they were gone. Rafel looked around at his now empty tavern, sighed and picked up the tray of empty crocks and dirty dishes from the table. He walked to the bar, stopping once to halfheartedly wipe down a table, and then left the rag and tray there, bustling to the bar to pour a mug of ale. Downing it in prodigious gulps, he let out a satisfied sigh as he put down the empty mug. A hearty belch that threatened to burst his already strained apron strings soon followed, its echo hanging in the air as the door creaked open.
A shadow fell over the door, and a huge lumbering shape bent low to clear the lintel. Once inside, the tauren raised up to his full height; it made the roof seem lower by comparison, but it was not the immense size of the tauren that chilled Rafel; it was the cold, blank stare that emanated from it's seemingly lifeless eyes. A Death Knight, only recently in service of the Lich King, but now supposedly on the side of order. Rafel knew the horror stories, tales of the horrors all over Azeroth; these, he could never trust.
The tauren walked to the bar, and eyed the chairs warily; he had broken his share of seats, but his size and coin kept complaints to a minimum. These seemed to be stoutly made, however, and as he sat he enjoyed the sensation of being able to rest his full weight. In a low drumming voice, he asked for ale.
Rafel pulled down a huge tankard he kept for tauren customers; many did not drink, but those who did appreciated these; large enough for a man to use as a wash basin (although not, as the joke went, large enough for a gnome's bathtub), Rafel needed both hands to lift it onto the bar when full.
The death knight nodded his thanks, and took a long pull of the draught, wiping his snout with a giant forearm. He looked around, and found it curious that the Inn was empty; it was just an hour or so before sunset, and this inn was usually packed with adventurers, regaling each other with tales of past deeds. Mizumi had not seen any serious battle yet; he had learned, quickly, that it was best to use the abilities he learned while in Arthas' service to a better purpose, and he carried with him the pain of the souls he had dispatched so ruthlessly. Having arrived in Dalaran just weeks earlier, he could still feel the accusing stares and hear the murmurs as he left a shop or walked in the streets. If he felt any anger, it was soon washed away by guilt over the sins he had committed; Thrall had forgiven him-could he ever forgive himself?
Mizumi looked at the innkeeper, who quickly changed the sneer on his face to a grin. Mizumi sighed inwardly, brushing away the angst he felt, and asked "Where is everyone tonight?"
"Th-they are all gone, d-death knight. A large group came in here, ate a meal I shall spend all night cleaning up, drank their health, and disappeared in a mage's portal. They said something like "to the last", but to be honest, I was not listening", which was not, because he was.
Mizumi pondered this a moment, then asked, "do you know who they were?"
Rafel seemed to forget his reticence, and spoke quickly. "They were The Hardcore, death knight. They banded together to face the worst evils Azeroth has faced, even went to distant worlds to battle the Burning Legion itself! And now they are all gone. There is no more adventure left for them, no more grand challenges. Who shall be our champions now?"
Mizumi pulled a large gold coin from his purse and flipped it on the bar as he rose, the leather bindings of his armor creaking as he stood. "There will be new champions, innkeeper. We who remain must fight evil where we find it, with whatever weapons we have. My axe will not be weak."
Rafel picked up the gold coin, and studied it as the death knight made his way out. As he hefted it, a smile crept on his face; the gold of this death knight was as good as anyone else's, and maybe he was right, new champions could arise. The door creaked open again, and a band of travelers came in, the dust of the road still on their feet, but their armor and weapons seemed to gleam in the fading light, as if they were ready for use. Perhaps, Rafel thought, as he motioned them to a table, perhaps Azeroth will survive without The Hardcore, wherever they have gone.