Aspect of Warning

“Deathwing is not the true threat, friends!” the disheveled woman shouted in desperation to the passersby. “We need to prepare for the real threat!”

The citizens of the great city of Stormwind cautiously moved past the violet-robed woman, giving wide berth to one looking short many nights of sleep – and perhaps as long a spell without bathing. Her hair framed her pale face and intense emerald eyes in an untidy halo of wispy red locks.

It was a brisk but sunny autumn afternoon in the Alliance capital, and the streets were busy with merchants and citizens and guards alike. Everyone passing seemed to be in a hurry to be somewhere – completing errands and such – and upon passing the young woman hollering what sounded to many like Doomsayer propaganda, seemed even more so.

The only creature who seemed interested in what the woman had to say was a small black cat that wove in and out from between the woman’s legs.

As the afternoon passed, the sun ceaselessly making its trek across the heavens despite any plans of the mortals below, the young woman seemed to get more distraught and more persistent.

A dark-haired dwarf made the briefest of eye contact with the woman. He immediately cringed to himself as she addressed him directly, unperturbed by the look he gave her.

“Sir! I wish to warn you of the coming threat – the threat hidden from us by this obsession with the Dragon Aspect, Deathwing!”

“Aye? And what could be mer dangerous than Deathwing, lass?” he asked her, absently patting the grey wolf beside him.

“Why, the Old Gods!” the woman exclaimed.

Brows furrowed, the dwarf looked at her skeptically. “The Old Gods are just a tale to scare the wee ones wit. There ain’t no such thing in truth.”

The woman shook her head violently and continued. “That is why I stand before you! To purge the ignorance of what a real threat the Old Gods truly are!”

“And where would you get such crazy ideas into your pretty head, dear?”

“I, sir, am an apprentice of the Kirin Tor,” the woman stated, jutting forth her chin. “Perhaps you have heard of the Magnificent… Uuh… Uuugh!”

Clutching her head, the fiery haired woman doubled over in what looked like pain.

“Lass? Are ye ill, dear?” the dwarf asked her with genuine concern.

He merely laughs at you, like the others. You should leave here, before you are driven out like you were from Dalaran. They do not appreciate the information you try to share. The voices inside Maeyv’s head was so persistent it hurt. They nearly screamed, rattling her senses like some baby’s toy.

There are others, others who will better receive you knowledge…

Usually the voices were soft whispers and so close to her own thoughts, for a while she had thought them to be just that. But whomever was the force behind those voices was displeased with her research and her attempt to share what she had learned.

That made her merely more determined.

But it also made her more haunted.

Needing to get away, not wanting anyone to see her like this, Maeyv scooped up Cat and fled the Trade District.

The confused dwarf just watched her depart, mouth agape.

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