The Tomb of SargerasThe Complete Audio Drama

Blizzard Entertainment presents the Tomb of Sargeras, prelude to World of Warcraft: Legion by Robert Brooks narrated by Steven Pacey Part One: The Fate of Another Almost all of the ship was gone. Burned to nothing. The metal ribs of the hull, forged in Lordaeron long ago, rested on the ocean floor. So did the remains of the ship's passengers and crew.

Only small pieces of scorched wood and cloth
drifted on the surface, still glowing, their green embers sizzling beneath the swells. They would smolder for hours. Fel fire could not be extinguished by mere water. The debris washed up on a shore of black rocks.

A lone figure stumbled along, his skin dry and
pale and weeping with sores. He lurched toward the water and picked at the wreckage. He lifted a charred plank. Sniffed it.

His tongue flicked out, licking one of the embers. It sparked and winked out with a hiss. His eyes pulsed green. He smiled.

"More I need more" He had never tasted fel before. A larger nugget of it called to him from the south. He staggered onward, staying close to the shore. He knew better than to stray into Watcher territory.

It was hard to remember a day without his need. He tried to think back. Surely there had never been a time when he had wanted for nothing No. It was impossible.

Those memories of standing tall in Suramar and consuming his fill of energy  those days before exile  they were just fantasies, fading quickly. That was good. It would be easier once they were gone. He did not need Suramar.

Power  that was what he needed. He had consumed none for days, nothing but that single ember, and there was little left to scavenge here. There were too many others like him. But there was more of the shipwreck offshore, and it would bring a new bounty.

He felt it. It was not far. So he continued forward, ignoring his exhaustion, pushing toward whatever was scratching at his mind. He knew others would be drawn to it, too.

"But it is mine mine mine mine mine" It was so close now, calling to him from the waterline. There. A dead body lay facedown on the rocks, nudged gently by the waves. Whoever this had been, he had been astonishingly powerful.

Even after death, his magical energy shone like a second sun. It would be a pleasure to devour every fragment of it. He fell over in his haste, then scrambled on hands and knees. He heard cries of outrage from farther away.

More had arrived. They would eat well, too. There was enough for all. But first, him.

He pulled the black cloak away from the corpse. An orc. Green skin. Pulsing with dark magic and strange markings.

He had never seen such a strong aura. It would sustain him for Days? Weeks? Years?.