Chapter Text
I joined Taren and Ogrimmar to search Blackstaff Keep for Tyrus, a powerful warlock who recently betrayed the squadron and absconded with the Hand of Vecna. We found nothing. Epiphany, Verak, and Valkya seemed to have had a discomfiting experience of their own in Harke Hold, as evidenced by Verak's new helmet made from… his own skull?
Epiphany woke each of us with a lead: Tyrus has been sighted on the island of Ophira. She asked if I still wished to travel with the squadron. I confess, inertia plays a part in my choice – I do not know where else to go – but the Hand of Vecna is a threat to all, myself included. Additionally, this Tyrus reminds me of certain people I have known. I never got the chance to rebuke them myself, but I might enjoy avenging myself against a surrogate.
We traveled two days along the Wenwood road to Ranwinn’s port. Nearly there, we were ambushed by elf-orc hybrid archers – the Children of Larynda, the previous bearer of the Hand. They had chosen to serve Tyrus, and set an undead armored Juggernaut upon us. In a reckless move out of my younger years, I surged forwards and was gutted by an arrow volley. Taren and Ogrimmar engaged the Juggernaut, and Verak traded fire with the Children. The Juggernaut’s armor repelled Taren’s spear, and its weapons battered Ogrimmar, before it unleashed a fearsome necrotic beam. Valkya and her fire spirit Shai’rai provided deeply necessary healing, empowering us to slay the Juggernaut and cow the Children. The Juggernaut vowed it would face Ogrimmar again, then fell to dust.
I ensured our ship was free of armed stowaways (a necessary precaution, ever since Sylo) before we began the two-month voyage to Ordos. Ogrimmar and Epiphany started playing daily music, which Verak and I joined.
Soon, we passed into the reach of the aquatic Abaian Empire and saw the lights of an undersea battle. The sight stirred a memory – this is not the first time I have seen scores die in explosions far beneath me. I would never wish to return to those days, but I do find myself missing the power I commanded.
I wonder sometimes if these memories truly belong to me, or if they are the echoes of a dead man.
Valkya and I kept watch one night, comparing our magical artistry, before the claws of kuo-toa boarded the ship. They have a champion of their own, a creature made of mud and shark skull. Let us hope it proves less ghastly than Ogrimmar’s toothy friend.