Gardener Syra, Varrus concluded, was an attractive girl.

Wearing simple blue overalls, and little else, her sun-kissed skin was exposed at all the right angles.

If he wasn't on such a tight schedule for the day, he would've pounced on her right then and there.

However, the sun was high in the sky, and they had to hightail it if Varrus wanted to meet his deadlines.

To make it to the palace dungeons in time so that Varrus could make it to the afternoon double date lunch, Rho'dan had proposed that they ride hawkstriders to speed up the 15 mile+ journey.

Silvermoon as a city was more than 28 miles from end to end, and as Varrus’ estate was situated in the very bottom left most part of the map, it was quite the trek.

Within the stables of the Vandercross Estate, Varrus was hesitantly staring the ostrich-like hawkstrider in the eye.

Hawkstriders were bipedal, flightless birds, and the preferred mount/pack animal of the Blood Elves. They were colorful like a parrot, encompassing a wide range of hues, and were surprisingly powerful despite their bipedal nature.

While they couldn't bear the same amount of weight as a donkey, nor could they traverse as far as a horse, their burst speed was much greater than even a stallion.

“Bawk!~” The hawkstrider Varrus had been eyeing squaked aggressively, and scratched a talon into the ground, drawing sharp furrows into the dirt.

Oh yeah, and hawkstriders were mean creatures too. They may be similar to ostriches in look and temperament, but they reminded Varrus more of a feathered raptor from Jurassic Park, then the ostriches he had interacted with on Earth.

Intellectually, he knew that he could brain this hawkstrider with the squeeze of his hand, and that gave him confidence. He was still thinking with his monkey brain, approaching creatures bigger than him with caution. When he should have more conviction in his abilities.

“Do you require my assistance, Highlord?” Rho'dan said from the saddle of a hawkstrider.

Varrus ignored his guard, and took a step forward.

“Guawk!” The hawkstrider hissed, and reared its lengthy flamingo-looking neck back in preparation to bite down with its beak.

Varrus came closer, and when the bird went to bite him, he grabbed it by the neck, and pulled the bird down to earth.

He looked it in the eye, and grunted.

Varrus didn't have any ping or notice, but he was certain that this intimidation check passed based upon the quivering of the bird's feathers.

“Hmph.” Varrus snorted, then mounted up on the hawkstrider with zero resistance.

“Well done, Highlord.” Rho'dan clapped with a grin spread across his face.

“Spare me the mockery, Rho'dan.” Varrus rolled his eyes.

“No mockery, Highlord. The last time I saw you mount that bird, you were bleeding by the hand, and biting back tears. This is a great improvement!” Rho'dan guffawed, as his grin stretched wider.

“Yes, yes, the baby Vandercross is all grown up, I'm sure you're very proud. I just wish we didn't have to walk all the way to the palace every time I wish to speak with Kael.” Varrus complained.

He had commuted in big city traffic for most of his life, and while there were no cars beeping or blocking his path, 15 miles was 15 miles. And that was traveling by bird no less, without a bus, train, or car, he had to actively pay attention to where he was going, and couldn't even mentally afk during his commute.

“It is a shame, yes. Ever since the Sunwell had been destroyed, the teleportation pads have ceased their operations.” Rho'dan clucked his tongue at the tragedy.

Varrus slowly blinked his eyes.

‘Wait a damn minute. Teleportation pads!?’

Teleportation pads, of course! It was frickin genius, why hadn't he thought of that?!

In WoW, teleportation pads were seen in the Mages Tower in Stormwind to teleport between floors. It was a relatively common technology known to mages in-universe.

Another example of commonplace teleportation in WoW was at Dalaran. For instance, they kept one location where portals were maintained so that quick teleportation between capital cities could be easily accessed by the upper echelons of the Horde and the Alliance.

It would only make sense in a world much larger than the game to have quality of life enhancements such as teleportation. For an immortal race high off their own smug, and sniffing the endless Arcane magic that was the Sunwell, it would be more surprising to learn that they didn't have a teleportation network.

Varrus determined then and there that one of the first things he would propose to the Convocation would be the restoration of the teleportation network.

For one, walking across an entire city was some bullshit that no one had time for. Secondly, teleportation would improve defense, and reinforcements could be seconds to minutes away instead of possibly half an hour to an hour away. Thirdly, the increased mobility would facilitate trade, and help jumpstart both the economy, and reconstruction process.

Finally, teleportation was just cool. Varrus abused Blink as much as possible during any fight, and he had always hated driving from point A to point B. Ever since he was a boy, and had first seen Star Trek, the technology to teleport had enamored him.

[New Quest: Cross the Beams: Restore Silvermoon's Teleportation Network]

Varrus ignored the prompt as it briefly hovered in his face, before fading out of existence.

He had had a few quest prompts since his transmigration, and while the first quest to slay all the Undead had seemed exciting at first, he realized that since he ran on real time, and not on some sped up version of reality like a game engine, he would have to haul his ass in the direction of each and every quest. Yeah, he would love to be out collecting moon berries for Ms. Sunloves moon berry tea, but he had more important things to do, like oh, idk, rebuild the entire fucking city!

Like any true Skyrim gamer, Varrus had more than a dozen quest prompts sitting in his menu. He figured he'd get to them when he got to them, because honestly, he was taking care of a lot at the moment. Even something simple like overhearing someone complaining about the price of food, or some Murlocs causing trouble on the waterfront could trigger a mission. At this point, completing that shit was like pissing in the wind…and the wind was a gale blowing it back at you.

These quest prompts were an even stronger case as to why he should establish an adventurers guild. Varrus shook his head, and promptly ignored the mission, he was sure it would send him on some easter egg hunt when in reality, he could probably just have the Royal Engineer, Telonicus take care of it.

The clucking of a nearby bird broke Varrus out of his stupor, and he looked up to see his radiant wife.

“Are you ready, my love?” Syra called from outside the stables.

“Of course!” Varrus heartily replied as he gestured for the hawkstrider to move.

Fortunately the bird got the memo, and it obediently trod outside.

Seeing Syra radiantly beaming at him, Varrus was once again taken in by her beauty as she was dressed up in riding leathers.

Instead of a country-girl, she looked more like a British aristocrat going on holiday to the Sahara. Armed with a riding crop, and wearing something you would see out of the Explorers League (along with a safari hat), Syra gave off a sophisticated, smug look.

Tying the look together, Syra still wore the ridiculously huge buster sword strapped to her back. As much as things changed, she was still his murderous, loveable wife after all.

God, she was sexy.

Meanwhile, Varrus found he was still wearing the same basic scarlet robes since they had his strongest enchantments on them. He could only thank the powers that be that he didn't start as a necromancer. Because if he did, he would be wearing a black robe everywhere he went.

As a typical nerd, Varrus was the first to admit, he didn't know anything about style, but his wife was sexy.

“Ahem, I hate to interrupt this passionate staring contest, my Lord, but we really should depart if we want to keep up with our itinerary.” Rho'dan coughed into his hand, and gestured toward the main road.

Varrus shook his head to wake himself from his stupor, and swore he caught an annoyed look briefly travel across Syra's face, but when he looked back, she was all smiles.

Well, that certainly wasn't his problem, no siree!

“Right. Let’s head off then, but before we arrive, I’d like to make a stop at the Dead Scar and make an inspection.” Varrus said, then flicked the reins to his hawkstrider to set off.

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“Haah, that is your prerogative as the head of this House, but please Highlord, do keep it brief. I’ve never been late to a meeting in a 998 years, and I’m two years away from winning a wager.” Rho'dan sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh? Have a lady friend you’re trying to impress?” Varrus chuckled, and wriggled his eyebrows.

“Please don’t make such a lascivious face in my direction again, it is unbecoming of a man of your station.” Rho'dan seriously admonished.

“Come on Rho'dan, I agreed to be more formal around you, but that doesn't mean I can't take an interest in the personal life of my most trusted guard.” Varrus shook his head in disappointment as he was met with a curt shake of the head, and silence.

Varrus was a social recluse on Earth, only interacting with a few friends here and there, or playing games online. In a world without the internet, he had so few means of entertainment that he had to make his own.

Besides, while he trusted Rho'dan implicitly, Varrus didn't know much about the older Elf. Most of his memories painted Rho'dan as a stern caretaker, and ever present shadow to his father. He spoke little, and moved with purpose.

Varrus’ childhood memories drew a picture of a stern, resolute man who had put his life on the line more than once to prevent an assassination.

One memory in particular was especially vivid. When Varrus was first starting out in the theater, a dissatisfied ranger had pulled a bow on Varrus, and shot an arrow aimed for his throat. Acting as his guard for the night, Rho'dan had sprung in-between him and the arrow, taking a near fatal injury to his chest, piercing his lungs. It was only thanks to Rho'dan's quick thinking that Varrus had survived that encounter.

There was no wonder as to where Rho'dan's loyalties lied. He was House Vandercross material, through and through.

To Varrus, Rho'dan reminded him of an uncle who had fought in a war, seen and done some shit, but didn't want to talk about it. Varrus respected his professionalism, but as one of the only people to genuinely care for him, Varrus wanted to strengthen those bonds, and learn more about the people that surrounded him.

“Come now, Rho'dan, you are like an uncle to me. Take this pestering question as if it was from a child, curious about his strange family member's proclivities.” Varrus cheekily grinned at Rho'dan as the older Elf rolled his eyes in response.

“It isn't as exciting as you suppose. My counterpart, and head of the Royal Guard, Knight-Lord Dranarus has been my rival for a thousand years. Ever since we were children, we have competed in everything. Should I emerge victorious in this wager, I can hold it over his head for a thousand years.” Rho'dan's rugged face broke out into a small grin as he looked off into the distance.

“Then we shall arrive on time, my friend. My inspection of the Dead Scar should not take more than a few minutes.” Varrus reassured.

“Hm.” Rho'dan grunted, then moved away to the edge of their formation.

Varrus clucked his tongue at Rho'dan's tsundere nature. He'd get the old man to warm up one day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was partly cloudy, and a light drizzle with scattered showers was spreading throughout the land.

Rain water brought out the smells of the earth, and it was rotten.

Wrinkling his nose, and scrunching his face, Varrus lightly frowned as he breathed in the decay of the Dead Scar.

The landmass was wide as a football field was long, possibly even wider. The line of necrotic earth spanned from the entrance of Quel'Thalas all the way to the Sunwell.

Whether there was a building or river in the way, the line never deviated from its course. All structures had been razed, and all bodies of water crossed due to magic bridges made of ice. Even now, those same bridges shone in the late morning sun.

Powerful death energy wafted off the ice, and ground giving any who trod over it feelings of sickness and discomfort.

Varrus speculated that long term habitation on plagued land would lead to a slow, agonizing death. One wrought with decayed flesh, and pus filled boils forming across the skin.

Any set of bones or carcasses within this zone of death eventually came to life as the mindless Undead.

Skeletons animated by the ambient necromantic energies shambled about without purpose.

Flies, maggots and other insects fallen to the sway of sweet sustenance befell the same fate as many a carrion feeder attempting to snatch a free meal. Any animal, or insect that spent much time in this area eventually succumbed to the curse of Undeath.

The constant buzz of tireless insects, and constant clatter of confused skeletons echoed across this desolate field.

Varrus had seen the Dead Scar in game, but the uncanny feeling of this miles long curse made him uncomfortable.

The depth and power required to curse an entire land was no easy feat. Arthas and Kel’Thuzad were terrifying champions, able to accomplish the impossible.

Arthas defeated two ancient powerhouses, Anastarian and Illidan in his 20’s. The guy had Chosen One vibes like Anakin Skywalker, except when Arthas made his evil transformation, he became much, much stronger.

Kel’Thuzad was arguably the most knowledgeable necromancer in all of Azeroth, and had a mind more cunning, and patient than most. The old wizard willingly let Arthas kill him so that he could bring the young Prince to the dark side. Kel’Thuzad was a terrifying strategist, and perhaps the single greatest threat to the Eastern Kingdoms.

The combined powers of these two utterly destroyed all of Quel'Thalas, and their magic was so supreme, that they cursed the very land, and casually corrupted the Sunwell. The Sunwell being a limitless font of Arcane energy was used to raise Kel’Thuzad from a ghost into a Lich.

Varrus had to go over that line one more time, it was so impactful. Kel’Thuzad was turned into a Lich by a font of unlimited power!

He could only imagine how strong the Lich was in comparison to Kael’Thas, or even himself.

Those two foes were at the top priority for him to destroy, however for now he would see if he could deal with this plagued land. If a generic, nameless Red Dragon could purify the land, then Varrus figured he might have a shot at it too.

Previously when he crossed the Dead Scar, it was in a large group. Now, however, it was just him, Rho'dan, and Syra. Varrus liked his odds.

A large swarm of gnats and other combined insects came crashing down towards Varrus in a giant wave. Their mandibles were chittering in excitement as the prospect of feeding upon fresh flesh sent them into a frenzy.

Conjuring flames in his hands, Varrus unleashed a Wall of Flames all across the blackened earth, destroying the majority of his opponents.

Skeletons charred black, and turned to dust, while many insects were caught up in the flames, and joined the skeletons.

However, many of the insects flew above the height of Varrus’ spell, and were closing in rapidly.

Varrus didn't panic, as he knew that the defensive enchantments on their gear was more than enough to resist these gnats.

Changing his spell to Incendiary Flow, Varrus gushed lava from his fingertips into the oncoming swarm.

Hot jets of molten earth caught the insects up mid flight, turning them into less than charcoal. Just a drop of splashing lava was all it took to slay any of the bugs.

However, even then, the massive amount of carrion critters poured forth.

Varrus frowned, as he didn't want to cause a scene and unleash a Master tier Destruction spell in the middle of the city if he didn't have to. With his amped up Spell Power, his Master tier spells were rather grand in size, and especially volatile.

Considering that, a spell under the Restoration tree would probably be best in taking out this cancerous menace.

While Varrus was looking at his spell list, searching for a solution, Syra stepped forward, and handed her hat for Varrus to hold.

She then casually unsheathed her sword, and front flipped off her hawkstrider. In one fluid motion, Syra stabbed her sword into the ground, and took a knee like some knight bowing to his liege Lord.

The tip of Syra's sword glowed with Holy Light, then a bright flash of white light erupted from the ground in front of her, and exploded upward in a wave of pure energy.

Gnats, flies, worms and zombified birds all dropped down as light ate away at their bodies like a disease.

Varrus morbidly watched on as the flesh seemed to rot away into nothingness from the effect of Syra's spell.

Considering all of his magic attacks ashed his opponents, it was quite eerie to witness something slowly disappear into nothing as if it's flesh was being eaten by some kind of virus.

Syra then sheathed her sword, and beamed a smile up at Varrus.

Varrus rolled his eyes, and messily placed her hat back upon her head, then rapped his knuckles across its brim.

Syra grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him off the hawkstrider into a kiss on the lips.

Varrus half lifted her hat so he could get a good look into her eyes while they embraced.

He smiled at her, and when he was going to pull away, she clunked her forehead into his, only, his forehead clunked with the rim of her hard hat.

Varrus scowled as she grinned at him, then remounted her hawkstrider.

Varrus scoffed, and rolled her eyes at her, then turned toward the Dead Scar. It was time to take care of business.

“Both of you stand back, I'm going to see if I can cleanse the land.” Varrus said seriously.

“You can do it.” Syra said, squeezing his shoulder in encouragement.

“I look forward to your success.” Rho'dan saluted.

Nodding at both of them, Varrus focused on what was in front of him.

Equipping the Master Restoration spell Infinite Light, Varrus took 1.5 to 2 seconds to unleash this spell-which was 2 seconds faster-thanks to the unseen agility buff when he leveled up his Stamina in the Skyrim UI.

A concentrated beam of Holy Light left Varrus’ hands like a kamehameha. Except unlike a kamehameha, this energy beam could theoretically go on forever, as long as Varrus supplied it with mana.

Varrus saw results almost immediately.

Dark black earth began to turn gray, and oozed black bubbles upward, like a pot of boiling water.

Within a couple of seconds, Varrus had completely purified a section of ground equivalent in size to an average work desk.

The way Infinite Light worked, it washed away the filth like one of those power washers that cleaned driveways on YouTube.

The spell drained his mana reserves quickly, emptying his 600 mana every 12 seconds. However, Varrus constantly consumed Mana Stones in his inventory, refreshing his mana bar.

It was oddly satisfying to pump Light magic into the Dead Scar until he saw the clean ground underneath.

Varrus was almost mesmerized, and began treating it like a game. He was looking to see how he could optimize this going forward, and eventually cleanse all of Quel'Thalas when a familiar cough interrupted him.

“I am sorry Highlord, but your meeting…”

“Say no more Rho'dan, the Dead Scar isn't going anywhere, I'll be back.” Varrus nodded his head at the House Guard, then went to remount his hawkstrider.

“It was fun, I would like to watch you clean more.” Syra quietly spoke up, as if she was embarrassed.

It was Varrus’ turn to flash her a grin.

This development was like learning your girlfriend was into video games!

Varrus then winked, and gave Syra a thumbs up, and slapped the reins on his hawkstrider.

He had satisfied his curiosity, and proven that he could purify the land. Now it was time to see what was going on with Dakar, and sort things out.

‘Hopefully he was but a grieving lad, gone mad at the murder of his father. But if there was some conspiracy, well, then, brother to Koren or not, Dakar would have to take responsibility for his actions.’ Varrus grimly thought to himself.