The year is 38 ADP, two years after the bloody Fourth War and the Expedition to the Shadowlands in search of the criminal, Sylvanas Windrunner. After almost four decades of endless war, the Horde and Alliance have finally settled their disputes with an, albeit uneasy, peace treaty- allowing for adventurers, travelers and citizens from both sides to mingle and possibly create a domain of understanding and further healing to the already battered world.
The Kaldorei seek a new home. The Gilneans have reclaimed theirs. The Elves further unite themselves. Old magics are becoming more prevalent. It is a time of both technological progress, societal change and magical wonder.
However, this story is not about this Azeroth. It is about another.
The year is 38 ADP, two years after the bloody Fourth War and the Expedition to the Shadowlands in search of the criminal, Sylvanas Windrunner. After almost four decades of endless war, the Horde and Alliance have finally settled their disputes with an, albeit uneasy, peace treaty- allowing for adventurers, travelers and citizens from both sides to mingle and possibly create a domain of understanding and further healing to the already battered world.
The Kaldorei seek a new home. The Gilneans have reclaimed theirs. The Elves further unite themselves. Old magics are becoming more prevalent. It is a time of both technological progress, societal change and magical wonder.
However, this story is not about this Azeroth. It is about another.
But for all stories, one must have someone lead you through it. A key figure. Among these figures are both those that have been regarded as great heroes for the people of Azeroth, and those who are less known.
The weaves of time are shifting. In one moment, in one space, in one second, an artifact picked up by an adventuring scribe of the Kirin Tor, under guard by a hero of Azeroth, is activated- opening up a rift for the two of them into a new land. A similar land. A darker land.
The decision of the fate of another world's hero- rests on you.
A Quest of Revolution, Frontier and Blood by THICCROY.
THE HERO
THE DESCRIPTION
[] - Evelyn Dunharrow
HALF-ELF MAGE
Born of a Quel'Dorei ranger and a Human student of Dalaran, Evelyn was hidden away most of her life in her mother's birthplace of Darkshire. By the time that she was ten, the ancient land of the High Elves was ruined by the Scourge. Evelyn answered the call to action young, as Deathwing came to ravage Azeroth, unlocking her latent abilities in magic and becoming an apprentice under her, at that point, distant mother. Though the rift is still there, Evelyn has graduated into a lone hedge sorceress, having participated in some part in the Legionfall Campaign and as an assistant to the Alliance expeditionary force in Stromgarde during the Fourth War.
Known to be kind, full of life and charismatic on the outside, Evelyn has demons of her own, caused by her family problems and the massive weight on her shoulders as the daughter of a grand wizard of Dalaran.
[] - Tanith Ashtongue
FORSAKEN WARRIOR
Scion of the Wyrmtongue family, young Tanith squired for many gallant knights of the relam of Quel'thalas, though failed to ascertain his true purpose- until falling under the command of General Windrunner. Dying alongside his general against the Traitor Prince, Tanith was one of the first o be freed of the hold of the Lich King and become Forsaken. Though not ordained with special powers, Tanith has ever since served as a Deathguard of the Dark Lady, especially coming to be known as Marquis of Pestilence- an honor granted to him for his command of the Bulwark following the Scourge's reemergence in late 26 ADP.
However, Tanith grew disillusioned with the Horde and even the Forsaken after Sylvanas' blatant madness and betrayal. Pathless, Tanith has grown into calling himself 'Wretch' due to a wound suffered in the Fourth War- which he refuses to conceal out of personal reasons of guilt and depression.
[] - Alexander Blackadder
WORGEN ROGUE
Thief. Rebel. Bloodfang. Alexander, known to friends as 'Adderfang', has never belonged. An orphan of a sickness that ravaged Gilneas City during the Second War, Alexander lived as a petty thief and later prisoner in the prison cells of the city- before they were used as a recruiting ground for the Northgate Rebellion. Donning Crowley's colors, Alexander continued his own self-serving mission to survive the civil war, rather than seek out glory. Yet defeat met him, and he was put into the stockades once more, awaiting the horrible fate of affliction. In his feral state, he was among those adopted by the Bloodfang tribe. Though the pack was free and self-serving, Alexander did not know where to take himself except into distant reaches. Becoming a thief once more.
Alexander is a secluded man, often hiding his own insecurities behind a wall of dark humor, japery of others and mistrust of those wishing good for him. A lone wolf through and through.
[] - Kraul of the Frostwolves
ORC HUNTER
An old warrior of the Frostwolf clan of lesser note, Kraul was born on Azeroth in the early days of the First War. Taught in the practise of the huntsman, Kraul has joined many battles, most of all the endless skirmishes of Alterac Valley between his clan and the Dwarves. A staunch loyalist to the Horde, or at least what he considers the Horde being orcish in nature, Kraul for a time abandoned his clan to serve Garrosh Hellscream. However, during the Siege of Orgrimmar, the true crimes of his new warchief were made apparent, and Kraul quickly switched sides, ebcoming instrumental in the retaking of a district during the Siege. For his penance, Kraul was exiled for a time, before returning to serve Saurfang in his rebellion against Sylvanas. Now, Kraul seeks to gain enough notoriety, money and land to settle down and become a husband.
Wisened by being in the background of many historical events, Kraul is best at observing and thinking in the long run, and despite his pro-Orcish proclivities, is known for his diplomatic nature when it comes to other peoples.
[] - Illyndria Amberblood
KALDOREI PRIESTESS
The last of the Amberblood line of Highborne, the Scion Illyndria was born in Eldre'thalas (Dire Maul) during some point in the War of the Sands. Coddled for most of her life, she was pushed out into the lands of the Kaldorei alongside her kinsmen and kinswoman by the Horde, thereafter crafting her into a staunch loyalist to the Kaldorei, and the Alliance, in turn. The Scion then participated in the many bloody conflicts of Ashenvale forest, and was among the first in the vanguards of the War of Thorns, there finding out about her blessings from Mother Elune. using both moonsteel to slay her enemies and the Light of Elune to heal her allies, Illyndria aided in the defense of her new homeland. With the wars over, she travels for wealth to rebuild her household and name, and prove herself as a possible Priestess to the Matriarchs.
The Scion despises talking in any tongue other than Darnassian, though she can. She is often haughty to 'the lesser races', though does take 'pity' on them if they prove themselves to be 'innocent in nature'. Nonetheless, she has a wretched hatred for the Horde's peoples.
[] - Jalaji
TROLL SHAMAN
A young Darkspear brave, Jalaji found out about his powers whilst battling in Stromgarde during the Fourth War. During a skirmish in one of that ancient land's elemental rings, the powers of the earth, wind and water around him answered to give him defense and assault. Since then, Jalaji, retired, or rather running away from the responsibility of the service, has traveled the land of Azeroth in search of more seers and teachers, and of course, adventure to be had in a new age of peace.
A boisterous, naive young man. Though Jalaji has seen war and lost his tusk in it, his sprite nature has not left him, giving him a greater appreciation for the simpler things in life.
Thus begins the story of Alexander Blackadder.
Criminal. Rebel. Wild beast. Burdened by his past and uncertain of his future.
Thus begins his tale in the Age of Insurrection.
Descending down into the deep caverns were two men. An incognito mission, under the noses of both living and dead, in the den of darkness. Guided by a faded disc of most ancient proportions and triangulated against the stars, a mage and a rogue shimmied themselves deeper and deeper between the rocks of a narrow, downward passage, both descending and squeezing. Huffing out, Alexander finally looked up at the robed disciple above him, blinking away the dust and glare of light from his light- a floating fairy-like thing of a bright, blue ball expediating its rays across the long, narrow crevice they found themselves in.
"Coulda bloody told me that we were going cave diving. I expected some kind of ancient temple." Alexander growled out, not even hiding his own discomfort he found himself in, whilst the young mage above him chuckled, somewhat stammering, as they stopped to look down, their young, unblemished face and almost comically blue eyes and golden hair shining in the mage-light beside their face, that cast down a dangerous shadow over Alexander's own marred and scarred features, of black, curly hair slick with sweat and thin as straws and brown eyes that seemed to glare a soft red in a certain angle.
"So sorry, sir, I uhm- I thought that the descent would be easy- but ancient Titan facilities aren't so easy to get to! To be honest, we're lucky it's just a climb down! The worst that could happen is we'd have to complete tedious puzzles, fight a few golems and--...!" As the young mage, Faust, spoke, he moved downward slowly, as if seeking to continue their journey, before suddenly he gasped- slipping across a smoother rock than usual. Too smooth to be natural. Faust barely screamed the first few seconds as he fell- bruised and beaten as he tumbled through a further widening crevice, lit by his following mage-light.
Alexander cursed out, "Shit!" before springing into action, letting himself fall and roar out in pain as rocks protruding against his back and front crashed into him. Fabric tore, and Alexander, in the back of his mind, remembered to yell after the boy. "Hold onto something!" He said, hoping his voice reached him, before seeking to let go completely of the wall and straighten himself, letting the wind take him. But in the darkness, Alexander noticed that the crevice grew larger and larger, until he found himself falling i empty space.
Not good.
Now Alexander cursed himself for following the boy into this wild goose chase, flailing his hands about in the darkness and roaring out in both anger and fear as, assuredly, there was a great cavernous floor he will go splat upon. But Alexander soon saw something that made his mind freeze up. Having flown backwards in the great abyss and made a roll back around so that his face was downward, the Gilnean's eyes widened at the sight before him- a stone floor, illuminated by blue, and someone there. Was the boy dead? Was the boy- standing...?
Alexander got his answer as just before he reached the floor, he heard the echo of some kind of incantation in Thalassian and suddenly felt his body halt- flowing first down and then up, dangerously close to having reached the floor, as if he were on some elastic rope. Alexander sighed out with a shake of his body, before looking up, or rather for himself, down- toward the bruised, bloodied and tired Faust. He was in tatters, it seemed, but alive- and holding Alexander up by some kind of providence of magic.
Finally, the Gilnean was let go to fall upon the ground with a slight groan. Standing up, Alexander came up to the shorter boy and patted him down, both of the men illuminated by the light.
"Bloody Nether, lad. You're lucky you've got the Gods on y'side."
"No Gods, sir. Just the Leylines... Look now, mister Blackadder," the young mage said, standing straighter with a sniffle of his bleeding nose and extending his hand out to the rest of the cavern they found themselves in. Or rather, as Alexander then noticed- a great floor, with a precise pattern in it. Marble, by its sheen, with an onyx coloring to some of its lines. Motioning upward, Alexander followed Faust's eyes and went agape, peering around with awe as the light increased as it floated higher and higher- illuminating the great cavern into its true form: a great dome of marble and stone, carved out into the cavern and split open at its top. The crevice where through the two fell into this place.
"By the Light." whispered Alexander, before turning back to Faust. "This it?"
"I suppose it is. Look now, sir. A doorway- shattered..." Faust said, and for a bruised up young lad, Alexander thought, had a spry limp to him as Faust led Alexander forth to what he described- a shattered doorway, guarded by two statues in pristine condition- kneeling, great men with braided beards and hair, stony eyes wide open. They had robes and bracers on their wrists and heels, though bare feet and palms, and chests. Alexander did not know if they represented some ancient Titan humans or what- but they did remind him of the people of the Arathi.
Faust groaned as he crawled over the debris of the thick slabs of stone. Alexander quickly got past him and helped him up, using his quick feet to bound over more debris and help the limping mage down from it. Unsheathing his serrated dagger, Alexander then turned toward the darkness of the hallway, whispering, though echoed, to his charge. "Stay behind me. And don't run off. Light knows what's down here."
"Nothing but ghosts and treasure, mister Blackadder. But if you insist." Said the young mage, soon enough taking his place diagonally behind the rogue who marched forth with a concentrated gaze into the darkness. As they came upon a fork in the passageway, Faust hummed, pulling out from his thick, blue robe the same disk that brought them here. Shifting the rudimentary, moving pieces of bronze about, Faust stuck his tongue out in thought before something -clicked- and shined on the disk.
Moving around his own axis, Alexander ignored Faust's little antics and then peered right down the hallway. Suddenly, something caught his heightened gaze, narrowing his eyes at it in the thick veil of darkness and dust. A dress. Heels. Someone was wearing it. It seemed to flutter with a wind that gushed against his face, just slightly. There was a smell of iron. Was it...?
"Mister Blackadder?"
Blinking, Alexander spun about toward Faust, eyes wide and breathing ragged. Slowly, the mage pointed over his own shoulder- the opposite way Alexander looked. "The path is there... Are you alright?"
"What? I'm fine. Let's just go." Growled out the rogue as he looked one last time over his shoulder at the empty darkness and continued on his path through the echoing halls of this accursed place, Faust following close behind. Soon enough, they came upon a great gate, or rather two great doors of stone, with fantastical carvings of beasts and what seemed to be men. Alexander could scarcely understand any of it as Faust quickly approached. There was an empty space there.
"Finally! Mister Blackadder... We're here."
"The Vault y'spoke of. Full a treasures and the like, aye?" Asked Alexander as he slowly followed behind, positioning himself close by Faust in case of danger. Or betrayal.
"Yes! Yes, it is... We should get the Hearthstone ready- no need to climb that entire way up again, hmm?" Asked the young mage, chuckling, as he slowly pushed the disk into the circular, empty slot inbetween the two doors. Slowly, it clicked into place and shifted on its own, the two by reflex stepping back as both bronze and stone shifted, and the disk seemed to fold out into two parts- letting the giant slabs of stone part ways for the adventurers.
What they and the glare of the mage-light revealed was glittering in nature. On various slabs of stone in a circular room sat exorbitant relics of great gold and silver, of many shapes and forms and sizes. Amongst them all various relics of pristine see-through glass, silks of distant and ancient tailors and bannermen, and vases of marble and clay. Busts of heads, statues of others. It was a treasure trove like none other, and all for their taking. Alexander chuckled out in giddy nature, though ignored the crowning jewel in the middle.
Another disc, something that Faust slowly limped over to whilst Alexander continued to chuckle and stuff into his pockets what he could, taking necklaces and layering them over and over onto each other around his neck. "Faust, I could kiss you, boy!" Roared out the Gilnean in glee as he continues his rampage against the treasure within. He continued to laugh even louder as Faust took the disc in hand, eyes wide and almost in awe as his palms shook.
"Finally... At long last..."
"Oi! Gonna let me take whatever I can, eh?" Alexander asked, laughing as he finally turned about, smiling widely for the first time in a few good months before it was slowly lost at the sight of the young mage cradling the disc in hand. "Faust?"
His name echoed in the chamber, as the boy then peered down at his companion. Swallowing, Faust shook his head. "This is where our partnership ends, mister Blackadder. I am sorry that this must be done." And before Alexander could react with a swift throw of his dagger, Faust spoke quickly in Thalassian, stupefying the man's senses and forcing his dagger to just about miss the boy's throat and head. Quickly enough, through warbled senses, Alexander heard another incantation, and soon felt weightless- flowing once more upside down. His legs bound together and arms behind his back by what felt like hands that were not there, Alexander slowly drifted up to the raised platform in the center.
"It is a harrowing thing that blood is required for some Titanic incantations. Or rather those preferred by the Masters." Muttered Faust, seemingly to himself. "All it takes is a fool looking for a new chance at life." The young man continued, shifting the disc in hand here and there as Alexander's thrown dagger slowly drifted through the air and towards his throat.
The Gilnean growled, his eyes flaring with a deeper red. "That form won't help you, mister Blackadder. It's too late now." Slowly, Faust then finished whatever he was doing with the disc, the bronze, circular tablet chiming. The entire circular hall shook with the energy from it, and Faust finally turned to Alexander, pain written over his face. Alexander did not care, as his own form shifted into a more animalistic one, bones popping out of place, maw engorging.
But before Faust could take the floating dagger in hand, muttering something in a language he now could scarcely understand, something fell. Both Alexander's and Faust's eyes landed on it- behind the young mage, a great candleholder fell over, and something seemed to shift between the treasures there. Alexander then felt something. His shifting form's claw was free. The concentration on whatever held him had been broken. Using his increased speed, he slashed a mighty claw across Faust's face, making the boy fall over and scream in pain.
Alexander ignored the great glow the disc was emanating now. The room continued to shake, but anger and sheer bloodlust propelled the Worgen to take the knife and the boy by his throat. Groaning out and holding onto his furred wrist, Faust choked out a simple: "Wait...!" before the dagger embedded into his stomach.
"Mother... Fucker...!" Alexander growled out, twisting the dagger and slashing it out- letting blood and guts spill to his right.
It landed on the disc. And everything in that moment changed. Weightlessness took Alexander again, but rather than controlling, it was as if the entire room had gone into free fall. Letting go of the dying Faust, Alexander peered around with his canine eyes, seething through his fanged teeth at what he saw. The treasure, all around him, and around his neck and in his pockets, was floating out. As he tried to grasp at it, he felt it evaporate- shifting into grains of sand in his hands.
"No! NO! Dammit, no...!" Cursed out Alexander, as he flailed about, helpless, as the treasure all around him shifted, instead, in a circular formation- crashing into each other and turning to sand. All of it. It all seemed to be tracing itself toward the disk- and the blood from the open stomach of Faust. Alexander took some pity on the young boy, only for a short moment, before the mage, with his final breaths, roared, or rather loudly wheezed out: "You fool! What have you done...!?"
"Don't intend on finding out, Faust! Fare thee fuckin' well!" Roared out the Worgen, digging into his pouch and fishing out his hearthstone- flaring it to life. And As Faust screamed out a 'no' and Alexander said the name of the place he was to return to- the disc activated, finally. A great beam of light enveloped the room, and everything turned into a tube. A section of tubes that funneled every single grain of matter that made up Alexander's body within both three thousand lifetimes and a couple of seconds. Each second felt like a year and a year felt like a blink of the eye. Everything was bright, everything was dark. Was this death? Was he in the so-called Shadowlands?
But what mattered most right now, was the place that Alexander roared out to eh Hearthstone. In these fleeting moments of existence in nothingness, Alexander thought on those words...
![THE AGE OF INSURRECTION [or, a hero of Azeroth is transported to an alternate, darker one]](/data/threadmark-index-icons/l/77/77313.jpg?1721223330){kind=icon}
