Incident at Raven Hill

Inspired by an actual incident at Raven Hill at the end of 2008 in WoW.

Mor'ladim slowly stalked the grounds in total silence, a massive glowing sword in its skeletal hand. Encased in plate armor, its glowing red eyes sought out the living. It had walked these grounds for many years in the same pattern, only pausing to slay anything it encountered in its path. The lesser spirits infesting the area could not hold a candle to Mor'ladim's might; its monomaniacal focus was legendary among adventurers who only whispered its name in well-lit, noisy taverns. Mor'ladim and death had much in common; to the people of Darkshire, they were one and the same force.

~~~

"Who do you think he is?"

"Is? Was, more's the like of it. Statue's all pitted and weather-worn."

The two grave-robbers were leaning on their shovels in Raven Hill Cemetery, vests undone, sleeve rolled up. They were gazing up at a statue, resting temporarily from their exertions.

"Must have been a mighty mage, or a priest, with a robe like that," the woman said, studying the corroded plaque at the base. She frowned, unable to make out any letters.

"History's not my strong point," the man said dismissively, looking for another grave to violate.

"Oh but it is, Charles," the woman said in a low voice, groaning as she shouldered her shovel and followed. "History is what we live upon."

"Harrumph!" said Charles. He said that a lot.

~~~

Eldoren the Druid did not much care for human graveyards, and yet here he was, on another quest that the rather gloomy people of Darkshire had sent him upon.

As a Night Elf, he'd been treated well enough, but the inhabitants of the town had a guarded, edgy way about them. And half the population seemed to be guardsmen, striding slowly among the buildings, torches in hand.

Raven Hill Cemetery was a large graveyard north of the road that led to Westfall. It had fallen into disuse, and was well upon the way to being fairly described as 'ruins'. The whole of Duskwood was like that, Eldoren thought, carrying his staff in one hand as he looked for any movement among the shadowed tombstones. Why would the people of Darkshire want to stay, anyway?

Rusting iron fences bordered the large grounds that were covered with leaning, weathered tombstones; the occasional mausoleum stood, cold marble nearly luminous in the moonlight. Cenotaphs, underground ways, large webs scattered among the trees...

There. Another Rotted One; or was it a Flesh Eater? Slowly shambling among the graves. He'd seen plenty of them, as well as Bone Chewers. Skeletal Fiends and Horrors- perhaps former victims of the aforementioned shamblers- dotted the graveyard, animated bones possessed of some strange undead magic, making their eternal night-time rounds. 'How could there be so many Flesh Eaters after all these years?' Eldoren spontaneously thought. He concentrated upon his target; it was getting too close.

Eldoren cast Starfire; a pillar of white light descended upon the Flesh Eater, wracking the creature with nature magic. It started to lope towards the Druid, whom cast a Moonfire spell and then hefted his staff. The creature, damaged by magic, tore at the Night Elf; he dodged the attack, and smote the creature down with his staff until it lay twitching upon the ground.

Suddenly, thick strands of sticky web enveloped his legs. Stumbling, he turned to see the looming presence of a Carrion Recluse spider, its green bulk moving with swiftness towards him, mandibles clicking. Eldoren cast Wrath, the blazing bundle of energy splashing against the arachnid, but the spider struck with its clawed legs, slamming the Druid against his leather-clad chest.

A blur of motion, a yell, and the singing of a heavy sword as it hacked into the body of the spider startled Eldoren. By the time the spider expired, it was obvious that his savior was a mail-clad Paladin. He bowed to the man.

The Paladin chuckled in a high-pitched voice and ran off through the night, hopping as he gained speed.

Eldoren raised an eyebrow and shrugged philosophically. He cleared the sticky strands still clinging to his legs with great difficulty, searched for loot, and then looked around the area again.

~~~

"Notice the scratches upon the grave there. Probably a weakened Flesh Eater was worrying at it. Means this one's fresh. Well, fresher than others. Fresh means more likely to have some loot. Grace?"

"Hmmmm?"

"You're not listening again," Charles said in a self-important voice.

Grace rolled her eyes. "Yes, Charles."

"Harrumph!" Charles glared at her as he started to dig.

"What supports all of these Flesh Eaters, anyway? That's always bothered me. There can't be enough flesh left to go around here."

Charles pointedly ignored her.

Grace looked over his shoulder. "Charles," she said in a preoccupied voice. "How fresh is 'not dead yet'?" Charles paused in his labor, staring at her. He then followed her gaze.

~~~

Eldoren moved through the trees to another section of the cemetary, one where no webs were in evidence. Might as well cut down on that risk anyway, he thought. He paused, seeing the pale figures stumbling among the graves in front of him.

Footfalls sounded to his left, and as he turned he threw up his staff two-handed to block a shovel that was swung in a furious overhead blow. Eldoren steadily walked backwards as a rain of shovel blows fell about him that he could barely parry. Two grave robbers attacking him!

The furious melee temporarily let up as a wild laugh sounded, and once again the form of a mail-clad Paladin intervened in the fray, sword flashing in a wild circle. The female grave robber shouted as she ducked the whirling blade.

Just as this complicated 4-person battle was settling into a rhythm, a looming armored giant form interrupted with an earth-shattering voice:

"ALL OF YOU MORTALS SHUT UP! THIS IS A GRAVEYARD, FOR THE LOVE OF MOLOCH!"

The four said mortals turned to look at the towering red-eyed horror advance upon them, huge glowing blade in hand. Four jaws dropped.

"Harrumph?" said a grave robber in a very nervous manner.

The Paladin giggled in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

Sounds of blows, desperate struggling, and cries of despair rang throughout the dark graveyard. A lone figure ran full-speed to leap over a half-fallen iron fence and ran down the road, never looking back. This place is crazy! Let the citizens of Darkshore do their own desired deeds!

Back in the graveyard, all was silent. The huge armored form resumed its patrol through the grounds.

Several Flesh Eaters came to investigate; they found what they usually found.