Forsaken Warrior 1-80 Part 2 - Walkthrough / No Comentary

[@MrPainkiller1988]

Blightmaul’s journey from Deathknell to Brill was a lonely march through the desolation of Tirisfal Glades. The landscape matched his own state: broken, decayed, but clinging stubbornly to existence. Gnarled trees loomed overhead, their skeletal branches clawing at the overcast sky. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision-whether the restless dead or his own fractured memories, he could not tell. The road twisted through patches of blighted farmland. Here, fields once rich with harvest lay fallow, dotted with the remnants of scarecrows now grotesquely animated by dark magic. Blightmaul dispatched two with a sweep of his greatsword, their straw-stuffed bodies collapsing into heaps of rotted cloth and ash. It was a grim reminder of the world he had awoken to: nothing remained untouched by death’s grasp. By the time he reached Brill, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the small town in the eerie glow of lanterns. The settlement sprawled around a central inn, its stone walls and moss-covered roofs worn but steadfast. Forsaken citizens moved with purpose, repairing defenses or carrying supplies to and from the apothecary’s workshop. The air reeked of alchemy and decay. A Forsaken officer, clad in black plate with silver accents, approached him. Her gaunt features were as sharp as the twin daggers strapped to her belt. “Another fresh recruit,” she said, her tone both bemused and appraising. “You’ve made it farther than most. What’s your name?” “Blightmaul,” he replied, his voice steady. “Executor Arren sent me.” The officer arched an eyebrow. “Blightmaul, is it? Fitting. I am Magistrate Sevren, and Brill is my charge. If you’re here, then you’re expected to prove yourself again. The Crusaders’ presence grows stronger to the east, and the wolves have become more aggressive. Take care of both.” Blightmaul nodded, his grip tightening on his blade. “Where do I begin?” Sevren gestured toward the inn. “Speak with Apothecary Johaan. His work requires ingredients the wolves have been… reluctant to surrender. Start there, and we’ll see if you’re worthy of the Dark Lady’s cause.” Inside the inn, the scent of decay mingled with sharp, acrid fumes. Johaan, a hunched figure in tattered robes, worked feverishly at a table laden with vials and bubbling concoctions. He glanced up as Blightmaul entered, his glowing yellow eyes narrowing. “Ah, a new pair of hands. Good. These villagers don’t appreciate the importance of my work. You, however, look desperate enough to listen.” He shoved a worn parchment into Blightmaul’s hands, the scribbled list nearly illegible. “Wolf hearts. Their blood carries a potency I require for my latest elixir. There’s a pack northeast of here. Don’t return empty-handed.” Blightmaul said nothing, merely nodding before turning to leave. Outside, the chill night air greeted him as he followed the dirt path winding through the woods. The howls of wolves echoed in the distance, their cries mournful yet menacing. The pack found him before he found them. Three wolves, their matted fur streaked with blood and blight, emerged from the shadows. Their glowing eyes locked onto him, and a low growl rumbled from the lead beast’s throat. Blightmaul tightened his grip on his greatsword, stepping into a defensive stance. The first wolf lunged, its jaws snapping for his throat. He sidestepped, bringing his blade down in a brutal arc that split the beast’s skull. The second came at his flank, claws raking across his rusted armor. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but he turned with the momentum, driving the pommel of his sword into the wolf’s ribs. It yelped and fell back, only for a follow-up strike to silence it. The third circled warily, blood dripping from its fangs. Blightmaul waited, his breaths steady despite the ache in his side. When the wolf finally pounced, he met it head-on, his blade slicing through fur and sinew. The creature collapsed at his feet, its lifeless eyes reflecting the faint glow of lantern light filtering through the trees. Blightmaul returned to Brill, his armor stained with blood, the required hearts wrapped in burlap. Johaan greeted him with a satisfied sneer. “Efficient. You might yet survive this wretched existence. Leave me; I have work to do.” As Blightmaul stepped outside, Magistrate Sevren approached, her expression less disdainful than before. “You’ve done well, Blightmaul. But don’t mistake this for the end. The challenges ahead will make tonight’s hunt seem like child’s play. The Scarlet Crusade marches closer every day.” Blightmaul nodded, his gaze drifting eastward. The ruins of Lordaeron loomed in the distance, a reminder of what had been lost and what remained to be reclaimed. “I am ready,” he said simply. Sevren’s lips curled into a faint smile. “We shall see.” For now, he had proven himself. But the path before him promised no peace, only endless war-and he would meet it with blade in hand.