A Fool's Errand - A World of Warcraft Short Story

A Fool's Errand

Veiled in shadow, Moira Thelby stalked her prey from above. The black tabard and leather armor she wore over her mottled, grey skin helped conceal her in the shadows. She brushed a strand of purple hair out of her yellow eyes as she followed her target around a corner.

Silently, she unsheathed the dagger on her left side, she wouldn't need her second. No, this target would go down with ease. She didn't much care for the killing part, but she enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. It reminded her of when she was a child, when her mother took her out for the first time in the dense forests of Lordaeron, of a time before she was cursed with undeath.

Deep in the belly of Undercity, crowds of Forsaken were less probable-- the dimly lit area only attracted the darkest of souls. Even the giant sconces and candelabras that lined the walls and ceiling couldn't light the great, open space of the sewer city in its entirety. The dark brick walls had long been covered in dust and cobwebs from millennia of neglect.

Moira spent most of her time in the dank sewers below the former kingdom of Lordaeron, and she had memorized every nook and hiding spot in the Forsaken capital long ago. Now it served only to aid her as she stalked her prey down the desolate halls.

Her target strode on the outskirts of the undead metropolis, heading towards the Apothecarium. Moira hugged the outer wall as she followed, not wanting to be spotted in the faint, iridescent glow that emitted from the sludge running through the sewers.

If she still had a sense of smell she would have been repulsed by the thick fluid that flowed throughout the city. Any living creature wouldn't be able to stand it down here for more than a few breaths, but Moira basked in its gooey, unholy glory. Now she welcomed the sight of it.

As if seeming to sense Moira's presence, her target paused.

"Damn!" She had let her mind wander from her task and was about to pay dearly for it.

She had killed battle-hardened generals practically in her sleep, this was supposed to be nothing. After a brief look around, the target continued forward, satisfied there was no immediate threat. Moira allowed herself a sigh of relief before reigning in her focus once more.

To her right was a ledge a few meters high and no more than a foot's width that ran the length of the outer wall and, conveniently, the path her target was walking. Moira moved, swift and silent, leaping onto the ledge and following her target. At the end of the hall a small entryway led into a dark tunnel, no doubt where her prey was headed.

With ease she passed her target, pausing on the ledge just a few paces ahead. The tension just before the kill was palpable, if only to her. She relished in the moment, though it was no more than a fraction of a second.

Like a hawk, she dived from her perch, dagger raised above her head. In one fell swoop she came down, driving her blade into the head of her target and pulling it out before rolling to the left and coming to a stop in a crouch, poised to strike again. She watched as her victim toppled to the stone floor like a collapsing tower. Moira stood up and sheathed her blade.

She examined her target for a moment before setting it upright again. It was a practice dummy, propelled by arcane magic and shaped into humanoid form by pieces of straw stuffed into a full set of armor. The dummy floated on as if nothing had happened, unaware of the disturbance to its predestined path.

The practice dummies were all over the Rogue's Quarter, used as training targets for those who wanted to hone their skills. The War Quarter had them as well, but those stood unmoving so as not to distract the moronic warriors who attacked them, if one could call wildly swinging a sword at a stationary, inanimate object "attacking".

As she brushed a bit of dust from her cloak, she heard a grunt from the dark entryway ahead.

"Hmph. Sloppy."

It was Olmer, a rotting corpse of a man for whom she used to work before the Legion invasions. He was an ancient, ornery apothecary who'd been around since the heyday of Lordaeron. His skin now had a purple hue to it, his matted hair a shade darker than forest green.

He had fallen in the Third War only to be resurrected by the Lich King and subsequently freed by the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner. He then worked for the Royal Apothecary Society in the Research and Development department for what felt like centuries.

Olmer claimed that he had created the Forsaken Blight-- the synthesized plague that turned humans into the undead-- but "That fool Putress took all the credit, unleashing it wherever he damn pleased!" The incident caused Olmer to "retire" to Undercity, where he spent his days toying with toxins and passing down assassination orders to rogues like Moira.

She never did figure out to whom exactly he reported, but she knew it must have been someone close to the Dark Lady herself. Olmer was still well respected amongst many of the generals who had fought beside him, so she knew he had contacts in the current ranks of the Forsaken armies.

Moira straightened as best her stiffening corpse would allow.

"My eyes were closed", she quipped.

"You'd do well to show some respect. I've made toxins that could kill you and turn your corpse to ash in the blink of an eye" Olmer retorted.

"Think you could use one before I open your neck?". She unsheathed her daggers.

Olmer glared at her. His eyes would have been filled with fire if they weren't empty sockets. An icy chill filled the air as the two stared at each other. After a moment, Olmer broke the silence.

"Hmph. I've got another job."

"What's the pay?" asked Moira.

"I'll tell you if you stick around long enough this time", he said, turning his back to her and retreating down the steps into darkness.

Olmer hadn't given her a job since before the Legion invasions began. What could he possibly have in store for her? A Pit Lord? No, those were jobs for entire squads. Curiosity got the best of her and she sheathed her blades and followed the old corpse into the city catacombs.


It wasn't so much a laboratory as it was a storage room for chemicals, animal organs, and shrunken heads. This was where Olmer spent almost every waking second, tinkering with recipes for poisons and serums and scurrying about.

Moira watched as the old apothecary dug through a pile of broken beakers and test tubes on what was supposed to be his desk.

"Here" he said, handing her a tiny folded piece of parchment. "Your target".

She unfolded the note and snorted as she read it.

"This is a fool's errand!"

"It's not." His reply was short and final. "You're to go to Brill and meet with a warlock there who goes by Capurtes. From there, you two will carry out your orders."
"Why Outland? Are there updates on the war with the Legion that I'm not privy to?" She asked.

"Hmph. I don't presume to know the motives of the Banshee Queen. Rumor has it you're the most capable rogue in Undercity. Can't say I agree after witnessing that shoddy performance earlier."

Moira paid no attention to the insult from the rotting old fool. This job was from Sylvanas herself? Was this a practical joke, perhaps? No, it must be real. The gallipot was not one for wasting time.

"And if I refuse to accept?"

Olmer threw a rather large bag of coins on the table in front of him that sounded quite heavy as it hit the table. Moira quickly snatched the satchel and tucked it safely in her cloak.

"Take this. It must be done properly." He handed her a small vial of green, viscous liquid. Moira recognized it as Blight.

"And how will I recognize this warlock?" she inquired.

"Hmph. Spotting him is the easy part."


Moira's purple skeletal warhorse galloped over the hills outside the ruins of Lordaeron. She could just see the tip of the two giant zeppelin towers piercing the sky, the sunset behind them creating a milky pink and purple hue that seemed to swirl in the clouds.

As she graced the peak of the last hill she brought her horse to a slow trot, looking for her contact. It would be hard to spot him in the massive throng of adventurers bustling about the small town, despite that it consisted of only three or four structures.

Brill was always bursting with life due to its location outside of Undercity. The township was responsible for transportation of supplies and troops throughout Azeroth, as well as acting as a rear guard of sorts to the border of the Plaguelands to the east.

The town was unique in its gothic look, as were all Forsaken hubs. The dark, misty countryside of Tirisfal Glades added to the sinister feeling one got from its undead inhabitants. There were few, if any, lights in windows, and even those seemed to be lit by magic rather than traditional candlelight.

As Moira trotted into the town square a zeppelin departed from its berth, drifting away from the tower with a loud bang. Moira looked up in time to see a goblin dressed in formal military garb on the bow of the airship calling out orders.

"Take us out nice and fast, Mister Copperpants!" barked the goblin.

"You almost got my name right that time, sir..." replied a tiny voice as the barge sailed away.

Moira liked Brill, there were many places to hide in the shadows, away from potential enemies. Not that she couldn't hide in plain sight-- a handy skill she learned while training to be a rogue. Moira didn't know who her contact was, nor did she care. She liked being alone. It was easier to concentrate. No distractions. Regardless, Olmer had already paid her handsomely so she felt it necessary to complete the mission. As she strode through the town square, she examined each Forsaken she passed.

From across the square came the obnoxious, recognizable laugh of a demon. She turned to face the source of the noise only to see a somewhat fresh-looking corpse of a male warlock in purple robes carrying a gnarled wooden staff, standing next to a rather small imp. The Forsaken male had light purple skin and a shiny, bald head that could have been used as a mirror if one were up to it.

"Do we REALLY need to do this?" inquired the foul demon.

"You'd prefer to serve Kil'Jaeden?" replied the warlock, his voice sounded as if his throat were filled with gravel.

"Hmmm..." the imp tilted its head to the side in contemplation.

The warlock waved his hand and the imp begin to dissipate in fel fire.

"But I was just getting started!" The imp's voice faded into nothing. With another flick of the wrist, the warlock summoned a voidlord, which popped into existence with a puff of blue smoke.

"Send me back!" cried the shadow creature, flailing its arms.

Moira thought the thing looked like a darker version of the water elementals she'd seen mages call forth during combat, in that it resembled an upside-down drop of water with arms. She didn't like minions, they always got in the way and pulled enemies into battle.

"Hurmph. We're escorting an assassin to Outland. I need you. For now—" the warlock's jaw popped off on one side, making him impossible to understand.

"Eee ave to it a ach ahah."

Moira watched as the warlock slapped his mandible back in place. "We have to wait and make contact", he finished.

She never much cared for their kind. To Moira, it seemed as if every warlock she'd ever met wasn't in the same place as their body. They always seemed distant, as if concentrating on events happening elsewhere. In combat, they relied on dark magic to plague their enemies with disease and corrupt them from within, turning even the strongest of warriors into withered, emaciated corpses.

She preferred the cold steel of her blades. Only true grit allowed her to look her victims in the eye as they drew their final breath, ensure the job was done properly. It took cunning and agility to be a rogue. All warlocks had to do was succumb to the fel. She did not respect them, no, it was more than that. She loathed the twisted, corrupted beings.

Suddenly, the warlock turned to face her, as if feeling her gaze.

"And you are?"

"What's it to you?" retorted Moira, taken aback by his brashness.

"Waiting for a rogue from Undercity", stated the warlock bluntly.

Moira eyed him and his companion for a moment before finally responding.

"Capurtes, I presume?"

He simply nodded and put his two pointer fingers together in the air above his head.

Lines of green electricity trailed from his fingertips as he traced the outline of a simple door frame. The electric green frame pulsed with fel magic as the space between began to fill with thick, milky-black smoke. Capurtes stepped to the side of the demonic gateway and gestured for her to enter.

"Death before beauty", he said.

Moira didn't trust casters, and now she was supposed to step into a gateway that could lead to anywhere? She could be dropped off a thousand feet in the air, or it could put her in the middle of a demon army on Argus. How could she trust this warlock?

"You first, shadowcaster." She nearly spat the words at him.

"Hurmph", Capurtes said before shuffling into the portal, letting the milky-black smoke envelope him. The voidlord followed suit.

Moira dismissed her felsteed after sliding to the ground and unsheathed her daggers. If this was a trap, Capurtes would meet his end when she emerged on the other side.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the gateway, ready for battle.


As Moira passed through the demonic portal, she felt the air change around her. The ground was wet and spongy and the air was--

Something hit her right side. Hard.

She tried to twist and throw whatever, whoever, hit her but it was too late, she had been knocked off-balance. Moira slammed into the ground with a loud thud, the impact so strong that her vision began to swim.

Instinctively, she began stabbing at her assailant, sure that it was Capurtes' voidlord, but her daggers hit only air.

"I will leave nothing of them", she heard the voidlord cry to her left.

She knew she had only a split second to react before her attacker hit her again. If she died this moment she would surely take her assailant with her.

She forced herself to her feet and sprinted towards the sound of the voidlord, trying to blink her vision back to normal. Moira didn't need clear vision to kill, only the adroit dexterity that came with years of training.

She attacked with masterful precision. Though her vision unclear, her body worked from memory, thrusting her daggers into the side of the creature, then behind the knee, then slicing an underarm before plunging both of her blades into the neck and ripping them out with an animalistic rage.

When her assailant collapsed to the ground with a deep wail, she jumped back and vanished, disappearing into thin air. It was merely a trick of the eye, but it allowed her enough time to retreat to a safe distance.

Her vision was nearly back to normal, but she remained hidden while she surveyed the area, looking for any sign of her attacker. She saw Capurtes a few meters away, but his voidlord was still next to him. Hadn't she just killed it?

"Moira!" shouted the warlock, "The thing is dead!"

The thing? What was he talking about? Surely this was a ploy to catch her off her guard, to get her out in the open.

Without a sound, she circled around behind Capurtes, ready to strike like a deadly scorpid. Before she could get into position, the warlock sauntered over to a fallen tree and began snapping branches off it.

"Hurmph. Just like a rogue to disappear when things get hairy", he mumbled to himself.

Moira looked at the tree closer before she noticed that he wasn't picking at a tree at all, but a creature that simply looked like a tree. It was at least 4 meters long with branches for arms and thick, bulky roots for legs. Its angry, twisted face frozen in death.

Moira remembered that treants were considered the scourge of forest lands, wildly attacking anyone that encroached on their territory. She let her vanishing spell fade as she approached. Perhaps Capurtes could be trusted.

The warlock didn't even turn to face her.

"Thought you'd have taken off by now."

"I don't need to explain myself to you", she replied.

"Hurmph."

He picked up the branches he'd broken off the tree creature and carried them to a small clearing a few meters way. Moira took the moment to survey their surroundings.

They were in the middle of a dense, shadowy jungle. Directly above them, Moira could just barely make out the sun breaking through the thick canopy, casting little streaks of light on the forest floor. It was clear they were in Zangarmarsh-- The swampy, forested land to the west of Hellfire Peninsula. It wasn't the friendliest place to be.

If the denizens of the bog like the now-toppled treeant didn't kill them then surely the humidity would ensure their corpses rot to nothing in a matter of days. Moira looked down to see droplets of water already forming on the part of her forearm that wasn't covered in protective leather armor.

Capurtes dropped the bundle and fire flew from his hands to the pile, igniting a blaze in an instant.

"Those pathetic flames won't keep us dry for long. I thought you warlocks were conjurers of powerful magic", taunted Moira. "Guess I'll have to keep us dry myself."

Before she could remove her flint and tinder, Capurtes flicked his hand and the flames jumped three times higher. He plopped down next to the blazing pile, cross-legged.

With yet another flick of the wrist, he motioned for his voidlord to leave them.

"Keep a close perimeter", he commanded.

The creature turned and floated away without a sound. She crouched next to the fire. This was going to be a long trek.


Moira bobbed with her warhorse as it trotted through the dense jungle, its hooves drenched in sludge and watered-down fauna, slowing their progress to a crawl. She'd studied Capurtes as they rode, looking for any signs of weariness. If the warlock was tired of their journey, he showed no outward sign.

Capurtes was strange, even for a warlock. He seemed constantly distracted, like all warlocks, but Moira also felt he was omnipresent, seeming to know what her next move was going to be even before she did. She was beginning to think the spell-chucker was more seasoned than she had initially suspected.

While they traveled they spoke little, but she did manage to drag a few bits of information from him. She learned that he was much older than she had figured him to be. He was from a long line of mages who used their arcane abilities in service of the King of Stormwind.

While on assignment, he had died during the culling of Stratholme by Arthas Menethil's own hand. After being resurrected to serve in the Lich King's scourge army, he was freed by the Banshee Queen. It was under her tutelage he had learned to embrace the shadow, delving into the dark magic of warlocks.

She could feel the darkness inside him, knew the struggle all too well. There was always something there, pulling one toward the darkness, constant in its pursuits to drag the mind into utter chaos and destroy oneself from within. She didn't know if this was the fel influencing from the outside or if every Forsaken felt this way. The race of former humans weren't famous for sharing their feelings.

They'd been trudging through the swamp for nearly two days now, double the time Moira had initially estimated. She was more than a little disappointed in their progress. She knew that timing was everything when it came to assassinations, and she was beginning to fear their efforts would be for naught.

Capurtes' felhunter came sprinting through the thicket ahead of them and skidded to a stop. The beast growled and pawed the ground before shaking its head in the direction it had just come from. Capurtes nodded and the felhunter sprinted ahead of them once more.

"Coilfang Reservoir is just ahead."

Moira wasn't sure if Capurtes was addressing her or simply thinking out loud.

Shortly after, the pair came across a clearing a few kilometers wide surrounding a large lake. There wasn't much of a shore, instead, the water simply ended where the swampy forest began.

In the middle of the lake was an enormous structure consisting of pipes large enough for two drake side by side to easily walk through. The pipes weaved around each other, creating a system that was almost artful in its complexity. The pipes led under water, presumably to pull water from its depths, though she hadn't the slightest clue of for whom the system was built. Regardless, she knew that was their way in.

The two dismounted and began wading into the lake.

"It's a long way down. Don't anticipate the end, it'll only make the swim longer."

"I won't hold my breath," replied Moira.


Sylvanas was irritated, no, more than that. She was irate.

She strode down the long, dark hallway toward her royal chambers. She had instructed one of her aides to have Apothecary Olmer meet her there immediately.

It wasn't something she had planned, but the fall of the titan Sargeras had presented challenges for the Chieftain. Not only were the Horde's losses tremendous, but her Forsaken armies had suffered even greater. Undead bodies were not well-suited for interstellar travel.

The decimation of the Forsaken army was opening her to attack. It was opening their home to attack. She no longer had the numbers she needed to keep Undercity safe.

When she entered the chamber, Olmer was already standing in the center, his head bowed in subjugation.

"You had better have good news for me, apothecary."

"My Queen, I've dispatched an assassin, accompanied by my most competent warlock. They should return in a few days."

"Is that it? The Naga are no Furbolg", she replied.

"Both are champions of the Horde who helped to bring down Sargeras himself. I trust they are more than capable of completing the assignment."

Sylvanas knew this had to be done. She'd heard whispers in the shadows of Undercity that the Naga were preparing an attack on Azeroth. Couple that with the losses in the war on the Legion and, if rumor were to be believed, the coming attack on Lordaeron led by the Alliance dog, Greymane, and the Horde were in for a rude awakening.

She needed to cut the head off the serpent and seal the wound before it spawned more. Assassinating Lady Vashj was a bold and unprecedented, yet necessary preemptive strike.

"My Queen?"

Sylvanas regarded Olmer for a moment before responding.

"If they fail, we're all dead."


Moira cut high with her right blade and low with the left, slicing the fungal giant simultaneously in the arm and leg, incapacitating it. Dark magic, black as the void, swirled around Capurtes' hands as he cast a shadow bolt that flung the creature backward into the cave wall with a sickening crack. It let loose a low groan as it slumped to the ground, dead.

"That. Was. FUN!" yelled Zornip, the warlock's fel imp.

Moira couldn't help but agree. The two made an efficient team.

"We had better keep moving. No doubt she is aware of our presence now."

"Her chamber should be just around the bend. No more than a few hundred meters," said Capurtes.

It was even more humid inside the cavernous maze than the swamp surrounding it. The walls and ceiling were covered in moss that kept the air so thick with moisture that Moira felt as if she were drowning. Even walking was difficult on the slick, algae-covered ground.

The duo quickly dispatched three more companies of Naga and their pet creatures from the swamp.

Outside the final chamber, they paused before entering.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" asked Capurtes, taking a sip from a canteen of ley-enriched water. "We may not come out alive."

Moira looked at the path of destruction they'd left on their way in. It would be easy to turn around now, she already had the gold... No. This was from the Queen herself. This would be her ticket into the Queen's personal guard. So why did she have a bad feeling?

She paused for a moment before responding, "Victory for Sylvanas."

Capurtes put away his canteen and nodded at her, signaling the go-ahead. She vanished and walked around the corner and into the chamber.

The floor of the cavern sloped down toward a moat surrounding a large mound of sand and dirt in the center of the chamber. Water flowed into the room, creating a gentle current. On the middle of the mound, deep in slumber, lie a Naga larger than the rest they had encountered thus far.

She was serpent from the waist down, like all Naga, but she had an extra pair of arms that no doubt gave her an edge in combat. Her blue scales morphed into leathery skin around her waist, and long, muscular serpent-like appendages sprouted from her head. They were lucky to catch her sleeping, doubtless she would annihilate them in a fair fight.

Moira had no doubt in her mind that this was their target, Lady Vashj. She took the small vial of Forsaken Blight that Olmer had given her and removed the stopper. A small puff of smoke emerged from the tip as the air reacted with the extreme toxins inside. She doused her blades with the green, viscous liquid and proceeded toward the Naga elder.

As she slipped the vial back in her cloak she couldn't help but wonder, was this honorable, killing a general deep in slumber? She had killed victims in their sleep before, but now she felt this mission reckless. Lady Vashj was no ordinary leader, she had slaughtered many a champion before.

Behind her, Capurtes entered the chamber silently, Zornip skipping in tow.

"Hmm, THIS is the great Lady Vashj?"

The imp let out a high-pitched cackle and Lady Vashj stirred to life, awoken by the noise. Moira froze, still invisible to the naked eye. The element of surprise was spoiled and now they faced truly powerful warrior. This did not bode well for them at all...

"Who dares enter my chamber and disturb my slumber? VILE DOGS!" cried Vashj, standing upright and raising a spear overhead.

The Naga leader hurled her spear through the air impossibly fast, the weapon lanced through Zornip and pierced the cavern wall, impaling the imp in place. The fire in the tiny demon's eyes flickered and died.

Vashj turned to Capurtes, "Now you must die!"

The warlock was already casting spells over the Naga, corrupting her from the inside. Vashj screamed in agony. Purple smoke flew from Capurtes' hands to the cave floor, forming into the shape of his voidlord, Kragrath. Moira let the warlock's pet keep Vashj's attention while circling behind her for the kill.

As Kragrath charged, Vashj slammed the ground with her fist, casting a shock blast directly at the voidlord. Kragrath was much too bulky and slow to dodge the spell and the wave of energy hit squarely in the chest, destroying the demon almost immediately. Before even the last wisp of the voidlord had dissipated, Capurtes had summoned a succubus that was skipping playfully toward Lady Vashj.

"Mmm, let's play!"

The succubus spread its wings and cracked its whip, kicking up sand onto its cloven hooves. Vashj paid it no attention and began to cast a spell, aqua mist swirling around her hands.

Moira was behind the Naga now, ready to strike. Capurtes sent a black and purple bolt of shadow magic hurling towards Vashj, but the Naga easily side-stepped the attack, which left Moira directly in its path. She rolled to her right to avoid the blast at the last second, forcing her to relinquish her vanishing spell, leaving her exposed.

Vashj cast the spell she'd been summoning and sent forked lightning streaking out from her hands. The first bolt of electricity cleaved the demon-elf in two. The second bolt hit Capurtes and sent him hurtling backward, where he slammed against the wall with such force that Moira heard his bones shatter from across the immense cavern.

The Naga was too fast, too powerful. Moira took a deep breath and watched as Vashj turned to confront her, face contorted in anger.

Moira charged, blades dripping with Blight. As she rushed towards her target, she felt her feet dragging, the sand had suddenly been overgrown with weeds and roots, reaching up to snag her and hold her in place. She swiped at the mass of growth ensnaring her, but it was of no use. The roots had already grown well beyond her height, snaking around her limbs and lifting her a solid meter above the ground.

Moira knew this was the end. That stupid imp had doomed them all. She stared defiantly at Lady Vashj as the Naga unslung a long bow made of bone and knocked an arrow.

Vashj let the projectile loose, the fletching creating a high-pitched whistle as it streaked towards its target. Moira couldn't help but wince as the arrow pierced her heart, but she held eye contact with Vashj, determined not to let any weakness show.

As the life drained from her, Moira used her final breath to taunt the Naga.

"Dark Lady watch over you."

She slumped down in the mass of roots, lifeless once again.

Lady Vashj clapped her hands and the roots entangling Moira fell away, letting the Forsaken corpse fall to the cave floor. She scooped the lifeless body along with that of Capurtes and dove into the water on the far side of the cavern.

After swimming through a long tunnel, she surfaced in yet another grotto, one even greater than her own.

The walls were covered in ornate frescos depicting the creation of the Naga. In the middle of the far wall was a sculpture of an ominous, tentacled Naga, larger than the rest, bowing to a monstrously large, squid-like creature. There were paintings connected at the edges that covered the ceiling of the entire cavern, each depicting a portion of how the Naga came to be and their storied past.

In the center of the cave, on a gold throne with intricate symbols carved in the frame, sat the Naga Matriarch depicted in the sculptures and paintings around the cavern.

Vashj threw the bodies at the foot of the throne.

"My Queen, these mongrels came to assassinate me in my sleep. No doubt they would have come for you next."

She spat on the corpses and kicked sand at them.

"Ready our armies for battle, Azeroth's time has come," said the Matriarch. "To fully prepare for a world of perfection, the imperfect must be swept away."

"Yes, Queen Azshara."