Chapter 15

Brill, Occupied Alterac

Halas Hamaroth lay down his hammer. Another hard day at work had been accomplished, smelting, molding, and crafting the necessities of metal had always been his job, ever since his father had first taught him how to blacksmith. In fact, it was only midday, but he had been awake since before the sun himself had risen, and was now hungry for food and home.

Wiping at the sweat that had cumulated along his brow, he strode tiredly towards the bundle of horse shoes and metal rods he had finished up but a few minutes ago. Hanging his dirty apron on a hook that lay above the door mantle, he stepped outside into the fresh air and locked the door behind him with a rusty key.

Looking around to see nobody was paying attention to him, he hid the key under a small block of removable stone slab that made up the stairs to his workshop.

Running a hand through his greasy, prematurely graying hair, he started down the path towards his home, which was about a block down the dirt road. The town had never truly had enough money to pave the roads, much as many in Alterac fared.

Grumbling to himself, he cursed the first pair of footmen patrolling the roads, who bore the insignia of the Alliance on their shoulder plate, under his breath. He hated the guards. They were always getting in the way, always taking things that didn't belong to them, always poking their noses in others business. Hell, he hated the Alliance.

His old man had been in the one of the armies of Alterac in the last war, and had fought alongside his supposed brothers from the other nations, until they had betrayed Alterac, and moved against the Capitol itself. Though his father had survived the betrayal, fighting at the gates of the Capitol, the Alliance had raped Alterac for all it was worth, and now continued to sit contently on the weakest, and most exploited nation of all man.

Father had never truly been the same as when he came back, always drunk and furious.

The two guards gave him a glancing look, probably used to the angry faces they saw, and continued on with their leisurely stroll along Alterac's rightful soil. But what had happened had happened, and Halas didn't see any way to change it, but shared his anger through a secret underground society that spoke of eventual revenge.

Only once or twice did he attend such meetings, but today was a special day, and the Headmaster called for all disgruntled to join him. So he went on with life, unlike his Father, who was now three years dead. "Light rest his soul" Halas muttered.

As he passed the town square, he quickly caught sight of the new grain shipment from Lordaeron, and excitedly hurried home to tell his wife. When he returned he embraced her as he usually did, gifting her with a perfunctory peck on the cheek, and informed her of the day's news.

"It's about time those damn Lordareil give up some of their grain to feed our poor people. They know they've made us resort to feeding off chicken scratch!" she said with vehemence.

She hated Lordaeron perhaps even more than he did, and though the living conditions of their life were poor at best, she had always managed to keep the family, including their twin daughters going.

However much he loved to talk with his wife, time for work drew close again, and he ate his meal of oats and thin soup with slivers of swine with joy, knowing it had been cooked and toiled on by the love of his wife, and once again left the house for the workshop, knowing that she would later pass by the town square to pick up the bread they so desperately needed, bread made from the same grain as the one given to them from Lordaeron that day.

As he passed by the Square again, he noticed the time from the clock tower, and suddenly his heart turned cold. It was time again for the meeting; work would have to wait for a bit longer.

As he deviated from his normal path he passed into a dank alleyway filled with black rats and bugs, eventually coming upon a cellar door in the back of the old wine gallery that used to house the drink of the nobleman that once ruled the town stead.

Shifting his eyes from side to side, he opened the door slowly, making sure it didn't creak. Yes, the Headmaster had sent the message through the townspeople very subtly, and it seemed that even the guards themselves did not notice. Many would attend today's meeting.

As he descended into the cellar, he was confronted by a pair of hooded figures, faces obscured in shadow. "Show faith and enter" one spoke in a monotone voice.

Halas upturned his arm, and pulled back his sleeve, showing a small brand that had marked his initiation to the Cult. A pale hand protruded from the sleeve and grasped his arm, and with a quick slash from his fingernail scratched into the brand, causing Halas to flinch.

The hooded figures looked to each other, nodded, and allowed him passage through the long hallway lit only by small torches that hung loosely from the walls.