Tarren Mill and lend my dagger to the Forsaken I found there. But a distracted mind lead to a wrong turn and before I knew it I was in Hammerfall instead, though I didn't know that's where I was at the time.

I stared at the broken buildings and the Orcs that inhabited them as I wandered around the small Horde settlement looking confused and out of place. After shambling up a set of wooden stairs I passed through a gate in the settlement's pike fence and, for a moment, remembered what relief felt like, for I had come across a gathering of Forsaken. All of them wore fearsome looking tabards with an angry skull on them. I crept closer, my gaze all but fixed on one Forsaken woman seated atop a Dreadsteed. Her mass of hair stood up like a pillar, making her even more imposing. She hadn't batted an eyelid since I laid eye sockets on her, but the very force of her presence was enough to tell me she was overseeing what the Forsaken were doing here.

I found her beautiful, but it was in a way I've never found anything beautiful before. She was still, and had a way about her that spoke of control and experience. Her plated armour might have been a fine silk nightgown for how much it weighed on her shoulders. Her weapons rested so lightly on her back they could have been pieces of driftwood, though, in fact, they were sinister looking curved swords that could cut down humans like wheat ready for harvest.

This was a woman who was stronger for her death and I think, to me, that made her lovely. I doubt the living see physical beauty in the Forsaken, as we're hideous rotting corpses. But as I started as this woman, who I had rightly assumed led what I would later know as the Defilers, I wondered if there were perhaps one or two living members of the Horde who found some kind of beauty in our actions, or our strength. No sooner had I thought it than I scoffed mentally, it was a stupid thing to think.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I noticed there was a rotting hand on my shoulder, it belonged to the gruff sounding voice from behind me.

"Hey fresh meat, are you going to ogle the Black Bride all day, or get into the Basin and aid the Dark Lady?"

I turned and looked at the armoured Forsaken, she was wearing the same crest as everyone else, and I found myself wishing I could gulp nervously. I could barely hold her gaze as I spoke, "T-the Black Bride? Who is she getting married to? Is this a wedding? I d-didn't mean to interrupt."

The expression on what remained of her face told me this was not, in fact, a wedding. I chuckled nervously, hoping she would think I was making a joke. It didn't work. I let out a small 'erk!' as the Forsaken jerked me by my shoulder and dragged me across the small encampment.

“Name and rank, Deathstalker?” She asked as I trailed after her, my feet trying to avoid the various crates littered on the ground.

“G-Genavie Bayle, at least that's wha-'' I tried to reply, but she cut me short.

“Shove it, we have resources to claim for the Dark Lady, and members of the League to kill.”

Her grip on my shoulder tightened at the mention of 'The League' and I saw she was dragging me closer to the Black Bride herself. Struggling, I did the verbal equivalent to grabbing onto something, hoping to distract her.

“T-the League...?” I strained my voice so it sounded extra curious and dim, though rotten vocal cords didn't help the effect. Distantly I wondered how well this Forsaken woman and Vaalis would get along.

She heaved a convincing sigh before she spoke, though to my dismay she kept tugging me along. “The League of Arathor is sending large numbers of troops into Arathi Basin. Eager for food and supplies, these Alliance fools are intent to take and control the rich resources there. We must show them that Arathi will never again be a home for humans!”

I saw the lights in her skull brighten when she finished, and for a moment I remembered jealousy as I saw her get angry with such ease. Her grip left my shoulder then, and I found myself standing beside the Black Bride's mount and staring into the dark tunnel behind her.

I heard the Forsaken who had grabbed my shoulder and the Black Bride speak briefly, but I couldn't make out their speech. I thought it would be improper after starting at the Black Bride earlier to turn around and see the conversation. Instead I pretended that looking down into the dark tunnel was very interesting to me.

The Forsaken who brought me there called for me, and when I finally turned around she issued an order to me. “Go to Arathi Basin and defend the farm - no one else does. Your comrades will pull down the enemies' banners, declaring that the other strategic bases now belong to the Horde. Go, Genavie. Report back to me when this task is complete.”

If I were able, I would have blanched whiter at the thought. I was not fit for war yet! Until this point I had been killing Gnolls and shambling Scourge, not armoured humans with brains more intact than my own.

I tired to say something, anything, that might make her reconsider the order, but all that came out was my weak question, “W-who are you?”

She gave me a shove towards the tunnel, and I heard her answer as I felt the tug of teleportation magic (much like my hearthstone) taking me away, “Deathmaster Dwire.”

When the teleportation magic released me I had been brought to the Defiler's Den - a building made of old wood and sitting on top of a hill at the South end of the Basin. I was standing in a hallway that lead directly out the Den's front door.

Still a little unsteady from the teleportation, I leaned against the open door's frame and looked over the terrain. At the edge of my range of vision I could see there was a large stone building with a forge in front of it and the entire building was surrounded by water. Nearer to me, at the bottom of the hill on which the Den sat, a small farm stretched out across the land. The landscape was dotted with what I assumed were green trees and some smaller brushier foliage, there were even a few small waterfalls spilling off the surrounding mountains. I saw a flock of crows take off in the distance, and I mused that the Basin would have been a nice place to sit and think if I wasn't able to hear the din of humans and Forsaken killing each other. But with the whole area being encased by mountains (as best I could tell) and the sounds of battle raging from within the basin, I was left with a sensation of being trapped rather than one of tranquillity.

I may be dead, but I very much value my continued existence and so I wasn't thrilled to be literally shoved into a battle I knew little about. I looked down at my feet, wishing Vaalis was there with me. He would have known what to do and kept me safe, I was sure of it. I clenched my fists in anger, finally finding someone to blame for my situation. Why did he always run off after meeting with me? I resolved to press him for some answers, if I made it out of this battle intact and still animated.

Raising my chin so it was parallel to the ground, I gazed down at the farm at the foot of the hill and recalled what Deathmaster Dwire said to me. I would guard it quietly until the battle was over, as it would be just as bad for my continued unlife to disobey orders as it would be to get caught in the midst of the battle. If I wasn't reckless and stayed hidden, I was sure I could make it out of the Basin. I was just beginning to make my way towards my goal, thinking the entire time about what I could hide behind once I got there, when a stray musket shot splintered a piece of the wooden door frame I was leaning against.

Self preservation kicked in, the sound scaring me enough to make me break into a dead sprint down the hill. I picked up momentum as I tore down the slope, making up for my initial inattention with panic and speed.

I could pick out cries of battle and the ring of weapons from the general din as I raced closer to the farm. The encasing mountains seemed to intensify the sounds as they reverberated off of the jagged rocks. I could hear everything. Sometimes a large spell cast in the distance would cause several small pebbles to rain down from the hills in a dusty mist.

The farm was empty, save for a few Forsaken civilians. I approached at breakneck speed and was barely able to stop myself before I slammed into a wooden beam of the building. I looked around, disturbed by how little action I saw. Was I going to get through this battle without a fight? A slow circuit around the farm revealed no Alliance. Rather than standing in the open and scratching my head in confusion, I opted to slide into the shadows of some large crates and poison my weapons. I kept a close eye on the Horde banner proudly displayed amidst some carrot crops, and to keep my mind active I tried to envision it in every colour I knew, picturing it in as much detail as I could.

It sounds crazy, but I'm just as afraid of true death as I am of forgetting what blue looks like.

As tempting as it is to write about how I counted the lines in the wood grain on the crates I hid behind, I'll save you the wait and just jump to the one exciting part of the battle for me; that would be when I saw a human clad in plate mail with a two heavy swords on his hips run up to what I was then picturing as a turquoise Horde banner and start ripping it down.

I crept out from behind the crates as carefully and as quietly as I could, though it was hardly necessary considering the racket he was making just trying to move in all that armour. Every step I took closer to the human felt like it was stolen. I kept expecting him to grow eyes in the back of his helmet and see me. I was methodical, and silently grateful that my undead state meant I had a steady hand; if I was alive my dagger would have rattled nervously in my grip. I examined his armour, noting it was weakest at his waist and shoulders.

Thinking to myself that there was no time like the present, I lunged forward and managed to slide my dagger into the weak chink of his armour at his waist. Even still, the resistance was more than I thought it would be and my weapon didn't sink in nearly far enough to damage the human as much as I wanted to. I was now in the unfortunate position of having alerted him to my presence, and being attached to his waist. The human cried out and brought his elbow down onto my skull, knocking me away as he spun to face me.

I'd managed to keep my grip on my dagger and it pulled free of the human's armour as I stumbled back. I realized then how foolish I was for not sinking both daggers into him at once. Seeing the face of the human meant little to me then, and I only remember that he was a youth with a patchy beard. The philosophical ramifications of fighting him - the consideration that he may have been related to me in life and that I would have killed him without any consideration for such a bond- didn't settle on me until much later.

The human drew the swords at his side, wincing slightly from the movement. He let loose some nonsensical battle-cry in Common and my rotten face split into a wide smile under my mask as he charged me.

I used his momentum to my advantage; stepping to the side early, I took the opportunity to stick my left dagger in the back of his thigh as I twisted out of the way. While the earlier crack to my head had disoriented me somewhat, I felt no pain and was more than ready to finish this fight.

The human spun around and came at me again, and my over confidence made me prepare for a parry, rather than dodging him. That was a mistake. I parried cross down with my daggers successfully, but I might as well have tried to parry a horse. I am essentially bones and leather, he was a mass of armour and flesh – the force he could put into his attack was staggering.

I was pushed back. I poured all my strength into holding my parry, so that he couldn't bring his weapon to bear. I dug my toes into the dirt and bared my teeth. I could see his irises while we locked swords, and they were as wide with fear as they were adrenaline.

“Your emotions betray you.” I said in Gutterspeak, even though I knew he couldn't understand. Then I let out the most horrifying hiss I could manage, hoping to startle him and get him to release the pressure on the stalemated parry.

His eyes grew even wider and bulged out of his face for a split second. That was all I needed. Opening my arms slightly widened the cross down parry and brought the human closer to me. The lessening pressure on the parry enabled me to bring a foot up to his chest and push him backwards.

No sooner had we broken free than I attacked again. So did he, but the details are lost to me now. I never thought I would excel at warfare, or that I would enjoy it, but that fight taught me that I had a dead heart filled with violence and it needed be stated. I had lost my memories, my feelings, my will (if only temporarily), much of my sight, and my life – I'd be damned if I wasn't going to take out my loss on that Human youth who had made the mistake of attacking what I was charged with defending.

In the end I stood over his dead body, I'm confident my poisons played a role in my victory, they would have worn him down. It was a clumsy, slow fight that both of us bumbled through, neither of us were able to create the quick, clean stokes with our weapons that I had seen Vaalis use. I should have replaced the banner and tended to the wounds I had been given, but instead I dropped to my knees in front of the human's body and began peeling back his armour so I could devour him. I was reminded of eating a crab, and how you had to work at removing the shell before you could enjoy the meat inside.

We won the battle for the Basin that day, and when the magic of the Defiler's called me back to the Deathmaster to report in she had only this to say to me before waving me away: “A Defiler scout came to me with a report of your success, Genavie. Well done. As you will learn, to win the battle for Arathi Basin, we must be ever vigilant and crush any attempts at Alliance expansion. Do this, and our victory here is ensured.”

I knew I would return soon.


"Book that I Write in" is the journal of Genavie, a Forsaken Deathstalker. The story is ongoing and based off of actual roleplay done with the character on Wyrmrest Accord - US. The first entry can be found here."