World of Warcraft
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Published by Blizzard Entertainment.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.
Case / Jacket / Bellyband
ISBN: 9781950366477
Manufactured in China
Print run 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
EYES OF THE EARTH MOTHER
BY L. L. MCKINNEY
ONE SMALL TUSKARR
BY GARTH NIX
LAY DOWN MY BONES
BY ALYSSA WONG
THE UNINVITED GUEST
BY KAMI GARCIA
SISTER IS ANOTHER WORD FOR ALWAYS
BY CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE
THE PALADIN’S BEAST
BY MADELEINE ROUX
FOR LIES AND LIBERTY
BY E. C. MYERS
STONES, MOSS, AND TEARS
BY MOLLY KNOX OSTERTAG
THE EMBRACE
BY CHRISTIE GOLDEN
WHY THE MERMAIDS LEFT BORALUS
BY TAMSYN MUIR
THE COURAGEOUS KOBOLD AND THE WICKLESS CANDLE
BY ALLISON IRONS
VISAGE DAY
BY STEVE DANUSER
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
INTRODUCTION
I suspect there’s a spark in each of us that wants to make believe. In childhood we listened to bedtime stories or daydreamed on rainy days; we played the hero, the villain, and even the dragon. It was very likely that same desire that first brought you and me to Azeroth, to the sprawling world of Warcraft. With the click of a button, we were transported to frozen citadels, deep-sea empires, and cursed lands. Here we once again charted our own paths, learned the weight of honor and heroism, overcame conflict, and forged fast friendships. We discovered that our love of stories and desire to play make-believe are unbound by age.
We also found that World of Warcraft has its own stories to tell. I’m not referring to the Burning Legion or the Lich King or the machinations of the Old Gods. We’ve been a part of these massive sagas, yes, but what humble fireside adventures are we missing? The cautionary tales hollered at naughty children, the triumphant yarns spun between soldiers rallying for a fight, the romances used to soothe aching hearts yearning for connection. Stories that grow in the telling, shared before inn hearths from Kalimdor to the Eastern Kingdoms and the lands beyond. In short, how did the common folk of Azeroth play the dragon?
What follows is our attempt to bottle that essence, with stories supported by the World of Warcraft team and told by some of modern fantasy’s brightest stars. Together, we spent many hours researching established legends within the Warcraft mythos—including the people and places we thought deserved more attention—alongside harebrained ideas that ended up working far better than we could have hoped. (After all, who doesn’t want to know about the goblins’ bogeyman?) Real-world myths and fairy tale tropes lent their collective hands for inspiration, and many pots of tea fueled brainstorms, late-night revisions, and fascinating conversations.
The tales you’re about to read take these notions and realize them as living, breathing legends, grounded in the many cultures of Azeroth but also stretching into unexplored corners. Using direction from myself, the Warcraft team, and our loremasters as a guide, the authors were free to explore Azeroth through their own vision. As such, some of the tales you’ll encounter here may be rooted in canon, or they may be another traveler just telling a tall tale.
Every good fairy tale conveys a simple truth or moral lesson, and you’ll find that these stories are no exception. Though the tales captured here were written with adult readers in mind, many can be enjoyed by those young and old, longtime fans of Warcraft, or those in search of exciting new fantasy.
The writers and artists who’ve brought this collection to life represent the diverse Warcraft playership we at Blizzard know and love, and we couldn’t be more thrilled to share their creations with you. After all, no universe can be known by hearing just one voice or be told by just one tale.
So, settle in, lay down your armor, and sheathe your swords. Try reading some of the stories aloud if you like. Step into Azeroth’s own fairy tales and play the dragon with us.
—Allison Irons, Editor
t is said that in the time before time, in the age before memory, before Azeroth had the brightness of day and the darkness of night to mark her steps, the Earth Mother spent her waking hours roaming the vast emptiness of the world. Alone, she braved the shadows and the whispers that rose from the depths. She heard the Old Ones speak their deceptions, but she could not be swayed.
Still, she had cause to worry, for she was with child and knew she could not labor with nothing to safeguard her newborn children from the creeping deep. She journeyed on, searching for a place where she could safely give birth to the light of her heart, away from the corruption. Finding no such sanctuary, she decided that she would craft a haven herself. And so she set about the task of shaping the world.
She cupped her hands to form the land. She bent her back to raise the mountains and pricked her fingers upon their peaks. Where her nails grazed the stone, sparks rose, hot and wild. Her fingers cut grooves into the earth, and from them flowed the first waters. Soon great seas and oceans stretched before her, rushing to chase the newly formed rocks and fires at the shore. Water, earth, and flame beat against one another, none of them yielding.
The Earth Mother laughed at the antics of her creation, and from her breath were loosed the winds. They cut across the land, whipping up the newly laid dust.
“Gently,” the Earth Mother bid them, but the winds were overeager and restless. And so she knelt to show them how to lighten their touch.
“Like this.” She sighed upon the shining fog that now rested along the ground and sent it spiraling into the heavens. The mists rose until they could go no higher, curling white and wispy at first, and soon thick and gray. When the clouds could hold no more, the skies opened up, and the first rains fell, heavy. The earth eagerly drank this bounty and in return offered up the grass, the brush, the trees and forests, the swamps and jungles. The winds, having learned their lesson well, played softly through the vines and branches, over the flowering glades, dancing in delight.
The Earth Mother gazed over these new works in wonder and called the elements by name. She gave names to the newborn rivers. She played games with the winds as they raced across the open plains. She lay against the still young mountains to speak at length with the stone. And, oh, how she loved to stretch her arms toward the heavens and feel the stars kiss her fingertips. All the wilds were her creation, her place of peace, her sanctuary. “You will make fine companions for my children,” she said to the elements.
The Earth Mother grew to love the elements, and they loved her. So much so that when she asked for warmth, the mountains poured out their molten hearts for her. When she was parched, the skies opened up and water dappled the ground. When she wished to hear music, the rivers whispered and the flames roared. Everything was new and radiant, brimming with her essence enough to keep the darkness of the deep at bay.
“Now,” she decided, “I can bring forth my children.”
An
d so the Earth Mother knelt upon the golden plains. The ground cradled her body. The rivers cooled her brow. The mountains provided shelter, and fire beat back the dark. There she labored, provided for, cared for, until finally, from her womb came the first light of day, radiant and glorious. Then came the second, gentle and luminous.
“An’she,” she whispered to the first child. “My son. May you bring life, burning and bright. And Mu’sha,” she said to the second. “My daughter. May you bring rest, tranquil and healing.”
Swift and eager, the winds carried news of the newborn children across the land and sea, and the elements rejoiced as they gathered near to bask in the light of the twins.
An’she and Mu’sha they had been named.
Sun and Moon, the elements called them.
Over time, the twins grew close with their mother’s many creations. An’she could wield fire’s light and warmth as his own, and Mu’sha danced with the waters of the tides. An’she made steadfast friends with the mountains, and Mu’sha shared secrets with the winds. The twins grew steadily in their power, soon able to influence the elements themselves. So strong was their bond that the twins were able to use the might of the elements to forge weapons so that they might spar and play: dual blades for An’she and a bow with arrows for Mu’sha.
This brought the Earth Mother joy immeasurable. With soft words and tender touches, she walked her children through the ages, hand in hand, showing them the secrets of this infant land, marveling at their play with each other and with the elements themselves.
This, she saw, was good.
And yet the Earth Mother was ever watchful, ever vigilant. Her dear children were still young, still vulnerable to the corruption that lurked in the depths. The elements kept the shadows at bay as best they could, but still the Earth Mother worried. She stood guard over the twins always, never sleeping, never looking away, always keeping them close, even with their elemental guardians so near.
Eventually, the work of creation and of giving birth and then of her ceaseless watch began to tire the Earth Mother. She grew weary and knew that she would soon need to rest. But fear ate at her still. How could she sleep and protect her children? How could she keep them close, keep them safe from the darkness?
Remembering how the mountain had sheltered her while she labored, the Earth Mother took up her twins, the Sun and the Moon, and pressed them into her eyes. As she did this, first with An’she, the light of day faded, and the world finally knew night. The peace and calm that fell over the land soothed the Earth Mother’s spirit.
“Sun and Moon. Night and Day. Now will I always see thee, my children.” Finally, she took in Mu’sha, the light of her love finally returning to her fully.
This would keep her children safe and hidden.
“Watch over this world,” the Earth Mother said to the elements as she prepared to slumber. “Guard it against the shadows until I wake again.”
And so, the Earth Mother slept while she nurtured Sun and Moon, as she had when she carried them. Resting first with one eye shut and then the other, she kept one always open, for so great was her children’s power, their light, that it could no longer be fully contained. This restless watch, where she was never fully asleep, denied the world the warmth that An’she had learned to wield. This cold crept across the land. It capped the mountains in ice and froze the rivers. When the rains came, they fell in the first snows of winter. Mu’sha’s powers were similarly diminished by her mother’s rest, and without the Moon to guide the winds through their dance, they whipped up in storms and blizzards.
When the Earth Mother had rested enough, she opened her eyes onto this altered world. She saw how the elements had changed in the absence of her children, and she very nearly wept at the sight. But then, as the light of Sun and Moon returned with her gaze, the cold storms abated, and all returned to what it once was.
This way, the beating of her heart dug deep into the earth, and the song of life it carried saturated the soil.
The elements consoled her, speaking of the new life that had arisen as a result of her time of rest. They showed her the thriving plants and animals among the melting snow to convince her that this, too, was good. And so the Earth Mother named the seasons in her time of work and her time of rest.
From her eyes, she showed her children how to guide the elements through these new seasons, how to color the leaves before letting them fall, how to bolster the fields before letting seed take root. And soon, as they had with the elements’ raw power, An’she and Mu’sha could bring on the changes at will.
“Good,” the Earth Mother said to her growing children. “You have shown me your strength. You have proven your power. You can withstand the dark. This world is yours. I made it for you. Watch over it, and care for all that call it home. But you must still stay safe inside my eyes.”
And so it was that when the Earth Mother would take her rest, from behind her shut eyes, An’she and Mu’sha’s evergrowing power would tend the changes of the world, calling the seasons to their rightful time. The twins nestled in their mother’s head together, always near each other, their light shining across the land from beneath her eyelashes. And when their mother would wake, their radiance would greet her and the precious world below with joy.
To see and feel her children grow and prosper greatly pleased the Earth Mother and filled her with such love. It brought her joy immeasurable, and she wished to share this happiness with her children. So when it came time for her to slumber next, she stretched over the land, the golden plains cradling her as she slept. This way, the beating of her heart dug deep into the earth, and the song of life it carried saturated the soil. When next the Earth Mother awoke, she found new life huddled in the shadow of her bosom.
“Come,” she called to these first children of the plains. “See all that awaits you.”
Sensing this new life, An’she and Mu’sha shimmered and marveled.
“There are so many,” Mu’sha whispered.
“What will we call them?” An’she asked.
The Earth Mother plucked wheat from the golden plains and sprinkled it over her new progeny. “Shu’halo,” she murmured. “You are my love made flesh, and I brought you forth so my children would know you. An’she, Mu’sha, my Sun and Moon: teach them what I have taught you, so that they may care for the land and commune with the elements. That they may see my love in you and in all things.”
And so it was that Sun and Moon taught the shu’halo—who came to be known as the tauren—all that they knew. How to call on the elements, to take gifts from the bounty of the land to make homes and food, to sing and dance and roam the fields, to ferry the rivers and hunt the beasts of the bush. The shu’halo gave thanks to the elements, to An’she and Mu’sha, and especially to the Earth Mother, mother of all creation.
And for a time, it was good.
But as the elements turned their attention more toward aiding the tauren, the Old Ones trapped beneath the depths watched and waited with a patience as ancient as the world itself. And while Sun and Moon were almost strong enough to defend themselves, the shu’halo were young and vulnerable.
So it was that when next the Earth Mother slept, and Sun and Moon’s power radiated from her slumbering eyes to bring about the change of the seasons, the Old Ones stretched their influence across the land. Slowly at first, the shadows crept through the cracks and crevices of the world, then, growing bold, swept across the plains until their poisonous whispers pricked the hearts of the tauren. The Old Ones had their own lessons to teach. Both quiet and innumerable were their voices of hatred. Of anger. Of greed. Of sorrow. And of war. A number of the shu’halo were deceived by these whispers. These corrupted shu’halo embraced the words of wickedness and turned on their brethren. They rained down destruction on the land and family they were meant to share. Then there were the ones who lost their light. The darkness invaded their minds and took from them their very selves, until all that remained were broken thoughts and battered beings.
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br /> An’she and Mu’sha watched helplessly as the shu’halo were consumed by chaos. They did not know what to do, for their mother had only ever spoken of shadows, not the terrible suffering those powers would bring.
Distraught, Sun and Moon cried out in anguish, waking the Earth Mother so she could see what had been wrought. Instead of water, blood soaked the earth. Fires had turned the forests to ash. The winds howled with vicious storms, and the ground itself shook with a fury that cracked open stone and left the land scarred. All was in disarray, for the shu’halo had turned the elements loose against one another, and for the first time, tauren slew tauren.
“What is this?” the Earth Mother gasped in horror. “What has happened?”
“Something dark,” An’she wailed.
“From the deep,” Mu’sha lamented.
The Earth Mother, saddened by what had come to pass, wept but a single tear. The world she had taken such care into carving—molding the land to rise as hills and fall as valleys, teaching the elements to tend the forests, leading the shu’halo to seed the plains—was now tainted. The darkness had come, and she was unable to prevent the hold it had taken. The shadow was rooted in the earth, and anything that touched it could eventually fall.
This meant, the Earth Mother realized, that she herself was no longer a safe haven for her children. She was forever connected to these lands, and so she could never leave them. In time, perhaps she too would succumb and be the reason An’she and Mu’sha might as well.
Devastated, and unwilling to take such a risk, she wiped away the lone tear she had before wrenching her eyes free, her fingers digging so deeply that the light of Sun and Moon would never be able to return to her again.