“When faced with the products of a technologically superior culture, the Blacksilt displayed none of the curiosity characteristic of emerging cultures in humanoid species.”

* Clopper Wizbang, Explorers’ League

~ Brgllrm

I probably should have foreseen this outcome when Nat started sharing his flask. I never really noticed it before, but no one in the village seem to drink alcohol. I had just assumed that murloc’s didn’t let their young drink even very low-percentage stuff like small beer, but it seems like we just never started fermenting stuff.

On the other hand, the humans of Stormwind loved their brews if what I could remember from the taverns in-game kept true. Nat had only let people drink small amounts, probably what he thought they could handle. One problem with those assumptions was that they were made with the average human as the baseline. Shockingly, murlocs are not humans. A combination of our generally smaller stature and unfamiliarity with alcohol meant a shot of whatever was in that flask went from giving a pleasant buzz to full-on inebriation.

After I had managed to coax Nat out of Cass’s jaws, mostly by bribing her with an armful of fish from the village stockpile, I had to corral both him and everyone who had taken a swig from his dropped flask. That turned out to be a lot of people, as one of the elders had taken it upon himself to share the drink while Nat was distracted trying to pet Cass. Most of my evening was spent looking for any elders that wandered off and helping them back into the village.

So it was late in the morning by the time I woke up, nestled in a pile of bodies centered around the prone form of Cass. She had receded into her shell after last night’s attempted consumption of Nat, either out of boredom or disappointment.

For his part, Nat had responded to the attack with grace and dignity. At least he did after I had managed to wake him up with a splash of water on his face. He said it was partially his fault for not avoiding the two-meter-tall reptile. “It just seemed like such a good idea at the time.” He had said. “They were sleeping right there. I didn’t want anyone to miss such a great party.”

After he was fully awake and gathered up his few belongings, as well as a sizable collection of gifts the tribe had given him throughout the last evening’s celebration, into his small boat, Nat sailed off. He had borrowed the boat and promised to return it yesterday, but since that obviously didn’t happen, he had to get to Stormwind before they thought he died or raised his tab at the bar.

“But I’ll survive. A story about last night will probably get me free drinks for a week if I tell it right.” He said as he got ready to cast off from the beach.

“Don’t make it too crazy. We don’t want any weirdos showing up expecting to be treated like chieftains.” I said as I gave the boat a push. I was giving it my all, which translated to a few centimeters of movement for the hull.

Eventually, we got the boat floating and I waved goodbye to my first human friend in this new life. It wasn’t a permanent goodbye, I was sure he would return. Why wouldn’t he? We had done nothing to scare him, nothing too major anyways. I would be ecstatic to meet a friendly murloc tribe if I was a human in Azeroth.

But some part of me was still sad to see him go. That irrational part of my brain that whispered worst-case scenarios had reincarnated along with me and was having a field day with Nat. What if he gets hit by a speeding carriage? What if his boat capsizes in a storm? What if he tells Stormwind and they send an army?

That last one was the most frightening. I remembered the leadership being rotten in Stormwind from my past life. A couple of my guildmates had finished a max-level quest and gave me the general rundown. It involved a dragon called Onixia infiltrating the nobles of Stormwind to do… something. My exact memory was a bit hazy. When I died it had been years since I even booted up the game, much less caught up on quests from the original release. I probably wouldn’t have to deal with it, and I had no clue how I would deal with it, so I elected to ignore the problem until it became relevant.

Something that was relevant was how disorganized the village was after last night's celebration. Most of the elders and a sizable chunk of the adult population were incapacitated. Due to what I can only assume to be a mix of their personal and biological inexperience with the effects of alcohol, everyone who had taken large swigs from Nat’s flask was busy nursing their first hangover. I had just managed to get everyone who was dehydrated into the water when I heard crying coming from where Cass was sleeping.

Spinning around, I saw Cass had woken up and taken umbrage to acting as a makeshift bed for most of the village. To her credit, she didn’t immediately start biting limbs off and instead slowly rose, producing a low rumbling sound like the thunder before lightning struck. Most of the half-awake murlocs took that as a cue to stop sleeping in and scrambled to get up and away from Cass.

But one tadpole had somehow maneuvered themselves right on Cass’s neck. When she started standing up, the tadpole had fallen. It was a short drop, but being woken up and landing face-first in the sand got the tadpole crying up a storm.

I could see one of the adults who had backed off trying to make her way to the tadpole. But Cass was aggressively snapping at her and making that same warning noise. When the mother seemed too terrified to move closer, Cass bent her head towards the still-crying tadpole, a sense of dread sweeping over everyone present.

Then she did something unexpected. Cass started nuzzling the tadpole with her nose, making small movements and carefully avoiding hurting them with her tusks. After she had managed to calm the tadpole down enough that it stopped crying, Cass flattened herself onto the ground and gently scooped them back onto her neck. Soon the rhythmic breaths of both Cass and the tadpole sleeping could be heard.

The entire interaction lasted less than half a minute but left the crowd stunned for a full minute more. The juxtaposition between the threatening roar and the soothing rumble Cass had displayed in such a quick succession left everyone, including myself, wondering what had just happened. The tadpole’s mother was the most conflicted about leaving them with Cass and wore that concern openly on her face.

When I started walking towards the crowd she hurriedly pushed her way over to me. In a hushed and slightly panicked tone, she asked me if her tadpole was going to be okay. My answer of how Cass was harmless unless provoked (hopefully) and how she was trying to protect the tadpole (probably) calmed her down. It also helped soothe the crowd as I had spoken to the mother at a volume that was perhaps a bit louder than necessary.

After another few rounds of reassuring everyone, most of the adults left to start fulfilling their daily tasks. Only the tadpole’s mother, a group (school?) of tadpoles, and one of the sober elders hung around Cass. The tadpoles slowly inched closer to Cass as they were wary of her apparent bad temper. She watched them the whole way, her eyes opening slightly every time a bit of sand was kicked up. But one of them eventually gathered the courage to climb her shell.

That opened the floodgates, and when I returned with food the tadpoles were using Cass’s shell as a playground. With the elder’s help, I got them settled down in the sand for breakfast while I fed Cass a large watermelon. It had been a lucky find by one of the gatherers, and I didn’t even have to pay them any shells for the whole head-sized fruit. Making sure people don’t die from an infected cut generates a great deal of goodwill, and gifts were one of the ways they showed their thanks.

I already had a small collection of random stuff people found fit to give me after helping them or their loved ones. Even though Mrgglr was doing most of the actual healing they still gave me credit. I had received carvings, choice pieces of food, medicinal herbs and supplies they had found, and even murloc teeth. One of the tadpoles had fallen and knocked out a couple of her teeth, and after bandaging her knees she handed me the still bloody fangs. She had this big smile on her face, conspicuous gaps showing where the teeth had come from, and I couldn’t bring myself to turn her down.

So now my little section of Mrgglr’s hut had baubles and trinkets scattered about. I would have shoved them into some dark corner of my mother’s hut, but I enjoyed having them nearby. It was nice to be reminded of how much of an impact I could have on people’s lives.

Once Cass finished the watermelon, I gave her a few gentle pats and headed back to Mrgglr’s hut. I had left my clay tablets on the floor, set aside in favor of talking with an actual human. Now that I had been able to test out my burgeoning sign language with Nat, I had found a few kinks to iron out.

I spent the next couple of days working on Nerglish sign language. I had amassed a dozen clay tablets of notes on the language, trying to figure out a standard way of forming larger concepts with multiple signs. I had hit a roadblock until Glrmgrlr helped me out. He took to it almost as enthusiastically as the sling when I showed him what I had been working on. Although he had a very different idea of what the language should be used for. He wanted it to be used on hunts as a way to coordinate without alerting their quarry.

But with that perspective came innovations. Glrmgrlr pointed out how most of my signs required two hands, something I had overlooked. Of course, he was worried about signing while holding a weapon, but that didn’t make his advice any less valuable.

A new routine set in quickly. I would get up, feed and spend some time with Cass, and then spend the rest of the day in Mrgglr’s hut. While waiting for patients, I would work on the sign language, and at the end of the day when Glrmgrlr returned to the village, he would review my work and make recommendations.

It was dull but peaceful. The best thing about it was that people were warming up to Cass. The tadpoles loved to use her as a playground and a napping spot. I had also caught some of the adults hanging charms off the spikes of her shell.

The next day I was busy collecting more clay for additional tablets when one of the gatherers came running up to me. He was panting heavily, and a thick layer of mucus was secreted from his skin, cooling him down as he regained his breath. After a few sharp inhales he pointed back towards the village and said “There was a mauling back at the village, Brgglrm! Come quick!”

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~ Nat

It was with a combination of sadness and relief that I left the company of my new murloc friends and paddled into the open waters. It was a clear day and my intended route was dead simple. All I had to do was head up the coast until Stormwind was in sight. It was so easy I could do it in my sleep, which was good because I was hungover and might doze off a bit on the way.

Friends were a rare sight in Stormwind these days. People were more focused on making ends meet and finding their next meal. I couldn’t blame them. Ever since the Alliance of Lordaeron splintered taxes had almost doubled in the city. Apparently, the leaders who generously loaned money and men to the rebuilding of the city felt it was time for Stormwind to pay up, especially Greymane.

Never mind the fact that Stormwind was still trying to resettle land that the Horde had rampaged across in the First War not two decades ago, Greymane wanted to build that stupid wall of his. What kind of king abandons half his people to the wilds anyways? I bet in half a century the land outside the wall will be independent, no way he can keep it after insulting them so openly.

As I paddled my way along the coast, reflecting on the morality of regicide, a sense of unease washed over me. Looking around I could see no source of my newfound malaise. No raiding parties on the shore or pirate ships plying the waters. Then I noticed the shadow approaching my boat and the creature that it belonged to.

A bird circled above, as large as an eagle and possessing feathers of a deep, all-consuming black. It seemed as though a piece of the night sky devoid of all stars had fallen to Azeroth and taken on the form of a raven. It swooped down, landing on the empty deck of the canoe.

For a few brief seconds, all I could do was stare. Something was off about this creature, I could feel it. It was almost thrice the size of a regular raven and kept unusually still, never mind the fact that it landed inside a boat.

But as I was about to reach out and touch the curious creature it started to twitch and bow, an eerie hum accompanying the crashing of waves. A green fog circled its body as the blackest feathers stretched, extending out into long ribbons that swirled with the mist. It rose into the air in a cruel mockery of the majestic flight it had so recently displayed. It was as if the hand of an invisible child had clutched the bird, raising and constricting the animal. It looked to be in pain, its body arching back and releasing shrill caws.

When the raven had reached eye level, it seemed to fold in on itself. In the blink of an eye, the swirling mass of feathers shifted, expanding first into a curtain made of dull reddish brown feathers which quickly coalesced into a heavy cloak. Then the cloak was pushed aside to reveal a man underneath, hunched over and breathing heavily, his body leaning on a wooden staff that was now firmly planted on the canoe’s floor.

The man raised his head to look at me, and I caught my first glimpse of his features. His was a dour face, one which fit the determined scowl on display. It was framed by a wild beard made of greying hair. His gaze held a certain sense of sadness. It was the gaze of a man who had seen too much to bear. I had seen eyes like that once before when I had visited one of the internment camps up in Lordaeron. His

His dress was almost as strange as his entrance. He wore his cloak over a simple set of tunic and pants, both a dull beige color. But atop the cloak was what seemed to be an oversized gorget, the metal extending around his neck and beyond his shoulders. It was decorated with golden inlays forming rows of vines stretching across the steel and a lining of the same dark raven feathers ran along the rim of the metal. Set in the center position right below his neck was a large ruby that reflected the morning sun.

As I stared at the new occupant of my boat, the man cleared his throat and began to speak in a confident tone that clashed with his frail frame. “Who might you be, young man?”

“Oh, uh, I’m Nat. Nat Pagle.”

“It is good to meet you, Nat Pagle,” he said while gesturing to the other bench that spanned the canoe. “May I sit? My journey was long and I am not what I once was.”

I nodded in reply, still taken aback by his demeanor.

He sat, laying his staff across his lap. Its carved raven figure poked over the side of the boat. After half a minute of pure silence where I was too busy processing what just happened to say anything, he spoke up again. “May I confess something, Nat Pagle?”

I hesitantly responded, trying to mask the uncertainty and hesitation boiling up within me with a simple reply. “Sure.”

There was a pause as he studied his staff, adjusting the tassels and charms tied around it. “I am beginning to think humanity is doomed to ruin.”

That was… not what I expected.

“I have spent every waking moment since my return attempting to fulfill my duties. I have flown the breadth of the Eastern Kingdoms, from Stranglethorn Vale to Tirisfal Glades searching for those who would accept my dire warning, those who have the influence to help save Azeroth.” He stretched back, arms reaching for the sky. “I have spoken with kings and archmagi, in grand thronerooms and warded sanctums. The righteous and good have heard my pleas, and they have all dismissed the threat I have seen.“

His eyes swept past me and landed on the now churning waters. He had a distant gaze, one lost not in the beauty of the ocean but in the trappings of the mind. “I had such high hopes for today. King Terenas is by all accounts a man who is willing to make tough decisions. He has held together the Alliance even after a quarter of its members abandoned it. But even this great king dismisses me. He is more worried about liberated orcs and plagues in border villages. Important issues no doubt, but they pale in comparison to the warning I bring.”

His attention returned to me, and I lost the small sense of relief I had felt when his focus was diverted by his ponderings. “So here I am. At the end of my rope, resting my weary head and confiding in a common fisherman. No offense intended.”

“None taken. Honestly, I have no idea why you’d want to talk to me.”

“I have always had a privileged life. My path was set for me at birth by forces beyond my control. There are times when my ignorance about the more mundane ways of life has sabotaged my efforts. I fear this is one of those times.”

“And so you wanted to talk to one of those mundane folk, meaning me.”

“The mundane and mystical are not positive and negative traits, they just are. No one should think less of you for being a fisherman, much like no one should idolize me for the power I wielded. Tyrants hold immense power, yet they are often lesser beings than the peasants toiling away under their yolk.”

There came a deep sigh from his frail chest. It held the crushing weight of time and all the failures that come alongside a long life. “I am an example of that. Once I held the fate of kingdoms in my hand as carelessly as a child holds their toy aloft. The scars of my deeds have not yet healed, and I fear they never will. It is why I have abandoned my name, and obscure my true identity from all who ask.”

“Wait, have you not been telling people who you are?”

He nodded, the feathers extending from his gorget bouncing with the movement.

“Well,” I said while leaning back, “there’s your problem.”

His gaze locked onto my face, eyes piercing any semblance of calm I had managed to gather. “Elaborate.” He said in an even tone.

“You’re asking all these important people to trust you, to ignore the problems facing their people, go against the counsel of their advisors, and you haven’t even given them your name? It’s hard to trust a stranger, much less one who won't even say who they are.”

“But if they were to learn of my true identity, it would inspire naught but anger and doubt.”

“Then trust they will be able to look past your mistakes and see what you are now. It all comes down to trust, and trust is a two-way street.”

There was a long pause where I wouldn’t speak and he could not speak. His expression was almost impossible to read but I could have sworn his eyes had widened in disbelief halfway through the silence.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence. “That is a unique perspective. One I had not considered.”

“Pretty good for a common fisherman, eh?” I said as a wide grin spread across my face. “Why don’t you try it now? You already know my name, how about yours?”

As I said that, his eyes dropped below my face. When I tried to recapture his gaze I couldn’t. He seemed to avoid eye contact on an almost unconscious level, so deep was his pondering.

“You may call me the Prophet, Nat Pagle,” he said, rising with the tone of his voice. “It is a title that conveys certain responsibilities. Today you have reminded me of why I must persevere in my duties, and gave me new perspectives on the how.”

I leaned forward in my seat and said “It's not all ravens and magic in this world. Sometimes a simpler answer suffices.”

He stood completely upright, his simple wooden staff seeming more like the ancestral heirloom of some noble house than an old man’s walking stick.

“You have done a great service, not just to me but to the whole of Azeroth. A rain of precious gemstones would descend upon you if it were in my power, but alas recently I have found myself lacking in material wealth.”

I shrugged. “That’s fine. Your company has been reward enough. I think a retelling will score me a round or two back at the Gilded Rose.”

The Prophet let loose a few small chuckles at that and said “I will remember to procure a fine vintage for if we ever meet again. Have a good day Nat Pagle, and beware of that which festers in the places where none dare to look.”

Before I could ask him to explain his cryptic goodbye, he stepped off the boat and into the water. As his body fell towards the waves, his cloak started to swirl around his form, sucking his entire body into a single point before reforming into the same black raven I had seen previously.

For a brief moment, I saw into the raven’s eyes, their pupils glowing with an eerie green light. Then he was gone, soaring into the heavens. Wings of midnight silhouetted against the midmorning sky.

When the raven finally disappeared behind a cover of clouds, I turned back to the boat. There were no signs of my brief visitor save for a single black feather drifting lazily into the canoe. I watched as it rocked back and forth with the rhythms of the water.

I quickly plucked it from the bench before the wind had a chance to spirit it away. There I sat, inspecting the strange parting gift, for a few minutes. Then I shook my head, let loose the tension I hadn’t realized was piling up in my stomach through a series of bewildered laughs, and gingerly tucked the feather into the brim of my hat.

Shaking my head, I retrieved my emergency flask from its place on my belt. Bird people? I can’t deal with this sober.

To my horror, when I upturned the flask to take a large swig of whatever swill I had managed to procure in my last drunken stupor, I found nothing but a scant few drops of amber liquid.

How did I go through an entire flask so fas… the party! Curse you yesterday Nat! A deep sigh came from my lips. Well, there’s only one thing left to do.

I dug through the small pile of fishing essentials I had stuffed into the canoe when I first left Stormwind yesterday. Underneath the spare line and replacement lures was a small cloth bundle. Removing the wrapping revealed a bottle a little bigger than my hand, its clear liquid swirling around as I picked it up.

Time to break out the emergency emergency stash.