Dark Dreams Incident: End Credits

*These are the credits for participation in the Dark Dreams Incident campaign--complete with stingers.*

## Cast (Sine Qua Non)

Adamantt

Adroby

Agardis

Ailos

Alladan

Aldorae

Aldrin

Alerions

Alyöna

Amarlytha

Annabélle

Areillena

Ashentower

Atles

Baelthane

Barlenn

Baztet

Butterchurn

Cassalandra

Chenlou

Cöralíne

Daffydd

Daelin

Eirianwén

Elaíne

Felorela

Fizzlebång

Florlana

Fyrngarm

Gaddes

Gawead

Geöffrey

Ghanan

Gingert

Honorem

Ishrio

Izuki

Jailard

Jeremaias

Jiroki

Kayalani

Korogi

Kuthalaz

Ludwig

Lylth

Maridiana

Marisol

Marrokk

Mirot

Mkal

Nelgarict

Nhyroh

Opalarie

Parthilan

Raaxine

Ranazzen

Reggad

Renualt

Ruiwen

Sannit

Sellos

Selvatore

Soltum

Soreka

Sòrèn

Soviana

Speakerthai

Sundervall

Syhelin

Terriam

Tiranjua

Thorodox

Turtleshell

Valinæ

Velarian

Vesthara

Whoever

Wraithvlad

Yàsha

Yorishigé

Yvonnathena

Zamaris

Zerathan

## Mid-Credits Stinger

He was gone.  All that he had ever been, all that he had ever done, was gone in an instant.

Maelydra Starfire, knelt on the floor of her apartment in Dalaran, clutching a photograph.  She ran her fingertips over the image of him where they stood, side by side on the Ratchet docks.  Every moment of their shared lives came back to her: dinners with the other Druids of the New Day, cultivating the Mother Tree to coax her to drop seeds, teaching of the errors of their forebears and how the world could be made better…

Beletene, her Beletene!  She choked on a sob, and pressed the photograph to her bosom.  Around her in her solitary apartment, the candles burned--in sconces on the walls, on the windowsill, on the shrine.  Her eyes lingered over the relics she had put there, relics she had saved of his.  There was the broken lace from one of his boots.  An apple core, carefully preserved, still had the bite marks in the shape of his teeth.  There was the handkerchief she had used to blot away the bleeding from a cut on his hand; it still had the stain; she had never washed it, it was too precious.

She picked up a fork, the one he had dropped at that banquet in Duskwood.  It had touched his mouth, which was more than she had ever been able to do.  She brought it to her lips, sobbing helplessly.

He had loved her, she knew he had.  His last words to her rang in her ears still:  “Make sure Auromere receives that letter.  Make sure you catch his messenger.  I need you to do this.”  He had needed her, and so she had stayed in Dalaran.  So far away, but she was important to him!

And now, those mortal monsters in Duskwood had taken him from her!  Grief gave way to rage, and she clenched her fists.  “How dare they?” she growled.  “To stop the beautiful work of that beautiful man!  He would have saved the world.”

She rose then, carefully replacing the photograph and fork in their places of honor, and went to the window.  “Beletene, my love, my life,” she sighed, her voice thickening with tears, “they were unworthy of you.  But I was always the one for you, always.  And you knew it.

“I will prove it.  Your work won’t go fruitless.  Your life won’t pass unnoticed!  I will carry on your work!”

Dramatic speeches call for dramatic gestures, and hers swept a lit candle from the windowsill and onto the floor.  Melted wax and flame spilled over an open book on the floor, which quickly began to smolder!  Maelydra ran to put it out, beating at the parchment pages with her fingers until the pain of burning became too much; then she ran for the pitcher of water and doused the rising flame.

But...as she stared at the blackened mess that once was a book, something turned over in her mind.  “Beletene...Are you speaking to me, from beyond the grave?  Is this a sign, my love?  Is this your will?”

Determination filled her heart anew, and she raised her blistered hands.  “I swear to you, Beletene Moongraze, my love,” she said, “I swear to you that I will find a way to bring about the New Day, a day where the Legion will no longer trouble our beloved world.”

She lifted her chin.  “I will burn it down.  No land will go uncleansed.  They will all be burned away.”

## The Credits Continue

**DMs:**

* Adamantt
* Adroby
* Aldorae
* Baelthane
* Eirianwén
* Jeremaias
* Lylth
* Opalarie
* Selvatore

**Event Designers:**

* Adamantt
* Aldorae
* Butterchurn
* Jeremaias
* Opalarie
* Selvatore
* Soreka

**Special thanks to the following guilds:**

* The Greyshields
* Greywind
* Knights of Ashfall
* Melrony Crime Family
* The Onyx Sigil
* The Order of the Dusk Rose
* Remnant of Lordaeron
* Storm Glaive
* The Stormwind Guard
* The Unbroken
* Wolves of Dawn

**Campaign Director**

* Jeremaias

**This campaign made use of the following resources and tools:**

* World of Warcraft
* Google Docs
* Paint.net editing software
* SignupGenius.com
* RagingSwan.com
* Discord
* Elephant addon via Curse.com

## End Credits Stinger

The Cult of the New Day was defeated, and the defenders of Duskwood were now beginning to part company once more.  Their work was done; the malign influence that had plagued the land during what would come to be known as the “Dark Dreams Incident” was no more; and they could now return to their homes and their usual duties.  Blithely they left, sure that no enemies remained behind...

Two figures stood on a hill overlooking Darkshire, shrouded within the darkness.  Both were hooded, cowled, and cloaked, but from the depths of the hood of one, eyes burned an unholy blue.  Though it was summer, the air around them was frigid.  The figure without visible eyes shivered a little.

“This was your plan?” Edial Redblade asked his companion, his voice echoing as though from a marble sepulchre.

“Yes.”

“They nearly failed.”

“I knew they wouldn’t.”

Edial harrumphed, folding his arms across his chest.  “And now what?  They have a powerful new relic, and are more united than ever.”

“It’s a fragile peace; they nearly killed each other arguing about the relic.  Ironic that it will only be theirs as long as it suits me.”

Edial watched one of the groups depart, his eyes following with singular intensity.  “They have my old runeblade.”

“You should have taken it with you.  I warned you.”

The death knight shrugged, his armor creaking--or perhaps it was his rotting joints.  “I care not.  If they find me by using it, I shall slay them, and then raise them to my purposes, the same as everyone else.”

“Everyone--except for Auromere,” Edial’s companion said slyly, goadingly.

“Auromere.”  Edial said it as if it were a choice profanity.

“I heard rumors that he defeated you in Lakeshire a year ago.”

The death knight’s fist clenched.  “He cheated.  And when next we meet, the Holy Light will not save him.  I will take great satisfaction in killing him and raising him as a mindless slave.”

“Of course.  Just make sure you don’t do it until the plan calls for it.  He’s too visible, and too useful.”

“You need only me.”

“Stick with the plan, Redblade.  Trust me.  All of this will fall into place, exactly as I have designed.”  The other rubbed his hands together eagerly…

## The End

OUR HEROES WILL RETURN IN “DEAD HAND PROTOCOL”

CHAPTER TWO OF “THE CONTRIVANCE”