Stranger

A skull of a Frost Wyrm hung overhead at the tavern's entrance, and the tavern owner, Megnos, was wiping up spilled ale on the bar. Just then, a new face walked into the shop.

Megnos's tavern was frequented by unfamiliar faces, so he couldn't remember their names. He recognized regulars by how often they came and went. The more often they visited, the clearer their faces became. Nevertheless, Megnos didn't really care who was who; as long as they wanted a drink and could afford it, that was enough.

Previously, the Forsaken did not trade money or goods among themselves. Their money was used to Goblins or to fund spies around the world. Frankly, Megnos initially didn't understand the use of money for the dead, or why the Master of the Witherer had later declared a monetary system for the Forsaken. But later, after he no longer worried about survival, he discovered that daily life was indeed impossible without money. That glittering gold often gave him a certain...satisfaction.

A stranger sat down at a table, looking around as if waiting for someone, or perhaps searching for something. The tavern had no windows, and there was no sunlight in Maraudon, only the dim glow of a few torches—it wouldn't have interested the scattered wooden tables and benches.

After a while, the stranger stood up and walked straight to the wooden bar. "Isn't anyone going to bring the drinks?"

"There are no free services," Megnos replied. "And there are no waiters here."

Most people would find this statement puzzling, but Megnos's behavior wasn't strange. The Forsaken never get drunk, and there's no drunken brawls in the tavern. They treat it simply as a place to kill time, so it's never crowded or chaotic. Customers who want drinks simply buy them at the bar.

A stranger tossed a gold coin onto the bar with a crisp sound, then asked, "What's your most expensive drink here?"

"This is your first time here, isn't it? My tavern has all sorts of fine wines, all purchased through the black market. The prices are not something you can afford with just one gold coin."

The stranger touched his loose nose and asked, "So, what's the most expensive wine I can buy with my money?"

Megnos thought for a moment. "Congalush Brew, made by humans, isn't considered a strong liquor."

The stranger wrinkled his nose again. "No, I don't want human alcohol."

The tavern owner scoffed. Different people always have all sorts of strange tastes when it comes to alcohol. Even after death, this doesn't change. "How about Moonlight Wine? It's fresh from last month. The Night Elf love it."

"Deal." The stranger nodded.

A Terror Guard soldier turned to the stranger. Just as Megnos had thought, people here were here to kill time, but sitting around wasn't enough; time flew by when they were talking. "Would you mind telling me why you hate human alcohol so much?"

The stranger snorted, took the bottle of Moonlight Wine from the shelf from Megnos, found a seat, and poured some wine into a fairly clean glass.

"I have no prejudice against human alcohol; I just simply dislike humans."

The soldier looked at him with amusement and said, "Oh? But weren't you human in your previous life?"

The word "in life" is a curse to the Forsaken. The stranger sensed the sarcasm in the soldier's words, lowered his hand, and casually raised his glass. "Yes, but I'm not anymore!"

A man who looked like a sailor, sitting on the other side of the stranger, immediately shouted, spittle flying into his ale. "There's no need to hate humans now. Haven't you been hurt by humans?"

To my surprise, the stranger nodded. "It's a complicated story. I... I've been abandoned."

Many people in the tavern heard this, and the atmosphere slowly became awkward. Megnos kept staring at the man, regretting his hospitality and even considering kicking the guy who had ruined the atmosphere out of his tavern.

Some of the guests, however, were already deeply moved by his words, nodding repeatedly, but then disagreed when they heard the second half. Megnos didn't know what they were thinking. He hadn't experienced abandonment, because he and his family had died at Arthas's betrayal; his body was relatively well-preserved and resurrected. His relatives weren't so lucky; they were thrown into the meat grinder, used as tools to stitch together Abomination.

For Megnos, his past life was all in the past. He never thought of looking back or reminiscing about the old days. Besides, he had grown to like his current life. After all, it was interesting to listen to the patrons in the tavern tell their adventure stories every day.

"Would you mind telling me the specifics?" the soldier asked. "After all, some of you are family or friends. We're not the Scourge; we can't become emotionless."

"That's why I hate them, sir," the stranger said. "The injustice they did to me is infuriating."

"Ah, I see. You made contact with them, but they despise you and loathe you for who you are now, right?" A Dwarf Death Knight asked from the table behind the soldier, echoing the stranger's sentiment that he hated his former race. "I've had a similar experience. The taverns and inns in Ironforge always give priority to the living for food and lodging. I went back to Ironforge last month and waited two hours for a bottle of brandy. Yet a Gnome who arrived later than me got his bottle before I did."

The soldier turned to the Death Knight and replied, "Then let's go somewhere else, not Ironforge."

"It's all the same," the Death Knight scoffed. "I've been to other cities in the Alliance, even some neutral regions... It's a long story."

"Humans simply see us as monsters," said one of the Dwarf Death Knight beside him— Megnos guessed was his friend, the two dressed identically. "They have completely forgotten why we died in life; they only remember how many people we killed and how much land we destroyed during the time we were controlled by the Lich King. And they use these painful memories to condemn us without any consideration."

A few muttered complaints came from the surrounding area, indicating agreement with what had just been said.

"Do you all hate them? Do you all want them punished?" The Terror Guard slammed his fist on the table. "Don't forget they were once our people. The people they commemorate are the people we once were. We are indeed monsters now, aren't we? Why deny that? And even if they despise us, it's not because they are heartless, but because they misunderstand us."

"No one denies it." The stranger took a sip of Moonlight Wine. "But it's really unfair to us."

"Don't forget, we're not the Scourge." The voice came from the other side of the bar, and Megnos couldn't see who was speaking. "Even if we've become monsters, we still retain our own consciousness. Why don't they pity us? They don't even offer a word of comfort, only spit and insults in our faces."

"Indeed. How could they do this?" the Dwarf Death Knight said angrily.

The Forsaken naval soldier nodded. "Yes, to them, we have always been the enemy."

"But we've never treated them as enemies. We either hide from them or back down. I really don't know what the master of the Witherer is thinking," the stranger suddenly said.

Megnos, who had been wiping an empty glass, frowned instantly at those words. The tavern fell silent. Just moments before, people had been quietly expressing their agreement and disagreement with different opinions, commenting on the speaker. But when the stranger mentioned the Witherer, especially uttering the name with disrespect and skepticism, everyone immediately fell silent.

It was too quiet. Megnos knew perfectly well that conflict and fighting would erupt in two situations: when it was too noisy and when it was too quiet. Often, the latter was more troublesome than the former.

The Terror Guard stood up abruptly—as the Witherer's personal guard, his body was robust and strong, his voice filled with warning, shattering the Tranquility of the tavern with his first words. "If anyone dares to question the Witherer's master, I will immediately let him experience true death."

The stranger swallowed hard and hurriedly said, "I have no intention of offending the master, sir, I swear." He raised his glass and gulped down a large mouthful of wine. He Moonlight Wine tasted like a spicy liquid, making his throat burn. He kept shaking his head.

"The Witherer has been very good to us," the naval soldier said. "After the Forsaken were formed, he dedicated himself to finding a home for us. Your complaints about humans may be valid, my friend, but that is not the responsibility of the Witherer."

"I had no intention of disrespecting my master," Magos said, his voice trembling slightly from the large gulp of Moonlight Wine. "However, that soldier mentioned the word 'misunderstanding.' I now agree with him. If it's a misunderstanding, why didn't my master negotiate with the humans about this? Why didn't he reveal our true situation to the Alliance or the faction our families belong to, in order to gain their acceptance?" He pondered for a moment. "Perhaps he tried, but with little success."

The Dwarf Death Knight took a big gulp of ale and continued, "Perhaps King Wrynn made a request to return Stromgarde and Alterac."

"They abandoned those places first," the naval soldier said. "Alterac and Stromgarde have long been out of the Alliance's reach."

The Terror Guard soldier said sternly, "It's impossible for us to concede. Those places were won at the cost of the Forsaken soldiers' lives. They're delusional."

The stranger continued, "But that place was once a human kingdom, Alliance... especially the humans, cannot stand by and watch their civilization be replaced by other races."

"Indeed, things are unpredictable. Our territories in the Eastern Kingdoms once belonged to humans. And King Varian King Wrynn of the Alliance is a radical leader; he won't give up on reclaiming the North." The naval soldier shook his head. "We should always be prepared, otherwise..."

The Dwarf Death Knight suddenly interjected, "In my opinion, we should expand the Eastern Kingdoms' territory to Lordaeron and snatch this piece of meat from the Alliance's mouth."

Whether it was because he was interrupted or because he was defending his point of view— Megnos didn't know and didn't care—the naval soldier's tone was filled with anger, "Are you crazy? If we attack Lordaeron, Varian will inevitably march north."

"Is this idea crazy? Why should we care about the Alliance's opinion? Lordaeron is surrounded by our territory; they're already completely encircled by us. It's been like this for a long time. That vast territory is within our grasp, so why don't we just take it directly? Are we going to wait for the Alliance to do it for us?"

"Lordaeron is an excellent city." Even the Terror Guard said so, his tone filled with pride, as if he had been from Lordaeron in his lifetime. "But undeniably, the Alliance will not stand idly by while we wipe out the Crimson Crusade. This is perhaps why Lord the Witherer has been hesitant to act. We need an opportunity, an opportunity when the Alliance cannot spare the troops to go north."

"Besides," the Dwarf's friend chuckled at his beer, "If you ask me, we should just let the Alliance and the Horde fight each other, and that would solve the problem."

"War is never a good thing." Another man sitting in the corner of the tavern— Megnos had to stand on tiptoe to see him, he was a Goblins —said, "Every time the Alliance and the Horde fight, trade by sea and land becomes very difficult. They rob neutral caravans like pirates to replenish their supplies. All that talk about returning them after the war is bullshit."

"And we've been holding back all along, haven't we?"

The soldier nodded and said, "But without their help, the campaign to defeat the Lich King cannot succeed..." He downed his drink in one gulp and then tapped the table. "Another glass of ale, please."

"The truth is," the captain said, "The Lich Gate incident has always Forsaken. Even after we clarified that it was the Lich King's conspiracy, many people still suspect that this was just an excuse."

The conversation continued, and Megnos poured a few more glasses of beer for his guests, tossing a few dirty glasses into the sink for later washing. It wasn't until he refilled the Terror Guard's glass of ale that he realized the stranger who had sparked the conversation had quietly slipped away.

He hadn't even finished his drink. Megnos shook his head in disgust; the mess this guy left behind was still going on.

But Megnos remembered his face. He hated troublemakers in taverns, for no apparent reason.

More and more people began to complain about humanity. The Dwarf Death Knight even slammed his fist down on the table, splashing the wine in front of him onto the floor. Megnos sighed, thinking to himself that it was no wonder his people hated the dark power within this guy.

Regarding why the previous chapter suddenly ended: Because the later plot will provide further details.