Book Two — Chapter Thirteen
Booty Bay and Stranglethorn Vale, years before the events of Book One
Booty Bay smelled like salt, fruit, tar, gunpowder, sweat, fish, and money.
Mostly money.
Vegetaone had been in the town less than five minutes when three people tried to sell him directions.
One sold directions to the inn.
One sold directions to the person selling directions to the inn.
The third offered to steal back whatever the first two charged.
Vegetaone liked Ratchet better.
Barely.
He climbed the wooden walkways through the bay.
Ships from distant ports filled the harbor.
Humans.
Dwarves.
Trolls.
Orcs.
Goblins.
People wearing armor he had never seen.
Weapons from places he could not name.
The world no longer felt divided into Horde roads and everyone else.
Here, everything crossed.
That made Booty Bay interesting.
And dangerous.
He found work quickly.
A goblin quartermaster needed a supply crate carried to a camp north of the bay.
“Simple job,” the goblin said.
Vegetaone narrowed his eyes.
“No.”
The goblin blinked.
“I didn’t tell you the pay.”
“You said simple.”
“So?”
“Nothing is simple when a goblin says it.”
The goblin looked impressed.
“You’ve traveled.”
“Yes.”
The pay was good.
Vegetaone accepted.
Stranglethorn Vale was the opposite of Tanaris.
Tanaris had nowhere to hide.
Stranglethorn hid everything.
Trees crowded the road.
Vines hung from branches.
Leaves blocked the sky.
Sounds came from every direction.
Insects.
Birds.
Water.
Something large moving where he could not see it.
Vegetaone kept his axe ready.
A monkey screamed from a tree.
Vegetaone almost attacked it.
The monkey threw fruit.
Vegetaone caught it.
Looked at it.
The monkey screamed again.
Vegetaone put the fruit in his bag.
“Payment.”
The monkey threw another.
“Generous.”
He delivered the supply crate without incident.
That was suspicious.
On the return trip, he found the reason. A wagon had overturned across the road.
Two traders stood beside it.
A third person lay beneath the wheel. Vegetaone stopped at a distance.
Looked at the road.
Looked at the trees.
No tracks approaching from the north.
Too many leaving toward the brush.
He did not rush in.
Instead he stepped off the road.
Circled.
Behind the trees, three men waited with crossbows.
Bandits.
Vegetaone smiled.
Months ago, he would have walked directly into the trap.
He picked up a stone.
Threw it behind them.
All three turned.
Vegetaone hit the nearest before the others understood.
The fight ended quickly.
When he returned to the wagon, one of the “traders” ran.
The other two surrendered.
The person beneath the wheel was not injured at all.
Vegetaone looked at them.
“You were pretending.”
The man nodded.
“You are bad at it.”
He nodded again.
Vegetaone took their crossbow bolts.
Their rope.
And the coin they had stolen from earlier travelers.
Then he tied them to the wagon.
“What happens now?” one asked.
“Someone will come.”
“When?”
Vegetaone looked down the jungle road.
“Eventually.”
“That could take hours.”
“Yes.”
“There are tigers.”
Vegetaone considered.
Then moved the wagon closer to the middle of the road.
“There. Easier to see.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Vegetaone walked away.
He spent three days in Booty Bay.
Long enough to earn coin.
Long enough to hear rumors.
Wars.
Ruins.
Plaguelands to the north.
A blasted wasteland far to the east.
And a portal.
The first time he heard it, he thought the sailor was drunk.
“A portal.”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
The old human shrugged.
“Not here.”
“That is a poor description.”
“Other world.”
Vegetaone stopped.
The human continued drinking.
“Big green thing. Blasted Lands.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Everyone knows.”
That was exactly the kind of answer Vegetaone disliked.
So he asked someone else.
Then someone else.
The details changed.
But the portal remained.
A gateway.
Ancient.
Dangerous.
Connected to a world beyond Azeroth. Vegetaone sat outside the inn that evening looking toward the eastern horizon he could not see through the jungle.
A road beyond the world.
He should have laughed.
Instead, something inside him became very quiet.
Getting there was the problem. There was no comfortable road from Booty Bay straight to the Blasted Lands. Travelers suggested different routes.
North through the vale.
East where possible.
Avoid certain camps.
Avoid certain creatures.
Avoid anyone selling “guaranteed safe passage.”
Vegetaone bought a rough map.
A real one this time.
He checked.
Twice.
Then left Booty Bay.
The jungle tried to keep him.
Rain turned the road to mud.
A panther followed him for half a mile.
Troll drums sounded somewhere east. Once, he found ruins almost completely swallowed by vines. He stopped at the broken entrance.
Ancient stone.
Symbols.
A younger Vegetaone would have gone inside.
He looked at the road.
Then at the ruins.
Then back at the road.
“Not today.”
That felt strangely good.
The world contained more mysteries than he could solve. That no longer felt like a challenge.
It felt like truth.
Near the northern edge of Stranglethorn, Vegetaone met a Horde courier whose horse had gone lame. The young Forsaken stood beside the animal trying to decide whether to continue on foot.
Vegetaone looked at the satchel.
“Important?”
“Orders.”
“Where?”
“East.”
“Blasted Lands?”
The Forsaken looked at him.
“Eventually.”
Vegetaone smiled.
“I’m going that way.”
The courier studied him.
“You always volunteer before knowing what’s involved?”
“Less than I used to.”
“That is not reassuring.”
They traveled together.
Her name was Meris.
She had been dead longer than Vegetaone had been traveling.
She spoke about it with the same tone people used to discuss bad weather.
Vegetaone tried not to stare.
Failed.
“You have a question,” she said.
“No.”
“You have several.”
“Yes.”
Meris looked ahead.
“Ask one.”
Vegetaone hesitated.
“What does it feel like?”
“To be dead?”
“Yes.”
She thought.
“Different.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only honest one.”
Vegetaone accepted that.
For now.
Years later, he would remember the conversation. He would remember how casually she had said the word.
Dead.
As though death could become another condition of existence.
But that understanding still belonged to another future.
For now, Meris was simply a traveler sharing the road.
At a crossroads beyond the jungle, Meris turned north.
Vegetaone turned east.
She handed him a small strip of dried meat.
“You’ll need food.”
“I have food.”
“You ate most of it yesterday.”
Vegetaone frowned.
“You noticed.”
“You eat loudly.”
“That is not possible.”
“It is.”
They clasped forearms awkwardly.
Her grip was cold.
Vegetaone noticed.
He did not comment.
“Good luck,” she said.
“You too.”
Meris looked toward the east.
“Be careful near the Blasted Lands.”
“Why?”
Her expression changed.
“Because some places remember what happened to them.”
Vegetaone looked east.
The sky there seemed darker.
“Is that supposed to make sense?”
“Eventually.”
She walked away.
Vegetaone stood alone at the crossroads.
Behind him lay the ocean.
Ahead lay the Blasted Lands.
He adjusted his bag.
Then continued east.
End of Chapter Thirteen