One Week Ago
On The Westfall-Elwynn Border
"Ohhhh sinners, let's go down. Let's go down, don't ya wanna go down... Oh, sinners, let's go down. Down in the river to pray."
The ceremony wasn't as small as Lady Mary Fremen had expected. Holding little Hawk in one hand, she listened to her granddaughter, Dahlia, sing one of the traditional hymns from Westfall's backwater denominations, of which her husband was a part. Her son had been gone for a month, and everyone had given up hope of him ever returning to the land of the living once more. When she heard what had happened from Marrion's friends from the University, she was devastated. She wasn't the greatest mother, but she cared for her son. Hopefully, she could do better with her grandchildren. Certainly, Dahlia was proof of that. Around her was more than just friends and family. Foreign dignitaries, Captains of Industry, even some Nobles had come to the funeral. She saw cultists and priests, rich men and poor. She even thought she caught the sight of a demon or two. According to her father, he entrusted Marrion with his cousin's birthright, because he would be able to make the House of Fremen great once again. Gazing upon all these people, singing the hymns of the hill folk, she began to suspect that her father was right. Which was a rare thought indeed, considering all the things he'd done. They fastened a raft together out of old planks and set upon it a picture of Marrion and his wife, Keli. As her husband, her nephew, and a few strangers launched it, she began to cry. Her Marrion was gone forever.
Three Days Ago
The Emergency Music And Communication's Tower
"MacHarren's in heaven, at least, he will be when he's... He's dead."
Johnny from Marketing had technically quit his position in a drug-induced haze not but three weeks ago, but he wasn't informed of it. Caniell Lyca, bless her holiness, was doing a moderate job keeping the company afloat during this rough time. She was no Marrion MacHarren, but at the very least, there was now a very large tree growing out of the side of the North-East Wall. He'd been petitioning for that tree to be grown there for years. But they always told him that having a large as all hell tree there would be a "very bad idea, given we live in Botani Country." But he didn't care. He was a druid after all, and big trees are a staple of being able to have a good nap after some silver sage. Marrion would -never- approve of that. -And- Caniell was a druid. Not the kind who was fun like himself, but still. Big tree. Good. But something kept gnawing at him. That one lyric of that one song. MacHarren's dead, and he didn't die by his hand, so why should he care? But Marrion was Johnny's friend. He did give him this job, and this chance to make something of his life and music. Without him, life seemed stale. MacHarren's in heaven, he was sure of it. After everything that'd he done for everyone, that was the only fair thing that could happen. Marrion MacHarren must be in a better place than this. Only the good die young, yes? And he was young, so he must've been the good guy!
Johnny sat in his tower, and sighed.
Silver Hand Base Camp
Four Days Ago
"Youuuu-hooo may bury meeee-hee in some deep valley, for many yeaaaarsss where I may lay. Thennn you maaay learnn to love another, whiiile I am sleeeping in my grave..."
William MacHarren liked to sing while he cooked stew. And Dahlia would always join in. For years, that'd been how he was able to slip the simple truths and platitudes of his culture into her mind. Through his songs, his stories, and tales of her father, she slowly began to act like a proper Westfall lady, as opposed to the high-end nobility of her Grandmother. He could see the rugged independent spirit slowly brimming under the skin. His son understood. Marrion was the Westfall Spirit made flesh. From the eccentricities to the dead serious, Marrion had a firm grasp on the culture that forged him into the businessman he became. And he could these aspects from his son, trickle down slowly into his granddaughter. From her youthful (And thoroughly secret) romance with a little wizard boy from one of the local Alliance insurgents to her questioning of her grandmother's teachings. Quietly, he began to think back to the old days. To the flowing grain seas of Westfall. He remembered how Marrion would disappear for days before returning home. Either off with Karellen or fixing things for his neighbors. He was always handy with tools.
One Day Ago
In The Heart Of Duskwood
"Leaves from the Vine... Falling so slow. Like fragile, tiny shells. Drifting in the foam. Brave soldier boy... come marching home."
Gregor Fremen was dead before. And certainly, he would be probably be almost dead again. But for now, in the mean time, would try to bring things back to order. That is what the Lord of the House of Fremen has always done. From his grandfather, to his father... He would return Marrion to this world. At any cost, balance would be restored to the order of things. Wandering through the woods, he found what he was looking for. Worgen of the area were a mixed bag. Some were intelligent, others not so much. What he had found here was a dark coven of the more intelligent of the sort. The fight was very long and tedious, but after lighting a few on fire, the summoning circle that the cultists had created remained for him to exploit. Bringing out the sacrifice, a coat of Marrion's, and his own blood would do the trick. Things without Marrion were... Well, rougher than he expected. Sure, the Occultic side of the House of Fremen was in order, but everything else had fallen into disrepair. He could use those noble contacts of Marrion's for expanding his operations back into Stormwind's underground. Demonologists and other foul ilk had taken back their places there, after all. Soon, all of this would be restored to normal... Just another utterance and everything would be alright.
The Caverns Of Time
Three Thousand Years Ago, Last Tuesday, Five Hours From Now, And Parts Of Next Week
"Aaaaaaand here we are. We're the-Ah, damn you. What is it now?"
Harvey Goldentime wasn't having a very good eternity. His chance at attaining complete and utter cosmic power was down the crapper due to his main subject of intrigue vanishing off of the face of existence -and- his love life wasn't exactly that well either. "Another mortal fool." He thought quietly to himself. But now was not the time for such trivialities. Someone had just knocked on the door to his little slice of pan-dimensional hell. Opening it, another one of his kind burst in. "Qozdormu, under the statutes that guide temporal cohesion and regulation, you have hereby been banished from the work and collective benefits of the Bronze Dragonflight until further notice. Your interference in an adjacent timeline has rendered possible cohesion within our own timeline to come into possible question." Now, this was a real sour tone to his day. He had merely gone to a potential future of a -hypothetical- dimension that might occur in which -his- Marrion MacHarren had somehow found himself trapped in. After explaining the very simple situation, he was forced out of the apartment and, as with how these procedures usually go, was rendered unconscious and was awoken in a rather filthy dumpster in his human form. Of course this was Marrion's fault. The only way to get him back would be those naive mortals from that infernal university... Of course, after a bit of fun, he'd try his best to get that lug of a moron back to this world.