The garrison's wooden walls lined the hill like a crown. Watch posts on each corner held a commanding view of the forest, the approaching paths, and the ocean to the west. It was prime real estate in Spires of Arak, the perfect location to defend and hold against an onslaught of marauding Orcs or Ogres. It was the first Alliance foothold in Draenor, and you wouldn't know by looking at it that everyone inside was dead.
Pinter let her talbuk slow as if it sensed death from a quarter mile away. Mandala, Anna, and Jarvus slowed their talbuks, as well, and a chill overtook the valley as Admiral Taylor's garrison came full into view.
"We couldn't believe it, either," Anna said. "There it was, and there he was."
"Just as jovial as ever," Jarvus said. "Like in all the stories."
It was all they had talked about since returning from their scouting mission two nights ago. Admiral Taylor was dead. Every report had indicated so after an uprising sprouted within the walls of his garrison, as a small faction of his men mutinied, failed, but still managed to bring about the deaths of everyone inside the walls. Pinter's druid friends had been sent to search for clues of what happened. What they found instead was a garrison full of ghosts. Walking and talking ghosts, and Admiral Taylor was there leading them. Pinter and Mandala had to see for themselves.
"This will make the Southport memorial all the more interesting," Mandala said.
"He'll probably get a kick out of it," Pinter said.
And for some reason she felt no fear as the air chilled her to the bone. None of the other adventurers did, Pinter realized. Their talbuk mounts acted with animal sensitivity as they approached the dead garrison, a true animal reaction that rational beings would never fully understand. But the adventurers felt no fear. There was a presence, but it was a good presence. It was Admiral Taylor. He would never be tainted with evil, not even in death. Pinter smiled as she thought of him, and as they neared the gates of his garrison two transparent guards walked forward to greet them.
"Commander Pinter," one of the guards said with a bow of his ghost head. "Good to see you, ma'am."
"Is the Admiral waiting?" Pinter asked.
"Right this way."
The guards led the adventurers through the half-finished garrison. Soldiers teemed around the barracks. The barn was full of workers tending to equipment and bailing hay. A dozen Stormwind nags roamed the stable grounds, and the inn was a hotbed of activity with workers, civilians, and soldiers roaming in and out as they rested from their daily duties. The whole place was an efficient machine, and the only thing off about the picture was that everyone was dead. Every last person in Admiral Taylor's garrison was a ghost, but none of them seemed to care as they forever toiled at tasks that would remain unfinished. They worked as if their routines still mattered, as if the Alliance still called upon them and they would deliver. For some reason, it warmed Pinter's heart.
When she looked at Mandala on her talbuk, the same warmth was in the Draenei's smile.
Admiral Taylor's town hall was a shack compared to Pinter's back in Shadowmoon, and it broke her heart to wonder what greatness the whole of Draenor missed out on with the tragedy that had transpired here. Admiral Taylor was a born leader. He could unite, and he could guide the most rag-tag people through the darkest of days. His garrison was an unfinished stronghold, and the battle line against the Iron Horde was just a little weaker without the full might of Stormwind's most celebrated hero in the ranks.
They leashed their talbuks to a post at the door. The animals started and stomped in brief agitation, but a few soothing words from Mandala brought them under control. The guards showed them into the town hall, and Pinter's eyes adjusted to the light.
"Commander Pinter!" a familiar voice said.
She grinned, and there he was. Admiral Taylor. Just as proud, commanding, and boisterous as in life. Pinter laughed as the ghost of Admiral Taylor gripped her in a great bear hug. "It's marvelous to see you, sir," Pinter said.
"Me?" Admiral Taylor asked with a broad smile. "Look at you! You were just a pup when you crossed through the portal with us. Now look at you, Commander Pinter. Get a load of her, Mandala."
"She's come a long way," Mandala said.
"I had to see you for myself, Admiral, sir," Pinter said. "News of what happened here has spread, but to find out you're still...with us..."
"You think you're confused," Admiral Taylor said. "I'm the one who expected to be having drinks with great-grampa Alfonse while he shat all over my exploits and said the only good Orc is a dead one."
"Do you remember what happened?" Mandala asked. "Is the Alliance in danger?"
"There is no danger," Admiral Taylor said. "The uprising failed, but unfortunately everyone here was caught in the crossfire. I was the last to die, right over there." He pointed to the fireplace where a small blood stain was a monument to the fallen leader. "I never thought a Human blade would kill me, but how's that for irony?"
"So the uprising was contained?" Pinter asked.
"It's over with," Admiral Taylor said. "Ephial here saw to it."
Admiral Taylor pointed to a slick young man, an apparition who was handsome once but who was nothing more than a spirit now. He wore a black vest and black trousers, and a long dagger was sheathed on his waist. "Indeed," Ephial said. "Nobody escaped. Not while I still breathed."
"Singlehandedly blocked every avenue of escape and died bringing the last of those usurpers to justice," Admiral Taylor said with a hefty clap on the young man's back. "Just a shame we couldn't save the others."
"Where are the usurpers?" Pinter asked.
"Gone to answer for their sins, no doubt," Ephial said.
"There's been no sign of them," Admiral Taylor said. "Only those pure of heart have set foot inside these walls since the uprising. Just how I would have it. And you, Commander Pinter, are welcome here whenever you see fit to visit."
"I thank you," Pinter said.
"Perhaps you and your friends can help us with something while you are here, Commander," Ephial said. "Admiral Taylor is quite the diplomat, even in death."
"Anything you need," Pinter said.
"I was sent here to make headway with the Akkroans," Admiral Taylor said. "I did just that. We're expecting a delegation any minute, actually, if you would like to sit in and assist us."
"We're at your disposal," Pinter said, drawing eager grins from Anna and Jarvus.
"I will lend my blade to Admiral Taylor whenever called upon," Mandala said.
A horn sounded. Admiral Taylor and Ephial perked at the noise. "Right on time," Admiral Taylor said. "Let's meet our guests."
There were four riders. Three of them, by Pinter's understanding, were Akkroan, the little bird folk who once dominated this region but were felled by an uprising within their own ranks, much like what had happened to Admiral Taylor. They were short and squat on their tiny boar mounts, comical even as they bounced with the quick footsteps of their steeds. The Akkroan's bore bright red feathers and wore cloaks that covered their bodies, and they sat with a slouch that indicated a depth of wisdom far beyond the understanding of Human, Orc, or any other Azeroth race. They rode quick and steady on their boar mounts, but it was the rider atop the swift palomino that drew Pinter's attention.
It was a Draenei, a female, dressed in pale gray and blue robes that looked like the tribal gear of a shaman, but the enormous staff on her back gave away her standing as a mage. Her skin was a bright blue, nearly shimmering white in the daylight, and her horns had the same upward sweep as Mandala's, her hair the same shade of brown. Pinter turned to her paladin friend to ask in jest whether or not the two knew each other.
"Indrid!" Mandala cried out with a beaming smile, and she ran to meet the approaching delegation.
The Draenei mage reared up her palomino and descended in time to meet Mandala's charging embrace. They spun each other around with the love known only between sisters. "My little sister!" Indrid said. "You couldn't keep me away forever."
The Akkroans dismounted and moved past the jubilant Draenei women, heading for Admiral Taylor who extended his hand in greeting. "What are we without the sky?" the leading Akkroan asked in a raspy voice. He carried a rolled up scroll on his back like a warrior carrying a shield.
"It is good to see you again, Rukhmar," Admiral Taylor said, and he took the Akkroan's gnarly little hand in a friendly shake. "And I see you bring a guest that my Alliance friends are familiar with."
"Indrid comes with a task handed down by your King, Admiral Taylor," Rukhmar said.
"It's true," Indrid said, her voice a little higher than Mandala's but amplified equally wonderful by her accent. "I come with orders from Jaina Proudmoore, handed down by Varian Himself. I will bring you home, Admiral Taylor. You must come with me."
"But my business is here," Admiral Taylor said with a broad gesture around his dead garrison. "We are not yet finished with construction, and I just made headway with the Akkroans."
"You serve your people well in death," Rukhmar said. "But your time in this world is at an end. Your followers long for peace. You may grant them peace, and we will parlay with your successor."
"But who..." Admiral Taylor started, and then he looked at Pinter. He calmed, and he smiled warmly. "Of course. Commander Pinter, it would appear you are the new ambassador of the Alliance."
"This job gets more interesting every day," Pinter said.
"I have orders to bring you tonight," Indrid said. "But the Akkroans have something to say about that."
"Skyreach," Rukhmar said.
