Zangarmarsh

“-The red, red wine that in the goblet glows, is hallowed by the blood that stains the ground on which it grows-”

Only a warlock, Miria thought to herself as she scowled and hunched down over her elekk’s head, would know so many songs that involve blood, death and dismemberment.

“-Drink! Drink! And as your hearts are warmed by its ruddy tide-”

“For the sake of the Naaru, please-”

“-Swear to live as free as your fathers lived, or die as your fathers died!” Kaster lifted his hand in an exaggerated flourish, his dreadsteed stamping in annoyance at his sudden movement. “It’s over. You know, you wouldn’t have to listen to my traveling songs if you’d learned how to fly.”

Miria pursed her lips. “Perhaps I would have learned to fly if someone hadn’t been hurling shadowbolts at me while I was trying to maneuver.”

“When the horde are shooting at you because you accidentally passed too close to their territory, you’ll thank me,” Kaster said. He sat up straight in the saddle and began another song. “In life three ghostly friars were we, and now three friarly ghosts we be-”

“Oh, don’t start!” Miria snapped.

Kaster glared at her, and she returned the glare with what she hoped was equal ferocity. She did not have much patience for people who chose deliberately to be rude, and Kaster was demonstrating that tendency more and more each day they traveled together.

They met no other adventurers on the road. Until now they had stayed away from the worn track, preferring to swing far south of Hellfire Citadel. Kaster assured her that the demons and fel orcs that once used it as a stronghold had been cleared out, but the memory of the six fel orcs who had ambushed the warlock kept Miria from wholly believing him. They gave the citadel a wide berth, picking up the road on the other side.

The citadel was a day and a half in their wake, now, and they were coming to the narrow mountain pass that led out of Hellfire Peninsula and into Zangarmarsh, the refuge of her people. This time, Miria was not foolish enough to build up her hopes. After seeing what the devastation of the planet wrought in the peninsula, she more expected a wasteland or a fetid bog than the place she remembered.

The first sign that they were passing into Zangarmarsh was the smell of water and wet plant matter entering the air. Miria began to see moss on the rocks in the pass, signs of life that were a welcome change from the barren desert. The first small mushrooms jutted out of the rocks only a few feet later. Cautiously, guardedly, Miria began to hope. Then her elekk’s broad foot landed on the ground with a squish, and Miria felt a smile stealing over her face as the pass opened up.

Stretched out before them was a forest of enormous mushrooms as tall as most trees Miria had seen on Azeroth. They gave off an almost ghostly blue glow, rippling off the standing water of the bog. Little inlets of moss and vegetation stretched their fingers through the shallow water. The road became an elevated wooden walk. Miria hoped it was stronger than it looked, or it wouldn’t hold her elekk’s weight.

On the immediate horizon, Miria could see the graceful arch of kaldorei architecture rising up out of the marsh. “We will head for the settlement,” she said. “I would like to check in with someone and see how the marsh has been faring.”

She urged her elekk on ahead, smiling despite herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see small sporebats playing in the shallow water, flicking it at each other with their long tails. Off in the distance she saw a fen strider, its long spindly legs consuming vast strides of land when it walked. She felt something warm building up in her chest and swallowed hard.

Kaster was watching her, his head tilted to the side, a grin on his lips. He looked like he thought Winter Veil had come early and Greatfather Winter had brought a special present just for him.

“What?” Miria asked, frowning at him.

“Nothing,” Kaster said. “You look pleased.”

“You’ve stopped singing.”

“I can start again, if you like,” Kaster said, his grin growing broader.

“No!” Miria said quickly. “No, thank you, let’s just ride in peace.”

It did not take them long to come to the settlement Miria had seen as they came down from the pass. It was a Cenarion Expedition refuge, and the druids there were almost as glad to see Miria as she was to see them. They may not have been her people, but she couldn’t think of anyone more qualified to give her an assessment on the state of the land than a druid.

In short order, she found herself directed to the druid in charge of this branch of the expedition. She was a night elf, a slender woman with shockingly bright blue-green hair. “Welcome to Zangarmarsh,” she said with a small bow. “I am Ysiel Windsinger.”

Miria returned it. “It has been a long time since I have walked in these bogs,” she said. “I am glad to be home. I am Miria, and this is my companion Kaster-clan-Raven.”

“Just Kaster is fine, you know,” Kaster said absently. Miria wasn’t sure when he’d stopped to summon a demon, but there was a felhound snuffling through the grass beside where he was. He seemed inordinately interested in a small cluster of glowing mushrooms. Miria was happy to let him be diverted with whatever took his fancy, so long as he didn’t start tormenting her again.

“A draenei and a warlock - now that is a strange pair,” Ysiel said.

“It is... complicated,” Miria said. “What can you tell me of the marsh?”

“Not much good, I am afraid,” Ysiel said. “Being sandwiched between Blade’s Edge Mountains to the north and Terrokar to the south, not to mention having the peninsula as a buffer, saved it from much of the world’s shattering. What harm it avoided then, though, was redoubled by the naga and their wretched steam pumps.”

“Naga?” Kaster asked, straightening suddenly.

“Yes, hundreds of them,” Ysiel said, her nose wrinkling like she’d smelled something foul. “I do not know what they intended to gain by draining the waters of the marsh, but while Vashj still commanded them, they worked tirelessly toward it. Water levels are down, and as a result the wildlife suffers.”

Miria closed her eyes, letting out a sigh that felt like it was dragged from the depths of her spirit. “What can I do to help?”

“We have an overpopulation problem,” Ysiel said. “The naga are fleeing, their numbers dissipating now that they have no leadership to organize them. The natural wildlife, however, has been thrown out of balance through hunting and the drop in the water level. The naga also introduced feral hydras into the environment, and they’ve been hunting the sporebats relentlessly. Sporebat numbers are down, marshfang and amberfly numbers are through the roof - not to mention the hydras.”

“I will do my part to decrease the hydra population, then,” Miria said. “What can you tell me of Telredor?”

“The draenei settlement up north? It remains - in fact, they seem to be doing well for themselves,” Ysiel said.

Miria felt hope leap in her chest again and shoved it down ruthlessly. She did not have the time to get sentimental, and she definitely did not have the time to spend putting the emotional pieces back together when that hope was shattered. “I will go to Telredor - I will keep an eye out for overzealous wildlife while I am on the road, and offer what assistance I can.”

“If you bring me back hydra skins, I will pay you two gold per skin,” Ysiel said, “as a reward for getting rid of the wretched creatures.”

Kaster, who had turned his attention back to the interesting collection of flora the druids were cultivating, looked up at that. He waiting to speak until they were back in the saddle, riding out toward Telredor. “Two gold per hydra skin, did she say?”

“You’re welcome to hunt them if you wish, but I make for Telredor. I have... I need to see - it’s personal business.”

Kaster smirked. “Someone you used to know lived here,” he said. “Your family, perhaps?”

“None of your business,” Miria said.

“So you were one of the lucky ones who escaped Outland when it was just breaking up,” Kaster said.

Miria felt a twinge of something like guilt. “I was on The Exodar, yes,” she said.

“Do you know what happened to most of your people who remained behind?” he asked, his voice all innocence. Miria’s gaze sharpened on him.

“What do you mean, what happened to my people? I assume they carried on, survived as best they were able. That is what we do. For many long centuries, we have survived - and we will continue to.”

“Oh yes, they survived,” Kaster said. He chuckled to himself, a disturbing noise that made Miria shiver involuntarily. Beside her, Naru growled low. Miria gritted her teeth and ignored the warlock, keeping her elekk’s head turned straight in the direction of Telredor.

Shattrath may have been the place she grew up when she was a small child, but most of her young life was spent in Telredor and the surrounding marsh, helping her parents tan hides and hunt marshfang. They had lived in a quiet home near the base of the giant mushroom Telredor was built in, living simply. In those days, Treize had already left to aid the Aldor priests in their attempt to retake Shattrath, leaving Miria alone with her parents. Every day they feared they would receive news from the front that Treize was dead, killed by orcs or blood elves or demons.

And now I am here, Treize is alive and well on Azeroth, and neither of us have heard from our parents since the land shattered. Miria could not help but fear they were dead.

Telredor rose out of the marsh abruptly, higher than all the mushrooms surrounding it. Miria dismissed her elekk, walking with Naru at her flank over to a set of stairs that led up to a platform. Shortly, another platform descended from far above their heads and came to a smooth halt in front of them.

“Step on,” Miria said, urging Naru onto the platform. Kaster followed her, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes and his felhound still snuffling at his feet.

“Enchanted?” Kaster asked. “I would have thought your people to be as adverse to the arcane as the kaldorei.”

“Magic has always been a part of us,” Miria said, “but it is a tool like any other tool. It is dangerous when abused, and can be addicting. We guard ourselves carefully against those eventualities.”

Kaster yawned theatrically. “Boring. What’s the use of power if you don’t use it for yourself?”

“Not everyone is as selfish and childish as you,” Miria said tartly. The platform lurched into motion, bringing them up to the top of Telredor, where Miria stepped off.

The town was not as bustling as she remembered - or perhaps it was that she was grown now, and the other draenei did not seem to tower over her anymore. The more she looked around, though, the more she got the sense that these people were barely surviving. The fountain was in disrepair, full of stagnant bog water that would normally be filtered drinking water. The wooden deck was rough, boards peeling up in places. The benches sagged, propped up by bits of decking that appeared to have been ripped up from the corners.

“Cheerful place,” Kaster said. “I’ll leave you to your search. There are some hydras out there just begging to be slaughtered, and I think I found a new species of mushroom with some fel taint to it.” Miria looked back at him, alarmed, but he was grinning - of course. “Maybe I can find a practical application for it.”

Miria shuddered as he turned away to go back to the elevator, reminding herself not to drink or eat anything he gave her. She put her hand down on Naru’s head, digging her fingers into the bear’s fur for reassurance.

“Miria?”

Miria whirled around. She didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but she had grown a lot since she was last here. “Who... Idaar?”

The draenei who had called her smiled as he stepped away from his guard post. “I thought that was you - by the Light, Miria, look at you! You’ve grown so much!”

“Idaar, I’m so glad to see you,” Miria said, a smile breaking across her face. Her family and Idaar’s went back a long way - their fathers lived near each other on Argus, and served in the same section of the Tempest Keep. Growing up, Miria, Idaar and Treize were like an inseparable trio, getting into all sorts of trouble together. “When you weren’t on the Exodar, I feared the worst.”

“I stayed behind to cover the retreat, you knew that,” Idaar said. “I am lucky to have survived, but here I am, still among the living!” Idaar pulled Miria into a hug, thumping her on the back. “I am glad to see you are well.”

“I saw Treize on Azeroth, recently,” Miria said. “You will be glad to know that he is also well. He is travelling across the Eastern Kingdoms, telling our people that it is safe to come home.”

Idaar frowned. “I would not precisely call it ‘safe,’” he said. “We still have much work to do before Shattrath is the city it once was, and here... well, we have our own problems.”

“Yes I had noticed that Telredor seems to have seen better days,” Miria said, waving her hand at the stagnant fountain. “What happened?”

“We cannot spare any able-bodied persons to do things as menial as keeping up the fountain and the decking,” Idaar said. “The filthy naga have thrown the ecosystem into disarray, and the sporebat numbers fall rapidly. The Cenarion druids have warned us that we can no longer hunt them, or we risk extincting the population. With that, our largest food supply is off-limits. Everything is in shortage here.”

The more Idaar spoke, the heavier Miria’s mood grew. She had hoped to come home and find that things had gotten better, that the Legion had been driven back into the nether and her people were recovering. Now it seemed like they were worse off than ever. “Idaar,” she said, screwing up her courage, “have you heard from my parents?”

Idaar’s expression went carefully blank, but for Miria that was as good as if he had come out and said it. He shifted from one hoof to another, opened his mouth, and then closed it. He did not seem able to speak. “Miria...” he finally said.

“They are dead then,” Miria said, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “I feared it was so.”

“No,” Idaar said reluctantly. “They are not dead - but they... they’ve been changed.”

“Changed? Changed how?”

Idaar shook his head. “Many of our people were taken by... by a sickness, of a sort, that made them into less than what they were. It broke them, cut them off from the Light, made them bitter and afraid. We tried to care for them, but they could not see our compassion. They left us, many months ago.”

Miria swallowed. “Are they... still draenei?”

“I cannot say,” Idaar said. “I would still consider them to be my people, but they do not call themselves that now. They call themselves the Broken.”

“Where can I find them?” Miria asked.

Idaar hesitated for a long moment, his brow knit with sorrow and his glowing blue eyes avoiding Miria entirely. Miria kept her gaze fixed on him, her shoulders straight, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. Finally, Idaar sighed. “Go northwest,” he said. “Seek out the Orebor Harborage. That is what they call home, now.”

Miria nodded. “Thank you, my friend,” she said, and whistled for Naru, heading back toward the lift. She had planned to stay the night here, perhaps pass a few days of rest in the safety of Telredor’s canopy, but she could not impose herself on a people who had so little to give.

She looked around for Kaster when she reached ground level, but he wasn’t immediately in sight. She would have thought he had the sense not to go too far, but then again, he didn’t seem to have much sense at all. Miria bent down to find his tracks and picked out a set of round boot prints out of the dozens of hoof tracks left by draenei. The prints went west from Telredor toward the large lake in the center of Zangarmarsh. Miria followed.

Not three strides passed and she heard a wet pop and the cackle of delighted laughter. Overcoming her first instinct, which was to run in the other direction, Miria squeezed through a small copse of mushrooms to see what the warlock had done now.

He stood on the shore of the lake, his robes splattered with gore. A hydra lay dead at his feet, its necks ending in bloody stumps where heads should be. The remains of the hydra’s three skulls and all the fleshy gobbets that were contained inside sprayed across the shore’s vegetation in a grotesque spray pattern. “What in the name of the Light did you do?”

Kaster had a wide grin on his face. His felhound slurped obscenely at the remains - it appeared to be rooting out the brain matter from the rest and eating it. “Fel mushrooms,” he said. “Did you know they interact with whatever compound the naga were putting in the water? Its heads exploded!”

He sounded positively excited. Miria wrinkled her nose at the felhound, still enjoying its meal. “I suppose you want me to skin it now,” she said.

“Only if you want the gold,” Kaster said mildly. “I have found an explosive compound. Further testing is required.”

Miria shook her head, bending to work with her skinning knife. Stuck in the middle of a naga-infested swamp with a psychotic warlock without a single moral bone in his entire body, she thought. I should have stayed in Azeroth. I should have gone to the war in Northrend. It can’t possibly be as bad there as it is here.