Chapter Text
Twilly Clunkerbolt, a perpetually cheerful gnome (as if there were any other kind), marched confidently down the old, broken cobblestone path. Though it was nearly midday, the thick canopy of trees that arched over the road shrouded the woods in perpetual twilight. A tall, cloaked figure walked at Twilly’s side, warily eyeing the trees around them.
“I thought you said this place was called ‘Brightwood’,” he grumbled.
“‘Was’ being the operative word, there, Jorrek” Twilly piped, “They call it Duskwood, now.”
“How imaginative…”
The faint glow of a lantern appeared on the road ahead, accompanied by the rattle of wooden cartwheels. Jorrek pulled his hood lower as the cart drew closer. Twilly gave a hearty wave to the cart driver, but the sallow-faced man barely spared a glance to the two travellers as he rode on. As the sound of the wagon faded behind them, Twilly announced, “We’ll be reaching Darkshire soon. We should find somewhere for you to hide. Oh!”
Through a gap in the trees, Twilly spotted an old, dilapidated manor, clearly abandoned for some time, and rushed off towards it, Jorrek hurrying behind. It was fairly small, for a manor, but had a few interconnected rooms.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years,” Twilly said, “And even if someone does happen to come by, the layout should help you stay out of sight.”
Jorrek gave a gruff snort of acknowledgement as he shrugged off his pack. “Be quick. Even if no humans come by, I expect this place still gets visitors at nightfall…”
“Hmm… you’re probably right. Well, I’m sure you can handle whatever comes your way!” Twilly smiled, “I’ll be off now. Sooner I get my story, the sooner I’ll be able to get back for you.”
As Twilly scurried off, Jorrek’s voice echoed after her, “And I’m running low on jerky!”
“Roger!” she called back as she hurried back up the path to the road.
***
Despite the opening canopy, the huddled town of Darkshire managed to somehow look at least as gloomy as the twilit woods she had just left. Instead, the craggy trees towered around the town, looking vaguely like the bars of some twisted cage. Twilly gave a shudder that she blamed on the slight gust of wind that lazily drifted a few leaves across her path as she made her way to the town square. An empty fountain stood in its centre, and few enough people milled quietly about that Twilly could count them on the fingers of one hand.
A large stone building stood to one side of the square which Twilly identified as the town hall. As she entered, a wizened old man greeted her with a suspicious gaze. “Can I help you?” he croaked.
Twilly offered a friendly smile in return, “Yes, I am a scholar from the Royal Library of Stormwind. I’m compiling a history of the First War, and so am here to learn about the attack on Grand Hamlet.”
The old man’s papery face darkened as he stood up from behind his desk. “We do have our own historian,” he began, “But if you insist, I shall bring you to him.”
“Oh? Well that would be just lovely! Chatting with a fellow historian is always a treat. Do you know where he studied? Was he here when th—”
“Follow me, madam.” The old man unhooked a lantern from the wall behind, and led Twilly down a dark hallway. They passed by a closed door, under which flickering firelight shone, and Twilly could just make out a number of hushed voices speaking in urgent tones, but she couldn’t tell what any of them were saying. Turning a corner, she was eventually led to a door that her guide knocked upon.
“Coming!” called out a voice. A rustle of papers followed by the patter of footsteps could be heard from the other side before the door opened. A dark-skinned man with long hair and a neatly trimmed beard grinned down at the gnome. “Ah! A visitor? Come in, come in!”
“She is from the Royal Library and wishes to learn of our history,” said the old man.
“Oh, excellent!” the new man positively beamed at Twilly, “Thank you, Mr. Daltry, I can take over from here.”
“Very good, sir,” Mr. Daltry said and left.
Twilly looked around the small room. It was quite orderly, all told, though having only a single small bookshelf and a desk probably helped. Noticing that it was only the two of them in the room, she turned to her host, “So you must be the historian, then?” She smiled warmly.
“Indeed I am,” he bowed, “Sirra Von’Indi, at your service.”
“Wonderful! I’m writing a history of the Great Wars, and would absolutely love to see your notes on the subject, if I may. Where did you study, by the way? How long have you been working here? I know humans have relatively short lifespans, but were you here during the first orc assault?”
Sirra chuckled. “Slow down, please, one at a time. I’d certainly love to offer any assistance you wish on your project, but unfortunately, I’m more of a genealogist. The people here are very keen to know their family trees, and let’s just say that it’s particularly useful in Duskwood to know whose relatives lie in which graves…” He laughed anxiously. “As for study, to be honest, it’s just been these four walls and me. Occasionally I’ll get to meet a historian passing through, and their advice was instrumental in getting me started, but most of my learning has been on the job.”
“Oh… Well that’s all right then. To be honest, I’ve had plenty of books to read at the Royal Library, so what I’m really interested in is finding people who actually lived through the wars and recording their stories. I imagine a genealogist would actually be more helpful for that than your average stuffy historian. So, were you here for the attacks?”
“Well, technically yes, but I was just a child at the time. Grand Hamlet has always been Darkshire to me.” Sirra gave a weak smile.
“Oh, I see… Well is there anyone else in town I could talk to about the First War?”
Sirra grimaced and glanced furtively at the door, “Not many. Most of those old enough to remember are members of either the Council or the Night Watch, and neither are terribly open to outsiders.” He shuffled through his notes. “You might try Farrin Daris; he was the younger brother of Lord Robin Daris. However, he kind of… took to the bottle after his brother died, and may not be keen to revisit those memories. You’ll probably have better luck with Mrs. Elaine Carevin. She actually saw to the town’s defences, so I’m sure she could tell you plenty.”
Twilly was already scribbling notes. “And where could I found these people?” she asked.
“Trelayne’s been kind enough to let Daris stay in one of her rooms at the tavern, and I’ll draw a map for you to the Carevin’s house.”
“Thanks muchly!” Twilly said, handing Sirra a page from her notebook. He drew a crude map of the town on it, marking both the Carevin house and the Scarlet Raven Tavern, and handed it back to the gnome. With a polite but hurried goodbye, Twilly slipped out the door and on to her first destination.
***
Twilly’s small, sharp knock on the Carevins’ door was answered by a tall, bearded man with greying light brown hair. “Can I help you?” he said, perplexed by the crimson-haired gnome on his doorstep.
“I hope so. My name is Twilly Clunkerbolt, and I am a historian from the Royal Library of Stormwind. I’d like to talk with a Mrs. Elaine Carevin about the first orc raid on Grand Hamlet.”
The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I see… Well, I suppose there’s no harm in that. Come in.” He beckoned Twilly inside. “I’m Jonathan, Elaine’s son. She’s in here by the fire.”
Twilly followed Jonathan into a neighbouring room where an old woman sat in a shawl-covered chair by a smouldering fire. “Mother? This is a historian from Stormwind. She’d like to talk with you about the war.”
The woman looked up and smiled warmly at Twilly. Noticing Twilly’s brooch bearing the royal the seal, she said, “About time those fools in the castle start listening to us. Come, child, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Jonathan, fetch us some tea, will you, dear?”
“Certainly, mother,” said Jonathan. He took the iron kettle from the hearth and left the room, returning shortly to place it on the hook in the fireplace.
Twilly drew up a footstool across from Elaine, and started unpacking her scribe kit. She slipped a vial of ink into a brass pen and scratched a few test strokes into the corner of the page. “I’ve already gone to Lakeshire to learn about the initial raids, and looked through the records of the first siege on Stormwind, so you can just start with the attack itself, if you’d like.”
“My, my, you’ve been putting in the legwork, haven’t you?” Elaine chuckled, “Well, give me a moment to get warmed up.” Twilly was already scribbling away, writing down every word Elaine said in order to warm up, herself. Jonathan poured out three mugs of tea and handed one each to Elaine and Twilly. Elaine blew gently on the steaming cup. And then, she began.