-3- The Day After

The Trolls and Kelar's tanks set out at the first trace of dawn. Today was the fifth time in Guro'jintal's stay at Northrend that the cloud cover had parted to let in the sun. As it slowly rose in the sky, the morning glow cast a golden haze over the snow banks of the Grizzly Hills. At times it was too bright for Guro'jintal to bear, so he would duck back into the tank and briefly continue his watch over the road ahead through the passenger visor.

But the clear skies didn't stay for very long. By the time the sun had reached its zenith in the sky, the familiar pale sky of Northrend was slowly returning. Minus the slight depression, at least it made it easier to spot a possible threat. An hour before they had passed the remains of where Kelar had first met the Trolls. The fires that had engulfed the meat wagons had long burned out, but the wreckage of the battle was just as they had left it. The tanks rolled right through the burnt-out hulls of the wagons, continuing along the winding road in the direction from which the Scourge had come. They were continuing along the road for a minute before Guro'jintal called to Kelar in the tank ahead of him to stop.

"The path doesn't lead to the ridge! It's veering off," he said, indicating the direction they should be going. Judging by their current direction and position, Guro'jintal was certain their intended destination would be east of their current position.

Kelar nodded. "Alright, let's see if we can find a path through those trees, first."

Guro'jintal called down Alojin and Hijawath, and instructed them to ensure the path was clear through the forest. An immobilized tank was as good as no tank at all. As the pair trotted off into the trees, Guro'jintal turned to Kelar.

"What do you think we'll find?"

Kelar shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Crazy magician? Cult of warlocks? Hell, maybe even an Old God."

Guro'jintal nodded. "It's Northrend. Anything's possible, right?"

---

Alojin and Hijawath returned a few minutes later. The path was clear of potholes and tank traps, and the trees were weak enough for the steam tanks to roll over. They had caught site of what appeared to be a deserted village but had returned before investigating further. The steam tanks would be a healthy addition to a search party. The metal giants began the slow process of pushing through the thin layer of trees, careful not to pull a strong acceleration that might drive them into the snow. The sun had begun its slow descent into the horizon by the time the steam tanks made it over the hill. When they finally broke the tree line they were on the outskirts of a small, quiet village.

Very quiet. Guro'jintal didn't avert his gaze as he slowly scanned the dark, silent houses. No smoke poured from the chimneys. Even the windmill ceased to spin in the light breeze. It was as if the town was more than deserted, perhaps even something more than dead. As he descended from his perch on the tank, Guro'jintal could feel the wrongness that hung thick in the air. He inhaled, and everything seemed to slow like something bad was going to happen. Like that moment in his life, when he knew everything would end. When things were taken out of his control, and put into the hands of a greater power.

And then Kelar spoke up from atop one of the steam tanks, and things were back to normal.

"I'm not liking this, Guro'jintal. It's way too quiet. Gives my dwarven stomach's gettin' a bit squeamish."

"You're not alone, Kelar. Wait here. We will scout ahead and make sure the town is as dead as it is," said Guro'jintal.

As he called the Trolls to him and set off toward the village, he silently hoped it wasn't indeed a ghost town. The populace probably passed due to plague, Scourge, or something along the lines of spelling trouble for them. Maybe they heard the tanks and thought trouble was coming, so they went into hiding in the safety of their homes. But as Guro'jintal neared one of the houses on the outskirts of the town, he only felt even more unsettled by the setting.

He waved to the Trolls behind him. In response, Hirojata and five other Trolls broke off and disappeared around the other side of the house. Guro'jintal and the remaining four Trolls continued along their current path, silently creeping through the soft snow between two houses. He glanced up to one of the windows, hoping to see a scared face looking back at him, any sign of life. But the window wasn't even intact. Underfoot, he felt glass shards crunching beneath a thin layer of snow. Tell tale signs of a bad day.

He raised a hand to signify a stop as he peaked around the corner of the house. Hirojata's head poked out from the other side a moment later. Guro'jintal nodded to him, and then they were both moving. Hirojata took his men up the steps of the porch and came alongside the door, while Guro'jintal led his team to the adjacent house. He unslung his crossbow as he approached the front door, eyes darting between the pair of dusty windows that sat on either side. From what little he could make out, no movement. He glanced back to Hirojata, who nodded in readiness. Guro'jintal turned to one of the Trolls and gave the order to breach the house. The Troll drove his foot into the soft wood, knocking clear the lock mechanism and forcing the rotted barrier to swing wide open. Dust rose in clouds before them, giving Guro'jintal an excuse for not readily storming the breach. He glanced over to Hirojata, who was also taking his time.

"Lokeita, give us some light," whispered Guro'jintal softly.

The Troll grunted, withdrawing a shaft of wood about as long as a forearm from beneath his furs. He poured a small vial of fluid on the stick, and then another. Gently, he blew on the wet wood, and a flame erupted into life.

"Go," Guro'jintal ordered.

As they stepped through, the old Troll's eyes scanned the floor. In the dust, there were footprints. Not Troll, but possibly Human, or maybe even Dwarven. He stepped in, and without needing the warning from one of the other Trolls, he was surprised at what he found.

The house wasn't quite vacant. Natural life had stopped occupying it, but for how long, he couldn't be sure. To their left was a dinner table, and sitting at it were eight figures. The food had long rotted from age, but the people sitting at the table was an entirely different matter that gave Guro'jintal chills each time he looked at them. They were frozen in place, a position captured in time only by ice or a photograph. But it was an unnatural pose, as if taken by surprise. They were all facing the direction of the door, and the expression on their faces was a mix of shock and horror. Their features were glazed over with a strange substance that was hard to the touch, like amber or glue. Guro'jintal thought they would spring to life any moment, but no matter how hard you tapped them, they may have rocked gently for a moment, but that was all.

Frozen in time.

"What unholy evil is this?" he whispered.

---

The Trolls returned to the steam tanks nearly two hours later. Half the afternoon had passed, and the sky had begun to darken. They had the six houses, tavern, and stables. Apart from those, the only remaining constructs was an old well and a house that was only halfway built. The remaining populace were in a similar state as the first house they had entered. It was as if someone had arrived and caught everyone by surprise. And their startled expressions were frozen on their faces forever.

"All clear?" asked Kelar.

Guro'jintal shook his head. "Not quite."

Hirojata spoke up. "The buildings are old and worn, as if they haven't seen use in weeks. Yet there are people in them. But they are frozen like statues, as if a spell or some trance has been placed over them. And yet we found no hidden doors. Either whatever evil has plagued this town has come and gone, or it is still in hiding."

"And we intend to find out," furthered Guro'jintal. "Tonight, we shall set up camp on the far ridge overlooking the town. If the creatures are as persistent as you say they are, no doubt we shall see something."

Kelar was hesitant for scant moments, looking around to his Dwarves for any signs of disagreement. But their faces were stern and alight with fire. He turned back to Guro'jintal and nodded.

"Looks like we're setting up camp. Lead the way, Guro'jintal."