Scene III: Crossing the Scar
Atop a tower in Bloodcraft Estate. . .
"It appears your new companions do not trust you, my lady," the black suit says as he ascends the mezzanine. Mana wyrms fill the air. A pale shadow shifts by the southern ledge, arms resting upon a marble railing, soft red curls inclining toward the west. "They have taken the service road into the village, as if to elude you." Voixra chuckles at that.
"Curious they would accept my quest when they harbor such doubts," the lady muses. Her attention is on a mana wyrm wrapping itself around her wrist. "I somehow suspect this lot will be more trouble than they are worth. What do you think, Laceus?"
"I think we should begin assembling their replacements," replies Laceus.
Voixra laughs again, always humored by the candor of her steward. "No, not yet. As green as they seem, we must provide the Lorewalker with an opportunity to demonstrate his drunken philosophy." Something wicked flickers in her eye. "The pandaren's life depends on it, after all."
After a short time, the road you are travelling upon begins to wind through a series of small hills where less light is capable of penetrating the thick grove wood, and at an almost supernatural rate the landscape transitions eerily from day to night. It doesn't take long for the trees to close in around the group. Eversongs are tall, twisted pale things, and they seem ghoulish—even evil—as their limbs sway back and forth against the cool breeze, reaching for victims to drag into the dark depths of the forest. The vibrant and colorful kingdom of the haughty blood elves hides its darker roots in these obscured nooks and crannies of the world; you remark upon this as you watch the outline of the manor disappear on the horizon behind you. Somewhere, a giant dragonhawk screeches, sending you off with a proper goodbye. Your feet are sore by the time the edge of the forest opens up ahead of you. From afar you can see where the lip of the land festers over and recedes into itself like a putrified wound—the Dead Scar—a cancerous mole that stretches across the torso of Quel'thalas and a perpetual reminder of the atrocities suffered by the land and its people during the Third War when the Scourge Army invaded the elvish kingdom, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake. An air stiff with rigor mortis lurches forward to greet you like a dead man reaching out to shake your hand. Welcome to Life's end, it whispers in your ear. "Hello down there, travelers!" shouts a nearby tree. Startled, you search for the source of the loud voice. "Are you planning on crossing the Scar?" shouts the tree again. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right down," it insists. You spot commotion coming from the canopy overhead. A flash of red and yellow through the branches. "Stay put, I'm almost there," The tree sounds unsure of itself. "I have things under control," A detectable panic. "Just a little further. . . Uh-oh!" You are poised to draw your weapon when the air crackles with snapping tree limbs. Snnnnnnnnaaaappp. Fwoooosh—snap!—snap!—snap! The sharp sound of fabric ripping, then suddenly again, fwoooosh—snap!—snap!—snap! A heavy thud echoes across the expanse of mischievous wood to meet a wall of nothingness. If the land here were filled with living things, they might have stirred at the intrusion; instead, the excitement of the incident is swallowed by the belly of the forest. Nearby, the tree groans. A ruined cloak dangles from its lowest branch, a yellow phoenix on checkered red against gold, concealing the ranger who lay crumbled up beneath it. You think the poor hap is perhaps dead when a mop of red hair comes crawling out from beneath the fabric like an injured lynx. He jumps to his feet and brushes the dirt off his knees, disregarding the entire situation. "Hello intrepid travelers, I'm Ranger Karl with the Silvermoon Ranger Corps. I just learned the word intrepid the other day so I'm using it as often as I can to commit it to memory. You are looking very intrepid right now. I don't know if you could hear me from the height I was at a moment ago, but I was wondering if you were planning to cross the Scar. It's my sworn duty as ranger to see travelers safely across the Scar." The garrulous ranger strikes a pose against the tree with one arm after readjusting the straps to his leather sandals. "To tell you more about myself, I'm an outdoors kind of guy. I really like outside and being outside. You might even call me an outsider. Once when I was a kid, I hid in a log for six hours while a dragonhawk tried to eat me. Word of advice if you start climbing the trees around here, check to see whether they are actual trees first. One time I confused a treant for a tree and tried to climb it." Karl continues these anecdotes for some time. It seems he will keep this up until you interrupt him. . .
After a short time, the road you are travelling upon begins to wind through a series of small hills where less light is capable of penetrating the thick grove wood, and at an almost supernatural rate the landscape transitions eerily from day to night. It doesn't take long for the trees to close in around the group. Eversongs are tall, twisted pale things, and they seem ghoulish—even evil—as their limbs sway back and forth against the cool breeze, reaching for victims to drag into the dark depths of the forest. The vibrant and colorful kingdom of the haughty blood elves hides its darker roots in these obscured nooks and crannies of the world; you remark upon this as you watch the outline of the manor disappear on the horizon behind you. Somewhere, a giant dragonhawk screeches, sending you off with a proper goodbye. Your feet are sore by the time the edge of the forest opens up ahead of you. From afar you can see where the lip of the land festers over and recedes into itself like a putrified wound—the Dead Scar—a cancerous mole that stretches across the torso of Quel'thalas and a perpetual reminder of the atrocities suffered by the land and its people during the Third War when the Scourge Army invaded the elvish kingdom, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake. An air stiff with rigor mortis lurches forward to greet you like a dead man reaching out to shake your hand. Welcome to Life's end, it whispers in your ear. "Hello down there, travelers!" shouts a nearby tree. Startled, you search for the source of the loud voice. "Are you planning on crossing the Scar?" shouts the tree again. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right down," it insists. You spot commotion coming from the canopy overhead. A flash of red and yellow through the branches. "Stay put, I'm almost there," The tree sounds unsure of itself. "I have things under control," A detectable panic. "Just a little further. . . Uh-oh!" You are poised to draw your weapon when the air crackles with snapping tree limbs. Snnnnnnnnaaaappp. Fwoooosh—snap!—snap!—snap! The sharp sound of fabric ripping, then suddenly again, fwoooosh—snap!—snap!—snap! A heavy thud echoes across the expanse of mischievous wood to meet a wall of nothingness. If the land here were filled with living things, they might have stirred at the intrusion; instead, the excitement of the incident is swallowed by the belly of the forest. Nearby, the tree groans. A ruined cloak dangles from its lowest branch, a yellow phoenix on checkered red against gold, concealing the ranger who lay crumbled up beneath it. You think the poor hap is perhaps dead when a mop of red hair comes crawling out from beneath the fabric like an injured lynx. He jumps to his feet and brushes the dirt off his knees, disregarding the entire situation. "Hello intrepid travelers, I'm Ranger Karl with the Silvermoon Ranger Corps. I just learned the word intrepid the other day so I'm using it as often as I can to commit it to memory. You are looking very intrepid right now. I don't know if you could hear me from the height I was at a moment ago, but I was wondering if you were planning to cross the Scar. It's my sworn duty as ranger to see travelers safely across the Scar." The garrulous ranger strikes a pose against the tree with one arm after readjusting the straps to his leather sandals. "To tell you more about myself, I'm an outdoors kind of guy. I really like outside and being outside. You might even call me an outsider. Once when I was a kid, I hid in a log for six hours while a dragonhawk tried to eat me. Word of advice if you start climbing the trees around here, check to see whether they are actual trees first. One time I confused a treant for a tree and tried to climb it." Karl continues these anecdotes for some time. It seems he will keep this up until you interrupt him. . .
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