From the point of view of an observer, there’s been a fair bit of traffic down at the desolate Demon’s Fall Canyon. Word is there was some sort of to-do down there recently, and so people have been stopping by to pay their respects.
Later came an orc, a practitioner of the old ways. She cried out to see the stone scraped bare, the air itself choked with fel energies, but stayed as long as she could bear to honour the spirits of the fallen.
A black-clad knight passed through, as the day wore on, her unnatural eyes closing for a moment to contemplate the fate of Grom. Perhaps the abominations raised into torment by Arthas can understand the nature of his suffering, struggling against the destructive nature bestowed upon them.
Scarce had the death knight left when another of the former scourge walked up to the monument. Most forsaken don’t really do well with grief. But they know vengeance, intimately, and injustice, and rage.
A beast bearing troll markings padded up to the monument, circled it, and lay down to rest near it. Perhaps that was simple bravado, with the demons wandering their erratic patrols so nearby, or perhaps treating monuments so casually is just the nature of a troll.
Late in the afternoon, an elf in heavy armour swooped by on an exotic flying beast of some sort. He didn’t even dismount… simply read the inscription and continued on whatever errands the thalassians find themselves occupied with in these times.
As dusk’s shadows crept across the rest of the world, the perpetual gloom of the canyon gained a fresh shadow. A younger elf, who cheerfully materialised from the crowding shades, glanced at the plaque, and promptly decided that the top of the monument would make a fine place to sit and contemplate. Probably deep and uncertain matters, like the fate of the eternal soul or the resonance of one’s actions through the future.