The Gang of Five
Beyond the Mysterious Beyond => The Arts => The Written Word => Topic started by: Sovereign on April 24, 2017, 11:27:20 AM
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And here is the World of Warcraft story I mentioned. It's a story about the campaign of the zealous Scarlet Crusade against the undead Scourge in the days after the Third War. Even if you're not familiar with the Warcraft universe, I urge you to take a look at this story too. :) There are many references in the story that might be unfamilar to non-players but they shouldn't be too distracting. Personally I've always loved this part of the game's lore and I'm happy to write this alongside Separate Paths. Any feedback would be welcome! :yes
Gathering of the Legends
Fight for honor, your people and strive to save that which is still pure in our world. Our foes may be overwhelming and horrifying in brutality but our duty remains. Arthas and the Scourge can be stopped but only with the Light’s blessing. That is why you must never forsake the righteous path of the Silver Hand and the will to defend the innocent.
-Uther the Lightbringer
Among the burning houses moved a silent host of knights, knowing their fight would be lost if they lingered in the cursed streets for too long. The infiltration of the cursed city was a risky endeavor but one that each of them was willing to take. The group’s leader, Saidan Dathrohan, couldn’t shake the feeling of pride and anticipation as he thought about the things that would unfold here today as he saw an opening far in the distance. He remembered each one of the streets and the times when he still worked for the people of the lost city were still fresh in his mind. Those days were long gone but even then, the paladin couldn’t help but feel beaten on the rows of ever-burning lanes and terrifying reminders of the people who had once inhabited the capital of Eastern Lordaeron. Above the burning hellscape floated the source of the corruption in the city, the citadel of Naxxramas. It’s eerie shadow covered the entire city, a testament to the new order of the defiled lands.
At the end of the winding, narrow street opened a square which had once been a magnificent sight, one of the hearts of the mighty city of Stratholme. The Crusaders’ Square, as it was called, was a center of commerce and public events in the western neighborhoods of Stratholme. But most importantly for the paladins, it housed their destination, the famed Silver Hand Bastion which had for centuries been the refuge of hope during times of war and peace. A symbol of valor and righteousness in the once proud center of eastern Lordaeron. How fitting that it was chosen to be the meeting place for those seeking to reestablish it as the symbol of Light it had always been.
Saidan or his host didn’t waver a moment as they marched on into the square swarmed by hordes of ghouls and shades. If anything, the sight of the undead crawling the streets made them even more willing to fight. Their homeland, their families… nearly of those here today they had lost everything to those monsters. If they had to lay down their lives to stand a change against this foe, so be it.
“Charge! Purge this sacred place of those monsters!” Dathrohan cried as he quickened his pace to attack the horde of rotting flesh swarming between him and the Bastion. His large, red blade shined with bright light as it clashed with the warriors of the undead horde. The foe outnumbered them greatly but without proper leadership, they weren’t able to put an effective plan to repel the attacking knights. Even then, the mere number and brutality of the rotting corpses made them a formidable enemy.
Saidan gritted his teeth as a group of ghouls charged at him from his sides. The paladin waved his hand swiftly and three of the attackers suddenly started to burn from the inside. Soon, they fell as the holy fire burned their remaining flesh. The knight’s allies managed to dislodge the remaining attackers from their leader but the enemy’s numbers were seemingly endless. The group of knight’s healed each other’s wounds but they wouldn’t be able to hold the enemy off for much longer.
Dozens upon dozens of undead fell upon the swords of the knights of the Silver Hand. All of them knew that they had to be able to fight the enemy off if their new initiative was to have any chance of success. Meter by meter, the gate of the Silver Hand bastion came closer and the group’s wounds grew more severe. Dathrohan let out a roar when and quickened his pace while remnants of undead broke down under his legs. However, the attack only decided by an encouraging yell from the gates of the mighty fortress.
“Death to the Scourge!”
A second host of knights attacked the ghouls from the other side, quickly slicing through any resistance they could put on the living. Dathrohan wasted no time utilizing the new opportunity and ran towards safety. Hundreds of undead were heading towards them from the depths of the cursed city, a force that no small group of knights could withstand. The two groups of paladins retreated into the building slowly, defiantly holding the undead back as they rose the stairs slowly. When the last of them had reached the shelter, the wall-like gate was finally sealed. Without a leader, the mindless horde of undead wouldn’t be able to breach the gate. Dathrohan and his followers took a moment to catch his breath and to revel in the fact that his daring plan to infiltrate the city had worked without any casualties. There were a few serious injuries and cuts but it was nothing that couldn’t be healed.
“Good job, Abbendis. That’s the only thing that’ll do for those light-forsaken monsters. Are the other ones here already?” The younger knight finally said as he begun to calm down. The forces of the Scourge seldom were that easily surprised but even then, the fight would have brought casualties if it weren’t for Abbendis’ knights.
“You were the last one, Dathrohan. Welcome! We have a lot to discuss…” Abbendis was clearly pleased now that the last of the groups had arrived. He was about to turn away when Saidan asked him another question.
“And more importantly, have all of them proved themselves to be loyal? We must be prepared to do anything before the end.” Saidan’s voice resonated with great passion and hidden hatred. Abbendis turned to look at him in slight surprise.
“We all are. Lordaeron will be restored before long. Each of us have proved our loyalty many times over, Dathrohan. If you still doubt them, you’ll have to ask them yourself.” The General turned around and headed deeper into the building. Saidan truly wished that his comrade was right and begun to follow him. Abbendis wasn’t the one he was doubting but there was no telling what would happen before the end. He was dedicated to anything to achieve the knights’ goals, no matter horrifying they might be. The light-haired knight looked around himself when they headed towards the Hall of Lights. He had spent years stationed here in the service of the old order. Even now, the sacred rays of light flowed through the darkened windows as the last remains of the slayed undead were being carried away from the holy building. Saidan knew each of the stones in the walls and each ruined painting and bookshelf that weren’t there anymore. The citadel was a mere shadow, a ruin of its former self but if this new dream proved a success, maybe he would once again be able to call this most holy of places his home. He would give his all to pursue that dream.
“Our last honored comrade is finally here! Please welcome lord Saidan Dathrohan!” An aging man spoke with a chanting voice from the back of the innermost sanctum. Dozens of knights were assembled around him as he bid his welcome to the newcomers. They were greeted with applause and relief. None of them had waited for long as the meeting had been planned for that morning but it was far from certain all of them would succeed in their journey. Saidan was a legend among the members of Silver Hand, one of the original five knights picked by the revered Alonsus Faol himself. His participation in the new order would be crucial to its success.
“Thank you, Isillien. I wouldn’t have missed this meeting for any price. I’ve waited far too long for this.” Saidan said as he took a seat in the place of corner that was clearly reserved for him and his followers. The Argent Throne, as it was called, was a perfect place for this meeting: it was the residence of the leader of the united order of the Silver Hand that would soon pass into history. Yet, holding this monumental meeting here would be a way to put the withered order to rest while signaling that a new force was born upon its ruins.
“Now, our numbers are complete. I cannot express my gratitude to any of you but I’ll say this. Today, we will make history. We have the purest, most devoted people left from our old order and kingdom, united for the first time since Uther’s passing. Thus far, we have only scrambled for survival in our strongholds, unable to stem the endless tide of death in our beloved homeland. Today, that will end. Today, we will begin something that will echo through the ages! On this day, a new order will be born!” All the negotiations on the practical issues had been completed already between the leaders and this was mainly a ceremony to bring all of the signatories together to signal the birth of a united high command of the reborn order of the Silver Hand.
Immediately, all of those present rose up from their seats, cheering in unison to commemorate the great occasion they were witnessing. A glimmer of hope that had been lingering for so long grew in strength, illuminating the room around them. After the noise had settled down, Isillien spoke once again.
“All of the preparations are already complete. All except for one. We need one of you to unite us under his leadership. One of us must rise as the Grand Crusader!” The priest’s voice rang through the blackened walls of the great hall as he spoke in a pompous voice. All of those present knew what was coming. Dathrohan knew that he was one of the more likely candidates due to his highly respected rank among the Silver Hand. Few possessed his vigor and strength as well as his lack of patience for stalling. However, there was one serious contender for him.
Not far to his left stood another legendary figure of the old order. The hero of the Blackrock, the Bane of the Scourge, the legendary Ashbringer Alexandros Mograine. He, too. was a born leader and an inspiring figure for anyone around him. His weapon laid by his side, shining its pure light around the dark hall. That weapon had vanquished thousands of undeath and its wielder was a hero of numerous battles. Whatever would be chosen, Dathrohan knew he would follow or lead his comrades to his best ability.
“We have five candidates. Let each of them speak a few words before you, my comrades, will make the choice. Our champions, be sure to keep the Light as your only witness and judge. First, we have the revered general Abbendis who defended Tyr’s Hand with his life during the Great War!” The middle-aged man rose to many applauds and waited for a moment until he spoke in a loud, determined but in somewhat neutral voice.
“All my life I have served the people of Lordaeron and fought to safeguard our lands against every enemy we have faced. Even now, my duty remains the same. I swear that I will give my all to save the people who still are living in peace and to restore our great kingdom! Whether as the Grand Crusader or not, you will have my support and guidance!” A revering silence fell upon the hall when the General sat down. All of those present knew he would be a formidable asset to the new order. Isillien continued with his usual chanting voice. The priest wore a robe of white, the usual clothing of a priest of the Church.
“Next we have his daughter Brigitte Abbendis who saved the lands of Havenshire and New Avalon from the undead! Her bravery and courage helped to stem the Scourge’s offensive and the people of our eastern coast owe their lives to her!” The young captain wasn’t considered to be the strongest nominee for the post of the Grand Crusader but none questioned her tactical skills and bravery. She would become a mighty leader one day but for now, she was heavily overshadowed by her father. She rose up and spoke in a more silent, even restrained voice. However, her expression showed that she wasn’t any softer than the older Abbendis.
“Their numbers are endless. Defeating them will be a great endeavor but I have seen it happen. They can be beaten. And as long as there’s a tiny bit of chance to beat those monsters, I will give my last breath for our cause! You have my word of this!” The response wasn’t any less enthusiastic as the young knight sat down.
“The light’s chosen knight, Ashbringer Alexandros Mograine! He has vanquished more of those devils than the rest of us combined and proved his worth against the orcs and undead! He is a man who we should all try to follow in our actions!” This time the hall exploded into a chorus of cheers and salutes. Mograine’s presence gave them all hope of a better tomorrow and of an eventual victory. During the Second War, many battles were won because of him and back then, he didn’t even wield his weapon of legend. The aging warrior rose slowly and his voice echoed in the ears of everyone present.
“My old friend Anduin Lothar taught me that no matter how savage and overwhelming the enemy, the Light will guide the righteous to victory! We won the fight against the orcs even if they were on the gates of Lordaeron itself and we will beat back the Scourge. Even the Lion’s death paved way for an eventual victory and that is what I ask of myself and from all of you. Whatever you do, remember that no sacrifice is in vain. As the Ashbringer, and your potential grand Crusader, I swear that Arthas will pay for his betrayal! For the line of the Menethil!” It was clear that here was a living legend of the defenders of the light. Even Dahtrohan confessed to himself that this was a man he could follow. A paladin without equal.
“Highlord Taelan Fordring, the Lord of Mardenholde and the son of the once-famed Tirion Fordring!” This time the response was more quiet, without major salutes. Taelan was little more than a boy and he had joined the Crusade because of his position and lineage but even then, the young paladin’s heritage still took a great toll on his reputation.
“I will prove to you that I’m much more than my father ever was. I will not waver in the face of the enemy and I will make Hearthglen the haven of hope and light in these cursed lands! The Scourge will scatter before the house of Fordring once again!” Taelan’s voice was less pompous and it even held a flicker of hesitation. He hadn’t wanted to dissolve the old order in the first place but all of his comrades had agreed with the other leaders of the Silver Hand. He had no chance but to comply.
“And finally, one of Faol’s chosen, one of the legendary five founders of the Silver Hand! Welcome the hero of Lordaeron, Saidan Dathrohan!”
The brown-haired knight took a moment before he rose up to speak. He looked at the many statues and ruined bookshelves that dotted the Argent Hall and the corridors around it. He was standing at the second holiest place of the Silver Hand, the domain of many heroes of the past. No matter what, he wanted to be worthy of the honor of trying to revive their withered order. His voice echoed through the blackened halls as he spoke to those that could soon be his followers.
“I remember the day when the Silver Hand was born. Each of us felt that something eternal and good was being born. I was ready to die for my comrades and to follow in the Lightbringer’s steps. Alas, that wasn’t to be. Now, I truly hope I can atone for my failures. Soldiers of Lordaeron! Make no mistake: the undead will be eradicated! Stratholme will once again be the pride of humanity! The Throne of the Menethil will be restored! This… this I wow upon the charge that was given to me so long ago.” Dathrohan looked in pride as everyone present greeted his words. Whatever they would decide, the decision would echo down the ages. Isillien looked satisfied as he continued to speak.
“One of these heroes will be the one who will guide us through these dark ages, our Grand Crusader. Only the Light will be your witness as you decide this. You are all former knights or clerics of the Silver Hand. I trust in your judgement. Do as you see fit.” The grey-robed priest then waved and four of his assistants arrived to distribute a piece of paper to every one of the few hundred knights who were assembled. Nearly every attendee wrote his or her nominee immediately, their preferred Grand Crusader chosen in advance. Dathrohan, due to his respect and confidence in him, voted for Mograine, his nearest competitor.
In mere moments, all of the papers were once again collected. What followed was long moments of waiting as Isillien’s followers counted the votes in the surrounding rooms. The atmosphere was extremely expectant and revering. A cloud of hope floated in the room. Each and every one of them believed from the bottoms of their hearts that on this day, the Light’s judgement would begin to push the endless undead hordes back. The silent mutterings stopped completely when they saw Isillien once again return to the Hall. His expression was calm and optimistic as he once again stood in the back of the hall. Dathrohan looked at him in respect. The priest had been the one who had recruited most of those present today to their cause and united the warring knight lords under one banner. There was no one better suited to announce this decision than him.
“My dear friends and comrades, we have a Grand Crusader! The result was surprisingly close but it was decisive. All hail Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan!”
Dathrohan felt stunned by the revelation even if he had tried to prepare for it in his mind. He was the last hope of his people and his homeland. He didn’t feel like he was ready but… who else was?
Uther, Gavinrad… please help me in this task. There is no one else… I have to be ready for this charge! For your memory, for king Terenas… for the Light, pray that I will be worthy of this trust!
The knight rose up and started to walk towards Isillien. He would have to unite all of the newly-born order under his leadership. His steps were firm and his expression noble and dedicated even if his mind was a flurry of different doubts and emotions but he knew he was up to the task. He had to. Isillien gave way for his Grand Crusader who took a moment to revel in the sight of his followers and the majesty of the castle. This was his charge and he was going to see it to the end.
“Our blessed founder Faol knew that only by forming a prestigious, pure Order could we keep the darkness at bay. I was there to witness the rise of such a power and for decades we safeguarded the lands of Lordaeron. However, eventually darkness crept into our sacred circle of trusted knights and corroded Faol and Uther’s dream from within. This will not happen again!”
Dathrohan could see Mograine looking at him in deep expectation and revere. The two paladins had known each other for years and fought many times together. It was clear that he would stand by his side whatever would happen in the following weeks. Abbendis’ expression was more contained but none in the room seemed to disapprove his election.
“You are the best Lordaeron has left. You are its defenders, its last leaders and the last beacons of hope of our lost home. If you will not lead our people back to Light, no one will. Whatever comes to pass, remember that you are the last and the best we have. Because of this, I’ll entrust some of you with great responsibility today. Ashbringer, move forward!” The aging paladin walked towards Dathrohan and bowed before him. His voice was deep and honoring as he spoke.
“My blade and guidance are yours, Grand Crusader. Ask your bidding and I will do it.” It was shocking for the younger paladin to see his old friend bow so readily before him. He didn’t feel like he deserved it: the Ashbringer had saved him more times than he could remember. Dathrohan drew his sword and raised it into the air before lowering his arm.
“Alexandros Mograine, I know the extent of your valor and honor. Your resolve is second to none and you are an inspiration to anyone willing to follow the path of anything that is holy. You will walk as my second-in-command, as the Highlord of our new Crusade.” The older paladin rose and spoke briefly before moving to his leader’s side.
“Our foes will fall before us. I thank you for this charge, Grand Crusader.” Dathrohan nodded to him in approval and then spoke for the second time.
“General Abbendis, I name you the High General of the Crusade and its face to our people! You have always defended the poor and your name has echoed long in the mouths of the common people. You are the most important remnant of the armies of Lordaeron and as thus, the righteous leader of our armies.” The General walked to him and was ready to speak when the Grand Crusader interrupted him.
“And the honored priest Isillien will serve as the spiritual heart of the Crusade. You were the one who kept the spark of hope alive in each of us during our darkest hours. You were the one who united all of us here today. From now on, your voice will be the voice of Light itself, Grand Inquisitor.” The priest had already resigned to the thought that his part in today’s ceremony was over. He had done the things he was credited for but never would have he expected such a senior post for a non-knight like himself. Isillien walked to Abbendis’ side and when all of his three aides stood by his side, Dathrohan once again spoke.
“Under our command, the tremendous task that lies before us can begin. Our first mission is to spread the flag of our Crusade among those who still wish to keep the shadow at bay. The city of Tyr’s Hand , Light’s Hope and the Monastery of Righteousness still stand, abandoned by the lack of unity among the remnants of this land. Those are the places we have to make join our cause. We must also save the villages still untainted by the undead and only then can we push them back. The path will be long and most of us will not see its completion. I am ready to accept that. I will lay down my life if that means that a step towards our goal can be achieved! Will you follow us to the depths of madness and despair?” Dathrohan’s voice intensified with each word and at the end of his speech he was trembling and his words rang through the sacred halls of the fortress. Each and every one of his followers rose up and a chorus of shouts filled the room. the Grand Crusader then rose his sword into the air and called in a thundering voice.
“Then it’ll happen! On this day, our march into the rest of Stratholme and to Lordaeron city will begin! The cursed undead will be eradicated! This I wow as your Grand Crusader! Today, the Scarlet Crusade is born!” Dathrohan felt rays of light penetrating the blackened hall smile upon him as he saw the response his speech roused among his followers. He was about to begin relaying his first orders when he felt a familiar voice speak to him from next to.
“It’ll be a long and rough battle but we’ll make it happen as Anduin and Uther did. I’ll look forward to our next battle together, Saidan.” Alexandros looked at his old comrade as he ended his speech. The older paladin’s voice was filled with hope and he took everything out of the moment. Saidan turned to him and smiled at his old friend.
“Likewise. If the orcs can be beaten, so can the Scourge. We’ll see this through together.”
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Okay, here goes. I am not a very good reviewer, but here goes.
I haven't played or know about World of Warcraft, but I absolutely love the writing you made for your story. It is very well written and shows a lot of potential. I understood the plot and I kind of knew what was happening. It shows you also have a lot of potential as well during your previous experiences as a writer.
Quick thing I need to say, I used to be a bookworm until I lost interest in books and stopped reading, until I saw this since I was urged to read this. So I did the unthinkable, I did what was right and read this. I know this sounds silly, but this is a really rare time I actually read something which feels like a book. I always try to read something, but my mind refuses to read a book. But I actually read it.
So, I have to thank you for making this to help me. Sorry for going a bit off topic, but I had to say it.
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Thank you for your kind words. :) I understand that some names and references might be confusing (they should become easier to remember as the story progressses) but I'm happy that you found the story and my writing enjoyable. My last WoW story had its share of problems which I hope to repair during my new fics. I too must admit that at the moment I mostly read fanfics but luckily there are lots of good stuff out there. That being said, the next chapter for this story should out tomorrow. :yes
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Here's the second chapter to this story. I really hope you'll find this interesting and the next chapter of the Separate Ways should be released soon enough. That being said, enjoy! :)
The Letter to Tyr’s Hand
The faint light of golden yellow candles lighted the large hall, offering some comfort in the darkness of the early morning. The air was still chilling and the sun would rise over Tyr’s Hand and its cathedral only after the whole occasion was over. Some of those in the church were seemingly tired, exhausted by the usual early awakenings of the city. However, Osran Lowriver wasn’t one of them. He had long since gone past the stage when he wasn’t ready to answer the Light’s call in times pf peace and war. The aging paladin stood among his comrades, following the prayer’s progression. It was headed by the main cleric of Tyr’s Hand, the famous priestess Demetria.
“As you know, the Light has given us an enormous gift. This gift’s beauty still lies around us, whether we choose to see it or not. The Creation is not only this tainted land around them nor the defiled remains of our loved ones. What lies around us is a mere reminder of the goodness that can be revealed by us, the Church of the Holy Light. But there is much more to our lives than this…”
Osran listened to Demetria’s words in a respecting if not particularly inspired mood. He had heard these words many times more as these prayers were obligatory to all paladins and priests of Lordaeron. Even if the kingdom had fallen, its last vestiges still wished to retain reminders of the better days of the past.
“The Holy Light blesses anyone who is willing to partake in the flows of its holy sacred power. This is one of its true miracles: its cause is able to unite us in this time of need with its pure goodness. It asks those three things from us in return. Respect, Tenacity, Compassion. As long as you retain those, shadow shall never fall upon our beloved city!”
With those words, everyone in the hall prepared to reinforce the oath each one of them had taken when they had joined the ranks of armies of Lordaeron. It was a holy responsibility and a source of pride. The leaders of those forces enforced the following of those oaths and breaking them was strictly forbidden. Osran knew this and never had he even wished to stray from the true path, making him one of the most respected knights the city had. This oath was followed only in Lordaeron, making it one of the last things that still tied their fate to the fallen throne of the Menethil. He started to speak in unison with the rest of the crowd, once again renewing the pledge he had given in easier, happier times.
“To the revered and holy Church and to the mighty Crown, I give my sacred vow. Every path before me is filled with shade and sorrow but whatever happens, the Light’s goodness will still penetrate my heart. This I pledge, my soul will forever walk in the Light and I will forever work and fight for the good. Respect for the enemy, tenacity to work for eventual victory, compassion for the weak. These are the things that will safeguard me from evil and from straying from the path I’ve chosen. To the Church and the Crown, this is the vow I give you. May the pure Light guide my steps in everything I do.”
Demetria nodded to the audience in approval, as she always did after the renewal of the sacred oath. Even if the occasion wasn’t unusual at all, it was necessary to remind each of the defenders of the city of their charge and of the ways to follow the path of the Light.
“Those words are up to each of us to redeem. We have saved our city from destruction because of our righteous path but the night is still deep. You may see the birth of a new day around you but the true dawn is still to come. The dawn of good in our hearts. Go, and remember the Light’s teachings. The darkness can be kept at bay by sword but each of your actions will either deepen or vanquish the evil. May the Light bless us all in these dark times.” A revering silence claimed the cathedral as first of those assembled started to leave the hall.
Osran looked at the pale morning light enter the room and felt a rush of relief by its sight. These ceremonies were repeated every day but he felt the touch of hope and pride each time he had the chance to attend the morning prayer. It was a time for mental purification and expressing gratitude for continued life. It was a privilege to listen to those holy words in the presence of those men and women he had learned to respect and appreciate so much. That might change during any confrontation with the hated enemy but any knight had long ago accepted that fact.
The aging knight joined the line of people flowing away from the cathedral. The crowd was completely silent and the chatter only started outside the holy heart of Tyr’s Hand. The people’s walk was slow and each step showed a great decree of reverence to others around them. Osran followed the flow to the door of the church when he saw a familiar knight walking in front of him, a one that belonged to one of his closest comrades in the city. Osran quickened his pace and called to her in a neutral but cordial voice. As he approached her, he could see that her expression was somewhat darker than the others’ around her.
“Veria, I’m glad to see that your patrol was successful.” He knew that the other knight had been ordered to join a patrol outside the western walls in order to check that no necromancers or other enemies were about to threaten the humans’ last strongholds. The mission was most likely successful as no reports of heavy casualties had been reported in. Veria turned to look at Osran as he appeared from the crowd.
“It was the same rubbish as always, Osran. Only those cursed ghouls and other vile beasts. The patrols feel like complete waste of time these days.” Her voice was clearly stressed as she spoke. It was far from friendly but it was the kind of tone the older knight had come to expect from her. He knew exactly what she meant but Osran feared that this lull in the attacks wouldn’t last.
“Nothing new then… that’s the best we can expect. I’d love to see us regain our lands but it seems unlikely today. I’d risk my life if there was even the slightest of chances of victory but until we’re here alone, we’re no match for the Scourge.” Osran looked towards the walls of the city with a tense expression, yearning to see the flag of the Silver Hand flying far behind them. Veria shrugged as she answered.
“I honestly don’t care about that wasteland anymore. It’s lost for good, Osran. I’m in no hurry to die as long as I can live my days here. Or are you more willing to join the Light now or to clean up the abbey’s quarters?” Veria took a small smile as she reminded her counterpart of his today’s task. Only a small group of knights had to serve in active patrol or defending duty whereas the others worked to keep the city in the same condition as it had been in the old days and to safeguard the crucial trade routes through New Avalon. Only the small harbor of the village kept Tyr’s Hand and the Light’s Hope alive. Osran chuckled a bit as he answered.
“I’ll do it gladly as long as we can at least preserve this place and our way of life. But I just hope that one day we’ll have a chance to achieve something else once again. That… wasteland is our home, Veria. I just pray that the Light will give us it should we prove ourselves worthy of its blessing.” Osran had no problems in retaining his current lot in life but he remembered the Eastern Lordaeron as it used to be. Beyond the walls opened used to open a string of small hamlets surrounded by endless farmlands leading to the prosperous town of Corin’s Crossing from which started the long roads to Stratholme and Lordaeron City and to his old home in the village of Northdale. Some of those villages still survive but they were small, languishing communities that were slowly but surely dying down. The times in Northdale and the small joys of his old life were the memories that prevented him from giving up the hope of Light’s eventual retribution. Veria seemed to hesitate for a moment until she answered.
“Maybe you’re right… but it hasn’t happened yet. For now it’s just more days of trying to survive in our little city. But now, I think I should go. I’ll have to report to Havenshire. It’s lighthouse is under repair and they need help guarding the site.” Veria said in a weary voice. She was similar to Osran in her hopes and fears but she was more pessimistic about any change in the coming days. The other knight answered in an encouraging voice.
“May the Light guide you. I’ll see you some other time.” Veria returned his gesture and headed towards the eastern opening of the city. Osran signed as he contemplated the city’s situation. Even in their isolation and hopeless situation, its inhabitants hadn’t given up. Even if Tyr’s Hand had changed tremendously, it was still as lively and hard-working as ever. Sadly, his task today was less glamorous than many others’ but it had to be done. But before that, he had another thing had to do. The morning was still young and he had the entire day reserved for his job.
The house of the blacksmith was quite a small building in the middle of the many monumental churches and barracks of the city which would easily be overlooked by an occasional outsider. However, the small house was a vital lifeline in these times of conflict. It housed five blacksmiths who worked nearly night and day to create and repair the equipment of the knights stationed in the proud bastion of the Light.
“Osran! It’s good to see you again, lad! Coming to get your wrist armor, eh?” A long and surprisingly slender man spoke as he saw Osran enter the building. He was perhaps the most renowned of the city’s blacksmiths, having worked in the dwarven land of Loch Modan for years until his return to his homeland during the rise of the Scourge.
“I have, Arlen. I’ll need them again tomorrow and I trust you’re already done with them.” His voice wasn’t exactly friendly but he had given the smiths days to repair the damage they had received during his last battle with the undead. Arlen was slightly taken aback but he quickly answered.
“Why, they are. Just wait a moment.” The blacksmith quickly said as he headed for the storage. It contained dozens of new pieces of armor and also many others waiting for repairs. Osran took a seat near the door and looked to the main street of the city, connecting the two gates and sides of the city. He quickly glanced at the four other smiths still continuing their job when he turned his gaze back into the street again. This time, a group of knights riding on horses were heading towards the western gate. One of today’s squads assigned to protect the few villages still standing near the city. And among them was riding a familiar figure.
That’s right! Today was Eneath’s turn to go to defend our protected villages. Well… be safe and make the Light proud. I wouldn’t wish to hear any tragic news later on.
The thought of his still young nephew heading to the front was still a hard one for Osran but he had proved himself a brave and courageous soldier and a true champion of the Light. There was nothing he could say to himself to say that Eneath wasn’t ready to become a great paladin of his own. Even then, it seemed like such a short time since he was but a child, always relying on his uncle and other relatives to protect him. Saving and bringing him and his own, aged mother here from old Northdale had been one of the most terrifying times of his life. He was more than happy to see that the child was finally growing up.
Soon, Osran could hear the mighty gate of Tyr’s Hand open up and let the valiant soldiers of the Light enter the great expanse of the once-beautiful lands, now known by a far more fitting name, the Plaguelands. After a short while, the gates closed once again, signaling that his nephew was gone. Osran sighed as he saw Arlen return from the storage with a pair of wrist armor. The paladin rose quickly to take them from the blacksmith.
“There was no permanent damage to them. They should be as good as new.” The blacksmith smiled as Osran took the armor from his hands. The paladin examined them for a moment before he returned the smile. The repairs were done masterfully.
“I thank you and your assistants, Arlen. Without you, we would be out of armor in a week.” Osran said in a polite way. He knew that the smiths’ reasons to be here were the same as his own. Even if he resented them, he couldn’t deny that the dwarves’ teachings was vital in upkeeping the city.
“It is just our humble way to thank ye for the protection ye and the Church give us. Just make sure to keep the supplies going and we’ll take care of the rest.” Arlen said as he was preparing to return to work. There was never a moment of peace as more and more new recruits needed new armor and the old soldiers repairs. However, the smith was kept off by a messenger who called from the door.
“Osran! I finally found you. Come with me, Lord Valdemar wants to talk to you.” The messenger’s voice was relieved as he finally had found his target. Osran looked at him in surprise and asked in a calm voice.
“Why is that? What does he want?” The messenger answered quickly to the brown-haired knight’s question.
“He didn’t tell me. Come, his business sounded urgent.” Osran frowned as he heard the courier’s words. It was very unusual for Valdemar not to tell his couriers the message. Apparently something very unusual had happened which explained the secrecy.
The city’s commander’s quarters were located at the top of Tyr’s Hand’s castle which also served as the residence of the new recruits and for those serving directly under the city’s master. Valdemar had ruled the city ever since the fall of the Royal authority during the great War. Valdemar was a general of the remaining armies back then and it was his leadership that had managed to preserve Tyr’s Hand and the nearby Light’s Hope Chapel from the onslaught of the Scourge. No one had questioned his authority after those days and nobody even wished to do so. The General still led his troops in many of the battles and the city had been spared the fate of the surrounding lands.
Osran’s expression was concerned but he was always happy to meet Valdemar. The two had met a long time ago, during the Orcish invasion of Lordaeron and they fought side by side against the forces of Orgrim Doomhammer in the forests of Silverpine. They had since grown somewhat apart but the Scourge had once again caused the old friends to cross ways. Since then, the two had renewed their friendship and even if Osran wasn’t a part of the official leadership of the city, Valdemar often respected the knight’s opinion on things. Perhaps this was only one of those occasions?
The messenger stopped as the two entered the second floor of the fort. It was a part of the normal custom: no courier would be allowed to attend the actual meeting. Osran nodded to his companion quickly and walked the short corridor until the familiar turn to the right. On the walls hanged the different coat of arms of the old knight and noble families of the old kingdom, many of which had been extinguished during the War. Still, they were a fitting reminder of those who had once been instrumental in safeguarding their way of life. The houses of Breezewood, Redpath, Barov, Hillmire, Wanrethen and Faol… only few of the old, prestigious families whose fires Arthas had forever extinguished.
Osran felt shivers crawl down his spine as everywhere he walked, the shadows of the lost time haunted the last living town of the land. The knight was relieved as he saw his commander and friend sitting behind his table as he usually did. Osran was the first one to speak.
“What’s the matter, Valdemar? It’s very unusual for you to keep your assistants this ignorant.” His voice was serious but it carried a friendly tone. Valdemar eyed the newcomer for a moment and he sighed when he answered.
“I received an… offer, Osran.” His answer was brief and the General’s voice was highly thoughtful. He sounded almost absentminded as he spoke. Osran frowned as he heard Valdemar’s answer.
“An offer? What kind of offer?” The obvious answer prompted the higher-ranked of the two to search his table’s racks and after a moment, he gave Osran a letter, stamped by a highly decorated seal any former Knight of the Silver Hand knew. The seal of the Dathrohan. Osran quickly grabbed the letter and his eyes widened as he read it. His hands started to shake as he started to realize the full implications of the letter’s content. After he had finished it, he looked at Valdemar and asked in an awed voice.
"Who brought this letter to you? Is there a chance that this letter is false?” The modestly-bearded knight asked in deep excitement. If the letter was genuine, his years-long prayers had finally been answered.
“I doubt no one would be willing to search for that seal among the undead and then sent me a false letter for a prank. Also, I know Saidan’s handwriting, Osran. It’s genuine.” Valdemar still looked into the distance, not saying anything in addition to his answer. This puzzled Osran severely and he answered in a questioning voice.
“This letter is what we have waited for years! We cannot pass this chance! We won’t get a better opportunity to initiate the Light’s Vengeance than this!” The knight’s voice rose as he spoke. He simply couldn’t understand Valdemar’s hesitation on answering this most noble of summons.
“It might look like that, Osran. But beating back the Scourge would still be a highly risky and unlikely campaign. We might end up waging a losing war against an unbeatable enemy, only calling for worse curses from Arthas.” Valdemar’s eyes stared into the distance as Osran started to think about his words. The bearded knight had never thought that the Scourge could do worse than they already had. It was true that they didn’t know what Arthas was up to and he could be waging another war in distant lands that the simple folk of Tyr’s Hand hadn’t even heard of. However, that was only a guess which didn’t have the least of proof. Osran spoke in a confident and steady voice as he answered.
“Arthas fled these lands suspiciously quickly. For all we know, he could be dead by now. The Scourge seems leaderless and they could be an easy prey for our united forces. Valdemar… we won’t get a better chance.” The knight’s words were sincere and his slow speech only underlined that he meant what he said. This time. Valdemar turned his eyes to look directly at Osran. His voice was grave and deeply inquisitive as he spoke. It was clear that he wanted to hear the whole truth about his friend’s opinion. He was alone with the choice but he wished to hear his most trusted comrades’ reactions to the news before he made his choice.
“Osran, are you ready to head to a possibly hopeless war that could possibly doom us all, out of the hope that we could have a small chance to restore our homeland? Are you willing to take that risk and endanger yours and your family’s lives in order to strive for a better tomorrow?” His words were sharp and his eyes seemed to penetrate into Osran’s soul. It was clear that the General had already paid a lot of thought to the issue. Osran hesitated a moment before he answered to his friend’s question.
“That war is a part of our lives even now, Valdemar. Every day we bear the weight of growing casualties, just to safeguard the life we have now. When Arthas was still our prince, he gave his everything for us, even his own soul in the end. We would be doomed to a future of pitiful struggling and desperate battle for our defeated and humiliated kingdom. The Lich King is weak and the Scourge in disarray. Now is our chance Valdemar. For the sake of the Light, let’s do this.” The silence was tangible after Osran finished. Valdemar stared at him for a long time before he sighed deeply and started to scratch his left eyebrow. After a while, he spoke in a forced, lost voice.
“I asked for your opinion because you often knew when to fight and when not to during our youth. Without you, I would have most likely fallen back then. Even during our time here, you have shown good judgement. I’ll trust your word with this. I’ll have to ask Demetria and my officers first but I doubt they’ll oppose this move. For better or worse, on this day Tyr’s Hand joins the Scarlet Crusade. I pray for the Light that it’s the right move.” Valdemar said as he looked resigned to the upcoming event. Osran’s face formed a smile when he heard those words. He quickly answered to his friend’s words in a relieved, yet just as serious voice.
“Dathrohan, Mograine, Abbendis. They are the very best we have left. If we with their leadership won’t be able to achieve the final victory, we never will. Our people will follow you to the Crusade. We won’t let them down.” Osran said in a comforting voice. Valdemar was renowned because of his campaign to secure Tyr’s Hand. Every inhabitant of the city had smelled victory on that deay and they would do so again.
“I truly hope you’re right. I have to go meet the priests now. Let’s meet again some other time, Osran.” Valdemar said wearily as he rose from his table. Even if he still sounded unsure and hesitating, a certain look was beginning to appear in his eyes. The fire of leadership was starting to form in his eyes.
“Indeed. Until the next time.” Osran said before he turned on his heels. He quickly walked down the stairs and nodded to the guards that his audience was over. His steps felt unreal as his mind dwelled on completely different matters. This Scarlet Crusade could be the blessing of the Light he had waited for so long. He had known Dathrohan for a long time and he knew the Grand Crusader’s determination and high level of leadership. Very unusually for these days, the stifling, sickly air of the Plaguelands didn’t make him feel nauseous. Behind the walls opened the once-green, beautiful homeland of his comrades and friends. Even through the orange mist, he could feel fresher air blowing from the Great Sea. One day not far in the future, there was a chance Northdale would be rebuilt and its lands cleared from the Scourge. Osran smiled as he headed towards the Abbey. Today marked a new chapter in the history of Lordaeron: an age of uprising of the living.
-
The Return of Fear
Osran frowned heavily as he looked at winding road in front of him. It was growing extremely narrow and poor in shape, almost vanishing under the sickly orange mist that covered the entire dead woodland. The paladin felt the air turn even colder as he looked at the dead trunks around him and the eerie calls of sickly and deformed animals in the distance. Sadly, the inconsolable sight was little different from the rest of the old Darrowmere Forest.
The southern reaches of the land had long been isolated and sparsely populated, partly because of the distance to the important trading centers of the kingdom and the prevalence of lawlessness in those areas. It had been home to many small, idyllic-looking villages but banditry and poverty had long marked these areas. Yet, it was partly because of this legacy that it was these areas that had managed to house some kind of human life through the times of the Plague. Yet, it didn’t change the eerie, hopeless atmosphere of the cursed forest. Osran felt disgust and sorrow as the images of decaying trees and dying animals suffer in front of his eyes. Fortunately, the blackened forest started to give way to a lifeless clearing, a vast field that had once been the fertile farmland of Barrowhome, one of the isolated villages southwest of Tyr’s Hand.
After a gallop through the hazy fields, the first images of the village appeared through the unnatural mist. The foul-smelling, cold wind flowed through the open clearing as the ten riders approached their destination. Waiting for them were ten other knights, waiting for the others to take their place in the village. Osran called to the group’s apparent leader as he approached them.
”Greetings to you, Tareth! The situation’s unchanged, I take it?” Osran called to the horseman who took a few steps forward. Osran didn’t know the other knight too well but the two had gotten acquainted during their years in Tyr’s Hand even if their relationship had been completely professional. Tareth answered in a neutral voice and eyed the desolate landscape around him in expectation.
“Indeed, Osran. A few ghouls here and there but otherwise there isn’t much to see but hysteric villagers and more of these cursed woods! I don’t envy you or your group: I hope you’ll find a way to pass the time.” Tareth looked at his counterpart in an asking look, eager to flee to the safety of Tyr’s Hand. He didn’t like the sight of the long-dead forest and the unnatural giant bats flying at its canopy. Shivers would have crept down his spine if he hadn’t been forced to become used to those monsters. Osran shared his gaze at the surroundings and answered soon in a neutral voice.
“Very well, Tareth. You’re free to go. Light bless you for your efforts.” It was a custom to let the next group of guards’ leader to free the previous squad of their duties if they had found their work satisfactory. Osran nodded to him in approval to which Tareth responded in kind. Even with their distant relationship, nearly every old knight of the Silver Hand held tremendous respect to each other. There was no alternative: even a slight internal conflict in the order could pave the way for the humans’ final collapse.
“Thank you. May the Light protect your steps in the coming hours.” Tareth said in relief as he and his followers quickly moved towards Osran’s group and headed for Tyr’s Hand. The two groups’ members shook hands as they walked past each other. After the traditions, Osran once again turned his gaze in front of him. Barrowhome had never been a large village and today most of its houses had been left empty, their denizens either killed or fled. A small group of villagers approached Osran who dismounted as he prepared to speak with them. The villagers seemed distressed by the outsiders’ presence but they had been forced to learn to tolerate the only ones who would protect them from the undead.
“Thank goodness for your arrival, sir! The people of Barrowhome greatly appreciate your city’s efforts to defend us!” The man’s voice seemed genuinely grateful for the knights’ presence even if there was something in his voice Osran didn’t like. Even then, he answered to the poor villager in a calm voice. He wished to keep the formalities as brief as possible as he wasn’t too happy to be assigned to this mission in the first place. Something about these small villages and their denizens unnerved him.
“Tyr’s Hand is always ready to defend its allies, peasant. As long as our city and order stand, so will your home. Do you have any special request to us?” Osran tried to keep his voice friendly and humble but it still held a degree of involuntary stiffness. Even then, he was determined to see his charge through with honor. He wasn’t the most usual choice to lead these missions but it had become more usual lately due to his long experience and good reputation among his comrades. There had even been rumors of a temporary elevation of rank for him.
“Your presence here is all we can ask for, good knight. But please, we are striving to train some of us to be good defenders if something happens to you and you cannot protect us anymore. If anything unexpected comes to pass today, let them help.” The peasant’s voice was respecting and it carried the sense of actual concern for the future of the village. Osran looked at the man for a moment, not exactly excited by the prospect of being forced to fight alongside poorly equipped and trained villagers and be accounted responsible for their lives. Even then, if there was something he or his comrades could teach to these poor villagers in future battles against the Scourge, it was his duty as a paladin to accept the offer.
“Who are there new recruits you are talking about?” He asked in an inquisitive manner. Osran had little appetite to start an argument about the issue and he wished to get it quickly over with. The villager waved his hand and eight young men stepped forward from the group of villagers who had gathered to welcome their defenders. Osran frowned as he saw them. They had swords or clubs but most of them were of very poor material or broken. They had no real armor and they didn’t seem too experienced either. Osran would have wanted to sigh heavily at the sight of his new followers but his duty was unchanged. If there were new fighters to be gained for the Crusade, they would have to be utilized and trained to the best of his ability. The knight’s voice was serious but understanding as he answered.
“Very well. They may follow our work but we have no time to train them. We will treat them as our comrades, nothing more. And they are responsible for their own survival.” The villagers seemed somewhat disappointed by Osran’s answer but the matter was settled. Without further words, Osran once again mounted and gave an order to his comrades. His voice was friendly towards his honored comrades as he gave the command.
“Surround the village! Spread to a formation so we may see every direction in every part of the hamlet!” The knights saluted and started to spread out towards their posts. Seeing this, Osran turned away to once again talk to the villagers.
“You eight may take your places next to ours. Most importantly, alert us about any dangers you may see during the day. Let no sighting of advancing undead go unreported.” With those words,
Osran started to ride towards the edge of the village, looking at his comrades who had taken up their positions near him. The village was small, today housing little more than a few dozen people resolute on staying in their homes as long as they could, either because of deep love for their hamlet or because of simple resoluteness to fight against the Scourge until the end.
Osran started his duty on the northern side of Barrowhome, looking at the endless, dead farmlands and the black forest to his left. The wind had died down and the entire scene before him was silent and unmoving, only stirred up by an occasional scream of a ghoul in the distance. In the absence of a threat Osran turned his look to the houses closest to him.
He had been in this village only once before, about a year ago on a very similar mission to this one. He didn’t know the full history of Barrowhome but judging by the collapsing houses that dotted the small village, most of the original villagers were no more, either being the very ghouls that now stalked the outskirts of the village or burned by their merciful relatives. Osran couldn’t but respect the peasants’ will to live in their homes despite all of the tragedies and horrors that had befallen upon them. Even then, Osran had to wonder how his own life would be different had he chosen the life of a farmer in Northdale and given up his dream to serve the Light. What would have changed in his life? Would he even be alive? Would he be living like these poor fools today, living in the mercy of those more powerful than him?
Never mind the answer, the aging knight dearly hoped that the people of Barrowhome and entire Lordaeron would be able to receive their vengeance. It had only been a day since Osran had heard of this new order and it would take some time to formalize Tyr’s Hand’s participation in it. Osran would have wished nothing more than to already serve the Scarlet Crusade but he didn’t have a voice at this matter yet. Before Grand Crusader Dathrohan gave his word to start the attack, this would be his lot in life. Osran’s eyes investigated the scenes around him in case anything threatening could be seen but for nothing. The midday slowly turned into afternoon, intensifying the orange mist hanging upon the fields. The knights’ watch would still be long but a certain time was approaching. Time for dinner.
There was very little the villagers could offer their guardians in return but they had taken up the responsibility to provide the night with one meal during their duty. The food was always simple and disgusting-tasting but it wasn’t poisonous, more than what could be said about most things in the land. Osran whistled in order to signal that the time for the break had come.
The ten knights quickly gathered around the apparent “town hall” middle of the hamlet to get their day’s only piece of food. There were two elderly women sharing them but many other villagers had been gathering the resources and preparing them for their defenders. Even then, there was little joy in the break, knowing that there were still seven more hours before they could head for home. Also, the food was the most usual meal in the Plaguelands: giant worm meat in a cup of water and pieces of decaying carrots.
The knights were about to resume their posts when four of the eight recruits approached them. They had hopeful if reserved looks on their faces. They still weren’t completely adapted to the idea of outsiders staying in their village for this long. Still, their voices were confident as they started to speak.
“When are they going to attack? Surely you must know more of their tactics than we do?” The speaker was a rather short, pale man who wore a brown leather jacket. Osran turned his gaze on the villager when he heard a voice answer from behind him.
“But we don’t. Those ghouls are completely brainless and they can’t do anything without someone commanding them. A shame really… even a small chance to slaughter those monsters would make these guard duties more interesting.” Osran looked at the young knight and answered quickly in slight disappointment.
“Don’t say that, Arilde. You haven’t had the chance to fight them many times but trust me, you don’t want to. They may be brainless but they also know no fear. Even now, they are a force to be reckoned with.” Osran voice underlined his wish to get his point understood and Arilde simply shrugged as an answer. The villager then asked in a careful voice.
“But we have to face them at some point, don’t we? I mean… if we are not willing to live in their mercy forever.” The villager looked directly at the knight, willing to get a clear answer. Osran, on the other hand, would have wanted to tell the peasant of the fledgling Crusade but it would be best if it were kept in secret for now. There was no reason to make unneeded fuss about such things that might reach the ears of the Scourge prematurely. It was best to keep these matters between those who had something to contribute to the Crusade. The knight answered simply and in a normal, honest voice.
“The Light will give us a chance, villager, as long as we give it a chance. What is your name?” Osran was preparing to mount as the peasant answered to him.
“Carethas, sir. Carethas Yrendel.” The simple answer earned a respectful look from the knight who approached the younger man. He placed his hand on Carethas’ shoulder and spoke to him with a hopeful expression.
“There will be more to the future than this, friend. Just make sure you’ll be there to see it. A true champion of Lordaeron does all he can for his people and sometimes fleeing from battle is the best way we can do that.” Osran then raised his voice so that the other villagers could hear words. The peasants looked at the knight as he spoke.
“Don’t act like a hero. I know it sounds like a glorious destiny but trying to trust too much just on yourself leads to miscalculations. I’ve seen it myself: many good people thought they could win an orc or undead by themselves and… they couldn’t. That has even happened to myself. Luckily, I had comrades back then who helped me to escape Andorhal during its fall… People of Barrowhome, we are together in this struggle and we should fight for each other. That is the best advice I can give you right now. No one benefits if you get yourself killed.” Osran was finally ready to head back to patrol when a loud cry was heard from the hamlet’s southern outskirts. All of the surrounding villagers started to escape to their homes after they heard the ghastly cry.
“Undead are approaching! Move to positions!” The voice was urgent but not panicked. Osran quickly mounted his steed and headed towards the voice. It belonged to one of his knights, a middle-aged man called Arlos. Osran saw him standing in front of a collapsing house on the edge of the dead forest.
Osran was about to ask about Arlos’ sightings when a ear-piercing wail penetrated through the entire village. It was a sound of nightmare: a horrifying cry of a lost soul, forever bound to haunt the land and to sniff the land of the living. The voice belonged to a banshee. The vengeful ghosts weren’t quite as numerous as ghouls or skeletons but the difference between their numbers wasn’t huge. When Osran reached his comrade’s side, he too could see the approaching threat.
“Arilde, Ertas, stay on your posts! Others, assist us!” The two knights had to be kept on guard in order to avoid possible flanking. Dozens of ghouls and skeletons slowly started to move forward from the darkened woods, quickening their pace as they advanced. Osran looked at them in fear, wondering about the surprising development. It wasn’t often these days that the undead were attacking by these numbers. What had changed today? And more importantly, how many undead were on the offensive?
The bearded knight waited until his seven followers and the eight villagers had gathered around him. Only the knights had steeds, however, so they would have to join the attack only as a backup. Osran drew his sword from its scabbard, raising it to the air as he spoke.
“Crush the monsters before they can enter the village! Protect the villagers and leave no enemy of the Light alive! Charge!” The eight horsemen begun their charge, quickly advancing on the horde of decaying flesh. The undead quickened their pace as well and it was mere seconds until the two forces collided. Osran had changed his course somewhat so that his position would be safer from any surprise attacks. He felt only a tremble as a skeleton was trampled under the hooves of his grey-armored steed.
Swords flashed in the pale light of the afternoon as the knights’ swords cut into the attacking undead horde. Many of the villains crumbled immediately, destroyed by the weight of the charging steeds and the paladins’ weapons. The crushing strength of the charge alone was a strong weapon against the savage enemy. However, a terrified scream interrupted the fight against the enemy. It was Arlos’ voice and a quick glance revealed the reason of his distress. A larger-than-usual ghoul had attacked his steed, tearing away its armor and eating its way into the animal’s viscera. With sickening scream, the horse fell and Arlos was thrown into the ground, surrounded by the undead. Immediately, orbs of Light formed in his hands and burned their way through the closest enemies. However, he wouldn’t be able to hold back all of his enemies alone.
Osran charged towards his comrades, fighting off the attempts to slay his own mount. Arlos was about to get overrun when his commander’s sword dismembered two of the skeleton warriors attacking him. Two other knights joined him and it was mere moments until Arlos’ location was safe. Osran nodded to him and then called to his followers.
“Try to avoid losing your steeds! The attack is not over!” As if to underline the bearded knight’s word, another even more terrifying wail was heard from the fields on the other side of the hamlet. Osran turned to look at that direction, looking in horror as three white, hazy beings floated towards the village, accompanied by another host of undead. This was an all-out attack, one that wouldn’t be repelled easily. Banshees were far more dangerous than the other common undead. The knight quickly regained his composure and gave another command.
“Villagers, follow me! It falls to you to defend our northern flank!” Osran wasn’t happy to being forced to rely on the inexperienced peasants but he had no choice. All of the other knights were needed to keep the current front, making the villagers his only choice in repelling the banshees. The eight poorly equipped farmers followed him without hesitation.
Arilde and Ertas had already taken their defensive positions, knowing better than to charge against an enemy capable of casting spells and dismounting a careless attacker. The three knights looked in fear as the mass of undead approached them through the fields, their only relief being that there were no more potent weapons of the Scourge like necromancers or abominations on the march. Even then, the coming fight would take their everything if they wished to live until dusk. The knights exchanged their blessings in silence, willing to share the grace of the Light before the showdown would start. Each of the seconds seemed to stretch forever as the horrifying mass of the dead drew closer. Ertas suddenly asked Osran in an anxious, silent voice.
“What are our allies going to do? They’re no capable of handling this threat!” Osran suddenly snapped out of his fearful thoughts as he realized that it was up to him if any of the eleven defenders wished to live through this. The aging paladin’s mind raced as he tried to come up with the best strategy to counter the threat but in the end, only raw power and the Light’s guidance would be able to counter these monsters. He could only hope that the villagers were up to the challenge. This wasn’t a challenge he would have wanted to force on fresh recruits but in the end, few ever were ready for the coming ordeals. Osran could only hope their inexperience wouldn’t be the end of him and his comrades as well. He turned to look at the villagers and spoke in as relaxed voice as he could at this point.
“Try to defend our position from the invaders. We three are able to vanquish those beasts if they won’t overpower us at first. Support us and we will do our all to ensure that you won’t fall.” It was widely known that the knights of the old Silver Hand were very potent healers but it did little to alleviate the fears of mutilation and unspeakable fear. Even then, the villagers were defending their only home, their beloved Barrowhome. If the outsiders were willing to give up their lives to save it, then so were the villagers. They formed a defensive lines around the knights as they watched the distance between the two groups disappear. With a roar, Osran finally commanded.
“Attack!”
The villagers and the knights then started their charge, unwilling to give the initial edge to the enemy. The first clash managed to fell some skeletons but it was mostly ineffective due to the small number and the relatively slow speed of the horsemen. Horrifying screams could be heard as the merciless undead bit their way into the peasants’ flesh, covering the ground around them sickeningly red. Radiant flashes of pure Light illuminated the dark field as the knights started their work. The horrifying wounds closed as the paladins’ powers moved to close the gaping injuries. At the same time, luminous orbs burned their way through their enemies, turning their opponents into ash. The villagers looked in awe as the three champions of the Light rode into the hordes of undead, vanquishing the enemies of Lordaeron on their way and restoring the will of their allies at the same time. It was like a stuff of legends watching the bright light shining around the armor of the paladins. So this was the famed power of the knights of the Silver Hand. This was why they had put their lives into their hands.
Osran saw things differently. The fight drained his strength quickly and even if the enemy’s casualties were severe, it was likely that he wouldn’t be able to fight on forever. His steed was also severely injured and it wouldn’t be long before it fell under the onslaught. However, another scream of the banshees ended those fears prematurely. The hapless horse quickly rose to its hind legs and threw Osran from its back. The knight hit the ground violently, stunning him for a few seconds but quickly, he regained his senses. His steed had charged towards the undead and he could only see it ripped to pieces near him. Even then, the fight was still ongoing.
The two other paladins’ steeds had also fallen, forcing the defenders to move closer to each other in order to secure each others’ flanks. Hit upon hit, Light’s judgement after another, more of the undead fell but it also raised the risk of the enemy being able to surround the eleven defenders. Carethas looked in horror as the mass of skeletons and ghouls surrounded the small host and started to tear the houses around them to pieces. He and his comrades fought as valiantly as they could but only the three paladins did serious damage to the soldiers of the Scourge. He couldn’t help but admire the way the way the knights kept their company together while defending their beloved Barrowhome. Something about the trio’s presence gave him hope that the fight would end well after all.
“Osran! We have to take out the banshees or we don’t stand a chance! They’re draining our strength!” Arilde yelled as the wailing of the ghosts became ever more horrifying. Osran looked at the banshees in the distance and he knew that Arilde was right. Banshees could easily turn the tide of any battle. However, they were surrounded by scores of enemies and any attempt at taking them out would be a massive risk. Even then, there was no choice. If the ghosts were allowed to stay there unchallenged, all of the defenders were as good as dead. With a deep sigh, Osran gave his order.
“No matter what, the banshees must fall! Try to protect each other but in the end, the only thing that matters is to get rid of the banshees!” Ertas looked at his superior in surprise, asking him quickly in an unsure voice.
“But… we’ll never reach them in time!” The other knight’s voice was fearful as he spoke and it was clear that he wasn’t confident in the order. Osran answered in an agitated voice, not willing to argue in the middle of the fight.
“It’s not about what we can do but about we have to! Move!” The small group was already pushing towards the banshees in the middle of fields. Killing them wouldn’t end the attack but without them, the defenders would have a fighting chance. The knights pierced through the ghouls and skeletons but they were slowed down by the struggling villagers. Three overwhelming screams reached Osran’s ears, signaling that his followers were starting to fall. The knight gritted his teeth: casualties couldn’t be avoided in battles like these.
Carethas looked in horror as his comrades fell around him. He had seen it before as had most of the people of Barrowhome but losing treasured friends to these cursed beasts was never a fate he would have wished. Even then, he knew what he had signed up to when he volunteered to training. The villager tried to keep the undead at bay with his small wooden shield and his small wounds were being healed by the minute. Most importantly, the three knights had reached the banshees, one ghost for each of them.
Osran eyed the transparent creature before him, preparing another charge of Light’s wrath upon the banshee. However, the spirit’s magics weakened the knight’s powers, forcing him to wait for a moment before making his move. Unfortunately for the paladin, a skeleton had snuck behind him, ready to penetrate the knight’s chest with its small sword. Carethas, however, could see the situation and quickly understood that the fate of the hamlet could rest in his hands.
The peasant quickly run towards the skeleton who preparing to deal the surprising blow. However, its plans were interrupted by Carethas’ sword which quickly broke the being’s fragile neck. The skeleton’s collapse alerted Osran’s attention, noticing that Carethas was standing behind him over a pile of bones. Processing the flow of events, he nodded to the villager approvingly, giving his brief thanks to his unlikely savior. It surprised the knight greatly that the peasant had found the courage to act at the right moment. Maybe they could play a part in the future of the Crusade after all. The paladin then released his bolt of Light, burning the wraith with its pure power. Similar sights could be seen around him as the banshees burned like white pyres on Midsummer. With a hopeful look the eight surviving fighters regrouped and fought on as the forces around them begun to finally thin out.
The afternoon was growing old as Osran walked through a mass of rotting flesh and dismembered bones. He was exhausted as he looked around him, seeing his seven comrades who were equally drained. The undead horde had been crushed but three of the villagers were dead and part of the village razed by the savage attacks. Osran’s voice was weak as he spoke to his comrades.
“It’s… over. Are you alright?” It was a few moments before anyone answered and it was the familiar voice of Arilde.
“Just barely, Osran. It’s a small wonder I’m even in that good shape, though.” Arilde was severely injured but she managed to stay on her feet. The villagers merely nodded as an answer before they headed to search for their fallen friends. Osran looked after them and then spoke in an honoring if apologizing voice. Especially Carithas’ deeds had earned his respect, washing away his doubts about the peasants’ resolve.
“I’m sorry your first day went like this even though many others’ first fight is also their last. But make no mistake: all of you did well today. Especially you, Carithas. Thank you.” Osran didn’t expect an answer but Carithas turned around and said simply. His voice was clearly surprised by Osran’s praise but the situation’s bleakness ruined any hopes about considering today a success.
“Thank you for helping us. We would all be dead without you.” The three knights didn’t answer as the peasants continued their search. Osran turned around and remembered his other followers. Judging by the deadly silence of the hamlet, it was likely that the seven other knights had prevailed but at which cost? Concerned thoughts swirled in the knight’s head as he walked through the collapsed houses. Soon, he could see the others also approaching from the other side of the village.
“Osran! You made it!” Called one of the paladins in apparent relief. Their tabards and armor were covered in their own blood, and each was clearly injured. Even then, that was a better condition than many would dare to ask at this point.
“I did and so did the others. Where… where are Elia and Irthen?” Osran asked in fear as he saw that two of the paladins were missing from the group. The survivors’ faces told the answer already but Osran was still happy to hear the reason of the tragedy.
“The undead swarmed around us, trying to separate us from each other. They succeeded twice. We could only hear their cries as the ghouls tore them apart.” One of the knights told in a mournful voice. Osran turned to look into the distance, reflecting on today’s events. It was unusual to lose two knights at the same time but on the other hand, nothing in today’s events were usual. His command was cold and plain.
“Burn the corpses. Our comrades will never serve the Lich King, not even in death.” Osran’s expression was stern as he headed to execute his command on the other pile of corpses. His followers didn’t have the time to answer to their commander before he was already gone. A deep hatred burned in Osran’s eyes, one that he’d never show to his followers. These monsters had already taken so much from him and they would continue to do so in the coming months. No matter what, his comrades’ sacrifice would be avenged. The darkening evening of the dying hamlet of Barrowhome was illuminated by the pyres of burning flesh, a horrifying testament to the deceased denizens and defenders of the once-proud village of these southern lands.
-
The Crusade's Call
Tyr’s Hand was most of all a city of the remaining knights and priests of the old eastern parts of Lordaeron. Its largest buildings along the city’s main road were all either barracks or churches along with places of command. There was little room for the hundreds of refugees from the lost areas further inland in the city and they were forced to either join the Order or the Church and earn their living or to live in modest, poor surroundings. Most chose the life of a paladin or a priest over the hapless, eventless life in the tents or shacks near the walls of the city. Trying to fight the rapid growth of the city was the main reason the city maintained the small villages in the countryside. The Church strived to provide every survivor who sought refuge in Tyr’s Hand a good, safe life but they couldn’t do more than the scarce resources would allow. Many of the poorest and sickest lived a difficult, scarce life with little hope of a better tomorrow.
Many of those were too elderly to be of any use in the defense of the city. They were either retired paladins or old villagers who had gathered into the safety of the city’s walls. Osran’s mother was one of them. She had lived in Northdale all her life and the chaotic retreat from the village had taken a heavy toll on her. Back then, she had lived in the house that was her father’s and her father’s before her, a small but beautiful house near the small marketplace of the village. However, here she was forced to live on a large tent village near the city’s eastern walls. Life there was rough and hard for an old person like her which brought great concern to Osran.
The refugees’ housing was a depressing sight far behind the Cathedral and Osran felt sick each time he had to go there. Not because of the overall sight of the camp but because he could only imagine the toll living there took his mother. Her tent was at the foot of eastern walls and the surrounding steep hills. At least her tent was in a better condition than the others’, mostly due to the fact that there were people who cared for her, something that couldn’t be said about most of the others in the camp.
“Greetings, Orotha. How are things going?” Osran asked as he entered the small dwelling, willing to comfort the old woman whenever he could. She was still sleeping at this time but it couldn’t be helped. The defenders of the city had very little time to spare and the moment after the prayer was one of those. Orotha twitched as she awoke, startled by the sudden voice. Her expression turned quickly to a smile, happy to see the newcomer.
“Osran! It’s good to see you again. Come, come in!” The paladin closed the doors as he complied with his mother’s request. Orotha had already risen up to greet her son who seemed seemingly weary. She asked in a concerned voice as Osran took a seat on a small chair.
“Is something the matter? You seem somewhat tired.” The old woman understood that Osran’s duties were far more severe than hers but she knew very little of the paladins’ actual work. The knight frowned as he took a look at his mother, disappointed by the fact that he had hidden his fears so poorly. He was still concerned about the attack at Barrowhome and about his comrades dying in vain. Still, it was part of a soldier’s life and he simply was forced to accept it. However, it was the Scourge’s sudden resurgence that really bothered him. But there was little reason to concern his mother with such affairs. Osran’s answer was simple as he tried to put on a more neutral face.
“I had just a bad patrol. Nothing out of the ordinary even if they are never something I’d wish to experience. But I brought you something I figured you would like.” Osran had a small pouch which he gave to his mother. Osran spoke to her as she opened the package.
“It’s just a small felt but I thought it’d be something you’d need here. One of the ships in the New Avalon brought some of these with them.” Osran smiled as he saw Orotha look at the felt, clearly appreciating the small gift.
“Thank you, Osran. The nights really do get cold these days. This tent offers little shelter and even my mattress is old and broken these days. It’s nice to know that you still remember me even with all your duties out there.” Orotha’s voice was clearly happy as she put the felt down.
“Of course I will, as long as I can serve here. Who would I be if I simply forgot you here? I’d love to do more for you but the city has no extra room for civilians.” Osran stopped short of promising anything he couldn’t keep. Even with the formation of the Crusade, he didn’t believe Northdale could be rebuilt, at least in his own lifetime.
“I know that. But without the city, I’d be dead long ago. I understand that this will be my part. This is the place where I’ll live for the rest of my days.” Orotha’s voice wasn’t sad or disappointed as she had long since accepted the fact. But as long as the last family she still had would stay with her, this was a life she was still willing to lead. It was more than many others of her old friends could ask.
“I’m happy you’re still content with that part. I’ll do my best to help you while I’m here. Have you heard about Eneath lately? I haven’t seen him since he left to patrol the day before yesterday.” Osran hadn’t seen his nephew since his return which wasn’t really a miracle as they lived in different barracks due to their differences in experience. Still, he would be more than happy if his mother knew something about him.
“Eneath came to greet me in the same day’s evening. He was seemingly tired but unharmed. He seemed to be mostly bored by the day’s work as he told there was nothing to do during the whole day. I haven’t seen him since.” Her voice was calm and it held no concern about the young paladin’s missions. This calmed down Osran somewhat even if it brought a small flicker of envy within him. Why did it have to be him to be forced into an all-out-battle in a nearly desperate position?
“That’s good to hear. I don’t even want to think of the possibility that his career came to an end before it even begun. I hope he will have time to learn to fight before the real test begins for him. I had chosen this life long before Arthas’ betrayal but Eneath was forced to accept it. I just wish it didn’t have to come to that as he never seemed eager to accept the life of a soldier. He seemed to have a greater calling in continuing the farming tradition of our family.” The paladin smiled as he remembered the times when his young nephew had been learning the work of a farmer even if Osran had been able to follow it during his brief vacations from service.
“That he did. Most of the times I regretted your choice because it was a great change from everything we knew. In Northdale very few things ever changed except for the size of the crops we got there. My concerns grew even worse when your brother died. I would have wanted to plead you to stay after your vacations but I could see you were no longer suited for that kind of life. You don’t know how much your visits mattered to me.” Orotha’s voice seemed faraway as she remembered the days gone by. Even then, she seemed happy that she still carried those times with her.
“As they did to me. The life in the Order has always been a part of me and I’ve always felt like that was where I meant to be. I wouldn’t exchange any of it away, even now. But it was the times when I returned back to Northdale that I really felt like home. I could see that my visits mattered a lot to Eleath, especially after Sesren’s passing. He looked to me as an example, even if he didn’t share my ambitions. The long days of telling him about my deeds and training him in farming… I probably wouldn’t have been able to survive for this long if you weren’t there for me back then.” Osran sounded nostalgic as his mind’s eye flew him back to the green, sunny farmlands of Northdale and the neighbors of his youth. He had never felt like he was lost in life but those days had always held a special place in his memories.
“What a shame he could never use those skills. Even if I’d like to have seen him inherit our family’s old house, I can safely say he’ll make a splendid paladin soon. He has learned fast and his heart is open to the Light. It won’t be long before we’ll fight side by side. I’ll look after him. I promise.” Osran said as he started to rise from his sitting position. The day was long but so was his duty in overseeing the trade at New Avalon. Orotha looked at him in understanding, being forced to accept that the visits from her last relatives would be brief ones. She, too, rose up and spoke to her son before he would head out.
“Just be safe, Osran. Our new home needs its defenders. Be sure to visit me soon again and thank you for your gift.” The old woman looked at Osran in an approving expression to which the knight nodded and returned the smile.
“I will, mother. Make sure that you’ll get by here in the meantime.” And with those words, Osran left the tent and quickened his pace as he didn’t want to dwell in this depressing place longer than he need to. Also, he had to get a new horse before he could head to New Avalon and it took some time to do the paperwork that was required.
A freezing chill blew through the sickly plains as a small group of horsemen rode slowly through them. They couldn’t use the main roads as they were swarmed with hordes of undead so they were forced to ride through the dead forests and grasslands in order to reach Tyr’s Hand. Taelan Fordring felt somewhat restless for being chosen to welcome the city to the Scarlet Crusade as he still didn’t feel like forming a new Crusade was the right choice. Silver Hand had been the order which he had dreamt of his whole life and now he was marching to vanquish the last remains of it. Even then, he was one of the leaders of this new order and it was his duty to strengthen it in any ways he could.
The days since forming the new order had been busy due to the formation of new units, designing the Crusade’s emblems and drawing up battle plans in order to start the campaign. The latter was the main reason Taelan had been sent to meet Tyr’s Hand’s master, Lord Valdemar. They would have to coordinate the course of action if they were going to lead a merciless campaign against the overwhelming enemy.
It was many hours before the walls of the city came into Taelan’s view, a welcome sight after a long march through the haunting landscapes of the old Darrowmere Forest. He was stopped near the wall by a loud call from the city’s walls.
“Who are you? What is your business?” The speaker was a middle-aged man who stood on a small platform on the wall. Taelan turned his gaze quickly on the guard and called in a friendly voice.
“I am Taelan Fordring, Lord of Mardenholde, Highlord of the Scarlet Crusade! My visit has been arranged in advance with the honored general Valdemar!” The guard nodded as his face turned into a smile. He had been informed of this most important visitor as had every guard during the last day. He started to open the gates quickly as he called to Taelan.
“Blessed be your name, Highlord! Welcome to Tyr’s Hand!” Taelan saluted to the guard as he and his guards moved through the gates into the city. The host’s armor was the first thing that drew attention from the quickly assembling residents of the mighty city. The reddish-black armor and the white tabard with flames in their center. So this was the new outfit of the Crusade that each of the city’s knight would soon wear. Taelan had visited Tyr’s Hand once but he had never met Valdemar before. The young Highlord could only hope he would prove willing to cooperate. He was positively surprised as he saw the General coming from his castle to bid his greetings.
“Hail, Highlord! Welcome to our city, Taelan!” Valdemar said in genuine respect as the younger man descended from his horse’s back. He quickly walked towards his host and returned the smile.
“Thank you very much for the warm welcome, Lord Valdemar. I hope our negotiations will prove successful. The time is already growing short.” Taelan hated to be this blunt but it couldn’t be helped. Dathrohan had made his point clear that time was of the essence. The Scourge had to be caught by surprise in order to achieve quick early gains. Valdemar frowned somewhat but he continued to speak with a neutral voice. Even if he had was waiting this meeting eagerly, he wasn’t willing to be completely overshadowed by the Crusade’s new authorities.
“By all means, come inside, Highlord. I’m sure we have much to discuss.”
After making sure that all of the guards had left the surrounding corridors and that they were truly alone, Valdemar addressed his guest in deep interest. The younger paladin had already recovered from the long journey and Valdemar knew this conversation would prove most important. He was somewhat disappointed that it was Taelan, the dishonored Tirion’s son, who was sent to welcome Lordaeron’s largest surviving city into the Crusade. Even then, he could understand that the other leaders of the Crusade were busy. Taelan hadn’t made the best initial impression on him. It was clear that the Highlord held himself in high regard due to his position and he seemed far too self-confident considering his limited experience.
“So, everything Saidan told me in the letter was true?” His first question was understandable as he wished to know that he was trusted by his new superiors. Taelan grabbed a mug of water from the table as he answered. Even if he wasn’t used to these meetings, he wished to show some kind of authority to his host to reinforce his position in the Crusade.
“To my knowledge, yes. The Silver Hand is now officially dead, paving way for our new Crusade. Saidan and Alexandros seemed very eager to get into action and because of that, I arrived here this quick.” Valdemar listened in deep interest, relieved to hear those names again.
“I’ve known both of them for a long time. I had feared they had left the fight and fled into hiding. I’m glad I was proven wrong. Tell me, Taelan, how have they and Abbendis fared since I’ve last met them?” Valdemar had fought alongside the Silver Hand in many battles but it was Abbendis who he knew best. He had served as Valdemar’s direct superior during the Horde’s invasion all those years ago and during the rise of the Scourge, they had met often during the meetings of the army’s highest echelon. Often it was the duo’s common strategic thinking that had managed to slow down the Scourge’s attack and to evacuate as many citizens as possible. Abbendis had always been a loyal comrade and a good friend during war and peace. Valdemar was happy to serve alongside him once again and confident that they would respect his old friend’s position.
“With all due respect General, I haven’t known them nearly as long as you have. But the way I see it, they’ve seemed anxious to start the war, as am I. I was one of the candidates to become the Grand Crusader but in the end, I wasn’t the one our followers elected. But during these months we’ve worked together, I have decided to put all of my faith in them. They are the best we have left.” Taelan tried to maintain a confident face and to refrain from hesitating. In truth, he had admired Saidan since he was a child as his father had often told about life as a paladin and Saidan was one of the ones Tirion had respected the most. As much as he wished to despise his father, he hadn’t managed to shed his vision of nobleness and honor. Valdemar looked at his guest in an inquisitive expression. At least it seemed like his old comrades were up to the task.
“Well then… I have accepted Tyr’s Hand’s entry into the Crusade. What is the Grand Crusader’s bidding, Highlord?” That was the most important question. If Saidan had been this eager to get things started, it was most likely that he had some initial plans to test his new Crusade’s strength. Tyr’s Hand’s role would be enormous due to its large numbers so it would carry a high burden from the initial clashes until the end. Taelan looked at his host in a neutral face as he contemplated how to state his business. After a short while, the young paladin gave his answer.
“The old Silver Hand Bastion, or the Scarlet Bastion as we call it now, Tyr’s Hand, Hearthglen, Light’s Hope and the Monastery of Righteousness. Those are our seats of power as we begin our campaign. They are mightiest bastions of Light in our poor homeland but the distances between them are filled with undead filth. Those landscapes are the places we have to purge of their corruption first.” Taelan kept a pause in order to prompt the obvious response from his host.
“We are in no position to begin retaking Corin’s Crossing, Taelan. You know that as well as I do.” Valdemar said seriously as he looked at his guest. He had heard many things about his guest but none of them questioned his intelligence. Still, it was becoming clear that he wasn’t getting to the point right away which frustrated Valdemar somewhat.
“No, we are not. But there are parts of the old Menethil road that could be purged of wandering ghouls. We may not be able to start retaking the old towns just yet but we may just be able to form safe passages between our main strongholds. After they are safe and working, we will start to truly push back the Scourge.” Taelan looked at his host in an inquisitive look, willing to see if there was anything his host might be hiding and to take the lead in the conversation. However, Valdemar’s face was stoic as he thought about the young Highlord’s offer. It took a moment before he once again answered.
“I see what Saidan is after with this plan. It is wise to reunite what is left of our homeland. But there is a small thing I’d like to bring to your attention.” Osran’s report had disturbed Valdemar greatly. For years, the Scourge had stayed relatively calm without major assaults. If this was only a sign of the future, Valdemar wouldn’t want to know about it.
“And what is that?” Taelan’s answer was brief as he refilled his mug once again.
“One of our guarding groups was attacked yesterday while defending a small hamlet to our south. I was reported of dozens of ghouls and skeletons and there were five banshees also. We lost two of our knights in the attack.” Taelan of course knew the overall situation as well as his host and the answer made him frown greatly. Still, he was willing to dismiss the incident as a harmless deviation from the normal order.
“I partake in your city’s loss, General, but this unfortunate event cannot be allowed to stand in the way of Light’s Vengeance. We can only strive to end this slaughter before it claims any more unnecessary lives.” There was no reason to state the obvious and to affirm that no one knows if the attack meant anything. Valdemar understood this as well but it had left a concerned feeling on him and he was disappointed that Taelan dismissed the issue that easily. Still, he knew that there was nothing more he could say about the issue.
“So, where does the Grand Crusader wish us to strike first? I trust he has made all the plans ready.” Valdemar’s voice was waiting as he longed to know the first steps of rebirth of Lordaeron. Taelan answered quickly as finally presented his offer to his host.
“While we aren’t strong enough to free Corin’s Crossing, there is a small watchtower to its north near the Menethil road. The area isn’t as infested with the undead as many others and it could serve as a relief outpost between Tyr’s Hand and Scarlet Bastion. Our positions in Stratholme are able to defend themselves but supplying them is difficult. With a string of outposts, we might be able to safeguard our position in the city. That is where the knights of Tyr’s Hand come in.” Taelan’s voice was excited and his face communicated that the strategy had already been settled. Valdemar waited for a moment, judging Saidan’s order carefully before he answered.
“And the troops in Strathome? Will they help us?” That was the obvious question. The coastal city’s troops were spread thin and without an attack from both flanks, a large-scale offensive could prove dangerous. To, Valdemar’s great chagrin, Taelan shook his head.
“Regrettably, they cannot. Strathome is under practical siege and they cannot counterattack from there. I’m sorry but you are on your own there but I’m sure…” Taelan’s words were interrupted by Valdemar’s loud answer which cut the young paladin short.
“With all due respect, I don’t really care if you’re sure about this, Highlord. I’ve led my knights for years and I know each and every one of them and I’m not going to lead them to their deaths if I’m not required to do so. I know that Saidan and Alexandros wouldn’t sacrifice their old comrades in vain and I trust their judgement. Even then, the battle will be fought by my own terms and plans.” Valdemar wasn’t willing to trust Taelan’s leadership just yet and he wasn’t used to obeying during his years as the undisputed leader of his city. He could see Taelan’s darkening expression but there was nothing the younger soldier could say. No one had commanded him to lead the mission so he could only try to accept Valdemar’s arrogant remark and to build respect among his comrades during the mission.
“I wasn’t told about the details on which you should do this mission. Lord Dathrohan has given you free hands on how to proceed, Crusader Lord.” Taelan thought that this was the right time to announce his host’s new title which Valdemar notified immediately. He hadn’t given too much thought to his new titles but he had made it clear to Saidan in his answer that he expected to retain practical control over Tyr’s Hand and its knights. Crusader Lord was a clear modification of his practical position as the lord of his town. It would do as a compromise between his position and the Crusade’s leaders’ leadership.
“Thank you, Taelan. I’ll begin the preparations soon and I may contact you again in case there is something I have to know.” Valdemar rose from his chair to indicate that the audience was over to which Taelan would have wanted to sigh in relief. The situation was slowly getting on his nerves and he was more than happy to hear that Valdemar had accepted most of the Crusade’s terms. He, too, rose up and answered to his host before he headed to his next formality, to publicly welcome his new comrades to the Crusade’s fold.
“I’ll be there if you need more information, Crusader Lord. Thank you for your hospitality.” Taelan quickly but carefully turned on his heels and headed down the stairs once again. The next part would be far easier.
Heavy clouds and powerful wind had risen during the two commanders’ conversation, a harbinger of a coming rain from the sea. However, the slowly falling temperature hadn’t dampened the audience’s expectations as they saw Taelan appear from the main gate of Valdemar’s castle. They knew that the first meeting between the leaders would be little less than an initial exchange of news, sharing the most important pieces of information and getting acquainted.
Taelan looked at the first drops of rain fall from the sky as he prepared to start to bid his greetings to his new comrades. This was the easy part: he had held many speeches due to his position but he didn’t have nearly as much experience in the art of negotiations. He turned his gaze into the group of knights in front of him and spoke in a loud voice, Valdemar standing beside him in a symbolic gesture.
“My comrades, each of you took the vow to live and die as a paladin of the Order of Silver Hand. I have done so too but to my great shame, I served the Order for a far too short time. As most of you know, I am Taelan Fordring, master of Hearthglen and a former knight of our exalted Order. Most of its members, our beloved friends and honored comrades, have passed away along with the revered Uther the Lightbringer. One would be forgiven for believing that Faol’s dream died with Arthas’ betrayal.” Taelan took a short break to regain his thoughts and to magnify the effect of his surprisingly morbid start. He then continued with a more upbeat tone.
“I have fought to protect my city while you have given your everything to save Tyr’s Hand from the flame and we have both succeeded in stemming the attack of the Scourge. Each of us has done their best to keep the Light’s bastions alive and to defend the poor and weak. Uther would be proud to have called you his comrades. However, just as important as winning fights is the drive to avoid them and to save as many lives as we can. Our charge was to preserve peace and happiness in Lordaeron, a task we failed to do in the past. The fault wasn’t ours but this failure doesn’t relieve us of our duty. This is the reason why I’m here today.” At this point, drops of rain were starting to fall from the sky but Taelan didn’t give it one thought. He had always felt great pride about his quest and even if it had taken a surprising turn, his own charge remained.
“I, along with Lordaeron’s greatest champions, invite each of you to renew your oaths. The Order of the Silver Hand has been reborn, or rather reformed as the Scarlet Crusade. The original order died with Uther but with Light’s blessing, it can be born once again. That is the Crusade’s mission. The Order strived to protect Lordaeron whereas we, the Scarlet Crusade, fight to reclaim our homeland. We have taken a break from the past in order to save whatever can be saved from it. Your leader, Crusader Lord Valdemar has accepted my offer but only you can speak for yourselves. Will you accept Dathrohan’s plea and follow us into the heart of the hated Scourge?”
Taelan’s mouth turned into smile as he saw the rows of knights before him shout their honors and salutes at him. He had never really considered the possibility of his offer being rejected but the magnitude of the reception surpassed his expectations. Looks of unspeakable hope and immense dedication were apparent in the paladins’ faces and their shouts rang in the Highlord’s ears. The small drizzle had already turned into real rain but Taelan cared little for it. As the salutes died down, Taelan called once again in a loud voice.
“Your faith honors me, knights of Tyr’s Hand. Our work begins in the dawn of the day after tomorrow. Our first job is to secure a path between this city and the areas we hold in Stratholme. It will take most of our forces but it is the first step to uniting the forces of the Crusade and to safeguarding our position across Darrowmere Forest. Prepare well and do the preparations as this first operation will be one of the first times we will liberate lands from Arthas’ control. We want to make it successful.” Taelan took one more break in order to underline the symbolism of his next words. He had given his initial words to his new comrades but he hadn’t yet bid his real welcome.
“I wish you luck, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade. The time for struggling to survive until tomorrow is over. From this on, it is our duty to give our all to escape from this nightmarish time. As a Highlord of the Crusade, I bid each of you welcome to our ranks. Be prepared to do anything it takes to lift our cause forward. Respect and live by the ideals of the Silver Hand but leave no stone unturned to fight the undead. Each of us has to give our everything. Only… only that way can we ever return home.”
After those words, the crowd’s cheers filled the city as Taelan turned and entered the castle once again. Everything that needed to be said had been said. All that remained was to redeem those words.
-
Plaguelands’ Growing Light
Eneath looked in excitement at the opening of the main gate of Tyr’s Hand. He could feel his heart swell with pride as the mighty walls of the city grew closer to him and his comrades. Not only was he serving in the first fight of the newborn Scarlet Crusade but he was also serving alongside his uncle for the first time in his life, the man who he had looked up all his life and who had saved his life during the time of the first Scourge of Lordaeron. Osran was riding alongside his nephew, with an equally expecting but slightly less excited expression.
Osran was more than happy to have finally his nephew on his side in real battle and to see how he would handle the coming hardships. Usually their difference in experience had forced them to serve on different missions but this was far different. Over half of Tyr’s Hand’s paladins had been assembled to strike at the Scourge and to open the way to the sacred and cursed city of Stratholme. It wasn’t often that Valdemar led these operations himself but now he and Taelan were at the head of the army, personally overseeing operation’s success. This was more than enough to underline the importance of today’s mission and every one of Tyr’s Hand’s defenders had given their everything to prepare for today, most of all Valdemar and his advisors and the tailors who had tried to equip as many as they could with the new colors. They had worked hard and without sparing their trouble but half of the paladins still wore their own tabards.
Osran eyed Eneath in a mix of pride and nostalgia. First of all, he was happy to be able to deliver one more lesson to the young man and on the other hand, he was slightly envious of his carefree and reckless attitude towards the Scourge, something that he hadn’t been able to feel since the downfall of the Silver Hand. After he heard the gates close behind him, he spoke calmly to his nephew.
“Be careful, Eneath. The undead become more numerous as we go farther from the city.” Osran knew that Eneath wasn’t oblivious to the fact and he had meant his words only as a way to open a discussion to pass the time during the ride and to calm their nerves.
“Of course they do, uncle. I’ve been quite far from there already. You don’t have to worry about me but you should try to make sure your own strength lasts the whole day.” Eneath said with a slight smirk, not willing to be lectured during an offensive. Still, he valued Osran’s support in the coming battle and he chose to answer with a humorous insult rather than simply dismissing the older paladin’s words. Osran sneered slightly before he answered, the aging knight’s eyes fixed on the rows of riders in front of him.
“I’ve fought for days without an end, child. You wouldn’t stand even a fraction of my usual fights. Maybe you’ll be able to comprehend them after today.” Osran tried to answer with an equally ironic comment but he quickly turned the tone back to somewhat serious. He didn’t mind a small amount of lighthearted chatter here and then but he didn’t consider himself a joking or a funny person, most often willing to talk business than jokes.
“I know that you’ve told me many times not to be too excited to get in a fight with the undead but I cannot help but feel eager to kill those bastards. I hope lord Taelan didn’t forget to tell something to us.” Eneath said in an odd voice, willing to get quickly into action. He added the last sentence not to spread distrust at the Highlord but because of genuine concern that there was something he hadn’t taken into consideration. Osran, however dismissed that part, trying to think about what how he felt about the mission.
“Eneath… you are right that I’ve always said that caution is one of the most important qualities for a paladin but I would be a liar if I said I didn’t feel the same way. We’re making history here, nephew, and I wouldn’t skip it for any price. I’m sure Saidan knows the…” Osran was surprised as he heard a voice from his other side, one that was far from unknown to him.
“Saidan may be the most experienced of us but he still doesn’t know what’s going on with Scourge. We could be walking right into a trap and we wouldn’t even know it. Whatever we do, we shouldn’t see today’s outcome as set in stone. Accidents happen and we haven’t seen the Scourge’s true might in ages.” The voice belonged to Veria Longlea, the same paladin who Osran had last met outside the Cathedral four days ago. Osran wasn’t surprised to see her here and he wasn’t too happy by her words. Unlike him, she believed little in the Light’s guidance, being more focused on concrete actions. She was a devout servant of the Light but she saw it in more concrete rather than mystic way. Whereas the Light was the incarnation of everything good for Osran, it was merely a tool for good for Veria.
“Greeting to you, Veria. We were actually talking about our chances of success. The Scourge won’t know about our attack so everything should go well enough. If something happens, we should be able to flee in good order before we’re slaughtered. Trust me, we won’t “fail” this mission. Either way, we’ll know our strength after this attack and regroup later on.” Osran tried to reason the situation in his mind in order to keep his own spirit high and even, Veria’s scenario was extremely unlikely in all scenarios the paladin could think of.
“We’re past that stage. Each paladin knows that the Scourge won’t prevail in the end. Maybe not today but we’ll get there. I’m sure of it.” Eneath said to Veria in a calm and defiant voice. The two had met only a few times but they knew each other somewhat as did every knight in Tyr’s Hand.
“Try to keep your hopes down for now, Eneath. The Light is many things and it serves us well but its might isn’t invincible. Uther and Gavinrad mastered and understood the Light far better than any of us but it didn’t save them in the end. I see this Crusade as a chance to test our mettle against the enemy but we won’t get Stratholme. Even the most beautiful of ambitions can’t fight an invincible force.” Veria tried to soften her voice somewhat as a distant village’s ruins came into the army’s sight. Corin’s Crossing was near which meant their actual target was approaching slowly but surely. Osran frowned as he looked at Veria, upset with her attitude towards the offensive. He couldn’t care less what she thought inside her head but spreading these doubts would help no one.
“This isn’t the time to speak about that. The two gave their everything to resist the Scourge, not to prove to us that we cannot succeed where they failed. I know you see our cause as unlikely but we’re all risking our lives here. You may think what you wish but try to honor the others if they believe in our cause, Veria. Please.” Osran added the last word to show that he wasn’t angry or picking up a fight but to simply avoid making this situations even more difficult for the others. Veria simply turned her glance away. No more words were exchanged during the remaining journey, the mighty host walking in gracious silence through the ruined land.
It was almost an hour later when the monotonous, oppressive march was interrupted by a short whistle from the frontal part of the host, the voice belonging to Valdemar. The surrounding lands were little different from the other lost countryside but the Crusader Lord knew their position better than his followers. Even then, each of the knights knew what this signal meant. It was the first signal that the watchtower was quickly approaching. The answer to this mark had been instilled into the soldiers’ minds so that they could repeat the strategy even in their sleep.
After this whistle, the army would split in two from the middle, besieging the watchtower from its both sides and slaughtering the roaming undead in their way. A small group would then enter the tower and purge it from the enemy. The real challenge would be to keep their positions this deep in Scourge territory. Even if they had been rather passive lately in the fringe areas of the land, they seemed to be determined to destroy each and every living being in the old Forest’s central regions. It would probably take a full-blown massacre to secure this new position and to keep it in the hands of the Crusade and to fortify it enough to last the coming assaults. One that would no doubt demand the lives of many crusaders. The only question was whether the crusaders would be able to withstand the attack long enough for the onslaught to dissipate.
It took only a few seconds until the two sides of the army took off from each other and widened their formation. The undead were already starting to swarm the land, their numbers increasing by the minute as they rushed to slaughter the attackers. The hill on which the watchtower, their target, lied could be seen in the far distance, its dark silhouette casting its shadow upon the dead earth with the wailing wind howling in its cracks. It had once been a royal stronghold, overlooking the Menethil road and defending it from bandits and murderers but now it was almost a chilling sight painted into the background of orange sky.
Osran moved into the frontline which now encompassed dozens of knights, slaughtering any and every undead before them Thus far they had been the most ordinary servants of the Lich King. The more dangerous ones, most notably abominations and death knights, hadn’t been seen in years. It was most likely that they had followed their master into Northrend or were waiting in the depths of the Scourge’s bastion in these lands. Whatever the case, Osran was relieved to see that they weren’t here. Veria had taken his left side whereas Eneath was now riding behind him, the less experienced ones serving in a more supportive role.
Osran couldn’t help but feel deep pleasure as he felt the first skeletons getting crushed under the hooves of his new steed. Here he was once again riding with the warriors of the Light, fighting to regain their lost honor and to vanquish the hated enemy. The paladin felt extremely emotional to be able to see this day by himself. No matter what happened later on, he would be eternally grateful to be able to witness the rise of this new Order and to be part of its dawn. He watched in deep appreciation at his comrades’ crimson armor and red blood-red emblems on their horses as they trampled the enemy under them in a picturesque manner. Their new symbol was a perfect color to symbolize their personal sacrifice and the burning rage of the living against their oppressor.
Each of the paladins looked in expectation as they saw the tower slowly creeping closer and the road leading to the hill opening in front of them. A small group took off from the main host, seeking to capture the tower itself. Some of the knights were starting to fall before the brutal attacks of the ghouls to their flanks. None of the others had time to even see who they were as time was off the essence to fortify themselves in their new outpost.
Eneath was slightly disappointed by his position but he was also happy to be trusted with defending his uncle’s flank from the attacks. His hits were slightly faster but far less firm than Osran’s due to his lack of experience and the young paladin had to strike a few times to dislodge a ghoul’s head from its shoulders. Still, things seemed promising as the Crusade’s casualties seemed rather low considering their swift advances. It was only a short few moments before the two groups met on the other side of the tower after which they started to spread out to fight off the undead and to dig in their positions. A small number of builders were brought alongside the paladins to raise palisades and archers’ positions inside them. Even if the fight would be long, even the Scourge’s numbers weren’t endless without a necromancer. Luckily, they weren’t seen since the first Scourge.
The paladins started to form a large ring around the tower, letting the builders get to the work. When the defending line was complete, Valdemar who led Osran’s flank, commanded his groups to once again charge towards the enemy, making full use of their mounts and the still-apparent surprise element. The fighting had already ceased inside the tower and Osran could feel his pride rising as the new banner of the Scarlet Crusade was being raised on the top of the liberated building. It seemed to shine on the top of the darkened tower, giving hope of an eventual victory on those who fought under its shadow. Turning their gazes back into the fight, Osran and Eneath both looked grimly into the distance, seeing the approaching hordes of undead heading towards their direction.
“Fall back! Don’t spread too far or you’ll be isolated and overwhelmed!” Valdemar called on his fighters as he saw a few reckless knights charging too far and quickly falling prey to the savage hordes of decaying flesh and bone. Eneath looked in horror and disbelief at the mistakes of his comrades, knowing full well how such follies nearly always ended. He quickly turned his gaze as he heard his uncle’s voice nearby.
“You heard Valdemar! Their mistakes are their own, fall back.” Osran called as he turned his own steed back to the tower, having full confidence that his nephew would follow immediately. The first, weakest palisades were already up, the workers doing everything they could to end the battle as quickly as they could. The retreating knights left concentrations of Holy Light on the ground, burning terrifying injuries into the flesh of the undead as they charged through the radiating areas. That, combined with the collective blessings the paladins shared with each other made the task of eliminating the weakest of the attackers rather easy. There were groups of banshees in the distance but at this point it would have been a deadly folly to attack them. Together the knights had enough power to withstand their onslaught if that the fortifying would go as planned. If they were flanked or if the workers were killed off somehow, all would be lost.
“You didn’t expect this many enemies, did you Osran?” Veria said as the two regrouped near the tower. The line of the defenders was still mostly intact but a few cracks were appearing here and there. Osran answered quickly, not on the mood for chattering.
“Actually I did, Veria. I know full well how many undead roam these lands!” The paladin infused his blade with holy power as he delivered a destructive blow on a ghoul near him. Here and there lied dead crusaders but their numbers weren’t dangerously high yet. Unless nothing unexpected happened, they should be able to pull the battle off. The knights’ leader was determined to make it happen. Osran could see a frenzied look on the Crusader Lord’s face as he fought the endless tide of the enemies. For many long minutes, the battle seemed to turn into a static melee with great casualties inflicted on both sides. Weapons clashed and bones broke but the frontlines changed very little even if the piles of the dead grew at a fast rate. However, each of the paladins felt their blood run cold as they heard a loud, long call of a horn calling from the tower. It meant that something unexpected and dangerous was on the way. Each of them knew what were the options and when they heard the cry from the tower, Osran felt his heart jump into his throat.
“Abominations! Dozens of abominations heading towards us from the northwest and south! They’re charging towards us!” The guard’s voice was horrified as he announced the approaching danger. Abominations were some of Scourge’s most horrifying and dangerous creations: rotting, deformed monsters put together from the fallen enemies of the Scourge, reanimated into a construct of death and making a mockery of life. In addition to their horrifying appearance, their brute strength was superior to that of any human’s. They were one of the most feared agents of the Scourge and for a good reason.
The defenders fell instinctually into a tighter ring, knowing that if they dispersed, the newcomers would crush them in a moment. They couldn’t be seen yet but the fear was tangible in the air. In the midst of the continuing skirmishes, Osran called to Eneath in a worried voice.
“You haven’t faced one of those monsters yet, nephew. Whatever you do, don’t expect them to be anything like the enemies we’ve fought before.” Osran stopped short of trying to tell the young man to stay out of the fight as it was clear to all those present that they needed all the help they could get. Between the endless lines of lesser undead, Osran saw the sight that confirmed his fears. Lines of the dreaded aberrations were approaching the army of crusaders, their sickening gurgling and disgusting smell already apparent to the defenders.
“I’ve been taught how to face them and during those times I always hoped I didn’t need to do that. We’ll, no one said this battle would be easily over.” Eneath tried to lighten the mood somewhat as he sighed in an attempt to hide his growing fears. Osran simply nodded to his nephew and continued to wait for the starting onslaught as a thundering, firm voice rang through the army.
“Give the monsters hell! Don’t let them put a cursed foot through your lines! Strike in the name of the Crusade! Valdemar’s face had turned into a hateful smirk as he looked at a charging enemy. Taelan’s struggling leadership of the other wing was far from ideal and Valdemar cursed the fact that he wasn’t able to lead both flanks. He was a man who trusted only himself even if he asked his trusted friends’ advice in matters that weren’t clear to himself. All his life, Valdemar had taken matters into his own hands and only through his own handiwork had he achieved the things he had strived for. The Crusader Lord felt himself miserable for being unable to command the whole army alone and being reduced to only one soldier in the ensuing battle. However, none of that converted into fear, holding back or despair. It all turned into hot rage and more masterful command of his powers. Valdemar was a fierce and dangerous opponent for anyone. Osran felt relief to be able to fight beside his old friend once again as he saw Valdemar cut through the enemy in cold anger. Even with the abominations entering the fight, the aging paladin was confident that their stories wouldn’t end here. With shining weapons of Light and deep determination, the defenders finally started their charge, facing their opponents a few dozen meters away from the rising palisades.
Many knights fell in the initial clash against the towering monstrosities as their bodies were crushed under the brute strength of the horrifying enemy. Sickening screams accompanied the slashes of rotten flesh and the nauseous gurgles of the abominations. Veria looked in fear as some of the knights around her were cut down. The rest of the paladins were locked in combat with them, cutting gaping wounds into the monsters’ bodies and releasing mounds of degenerating viscera into the ground. Veria grimaced as they squirted all around her, the knight’s whole armor covered in the intestines of the long-dead villagers of the surrounding hamlets. Anyone would have run from her in disgust had she showed up in Tyr’s Hand like this.
Even then, it was becoming clear that the paladins’ efforts weren’t enough to keep the enemy at bay. One by one, the crusaders fell under the onslaught and they wouldn’t last long enough at this rate for the fortifications to be completed. Veria, Osran and Eneath had slowly been driven to a tightening pocket near the walls, their escape routes cut by the ghouls that still lingered in the battlefield. The oldest knight felt his heart beating in his chest, cold fear starting to take grip in his mind. He wasn’t prepared to fall just yet and he wouldn’t let it happen. He had been a proponent of the Crusade and he would see it through. Osran was extremely self-confident and knew that his part in the Crusade wouldn’t end just yet. Also, Eneath deserved better than this. When he released another bolt of golden power upon a towering abomination, he heard the enraged battlecry of the Crusader Lord. Valdemar would never give up and neither would his followers.
Eneath looked in surprise and revering silence as his uncle’s sword started to glow even brighter and his mastery of his powers seemed to grow immensely. He suddenly said in a firm, commanding voice as he attacked and cut another monstrosity’s throat.
“Follow me, Eneath, Veria. Show these monsters the Crusade’s might!” The two exchanged glances before they joined Osran’s onslaught. One by one, they surrounded and cut down charging abominations and even if their numbers seemed endless, the crusaders had once again seemed to secure their lines. Osran panted heavily as he stood between three dead abominations, the smell almost overpowering his mind. He was almost exhausted but he would never give up the fight. His two comrades seemed also drained but the battle was still ongoing.
Valdemar looked at his surroundings with a mix of disappointment and respect. He was angry with Taelan for leading them on this fight and with his followers for struggling to withstand the enemy. Taelan’s group was taking even heavier casualties than his, even if their lines seemed to hold tighter than Valdemar’s. This battle was everything he had feared for after receiving Saidan’s letter. However, he couldn’t deny his followers’ bravery in the face of this overwhelming foe. The former general knew that he had no business complaining as he had served a long time as these knights’ leader and if they thought it was time for reckoning, so be it. No matter what, he would be honored to serve alongside this host of heroes. However, something caught his eye that alerted him greatly.
Osran was surrounded by five abominations, with his comrades unable to help him due to their own battles. About one-fifth of the army had fallen at this point but on the other hand, the plains around the battlefield were no longer swarmed with the undead. Their numbers, too, were slowly becoming drained. However, Valdemar wasn’t about to let his old friend fall here. The Crusader Lord started to run towards the monsters, hoping Osran would be able to stand his ground long enough.
The bearded paladin looked around himself, fearful of the situation he had fought himself to. Everywhere around him stood these walls of dead flesh, hindering his escape. His unyielding thirst for victory had made him unable to look at his surroundings closely enough, his arrogance sending him into this seemingly hopeless situation. Even if Osran knew his chances were slowly depleting, his eyes still burned with determination to live. The paladin spread the Holy Light in the ground to buy himself some breather and to hope for an opening out of this death trap. It was only a few moments until he thought he saw it. Between two abominations was a small gap, possibly large enough for him to escape.
The aging knight had fought these enemies many times before but never in these quantities. Usually they moved alone or in small groups but today there were groups of them, slowly destroying the crusaders’ defenses. With hesitant thoughts, Osran had to accept the chance that there far more abominations than anyone had ever thought, looming in the many strongholds of the Scourge. Even if the Crusade was victorious here, this would be a point they would have to discuss before continuing forward. Many others would have given up in Osran’s position but he knew his experience granted him a small chance for survival. If anything, these monsters were slow and often unable to think about the opponent’s moves. In other words, they wouldn’t be able to foresee his escape.
With a quick and powerful leap, Osran jumped against one of the abominations, cutting his blade deep into the degenerating flesh and forcing the monster a few steps back while widening the opening from the trap. However, at the same moment, a small ghoul ran towards the paladin, slashing a wound into Osran’s leg and felling him to the ground. One of the abominations turned on the crusader who was struggling to regain his footing. To the knight’s horror, his injury prevented a quick escape. Osran’s face was a mask of fear as the abomination’s crushing chain drew ever closer to his face. A few more seconds and he would be gone…
Osran was dumbstruck when a long, heavy sword blocked the chain’s way. He had already prepared for the worst and he was almost overwhelmed to hear a commanding yet friendly voice speak to him. Also, the paladin was surprised as he felt the pain in his leg dissipating, the limb surrounded by an aura of golden Light.
“Get up, Osran! You will not give up that easily, old friend!” The aging knight turned to look at his savior who was cutting down the foremost abomination. Osran felt waves of shame flow into his mind as he rose up. It had only been the first battle and he had already resigned himself to death. He stuttered slightly as he tried to thank his friend for the salvation.
“Thank… thank you, Valdemar. I won’t let myself be surprised again.” Osran was ashamed to be beaten already but even then, no one was immune to mistakes. His own had been to resign to his instincts and to believe in the Light’s guidance, even if the knight wouldn’t admit it to himself. Osran was willing to learn from his mistakes but, for better or worse, his beliefs and philosophies were resolute. Valdemar simply nodded as he answered. The two fought side by side, now safeguarding each other’s flanks and cutting down the remaining abominations in the area.
“No, you did well, Osran. Better than most, anyway. Most of the others gave up to rage or fear and forgot to rely on the Light. Far too many have fallen already. Even then, we may still prevail.” Valdemar said as last of the monstrosities in the area fell down. The two eyed the devastation around them for a moment before they heard a younger voice call to them from nearby.
“General… excuse me, Crusader Lord Valdemar! I… I have no words to thank you for your help in saving my uncle.” Eneath said as he had seen his leader’s deeds. The young crusader had won his own fight and helped to bring down another abomination. It was more than many others his age could claim. He was surprised to hear that Valdemar knew his name but on the other hand, he usually seemed to know all of his followers rather well.
“I owe your uncle a lot from the old times, young Eneath. Even more than he could have probably told you already. As for you, your lack of experience prevented you to be of much help, I’m afraid. However, I hope that will change in the future. Be grateful that you survived.” Valdemar was too exhausted and angry to hold too much sympathy for the less capable paladins and their smaller feats. Eneath looked at his superior with a surprised and slightly saddened expression. He had never hoped to impress the Crusader Lord just yet but he hadn’t expected to hear such words from him. Osran was already starting to defend his nephew when Valdemar looked at him with a grim look.
“It’s the truth, Osran. We may talk about it later but we still haven’t secured our position!” Looking at his surroundings, Osran couldn’t deny his friend’s words. There were still knights falling around the battlefield and the paladin wasn’t about to let anyone fall because of his own vainglory, even if the issue had to be settled later. He quickly mounted his horse again which had dropped him soon after the abominations’ attack. Valdemar nodded to his friend, slightly disappointed with his own rudeness but keeping his stoic stature.
The next minutes were a chaos of crumbling bones and parting limbs as the crusaders slowly recovered their positions, once again reestablishing the defensive line around the tower. Osran looked at the plains around him which were slowly getting drained from the attackers. He could tell that victory was theirs, even if on a higher price than he would have wished. Almost a third of the defenders had fallen, their red armors almost disappearing into the terrifying mass of blood and flesh which dotted the battlefield.
Even then, sadness wasn’t the first one that came to his mind as he looked at the traces of the hard-earned victory. Of course, he was crushed by the familiar faces lying on the ground but on the other hand, his eyes were instinctually turning to the tower on which was flying the reddened emblem of Lordaeron. After the sacrifices of his comrades, he felt a mix of pride and ecstasy flow through his veins. This was it. The first piece of land retaken from the Scourge.
Osran fell to a sitting position as long as he saw the last ghouls and banshees being cut down around the battlefield. The paladin panted and sighed deeply as he finally put his sword back into its sheath. Even through his internal triumphant feeling, his physical exhaustion was almost getting a better of him at this moment. He couldn’t fight on as long as during his youth anymore. However, the paladin’s strength started to return immediately as he heard Eneath’s voice behind him, speaking in a relieved voice. It was apparent that the red-haired knight was stunned by the destruction around him but he, too, understood today’s meaning.
“Are you alright, uncle? We… we did it.” Osran closed his eyes for a moment before he rose up and put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder and spoke warmly.
“Don’t let Valdemar’s words bother you, Eneath. You did well today.” Osran wished Eneath to see over the Crusader Lord’s unsavory remark but he simply sighed as an answer. Osran was about to answer when a loud voice called from the tower.
“Half of the right flank, you may enter the tower! Come celebrate the Crusade’s first victory!” The voice was most of all triumphant and revering towards all of the fighters who stood in the tower’s shadow. Before leaving for the refuge, Eneath spoke to his uncle in a calm voice.
“He may be right. I’m still learning. I cannot expect to be worthy of his respect just yet. I’ll be, one day. I promise.” The younger paladin said to his uncle as the two started to head for the tower’s shelter. Osran smiled as he heard his nephew’s words. If there was one thing Eneath already surpassed him was his respect for other people and their ideas. Osran had never been one to be trifled with as some of his comrades had seen. He didn’t look for trouble but he stood for his ideals and hated to be dragged into arguments or unsavory criticisms. His nephew lacked these qualities and the older knight couldn’t help but see this as a positive trait.
The two entered the small gate that had been built in the now-high wooden walls. The watchtower was now secured and until the undead launched another great offensive, their positions were safe. Both of the two knew that the rest of the day would be spent resting and celebrating, a moment of rest until the next battles that not all of them would see through. But for now, this day had been a victory for the Light which would shine as a symbol of hope for the weeks to come.
-
Old Alliances
As was expected, the undead assaults started to dissipate as the long day turned towards dusk. There were few major incidents that were of major danger to the newly-founded outpost of the Crusade which was still being fortified in expectation of the vengeance of the Scourge. However, none ever came. It was as if there wasn’t any leadership left to lead the undead and to push back the attacking humans. A victory of this magnitude should have been of great joy to the knights but that wasn’t fully the case due to the secretive actions of their enemy. As the victory was getting ever more clear, the highest-ranking commanders fled from the midst of the battle to discuss the battle’s long-reaching implications that could have an effect on the coming ordeals.
Valdemar and Taelan and their closest associates gathered in the highest floor of the ruined tower, a gaping hole in the ceiling allowing gusts of the disgusting-smelling wind inside the once-proud building. Parts of the collapsed roof had dealt severe damage to the floor but it would still hold for some time. Valdemar was the first one to speak, his eyes scanning his comrades with a demanding expression. His words weren’t too judging but they held a degree of disappointment.
“Taelan, your wing almost fell during the abominations’ assault. To your credit, you held them off but your casualties were too high. You have to do better than this to earn your position as our Highlord.” Valdemar meant each of his words. He wasn’t going to let a young, inexperienced boy weaken his own position. Taelan felt somewhat hurt by Valdemar’s words but he knew he had to stand his ground. He had done his best and he wasn’t about to let this man to slander his superior.
“My flank was attacked more severely than yours, Crusader Lord. I stood my ground and our leadership bought us victory. We couldn’t have known about the abominations.” Taelan spoke firmly, trying to hide his insecurities under his resolute appearance. However, this brought additional attacks from the other knight.
“And that is why we shouldn’t have attacked this quickly. True, we haven’t seen abominations in ages but we know what horrors Scourge has in its arsenal. I have to contact Saidan and tell him that…” Valdemar’s words were cut short by a loud call of horn in the distance. It was clearly a human horn and a particularly deep one. The Crusader Lord couldn’t hide his surprise as he realized to whom the instrument belonged. He hadn’t heard it in years but he could recognize it anywhere. To his surprise, the younger knight knew it also.
“That is Abbendis’ horn! What in…” Taelan said as he turned to look towards the north where the call was heard. Soon, they could see a host about two dozen appear over the horizon, quickly approaching the tower. The red banner of the Scarlet Crusade flew over them as the host rode over the lesser undead. The High General himself rode at the head of the troops, his distinctive, even grim expression increasingly more apparent. No words were required for the three to know that this was a guest they would have to greet without further delays.
Abbendis was highly relieved to see the familiar flag still casting its shadow over the sick, orange soil of the old Darrowmere Forest. The High General had set off from Stratholme as quickly as he could after he heard about the incoming assault on the tower, fully knowing that the battle would be far from easy. He had known about the battle plan all along but Saidan hadn’t given him the troops to be able to make a real difference. However, he hadn’t wanted to leave the offensive completely to Taelan and Valdemar, willing to make sure that it was a success. Abbendis was more than pleased to see that his fears had been misplaced. Apart from securing the attack’s success, he also had another, much more important thing he had to relay to the larger army.
“Open the gate! Make way for the High General!” Valdemar cried as he run from the watchtower’s door, the other officers following him closely. The guards were some of the most inexperienced of the crusaders and they could only tell that the newcomers were allies but they didn’t know their leader’s position. The guardsmen simply nodded as they started to open the temporary wooden gate. It rose quickly as the knights complied to their leader’s order. Abbendis waited impatiently as he looked at the gateway rising before him, willing to check the situation as soon as he could.
“Greetings, Abbendis… or is it High General these days? What brings you to us?” Valdemar called heartily as the grim-faced General rode slowly inside. Even if Abbendis wasn’t the kindest or easy-going of all people, there were few who didn’t respect him. He never left anything unfinished and he was always easily approachable by even the lowest of his subordinates. Additionally, his strategic mind was nothing short of genius. He nodded grimly but somewhat approvingly to Valdemar moved on to greet him.
“I thought you would need my help. I don’t really want to leave these operations to less capable or inexperienced officers like you.” Abbendis said as he dismounted his horse and moved to greet the three leaders. His voice was audibly relieved to see that his fears were misplaced even if his eyes or voice showed none of it. Valdemar was used to Abbendis’ antics but he wouldn’t be overlooked by even the High General.
“We don’t need babysitting, Abbendis. We are more than capable to execute the Grand Crusader’s orders by ourselves.” Valdemar tried to keep his voice at a somewhat light tone even if he meant what he said. Abbendis locked his eyes on the Crusader Lord, visibly angered by his rebuke.
“Know your place, Valdemar. You may have done well in the past but the day will come when you will make a mistake. And without help, that will be the day of the Crusade’s downfall. We have worked too hard for this cause to let that happen. And Taelan, it seems like you managed to do your mission somewhat right.” The High General turned his gaze on the young paladin, his arrogant tone only intensifying as he talked him to the Highlord’s chagrin.
“My mission was a success, High General. Tyr’s Hand accepted our terms readily and the effects can already be seen.” Taelan put on a stoic expression as tried to prove that he was an asset to the Crusade but Abbendis’ voice was even colder as he answered.
“So you can do something right. I guess congratulations are in order. Even then, there’s one thing that I have to tell you about.” Abbendis said as he turned his attention to the Crusader Lord.
“What is it?” Valdemar said as Abbendis approached him slowly. It was becoming clearer by the minute that there was more to Abbendis’ arrival than he wanted to tell.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll tell more when there aren’t more listening to us.” Valdemar could see what the High General meant. The hill around the tower was filled with knights who couldn’t help but listen to the conversation. Valdemar turned on his heels and entered the tower once again. Another warrior joined Abbendis as he walked through the building’s gaping entrance. A gust of wind accompanied the leaders into the dreary, candle-lighted stairways of the ruined tower.
Abbendis looked in gloomy eyes at his surroundings in the highest floor of the tower, each piece of the lost kingdom bringing another wave of anger through him. He had served in outposts like these for decades and seeing them these days never got easier for him. The High General turned towards the four other leaders present.
“I truly wondered if you had it in you to succeed in this attack but there is another reason for my presence. I’d like to introduce Orman Stronghill, the last surviving member of the famed noble family of our old ally of Stromgarde!” Abbendis’ voice wasn’t particularly inspired but it was clear that this man had more to him that met the eye. He was middle-aged with a tan skin. He carried a massive sword that only a few humans would be able to raise, let alone swing. Even then, his family name was known to almost everyone in the old Seven Kingdoms as it was the largest and most loyal vassal of the old Trollbane dynasty of the kingdom of Stromgarde. It was a surprise for everyone present that one of that house had joined their ranks without their knowledge.
“It is my honor to be here, warriors of the Scarlet Crusade! Indeed, I have been in talks with the revered Saidan for weeks now. As you know, my beloved Stromgarde is in its death throes because of our current king Galen’s treachery and it is under attack by ogres and other filth. He may be the legitimate king but I won’t serve under Thoras’ murderer! That is why I chose to approach the Crusade. I’d rather die to help our greatest ally and try to forge a new future for our lands than slither under the traitor.” Orman kept a small pause which Valdemar utilized to make a question about their new ally’s motives. The Crusader Lord couldn’t help but feel relieved to know that there were some who still wished to help their cause beyond the kingdom’s old borders. Still, he could immediately tell that Orman’s motives weren’t as selfless as they seemed at first glance.
“We greatly appreciate your presence, Orman. Stromgarde has always been one of the most noble of the human kingdoms and I’ve been honored to serve alongside your brave people against the Horde. You have my condolences about the last few years but I cannot help but wonder. Your kingdom is weak and fractured, true, but it’s enemies are but a fraction of the threat Arthas poses to us. Why aren’t you helping your own people retain their lands and to overthrow Galen yourself? You should have enough influence to be able to stand against him.” Valdemar looked deep into Orman’s eyes, willing to make sure that they were being honest with each other. The noble returned Valdemar’s glance, taking a curious look before he turned around to look at the surrounding plains.
“We have never wished to acknowledge it but after Lordaeron’s destruction, each of the surrounding kingdoms crumbled almost immediately. There may have been Seven Kingdoms but Lordaeron was their heart and their protector. We might have been able to hold our lines longer if Alterac stood proudly in the wake of those savages’ attacks but the traitor Perenolde ruined even that! My people stand divided under a murderer and a usurper without any allies! That is the real reason I’m here. I’m willing to join the Crusade with my followers if it gives me a small chance to save my own home by saving Lordaeron. I only ask that after your land has been reborn that you help me gain the throne of Stromgarde.” The last sentence stunned everyone but Abbendis who had already heard the noble’s plans. Orman wasn’t the king’s relative so helping him gain the throne would prove highly controversial in the days following Lordaeron’s rebirth. The whole subject brought an ironic and sad smile to Taelan’s face who swiftly answered to Orman.
“We’re going quite a bit ahead of things, Orman. It isn’t like Scourge is going away anytime soon. I hate to admit but it’ll take a miracle if we were to win our own battle.” Taelan sounded more frustrated than he would have wanted but it wasn’t misplaced. Abbendis and Valdemar exchanged glances before the former stood up from the chair near the hole in the wall.
“Our guest here plans to attack Icecrown itself. I’ve already spoken to him about it but this boy thinks he has it in him to bring down the Lich King himself in his own stronghold.”
Abbendis was still in deep disbelief himself as he walked before the three others. His announcement stunned everyone completely as they struggled to come up with something to say. Attacking Icecrown? Was Orman completely insane? It wasn’t long before he decided to explain himself and his ambition.
“You saw it yourselves. Most of the Scourge’s power has been gathered here, in Lordaeron, so a small but effective army could well reach the Lich King in time and put an end to this nightmare! I know my men and they would follow me to Hell itself if I wished it. We can do it.” Orman spoke defiantly in order to earn his comrades’ approval to his plan. His massive sword itself seemed to thirst for undead flesh as Orman stopped his speech. Taelan was the first one to answer and his voice hinged in the borderline of ridiculed and stunned.
“No, you cannot. I have heard stories of the freezing chill of the North and the hordes of dead that stalk those Light-forbidden lands. Arthas struggled to keep his foothold there and he didn’t even try to venture inland! Even trying to reach Icecrown is suicide!” Taelan sounded as if he was holding back a laugh but Abbendis’ stare silenced him immediately. It was clear that the High General wasn’t going to readily pass this opportunity.
“Orman has fought against the ogres and the undead for years with minimal casualties. It’s all about the right strategy and time. If the Lich King thinks we’re on the move here and we attack Northrend secretly, there’s a tiny window to strike at the heart of the beast. It’s unlikely and we don’t know what Arthas is up to but a success would end our campaign before it truly begun.” Abbendis’ face was highly confused by his own words as he was far from sure whether it would be the right decision to accept Orman’s plan. Valdemar finally spoke up, his voice reflecting is concerns about their guest’s idea.
“And if he fails? He will have wasted an army that could be better used to fight for Lordaeron! The risk is too great for us to take!” Valdemar was often one of the most cautious of Lordaeron’s generals which had earned him part of respected fame. However, many had in the past claimed that he had passed many good plans because of his own fears. Still, the Crusader Lord was determined to keep his ground and to do what he could to safeguard the steady march to victory.
“Indeed, Valdemar. But so is the risk of not taking this chance. I know that you don’t like plans like these but by the Grand Crusader’s order, the decision is not yours to make. Saidan has already accepted his plan.” Abbendis finally announced to his two companions’ great surprise. The issue was already settled. After a moment of silence, Orman once again started to speak.
“The preparations are already in full swing. Dozens of ships are already being built in Tirisfal and we’re already choosing people for the operation. We need more men than I alone can bring. We need an army that can move fast but one that can destroy the obstacles on its way. Apart from me, the High General and his old friend admiral Barean Westwind are going to spearhead the attack. He served under Arthas in Northrend and he knows those waters better than anyone else.” Orman clarified as he tried to create more faith on his mission. Abbendis was the next one to speak.
“I’ll take the charge of this campaign. I’ll lead our troops all the way to Icecrown and strike at monster’s heart before anyone else will fall victim to Arthas’ betrayal! Also, we’re lucky to have a man who knows the way there. If Westwind won’t be able to take us to Northrend, no one can. I have full faith in both him and on Orman. If the tales of Lich King’s weakness are true, this is the best chance we have to end this nightmare. I trust Saidan’s judgement fully.” Abbendis said in a proud and heavy voice, as he revealed his own stake in the coming weeks. It was clear that the plans were already further than anyone had imagined. Valdemar answered in an almost pleading voice as he tried to appeal to his superior once more.
“Abbendis, don’t do this. If you fall, the crusade will be greatly weakened. We need you here to lead our forces to victory!” Valdemar was preparing to continue his rant but Abbendis silenced him quickly. His voice turned stark once again as he resolved to end the debate.
“It’s done! Valdemar, are you willing to question my and the Grand Crusader’s judgement?” Abbendis narrowed his eyes to underline his point. He wasn’t willing to test the Crusader Lord’s patience just yet but he wasn’t about to let himself be opposed by his old underling. Too much was on the stake for that. Valdemar turned to look at the plains around him, thinking feverishly what to answer. He knew that answering unwisely would only hurt his own position by branding him a renegade among the crusade but simply giving up wasn’t something he was willing to do. An empty threat was the best he could say at this point.
“Very well. Do what you will but remember my words. This attack will be too big a risk.” Valdemar’s voice was resigned but defiant. Abbendis looked at him in anger, having little tolerance for such behavior but he knew better than to create even more rifts inside the higher echelons of leadership the Crusade.
“We will embark within a week. You will press on with this attack to open the supply lines to Stratholme but there is still one other issue I have to speak to you. One that’ll require the help of your troops.”
Osran sat calmly by the cold stone wall among decaying artifacts from the better days. The lower floors of the tower were slowly being filled with the wounded and weary warriors of the Crusade. Among the endless ranks of the injured knights walked a few dozen priests who did their all to heal the gaping wounds of the warriors. The attacks outside continued to dissipate, letting more of the Crusaders to rest before the next leg of the long offensive. On tomorrow evening, many more of those stationed in the ruined halls would lie lifeless and broken on the cursed fields.
“Have you been here before, uncle? In this watchtower, I mean” Eneath asked as the two as they waited for the arrival of more knights, anxious to find out whether their friends and comrades would come in or join the pyres of corpses around the tower. Osran waited a moment before answering, his kind being burdened by the absence of Arilde, the paladin who had served with him in Barrowhome. She had been Osran’s close associate for years and her death would be a major blow to the aging knight.
“These watchtowers were the spine that held the trade routes of these lands together, Eneath. Any old warrior knows these towers like their own home.” The statement was surprisingly literal as they served as free places of rest to any soldier of Lordaeron who needed a place to sleep or rest before continuing on their journey. The knights who were stationed in Eastern Lordaeron used them often but they were never meant to be their main housing even during their missions. Eneath looked at the older paladin in envy as he had had the privilege to see all of Lordaeron in its full glory whereas he had spent his childhood firmly during their home village.
“I would have liked to see the Capital as it used to be. I reckon seeing the King leading the royal ceremonies was a sight to see. From what I’ve heard, Lordaeron City was a truly awe-inspiring place.” Eneath had heard only stories about the old royal capital which was located far to the west from Darrowmere Forest. It had been the seat of the Menethil dynasty since time immemorial and it had also been the first place that had fallen to the Scourge. Osran cringed as he heard the mention of that place which bore many unpleasant, painful memories. Also, its present condition brought him additional anguish.
“It was, Eneath. The feeling of entering the main gate after a successful defense of the kingdom to be greeted by King Terenas was as humbling each time. He was a great man, Eneath. Even then, I don’t know if I wish to see it again. Do you know what has happened to the city since Arthas’ betrayal?” Osran turned to look at his nephew with a weary look. When Eneath didn’t answer, Osran continued.
“Nearing the end of the War, a group of undead broke off from the Lich King’s command and after a long time of searching and fighting, they took the ruins of the Capital for themselves. Rumors tell that they have built their own dark city of undeath beneath the ruins of our exalted capital. I don’t know if those whispers held any truth to them but in any case, only the cursed memories and dark whispers of the past linger in those halls today. It is a place of great horror and tragedy, possibly even more so than Stratholme.” Osran’s voice turned into one of lament and bitterness as he reflected on the Capital’s fate. Eneath took an odd expression as he answered shortly.
“They broke away from the Scourge? Shouldn’t they be our allies, then?” Eneath asked in bewilderment. He hadn’t even known such a thing was possible. Why wasn’t the Crusade giving this issue more attention? However, his own thoughts were disturbed by a stern and angered voice of his uncle.
“They are still monsters, Eneath! They are a mockery of the memories of our countrymen and friends. Their minds may be their own but they still serve themselves and the undead want to spread their own curse to others whenever they get the chance. Would you want to share a reborn Lordaeron with worm-infested, murderous, rotting corpses that imprison the souls of once-honorable people?” Osran looked into the eyes of his nephew who seemed to be deep in thought. The younger paladin was about to answer when a tall, thin man approached the two. He didn’t wear the armor of the Scarlet Crusade, meaning that he was merely a messenger. Still, Osran listened him in interest as he started to speak.
“I trust that you are Osran Lowriver? In that case, please follow me. The Crusader Lord asks for your presence at the top of the tower.” The messenger spoke quickly and it was clear that he didn’t know what the issue was. Osran quickly rose up, immediately interested what his old friend had in mind.
“Lead the way. Let’s see what business he has with me.”
As the two approached the top of the tower, Osran could see that there were many others going the same way as they had. There were about twenty knights heading upwards, apparently unknowing what made the Crusader Lord ask for their presence. Among the others was Veria who had stayed outside in case the fighting intensified again. As the stairs eventually ended, Valdemar was waiting for the knights and made bid them a fond welcome. Most of them seemed rather experienced, meaning that the Crusader Lord had something important to say.
“Welcome, my comrades! I was today honored by the arrival of our High General Abbendis as most of you probably noticed. He came with a most intriguing plan that you need to know about. Please, let me finish until you begin to speak.” Valdemar then told everything about the leaders’ meeting and Abbendis’ plan. Each of the attendees would have wanted to interrupt their superior many times but each of them held enough respect for him to comply to his bidding. A stunned silence was left floating in the room as Valdemar finally ended his explanation. So, the real battle would be fought in Northrend after all. One knight asked in an intermittent voice as the others thought about what they had just heard.
“So… are we going to partake in this attack? Are you sending us to Northrend?” The knight’s voice was hopeful but Valdemar’s answer ended such thoughts very quickly.
“No. You are some of my most trusted knights. You are needed here in Lordaeron but there is another threat that I’m going to order you to deal with. Firstly, our shipbuilders need extra protection and even more importantly, the cursed Forsaken are on the move.” Valdemar’s voice turned into a bitter one as he spoke. The Scourge was a horde of mindless monsters but the fact that the Forsaken claimed to be the same people they were as living humans. That took the issue to a more personal and emotional level. The Crusader Lord was seemingly angered when heard Veria ask a question in an inquisitive tone.
“Is it wise to open another front in Tirisfal? We are having our hands full right here!” Veria tried to reason before Valdemar’s angered look silenced her.
“As I said, it is they who are attacking! The Scourge hasn’t been able to put on a real attack for years but now there are rumors about a necromancer preparing an attack against the Monastery of Righteousness, or rather, Scarlet Monastery. It is your job to secure our western flank while our heroes are attacking the Lich King.” Each of those present knew that his remark held the unspoken hope that they should only fight a war of attrition until the Lich King’s planned demise. But saying it out loud could prompt the paladins to fall into a lull that the war wasn’t in their hands. Everybody had to give their all until the end.
“A necromancer? Are you sure?” Asked one of the few priests present, his voice carrying hesitation. Necromancers were an incredibly terrifying foes as killing their minions was completely useless as they rose over and over again until their master met his demise. They were the masters of the dead and the ultimate enemies of the living.
“That’s what I’ve heard and I truly hope my scouts aren’t lying. They’ve seen him with their own eyes. The necromancer is a real threat. And one that we have to deal with if the Monastery is going to be safe ever again.” Valdemar said dryly, not willing to give further proof to his subordinates. Osran looked at his superior and asked one last question that had haunted his thoughts.
“Is this our chance to wipe out the cursed Forsaken? Without the necromancer, we could have a chance to end their wretched existence once and for all.” Osran asked, his mind hungering to get into killing the cursed undead. If their secret weapon was dealt with, the small numbers of the Forsaken could open a window to eliminate one more threat. However, Valdemar’s disapproving look ended those hopes quickly.
“No. You are capable of crippling their offensive abilities but we cannot destroy their hideout just yet. Be patient, Osran. Their day of reckoning will come soon enough. You’ll leave at tomorrow morning. May Tyr’s spirit guide your actions.” Valdemar said as he signaled the end of the meeting. The knights and priests left the room one by one, their minds fixed on the coming journey and this new menace they were bound to face. No matter what, the return of the necromancers did little to ease their fight against the undead.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter and any feedback you may have is always welcome! :)
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Arrival in Tirisfal Glades
Pale lips turned into an expecting smile as a hooded form looked his vials fill from a thick, green ichor from his cauldron. The man felt his innards ache in pain when he was near the liquid, its destructive energies almost too much for his organs. However, that agony started to dissipate as he sealed the vials and put them in his pocket. These vials could be a major stepping stone on his quest, the magnitude of this breakthrough determined by the effect on his prisoners. With a self-confident smile, he headed towards a corridor that would be the stuff of nightmares to anyone but its master.
”I’m sure we all wish to get this over with, don’t we? Today is the day you have been waiting for…” A weary, chuckling voice called from the dark hallway. The figure was dressed in a black robe with violet decorations, his walking being slow due to his body that had been tainted by numerous poisons that would have killed most other humans. Almost his whole face was covered by his hood and headscarf, only a small sliver revealing his expectant eyes. Two poorly dressed farmers looked in deep horror as the robed man entered the pitch-black room while carrying a small candle, an additional torture to his victims. The farmers looked around them in terror, seeing large splotches of blood on the walls, with blackened remains of long-dead people covering the room. They had never seen what lied in the room due to the ever-present darkness but they could guess it from the sickening smell in the room.
The robed man’s lungs wheezed as he drew closer. The farmers started writhe in horror as they could already guess what was coming. This was the necromancer they had heard rumors about, the one who held the entire Tirisfal in fear but nobody knew where he dwelled, not even his victims. One or two farmers would disappear from time to time, their families slaughtered by hosts of undead who seemed to appear from nowhere. The necromancer stopped in front of the two, looking at them in an uninterested, smug glance.
“It seems like you know me already even if I’ve taken such care to hide my presence from filth like you. At least you know what to expect…” The man said as he searched his pockets. He didn’t react in any way as the female yelled to him in a desperate voice.
“Please, don’t do this! We’ll do anything you demand!” She was almost on the verge of tears but the necromancer turned to her only after a moment of searching. His voice was extremely complacent as he answered his prisoner.
“Be silent. The servants of the freezing cold serve higher aims than mercy or life, farmer. Oh, Kel’Thuzad will be overjoyed when I am done with you and this land…” The robed man took a small vial from his pocket. It carried the deep green liquid that seemed like it was boiling without end. The necromancer looked at the two in loathing, regretting that even this experiment would likely be but a small step in his search for the greater truth of the Nether.
“Your meaningless lives are an unworthy vessel for my quest. Get out of my sight!” The man then opened his small vial, its contents quickly becoming one with the air itself. The liquid writhed and changed as it dissolved into the room. The necromancer started to cough ever more violently but a joyless smirk appeared on his hidden mouth when blood started to bleed from his damaged lungs. The pain was multiplied by the knowledge that the sight in front of him was only a small but necessary step towards his goal.
The two humans screamed as their skin started to die and its rotten vestiges starting falling to the floor. Their bodies themselves tore themselves apart as their decaying intestines started to fall out of their abdomens, along with the dissolving, bloody lungs. It was only when their heads started to turn until the screams finally dissipated. The necromancer looked at his handiwork with an expression that was nearly a mask of displeasure. His work needed a lot of improvement before he could follow in his revered master’s footsteps. The victims had been infected too slowly, died too quickly and the resulting ghouls were far from strong enough.
“At least I soon have enough material for my masterpiece… The Monastery will soon see my power. And then…” The necromancer’s face turned into a sickening smile as he turned to return back to his tunnels. With a wave of hand, he commanded his new servants to clean up and store their own earthly remains. Soon, both the Forsaken and the humans would fall under the necromancer’s onslaught.
Osran looked in a slightly hopeful glance at his surroundings. The Tirisfal Glades were a dark, sickly reminder of Lordaeron’s old heartland but it was a paradise compared to the old Darrowmere. The sickly, orange mist was gone and there was black and meek but living grass everywhere. Additionally, there was far less undead roaming the dark moors, a testament to the lesser amount of corruption Arthas managed to spread here. The aging knight was rather interested to see the Monastery as he had only visited it once and that was during the days of his youth. Was it still the seat of knowledge and Light that it had been on those days or had it fallen to slow decay after the kingdom’s demise?
Osran could see similar sentiments among his comrades. The trip had been done as quickly as was possible, with change of horses done in outposts at Thondrodil river and near Hearthglen. As a result, there had been rather little talking as they had to ride at the maximum speed in case the expected assault would be launched sooner than thought.
The old path started to turn towards the east as the long day of travel started to turn to into late evening. Heavy clouds hung over the dark grasslands as the lights finally started to appear between the high, dying trees. The building’s tower stood proud and defiant on the hill, its noble silhouette painting its picture into the night sky. Osran was pleased to see the Monastery being untouched by the war, preserved most likely by its rather remote location in the northern reaches of Tirisfal, surrounded by endless expanses of farms and woodlands. They could see that a small number monks had assembled at the main entrance, prepared to greet their newly arrived allies.
“Light’s blessing upon you, servants of the Light! Are we in time?” The leader of the knights asked. He was Tareth, one of the most respected paladins of Tyr’s Hand who had also served in Barrowhome the day before Osran’s nearly fateful watch. The monks bowed before their guests before one of them answered in a way that showed deep respect.
“The Abbot’s deepest thanks for answering our call this quickly. The necromancer has yet to reveal himself but many of the surrounding farmers have been gone missing during the last weeks, never to be seen again.” The monk spoke sadly, humbled by the Monastery’s inability to help the poor people. It was clear that this phenomenon was more widespread than the monks would have wanted to tell. Tareth frowned as he heard the answer, the tale being remarkedly different than in the initial report.
“Don’t you have any sightings of this villain? We were told that you have seen the necromancer many times already!” Tareth said in slight frustration, disappointed by the lack of honest reporting from their hosts. The monk looked at the paladin with a stoic expression, hiding his thoughts from the crusaders.
“The true servants of the Light welcome help wherever it can be found. Our honored brother Arellas Fireleaf has felt the death’s touch upon the land, its corruption creeping under the shadows of the trees even now. He has felt it, Tareth.” The monk spoke absentmindedly, not willing to reveal more just yet. Tareth’s face turned into an ever more conflicted one, somewhat perplexed by the sudden turn of events.
“Arellas? Isn’t that an elven name? What is an elf doing here, in the house of the Holy Light?” The two races’ relations had been a complex one, to say the least. Even if there had rarely been conflict between them, any real alliance or cooperation had been also rare. The kingdom of Quel’Thalas had often kept to itself, caring little for Lordaeron’s fall at least until Arthas’ onslaught reached the city of Silvermoon itself. A mutual feeling of distrust lingered between the peoples and Tareth was surprised to hear that one of them was aligned with the Crusade.
“As I said, we welcome all the aid we can get. The Light’s mercy makes itself known in many different, often unclear forms, and we have all the trust that the art of arcane will help us in the days to come. But you don’t need to think about it today, good sirs. Please follow us.” The monk turned on his heels, not leaving any time for an answer from the paladins. They quickly looked at each other before they started to follow the group of monks into the massive building. The night wind blew into the corridor when the knights entered the dark hallway. Behind it opened a grand hall which was an impressive sight for anyone seeking refuge or knowledge from the keepers of the Monastery. Candle trees cast their light into playing shadows on the opposing walls, their sight relieving the knights from their long journey.
Everything was like Osran remembered it. Even if the monk’s answer troubled him somewhat, he could see that the monks and the soldiers serving the Monastery were doing a good job at preserving Lordaeron’s knowledge. He looked in interest as their hosts started to speak again.
“Half of you may follow me, the other half can go with Serin. Your rooms are ready.” The monk said as another, rather tall man headed towards the opposing door. The entrance hall was the gateway to the different parts of the monastery complex, containing doors leading to the famed library, the soldiers’ quarter, the interrogation and graveyard wing as well as the central Cathedral which served as the Monastery’s heart. Osran joined the group that followed the man named Serin who entered the corridor on the right side of the back wall. Osran remembered that it led to the guest and soldiers’ quarter known to its denizens as the Armory wing. It was used as the home of the knights guarding the Monastery but it was large enough to house occasional guests. Soon after entering the wing, Serin spoke in a silent but kind voice.
“We have a few rooms to spare. Please honor our home during your visit.” There were three rooms around the spot Serin stood on, each of them housing four beds but little else. Tareth had gone with the other monk so Osran spoke to his host in an equally appreciating, smooth voice.
“We are extremely grateful for your welcome, Serin. We’ll start our mission early on the morning.” Osran looked at the monk in a thankful smile, looking forward to getting to sleep. He was almost exhausted after a ride that had started long before dawn. Serin could see this and turned to walk away before he spoke shortly to his guests.
“Don’t forget to come to the Cathedral during the standard time. The Monastery appreciates if its guests live by its rules during their visits. Also, the revered Ferren Marcus wishes to address you before you’ll start your mission so it would be advisable not to miss it.” After those words, the monk started to head back towards the central hall, leaving the paladins to sort the rooming themselves in the light of a few pale candles hanging from the walls. The distribution of room brought no problems and each of the knights was more than overjoyed to be allowed to fall to sleep.
However, one thing kept Osran awake for a moment. Was the Monastery allowing or even promoting arcane magic within its walls? That particular school of sorcery was by no means forbidden but it had received a bad name after Kel’Thuzad’s and his followers descent into the realm of necromancy. One kind of magic could swiftly degenerate into a more dangerous one and that was why most mages in the old Darrowmere Forest had turned into priests. Moreover, what was an elf doing within the Crusade? There were many different thoughts swirling in the fatigued paladin’s mind when the shroud of sleep finally swept across his mind.
“My brothers and sisters, I wish to thank each of you for showing your respect to the Light that protects us all as well as our home. Our Monastery has struggled through times of war and destruction but here we stand, still ready to help the needy and those seeking the blessing of knowledge. Use this day to prove that the Light’s grace shines through our desolate land as it always has. Sometimes a single beacon is enough to keep the darkness at bay. As the Church has taught us, respect, tenacity, and compassion are the things that keep our rays shining through these cursed times. Our work here in the Monastery is invaluable to our people and kingdom but all of it is rendered worthless if we forget our principles. Also, we have to have the courage to stand against the shadow, especially when it isn’t seen clearly. The evil surrounds us, brothers, and I fear that our virtuous work alone isn’t enough to hold it back. That is why I’d like you to spare your thanks to our new allies!” The speaker was a modestly robed and old man, his head bowed down as a gesture of respect to his listeners. The High Abbot Ferren Marcus was a living example of true virtue and loyal service to his principles and followers.
The old man’s voice was a mix of gentle humbleness and true devotion and authority. Even in his advanced age, he advised his followers wisely and his burning vigor earned him great reverence among those who had met and known the old Abbot. He was born in Stratholme but his heart had led him to the center of Lordaeron’s wisdom at an early age and he had served as its leader for many successful decades. During those endless years, Marcus had become the symbol of the Monastery itself and its timeless traditions along with the Cathedral they were in. It was the very heart of the complex and one of the largest churches in all of humanity’s kingdoms. Following the Abbot’s announcement, Tareth walked beside him, trying to mix the humbling atmosphere of the complex with his firm, militaristic voice.
“I thank you for your time, denizens of the Scarlet Monastery. I’m more than honored to call you my comrades. I’ve visited this place often and I must say, few places in all of Lordaeron have matched your home’s grandeur. We came here to answer your call to stop this necromancer once and for all. We will do our all to free you from his grasp but we will need all the help you can get. Not many necromancers remain and those that do are immensely powerful. Addressing this enemy will require our cooperation but, if Light allows it, we will stand victorious in the end. This Monastery stood through the Plague and it will survive the attack of one necromancer!” Tareth moved back to take his seat. It was clear that the enemy was very powerful and feared but dozens of necromancers had already died during the initial war. Getting rid of one more shouldn’t be difficult. Marcus nodded at him approvingly after which the old man spoke a few more words.
“You’ll have all the help you ask, noble paladins of the Crusade. We might refrain from violence even too often but this Monastery hasn’t fallen once during the six centuries of its existence. Answering the Grand’s Crusader’s call was the result of a long consideration but I see we chose rightly. Do whatever you need and ask what you will. All the power and wisdom we possess is in your disposal, warriors of the Scarlet Crusade. Now go, my brothers and prove that Light still lingers in this lost land.” Marcus said as he left the altar of the Cathedral in order to signal that the attendees were free to leave to perform their duties. The hundreds of people gathered started to slowly leave the hall, each of them heading for their own tasks. However, Osran had one person he’d like to meet before the paladins would head off to their mission but he needed help if he wished to find him. The paladin turned around to ask another, younger knight for help.
“Excuse me, sir, but could tell me where I might find Arellas Fireleaf?” The man’s expression wasn’t amused when he turned to look at Osran and his answer exactly kind either.
“Why would you want to find that elven fool, outsider? He’s of very little value even to us so what do you want of him?” Osran was taken aback by the answer as he had expected the denizens of the Monastery to respect each other without end. Also, Osran had thought the knight to be unknown to him but as he looked at his sharp features, he was surprised to find out that he knew the younger paladin.
“Renault? Renault Mograine? Are you living here?” Osran had seen the younger Mograine as Alexandros had once wished to show his son the life of the Crusade first hand and let him to spend a day in the ranks of the Silver Hand. The young man’s facial features were remarkedly unchanged since those days even if he had aged a lot. Renault looked at Osran in slight surprise but his antics changed little.
“For now. My father thought that the Monastery is one of the more safe places to live in these times and I’ve taken my place here even if the monks are getting on my nerves. It seems my name has walked before me.” Renault wasn’t sure if he was pleased to be recognized as he held little respect to his father or his name. It brought him more status among his comrades but it brought the shadow of his father’s smug sight and his brother’s insufferable antics to his mind. He wouldn’t mind at all if they both disappeared from his life for good. Osran was about to answer when a young woman headed back towards the two in an impatient voice.
“The Light’s tasks won’t complete themselves, Renault. We should go.” The woman looked coldly at Osran who returned the unapproving gaze. The distrust was clearly mutual. Renault turned his gaze back on Osran when he answered the older paladin quickly before his departure.
“Arellas spends most of his time in the Library, most often at his private sanctum at its end. But he has nothing of value, outsider. No one can trust the elves. Let’s go, Sally.” With those words, the two left Osran ponder about the stale conversation. The two were far from the monastery ideal Osran had thought of, both of them being seemingly untrusting towards outsiders and even hostile to their own allies. He was somewhat disappointed to see Alexandros’ son with such an attitude. He could only hope that the young man could find his own way before long and not dwell in his distrust and apparent bitterness.
The Monastery’s library was a massive place, with long and high bookshelves standing in many large halls after each other. Most of them held historical chronicles about Lordaeron’s distant history as well as philosophical and practical studies about the Light’s nature qualities. However, there was also a surprising number of tales about distant lands, among them from the newly-found continent of Kalimdor, as well as textbooks about hunting, sneaking and even dark powers such as demoncraft. Osran frowned as he saw them in the shelves as any warlock-related knowledge was supposed to be strictly forbidden in all the Seven Kingdoms but here the books were, open for anyone to read and study. The paladin shrugged, deciding that it was not his place to lecture the librarians. Osran approached carefully one monk who was wiping the dust away from the bookshelves.
“I was told that Arellas can be found in his room here in the library? Could you tell where it is?” The paladin asked the monk in a neutral voice. The librarian didn’t even turn his eyes on the asker, only absentmindedly answering his question while browsing one, heavy book.
“When you enter next hall, turn left and in the next one right again. You can see the door to his sanctum at its end.” The monk’s voice was monotonic and its tone was completely dismissing. Osran thanked him briefly and then headed to the direction he was advised to. The library was truly an impressive building and it received a heavenly lighting because of the masterfully crafted windows which let in only dim light to illuminate the scholar’s work. Osran was glad to see that the monk had spoken the truth as the sight of the open door opened before him.
The first thing the knight noticed about Arellas was that the elf looked younger than he had expected even if he was in truth considerably older due to the longevity of his race. The high elf was deep in thought reading a book when the knight entered his room. The elf didn’t seem to notice his guest as he was noticeably alerted when he heard the paladin speak.
“Bal’a dash, Arellas. I’m honored to meet you.” Osran greeted simply, using one of the few words he knew about Thalassian language. He had met some elves before so he had learned the most basic phrases about their language. Arellas didn’t seem at all pleased by the interruption but he seemed to be interested by the outsider’s visit. Even then, he answered swiftly and politely as was the custom of his kind.
“Light’s blessing upon you, paladin. What brings you to my library?” Arellas’s voice was rather high and it sounded somewhat slick. Still, Osran couldn’t see any malevolence in him so he went straight to the point. The knight was surprised to hear the Church’s most usual greeting from an elf but then again, he had lived among humans for a long time. That could probably make the meeting easier.
“I was told that the main proof about the necromancer’s existence has been from your magical observations. Is that the truth?” Osran didn’t expect a negative answer but he wished to start from the basic questions. Was the mage as powerful as he claimed to be? Did he know anything more than he had told? Arellas looked at the paladin in an investigative way, unsure where the knight was going to.
“I feel his dark presence in the earth even now, paladin. He walks this land as we speak and his powers are growing by the day. We have to stop him before it’s too late.” Arellas spoke calmly, willing to prove that he meant what he said. Osran looked at the elf oddly, not willing to tighten the atmosphere just yet. He wanted to learn if the elf was what he claimed to be.
“How can you know this, mage? I don’t remember your colleagues being able to feel things happening in great distances.” Osran wanted to see whether the mage would be able to explain his claims in a believable way or whether he was simply lying. The knight had had too many bad experiences with mages falling victims to evil powers to trust the elf just yet. Arellas frowned at this question, surprised by this kind of question from a paladin.
“Most mages cannot, that’s true, but it is possible. It is a rather new kind of magic, one that started to spread after the death of the great magus Medivh.” Osran sighed as he heard the answer. The Last Guardian. One more example of great people falling victim to the uncontrollable energies of the arcane. His inclusion in the conversation did little to alleviate Osran’s fears.
“What about him? I doubt a demon-possessed madman is a great source of useful knowledge.” Osran sounded even harsher than he had wanted to but the story of the Last Guardian of Tirisfal wasn’t one he was fond of.
“There you couldn’t be further from the truth. He might have acted for evil but his studies on the ley-lines and creating rifts in time and space are truly groundbreaking. The old heart of Lordaeron is a place where the ley lines are even more profound than usual and the magic dripping from them enable me to feel the differing forces of magic in this land, including necromancers.” Arellas looked somewhat agitated as he spoke, knowing the paladin knew nothing from the veins of power penetrating the interior of the world. He was right as he heard the next question from his guest.
“I have known a lot of wizards during my life and none of them spoke of these ley lines. Are they some kind of elven superstition?” Osran pushed the issue further, willing to know if the whole mission was based on an elven belief. Arellas took a deep , tense breath before he started to explain.
“Very little was known about the ley lines among human circles until the last years. The spread of Medivh’s studies changed all that and the true extent of the unfolding horizons created a secret rift in Dalaran before the Plague. You are correct to assume that the issue is closer to us elves as, you see, we are addicted to magic. I don’t know much you know about it but the kingdom of Quel’Thalas was built around our beloved Sunwell, a pool of pure energy of the sun. It was the last remnant of the ancient Well of Eternity, the progenitor of all the magic in our world. The ley lines are the remnants of its power, their immense energies spreading around the very crust of Azeroth. We, the elves, were forced to know this this due to our Sunwell but the humans far too often overlooked them. It was only after Medivh’s death when this knowledge truly spread to Dalaran.” Arellas rose from his chair as he spoke. Even if he didn’t like being questioned like this, the elf hoped Osran could use his knowledge in fighting the necromancer. Osran didn’t want to show that he didn’t know almost anything about what Arellas said so he answered with another point that had haunted his thoughts.
“I understand your hate for the Scourge but why are you here instead of fighting for Quel’Thalas or following your prince? Why are you sacrificing yourself to the Crusade but not to your own people?” The paladin asked in lingering suspicion. He had a hard time trying to respect a man who let his own land suffer while living a good life elsewhere, even if it was his fortune to have more allies on his side.
“Quel’Thalas has fallen and Kael’thas is a mere madman. I cannot deny that the thought of reclaiming my homeland is enticing but I fear there’s nothing I can return to. True, my people still lives but without the Sunwell we’re bound to die out before long. What remains are scattered hamlets and power-hungry extremists who call themselves the Sin’dorei or the blood elves. They cannot be trusted. In the meanwhile, this Monastery offers me the best way to fight against the Lich King. My last comrades from Dalaran are here with me while the new magi in Quel’Thalas deem our ways old-fashioned in the wake of Kael’thas’ demonic powers. This Monastery and its people give me some sense of purpose in the wake of the overwhelming destruction of both our homelands, something my fallen home cannot do.” Arellas looked at Osran mournfully, clearly saddened by the fate that had befallen the land. Osran couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the elf. He wasn’t really informed about the new order in the elven kingdom but he was willing to believe the mage. He seemed far too honest to be completely lying.
“I’m sorry, Arellas. I never saw it myself but I heard that Quel’Thalas was a realm of beauty and grace. Our king Terenas often praised the wisdom of the revered Anasterian. Even if our alliances were rare, I often heard whispers of respect about the Silvermoon’s grace.” The elven capital had been a place of wonder, its golden walls a seat of power and beauty in the land of eternal autumn. Osran had often wished to visit it but the elves wanted as few outsiders as possible to their hallowed lands. Arellas sighed in clear sadness as he sat down again, a distinct melancholy easily recognizable from his face. However, the elf knew there was little sense in yearning for the paradise long lost. He put on a more pragmatic appearance as he looked at Osran again.
“But that isn’t why you came to talk to me, isn’t it? I can see that the real reason is to find something out something about the necromancers that could be of use in the coming days. Doan, could you please come here?” Arellas surprisingly called into the hall outside the room where a rather young man was searching the endless bookshelves, ordering the books into a better formation and browsing some of them. He turned to look at the voice’s source , immediately answering to the request.
“Paladin, this is my apprentice Doan. Doan, this is one of the brave paladins sent to defend our home. The reason why I called you here is your insight about the terrors of necromancy.” Arellas looked at his apprentice in a neutral way, turning Doan’s face into something of a mix between concern and regret. Osran looked at the young man in a curious way, willing to hear if he had anything of interest to tell. Doan looked at the paladin in a bothered way, not willing to share his mistakes with everyone who walked in from the door.
“Yes… you could say that. I know you won’t understand it the way I do but… not many of those who joined the Cult of the Damned were evil to begin with. Medivh’s studies and the newly-found demonology opened whole new frontiers of magical study and… necromancy was one of them.” There was clear regret in Doan’s voice as he recalled his past in the city of Dalaran. It seemed that the magical city had some parts to its history that not many were familiar with. Doan looked into Osran’s eyes, searching for signs of growing rage. On their stead, he saw an expression of uncertainty and hesitation, surprising from a man who had used years to fight against necromancy, his everything in the process. He was momentarily interrupted by a remark from Arellas.
“Be at ease, knight. Doan came to search for me after he realized the error of his ways. He’s my student and successor and I’m helping him to return to the ways of Dalaran’s old magic of fire and ice. He has given up necromancy long ago.” Arellas looked at Osran in a thoughtful way, showing deep trust in his apprentice. Osran merely nodded while Doan quickly glanced at Arellas in clear appreciation. The younger man then continued in a conflicted tone.
“During those days, our Archmage, Antonidas, seemed to fight against these new kinds of magic, his lifetime of experience warning against the embrace of energies of unknown origin. However, there were many who saw the potential of these new energies in tackling the Scourge and to turn Dalaran into the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. Among the most prominent of these renegades was none other than Kel’Thuzad. I know you don’t believe me but he was like you and me back then, willing to dwell into unsearched waters in hopes of a new renaissance for all of us. Initially, I was one of his students who wished to follow him on his path.” Doan turned his head to the library hall, the regret clearly visible on his face. However, something told Osran that he wasn’t exactly repenting but rather mourning that those events ever happened.
“Our research allowed us to raise our loved ones from their graves, even if in the horrifying forms of those cursed ghouls. However, it was a beginning in the quest to beating death. As weeks passed, we found ever more efficient and easier ways of reviving the dead as well as giving them increasingly advanced characteristics. Before long, we could command them at will which I hoped would be a perquisite to giving them a mind of their own. However, it was during these times that my concerns started to rise. Some of my friends and my teacher started to be more interested about controlling the undead rather than seeking freedom for them. Our research continued but in started to become more power-hungry, more focused on pure domination of the dead.” Doan turned to look at the two others, shuddering as he remembered those days. However, to his chagrin, Doan saw a rising suspicion within Osran.
“And you did nothing? You were playing with the most wicked form of evil and you did nothing?” Osran looked Doan in the eyes but the mage simply continued without clear answer.
“The spark for our research came reportedly from a hooded man who sent his findings to Kel’Thuzad. Soon, we started to search for more clues about the man’s whereabouts which wasn’t easy due to the spreading plague. Not long after Arthas’ fall, we were contacted again, this time by a woman who offered to deepen our knowledge. It was during this time that Antonidas found out the depth of our treachery. He could tell who our new masters truly were and he banished us immediately from the city. Furious by his “treachery”, Kel’Thuzad embraced his new teacher immediately and we started our journey into the Scourge. Everyone except me and two others. We are the only ones frim that renegade school who avoided joining the Cult of the Damned.” Doan concluded, his heavy sigh accompanying his heavy mood. Osran couldn’t help but feel respect to this man who had most likely risked his life to avoid joining the Scourge. However, there was only one thing that truly interested him in Doan’s tale.
“You told you studied necromancy for months. How can we beat their magic?” The question was simple enough but it made Doan very thoughtful. He answered in a careful, pondering tone.
“During their time in the Scourge, their powers must have grown manifold. The strength of the first necromancers is terrifying as their minions are nearly impossible to kill. Some of them have mixed their new skills with old ones, making them formidable mages as well. Whatever you do, you must kill them quickly. The Plague is theirs to command and they will turn all of us into their pawns if given the chance. The Plague and the poisons are their greatest weapon.” Doan said to the paladin, shuddering as he recalled the infernal weapons Kel’Thuzad and his followers had dreamt about after the departure from Dalaran. Osran looked at the mage in deep thought, recalling the last times he had fought against the wizards of undeath. They had been mere novices but if he were to believe Arellas, this new enemy would be one of the more dangerous necromancers alive.
“Very well. There’s one last thing I’d like to ask. Do you have any idea who this enemy is? You said you knew all of the original founders of the Cult of the Damned.” Osran wasn’t sure whether this piece of knowledge would be useful but knowing the enemy could prove useful later on. Doan shrugged as he answered.
“Who knows? There were two dozen of us and even among those I know are alive, there are too many choices. If I had to guess judging from the style of their attacks, I’d say it is Diesalven Stillwater, Ras Frostwhisper, Diodor Highforest or Faerlina Gnollslayer. Each of them were potent researchers of the Plague as is our enemy but it’s impossible to tell which one of them he is.” Doan said deep in thought. Osran looked at him and nodded approvingly. He had received all the knowledge he could have asked for.
“Thank you both for your cooperation. I hope your answers help us in the coming fights. May Light guide your paths.” Osran said as he prepared to leave. Doan and Arellas returned the gesture as the elf spoke his own farewell.
“Al diel shala, paladin. We will be here whenever you need help.” It took mere seconds before Arellas immersed himself once again into the book, signaling that the audience was over. Osran left the room in deep concern. If a long fight against a necromancer was a doomed venture, they would have to strike first. However, that wasn’t the area where paladins excelled, them being more used to direct action. There was a lot to discuss with Tareth before the search for the necromancer’s hideout would be ready to begin.
And here's the next chapter for this story. I'm quite happy with how this chapter turned out even if it is quite heavy with the game's lore. From now on, things will heat up a good deal and I hope you'll enjoy the coming chapters. If someone still reads this, any feedback would be appreciated! :)
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Final Preparations
A meek rasping sound was the only voice that could be heard in a dark room illuminated by a lone candle. The dim light cast its rays on the moist, ancient stones bordering the small room which was centered around a small table. On it lied a heavy book whose pages’ surfaces were being scratched by a large quill. The necromancer investigated the book’s pages while going through his own notes which were written on the pages’ edges once again. He knew the book by heart but he tried to find ever more small mistakes or places for improvement. The large volume was called the Book of the Damned which held most of the necessary knowledge in the realm of necromancy.
Diodor Highforest was one of the finest scientists and researchers of the Cult of the Damned, the old necromancer’s knowledge in alchemy and magic being overshadowed only by Kel’Thuzad himself. However, his frail body prevented him from being the most powerful foe in battle but his commendable expertise in preparing his actions more than made up for that fault. The Book was the cornerstone of the whole cult and within it were written everything from the origins of the necromancer’s power as well to the smallest of details in controlling the dead. There were many other volumes that deepened the reader’s knowledge about specific realms of necromancy but the Book of the Damned was the heart of all that knowledge. However, there had been new discoveries in this field of magic during the War and Diodor was more than convinced that some parts of the volume’s knowledge were outdated and capable of being improved.
The old wizard underlined a few lines as he took one of his notebooks lying beside him. There were at least a dozen of them at the floor in good order but it was apparent that this particular one had been by far the most used. After browsing it for a moment, a self-confident smile crept to his face. He had been correct: a skeleton didn’t need to lose even a fracture of its living self’s power as the Book had claimed. His own research and many calculations had proved there had been a slight inconsistency in the book’s line of thought, making him question its accuracy. The mistake had been most likely caused by assumption that a wizard, no matter how careful he would be, couldn’t be able to restructure the deceased person’s experience in undeath. This was but one of many examples of the improvements he was working on the Plague’s formula as well as empowering the undead soldiers.
Diodor marked his thesis as proven in the notebook when he noticed he had been correct. Soon his version of the Plague would be unparalleled even by the original Scourge of Lordaeron and he could once again prove his usefulness to the Cult and especially to its revered leader. His reputation had been shaken when he and a small group of cultists following him were ambushed and he had left the lowly acolytes to fight for themselves. That in itself wouldn’t have been a great crime in itself but one of his closest rivals had claimed that he had sacrificed his group because of his claimed disloyalty to the Cult. There was a never-ending competition and a web of conspiracies among those who were candidates to be chosen to ascent to the highest echelon of the Cult’s leadership. Diodor snorted as he thought about the backlash he had received following that day. Still, all of it mattered little. He lived unlike those weaklings and that was what mattered. He would get his chance to serve the Lich King soon enough.
The necromancer looked at his research notes in distinct relief. His work was close to completion. However, to finish them he needed a more capable prisoner than the useless farmers. They weren’t strong enough for him to test his capabilities in preserving the original powers of his victims but the paladins or the priests harassing his work on the other hand… they would do. Diodor sighed in expectation as he thought about the breakthrough he would be able to achieve once the first paladins would rise under his guidance. But even necromancers had to sleep and Diodor was slowly preparing for the night’s sleep. That was until he heard distant explosions in the distance. Diodor could easily guess what they were but just to be sure, he headed towards the opening of the catacombs.
Small flares of white flew over the nightly forest, lighting the surface of the black lake. The Brightwater Lake was the largest body of water in Tirisfal and the islands in the middle of it were seldom thought to house anything of note. However, they contained the tomb than belonged to the old noble house of Irathen whose final descendants had passed away long ago. Their mausoleum lay abandoned and forgotten in the small island that now served as the necromancer’s hideout. Diodor looked in slight amusement as the white lights started to fall back to the ground and fade from the black sky. It was the final mark of day for the paladins searching for him, signaling the end of the day’s search. It was clear that they still had no idea about his whereabouts even after weeks of searching. A few times it had been a close call but every time he had managed to flee in time. Still, Diodor knew better than to get complacent. He wouldn’t let all of his hard work go to waste because of a small oversight.
The paladins won’t see me coming quick enough. They will provide me a quick, easy way to complete my work. Heh, they won’t stand a chance against me…
The necromancer was left to stand in the dark moor of the island when the lights finally died out. Small glimmers of the Two Moons gleamed in the lake’s surface and painted the silhouettes of the trees against the night sky of the early summer. A slight breath of wind accompanied the necromancer as he walked back into his hideout. Tomorrow would be the day the to put his plans into full motion.
Houndmaster Loksey frowned heavily as he looked at his hounds run away from row of splotches of blood in the ground. They stood in the middle of black spots which were engraved into the very earth. Only a warlock or a necromancer could do this kind of damage to the nature, a destructive power to which all of Lordaeron was a testament these days. Loksey was a famed hound trainer near and far but even he hadn’t been able to make his dogs track down the mysterious necromancer. The brown-haired man turned to look at Tareth who could also see the dogs’ behavior.
“It’s hopeless. The dark magic drives the dogs crazy. I’m sorry but I just cannot get them to stay still and follow the tracks.” Loksey’s voice was almost desperate as he called the hounds back from the woods they had fled to. Tareth sighed in deep frustration at the past weeks’ fruitless search for the elusive enemy who always seemed to be one step ahead of the Crusaders. The paladins’ failure to end the murders and kidnappings of the civilians were slowly starting to erode the people’s faith in the nascent Crusade.
“Cannot we try somewhere else where the magic’s taint isn’t as profound?” Tareth asked in an offering voice even if he could tell by now that things would never be that easy. This was the second day when they had tried to get the houndmaster’s help but there was little progress even with his presence. The hounds were completely useless against the supernatural powers.
“I can see that they know that the necromancer has been here but I cannot force them to follow the tracks. They just cannot seem to be able to even tell which way the necromancer fled, let alone be able to follow him.” Each of the crusaders looked at Loksey with glum expressions. They were at a small hamlet near the Monastery and many villagers had gathered around them to see if the paladins could be able to make progress against the necromancer who held the whole region in a grip of terror. None of them were willing to break the usual news to them that they would once again be forced to spend their nights defenseless, most likely resulting in a few villagers’ demise. Veria kneeled to look at the splashes of blood and could see that, as had often been the case, pieces of ripped, bloody flesh lied in the pools of red liquid, proving that some kind of lesser undead, most likely ghouls, had initially fought against the villagers before they had been taken away. The paladin shivered as she thought about the villagers’ horrifying fate in the necromancer’s hands.
Osran looked at the scene’s surroundings, trying to look for more signs about the direction the enemy had fled after their reprehensible deed but, to his chagrin, the necromancer had hidden his tracks with great care. Miraculously, not even small blood trails were visible outside immediate vicinity of the blood pools. He couldn’t blame the villagers for not having the courage to follow the attacker but that didn’t change fact that the past weeks frustrated him greatly. The necromancer was making a fool out of the crusaders with his brief, decisive strikes. Tareth turned to look at the villagers with a saddened look and started to speak in an apologizing, weary voice.
“I assure you, we are doing our best to track down the necromancer but we haven’t been able to locate him just yet. May light be your shield until his corruption has been cleansed from this beautiful land. I give you my word, villagers, that that day will come.” With those words, Tareth and his comrades rose to their mounts and readied to head to another day’s journey to search for the enemy’s hideout. The villagers were seemingly disappointed and fearful but even then, they knew they had no other defenders. No matter how they tried to look at the future, the horrors would continue with no reprieve. Tareth sighed as he and his followers headed off to a forest road further west in the Glades.
Initially the trip was remarkedly silent, with little words exchanged between the two dozen paladins. Their minds wandered in the many questions their enemy posed on them, most and foremost his remarkable ability to stay hidden and strike quickly. During their weeks in Tirisfal, they hadn’t seen a smallest trace of the murderer who seemed to always know the weakest link in the remaining hamlets in the area. Veria was the first one to speak as the Sun’s rays fought to penetrate the dead canopy of the suffering forest.
“No powerful necromancer would descent into the life of a simple murderer. He must be preparing for something greater with these disappearances.” Veria said matter-of-factly, willing to raise her comrades’ attention to their enemy’s larger plan rather than look simply into the disappearances as mere murders. Osran was the first one to answer, his voice tense at the lack of progress by the crusaders.
“Doan told that our enemy is most likely specialized in poisons and the most disgusting types of corrupting magics. But what can he do with the farmers? I would understand if he wanted to create more ghouls to control but as we see it, he wants living prisoners. I guess we have no way of telling his next move if we don’t find that Light-forsaken bastard’s hideout! But we’ve searched these hills for weeks and we haven’t found anything worth noting! Our comrades are dying in Northrend and Darrowmere and here we are, riding around a forest, simply reporting each of the deaths without being able to do anything! This is a pure disgrace to the Crusade!” Osran’s voice rose as his mind started to dwell in the hateful thoughts towards their mission. No one in the Monastery seemed to blame the knights for the slow progress but it was certainly creating a lot of frustration in the paladins. One of the other knights answered in an agitated voice, willing to silence Osran’s complaints about the situation.
“If you don’t have anything that can help us solve the situation, just shut up! This searching is getting on my nerves without you whining about it further! Do you think there’s anyone here who doesn’t feel the same way?!” The knight looked at Osran with a cold glare, his patience already tested by the recent days. The paladin’s words didn’t seem to be targeted purely on Osran but the situation as a whole but that didn’t make things any easier. Osran was about to answer when Tareth spoke quickly.
“Osran’s right but there’s little we can do about it. At this point it’ll take a miracle if we are to make any progress. I’m sorry but that’s the situation we’re in.” Tareth didn’t turn around and his voice was nearly beaten by the situation. A resigned sigh came from his mouth as he heard the same paladin push the issue even further.
“Valdemar trusted us to get this issue over with and I’m not willing to let him down! Our comrades are dying out there, Tareth! You were put in charge but we haven’t been able to do anything! This isn’t what we came here to do!” The knight’s eyes were locked into Tareth’s back and he was seemingly accusing the mission’s commander. The older knight sat still until the lower-ranked paladin had finished his rant and then turned around and shouted straight at him, Tareth’s usual calmness replaced by full-fledged anger.
“Do you really think I don’t know that, boy!? Do you really think I’m here on vacation? There was a reason Valdemar chose me to lead this quest and not you! Aye, we might be lost and unable to proceed but we are also giving the enemy a chance to mess up! If you…” Tareth’s answer was suddenly stopped by a sudden, sharp remark from a new voice in the conversation.
“Silence, now!” The voice belonged to Loksey and his sharp tone silenced the others immediately. All eyes present turned on the houndmaster and soon they saw the reason for his alarm. The hounds were seemingly fearful and they were starting to move towards a tighter ring in clear terror. The only thing that had caused such a reaction to the dogs had been the pools of black magic in the villages hit by the necromancer’s attack. As the paladins continued to listen to their surroundings, they noticed it was completely silent. The woodlands of Tirisfal were already rid of most of its wildlife but there were still occasional sounds of squirrels and insects. But now, nothing could be heard.
“Prepare yourselves! I guess we have a necromancer to kill…” Tareth said as the hounds’ reactions worsened. The paladins drew their swords, eying the surrounding forest keenly. The late morning’s light did little to illuminate the eternal dusk of Tirisfal so there was very little visible in the surrounding woodland. Seconds went by without the least voice until it was broken by a loud bolt of dark energy hitting the knights who were standing last in the formation.
The initial shock of the attack fell four paladins, instantly killing one of them. In the next few moments, the knights formed a ring to try to defend themselves against further attacks but soon, a horde of dozens of ghouls charged from the forest, instantly jumping on the defenders, doing their best to tear the defenders’ bodies to pieces and forcing a few of them from their steeds. Still, any experienced paladin could survive an attack by the lesser undead but what followed was a quick, decisive turn of events that none of the paladins present would have foreseen.
A high wall of black smoke rose instantly from the ground, separating a few paladins from the main group, cutting them off from the defensive formation. Tareth and Veria noticed this immediately and immediately started their efforts to bypass the wall to reach the knights. That was when they saw a dark form looming amidst the trees, standing still while moving his hands in a manner that anyone could have told was spell casting. He didn’t seem to pay any attention to the paladins looking at him as seemingly all of his concentration was required to control the undead. The two knights exchanged glances and started to sprint towards the man while he wasn’t able to defend himself.
Diodor looked at the two in an investigative way, fully knowing that the paladins wouldn’t be able to attack him from that great a distance. The ghouls and skeletons were doing a good job in dragging the few paladins away from the main host and neither would these two attackers be able to threaten him. An expectant grin crept to his hidden face as he saw from the corner of his eye the two knights charging at him, thinking they stood a chance in this fight. He waited still until the two were at range to cast their first judgements and other weapons of the Light but the necromancer wasn’t willing to let them harass his operation. With a small gesture from the necromancer, clouds of green smoke rose from the ground around the two and the toxic gas started to thicken quickly. Still, to the duo’s luck, Diodor wasn’t willing to reveal even a portion of his true powers so the poison cloud wasn’t lethal but it would end their dreams of stopping him immediately.
Tareth felt like his body was about to fail in the mist of green. Instinctually, he started to stumble to his right, desperate to escape the deathtrap he had gotten himself into. Finally, he felt like he could breathe again but to his horror, he saw that the ghouls were already fleeing with three of his followers and the rest of his troops were in total disarray. He could see that Veria was alive but it was clear that the enemy had managed to accomplish his objectives all too easily. As his thoughts started to become clearer again, he could hear a low, rasping sound speak to him in a silent voice.
“Next time we meet, be sure to fight better. I promise you, a new Scourge is rising and this slight reprieve I give you will soon enough become a curse. No one, not even trash like you, will escape the future I’ll deliver.” Tareth looked in horror as the necromancer started to vanish from his view, quickly merging with the dim background. After a few seconds, everything that had proved that the attack had ever happened disappeared with the departure of the ghouls and the necromancer. All that remained was a group of paladins trying to recover from their new injuries. Among them was one casualty and three knights were nowhere to be seen, taken by the horde of ghouls. Osran was the first one to run after Tareth and Veria, the two lying painfully in the ground.
“Tareth! Veria! Where did the necromancer go?!” Osran would have wanted to check his comrades’ condition but putting an end to the nightmare was a far more important issue at the moment. Veria started to speak in a silent, arduous voice as she turned to look at Osran.
“Gone… he is gone… he disappeared into the air. He isn’t here anymore.” Veria struggled to rise from the ground but her efforts failed due to the intense pain in her whole body. Osran looked at the ground in front of himself before he kicked a large rock away in deep anger. The necromancer had been before him and now four of his comrades were gone for good.
“Cannot anything kill that monster? How many good knights do we have to sacrifice to kill one bastard?” Osran’s mind fumed as he called back to the main group where the knights were still recovering from the attack along with the a few priests who accompanied the paladins. His voice was deep and slow as he tried to put on a forcibly encouraging voice.
“One of the priests, come here! There are two requiring imminent help!” Osran knelt to provide initial ease to his comrades with his own healing powers, noticeably reducing the pain his two comrades were going through. When he noticed that the priest was approaching, he prepared to inform Tareth of his intention to go to see whether his comrades needed any help. However, his words were interrupted by Loksey who was wounded to his leg by a ghoul’s bite. He limped badly but it was clear he had something urgent to say.
“Commander! Commander Tareth! I know who our enemy is!” The houndmaster said in concern as the commander slowly rose to a sitting position. He turned to look at Loksey and asked shortly. He was slowly regaining his senses and the healing was slowly depleting the unbearable pain from his body.
“Well, houndmaster? Tell us his name.” Tareth had been informed by the candidates but only one of them had been familiar to him. If it were any of the others, he wouldn’t care too much but Diodor’s name had been familiar to him since his youth. That knowledge made the brown-haired man’s announcement all the more depressing to the commander.
“He was Diodor Highforest, Tareth. I know him because I fought against him during the War. There’s no doubt about it: even if his voice has grown even weaker and his body even frailer, there’s no doubt in my mind.” Loksey’s voice was disturbed by the memories of the enemy during their last confrontations. He had been extremely lucky to have lived to tell the tale and he was far from eager to experience all of it again. The necromancer was a terrifying opponent and there was no doubt his powers had only grown since then even his body had grown weaker.
Tareth closed his eyes as he thought about the new information. Most of the older warriors of humanity remembered Diodor’s name with great honor due to his exploits during the First War’s siege of Stormwind. He was but a young mage back then who found the courage to risk his life to save the fleeing civilians from the doomed city. He had rallied a few of his colleagues and knights of Stormwind to stand against Blackhand’s onslaught and to everybody’s astonishment, they succeeded in saving the fleeing people. Many of the brave defenders fell in the frantic defense but Diodor and the other mages transported the rest to safety once their success was becoming ever more apparent. In the aftermath of the fall, he took the control of defending the refugees and with his and the remaining officers’ guidance, they managed to reach the welcoming lands of southern Lordaeron. Diodor became a hero and his was one of the most celebrated names from the First War, nearly at par with Anduin Lothar and the fallen king Llane. To think that the deformed, frail man before him was the same Diodor who had saved the people of Stormwind in those distant days brought great discomfort to the knight commander.
“What a shame… Diodor was truly a great man during his time but it seems he has followed the Last Guardian in his way to destructive, evil magic. Well, it cannot be helped anymore, he’s beyond our help. He must be dealt with now. At least we now know who our nemesis is.” Tareth slowly rose to his feet, trying to stand without help but he was quickly forced to lean on a tree to retain his footing. Osran looked at Loksey in clear disappointment, hoping without hope that at least some of humanity’s old heroes were still as noble as they had ever been. Even if Osran had known about Diodor’s fall into necromancy, the knight had still hoped he wouldn’t have to face the fallen mage in battle himself. Fighting an unknown wizard would have been easier than facing an old hero. Tareth turned to look at Osran whose gaze wasn’t any less anxious. Osran’s voice tangled sadness, hate and determination together as he looked at his comrades.
“A champion of the First War or not, he is still a servant of the Lich King and as such, one beyond any hope of redemption. We must give him no quarter for the sake of our comrades. The Crusade’s mission is to destroy any and every vestige of the Scourge from this land and he is no exception.” The conversation with Doan had reminded him of the depth of the necromancers’ treachery even if the mage had said that their newfound powers had changed their way of thinking without them realizing it. Still, that knowledge did little to decrease the damage they had done.
“That’s what we’ve been doing, isn’t it? But even after this incident, we’re still no closer to locating him than we were before!” Veria said in a tired voice as her poisoning was being treated with. Osran turned to look into the forest, as if he was expecting to see something new there. After a moment of clearing his thoughts, Osran started to speak absentmindedly.
“No…, we’re not. You said it yourself, Veria. There’s no doubt that Diodor is chasing far more here than mere massacre against the peasants. His attack against us proved it.” Osran stopped for a little moment before Loksey asked him an obvious question.
“So his plans have succeeded thus far. Whatever he’s up to, we should be prepared for it. We weren’t today and we didn’t stand a chance against his ambush. He could have killed all of us if we would have wanted to!” Loksey spoke in an alerted voice, dreading the return of her hounds’ wailing. He was grateful that the necromancer had left the crusaders alive even if he couldn’t even guess the reason for it.
“But he didn’t, for whatever’s the reason. Clearly Diodor’s priorities weren’t in killing us but in taking our comrades. Even then, he got what he was looking for. We should return to the Monastery. I have a feeling it needs defending before long.” Osran felt sick for proposing abandoning their comrades but each one present knew that they were beyond saving at this point. They could only hope that the Light would make their passing as easy as possible.
“His power and decisiveness are formidable, Osran. Even in the Monastery, beating him will be a herculean task. I don’t know whether we are up to it.” Tareth felt shivers run down his spine as he recalled the necromancer’s voice when he remembered his only words before striking his enemies down. Even with the monks behind them, would they ever be able to beat this terrible foe? Osran looked back at him and turned to Veria and Loksey in an encouraging way. He started to walk towards them and spoke firmly to his comrades.
“Each of us knows that the coming battle will be hard. Our enemy is a necromancer like we’ve never fought with before and he’s more than able to kill of us given the chance. I don’t know what other tricks he has in his sleeve, I don’t even want to know at this point. But neither are we as weak as Diodor made us believe. Or are going to prove that the Light is powerless against necromancy?” Osran said as Veria and Tareth nodded approvingly. Both forms of magic had received a beating during the War but yet, both had survived. Veria was the first one to answer.
“You’re right. Diodor showed us some of his tactics today. We will be prepared in the future and on that day, the fight will be more equal.” Veria tried to see that the paladins still stood a decent chance and she did her best to bury the fearful thoughts in her mind. For better or worse, fleeing from the coming war wasn’t an option. If they were being forced to face the coming battles, they might as well hope they’d live through it. Light’s power was extremely strong so there might still be hope to resist the falling shadow. Osran nodded back at her and continued his speech.
“If things only were so simple. Doan told me that the Plague is the necromancers’ most deadly weapon but we didn’t see a flicker of it today. Make no mistake, the real challenge will come for us later. How I hope it wasn’t so but we must give our all when the time comes. Let’s show that the knights of Tyr’s hand are worthy of their home’s name!” Tyr was an ancient legend within the Church and even if very little was actually known about him, it was believed he was the one being who had brought the knowledge of the Light to the humans in distant, ancient times. During his war with the ancient, unknown beings inhabiting the old Azeroth, he fought for untold ages and in the end, willingly gave up his arm to give the humans a chance to serve the Light and to create a future for themselves. The legend was extremely vague but it was in part its highly mystic nature that had made the story live for millennia. Tareth nodded to Osran, knowing that he spoke the truth. No sacrifice would be too great to free Lordaeron from Diodor’s foul presence.
“The Light has given each of us a role to play in this life. We may as well trust its judgement at this point.” Tareth merely shrugged as they prepared to return to the Monastery. Sooner or later, Diodor’s attack would reach the bastion of Righteousness and, on that day, the defenders would have to be ready if they wished to make a successful stand against the powerful enemy.
The plot is thickening quickly and it isn't long until Diodor's plans will start to move forward. The Monastery's defense will be difficult and will the Crusade be able to stand against this new threat? Any comments or thoughts are welcome! :)
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The Necromancer Makes His Move
Osran looked in slight annoyance at the bread he was breaking. The paladin put the pieces back to the wooden plate and started to cut the small piece of mutton that was served to every denizen of the Monastery during the mornings along with a cup of water and a few carrots. Usually, wine would have been the drink of choice for any knight but it had grown rare in these times of scarcity. Still, this was a far better meal than most of the others he had had in the last months. At least none of it was rotten or brewed in a ship’s cabin for weeks. Osran was about to bite at the bread when he heard Tareth’s, who was sitting opposite to him, thoughtful remark.
“I wonder how Abbendis and Orman are doing in Northrend. We haven’t heard about them since they left to that cursed hellhole.” Tareth spoke as he drank a mouthful of water from his wooden cup. Osran looked at him in slight surprise, not expecting his commander to bring this issue up right now.
“I hope they’re not worse off than us. I’m sure Abbendis leads them safely and wisely. Arthas must put a good defense if he wishes to stop the High General.” Osran said hopefully, hoping against hope that he was correct. Things would get truly ugly if bad news came from the northern land. Still, Osran’s mind was still in the brief but deadly encounter on the previous day. He could shortly hear a brief answer.
“The High General knows his job but still, assaulting Icecrown Glacier itself? That name has been used only in the most fearful tales concerning the Lich King’s story. It is the embodiment of evil and filth in the whole of Azeroth, a pit of unspeakable evil. That doesn’t sound like a place I’d like to attack.” Tareth looked almost relieved that he was talking about such things as distant, faraway places that had nothing to do with him. It was clear that he didn’t lament being left away from that operation.
“Aye, there have been many whispers about it but most of them is rubbish if you ask me. Nearly all of the tales about the Glacier itself is from Kael’thas’ blood elves and we all know how reliable they are. That being said, there could be anything out there. Whatever Abbendis does, he has to be careful.” Veria said absentmindedly. She was sitting with the two but only now joined the conversation.
“Even small hints are better than nothing, Veria. We sent our best crusaders, we can only hope they are good enough to survive out there.” Tareth said in a hoping voice, eating another piece of the small mutton piece. Osran looked at him oddly, willing to make a few things straight.
“The Crusade has to succeed in Lordaeron and in Northrend, Tareth. Or have you already returned to the thought that we’re still struggling to survive the passing day? We are on the offensive to destroy the undead and our comrades in Northrend believe in our cause. Our job may be less glamorous than theirs but we all share the same goal that we have to realize. Abbendis needs our unbreakable trust as we do his, Tareth.” Osran wished to point out that his superior had to acknowledge the necessity of completing every mission the Crusade gave to its members. Tareth put his cup of water to the table as he answered.
“Of course, Osran, and I’m not at all complaining. You know I’m ready to fight whenever necessary but I’m thankful to the Light that I got to stay here. I don’t fear death but I certainly don’t want to meet it until it is completely necessary.” Tareth answered matter-of-factly while looked at Osran briefly. Veria was the next one to speak.
“By all means, that should have happened yesterday. You have no right to think about such matters anymore.” Veria said half-joking, even if she was right about their miraculous survival. Apparently Diodor had had more pressing concerns than to kill two paladins but none of those present had any doubts about the necromancer’s readiness to kill any of them in the future.
“About Diodor… I find it odd that Valdemar thought he was serving the Forsaken. According to Doan’s tale, Diodor has served the Scourge ever since the war.” Osran said as he remembered the Crusader Lord’s parting words. Apparently his information wasn’t as correct as he had let the others know.
“Even he cannot know everything. But you’re right, Sylvanas has been very quiet lately. Apparently she, too, has some work to do in keeping her people together. It only serves us if those beasts keep their ugly faces away from our business.” Veria said as she was finishing her bread. None of the others could disagree with her statement. Even if the Forsaken were undoubtedly an enemy, they could be dealt with later on. No matter how one looked at it, the Scourge was a far greater threat.
“Well, I guess we should start to prepare for today. I cannot wait to hear the night’s news.” Tareth said dryly as he thought about the usual morning reports: a few farmers killed or kidnapped and houses or even whole hamlets decimated. Today they wouldn’t start their usual search but they would rather safeguard the Monastery’s safety as Osran had suggested. The three rose from the table and headed towards the complex’s main entrance and towards the stables. When they had reached the central hall, when they heard the central Cathedral’s bell ringing frantically in the Monastery’s heart.
“Isn’t that the alarm call? Serin told us the main bell sounds!” Veria said in concern as her two companions nodded. This was the call that told about a full-blown assault against the Monastery or its surroundings. It was the announcement that every defender of the Monastery would have to take up arms and report to the main entrance.
“It is. Let’s prepare ourselves before the entire Monastery gets here. It seems Diodor decided to make his move sooner than we expected.” Tareth said as he prepared to get his steed from the stable building. It was mere moments before groups of soldiers, monks and priests started to appear from the main gate.
No more than ten minutes later, almost a hundred defenders of the Monastery were heading towards the surrounding villages. Only a few them had horses and the riders were sent forward to save whatever they could save at this point. The small group of horsemen contained Tyr’s Hand’s paladins, a few priests and the High Abbot himself. Ferren Marcus had never left his domain’s defense to his subordinates and despite his advanced age, the Abbot was by no means a fighter to be trifled with. He may have been growing weak but his command of the Light wasn’t a far cry from the days of his prime.
Osran looked at Marcus with deep admiration. He had gathered most troops of the Monastery to war unbelievably swiftly and the fact that he still led it to war himself was no small feat. However, his report brought great concern upon the aging paladin. According to him, Diodor’s ghouls were patrolling the streets of some of the furthermost villages but there was no real fighting there. This equation brought grim memories to Osran from the days of the original Plague and he couldn’t help but grow deeply fearful about what they would find when they reached their destination.
Tareth felt a similar horror in his mind. He could remember Diodor’s words about this new Scourge and these news only fumed the flames of fear in his mind. If the necromancer had spoken the truth back then, any kind of monstrosity could be possible. He could only hope he and his comrades were up to the coming challenge.
Diodor walked around the desolate streets of Greendale with an expecting, pleased expression that mirrored his internal excitement about the sight around him. Everywhere lied bloody blobs of rotting flesh and choking villagers whose intestines were struggling to escape their bodies and their prisons. The old good smuggling food crates trick never grew old or lost its strength. No one in the village had doubted when some of his better-preserved servants had given them the crates, dressed as Scarlet Scouts. Now, mere half an hour later, Greendale’s entire life had been snuffed out. Diodor couldn’t help but feel deep schadenfreude as he waited for the Crusaders’ arrival. He would soon be ready to make his next move.
The three knights he had taken in the preceding day had finally convinced him that his work was complete. He had spent many long hours investigating the outcome of his final experiment and everything pointed to the direction that the Plague was now perfect. Diodor shrugged as he heard the final cries of agony die out and the entire village starting to get shrouded by swarming insects, soon enough destroying any evidence there had ever been any living being in the hellish landscape that had a few minutes ago been a thriving farming community. But the necromancer was only interested in the hordes of ghouls and skeletons who were rising from the ground, leaving all the excess flesh lying in the streets. This was only the first part of his plan in crushing the Crusaders and he could hardly wait to get into real work. The appearance of the scarlet-colored banner of Lordaeron in the horizon was only a matter of time at this point.
Ferren Marcus looked in deep concern as groups of civilians ran in panic towards the advancing army. Their faces were masks of horror and the High Abbot could see groups of ghouls tearing some unfortunate villagers to pieces in the far distance. Riding at full speed was a rough job for the old man but his troops would be highly discouraged had he stayed away from the defense. His position as the master of the Monastery had been his pride for decades and he would see his charge to the end without any reprieve. He and his followers stopped to listen to the farmer’s fearful words.
“Thank the Light you’re here, High Abbot! Most… most of our village was slaughtered by the ghouls and the necromancer! Please, stop them!” Marcus would have wished nothing more than to show more kindness to the poor villager but his position demanded him to ask firmly about further information.
“How? Where did they come from! Where’s Diodor? Speak!” The Abbot sounded almost cruel as he spoke but there were no options. The villager looked at the priest in shock and with some stuttering, he started to speak.
“The… they came from Greendale! Without a warning, our neighboring village fell to the undead and we were overrun next! Some of us has seen the necromancer walking behind his army!” The man had to gather all his courage to relay even a description of the last minutes. Marcus thought about the villagers’ words for a moment before he thanked him in a more gentle, understanding voice.
“Thank you, good man. In the Light’s name, I promise we will save what we can. Go on now, try to save yourself.” The High Abbot didn’t wait for an answer before he rode forwards, the news taking their time to register in his mind. Greendale had fallen instantly, without a real fight? Shivers crept in the old man’s mind as he tried his best to shut down the thought of the Plague from his mind but it proved to be a harder task than he had hoped. He couldn’t come up with any other explanation to the farmer’s words and that knowledge disturbed him without end.
Tareth, who was riding closely behind the Abbot, looked at Marcus in concern. He had heard the farmer’s words and similar conclusions were forming in the captain’s head. Osran had told him about Diodor’s adeptness in creating the most horrifying of curses and this seemed very much like the necromancer was starting to use his expertise today. Still, the Abbot’s presence created hope in the paladin’s mind. Ferren Marcus was a living beacon Light and one of the leading members of the Church. His feats were widely-known both in the realm of both culture and war. Tareth had to trust he knew what he was doing. There were no people he’d follow more willingly than Ferren Marcus except for the Grand Crusader and the Ashbringer of the Scarlet Crusade.
“To Greendale! Put on a wide line and crush each and every undead on your way and surround the necromancer! This is our chance to stop him once and for all!” Marcus turned around and called on his army that was slowly catching on the riders. No matter Diodor’s power, he’d never be able to fight his way out of the ring that would soon close upon him. Still, neither of the main officers were ready to believe they’d seen the last of the Scourge’s tricks today.
The necromancer could hear the loud steps of the approaching troops grow closer as seconds dragged on slowly. Diodor knew that the defenders of the Monastery thought that by killing him fast and with crushing power they could stop any strategy he was using before he could even start to execute it. The hooded figure looked in a waiting look as the few dozen horsemen appeared over the small range of hills separating Greendale from the nearby Verdant Farms. The necromancer was standing near one of the main streets’ opening, not even trying to hide from the enemy. He had a few ghouls around him but the rest were still hiding, waiting for the first part in the surprise attack.
Veria looked in concern and disgust as she saw the necromancer surrounded by a group of undead and the bloody remains of the village’s denizens. The paladin had a bad feeling about charging the wizard again but she had to accept that he couldn’t fight every one of them at once. She tried to keep her mind calm as the hamlet grew ever closer. The road was still rather narrow as the first surprise of the battle was revealed. From the surrounding woods, about a dozen skeletons suddenly ran towards the charging host, their direction clearly being the center of the attackers’ formation.
Veria looked in confusion as the undead drew closer and closer. Surely they knew that the paladins could easily cut down those enemies? Flashes of Light’s justice illuminated the forest as the knights attempted to strike down the undead. However, something was wrong. They kept on coming, even as their limbs were torn apart from their bodies and bones were burned to ash and by the time the defenders realized what was going on, it was too late.
Explosions of green could be heard around the horsemen and the larger army behind them. There had to be at least forty attackers, nearly the same amount as the farmers who had disappeared during the last month. The green smoke expanded quickly, enveloping many of the riders and even larger part of the army.
“Spread out and burn the infected! It’s deadly poison!” Marcus called as he looked in fear at his left bodyguard vomit his own blood before his throat tore itself to pieces. A few riders were carrying torches which they threw at the falling paladins, making sure their souls could finish their escape from the Lich King’s horrifying grasp.
Osran looked as two more of his old comrades were swallowed by the fire. In the main army the casualties were far higher but even then, the Crusade would take the day. Diodor had used nearly all of his servants for this ambush and he would most likely be left completely defenseless. His poison had done terrifying damage to the crusaders but had he really thought it would kill all of them? This would be a major oversight on the necromancer’s part if it were true.
Meanwhile, in the nearby village of Springmoor, several villagers were starting to feel severe nausea, some of them falling to the ground, trying to avoid fainting from the terrifying feeling. One elderly woman collapsed on the doorstep of her small house, looking around her in deep terror. Many of her neighbors were already dying, their bodies once again rising as horrifying aberrations of themselves. If the woman had been there earlier, she could have told that this was already the second time on the same day this had happened. However, that mattered little to the woman as she realized that she had already taken her last breath as her lungs failed her for the final time. She looked at the pale sun staring down upon the darkened land as the last thing she’d do in this life. The necromancer’s reinforcements were on the way.
Diodor had chosen his position carefully. The town hall was in the center of small winding streets and it would mitigate the charge potential of his enemies considerably. Here, the village’s former residents could do their best to show the Crusaders down and to deal surprising attacks to their flanks. Unlike most of Lordaeron’s villages, Greendale was built rather densely and to a visitor, its center could have been similar to the towns of Corin’s Crossing or Anderhal. This made it easier to defend against larger attacking forces. the necromancer followed in deep concentration as he tried to come up with the most effective strategy to trap the attackers in this village. He looked at the three undead around him. Less than a day before they had been noble paladins of the Crusade, their lives’ fires burning only to kill him. Now, they served as his bodyguards in case anything went wrong. This would be a good chance to test the full extent of his ability to preserve their original powers.
Ferren Marcus looked at Greendale’s streets carefully and tried to see what Diodor was trying to do and to get any hints about his whereabouts after moving deeper into the village. He had ordered his troops to surround the entire village, prolonging the wait until the coming battle’s start but making sure that the enemy wouldn’t be able to escape. The High Abbot waited for minutes until he was confident that Greendale was under complete siege. Marcus blew strongly to his red horn and the Monastery’s army started to advance on the village’s center.
Oh, Greendale… You were one of the fairest villages in this land. I’ve visited here so many times…
The Scarlet Monastery had had a special autonomy from the Crown of Lordaeron, being free to collect its own taxes and to live by its own rules. Greendale had been the westernmost of that territory, its final frontier before the border of the rest of Lordaeron. While most of the hamlets beyond Greendale had fallen long time ago, the Monastery and most of all, its leader, had wished to preserve and defend its old tributaries. The Abbot felt distinct failure to see first of his old domains fall to the Scourge. Was he the Abbot who would finally live to see the downfall of the Monastery itself?
Few of the crusaders had any more positive thoughts when they looked at the houses that were still in perfect condition. They looked like they were still home to their denizens which had been the case as late as in the early morning. Now, the hamlet was the very image of a ghost town, with the dusky light of the sun struggling to find its way through the constant darkness that held Tirisfal Glades in its grip.
The gloomy atmosphere didn’t last long over the crusaders as the short streets led quickly to the town hall. Suddenly, groups of ghouls started to flood out from the doors and the windows of the abandoned houses, cutting their way into the attackers’ ranks. It wouldn’t have taken long for the monks and paladins to repel them but simultaneously, pieces of black ice started to fall from the sky, making ugly hits on the crusaders upon landing. The beating of the huge pieces of ice slowed the attackers down greatly while they struggled to make progress to the main square. Little did they know about what was happening on the other streets.
Diodor looked in contempt as the crusaders fell under his onslaught. Marcus’ group would be in disarray for some time due to the storm and the other attacking group would be held by a larger group of ghouls. Meanwhile, he would have more than enough time to deal with the third major group. Diodor started to move unusually fast for him towards the street, his lungs rasping as he walked. The paladins were fighting off the last of the skeletons when they heard Diodor’s loud voice from ahead of them. The necromancer’s words dipped poison and ambition as he prepared to take one of his vials from his belt unnoticed.
“You’ll be the first to see my new weapon in battle, warriors of Righteousness. We’ll see what happens to your Light and arcane when it is put up against the power of the Cold Dark itself!” Diodor almost shouted as he released the vial’s content in the air. At first, the crusaders tried to ignore the brownish smoke, their minds too focused on killing the cursed necromancer that had csused them trouble for so long. He was so very close… the knights would have to run only a few dozen meters and strike the wizard down and the entire crisis would be over.
One particularly valiant monk, a dwarf, was the first one to run towards the necromancer, confident that he’d managed to land his strike before he would have to take his next breath. The dwarf looked in anger as the image of the source of all the attacks on the Monastery grew ever closer, his covered face completely unmoving as he looked on the dwarf. However, under the hood his mouth formed a few words which went unnoticed to the dwarf.
The monk could feel clear fear forming in his mind suddenly. It was as if the chance that he would never reach the necromancer was the only scenario that was possible to him at this point. Willing to calm himself down, the dwarf unknowingly took a swift breath before he realized his last, decisive mistake. It was mere seconds before the familiar effects of the Plague took hold and the dwarf fell to the ground, his body ruined by the effect of the Plague. One by one, the other crusaders fell to the ground, their escape blocked by a group of skeletons. Not a minute had passed since Diodor’s appearance and the entire street had been turned into a grisly graveyard. One of the major attack groups had been completely annihilated. Diodor didn’t waste a second before started the next part of his operation.
“Rise my minions! Rise and fight in the names of Arthas and Ner’zhul!”
Osran beheaded one of the last skeletons, opening the way for his group’s advance. He or his comrades didn’t have a clue about what had happened on the nearby street, their only thoughts being their offensive against the hated enemy. He looked in relief as the attackers left the violent blizzard and advanced towards the town hall. However, his and the others’ momentary minute of reprieve ended swiftly as a large group of undead appeared before them. Osran raised his sword again, preparing to cut his way through these new enemies when he noticed something disturbing about these new foes.
Most of them were like normal undead but some of them were wearing red tabards or cloaks and many of them had very familiar weapons that were far from normal to the Scourge. Osran felt horror and rage rise within him as he looked at these new attackers, immediately knowing who they had once been.
This ends here, Diodor! Now is the time for reckoning, Light-forsaken traitor!
“Strike them down! The necromancer must be behind them!” Tareth yelled as he charged against his risen comrades. He might have preferred to leave the most dangerous operations to others but there were times when he wasn’t given the chance. Unlike Osran, he didn’t see the Crusade’s mission as something sacred, the captain being more concerned about his own survival. However, sometimes he didn’t have the luxury to pick his battles and he would have never risen to his position if he didn’t give his all in the face of an enemy. He might value his own life very highly but he also understood that it was worth less than Arthas’ honor if the Scourge were ever to achieve their final victory.
However, the crusaders quickly found out that something was horribly wrong. Before they reached their new enemies, flashes of Light started to fall upon the living, their burning power dealing terrible damage on the attackers. Tareth gritted his teeth as he healed a nearly disemboweling hit on his hand and looked at the undead. They looked like any ghouls and skeletons but unlike them, these monsters were able to use the monks’ and priests powers against their own comrades. Tareth looked in fear as their fallen comrades engaged the crusaders in a frantic melee.
Ferren Marcus took a deep breath as he approached his fallen subordinates. The only saving grace in this situation was that he wasn’t able to recognize the disfigured faces of the undead. He would find them out later but now, it was time to use one of his most potent weapons he had in his disposal. The High Abbot spread his arms towards the undead, muttering something under his breath. He had never been one to take joy in learning the most lethal of spells but to his luck, he didn’t need such weapons right now. A mere vindication would be more than enough here.
Many rays of light left Marcus’ hands, falling upon the ghouls like the first rays of morning would upon a still ice on a pond in a spring winter’s morning. Several ghouls burned down immediately as the Light released them from the prison to which they were bound by the vile magic of the necromancer. However, suddenly the bright power vanished, sinking back into the Abbot’s hand almost knocking him down from his steed’s back. The old man regained his balance quickly, only to see the hated enemy standing middle of the street, his voice silently ringing through the street.
“Your magic isn’t enough to return these fallen heroes to their graves. You will have to best them in battle if you wish to face me. However…” Diodor pointed straight forward, to the hills surrounding the fallen village of Greendale. Slowly, hesitant to listen to the old wizard, some of them turned to look behind them and they saw something that took the last vestiges of their hope. Hordes of undead were running towards them in an unbelievably swift pace. It would be mere minutes before they would be surrounded and doomed to be crushed between the two groups. Marcus felt his heart sink as he saw the approaching horde, unable to believe the magnitude of the trap that had been laid upon his forces.
“You didn’t expect Greendale to be the only village to get a shipment from me, did you? You have failed, old man, the Monastery’s buffer villages have all fallen.” Diodor spoke coldly, confirming the reality that the crusaders had feared to be the truth. However, it helped little for the High Abbot to make his decision.
The options were to press on with the offensive and hope to kill the necromancer before the reinforcements arrived or to flee now and prepare for the next battle. The High Abbot felt sick at the knowledge that his troops would never be able to cut through Diodor’s forces in time. If he wished to keep even the smallest of hopes of winning the war, he would have to flee while there still was time for that. With a heavy heart, Marcus took his horn and blew a long and low call, signaling that the operation had been a failure. After concluding his call, the old priest prepared to flee and spoke quickly to the necromancer.
“The Cult will never win, Diodor. You will never snuff out our Monastery’s light. The Church’s vengeance will reach you and Arthas both in time.” All of the attackers turned on their heels and prepared to flee towards the Monastery. Those without mounts would find the escape dangerous but possible if they hurried. The paladins kept the risen crusaders at bay while the others started their flight. However, Diodor wasn’t finished just yet. Heavy blasts of black ice landed upon the paladins, forcing them to flee before they would be completely slaughtered. When they turned around, one of the larger pieces of ice hit the old Abbot to the back, dropping him from his mount’s back.
“High Abbot! Jump behind me, we have to escape!” Osran called in fear as the priest’s mount was slaughtered by the undead. However, the paladin saw a growing pool of black fire in the ground, isolating him from his superior. Marcus rose to his legs and answered to Osran in a shocked voice.
“I’m surrounded, noble paladin! Flee, while there’s still time! I’ll make them fear the Monastery’s power!” The Abbot’s voice was as commanding as ever and Osran could only nod in acceptance as he looked at the old man. There was nothing he could do anymore to save the Monastery’s long-time master. Osran saluted him in deep reverence and headed back with the others.
Ferren Marcus turned to face the advancing undead but to his deep surprise, they started to flee before him. The reason became soon apparent as the hooded figure walked past them towards the doomed priest. His steps were quite calm and confident but they held communicated respect for his opponent.
“Don’t worry, they won’t attack you, master of the Light.” Diodor tried to sound respecting surprisingly well but it was apparent that he wasn’t addressing the older man due to admiration. Marcus gritted his teeth together as he prepared to answer to the necromancer.
“What is the meaning of this? If you wish to kill me, then do it, but know that the Crusade will stop you!” the Abbot tried to put on a defiant, proud pose which surprised Diodor somewhat. Even now, the old man thought he was Diodor’s equal. Well, no matter. The necromancer prepared to see the truth in that thought.
“Not anytime soon, Ferren. I spared you to see the real power of the Light and how it is overpowered by my magic. I have spent my days improving my ways of mastering the powers granted to me by Kel’Thuzad, honing them to a degree where the force you call the Light never could.” Diodor spoke slowly, his rasping voice hindering his ability to speak quickly. He, too, tried to put on as honorable pose as he could. Ferren Marcus was a living legend and even if Diodor wasn’t about to let him escape, the necromancer had to respect him as one of the last real opponents he’d face in this land. Marcus narrowed his eyes as he answered.
“The Light isn’t something that can be bended or twisted at will, Diodor! It is the force of good that can be channeled by someone who is willing to follow its teachings! It is a holy power that serves us due to our humbleness, unlike your terrifying magic that brings death and misery everywhere it touches!” Marcus spoke in a loud, accusing voice as he looked at Diodor listen closely. The necromancer waited for a moment before he answered.
“You speak as if you know something about this “Light”. I fought alongside the Church long time ago and not once did I receive an answer for anything I wanted to know from them. You haven’t seen a portion of the horrors the Cult has done but each of them has been worth the pain and the torture. I’m closer to finding about the true nature of the world than you or anyone in your Monastery ever will!” Diodor sounded extremely confident about his point, something that the High Abbot disapproved off greatly.
“The nature of the world? The Light is that which grants everything that is pure to us but of course that’s something you will never see! Every bit of knowledge you might gain from your dark path will bring this world closer to destruction and by the time you complete your studies, everything will be lost! Are you too blind to realize that?” The priest nearly shouted at this point, Diodor’s arguments bringing deep hatred upon him. Diodor seemed to reflect those words for a moment before he gave his answer.
“Maybe I would be if I cared for that in the least. But the depths of the magic reveal far more than you can even dream of. Necromancy is but a stepping stone in my research for the true nature of magic and the world behind it. This school of sorcery is a hint bestowed upon us by the Legion, one that can reveal more to us of the Nether than we can know of. The only thing I dream of is the day when I can say I’ve unlocked the last mysteries of the magic and overtaken everyone in this world in knowledge and understanding of the powers that serve us. I care for nothing else.” Diodor said in a hissing voice, his tone slowly taking a more proud tone to it. This was the project that Diodor had dedicated his life into. For now, the Cult was the only group that could advance those aspirations. Marcus could feel that the time for talk was slowly going to end.
“There is far more to Azeroth than sheer brute power, Diodor, but you are too self-confident to realize it. Just remember, your soulless magic will only serve you while our strength guides us and shows us the way to eventual vengeance! You can never win!” After his final words, the High Abbot released a powerful surge of bright Light at the necromancer who countered it with a bolt of dark smoke which was followed by a rain of frosty hail. Diodor knew he was wasting his advantage with exempting the undead from this battle but he wanted to have a real test of his own strength against this formidable opponent. Diodor believed little in honor but the only way he could truly appreciate his triumph was by affirming the true extent of his power.
Marcus moved to shield himself from the falling frost and granted himself many blessings of the Light. He wanted to make sure the necromancer’s attacks wouldn’t breach his defenses easily and it gave him more room for maneuver later on. Diodor took this moment to attack him with a rush of fear, willing to see if it were strong enough to break the old man’s resolve. Marcus could feel horror grow within him but he quickly calmed his mind with extreme dedication and soon enough, he felt the courage return to his battled mind. Diodor looked at the Abbot in an almost respecting way, satisfied by his ability to calm his mind against his powers. Still, the priest would never win. Diodor continued his unending onslaught as the High Abbot tried to stand his ground feverishly.
Osran felt a cold grip in his heart as he saw waves of ghouls close upon the crusaders, closing one of the last spots where an easy escape would have been possible. He looked at the advancing ghouls in deep hatred and he knew there was no time for any kind of hesitation. The ghouls’ ranks seemed to be rather thick but it couldn’t be helped. Either he and his comrades would have to go through or doe here.
“Concentrate on one spot and give your everything to achieve a breakthrough!” Tareth called as the escaping crusaders moved closer to each other. Osran moved to the frontline and prepared for the collision. Exorcisms from the paladins felled many undead immediately but their ranks restored almost immediately. The aging knight looked at the paladins around himself, hoping beyond hope that they could break through the enemy’s lines. The initial contact was a total bloodbath, with the undead being trampled under the knights’ hooves. The infantry followed them closely, safeguarding the flanks from any counterattacks. Rotting hands hit at shields, lights flashed in the dusky morning and the knights managed to penetrate Diodor’s lines. However, a certain accident threatened to cause mayhem in the fleeing troops.
Tareth had been hit from his steed’s and he was lying in the ground. Miraculously, the other paladins managed to avoid trampling him just barely. Osran cringed as he looked at his commander but he was close enough to try to save him. Osran quickly turned around and with precise maneuvering, managed to get to his superior just in time.
“Get behind me, Tareth! We have to go now!” Osran commanded in a stern voice, looking at his captain grimly. Tareth looked at him in appreciation and even with his slight injuries, he managed to rise to Osran’s horse and not a moment too soon. The open spot in the undead ranks was quickly closing and soon Tareth would have been left to die in the hands of the undead. Osran looked towards Greendale, bidding the last honors to the High Abbot before the village disappeared from sight. The operation had failed miserably and the losses had been massive but at least the Crusade would fight another day.
Many blows had been traded between the two combatants and Diodor was more than pleased with the results. The priest was as powerful as he had expected but he was by no means a match for the necromancer. Either the older man had simply defended or his efforts to receive an opening for an attack had been thwarted immediately. A growing resignation rose to the Abbot’s mind as he realized that he was fighting a battle he couldn’t win. Still, he was able to keep his proud posture as he executed an honorable, last stand to the values he had always defended. Finally, after a long duel, Diodor came to the conclusion that his hopes had been confirmed. With a congratulating voice, he spoke for the last time to his opponent.
“You are every bit as powerful as I’ve heard, Ferren. Thank you for giving me this chance to prove that the Light is nothing compared to the power of necromancy. Now, it’s time to close one chapter in the history of Tirisfal!” Diodor stretched his hand towards the hapless priest and released a large cloud of swirling, brownish energy around Marcus, ending the fight immediately. The old man who had led the seat of Lordaeron’s wisdom for decades started to rot before Diodor’s eyes and soon his skin and flesh had been eaten away by the horrifying power of the new Plague. Diodor was prepared to cast the spell to resurrect his combatant when he heard another, slightly older voice speak behind him.
“Well done, Diodor. I guess congratulations are in order.” The necromancer turned quickly to look behind him, startled by the fact that he had been managed to approach without him noticing. Moreover, the newcomer’s identity puzzled him greatly. He was a grey-haired and bearded man who wore a similar robe as Diodor. The robe of the Cult of the Damned.
“Diesalven! What are you doing here? Trying to kill me?” Diodor spoke in an aggressive voice, his old colleague’s appearance troubling him greatly. If the Cult knew about his whereabouts, why hadn’t they contacted him before? The man known as Diesalven walked slowly towards Diodor whose gestures prompted him to stop after walking a few meters.
“No. It would be a tough fight and even if I happened to win, it would be a total waste. You were one of our lead researchers and killing you is surely not in our best interests.” Diesalven looked directly at the other necromancer who returned a confused looked beneath his hood. He was slightly relieved to hear that he wasn’t up for another fight but the older wizard’s antics didn’t amuse him at all.
“Don’t play with me, Diesalven! State your business, now.” Diodor stopped short of sounding truly threatening as he, neither, was far from eager to engage his counterpart in a battle. Diesalven looked around himself at the abandoned village and then answered to the other necromancer.
“The Cult has followed your moves ever since your dismissal from our midst. Even if you failed miserably in the power struggle, we never wished to give up on one of our old core members. We always knew you could offer more to us than you did in the past.” Diesalven’s arrogant voice brought great anger to Diodor who didn’t like Diesalven’s tone at all.
“I was deceived, not defeated! And if the Cult think I’m their pawn, they are badly mistaken! I serve only myself, not some fools who deserted me long ago!” Diodor lied as he tried to strengthen his position in the uncomfortable discussion. His loyalty belonged to Kel’Thuzad but the Cult itself was a mere stepping stone for the younger necromancer. Diesalven looked at him expressionless and answered in a dry voice.
“It matters little whether you were betrayed or defeated in battle, you were still outsmarted and beaten in our eyes. However, Frostwhisper himself has decided to offer you a way to redeem yourself from your failure.” Diesalven finally said as he looked at the other necromancer in an arrogant way. Diodor felt his anger rise from the way his counterpart showed his superior position. Still, Diodor knew that this was his best way to regain his lost position in the eyes of the Scourge’s masters.
“By destroying the Monastery, is that it? I doubt you would have appeared here otherwise today.” Diodor said in an attempt to take back the control of the discussion. Diesalven nodded in approval and answered quickly to his colleague.
“Correct. You would be the first former member who would be allowed back into our organization. Frostwhisper even promised you an audience with Kel’Thuzad himself if you are successful.” Those words finally captured Diodor’s full attention and his contempt at Diesalven was forgotten immediately. If he played his cards correctly, there was a chance he could ask for favors from Kel’Thuzad himself, almost instantly rising to the Cult’s highest echelon of command. He was about to answer when Diesalven interrupted the other necromancer.
“But all of that happens only when the Monastery is overrun by the Scourge. Win or die, I care little for it. The Cult provides no help because you must prove your worth alone.” Diesalven stated the obvious as Diodor felt an ever-deeper urge to complete his mission. It hadn’t changed but it has received an even deeper meaning. Diodor’s mouth turned into an expectant smile as he answered.
“Tell Frostwhisper that he can deem the job done. Now, leave, before you have outstayed my welcome!” Diodor said sharply, prompting the other necromancer to reply in kind and leave the ruins of Greendale, leaving Diodor to consider the new development and to advance his plans for his next move. No matter what, he would return to the Cult and claim his prize. That was a vow he gave to himself as he started to walk back towards the village’s centre.
And there's the next chapter! The campaign for the Monastery has begun and it'll take a small miracle for the crusaders to defeat the advancing Scourge. I hope that those who still read this story finds this a good read and any feedback would be appreciated! Have a great time until the next chapter! :)
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Whitemane’s Gambit
The retreat to the Monastery was surprisingly organized even if there were minor ambushes launched by the chasing undead and casualties were moderately high among the fleeing soldiers. Everywhere they looked, the crusaders could see dead villages and pools of blood in the spots where their former countrymen and women had met their horrifying ends. Some of the houses were burning and their dancing flames only darkened the already dark sky. Nearly all of the remaining human villages in eastern Tirisfal Glades were wiped out within an hour and worse yet, the villagers would now fill the necromancer’s dwindled ranks. The few remnants of the region’s old countryside were gone forever, only the Monastery itself standing as the last, fading memory about what these lands once were. This day would have a momentous and tragic legacy but for now, the only thing that mattered to the crusaders at this point was safeguarding their own positions in the Monastery and to halt the Scourge’s advance while there was still time.
“Get all the monks and the tools from the Soldiers’ quarter here! Quickly, the undead will be here at any minute!” The voice belonged to Renault Mograine who was among the first of the soldiers to reach the Monastery grounds. Even if he hadn’t witnessed the day’s greatest loss personally, the young paladin could immediately tell that Ferren Marcus was nowhere to be seen. Given the situation, putting the pieces together wasn’t a major challenge. Unlike many of his comrades, the young paladin felt no sadness or regret this development, far from it in fact. As long as he could remember, the blonde-haired knight had despised the old Abbot almost as deeply as he hated his father and he had waited for a chance to take his place. Renault knew that his family name gave him major leverage in giving him the command in this sudden and dangerous situation. He was approached by a tall and extremely muscled man who looked at him with an aggressive expression.
“Who gave you the right to command us, Mograine? Get into the work like the rest of us!” The large man spoke to the young paladin and the latter was momentarily heckled by this display of brute intimidation.
“At least you won’t order me, Herod! You may be one of our mightiest warriors but you don’t know anything about commanding! Leave that part to others, more capable men!” Renault hissed under his breath as he looked at the larger crusader. His hostile look was greeted in kind by the man called Herod who had long served as one of the most ardent defenders of the Monastery due to his strength, passion and skill. Many overlooked him as anything other than a mere brute, a custom Herod didn’t seem to mind.
“Don’t test my patience, brat. You may be the Highlord’s son but that means nothing here. Begin earning your upkeep before I have to teach you a lesson. Get out of my sight!” After one, hateful look Herod moved away from Renault and headed to build the barricades around the Monastery complex, leaving Renault to look at him in annoyance. He respected Herod’s value as a soldier but he despised the larger man’s arrogant and self-righteous attitude. Still, Renault knew his own cards were rather good at this point. The High Abbot was dead and soon many others would have a chance to lay down their strategies and visions until the next Abbot could be appointed which wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
Half an hour later the barricades were high enough to hold off the undead even if it was becoming clear that their assault had been stopped for now. Nearly all of those who had survived the brutal onslaught shuddered at the memory of the turning villagers and the brutal remains of their old bodies as well as the cold, overwhelming power of the Scourge. But most importantly, the Monastery’s exalted and beloved lord was no longer. There was no one who would be able to take his mantle and lead the crusaders to victory in this dire hour. The mood was nearly defeated when the mournful bells of the Monastery called the higher-ranked members of their forces into the Cathedral for reasons that weren’t too difficult to guess.
Osran accompanied his captain to this meeting as one of the few senior knights of his group. The leaders and officers of the Monastery headed to this occasion as soon as they could but the moods and the expressions of the attendees would have been more fitting for a funeral. Some were openly weeping while others’ faces were masks of hatred and retribution. To Osran’s surprise and shock, the priestess who started to speak was the same one to who had interrupted his conversation with Renault in the morning following their arrival. The brief acquaintance had been far from pleasant. Osran could only hope that he had judged her wrong.
“My brothers and sisters, as you know, our revered Abbot Ferren Marcus fell during the morning’s battle, a loss that can never be replaced. His ability to lead and inspire us was without equal and his passion in preserving our Monastery’s wisdom and heritage is an example to us all. He lived and died as a true champion of Lordaeron and the Church. Nonetheless, the reality is that he is dead.” Whitemane’s words were full of sorrow and respect to the dead priest but it turned into a sharper one with the last sentence. Her eyes seemed to penetrate each and every one in the room as she continued.
“I served as his deputy for his last years and by the pretense of Lordaeron’s law, I’ll take his place in absence of the Church’s central command. Normally, our Monastery’s leader should be declared and affirmed by the Church’s supreme leader but due to his absence, I’m taking control of our home for now.” Osran looked around himself with surprise and worry. Something about Whitemane caused distrust in the brown-bearded knight, something he couldn’t quite point out. Still, he knew his word would weigh little here and the paladin raised no objections.
“However, before we do anything else, we must crush the necromancer and secure our Monastery from Diodor’s attack. If we fail, all of our lives will be forfeit. Half of our forces fell today and beating the enemy became much more difficult due to our failure. However, I have already spoken with someone who will be able to provide us with a strategy that can give us a chance to save ourselves. Renault Mograine, please step forward!” Whitemane looked at the young paladin as he moved to her side. Many in the hall exchanged surprised looks as the inexperienced, arrogant boy had been called to give them orders. Especially Herod looked disappointed by this sudden turn of events but he, like Osran, kept his mouth shut. Mograine looked at the others and continued where Whitemane had stopped.
“Indeed, I believe I’ve found a decisive flaw in Diodor’s plans. The cursed enemy of the Light might be able to master his evil, destructive powers and he may have slayed our comrades without end but he is still nothing more than a filthy murderer who stands no chance against our retribution. During the battle, I could see that he knew everything we would do and that helped him counter our strategy easily. According to what I’ve learned, the key to beating him is to catch him by surprise and to give him no time to develop his nefarious plans. I say we regather the rest of our troops and counterattack the necromancer before he has even digested his first, lucky victory.” Mutters of approval and concern could be heard in the room as most of the crusaders had a hard time trusting their very lives to the young paladin and his plan but none of them could come up with anything better. After all, anyone who would object to Renault’s proposition implied that he or she had a better idea, something they simply didn’t have.
However, one paladin couldn’t believe his ears as he listened to Renault’s proposition. Two times the crusaders had attacked Diodor straightly and both times had resulted in a complete disaster. Osran had seen many fine strategies and battleplans during his life but the younger Mograine’s idea certainly wasn’t one of them.
“I object! We cannot rush towards him once more! If he is waiting for our counterattack, we’re all as good as dead! We cannot take that risk” Osran’s voice was almost a cry as he interrupted Renault’s speech. All of the eyes in the hall turned to look at the interrupter, most of them unsure what to make of his objection. Renault turned to look at Osran who quickly walked towards the altar as was a custom for those seeking a chance to speak directly to the preacher.
“Who gave you the right to speak, outsider? Time is of the essence and you wish to waste our time trying to question your superior?” Renault yelled in deep displeasure at the aging paladin who tried to rob him of his newfound authority and respect. Osran answered in a more silent and respecting voice while he still withheld his firmness.
“With all due respect, crusader Mograine, no one appointed you just yet and even if Inquisitor Whitemane did without telling us of it, the Church’s rules allow for its attending members to voice their doubts if they see flaws in the speaker’s judgement. We all know that my right to speak is unquestionable. Isn’t it so, High Inquisitor?” Osran looked at Whitemane with an uncompromising but noble expression. He was quite sure his proposition wouldn’t be accepted but he wasn’t about to let the younger knight or his companion to rob him of his rightful answer. Whitemane looked at Osran in deep annoyance but he knew the older knight spoke the truth. The priestess simply nodded to him reluctantly, signaling that Osran could proceed. Renault looked at his companion in chagrin but he knew better than to say something unthought. No matter how little the younger Mograine despised the situation, he couldn’t afford to lose his credibility now.
“Then speak, old man. Maybe then you finally learn to stay silent during times like these.” Renault’s voice was cold and held clearly restrained anger. Osran realized he wouldn’t get a better arrangement for his objection and he turned to look at the assemble crowd. Most of them didn’t seem to know which one to listen but they at least knew Renault personally while Osran was an outsider, albeit a valuable one.
“We keep losing to him because we do exactly as he expects. During his attacks on the villages in the previous weeks, he could always tell how we’d react to his attacks but we knew nothing of him. He could always plan his attacks perfectly because we wouldn’t be able to counter them. This morning, we attacked him headlong and he had a trap laid out for us and we walked to it without a second thought! Now Diodor probably expects us to counterattack and try to to avenge Marcus and if we once again fall to it, we’re done for!” Osran spoke in a firm voice and his eyes resonated with clear determination. The audience listened to him in worry until Renault once again spoke.
“Or then again he might expect us to whimper here like dogs, resigned to our fate as servants of the Scourge! Are you saying that we should stay here and wait until we’re surrounded and ready to be slaughtered?” Renault narrowed his eyes as they seemed to penetrate Osran will their enraged glare. Osran felt greater concern by the minute for the young Morgraine and his ability to once inherit the Ashbringer and Alexandros’ position from his father but those thoughts had to be cast away now. The Monastery’s fate could very well be decided by this debate.
“The most important thing at this point is to minimize the amount of forces Diodor commands during our next battle. Another failed attack could provide him with an unstoppable advantage in manpower, especially as his soldiers seemed to retain the power they held in life. We have to fight a more restrained battle and let the mages burn…” Osran was suddenly interrupted by Whitemane who decided to partake in the debate sternly and with a voice that echoed Renault’s hostility. She had no more appetite to fight with the paladin and she resolved to get this irritant out of the way.
“The mages? We are in center of Light’s power in this land and you recommend that we rely on the mages? Since when have paladins deemed the good things in this world worthless in face the destructive, brutal power of the unstable magi?” Whitemane yelled at Osran whose calm expression slowly started to give way to the anger he held towards the two. Arellas, who was among the attendees, looked at Osran in surprise, not expecting the paladin to be willing to provide him and his colleagues such a major display of trust in front of the others. Osran’s voice started to rise slowly as he prepared to once again defend himself.
“If they are the key to our victory, yes! We, the paladins and priests, are the main warriors of the Crusade and we will be able to vanquish any evil that we encounter. But that triumph will prove worthless if that evil rises again from its grave! Diodor isn’t invincible and he mustn’t be allowed to get the initiative again! No matter what, we have to avoid falling into his trap once more and the magi, alongside with our scouts, are a good way to bypass his plots!” Osran said in a loud voice which silenced the others to simply follow the debate, willing to see if Mograine and Whitemane would be able to defend their position against this brave outsider.
“And the longer we chatter here, the more time he’ll have to hone his strategy, old man! As for the magi, they’ve proven them too unreliable for us to lay our strategy in their hands! Do you want more of them to join the necromancer’s ranks, outsider? Do you ?!” Renault yelled in cold rage as he thought about the treachery of many of the magi in the past. Not only was this decrepit upstart questioning his authority but he was also threatening the Crusade itself with his reckless plans. He had to show him his place here, before the eyes of his comrades.
“Many others of us will serve the Scourge soon enough if you have your way, Renault! I’ve known your father for years and he has always led his troops with courage and wisdom, always considering all different aspects of the coming battle! The Ashbringer has never sacrificed a comrade needlessly and neither must we today! We simply need to be patient and precise in our moves!” Osran hoped to invoke a flurry of doubts in the younger Mograine’s head but he didn’t know the young man’s contempt for his father. Alexandros was a beacon of hope for the Crusade and surely his son should remember the amount of personal sacrifice the elder Mograine had gone through in the two great wars. At this point, Renault was about to unleash an all-out attack on Osran when Whitemane suddenly whispered something to him. She realized that a rant of the Highlord’s faults wouldn’t be helpful to building trust on the two among the audience.
“The Ashbringer has always been a man of action and today we honor his leadership by following his principles. I believe in his son’s judgement and leadership today over this unknown outsider. The Church grants its acceptance to Mograine’s plan. Does someone object to its order and defend our guest’s proposition?” Confused muttering filled the room but no one wanted to stand up to the decision of the Church’s highest official in the Monastery. Also, Mograine’s name and the straightforwardness of his plan was a huge encouragement to many of those present.
Osran looked around himself with a discouraged expression, seeing that only Tareth, Herod and Arellas looked at him in clearly sympathetic eyes. Osran knew that his cause was lost for now, no matter how much despair acknowledging it brought to the aging knight. Regardless of his disappointment with the outcome of the argument, he knew his chance to speak had been spent and any further arguing would only worsen his position. He bowed gracefully to the duo and spoke in a tense but respecting voice.
“Excuse my interruption, my comrades. I accept your proposition. Let’s hope it will be the correct one.” Osran turned on his heels and walked back to his seat. He could feel Renault’s vengeful eyes bore deep into his back as he walked but he knew there was nothing the young Mograine could do at this point. He had won the argument but it allowed no further repercussions to the lost side. Tareth looked at his follower with an apologizing expression as he sat down.
“Well spoken, Osran. I’m sorry the others couldn’t see the truth in your words.” The knight captain whispered to Osran who followed the duo’s speech with a bitter look.
“They will, eventually. Sadly it may be too late for us by then.” The brown-bearded paladin shook his head as he prepared to head to the courtyard and back into battle. He smiled in bitter irony at the thought that it seemed like his superiors had decided that he and his comrades wouldn’t live until the evening. The thought was a mix of disgust and contempt at the man who was supposed to follow in his father and brother’s footsteps in serving the Light and defending the weak. At this pace he would become the shame of the whole Mograine family.
The Monastery was bordered by now-abandoned farmlands to the south whereas to its west opened a thick forest that separated the complex from its western tributary villages. To the region’s past inhabitants, this would be the time to enjoy the reaps of the warmest time of the year and to enjoy the long, happy days preceding the coming fall and eventual winter. The woods would have once bloomed with life as the Midsummer’s warm wind flushed through them but now, only tiny, struggling pieces of vegetation grew in the dying trees. Beneath the forest’s dark canopy gathered hordes of newfound ghouls, manning the thickets and strategic hills surrounding the Monastery’s western Interrogation quarter. Diodor walked middle of his newly-enlarged army as he saw the towers of the huge Monastery rise between the trees. Originally, the necromancer had planned to put the complex under siege and to batter its defenses down one by one. However, Diesalven’s visit had changed all that. Diodor no longer saw this as a test of his personal merit: this was a chance to achieve the next leg in his lifelong quest into the secrets of sorcery.
Diodor waited patiently as he expected some kind of retaliation from the crusaders, something with which they would hope to avenge their fallen master. The necromancer had decided to rely on more direct action from now on to achieve his desired goal as soon as possible. Still, Diodor was no fool and he knew that he was still far from invincible. The first fight had gone as he had planned but it wasn’t an assurance that the rest of the confrontations would follow the same pattern. The necromancer had gone through far too much to let a simple, stupid surprise turn into his undoing. Diodor could already see the smug, rejoicing faces of his old rivals if they heard about his failure and death.
Still, those seemed distant prospects as Diodor heard massive, thundering behind him. No matter how he tried to prove himself wrong, there simply wasn’t a chance the crusaders would be able to defeat him. Diodor’s worries were further diminished as he saw groups of monks and priests gather at the main door of the Monastery.
Once you make your final mistake, it’s my time to become Kel’Thuzad’s right hand and the overlord of these lands! Come… come here. Whatever you do, it will be of no use before my power!
Arellas didn’t feel comfortable at all when he mounted his steed, ready to join the risky counterattack. He regretted deeply Osran’s failure to persuade his comrades to abandon this foolish endeavor but it was too late now. He could only hope that Renault was wiser than his years would indicate. The elf himself wanted nothing more than to avenge his homeland but not like this. He and the handful of mages following him had been heavily utilized or but little trusted in the previous battles as Marcus saw their value as soldiers but not as comrades. This seemed to change little under the new leadership but still, Arellas knew his duty remained. He would give his all to fight the Scourge, no matter how it would end. He owed it to his now-fallen people to show that the high elves wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Sally Whitemane turned to look at her companion as they prepared to depart to battle. The inquisitor knew she held the true power with the Church’s backing but Mograine’s name was a useful tool in bringing the Monastery under her grip. The two had known each other since their early childhood so a deep amount of trust had developed between the duo who had so easily claimed their place as the masters of the Monastery. Whitemane spoke to Renault in a neutral, matter-of-factly voice.
“Remember what we planned in the morning! We cannot afford to fail or else our legitimacy will be compromised! The others will engage Diodor’s forces in battle and we will outflank him while he’s preoccupied. Just be sure that you won’t fail in this task.” Whitemane wished to make it clear that their careers were most likely on stake here along with their lives. The two had waited for this chance for a long time and Marcus’ death had opened them this window of opportunity. They had even planned to murder the High Abbot in the past but the risk of failure and the chance of being caught outweighed the benefits of getting rid of a man who’d likely pass away in a few years anyway.
“I won’t let that villain live until the evening, Sally. That is the only way I can ever step out from my father’s shadow and to prove that I’m a more powerful paladin that he’ll ever be. Maybe even our subordinates will prove to be useful soon enough. Killing the necromancer is a mere stepping stone to greater power in the Crusade.” Renault spoke coldly, his voice reflecting his internal resoluteness for greater glory and honor within the Crusade. Whitemane looked at her companion with a stern look, not willing to hear those words just yet.
“Just remember that Diodor is more powerful than any of us. You cannot attack him straight away and expect to win! That kind of attitude is why you would have never received the others’ approval for your plan without my help!” Whitemane said, willing to underline her point with a firm voice. Even if she had grown to respect Mograine’s willingness to act and ruthlessness, she wasn’t in any way willing to give him any quarter from her guidance. They might enjoy each other’s company and share a common, happy history but both of them were most of all ambitious and ruthless plotters who knew they simply needed each other’s help in safeguarding their position within the Monastery and the Crusade as a whole.
“How could I forget it? That insufferable corpse did his all to undermine my authority! Without him, no one would have even dared to question a Mograine’s word! I’d get rid of him today already if I didn’t need each and every paladin’s help in this battle. I can show him his place later, after all this has been dealt with!” Renault said in clear anger, knowing that his opponent was only a few meters behind him, riding in the first lines with his captain. No matter. He would leave back to Tyr’s Hand after this battle and Renault would make sure he’d never return to the Monastery in the future.
“It’s amazing how much headache one old man caused you. You could have handled him more easily if you have given your plans more thought! Luckily we already went through it so even you might remember it now!” Whitemane said mockingly as she turned her gaze back at the road before her. It was slowly starting to drift downwards, towards the south where the road to Greendale would start. However, that journey would end much sooner than the two had expected.
Suddenly, without a warning, the ranks of the crusaders broke down as a large group of soldiers suddenly started to scream and run towards each other, causing severe chaos in the wider array of troops and momentarily breaking their will to fight. On this moment, a group of undead appeared from the forest but they didn’t charge as normal ghouls and skeletons would. These newcomers stood still and started to cast their spells upon the surprised crusaders, releasing the Light’s vengeance upon its own champions. However, this time the defenders were prepared for this kind of turn of events and they shielded each other from these blows. As they had been told, it was of extreme importance to keep the casualties as low as possible.
Renault and Whitemane cursed as they saw this sudden development. The paladin moved to safeguard his companion who in turn provided him with powerful healing and blessings that turned the two into a powerful fighting unit.
“Let’s find the bastard and put an end to this! Just safeguard my back!” Renault said as he started to cut into the horde of the undead.
“Just hurry, my champion! We have to catch him off guard!” Their whole strategy relied on the assumption that Diodor didn’t expect a few defenders to breach his lines and to leave their comrades behind. Abandoning one’s allies was against the principles of the Crusade but one that the two were prepared to breach.
The situation in the main force of the defenders was chaotic and discouraged as they had once again been surprised completely. They had managed to defend themselves successfully but more and more of the risen priests and villagers swarmed from the forest. Osran looked at them in despair and rage as he thought about his earlier words and the fact that they had so readily been dismissed by the denizens of the Monastery.
Well, that’s their loss as well as mine. Come here, bastards! I’ll conclude what I started during the fall of Northdale!
Osran’s mind raged with fury as he infused his sword with the power of Light and moved to the front line, willing to cut down as many undead before they would finally be overwhelmed or ordered to flee. He might have been defeated in the debate but he was willing to go to any lengths at this point as long as it hurt the Scourge and the hated traitor of both Lordaeron and Azeroth. Osran’s conscious mind had long since given way to the red fury of the battle and contempt at his leaders. No matter what, his blade would cut down as many undead as possible before the end.
“My fellow crusaders, let’s give them Hell! Cut our comrades down and strike down the cursed necromancer! Fight for Lordaeron!” Osran yelled and started his charge at the undead on the edge of the forest. More and more powerful blasts of twisted Light rained upon the crusader but the sound of his comrades answering to his battlecry swiped the last vestiges of doubt from Osran’s mind and he quickly run past the ditch separating the road from the forest, his comrades’ cries ringing in his ears.
The initial contact brought many casualties on the undead but even in his enraged state, Osran could tell that he couldn’t keep up his momentum for any longer. No matter how hard it was to accept, these were his old comrades and they knew the art of fighting as well as he did. Still, the aging paladin struggled to cut down his foes, encouraged by the thought that the whole Crusade’s fate was hanging in the balance. Should the Monastery fall, the Crusade would be completely wiped out from Tirisfal and another front would be created against them by the Scourge, hampering the humans’ offensive capabilities greatly and probably dooming them to a long and slow defeat.
Even then, he knew that there was close to zero chance of actually beating back the charging undead, their numbers vastly outnumbering the defenders and some of them possessing the same abilities as the living. There wasn’t any chance of victory against this monstrous foe. Osran felt unbelievable pain as a hit upon hit at him, only to be healed by his comrades. Osran was engaging another fallen farmer when one of the risen paladins hit him into the back by a bright judgement, causing a mortal injury to someone who didn’t have healers nearby. Osran turned around and to his relief, he saw a man whose presence filled him with new hope. Herod stood in front of him and looked sternly at the smaller paladin before he continued his fight.
“Stop staring around yourself, paladin! You started this charge so at least fight until the end! Now, monsters, face the Blades of Light!” Osran looked in awe as the huge, red-helmeted man disappeared into the undead horde, his swirling axes cutting dozens of them down instantly. Osran let a slight smile creep into his face: if everyone had Herod’s courage and strength, the Scourge wouldn’t stand a chance.
Diodor himself was following the fight deeper in the woods, carefully inspecting the situation before diving into the heat of the fight. His servants could keep the crusaders busy long enough for him to inspect whether there were any tricks that he should be aware of. Nearly, if not all of the Monastery’s defenders, were engaged in frantic melee and there didn’t seem to be any hidden threats in the dark woods. Maybe it were time for him to end this battle and to impose full siege on the Monastery and to decide this campaign once and for all.
“There he is! Renault, assault him first and I’ll join in once he puts his attention on you!” Whitemane said as she saw Diodor walk towards the raging battle, looking as confident and malicious as ever. The young Mograine looked at the necromancer in fear, his black cloak, tormented appearance and hooded face filling him with horror and hate. Still, should he dispose of this villain, nothing would prevent his ascension into the Crusade’s highest echelon of leadership, past his pitiful relatives and pathetic comrades.
“He doesn’t seem to notice our presence. Just do your part and I’ll do mine. We will slaughter him right here.” Renault whispered to Whitemane who simply nodded and answered.
“Go, now! We don’t have much time!” The two were hiding in the dark bushes near where the necromancer was walking. Renault tightened his grip on his sword, hoping beyond hope that their attack would be a successful one. The time between his appearance from the dark woods into engaging Diodor was little more than two seconds, a time in which he hoped it would be impossible for the necromancer to defend himself. Renault was greatly taken aback by Diodor’s swift jump backwards and his surprisingly agile dodge. The paladin’s sword hit the ground mere inches before the necromancer who was seemingly surprised by the young paladin’s attack.
“I knew you were planning something like this, cowards! It won’t do you any good, though. The power of the Cold…” Diodor was preparing to cast a blast of shadow to quickly burn Renault to ash when he felt a fleeting moment of fear as he felt the spell die down in his hands. The necromancer looked around himself, desperate to see who was messing with his magic. It took a mere moment for him to locate the source of the counterspell and he called with an unusually loud voice while casting another blast of magic into the woods.
“Get out of the hiding, priest! Fight me face to face, scum! You won’t get a chance to hinder my plans!” He looked in contempt as Whitemane run to Renault’s side, the necromancer’s swift reflexes robbing the two of their expected surprise advantage. Still, both of them were unusually potent in their own schools of mastery of the Light and they knew they fielded a small, if fleeting chance against Diodor’s power. Renault turned to face Diodor as Whitemane’s spell wearied out.
“You die here, wicked beast! You will fall beneath the power of Renault Mograine!” The young paladin said as he waved his sword in Diodor’s direction, the sword seemingly turning into Light itself as he infused it with the power of a true crusader. However, Diodor knew what to expect and released a massive barrage of ice against his opponent, stopping the attack and causing a mortal injury hadn’t Renault been fast enough to shield himself with divine grace, protecting himself from any damage conceivable momentarily.
Whitemane used this moment to strike Diodor a blow by hitting the necromancer with a holy smite, inflicting a large wound to the necromancer’s left side. Diodor cursed inwardly, frustrated by the resistance he was meeting here. Clearly he would have to get rid of the priestess as her strikes were harder to predict than the paladin’s. A wall of dark flames rose behind Whitemane, forcing her closer to Diodor who then released a barrage of shadow upon her. The priestess looked at the display in fear but then cast a few, swift spells upon herself, granting herself a brief defense of Light, just barely enabling her to survive the incoming onslaught. Still, she was left terribly injured and burned, probably lethally, before Renault quickly ran to her, placing his hand on her shoulders and muttering a few words into the dark winds. Suddenly, a bright circle illuminated the scene and wondrously, all of Whitemane’s wounds healed instantly. The priestess knew this was to be expected but still the sensation was of utmost grace and reverence to anyone who had felt this blessed Light. Diodor looked at the scene in disgust, not liking what he saw in the least.
“You’ve done well to survive this long but now your “miracles” are drained. I know it’ll be many long minutes before you can use those tricks again! That is exactly why the Cult’s power is supreme… now, disappear from my eyes, weaklings!” Diodor unleashed a heavy wave of the brownish energy stored in the vials on his belt, prepared to see the familiar sight before him. However, what happened was something he had been unable to foresee.
Whitemane infused Renault with a pale Light aura, one which purpose Diodor couldn’t tell. He was stunned to see Renault disappear in the mist of Plague, only to appear from it a few meters before him. With a nearly panicked swiftness, he waved his hand and cast a bolt of frost at the young Mograine, disabling him for a moment and seeing that this was his moment. His spells battered Renault for seconds before Whitemane could see what was happening. She concentrated all of her power to disable the Plague in a few locations and then released a wave of supreme radiance, one that blinded Diodor completely for a moment. The necromancer formed walls of fire around him to prevent any surprise attacks while was disabled. However, once the radiance had dissipated, his enemies were gone. Not a trace of them could be seen, only the pain in his side and the gentle wind of the early afternoon greeting his senses anymore.
He was somewhat relieved that this unforeseen threat had been dealt with but their ability to confront him and live was a reason for concern. He had seriously injured the paladin but with the correct help, he would live. Diodor sighed as he reflected his brief moments of weakness in the battle, stealing an easy victory from him. Well, that couldn’t be helped now. He had to destroy the Monastery in any case and preventing the story of heroism from spreading was only one more reason to see his work to a conclusion. Moreover, this was a good time to introduce his long-planned masterpiece into battle.
Lightfader, here my call! Fear no enemy and crush everyone who serves the Crusade! We shall end this charade together!
Osran was completely covered in his own blood, the numerous wounds upon his body telling their own gory tale about the carnage that was unfolding in the eastern forests of Tirisfal. He had fought his way dozens of meters into the woods, only to be greeted by another undead after another. Herod had been instrumental in keeping their struggling ranks together and all of the defenders had shown formidable courage in this charge. Even if he didn’t notice in it in his mental fog of battle, he was in the center of the battle, his fearless and noble show of courage inspiring most of the others to do their very best in this decisive battle. Even if he didn’t know it, Osran had already saved the crusaders from an immediate defeat.
However, even a courageous fight against an invincible enemy would be for naught. Even if some of the crusaders did their best trying to burn the slain undead, some of them returned back to their “living” state before they could be burned. Also, the falling crusaders refilled the rest of Diodor’s army. Veria hit a risen paladin with her torch, releasing its soul to the afterlife but another of her comrades fell besides her, giftimg Diodor with his next slave. As a final hit on the crusaders’ courage, loud footsteps started to rumble from deep within the forest, growing more profound by the minute. It sounded like a huge abomination but the voice was far louder than any of them could produce. All of the crusaders started to look in horror as a great shadow started to form between the blackened trees, soon forming a terrifying form of a mountain of rotting flesh, one that didn’t resemble a human even as much as a regular abomination did. This one was much quicker and it sent clouds of smoke and brownish mist around it and crushing anything and anyone on its way. Osran was about to call the retreat but Whitemane’s horrified voice was swifter.
“Retreat into the Monastery! we cannot win against this monster in this place!” The priestess appeared from the forest, helping a clearly injured Renault Mograine escape the onslaught. It took no further encouragement for the others to flee, the monster’s massive form growing closer by the second. Knowing that her new position as the leader of the crusaders would soon be challenged, the priestess turned around to face the decomposing mass of rotting flesh, a show of courage that would save her and Renault’s grip on power. Whitemane put her staff into the ground and pointed at the approaching monster.
“Stop where you stand and fight your curse, unholy aberration! Stay still in the name of the Light!” Whitemane concentrated all of her power at the beast, burning many parts of its horrifying body and stopping its charge momentarily. The fleeing crusaders looked at the priestess in awe and resumed their march to the safety of the Monastery’s walls. This ultimate show of power would cement the reverence she held in the Monastery, stopping any claims of incapable leadership. When Whitemane felt her powers grow too weak, she ended her spell and headed after her troops.
Osran had looked at the sight in astonishment, not knowing the depth of the priestess’ power before. Was stopping such an invincible enemy even possible? Apparently the priestess was one of the Monastery’s most powerful denizens and deserving of the position she now held. However, that didn’t change the fact that their battleplan had been a disaster and Diodor’s position had only been strengthened. He turned to speak to Tareth who, too, was overwhelmed by the events of the last two minutes.
“We won’t fall for this trap again, Tareth. Support me at the next meeting and I will present a strategy that won’t lose. Whitemane and Mograine may be powerful but their attack was a catastrophe.” Osran spoke grimly, his anger beginning to die down, only to be replaced by a sense of decisiveness. He had often been advising his commanders before, the knight’s experience and eye for the enemy’s weaknesses earning him the respect of many of his superiors. Now, with leaders who were too full of themselves to listen, Osran wouldn’t leave a stone unturned to prove their faults.
“I don’t think you need much more support after today, Osran. You put up a show that many others won’t forget.” Tareth commented in slight amusement, seeing Osran’s ignorance about his comrades’ sentiments. Osran looked at his captain in confusion, his face prompting Tareth to explain his point further.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice it? Many of us fought only because you showed them the way! Your courage inspired our troops to even get into the fight and they won’t forget it readily.” Tareth said as the troops started to enter the Monastery, the lower-ranked knight looking around himself and seeing admiring glances here and there. It took him a moment to accept that his impromptu attack had made a difference but it seemed like Tareth had spoken the truth. Still, it made Osran’s mood little better.
“We still lost! My example may have bought us time but, still, we’re as good as dead at this rate. I truly hope you’re right about their readiness to listen to me, Tareth. If I won’t be listened to today, it’ll be too late.” Osran gritted his teeth, looking behind himself as he approached the Monastery’s main entrance. The final confrontation was approaching and with it, the Monastery’s and the Crusade’s western wing’s fates hanged in the balance.
The battle for the Monastery has reached a critical stage as the siege has finally been imposed upon the crusaders. It'll take a true miracle to save them at this point but Osran seems to have a plan... I'll take a brief break here in order to finish my long-term plans for the Separate Ways. It shouldn't take more than a week before I resume my writing and until then, have a great time! :)
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The Summertide’s Passing
The overall atmosphere in the courtyard opening before the main gate of the Scarlet Monastery was that of melancholy and regret because once more, their comrades gad fallen because of a lost battle, leaving the living crusaders to fight against their reanimated bodies. But an unmistakable feeling of hope and sublimity could also be recognized at the words and expressions of the surviving knights. Today they had seen acts of bravery and nobility that most of their comrades could only hear tales about. Whitemane’s stand against the massive abomination, Herod’s juggernaut of death and most importantly, Osran’s example of true courage had turned each of the crusaders into true beacons of Light in the eyes of their allies.
This feeling of loss and euphoria wasn’t lost on Osran. The aging paladin could see that even in defeat, the trust in their cause had risen once again. He turned around to see Whitemane riding through the palisade gate, knowing that this would be the best moment he’d get to make his point clear. Osran had rediscovered his respect for the priestess in her valiant stand against the abomination but that didn’t change his plans. He would lead the Monastery to victory and earn the triumph Valdemar had ordered him to accomplish.
“We took a noble stand today, my brave comrades! The servants of the Scourge will remember this day for years to come!” Osran started to speak in a loud, deep voice and the heads turned immediately to look at him. The knight stood near the main gate, leaning towards his sword that stood on the ground. Osran’s voice and unwavering face made a great impression on everyone assembled, his noble presence seemingly calming everyone down. All except one: High Inquisitor Whitemane who decided to stay silent for a moment longer.
“Each of us fulfilled our task manifold and it was an honor fighting beside each of you. Yet, that didn’t change the fact that we lost the battle. Diodor has surrounded us here in the house of Light and we have no chance to continue our fight. I offered your commanders an optional strategy to prevail but they decided to honor Whitemane’s plan. And now we stand here, once again mourning our dead while Diodor’s troops advance by the minute. You followed me earlier today in the battle but now I ask a far greater question: will you follow my lead in the future?” Osran knew his words could be interpreted as arrogant and usurping but he had gone through too much on that day to sugarcoat his words any more. However, he received no answer before another voice started to speak near the bearded paladin.
“That isn’t your question to ask, outsider! You may have fought valiantly but that doesn’t give you the right to overstep the Church’s authority! I would have the option to imprison you immediately for treason!” Whitemane called to Osran, her voice full of displeasure at the paladins’ antics but it wasn’t hateful unlike Osran had expected. Osran answered to her in a tired but encouraging voice.
“You certainly could, High Inquisitor, but your own time as the master of this Monastery would also come to an end sooner than you’d want in that case. Your predecessor fought all his life to preserve this Monastery and I trust you’re not willing to let it go this easily? Whitemane, I’m not willing to question your position or your authority but I simply want you to listen me this time!” Osran’s voice turned into a grimmer one as he spoke and he turned to look directly at the Inquisitor. Whitemane looked somewhat disturbed by his words but she held her hostile expression.
“And who do you think you are to demand that? More capable people than you have failed to win Diodor but you try to force your misguided thoughts upon us? You speak of Marcus as if you knew him better than I, his deputy for the last decade! I will see this campaign to an end and…” Whitemane was interrupted as shouts of disapproval started to appear among the crowd.
“Give him a chance, High Inquisitor! Things can’t possibly get any worse!” The call came from Loksey who was far from impressed by the last battle.
“The monsters can and will be cut down but it’ll take more than magic tricks! I say we follow the paladin!” The next speaker was Herod and it was clear that he wasn’t excited to follow Whitemane’s orders as he hadn’t seen her in battle whereas Osran had fought valiantly in the frontlines. Many others joined their calls but Osran realized his supporters were going too far. Herod was calling for a coup inside the Crusade’s legal leadership and that was far from acceptable to him. Osran started to walk closer to the priestess, determined to make a compromise with her. He whispered to the Inquisitor so that the surrounding people couldn’t hear what he was saying.
“We don’t have to go through this! You may still save your face but only if you’re prepared to talk! Come, let’s go negotiate inside!” Osran knew Whitemane would have never agreed to his proposition if she wasn’t forced to but her fearful face told him everything the knight needed to know. Whitemane sighed deeply and spoke briefly to the gathered soldiers.
“We’ll go speak for a while. Reinforce the palisades and keep the undead at bay. We’ll return soon and tell what we’ve decided to do.” Whitemane sighed deeply as she started to walk after Osran. Being forced to publicly fight the aging paladin was bad enough in itself but now she knew she would be forced to make a real compromise with him if she wanted to retain her own position. The priestess looked in deep anger at the paladin when he started to speak.
“High Inquisitor, I wish to make sure that you understand that I have no plans in taking this place from your command. It’s not my right and I trust…” Osran was interrupted at this point by Whitemane’s answer. He was taken aback by her sharp tone but in a way, he understood the reason for her rage.
“You already have! Did you hear the calls in the courtyard? You have already overstepped your authority, old man! How do you think I’ll believe that it is “all unplanned”? Whitemane knew her position wasn’t as weak as she implicated but she wanted to mount a swift offensive on Osran to try to weaken his resolve. However, Osran’s answer left her unknowing whether her overture had been successful or not.
“You don’t have to believe anything except that I’m here only to buy this vital victory to the Crusade! My future is elsewhere. But I’m willing to stop my rhetoric against you completely and even pledge my loyalty to your leadership if you only give me the authority to lead our troops today! I assure you, the day can still be ours.” Osran looked directly at Whitemane’s eyes who felt deep outrage at Osran’s words but even deeper frustration that she couldn’t really deny his demand. It would seriously undermine her reputation in the Monastery and, even if she no longer wished to acknowledge it, she wasn’t sure if she had a way to defeat the undead at this point.
“That is far more than you may demand from me in good faith! But, Osran or whatever your name was, I know when I am being outmaneuvered or in a position I know I cannot win. But don’t think I agree to this voluntarily: if I ever hear you raise our soldiers against me or Mograine, I’ll make sure it’ll be the end of you! And make sure that your presence will never defile these sacred halls again after this battle!” Whitemane said in a hissing voice, willing tame her point as clear a possible. Osran looked at her in contempt and rebuked immediately.
“I won’t allow myself to be threatened by my own comrades! You may be our commander but in this Crusade, we’re all brothers and sisters in arms. I cannot promise anything for the Crusader Lord but I don’t hold any special will to return here anymore so I’ll do my best to comply to your request. But as long as we’re here, we work together. I’ll remember my place as long as you remember yours. Is that clear, High Inquisitor?” Osran asked slowly and looked Whitemane with a grim look. The priestess would have wanted nothing more than to kill the paladin right here but she also knew that such a scenario would do little to reinforce her own position. With an annoyed look, she nodded briefly and turned away from Osran. The knight returned the nod and turned to return to the courtyard. Whitemane walked by his side and forced a more conciliatory expression to show to the others that she hadn’t been forced into this situation. Osran was the first one to speak of the duo as they appeared from the winding pathway. The heavy, grey clouds still hung over the Monastery complex but they were slowly starting to make way for a careful sunshine over the courtyard, letting a wave of warmth float over the surviving crusaders.
“We have agreed to respect each others’ plans. The respected Inquisitor Whitemane proved her valiance during the last battle and she has my utmost trust and respect. I have every confidence that she’ll lead us with great wisdom and grace in the years to come, along with her honorable right hand Renault Mograine.” Osran spoke in a steady voice, speaking every words with respect to his counterpart. Confused looks and unbelieving voices came from the crowd but they could see that the speech wasn’t over yet. To their surprise, the next one to speak was Whitemane. Her voice sounded even surprisingly passionate and Osran was happy to see that she stayed true to her word.
“But I admit my mistakes during today’s battle. The greatest of leaders are willing to listen to others as well as themselves, a lesson I hadn’t learned until today. Many of our comrades payed for it with their lives, a sin I hope to overcome in the future. I wish to start it by naming our noble comrade Osran Lowriver as our commander against Diodor as I’ve seen that he knows how to turn the tables on our common enemy. I pray for the Light that he is the right man to free us of this horrifying situation.” Save for a few forced words, Whitemane sounded completely sincere in her speech. Osran was positively surprised as sounds of jubilation could be heard in the audience. However, this wasn’t the time to become complacent. This was the time to prove that he had been right about the things he had put together during the two battles.
“I hope I’ll be worthy of this great honor I’ve been granted. The final battle is approaching my comrades! Diodor’s slaves are gathering around us as we speak and they have almost twice the numbers we have. However, there is a way that we can beat them and that is the war of attrition!” Whitemane nearly shuddered as she heard the proposition. Was the knight insane? That would be the worst idea possible against the immortal undead! Sounds of surprise and discomfort could be heard among the crowd also before Osran decided to explain himself.
“I know this sounds odd but we, as the defenders, hold the keys to this battle in our hands. We have to keep the enemy just far enough from us and let the purging fire do its job! Our mages will be instrumental in this job and each of us will join them with our torches! This is the way we may thin the enemy numbers for good before Diodor realizes what’s going on! The slaves of the Scourge may hold our comrades’ powers but they are still nothing but mindless killers who cannot defend themselves!” Mutters of approval could be heard among the crowd as the main point of Osran’s plan begun to dawn on them. However, the last, decisive question remained still unanswered. What would they do with the massive abomination and Diodor himself? Osran noticed the crowd’s hesitation and he decided to finish his strategy’s elaboration.
“I see you still have questions. Well, here’s the rest of my plan…”
Most of the following hour was spent on finalizing the fortifications protecting the Monastery. The work was often interrupted by an undead attack but they were never a major danger to the defenders. Some of them were even surprised by the amount of patience Diodor had for the defenders even if his reasons were likely to bode no good for the crusaders.
The cool air blew on Veria’s face as she finalized her work on a wooden wall overlooking the fields opening under the Monastery’s hill. She had made a few holes on them in order to give the archers the safe shooting spots they needed. The paladin could feel that everyone around her knew that these hours determined the difference between life and death to all of them. No matter what, she would give her very best to prepare for the coming carnage as well as in the battlefield itself. Even then, she was more than happy to hear a call from Herod who led one of the groups doing the fortifications.
“Alright, slackers, it’s time to take a brief break until you return to work! You have no more than fifteen minutes, is that clear?” Herod called in a stern yet somewhat calming voice. Even through his rough antics and barbarous appearance, every one of his comrades knew he was a man of Light and virtue and a true champion of the Crusade. He would be a major asset in the coming battles. Veria looked around herself but saw no familiar faces among the crowd. Veria wasn’t on the mood to talk anyway and she had just an idea how to spend this brief respite.
The Cathedral wing of the Monastery held many rooms for personal searching and private prayers in case one ever needed help from the Light. Right now, Veria was highly conflicted. She knew her fate lied with the Crusade but she was far from confident about her own position within it. The Scourge had killed every member of her family during the fall of Andorhal which had been her ancestral and childhood home. She had joined the Order of the Silver Hand, not because of her own devotion to its cause, but because of the status it had earned her in her home village. Very few people from those provincial towns had managed that feat and she found it odd that she had befriended one of the few other such paladins, Osran. The other knight had offered her with company and mutual respect but he had never understood her own motivations for this cause.
Not that she did herself. That clarity had disappeared with the demise of her family and her old friends. Veria knew she was as capable paladin as any other but, as Osran had so often noticed, her heart very seldom was in her deeds. She hated the Scourge for everything they had done but that was it. She had very little idea about her own future in the reborn Lordaeron.
Veria fell to her knees in one of the small chapels, looking as the Light shone dimly into the room. She heard nothing but her own breath, as the heavy walls of the Monastery blocked all of the other noises. Veria tried to let the Light flow into her and to show her the way she had to go. The Light was a very real force but, unlike many of her comrades, it had never offered her with anything but brute strength to vanquish her foes. But now, like in all these kind of sessions before, the Light was
silent.
Veria tried to let her mind float in the cool, light air and to find the inner tranquility she was looking for but to no avail. Seconds flew by but she didn’t feel the inner warmth or peace fill her instincts. When she opened her eyes, she was still no wiser than when she had arrived in this small chapel. She hadn’t received the guidance she was looking for nor had she any more idea about how to proceed from here if she survived at all. Veria took one last look at the small, masterfully painted window from which the light flew into the room and even if the mere sight of it was enough for her to appreciate it as a piece of art, it served little else purpose. Sighing in slight disappointment, the paladin rose back to her feet and started to walk back towards the Monastery’s surroundings. It was still some time until the fifteen minutes would pass but she didn’t have anything else to do.
However, one of the many statues among the massive halls caught her attention. They were filled with memorials to the past heroes of their cause but one of them stopped Veria for a moment. The memorial of Gavinrad the Dire, one of the original knights of the Silver Hand and her old superior. Veria was only slightly younger than Osran and, like him, her old leaders were mostly gone, their legendary deeds passed into the realm of memories. Gavinrad had served as Veria’s captain for many long years and his mere devotion to their cause and his encouragement for his followers had inspired the young knight greatly back then. Even if many found this particular founder of the Silver Hand to be the least notable, Veria knew there were many others who felt like her. She still remembered his encouraging leadership with great respect. Veria was taken aback when she heard a voice speak behind her.
“He truly was a great man, Veria. I often regret that he has been so often overshadowed by the Lightbringer, even if his reputation was also hard-earned.” Veria quickly turned around and noticed Arellas speak to her in a low voice. It carried a sense of sympathy but also respect for the fallen knight.
“You never knew him, elf. You were fighting your own battle back then and it’s a small wonder if you ever even met Gavinrad. Shouldn’t you be helping the others with the fortifications anyway?” Veria answered quickly, not knowing what the elf had to say at this point. She didn’t want to insult him but she wasn’t willing to dwell in those days for too long.
“I’m going there soon but our revered High Abbot had requested a chance to study some of our volumes and I took the liberty to return them to the library now that he no longer needs them. And you’re right, I never met him personally but I know his deeds as well as anyone.” Arellas’ voice was extremely mournful as he stated his business, his respect for the fallen Abbot clearly greater than many would understand. His mood improved somewhat as the conversation moved away from the immense loss the Monastery had just experienced.
“He was a hero in many battles even before Arthas’ betrayal and one of the most gentle knights I’ve known. I’ll always regret that I wasn’t there to help him against the traitor’s onslaught. The fight could have ended differently if Arthas hadn’t managed to divide our troops before engaging Gavinrad. He didn’t stand a chance at that point.” Veria looked at the statue’s head, surprised by the immense accuracy of its stone face. It had been years since Gavinrad’s downfall but she still remembered his features clearly.
“Arthas’ deeds weren’t his own back then, Veria. It seems like the Legion’s demon lords guided Arthas in his first campaign and he would have never been able to achieve such quick gains if it weren’t for them. You should be happy that you survived the battle at all. Very few of Gavinrad’s followers can say the same.” Arellas looked at the human with respect as he reflected on all he had learned about those terrible days. He wasn’t a stranger to desperate situations himself as it was a wonder any of the high elves still lived after the Lich King’s and Kael’thas’ deeds. Even then, he wasn’t willing to talk about such things here. He was fighting the humans’ war after all.
“I guess you’re right if even Uther himself wasn’t a match for Arthas. I just… after Andorhal’s fall and my comrades’ deaths, it seems like me passion for serving the Light has dwindled dramatically. Once I knew I was fighting for my home, then my comrades but now… I don’t even know.” Veria looked at Arellas with an unreadable expression. It wasn’t like she was asking for help but it was a remark that caught Arellas’ attention. He knew it wasn’t his advice to give but he decided to answer nonetheless.
“You know, Veria, the way I see it, many are in a similar position. The Plague has slaughtered most of our kingdoms’ people and enslaved the rest in this nightmarish reality. Many are asking what is left for them to fight for but few have really given up. It seems that there still are many things driving them forward even today.” Arellas spoke from his own experience but he hid it in order to give a more common and relatable context to the paladin. Veria, however, didn’t seem too convinced just yet.
“I know that we’re lucky to be alive but it just seems… worthless. All I have left at this point is the revenge to the undead but I don’t think it’s enough.” Veria turned her gaze back at the statue, knowing that the time passed quickly and that she should soon go to rejoin her comrades. However, there was still some time until then.
“We still have much more than that. Even if it is beyond recognition today, Lordaeron is still your home and all the noble things it once represented still live. Once we get through all this, think it as a great privilege to be involved in rebuilding your beloved homeland. I for one, live to serve my comrades as best as I can and to hope for seeing Quel’Thalas reborn again. Even hope and ideas of a better future are enough to keep you going. The way I understand it, Gavinrad was completely devoted to the Church and he harbored no deeper ambitions than to safeguard his homeland. Every knight of the Silver Hand has devoted themselves to the kingdom in order to be free of such personal ambitions.” Arellas spoke calmly in order to help Veria get over her misgivings about the situation. However, his approach was far from the correct one.
“You never chose the path of a paladin and you never knew Gavinrad, elf! I… I see that you mean well and you may be right but it seems so futile to live for such things! I know I will walk my path until the end but that’s all I know… I just hope things get clearer the further this war goes.” Veria said as she calmed down. She knew Arellas hadn’t meant ill but the situation just felt too oppressing for her. Arellas was about to answer when a monk called from the opening of a nearby corridor.
“Master Fireleaf! The High Inquisitor and Commander Lowriver wish to speak with you!” The young man called and Arellas quickly turned one last time to Veria.
“Think about what I said. Your future will lie with Lordaeron’s rebirth and if you find what you’re looking for, it doesn’t need to be as dark as you fear. Lead the way, good monk.” Arellas said quickly to Veria who took a deep breath before she headed back to work. Arellas’ words rang in her ears but it would take time to see whether they held any real substance to them.
“The plan seems rather simple the way you put it, Osran, but are you sure Diodor won’t find a way to bypass our calculations? Tareth said to Osran as he listened to his comrade’s plan. Burning the enemy down one by one and luring Diodor into making mistakes by not responding to his taunts in any way seemed like a good plan but it held many ifs. But in the case he saw his slaves burn to the ground one by one, there was a real chance he’d make a mistake sooner or later.
“He might very well realize our plan but as long as we have the Monastery, we hold the advantage in a long-term battle. Diodor’s strength has always been the ability to turn our attack into our own defeats. As long as we command the course of the battle, he will have to try to come to us. In all of our previous battles we’ve always underestimated his strength and his preparations for his ambushes but if we won’t attack, those traps will be useless. The moment when he realizes that he has to do all the work himself is the time we need our honored comrade Fireleaf’s and his followers’ help.” Osran explained to Tareth, Whitemane and Herod, the latter being present as hehad to know the plan if he was going to lead the footmen right in the coming battle. The High Inquisitor seemed annoyed by the situation but she knew this was a necessity if she wished to stand on Osran’s seat ever again.
“I fought him alongside with Renault and what good did it do us? We caught him by surprise and even then, he managed to repel our attack!” Whitemane wasn’t afraid to admit the defeat as none in the room questioned her skill in battle. Osran looked at her in a puzzled look, relieved that the priestess seemed to stick by her promise. He wasn’t about to let this momentary solidarity go to waste. He was about to answer when Tareth interrupted him.
“You were working by yourself whereas we need all those able to take him down simultaneously. We need your priests as well as Arellas’ mages if we are to beat him. That is why we sent the courier to search for him.” Tareth answered in a serious voice to Whitemane who simply looked away to hide her chagrin. Osran looked at his commander in approval and continued.
“Judging from your tale, High Inquisitor, you were close to actually defeating him and with some help, you might have been successful. Mark my words, Diodor will join the assault once he sees we’ve learned our lesson. Even then, me must never underestimate this villain. He has outsmarted us thrice and each time we have paid a heavy price. Whatever you do, don’t let your guard down until he lies decapacitated in the ground, his hands unable to cast another curse upon us.” Osran spoke to Whitemane who listened silently. However, no answer came when another voice called from the corridor.
“My humble greetings, High Inquisitor and Commander Lowriver. How may I be of service?” Arellas said as he entered the room, his face concealing any kind of emotion he felt. Osran was happy to see his arrival when he spoke again.
“Welcome, master Fireleaf! I’m happy to see that you managed to get here today! Please, take a seat.” The paladin said while he crossed his legs while sitting. Arellas obliged and looked at Osran in an asking expression. Osran returned his gaze and answered immediately.
“We were discussing our strategy to beat Diodor in the coming battle, Arellas, and we have decided to give you an instrumental task in implementing it. You, with decades of research and experience, know most of us about the different forms of magic and you were working in Dalaran when Kel’Thuzad’s school was forming. We trust that you are most capable of us in trying to foresee Diodor’s moves as you know most of the tricks he has in his sleeve.” Osran spoke in a calm, respecting voice. He expected that the elf wouldn’t feel ready for the mission but he knew that this was an offer the elf couldn’t refuse. Arellas looked at Osran in puzzlement but kept his cool and neutral expression.
“I’m not a necromancer, commander. I have no idea what…” Arellas was trying to make his case clear when Osran interrupted him in a kind manner.
“But your apprentice was, Arellas. I’ve heard that you know all of his past and due to your superior experience, we believe you are more capable to this most important of positions than young Doan is. You are the right man to combine your experience and Doan’s knowledge and to lay a trap to Diodor. With your help, we might get a decisive edge over that traitor!” Osran said in a revering voice, willing to receive Arellas’ consent without any major conflict. Arellas looked at Osran in puzzlement, not knowing what to think of this offer. After a moment of thinking, the elf realized that this was the chance he had waited for to prove that he was an important asset to the Crusade.
“I’m afraid I’m not that capable in deceit, commander Lowriver. But I think one of my followers would like to take care of that detail. Thalnos has always wished to make a difference before the battles even begin.” Arellas said in a confident voice but Whitemane looked at him in an odd look.
“Thalnos? But we have deemed him incapable of instrumental positions due to his inability to listen to our orders. Very few like him and some have even called to his banishment from our Monastery!” Whitemane narrowed her eyes as she looked at the elf. In truth, the younger elf was one of her few allies among the mages but she kept those ties in secret as it enabled her to better manipulate Arellas’ comrades without him noticing. The elf returned her gaze and answered in a decisive voice.
“That may be but I know my mages better than the others among us. I agree that his antics are far from pleasant but I know his abilities. I’ll take care of handling Diodor but I let Thalnos plan the trap where we’ll drag him. But getting that bastard to catch that bait will be up to you.” Arellas said in a smug voice, enjoying the position he suddenly found himself in. The coming confrontation with Diodor worried the elf somewhat but he was hopeful that he’d manage to engage the enemy in a nearly equal fight. In addition, he had mane allies on his side whereas Diodor would stand alone. Osran looked at the elf in slight worry but he decided to trust the mage’s judgement.
“Very well, Arellas, but don’t tarry with your planning. I’m sure Diodor won’t be wasting any time…” Osran’s sentence was cut by a loud call of the Monastery’s bells, implicating that a dangerous escalation was happening outside. Each of those present rose to their feet and started to prepare for the coming battle. Tareth spoke in a sharp, hissing voice.
“Each of you, remember your job! And Arellas, hurry with your plan! It will be needed quicker than expected.”
Diodor was torn between two possibilities. It was becoming clear that the crusaders’ resistance hadn’t been broken just yet and their silence puzzled the necromancer somewhat. They were clearly expecting his attack but he simply couldn’t see how becoming passive would help the defenders’ position. If he could name the battle’s course and strategies, he could even starve the crusaders with a siege if he didn’t have better things to do. However, he wasn’t about to let the scattered remains of the Crusade’s western wing trick him into complacency. He would take an approach none of them expected.
Diodor took one of his notebooks from a small pouch that hanged from his belt. The necromancer browsed it quickly, searching for one detail that had raised curious possibilities to his mind. The results of all his research brought a distinct sense of pride to the necromancer until he found the page he was looking for. Diodor’s face turned into a smile as he read his own notes. Apparently his plague could be stored in new kinds of items, ones that were far less secure than those designed to house them but that was far from a bad thing here. Regular barrels could be found nearly everywhere in the newly-ruined villages and they could be an effective way to crush the crusaders’ futile resistance.
I bet those weaklings think they’re safe in their cozy little home. Well, I’m sure they will come to their senses soon enough!
Diodor looked in expectation as his slaves brought a few barrels to him and the necromancer immediately loaded each of them with one vial of plague or poison. When they reached the Monastery’s courtyard, the defenders’ lives would be fully forfeit. It was most likely, however, that the defenders didn’t expect him in that plan and there was only one thing for him to achieve that plan. Lightfader would be able to toss some of them over the wall but Diodor had to find the weakest spot in the palisades which his forces could break while the defenders were in disarray.
The old man’s eyes scoured the palisades from the edge of the field below the Monastery’s main courtyard. The wooden walls themselves seemed solid and no part of them seemed any weaker than the next one. However, soon he noticed something that caught his interest. One part in the southernmost part of the wall lied near a large natural ramp that could provide his undead with an effective way to breach the walls. Not surprisingly, that part of the wall was lightly garrisoned as the crusaders were likely to expect attacks from the forest and road. Initial casualties, however, meant nothing for a necromancer so this didn’t hamper the strategy’s efficiency.
The old necromancer didn’t turn to even look at the sight when he heard Lightfader gather five barrels containing his poison to its massive arms and started to head towards the Monastery. He didn’t need to as the monster obeyed even his briefest thoughts. Diodor followed the scene with interest as the abomination run towards the spot Diodor had sighted and tossed the barrels uphill all the way over the palisade. The following screams and fuss told Diodor everything he needed to know. The final assault against the Monastery had started.
The sight that greeted Osran as he charged out of the main gate was horrific beyond measure. About a dozen defenders were choking for life with the all-too familiar symptoms. Looking at the noble crusaders’ final, lost struggle for life was a saddening sight but Osran had gone far too much to be seriously disturbed by this. His order was swift and held no slightest tone of hesitation.
“Burn them all! If you have even the slightest of doubt they have infection, burn them immediately! Priests, contain the Plague, now!” The doomed monks and priests looked in panic and resignation as the torches flew upon them, immolating their rapidly deteriorating flesh in flames. The surviving defenders looked in silent respect as the burning forms of their comrades fell to the ground, their struggles against their demise and looming undeath slowly vanishing to the realm of the passed. The priests got into work immediately and the brownish-green cloud was surrounded by bright light. However, all of that vanished swiftly under the noise of huge bolts of dark energy hitting upon the nearby wall, blasting a gaping hole into it immediately.
The breach in the wall was quickly utilized by the attackers as dozens of ghouls and skeletons poured inside the Monastery complex immediately. They attacked with immense ferocity and it took many long seconds until their advance could be even started to be contained. Nearly all of the attackers fell immediately but, as was to be expected, they stayed down for five seconds at most. Tareth moved to the front line and a few other paladins started to distribute torches to the defenders.
“Don’t let the contact line grow any wider! Burn them down!” Tareth called as he started to gather the defenders’ lines together. Osran moved to his side nearly immediately, not planning to stay safe despite his temporary position. The fight became increasingly difficult as the blazes of the dismembering undead grew ever stronger. It didn’t take long before the attackers were pushed away from the courtyard and Osran yelled his last call.
“Throw the torches over the wall! They’ll ignite some of the undead and with luck, spread it to the others!”
Diodor raised his eyebrows as he followed the scene. He had been eager to see how long it’d take for the defenders to utilize the main weakness of his troops. Even then, relying on the weakest ghouls wasn’t the way he was planning to win this battle. No matter what the defenders did, they wouldn’t be able to repair the palisade in time. The defenders didn’t have any major threats against him as they were outnumbered four to one, even without counting the necromancer himself and Lightfader. It was time for the second act in the slow and desperate struggle of the doomed crusaders.
Legions of risen paladins and monks started their advance towards the breach, shielding each other from the arrows and torches with their twisted heals and spells that interrupted the fires’ flight. Soon enough, they would disarm each and every torch from the defenders. That, combined with an incoming flanking attack would even the odds considerably.
Thalnos listened to his master’s words with great intensity and nodded to his remarks constantly as the duo walked quickly towards the central hall. Arellas explained everything he had heard during the last hour and Thalnos’s face was an expressionless mask as he followed his master’s explanation. The younger mage was incredibly heartened by the trust his master was putting on him, even if he held little respect for the older elf. Thalnos, another refugee of Quel’Thalas, had searched to join the Crusade for similar reasons as Arellas but he had never shown any passion for Lordaeron or his new comrades. Most of his comrades saw Thalnos as a cold, distant mage who served or cared about nothing else than himself.
“And that’s where you come in, Thalnos. I need you to decide what is the best way and place to surround and kill the wretched necromancer.” Arellas was calm even if he neither was fond of his companion. He greatly respected most of his comrades as persons but Thalnos was tolerated only because of his power and expertise in his art. Thalnos’ voice was extremely typical for a high elf even if it held an extremely complacent and smug tone.
“Diodor is an immensely orderly and dedicated man and nothing makes him more nervous than disorder and vagueness from our part. I’ve seen it today: he hides and observes us while we walk right into his trap. When we outsmart him once, even a man of his abilities will make a mistake.” Thalnos said as he approached the opening of the Library Wing where he had been upkeeping the priceless volumes it held. Arellas glanced at his apprentice in concern and answered quietly.
“It seems like you admire him, Thalnos.” Arellas tried to reach for his apprentice’s conscience to which the younger elf nearly snorted.
“Any sensible man would do so. He’s our enemy but he has brought the whole Monastery to its knees by himself. Only a fool wouldn’t respect that kind of power! But don’t worry, Master. In the end, your allegiance will be a stronger bargaining chip than eternal servitude under the Lich King. I value myself far too much to exchange it for even Diodor’s power.” Thalnos smirked as he spoke, his words disturbing his teacher to an even greater degree. Even then, he was glad there were things keeping Thalnos from necromancy, no matter how distasteful they were.
“Well… I have sent a word to my colleagues and we’ll be ready to bring down Diodor when the time is right. Observe the battle and try to lead Diodor to our trap. You should know him better than the rest of us after all.” Arellas felt awkward for saying it but it seemed to him that Thalnos and Diodor shared a similar way of seeing the world, thus giving him the best shot in this mission. Thalnos answered shortly.
“Don’t worry, Master. I’ll make sure Diodor won’t see the evening.”
“Stay in line! Whatever you do, don’t let the comrades next to you fall!” Osran called with a steady voice as his blade clashed with that of a scarlet-tabarded ghoul. Trying to vanquish the risen paladins was never an easy job, especially with the utmost care being driven to the effort to defend your own allies. Osran’s whole plan relied on the defenders’ ability to survive the incoming attacks without casualties and bleed Diodor’s forces one by one. The undead fighters did their best to extinguish the flames but the living still held the edge due to Diodor’s disability to predict their moves. Thus far, no one had fallen during the second assault but they couldn’t hold this up together. Osran could only hope Diodor ran out of slaves before all the defenders’ fortitude and stamina was spent. Everything depended on that hope.
Many frowns appeared on Diodor’s face as he followed the battle on going in the Monastery courtyard. The crusaders were doing an extraordinary job in keeping his forces at bay and to his surprise, they were really taking a toll on his forces. Not that it mattered greatly. The defenders probably hoped he’d intervene personally in the fight, exposing himself to their schemes and ambushes. However, there wasn’t any need to as long as he had his most powerful tool still in his disposal. As long as he commanded both his risen troops and Lightfader, he held all the cards he needed to earn his position back in the Cult of the Damned.
Diodor spanned his rod a few times and pointed it towards the Monastery’s main entrance. With unusually stealthy and swift movements for him, the necromancer moved towards the forest to weigh his next moves. He would most certainly join the raging battle but in the way the defenders would expect. He had been very careful not to show all his tricks in the preliminary skirmishes.
Tareth felt his courage return quickly as he noticed the defenders’ strategy working as intended. There was no question that the undead still outnumbered the defenders greatly but the momentum was swinging towards the crusaders. The Scourge’s attack seemed somewhat dissipated and they were slowly but steadily being pushed out from the breach. In this moment of expected triumph, none of the living paid the necessary attention to distant footsteps that were growing stronger by the second. Not until they saw a sight that nearly froze their blood cold.
The Monastery courtyard filled with wooden debris as the highest and strongest part of the palisades were decimated under the immense strength and weight of the massive abomination which continued its charge against the assembled crusaders. Even if he had already seen this sight, the charging, deformed abomination running straight towards him nearly frozen Osran as he struggled to get his thoughts together.
“Scatter and try to dodge the monster’s attacks! Mages, kill it!” Osran cried as he rolled to safety, Lightfader’s foot landing on the spot the paladin had stood mere two seconds earlier. The abomination had to be at least five meters in sight, its rotting intestines slowly growing ever more profound from its open stomach. The beast had no clear face or head even if it seemed to see perfectly what was happening.
Doan, who had been put into charge of the second half of the mages in case something like this happened, look at the sight in jolt as he begun to form a large ball of fire in his hands. This abomination, like every undead, could be brought into life unless it was burned into nothingness.
“You heard commander Lowriver! Give the beast everything you have!” Doan cried as the dozen mages cast their spells at Lightfader while it was trying to kill as many crusaders as possible and while the risen monks and paladins flooded the courtyard. They hoped to see the monstrosity turn into a tower of flame but, to their shock, their magic died as soon as they thought they had launched it. It seemed like they had lost their ability to draw power from the world around them, as if their wizardly abilities had suddenly stripped from them. Doan looked at his comrades in fear as he heard Osran’s voice call from near him.
“Fall back into the Monastery! Get out of this carnage!” Osran was seemingly fearful by this turn of events. His hopes of containing the damage had been proved wrong but the Crusade hadn’t been beaten just yet. However, there was a minor change of plans. Osran quickly searched for Tareth and spoke to him quickly.
“Lead the defense and try to minimize the casualties! I’ll go assist Arellas and Thalnos in ending this nightmare once and for all!” Osran said as he called six paladins to him, readying them for this surprise mission. Tareth looked at his comrade in surprise but simply nodded at him.
“Alright, Osran, but be safe! That will be a tough fight.” Tareth said simply as he prepared to lead the troops’ evacuation back into the main building. Osran looked at his captain in approval and turned to his six followers. Even if Arellas and Thalnos had their plan ready, they would probably need some bait for it and no matter how he regretted bringing his long-time comrades and friends to this immense danger, nothing was as important as stopping Diodor. So many things depended on it.
Diodor himself followed the scene with immense pleasure. His mass counterspell had did the trick to scare the mages and to collapse the Scarlet lines in a second. At this point, the necromancer wished to rely on extreme caution so that he would be able to affirm his victory. If even a tiny detail would escape his notice, there was a real chance of failure even this late into the battle. Diodor wouldn’t join the fighting himself unless he absolutely had to.
“I bet he’s hiding in those woods somewhere. That way he can stay safe and direct the entire battle effectively. There’s no way he could counter our allies’ spells while remaining unseen.” Arellas said as he investigated his surroundings. He, Thalnos and five other mages were scouring the areas around the Monastery, using the thick of the battle to make their movements as unnoticeable as possible.
“Indeed, Master Fireleaf, and it’s likely that he expects either peace or direct action wherever he is. I doubt he thinks we stand a chance anymore and if he does, he probably expects one, final charge from us. However, indirect action is the best way to go right now.” Thalnos said as he looked into the dark, dying forest. The battle raged quite far away so it wouldn’t be likely that Diodor followed their movements with great intensity.
“What do you mean by indirect action, Thalnos? Should we go interfere with his concentration?” Arellas offered, his voice thoughtful at his followers’ proposition. It made sense but there was also a risk that the attackers would simply waste their surprise element.
“That’s correct. If we spread out and attack him vaguely from each direction, he might get unnerved. That might buy our comrades time to bring down the towering monstrosity which in turn forces Diodor’s hand in this struggle. That is when we catch him!” Thalnos said in expectation, his voice turning ever more pleased with himself. Arellas respected his comrade less with every passing second but his help was needed to bring down this foe. He could only hope his complacent attitude wouldn’t become a problem.
Tareth fought fiercely, trying to keep the advancing undead from moving deeper into the entrance hall of the Monastery. His forces were decimated by Lightfader’s fearsome attack and the rest of the defenders knew their lives were no longer in their own hands. Tareth and Herod stood side by side, vanquishing the enemies before them but even then, some of them returned to “life” before they could be burned. The frontline was slowly creeping towards the doors to the library and graveyard wings, letting the attackers into all parts of the complex. Tareth felt desperation flow into him as his ranks were slowly beginning to falter.
“Stand strong, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade! Each second we hold the enemy here, the more time Osran and Arellas will have to destroy the source of this nightmare! Even now, the Light of Dawn floats above this cursed land!” The knight captain called as he repelled another attack from the enemy. His remark earned only a snort from his side before another brutal assault started.
“And more importantly, destroy these villains! The Light favors the strong!” Herod once again cut into the horde but this time, one detail swiftly received everyone’s attention. The dead no longer rose, the rotting corpses left on the floor for good. Tareth was dumbstruck by this development but not in a negative sense.
“Burn them while there’s still time! Follow me, we might have a chance to even kill the abomination! Diodor is either dead or embattled, now’s our moment!” The leaderless undead were quickly overrun by the crusaders while the defenders quickly ran towards the courtyard. the battle against the monstrosity would be bitter but without the necromancer’s guidance, they had a real chance to do it.
The dim woods momentarily flashed with lights as bursts of arcane, frost and fire illuminated it. Diodor did his best to try to find their source but for now, he would have to regain control of the situation. No matter how many enemy wizards there were, he could repel them once he had the time to prepare. Diodor did his all to stop the incoming spells and his efforts proved highly successful. Not only was he safe, he could also start to return the favor. However, no matter what Diodor did, he could see that none of his attacks hit their target. It was as if the enemy was merely taunting him and to the necromancer’s great annoyance, they were successful. Diodor had no doubt that his ghouls were falling under the crusaders as he had to put his might into repelling the insufferable mages.
“Get here, cowards! No matter what you do, you don’t have a chance!” as Diodor spoke his eyes searched the woods for any signs of the enemy’s whereabouts and to his sudden delight, s shadow could briefly seen among the trees. Not a second was wasted before the necromancer blasted a small but swift spell at the mage, burning him down instantly. Diodor called once again the mages, his voice being even more threatening this time.
“Flee or fight, it will make little difference. I will snuff your lives out one by one if I need to…” Diodor continued to shield himself when Arellas released a small, green light on the air, implicating that the mission had been complete. Now, the next task was to help the crusaders in bringing the massive abomination down as Thalnos had proposed.
Tareth panted intensively as he rolled away from another kick’s way. The monstrosity’s legs were filled with wounds, Herod even injuring its waist but they had little impact on the giant’s ability to fight. Five crusaders had been crushed under its feet and the rest were growing increasingly fatigued. The knight commander was becoming ever more desperate when he heard a voice that renewed his attention into the battle. A loud crack of ice could be heard striking into the abomination’s back, making it reel heavily forwards. He was happy to hear Arellas’ voice call from a nearby hill.
“Take heart, warriors of the Light! Now’s your chance to destroy this monster once and for all!” Storms of ice and fire started to rage around Lightfader, seemingly destabilizing it and making its moves harder. Even if the spells would affect him too, he realized this was the time to strike.
“My comrades, follow me! Let’s hit at the heart of the beast as one!” Tareth called as he and four other paladins around him charged at the reeling abomination. The spells had nearly felled it to the ground, enabling the crusaders to target the monstrosity’s torso with great effectiveness. Tareth’s heart beat in his ears as he looked at the sickening beast but he knew he had to deal the decisive strike. Lightfader looked like it was going to fall apart by itself soon enough.
However, at the last moment, the towering monster regained its former composure. It was too late to stop the charging paladins’ killing blow but it managed to do one, last service to its creator and master. Tareth looked in horror as the abomination, in its mortally wounded condition, tried to grab him and with a herculean effort, the knight captain managed to dodge the hand but its side hit the knight captain heavily in his side. Before he got the chance to rise from the ground, Lightfader stomping its deformed foot on top of the fallen captain. Not even the smallest of noises had the time to leave Tareth before his consciousness failed for the last time.
Lightfader’s demise wasn’t left unnoticed by Diodor. At first, he was extremely angered by this turn of events, his masterpiece and most powerful creation destroyed because of his own inability to divide his thoughts between defending himself and controlling his minions. However, his fury at himself was short-lived as the necromancer started to think about his position in more detail.
In the end, all he had lost was one big blob of meat and a group of lowly ghouls that could be replaced any time he wished so. Even without those assets, Diodor could tell that his victory still wouldn’t be robbed from him. He was one of the founders of the Cult and one of the original disciples of Kel’Thuzad after all and even now, the display of his full power would crush any resistance.
The Crusade has fared far better than I expected but it matters little anymore. Lightfader probably crushed most of their forces and I still command a larger, superior army!
Even then, Diodor realized he couldn’t act brashly. His own powers were second to none in the Monastery but if he made one mistake, he might never be able to use them. He wasn’t going to walk into the enemy’s trap, no matter how well it would be laid.
-
Osran and his troops were stationed near the edge of the forest, determined to check that Diodor wasn’t going to bypass them to reinforce his positions in the battlefield. It had been many minutes since the mages had left the woods to join the crusaders vanquish Lightfader before Diodor could interrupt those plans. Those moments seemed to drag on forever as the defenders braced themselves for the necromancer’s appearance. The conversation between him and the mages had been a brief one even if Osran understood their plan.
“You were supposed to attack Diodor, not run from him! Go back immediately!” The paladin called to the mages when Arellas approached him swiftly. A grim look was on the elf’s face as he tried to explain his and Thalnos’ idea to their commander.
“We have bought the defenders time to take the fight back to the courtyard! Once it’s gone, Diodor’s whole strategy will collapse! Please, Commander Lowriver, keep him at bay until we return!” Arellas then left Osran and gave the paladin no real chance to object or question the mage.
Osran started to silently curse Arellas in his mind for leaving him and his comrades in such a dangerous position. He had heard a powerful thud from the Monastery, most likely caused by Lightfader’s downfall but it mattered little if he was in danger of being butchered by the necromancer. Seconds passed by as Osran stared into the dark spaces between the trees, prepared to see a black, hooded form appear from one of them. The whole situation was oppressive beyond measure as each of the defenders waited for their imminent deaths.
Soon, Osran heard a small snap of a breaking branch and immediately cast a powerful judgement there. This failed attack was swiftly countered with a bolt of dark energy aimed at Osran’s head but it was immediately stopped by one of the commander’s comrades. The five knights and Doan looked in fear as Diodor appeared from the forest, a ghastly cloud near the earth making it appear like he was floating in the air. The defenders waited until the necromancer stopped before they started to speak.
“Your abomination and troops are decimated, traitor! You better run now if you wish to live!” Osran said in cold rage. He knew he was hopelessly overpowered by the necromancer but he wished to see what kind of game he was planning after his slaves’ crushing defeat. Diodor looked at the paladin calmly, not letting out any emotion before he spoke. Not only was Diodor interested in hearing how his enemy had survived this long but he always planned to investigate the crusaders to see how they planned to defeat him.
“No one can escape from battle once they have pledged themselves to the Lich King’s service, paladin. No matter what, we will see this to end today. You have created a formidable defense, one that I didn’t expect to face.” Diodor looked at Osran in an investigative way, remembering the aging paladin’s face from the previous battles. The necromancer was intrigued to see how he had lived this long against his powers. However, it wasn’t the paladin who answered.
“Diodor, you were a hero of Azeroth once and I often looked up to you and Ras Frostwhisper during our time in Dalaran! Tell me, how could you complete your studies? How could you not see they were twisted and wrong?” Doan called in an accusing voice, willing to hear how anyone would willingly fall to the depths of necromancy. Diodor turned to look at the speaker and a slight surprise was apparent in his gestures.
“Doan, what a surprise to see you here! I had always thought a mage of your strength would have fallen long ago!” Diodor smirked as he looked at his old comrade. His voice was as toxic and disrespectful as was to be expected but it mattered little to the young mage.
“Not as surprising as the fact that any members of your cursed Cult still survive! So many were slaughtered already during the War that I had already wanted to believe none of you survived! It seems like Kel’Thuzad didn’t lead you to the perfection he promised! Your Lich King is most likely dead and the Legion is beaten! The Scourge has lost, Diodor, and now you will pay for your mistakes!” Doan yelled as he looked at Diodor who twisted his rod in his hands. The necromancer stayed silent for a moment before he answered.
“You are right that in assuming that our greatest plan was a failure. The Legion will never again set a foot on this world and we won’t be able to spread the Scourge all over the world for now. But the Lich King is alive and his power is growing by the minute. We may have suffered a defeat but make no mistake, we will rise again. You threw a glorious future away, Doan, and for what? To sacrifice yourself defending these weaklings against a far superior foe? You might have been one of us but you made your own choice.” Diodor looked at Doan who returned a hateful expression at his former comrade. Osran looked at the duo, wondering how well they had once known each other and what had really happened in Kel’Thuzad’s early school of necromancy. The paladin was the next to speak.
“I heard many tales of your heroism during the evacuation of Stormwind. Yours was one of the names that were whispered with great reverence during our preparation for the Second War, an archetype of an unlikely, young hero during time of need. It saddens me greatly to see you following Arthas and his masters into this terrible fate, Diodor. You were one of the great heroes of the past: let me end it here and maybe you can still be remembered as such.” Osran whispered silently, hoping that something of the old Diodor still remained in that horrifying, withered shell. The paladin didn’t expect the necromancer to agree and to his disappointment, he was right. Diodor kept his respecting posture but his voice dipped with poison as he answered.
“Initially, I only did what I had to survive against the barbaric orcish hordes. Soon after, I, like any other foolish, young man, grew fond of the respect I received and took my position as one of the leaders of the refugees. It is ironic really, that it was those days that showed me how pointless it is to search for glory in others’ eyes. In the end, after risking my life to save those weaklings, what did I achieve? Medals, statues, money. Why in the name of sanity would I care about those? Only Kel’Thuzad gave me what I really yearned for and your promised honors are only a continuation of those shallow “prizes” I received in the past! I live only for myself and only for those great secrets I’m going after!” Diodor looked around the scene, noticing a few very interesting details. There were snapped branches here and there and the environment as a whole was unusually silent. Were his enemies really thinking he was this easy to fool?
“So it was true all along… you were always one of our most eager researchers and you always wanted to know all about the arts we were after. I always wanted to know if there were other things driving you forward but it seems I could see everything I needed back then. It’s a shame really: you could have been a major asset to the Crusade if you had chosen differently.” Doan said slowly, wishing to voice his long-hidden misgivings concerning his foe. It seemed that his old comrades were just as zealous as he had feared all along. Diodor answered quickly as he prepared a powerful spell to counter the coming attack.
“I would have but I wouldn’t want to stick with the losing side, Doan. And if you think I’m on one now, think again! Your pitiful trap won’t hold me!” Diodor released a gigantic magical cloud around him, quickly hitting the nearby mages and paladins that had gathered around him. The necromancer used this moment to flee further into the forest to improve his position. Osran realized his plan immediately and yelled to his comrades.
“No matter what, catch and kill him! The longer he lives, the more of us will die in vain!” Osran was the first one to charge after the old man, many other paladins following him immediately. The chase was on: either Diodor would fall now or else the crusaders would be killed one by one.
Thalnos cursed as he saw Diodor realizing his plan. He had planned to use the arrogant outsider as a bait, a detail he had kept hidden from even Arellas, to get rid of his leadership and to reinforce the more traditional elements in the Monastery’s leadership. Even then, it mattered little to the young elf. The trap had been set too thinly for the necromancer to escape it anymore. Even then, with luck, he might get the chance to get rid of Osran before the battle would be over.
To his growing concern, Diodor noticed that there were more chasers gaining on him for his frail body to escape from. The knowledge that he had to stand and fight was a rather new one for the old necromancer but it brought him no concern whatsoever. What did it matter if he needed to face these pathetic weaklings face-to-face? He would no longer spare any expense in destroying his hated enemies.
“Come then! Bring each of your sorry faces right here and I will pulverize each of you!” For the first time since the great War, Diodor’s options were limited and because of it, he concentrated each and every piece of power he could muster to his spells. Diodor released an enormous, swirling barrage of shadow into the woods, prompting countless pained screams and deathrattles from the poor defenders. Each inch of caution and strategy had left the cornered necromancer: only direct and decisive action could help him escape this terrifying situation.
“If that was too much for you, I won’t even have to show you my full arsenal, spineless ambushers! Disappear from my sight, all of you!” Diodor yelled in rage as the adrenaline of the moment flowed in his veins. He had longed for a real challenge.
Arellas was terrified by all the attacks Diodor was casting upon the crusaders. His aim was sharp and the powers enviable even for a necromancer. None of the earlier fights against him had prepared him or his mages against this kind of display of power but it mattered little at this point. Either Diodor would fall here or the whole nightmare would repeat itself soon enough.
“Try to contain his powers! Counter his spells to buy our comrades the time to engage him in melee!” Arellas called in desperation as mage after another fell upon the onslaught. It seemed almost like Diodor could simply overpower their counterspells but in reality Arellas understood that his expertise allowed the necromancer bypass them with extremely swift, weak spells so he could continue his battle against the wizards of the Crusade. Arellas was determined to see his part of the battle through, no matter the cost.
Osran looked at the scene In fear, seeing that the mages wouldn’t be able to hold their positions for long. In a minute, all of them would be wiped by Diodor’s frenzy and his plan, and hopes of ending this campaign would be lost. Realizing his charge, Osran quickly turned to the nearest officer he could find. This time it turned to be Houndmaster Loksey, who was in the thick of the battle trying to keep Diodor’s reinforcements at bay. Osran turned to him and asked in a low, noble voice.
“Houndmaster, take a few of your troops and hounds and attack Diodor from his left side. While you keep him busy, I’ll put an end to him once and for all!” Osran’s eyes resonated with dedication and even in this situation, Loksey simply nodded to him. Anyone in their right mind would know Osran asked for a suicide in essence but Loksey, as well as any crusader, knew that wars weren’t won by sparing single soldiers’ lives. The Houndmaster then answered briefly to his commander, determined to see Osran’s request through.
“I’ll buy you the time you need, Commander Lowriver. Light bless your path.” Loksey gave his blessings to Osran as his role would be the most dangerous one. The paladin turned around to move towards Diodor when another voice rang in his ears.
“I’ll come with you, Osran. If nothing else, I’ll shield you against the monster’s attacks!” Osran turned around and saw that the speaker was Veria. She was clearly injured but it didn’t look like her wounds were nowhere near dangerous. Osran approved her presence but there was no time to talk. Even now, Arellas’ forces were under attack and Loksey was heading to his doom. Osran continued his walk towards Diodor when he called silently to Veria.
“Then come! I won’t turn down any help I can get!”
Thalnos followed the scene with a self-indulged expression, firmly believing that Diodor’s downfall was merely a matter of time in face of the Crusade’s superior powers. There was only one thing that stood between him and the day’s total success and that was the arrogant paladin. Thalnos was Whitemane’s close associate and he was prepared to get rid off this new power no matter what.
He could see Osran moving silently among the trees, Veria following him closely. The elf mage had moved silently closer to the duo and further from the others in order to ensure that his next deed didn’t have any eyewitnesses. He launched a quick fireball towards Osran, small enough to be hidden among the trees but powerful enough to be lethal. Thalnos looked in expectation as it drew closer to its target… until it suddenly disappeared at the last moment.
The mage looked at it bewilderment, completely dumbstruck by this development. Who had countered his fireball which was moving under the trees’ shadows? No matter. This time he cast a powerful bolt of arcane which nearly hit but it, too, disappeared. Thalnos started to fear for his own security and he prepared a third, foolproof spell to get rid of the new competitor.
Osran was drawing close to Diodor who had thus far managed to maintain his defense against the enemy. The paladin could see Loksey drawing closer to Diodor who was preparing to turn his attention from the last mages into the main host of the crusaders attacking him from his left. Osran was about speak his last words to Veria when she suddenly called to him.
“Get down, now!” He voice was urgent and alerted but silent enough to avoid being heard by Diodor. A powerful explosion of arcane detonated in their previous position, which would have obliterated the duo unless Veria had seen the small, glimmering ball growing between them. As things stood, both of the paladins were seriously wounded but it mattered little to a paladin. Thalnos cursed at his failure but the mage realized it was no longer safe for him to continue his attacks. With silent steps, Thalnos left off to rejoin his fellow mages.
Diodor looked in confusion at the explosion’s direction, not knowing what to make of it. It was unlikely that his enemies were shooting at each other so it was most probable that it was merely a missed attack that had been meant for him. Unmoved by the incident, Diodor continued his attacks. The main hos of the crusaders had started charging against him and once he had slain them, the battle would result in a decisive victory for him.
“What the hell was that?” Veria whispered as the two finished healing their wounds. Her voice was agitated at the incident as it was clear that it wasn’t one of Diodor’s attacks. Which one of their own mages would attack their own commander? Osran looked at Diodor to see whether he had paid the incident any attention but the necromancer seemed completely oblivious to the incident. Knowing that there was no more imminent danger, Osran whispered back to Veria.
“It seems that Arellas’ apprentice wasn’t as innocent as he would have wanted us to think. This must be Doan’s doing! Even then, we must continue our attack! We must go, now!” Osran waited for a nod from his companion as they saw Loksey and his troops storm towards Diodor from the forest. After receiving her approval, Osran took a deep breath and jumped over the bush he had been hiding behind. The die was cast: either his or Diodor’s paths would end on this glade.
The necromancer had started casting powerful lakes of shadow in the opening in front of him, greatly hindering the crusaders’ charge against him. The necromancer almost pitied his opponents as they wished to keep their hopes high even in this hopeless situation. One monk after another fell under his mighty spells, soon to rise as his servants. Everything was going according to plan… until loud footsteps suddenly disturbed his moment of victory.
“You’ll die here, traitor! Here’s for Ferren Marcus!” Loksey prepared to hit Diodor before the latter quickly created a shield for himself to parry the charging Houndmaster’s attack. However, he got no chance to kill him as ten of his comrades ran past their commander, each of them ready to lay down their very lives just to have a chance to land a blow against the necromancer. Diodor was stunned by this turn of events but he quickly stabilized the situation with his magic.
“Many have already tried to ambush me, pathetic morons! None of them…” Diodor’s voice was interrupted by a bolt of fire from behind him, one that he heard approaching at the very last minute. Diodor parried the fireball with a spell of his own but that same instant, the mages’ onslaught resumed in full swing. Diodor started to feel fear rise within him as he realized that he was being assaulted from three directions… only to see a sword fall down upon him from the fourth.
For the first time in years, Diodor was forced to counter a hit with his rod. This, however, proved to be a major disaster for the necromancer as his old, weak hand gave up under Osran’s bright-shining sword. The impact of the hit fell Diodor to the ground, leaving him to watch as all of his enemies closed down upon him. It was at that moment that Diodor could see that he had failed. He would never complete his research and he would never be able to achieve his revenge against his rivals in the Cult. The legacy he had worked all his life would soon be lost forever, along with all hope of learning the truth behind the very nature of magic and the birth of both Scourge and the Legion itself. For the first time in his life, Diodor felt an overwhelming sadness flow through him as he realized how much he was about to lose. Still, if he was going to die, no one would live to claim credit or honor for his personal destruction. No, no one in this forest would escape his last farewell to the world, the final testament to his power.
“You have ruined everything I ever worked for or what cared about! Well done, but now I’ll give my last act of service to the Lich King! You will all follow me to the Cold Dark! Die, cursed weaklings!” Diodor’s voice was monotonic and it was a perfect mirror to the necromancer’s mind which had given up all his ambition and hopes of escaping this trap. Osran looked horror as a brownish whirlwind started to gather around Diodor and it started to spread the Plague immediately. Most of the troops around the dying necromancer started to flee in panic but Osran realized that Diodor could destroy all of them before they could escape.
With herculean effort, Diodor rose to his feet to be able to pass from this world with dignity. He was pleased to see the crusaders run towards their deaths as his spell would cover the whole forest before his enemies could escape. Only one of the crusaders stayed still, the same one who had struck him down in the first place. The necromancer would have wanted nothing, more than to destroy him where he stood but all of Diodor’s power was drained by the mighty spell she was casting. However, he could channel it towards the paladin who so boldly still stood against him.
Osran looked in a mixture of fear and determination at the necromancer whose body’s struggles grew more violent by the minute. It was clear that all those years of experimenting with the Plague had taken a heavy toll on the old man whose body could no longer take all the power that was gathering inside it. Diodor’s body would collapse before this one last spreading of the Plague was over. This was his moment to land the killing blow on villain who had caused him so much trouble and struggling. It was time to put an end to all that. No more words needed to be exchanged: only the final strike was left.
Knowing that the situation was critical, the bearded knight started to run towards Diodor who gritted his teeth as the necromancer raised clouds of brown Plague from the ground, trying to surround Osran within the deadly poison before the knight could reach him. Osran did his all to dodge the incoming clouds and to his intense delight, Diodor’s waning powers enabled him to move faster than the necromancer’s failing body enabled him to create new concentrations of Plague. Step by step, Osran approached his nemesis who slowly started to realize what was happening.
Diodor closed his eyes as he realized that there was no victory in this situation. No matter how hard it was to accept it, a certain kind of respect awoke deep within the necromancer foe the courageous paladin. He had destroyed all he had worked for and soon kill him but he had proven that there were still forces far greater than his in the world, highlighting the amount of things he’d never be able to learn. Diodor didn’t stop casting his spell until the end but in his mind, the necromancer was content to die from the hand of this paladin. There would have been worse fates but this was one the old wizard was willing to accept.
Osran ran towards Diodor, looking in surprise at the necromancer’s closed eyes that could be seen from the holes in his hood. The knight felt immense expectation and thrill as he approached his enemy. However, a he drew closer to his enemy, he could see the calm resignation in Diodor’s posture. This wasn’t the appearance of a desperate, fearful man but that of one who was prepared to die in peace. Osran looked at the necromancer in confusion but he knew he would never get another chance.
The aging knight raised his sword and swung it towards Diodor. That second seemed to drag on forever as Osran saw his sword collide with Diodor’s throat, separating it from his shoulders. The paladin looked in astonishment as the hooded head rolled to the ground, his body first falling to its knees and then to the ground, never to rise again. Osran, too, fell to his knees, panting heavily. The battle for the Scarlet Monastery was over and the Crusade had claimed a total victory.
And with this chapter, the fight for the Scarlet Monastery is over. The Crusade has achieved its first major victory and one of the founding members of the Cult of the Damned lies dead. However, this victory will be short lived as unpleasant news are soon going to reach the Monastery... Wow, this was my longest chapter ever and it even broke the length limit of GoF. :lol: Anyway, let me know what you think about this chapter and see you in the next one! :)
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News from the Northern Land
The voices of the hasty retreat quickly started to give way for a confused silence. Arellas looked in puzzlement at the sight before him as the brown Plague cloud started to dissolve, revealing the destroyed bodies of those who were too slow to escape from the terrifying death. The elf knew what this meant: Diodor had fallen in battle. The entire campaign was over once and for all but who had been the one to kill the powerful necromancer? The stunned and overjoyed feeling around the elf was becoming tangible as the crusaders realized they were lucky enough to have survived the onslaught.
“Can… can it be, master? Is it over?” Doan muttered as he looked at the elf in astonishment. Arellas nodded quickly and answered to his apprentice’s question. His voice was stunned but it carried an extremely grateful tone.
“It seems so, Doan. But what…” Arellas’ sentence was interrupted as two forms appeared from among the woods. At first the two mages took a defensive stance but as soon as they recognized the newcomers, they relaxed their aggressive posture. Arellas called to the two happily, expecting them to bring news about how the victory was achieved.
“Commander Lowriver! Veria! Thank the Light you’re alive! We’re all in your debt, brave paladins. You…” Arellas cut his congratulations as he saw the expression on the duo’s face. They didn’t belong to heroes who had just achieved a great victory. Rather, they seemed deeply angered and hungering for justice for some unknown crime. The elf looked in concern as they approached him but to his relief, they bypassed the elf completely without giving him any heed. However, another of his followers wasn’t as lucky. Doan looked at the duo in horror as Veria forced her to his knees, Osran hovering his sword above the poor mage’s neck. Osran then asked with a grave voice.
“Old allegiances die hard, am I correct, Doan? It seemed like you had some agreements with our foe about getting rid of me.” Osran’s face sparked with disgust at the young mage, the paladin having had his fill of traitors for a good while. No matter what, he’d make sure not one inch of the Scourge’s corruption defiled the Light’s sanctity from now on. Doan looked at his commander in panic, not knowing what was happening. He could see that Osran was prepared to cut his throat any second which made him all the more fearful.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Commander Lowriver! Please, tell me what is going on!” Doan spoke in a stuttering voice, his apparent sincerity raising hesitation in Osran’s mind. However, he knew that the servants of the Scourge were prepared for anything and his composure didn’t change any. Still, he would give the mage a chance to prove his innocence. Osran nodded to Veria who then answered the shivering mage.
“We two were attacked with spells that came from the direction of Arellas’ forces. Also, we could see that they weren’t casted by Diodor and still they were clearly directed at us. And who else would be willing to get rid of our Commander if not our very own supposedly-former necromancer?” Veria hit the mage to the back in order to make her point even clearer. Thalnos, who was following the scene nearby, smiled as he saw the mess Doan found himself in. With any luck, he would be sentenced instead of the young elf and this issue would never be brought up again. To Thalnos’ amusement, Arellas was the next one to speak.
“Please, Osran, this is madness! Doan stood by my side the whole battle! I would have seen it if he would have done something like that!” Arellas knew he was speaking the truth but he didn’t question Veria’s tale about the incident. Even then, this brought up the distasteful question about who was the real culprit? He despised the idea that one of his mages would have tried to slay their leader in this critical hour. Osran raised his eyebrows in mockery as he answered.
“He may have worked behind your back, Master Fireleaf. You couldn’t have babysat him the whole battle and even then, necromancers are known to be masters of deceit. Tell me, Doan, did you happen to somehow exchange information with Diodor during our pleasant conversation? Something that told Diodor about our plans or something similar?” The paladin brought his face close to Doan’s when he asked his question. Doan looked increasingly desperate but he wanted to believe there was some way he’d be able to convince Osran of his innocence.
“You’re right, I could have worked in secret from my comrades but I didn’t do it! You saw the hate we showed towards each other with Diodor! You saw me fight against him and I’ve helped you ever since you arrived in our Monastery! Whatever you do, you have to believe me!” Doan cried in fear but Osran knew that those deeds proved nothing. The plots of the Cult were often complex and working together with the enemy in order to advance the organization’s goal wasn’t unusual for the necromancers. Osran nodded to the mage grimly and spoke in a judging voice.
“You’ve proved nothing, traitor! Your wicked kind understands only one kind of punishment. As your superior, I sent…” Osran’s verdict was suddenly interrupted by another voice from nearby. The commander quickly turned to look at the newcomer who appeared to be another mage who Osran had never seen before or at least hadn’t spoken with. Veria answered to him in a demanding voice.
“You better have proof about Doan’s innocence or you might just be the next one accused of treason! State your business, now!” The knight said in a sharp, agitated voice. The mage returned the hard posture and started to speak shortly.
“It was I who stopped those spells hitting you but I couldn’t see who the caster was. I only know that Doan was with Arellas the whole time and he was far from the position where he could have attacked you! Very few mages were near you at that point and Doan certainly wasn’t one of them!” The mage yelled in an angry voice, eager to get his point accepted. He wasn’t too close to Doan but he hated to see someone being wrongly accused. He couldn’t blame the duo for their suspicion towards Doan but he was angered by their inability to adapt their viewpoint to the others’ words.
“Then what were you doing away from the others? And certainly you must have some idea who was behind this? Speak!” Osran looked at the mage impatiently, eager to hear his version of the course of action. The mage was slightly taken aback by his commander’s tone but he answered to the best of his ability. Thalnos was slowly growing uneasy at his words, realizing that he had seen him as he rejoined the rest of the mages. He might just voice his suspicions towards him. The elf knew he had to interfere and ruin his colleague’s testimony once and for all.
“With due respect, Commander Lowriver, may I have your attention? I remember one moment when Doan left Arellas’ and his troops side. It was when most of our troops were charging at Diodor and the others were busy trying to protect our comrades. I was stationed near our left wing in order to safeguard our flanks. I don’t know if Doan had enough time to cast any spells but I found his antics quite odd.” Thalnos spoke in a normal voice, willing to give the impression that he was reciting his true memories, even if they were made up. Whitemane looked at the mage in chagrin, not liking these developments in the least.
You better get yourself away from this mess or at least keep me away from it! If you tell about me, I’ll make sure you’ll pay dearly for it before the end!
Deep frowns came to Arellas’ forehead as he listened to Thalnos. His aid had been instrumental in bringing Diodor down but for some reason, his words unsettled the older mage greatly. Even then, there had been a small moment when Doan escaped his sight during the fight as Thalnos had said. Arellas stayed silent, deeply hoping that Doan could explain himself.
“What? Are you out of your mind, elf? I went only to see if I could do something to help Loksey and his troops! I casted no spells back then!” Doan looked at the elf in horror, not knowing why Thalnos would tell lies about him except… if he actually wanted to get him killed.
“The case seems clear to me, Osran. This filth has already spoken himself to a dead end.” Veria said as he looked at Osran who seemed likewise sure about the course of things. Veria looked at Doan who started to slowly resign to his fate. However, the other mage looked at Thalnos in disgust, slowly coming to terms about what had truly happened. He then spoke to Osran again who looked at him impatiently.
“His words are complete lies, Osran! In fact, I saw him in the woods as I was about to report to Master Fireleaf! I cannot prove it but Thalnos is the main candidate I can come up with! He’s just trying to defend himself!” The mage called in deep anger, prompting another counteraccusation from Thalnos. Osran was slowly starting to become tired of the whole fight and he decided to use his temporal powers for one more command. No matter what, this issue had to be got over with.
“Get Valroth here! He’ll be more than happy to listen to these two traitors!” Osran snorted in anger. The mages were clearly seeing him as a fool but soon their lies would be dealt by Valroth. He was a highly feared priest who left no stone unturned in his eternal conviction to serve the Light even in ways many of his colleagues wouldn’t approve. Because of this quality he had often served as a part-time inquisitor and interrogator, even if those practices weren’t widely practiced in the Order of the Silver Hand or in the Church. Osran’s decision brought many gossips from the audience as it was highly unusual to call this kind of interrogation publicly. Doan was the first one to appeal to the paladin.
“No! Don’t do this Osran!” The elf called but Osran merely scowled at him as an answer. Osran knew his methods of finding out the truth were close to extreme but he couldn’t stand the thought of a traitor inside the Crusade, not after seeing the horrors that Diodor had imposed upon him and his allies. He didn’t even know about Tareth’s fate yet but he was going to make sure that the day truly was won and no treacherous mage would kill him later in his sleep and begin another war of horror. He would end those fears now.
“You called, Commander? Who are the ones who need to be persuaded?” Valroth appeared from the crowd with slow steps. He was a middle-aged man who wore the priest’s red robe. His rod shined greenish Light, a proof that the power inside it was pure but much more grim than the one used to healing.
“One of these two was in league with Diodor! Find out which one and try to also see if they have any allies.” Whitemane cringed at Osran’s words, furious that the paladin was overstepping the boundaries of their deal. Even then, if she demanded him to stop at this point, it would merely reinforce the suspicion others had for her. The High Inquisitor was forced to watch powerlessly as one of her closest associates was being tortured to reveal her plans to kill her rival. The two mages stared at the priest in horror as Valroth approached them and rose his rod to the air. The duo had been tied to two trees, robbing them any hope of escape. Valroth spoke shortly before he started his work.
“I pray the Light that you are ready to face the judgement that waits for the traitor. I promise you, your secrets will belong to me before long!” Valroth’s rod released bright rays that penetrated the very bodies of the two, the mages crying in agony as they were being questioned. Every second, the yellowish beams of Light grew stronger and with it, the duo’s pain seemed to only grow more intense. Valroth then spoke in a demanding voice, momentarily stopping his spell.
“Describe the place the Commander was when you attacked him! He will determine when he has heard enough! Speak, now!” Doan looked at his torturer in despair, hoping beyond hope that he had actually something to tell the priest. Everything was in Thalnos’ hands now. The elf stayed expressionless, determined to stay silent as long as he only could. Doan turned fearfully to Valroth who then continued his operation.
“Very well. I’ll listen once you are ready to speak!” Valroth resumed his spell, the beams’ intensity growing by the second. Doan felt like his whole body was about to get crushed and his mind completely devoured by the endless pain. He tried to keep the traces of his pride intact but it wasn’t soon before he found himself quivering in deep anguish, his cries disturbing many of the troops. Was this the same Commander who so valiantly had led them earlier in the morning? What had happened? How could he follow this sickening display with a neutral face? Even Whitemane hadn’t advocated for this kind of line during her time as the Monastery’s second-in-command.
Osran’s eyes may have been unmoved by the two mages’ agony but his mind was working on overdrive. He knew he was betraying Uther and Faol’s ideals of nobility and respect but something in Diodor’s barbaric tactics had changed him inside. He hadn’t realized it himself until he had learned of further treason in the Crusade’s ranks. He cringed deeply at the cruel display of brutish strength but even then, he didn’t feel even the least of sympathies against the two mages. Sure, Doan had helped him in the past but that proved nothing.
The paladin’s eyes scoured the writhing prisoners, regretting it had to come to this. He hoped the guilty would confess soon as he hated to watch this. The paladin wanted to dispense justice, not torture the innocent, but this time it seemed like this part couldn’t be avoided. He had never watched an inquisitor’s work this closely but he was thankful he didn’t have to do it himself. He could hear gossiping around him and Osran knew full well why. He would have questioned his own motives as well if he hadn’t faced Diodor as closely as he had. He knew he was crossing many lines with this decision but it was a price the knight was willing to pay.
Mind-bearing pain flowed through Thalnos’ brain as he struggled to hold his ground against the inquisitor’s power. He whimpered pitifully as his body struggled to escape from the torture. The mage knew certain death awaited him should he give up but the other option wasn’t too appetizing either. The elf knew that Doan wouldn’t be able to describe the surroundings where his attach had happened so the only one who could end this misery was he himself. Even if he tried to stay strong, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. The elf knew by the looks in Valroth and Osran’s faces that they weren’t about to give up. Everything pointed to the fact that one of the two was the traitor and they were dead set to discover the truth.
Minutes went by and Thalnos’ struggles grew ever more desperate and tired. With a resigned thought, he had to admit that every shock of pain was a futile one as every inch of hope was long gone. With a silent and pained voice, the mage whispered to his torturer.
“I did it. I was the one who served Diodor.” The elf knew that Whitemane could make his moments even more agonizing than they would otherwise be. It was a better bet to try to leave the High Inquisitor away from this and try to make them believe he was in league with Diodor. The endless shocks of bright power ended immediately after his words.
“What was the location of your attack? Tell me!” Valroth said sternly, keeping his rod in place to be ready to continue questioning if Thalnos’s tale would prove to be false. The elf took a few deep breaths as he tried to calm down and remember the situation. After a moment, he started to speak.
“I was standing on the upper slopes of a rather big hill whereas Commander Lowriver and Veria tried to hide from my master behind large bushes. My last, most powerful spell was stopped just before it hit my target. Diodor couldn’t see the two because he was preoccupied with the charging cannon fodder.” Osran listened to Thalnos’ words and he decided that the description was good enough.
“He’s correct, Valroth. It seems like he’s the traitor.” Osran said in an angry voice, taking an expression that made Thalnos’ head fall immediately. The elf started to whimper as he realized how easily he had been broken. Now he had thrown everything away and his execution was only a matter of time. He was, however, interrupted when another, more violent bolt of Light hit his body.
“What in the memory of Uther are you doing, Valroth! Stop immediately!” Osran yelled angrily, surprised by Valroth’s continued efforts to torture the elf. The priest looked at his commander in a resolute look, not heeding his command.
“He’s a servant of the Lich King, Commander! He doesn’t deserve a quick end!” Valroth said as he looked at Thalnos in deep disgust. He had dedicated all his life to purging the undead from the face of Azeroth and this spineless elf before him was an anathema to all he had ever worked for. Even then, the priest knew that he wouldn’t be allowed to complete his work without a major punishment from Osran.
“We are a bastion of Light and justice in this world of evil and death, Valroth! No matter what, we won’t fall to this kind of barbary! If we begin torturing others to satisfy our own desires, what will be left of our noble order? Soon we would be no better than the Scourge! As your direct superior, I order you to stop this, now!” Osran raised his sword and pointed it towards Valroth who knew that his ability to prolong Thalnos’ suffering had come to an end. He ended his spell quickly and nodded to Osran before he left him to decide how to proceed.
“As you wish, Commander Lowriver. Continue as you see fit.” Valroth took one last glance at the paladin and disappeared into the crowd. Osran looked after him in clear chagrin before he once again turned back to face Thalnos. His voice dipped with disgust as he nodded to a few soldiers. the elf looked at him in desperation as he knew what was coming.
“Take him to a fitting place. The punishment for treachery is death.” The soldiers untied Thalnos’ hands and quickly forced him to walk wherever they would take him. Osran would follow them soon but first he had something to say to Doan. He untied the mage’s knots himself as he spoke to him in a kinder voice. Doan was too drained to know what to think when he heard Osran’s words.
“I apologize for this, Doan, but I did what I had to. I won’t ask for your pardon and I don’t deserve one but please believe that I took no pleasure in it. You’re a free man, Doan.” Osran said to the elf as he rose up from the ground. He had nothing of worth to say to his commander. Still, he couldn’t accuse the paladin even if he was overwhelmed by his deeds.
“I… I understand, Osran. I’m just happy he confessed. If you forgive me, I’d want to take my leave.” The young mage quickly moved away as he wanted nothing more than to be at peace now. Osran felt a sting of guilt as he watched Doan leave. It was clear that he would never look at him the same way again but Osran took refuge in the knowledge that he had done as he thought was right. Doing one’s dity was all that anyone could do at this point.
Two monks did their best to keep the writhing elf still when they took him closer to the forest to prepare him for Osran’s arrival. Thalnos himself tried to do his everything to escape even if he knew those struggles were useless. The two guards forced him to his knees, placing his head on a rock, and waited for a moment for Osran’s arrival. The paladin took a deep breath as he prepared to do his last deed as the commander of the Monastery. He looked loathingly at the mage as he drew his sword from its scabbard. The knight kept his words brief as the traitor deserved no honors.
“Bloodmage Thalnos, the Crusade has found you guilty of treason against Lordaeron and conspiring with the Scourge to harm our cause. Such an offense would usually deserve a far severe punishment but this time, I’ll grant you a swift death. Die, traitor!” Osran swung his sword before Thalnos could do anything. The elf’s struggles were over before they truly even begun. Osran panted heavily at this last action, relieved that the Scourge’s plot was over once and for all. The monks moved away silently, knowing that their duty was completed. Osran was left alone until he heard a feminine voice speak behind him.
“I trust you are a man of your word, crusader Lowriver. Your part in this battle is over.” Whitemane spoke in a sharp voice, Osran feeling her penetrating eyes in his back. In a way, the knight wasn’t disappointed in the least by this turn of events. He was happy to leave this day of nightmares behind him and prepare to leave for home. He was more than happy to meet Eneath and his mother once again and to continue the fight in more familiar lands. He turned around and nodded quickly to Whitemane.
“Indeed, High Inquisitor. The Scarlet Monastery is once more yours to command. I’ll leave tomorrow and I’ll do my best to stay away from your path. Make the Grand Crusader proud.” During the last sentence, Osran put his hand on Whitemane’s shoulder as a gesture of goodwill and confidence. Whitemane was furious at the death of her ally but she knew raising a fuss about this day wouldn’t serve her interests. No matter how much she hated the thought, letting Osran go was the best course of action here. She simply returned the paladin’s gaze but spoke nothing.
Many thoughts flowed in Osran’s mind as he begun his search for his fellow paladins to see how many of them would live to see Tyr’s Hand again. He felt completely drained as his temporary leadership came to an end. Despite the conflicted stares around him, the aging knight truly felt like he had done the right things today. However, one more shock waited for him as he once again joined Veria. Osran asked one question from her that had troubled his mind as he looked at the gathered crowd.
“Veria, have you seen Tareth anywhere?”
Much of the following day was spent on gathering the dead in the Monastery and its surroundings together to allow them one, honorable funeral. There were few denizens in the Monastery who hadn’t lost a close comrade on this day and even the victory was being overshadowed by this fact. Even then, every crusader had known what to expect and they knew they would continue to give their all to the Crusade. They had achieved a great victory today and because of Diodor’s fall, the Cult had been dealt a heavy blow. The last defenders of Lordaeron could sleep their knights better knowing that the hated enemy was gone forever.
The flurry of flames danced against the dim sky, their shadows bringing chills up Veria’s spine. It was as if the parting souls of the lost were disappearing into the sky from the bonfire that was quickly wiping out their earthly remains. The paladin looked at the sky, feeling empty as she contemplated at the situation. Tareth, one of the knights she had been closest to, was gone, killed by a brainless abomination stepping on him. It wasn’t a fate that the valiant knight deserved but neither were those of the others’. Veria and the other crusaders stood around the flames in silence, bidding good luck on their comrades on their last journeys.
Veria remembered only one time when she was forced to attend a mass burial of this size and that was when her former unit under Gavinrad’s command was obliterated. There had been hardly a dozen survivors and the silent, mournful solidarity of that day had made a great impression the paladin. All of those gathered back then could feel tangible feeling of mutual trust and hope of a better future, as well as the sorror caused by the loss of dear friends and a great leader. Today, however, such an atmosphere was lacking greatly. Whitemane’s stern lead, Osran’s deeds and Thalnos’ betrayal casted another deep shadow on the occasion, leaving Veria bid her own farewell to the fallen knight.
However, those thoughts were quickly cast aside by a sudden call from the Monastery’s northern guards. The cry was a loud and excited one and it was clear that his message was of utmost importance.
“Ships! Ships are coming from the north and they are bearing our flags!”
The cry also reached Whitemane’s ears who was more than happy to be able to leave this boring occasion. She was never one to remember her fallen comrades as she had a very straightforward way to see things: once her comrades were dead, they were dead and no longer of any use to anyone. Additionally, the ships were most likely the ones returning from Northrend and that meant only one thing: during the next hour, they’d know whether the Lich King was dead or not.
“Commanders, follow me! Let’s take a look and hear if our struggle is over!” The High Inquisitor called to the others as she started to head towards the harbor near the Monastery. She was displeased to see that Osran started to also follow her but, regrettably, after Tareth’s death, he was the next one to lead the small host of paladins until their return to Tyr’s Hand. The priestess merely shrugged to this as she started to head towards the port. Very soon, they’d be a lot wiser about the true course of the war.
A loud thud could be heard as the large battleships slowly floated against the quays but it meant nothing to High General Abbendis who eyes emotionlessly at the gathering officers of the Scarlet Monastery. The old soldier was seemingly tired and the usual decisiveness in his eyes was long gone. Whitemane looked in concern as she saw the returning troops’ postures and their small numbers. A chilling feeling was creeping into her mind as she realized what had been the outcome of the risky offensive. Osran also waited fearfully as the High General left the ship before his troops. The High Inquisitor greeted the higher-ranked leader as he approached her.
“Thank the Light for your safe return, High General! We…” Whitemane was taken aback as Abbendis didn’t seem to pay her any heed. It looked like he would simply walk past her but instead, he stopped right next to Whitemane and answered in a haunted, faraway voice which was nearly unheard of for the usually-decisive leader.
“It was all a disaster, Sally. Ask the others if you truly wish to know what happened, I have to go meet Saidan as soon as I can. Light’s blessings to you.” The priestess looked in shock as Abbendis’ form grew more distant, saying only those few words before leaving the scene. It was clear that something horrible had happened in Northrend and it chilled even the ruthless Inquisitor’s heart. She and her followers were left in an awkward silence until another returning soldiers stopped to address them.
“Forgive his behavior but the High General has been through too in the last few days as have we all. My name is Harthal Triesight and I’ve been the second officer ever since… our darkest hour.” The paladin said in an exhausted voice, his energies clearly spent on the journey. He sounded fatigued and mournful at the same time and the same fear that could be seen in Abbendis’ eyes was also present in his. Whitemane asked him carefully the obvious question.
“Wh… what happened in there? I can see its outcome but… is Arthas still alive? Have the rest of your forces fallen?” The priestess offered to Harthal whose posture remained as frozen as before. The paladin seemed more receptive than his superior but it was clear it would take a lot from him to recite the whole story again. the knight waited for a moment before he answered.
“What happened is something we never expected… but I cannot tell all of it now. Please, let us rest for a while. I’ll tell of our ordeals later but right now, all I want is to have a moment of peace as do all of my comrades.” Harthal said to Whitemane who nodded quickly to his words. Even she knew when it was best to comply to others’ requests. The returning crusaders were quickly taken into the Monastery but their numbers shocked everyone who saw the pitiful group of broken knight. Five hundred crusaders had disembarked from New Avalon but less than seventy returned. It was a disheartening sight after the struggles the Monastery’s own defenders had just gone through.
The rest of the day was spent trying to help the wounded and to try to repair the badly damaged ships. Many of the returned crusaders were severely frostbitten and they had badly-tended wounds everywhere. Even necrosis wasn’t that uncommon among the wounded knights and four of those who had made it this far had to be helped to die. Their injuries were lethal and that decision saved them many days of terrifying torture.
It was late evening when the leadership of the Monastery was called to the Cathedral to listen to Harthal’s story. Abbendis had already left for Stratholme along with his closest bodyguards, leaving his followers to wait for further orders from the Grand Crusader. Harthal was still highly shocked by the recent events but he knew the others deserved to know the news only he could tell them. He looked in a tired expression as the dozen highest-ranking crusaders gathered to hear his words. The others were barred from the occasion in case parts of the tale held knowledge that would harm the common morale, even if the official explanation was to provide some comfort to the speaker.
“My good comrades, as I promised, I’ll tell you what caused our crushing defeat in that freezing land of death. All of you have seen that It was a crushing defeat and, as you may have noticed, Admiral Westwind or General Orman weren’t among those who returned. Both of them made the Crusade proud but that doesn’t change what transpired. But if you think you know what the Scourge is capable of, prepare to be proven wrong.” Harthal’s words were heavy with sorrow but they were slowly starting to get more relaxed. Osran listened to them in disappointment, clearly saddened by the sudden bad news after his triumph. Still, nobody said anything as they listened to the paladin’s tale.
“Things got bad soon after we left the port of New Avalon. Not a minute of our journey was spared from the raging storms, as if the sea itself would have wanted to prevent our success. Still, Admiral Westwind handled those days masterfully, proving that Abbendis’ trust on him wasn’t misplaced. He hardly slept as he gave orders which saved our ships from the giant waves and he partook in our work personally. He wouldn’t let anything go wrong in our journey and only because of his wise guidance did we survive the trip. Days passed slowly and the air grew ever colder but finally the icy shores of Northrend appeared in our horizon. However, things only got worse from there on.” The last sentence was full of bitterness as it was clear that the knight scorned those days greatly. However, he soon continued his tale.
“Something happened that none of us, not even Barean, could have foreseen. We continued to sail northwards in order to get as close to Icecrown as we only could we were attacked. A heavy mist rose, one that not even our most efficient lights could penetrate. It was like were floating in grey void, with only our comrades’ silhouettes to be seen. The other ships looked like ghosts with their distant lights being seen only vaguely and their forms were nearly entirely swallowed by the fog.
Harthal shuddered in the freezing, moist air as he looked downwards from the Menethil’s Pride’s deck into the depths below him. The ship’s bell rang near him to inform the other ships of the fleet of their position, the vague lights too dim to be of major help. The wind was nearly non-existent and the ships were mostly floating in the grey nothingness when Harthal heard Barean’s faraway-sounding voice.
“Lower the sails! We’re not getting anywhere without wind and we have to wait out for the mist to go. There’s nothing more we can do now!” Westwind moved to lead his crew with lowering the sails. Harthal waited for a moment before he turned to join the others. He glanced one last time into the mist but he didn’t see even the water, let alone anything in the distance. He was about to turn around when he heard a small voice in the distance. It sounded like a ship’s bottom striking against an incoming wave. The knight turned to immediately look at the direction of the sound but when he heard or saw nothing, he figured the atmosphere must have made his imagination run wild. Once again, he was about to turn away when the sound appeared again, this time closer. Harthal’s heart begun to beat faster as he called to the others.
“There’s a ship coming from that direction! I hear its voice!” The paladin called. Westwind quickly moved to his side, seemingly unconvinced by the knight’s claim but he wished to take a look nonetheless.
“Turn the lantern to that direction, now! I’ve got to see if there’s something coming!” The beam of light slowly turned to the direction Harthal had pointed at. It stopped at a similar endless darkness as the whole scene. Westwind looked at the direction for many seconds until the voice returned even louder. The Admiral realized that the warning had been a correct one. The reality was that an unknown ship was sailing right towards them in a completely calm weather without his crew being able to defend themselves.
“Every able man to the deck! We must try to repel them if they’re hostile! Ring the bells so that they may hear us!” The Admiral’s order were interrupted by an extremely bright light, one that illuminated the whole ship. However, it blinded the crusaders and once they realized what was happening, it was too late.
“Five nightmarish ships clashed against ours, giving the attackers an overwhelming advantage. I still don’t know what those devils were but they looked like humans except they were twice our height and much more muscular and able to command the mist. We fought for hours and we lost two of our ships to them and a tenth of our men. I guess they underestimated our numbers but General Abbendis and Orman quickly rallied us to repel them. However, that didn’t help the Admiral. Our ship was one of the most heavily attacked and the villains surrounded and slayed our brave Admiral. He was our first major loss.” Harthal spoke with a troubled look in his eyes. It was clear that this memory was a painful one for him.
Arellas looked at the knight in compassion and waited until he had concluded this part of his story. The mage was highly shocked by Thalnos’ abrupt end but he had long since accepted that Osran’s judgement was the right one. Even then, he had hoped that the younger elf was simply searching for his place in the world but the truth was a painful one for the wizard. Still, he was willing to continue his work without one fake apprentice ruining everything. Hearing that he had stopped for now, Arellas raised his voice and spoke in a clear voice.
“Excuse me, crusader Truesight, but I think I’ve heard about such monsters before. Those mist-controlling villains are known as Kvaldir but the sightings of them have been extremely rare. In fact, most have considered them as legendary beings. Not much of them is known about them but you are lucky to be here. Very few have lived to tell the tale after meeting those monsters.” Arellas told intermittently as it was clear that he was searching for the bits of knowledge from his mind. Harthal listened to him with great interest and nodded his thanks as the elf concluded his remarks. He took a small pause before he answered.
“Kvaldir… thank you for telling me those villains’ name, good elf. Now, where was I… That’s right, we continued our journey towards the north even if Admiral Westwind was no longer leading us. He was the only one to know the closest landing site to Icecrown so we decided to land to the nearest coast we could find. We searched for a day before we could escape that mist and find the nearest place where we could drop the anchor. Needless to say, we didn’t choose wisely.” Harthal turned his gaze upwards to underline the amount of regret he had about their journey. Still, he continued to recite it to the best of his ability.
“We didn’t know it back then but it was the land of northern trolls who were enemies of Scourge but they weren’t any kinder to us. The High General knew that we would have to fight for every meter we’d advance. Luckily, he had his plans ready and we started our march to Icecrown as soon as we laid our feet on that cursed continent. Each of us took our horses and we separated into three different groups in order to divide the Scourge’s undead. We would meet after every ten kilometers we advanced in order to report any important developments. Admiral Westwind had anticipated that it was nearly ten times that distance from the eastern coast to the Icecrown Glacier and each of us knew that it was almost certainly a one-way trip to the heart of the corruption on Azeroth. It would be the ultimate sacrifice to free the world of Arthas’ reign of terror.
During the first leg of our journey, we met little resistance except from the trolls but we faced creatures of mighty power they summoned. You might be surprised but these trolls seemed to have no connection with the Lich King. I know it’s difficult to believe but there are still people free from Arthas’s grasp even in Northrend. But as can be expected, all the inhabitants of that freezing hellhole are as hostile as the land itself. The beasts towered four times our height and they appeared from nowhere. I’ve heard that the trolls of Stranglethorn Vale are capable of such things and it seems they’re not alone with this skill. They could have served as valuable allies but sadly they wouldn’t listen to us.” Harthal said as he remembered that brief and unfortunate encounter. This knowledge, however, earned instant rebuke from Whitemane who thought this whole speculation was for nothing.
“Those trolls were a pain in our neck, always trying to raid the northern villages of Darrowmere! They’re nothing but barbaric thieves who come to steal from better people! Their ways are alien to the Light and they make a mockery of every virtue we struggle to uphold!” The High Inquisitor called to the paladin, willing to end this apologizing for those vile villains. This outburst earned quick rebuke from Herod who was sitting on the furthermost pew from the speaker.
“They might be Light-forsaken savages but they’re some of the fiercest and most honorable fighters I’ve seen! I’ve seen five of them hold their own against an overwhelming power of our forces even without hands and most of their blood already gone! They’re great and loyal warriors, make no mistake, High Inquisitor.” Herod spoke matter-of-factly to which the priestess merely snorted. It was clear which qualities Herod respected most. Harthal looked at the two tiredly but answered to them nonetheless.
“The Amani are nothing like these northern trolls. Unlike the Amani, the enemies we encountered were blue and they were more attuned towards their magics unlike our neighbors who believe in brute force. After having faced both of them, fighting our familiar neighbors would feel like a vacation. Also, there trolls were much more advanced in architecture as we saw mighty temples and fortifications during our journey. They apparently rivalled the great shrine of Zul’Gurub itself. Anyway, we could escape from their onslaught only with Orman’s command to divide into smaller groups and to ensure that we wouldn’t be surrounded by the trolls’ minions. It was a close call and it demanded many dead trolls but the Light’s justice wasn’t interrupted by those unfortunate people who were unlucky enough to have met us. We lost dozens of people as one large kodo-like creature stomped them to the ground. We were lucky that we never had to meet them again.” The paladin looked concerned about the next part of his tale. It was clear that it would be painful to him but Harthal knew that this part of the tale would be the most important one.
“It was only after that when things got really rough. Thus far we had managed to escape from the Lich King’s servants and our casualties were kept low by luck and the leadership of the revered Admiral Westwind and Genera Abbendis. However, that wouldn’t last for long. Even if we didn’t know it yet, Arthas had already set a trap for us. We could already taste victory but I’ll tell you how our cause was lost. It all happened in the forests of Crystalsong and the edges of the Icrecrown Glacier itself…”
After the resounding triumph defending the Monastery, the victors now find themselves staring the face of an even larger defeat. What happened in Icecrown and how will the Crusade regain from this staggering blow? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and see you soon! :)
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The Tale of the Frigid Grave
The cold night’s wind swirled in powerful gusts, flushing silently from the walls’ small cracks into the large Cathedral, making the air inside the building chillier by the minute. Osran looked outside from the window, shivers running down his spine as he thought what kind of monsters still lurked out there. Once all of Lordaeron had been safe and familiar to its residents but now a new kind of beast could lurk inside any shadow or whisper of a wind. None of this was new but the paladin couldn’t help but wonder of the horrors of the cold night as he listened to Harthal’s story.
The speaker took a longer pause to gather his thoughts as one of the candles near him suddenly died down. Harthal glanced slowly at it after which he returned to look at his audience. He was about to recite the part of his story that had brought upon the downfall of the campaign and that would chill the hearts of the survivors for the rest of their lives. However, he would have to describe the situation’s background first.
“The maps and imaginations of Northrend’s frigid interior held many inaccuracies but the way the Grand Admiral had planned our opffensive was surprisingly correct. After the land of the trolls was behind us, there was but one region between us and Icecrown. You may not believe me but it was a land of wondrous, crystalline trees that seemed to shine in the Sun’s cold light. It was much more welcoming than the dark realm of the trolls but we should have known we are already under the Lich King’s eye.” Harthal’s words about those crystal trees caused many frowns among his audience but none decided to interrupt him. There had been many strange stories from the newfound continent of Kalimdor like dancing lights in the trees or walking and speaking bulls. It seemed like Azeroth still held a lot of secrets none of the crusaders could have even dreamt about.
“We rode for many hours until mighty mountains started to surround us from all sides. We knew Icecrown was near us but we didn’t know the way to enter that cursed glacier. We decided to make a camp for the night, safe in the foolish belief that we were still sheltered from the Lich King’s curses.”
Harthal shuddered violently as the evening’s chill fell upon the crusaders. The temperature was far below the hardest winters of Lordaeron and even the knights’ thick fur armors weren’t enough to prevent the coldness from creeping under their skins, chilling their hands completely numb. In fact, the furs themselves creaked and squeaked as the frozen clothes failed to fold even an inch. The paladin looked at the sky, seeing that more snow was on the way. There was already enough to reach a human’s waist and the horses found it increasingly difficult to advance. That was when he heard a command from Orman that he had waited for hours.
“Halt, crusaders! We won’t be able to find the way to Icecrown today so put up the tents before we’ll freeze here!” The pretender of Stromgarde called to his troops in the wind, his voice barely audible in the northern winds and the carriages at the back of the army started to be quickly unloaded and tents put up. It wasn’t much more than ten minutes until the army’s camp was complete and all the tents standing in row. Harthal and one of his closest comrades called Ilon went to receive their food rations from the carriages and ran afterwards into their tents to hide from the biting winds of Northrend. Ilon looked in disappointment as he opened the package of food that had been shared to every crusader on the army. It consisted of a few rusks, dried apples and water. It was a far cry from a good meal but it was enough to keep the knights alive for the duration of the battle.
“It feels like my hands are burning! What kind of hellhole are we going to? If it gets any colder like this, I won’t be even to continue if I wanted to!” Ilon said in a low voice as he started to eat his ration of the food. The paladin was seriously starting to get wearied off by the rough weather and the long rides. He couldn’t even think what kind of horrors awaited in their destination.
“You already said you like winters and you have enough apples to eat. What else is it that you want?” Harthal asked in half irony, willing to remind his comrade that he still had some things which he had liked in the past. Harthal knew that they wouldn’t make his companion to feel any better but it was better than to think about the unsavory wonders of this cold land. His own slowly melting hands were a cause of immense agony but there was nothing that could be done about it.
“You know that these are nothing compared to the winters of Lordaeron, Truesight! I damn wish I’d never accepted the call to this hell of a mission! Everything has gone wrong since we left New Avalon!” Ilon rose up and started to walk around the tent. The frigid air flowed in from the floor which guaranteed a temperature below freezing even inside the temporary shelters.
“I don’t but this is still a nightmare. It’ll take a miracle if we wish to take on Arthas and otherwise our whole struggle has been for nothing! We never had to do this and we can blame no one but ourselves. The High General underlined the fact that no one would be forced to join this attack. At least he doesn’t have any better conditions than we have.” Harthal said as he thought about the army’s leaders. They had done their all to partake in the soldiers’ ordeals and to lead them forward with valor.
“I know you’ve heard more about these things more than I so please enlighten me, Truesight. What do the rumors tell about Icecrown Glacier? I know you’ve heard some tales.” The light-haired man spoke to his companion. He knew complaining would help no one so maybe thinking about the next day would make things a bit easier. Harthal sighed deeply and started to recite one account from an elf he had met in Tyr’s Hand a few years back. She had claimed to have been in Kael’thas’ army when the prince assaulted the Lich King’s sanctuary itself.
“I’ve heard that the air itself is dim in there and harsh mountains surround and dot the glacier. And if we thought it’s cold out here, you’ll be lucky if you leave Icecrown with all of your fingers and toes as most soldiers who reached it lost even their limbs to the freezing cold. The sky is filled with horrifying aberrations and at the very southern end of the region, the Lich King watches over all from his mighty Frozen Throne, ready to stop everyone who even threatens the sanctity of his eternal domain.” Harthal’s voice was faraway as he spoke, bringing shivers of fear and cold down Ilon’s spine. The paladin stayed still for a moment before he answered to Harthal’s tale.
“Most of that is probably lies, Harthal. There’s no way all of those horrors are gathered in one cursed glacier! It cannot be much worse than what we already went through already!” Ilon tried to reassure himself but his comrade returned a thoughtful expression to him.
“Illidan’s expedition was far larger than ours’ and still they fell before the Lich King’s wrath. Still, it is their sacrifice that gives us even a chance to strike at the heart of the Scourge. But make no mistake: Illidan and Kael’thas’ forces were even more experienced than we are and something in that dark glacier decimated them. Arthas commands forces that we cannot even dream about.” Harthal knew his words were far from encouraging but he spoke only what he had heard in the past. He would leave the rest to Abbendis and Orman.
“Where is the cursed pass, Ranger Swiftarrow? We should have already reached it by now!” Abbendis yelled as he spread the Icecrown’s and its surroundings’ map to the ground. The High General was extremely frustrated by the delay in reaching the Icecrown as it ate his troops’ morale and gave Arthas more openings to repel the crusaders’ attack. Fellari Swiftarrow bowed to look at the map again and spoke shortly in a reassuring voice.
“The map is inaccurate in many places, High General. The pass must be somewhere near us but we cannot say where.” Fellari said silently, knowing that the situation would turn bleak if the crusaders would be forced to linger too long here. It was a struggle to even put her own hand in a fist in the cold and she knew that many in the army were faring even worse.
“That is exactly why we brought an experienced ranger with us! If you can’t track the way forward, you’re completely useless to us!” Abbendis raged to the poor elf, enraged by the lack of information she had been able to give during the trip. She had reportedly been a high-ranking ranger captain of Silvermoon but those titles did little to impress the frustrated human.
“We’ve all done our best to bring our troops this far, High General! These accusations help no one!” Orman yelled as he reacted to Abbendis’ outburst. The younger man had led the other group during their ride through the land of the trolls but Abbendis saw him merely as one more captain. He had been granted the title of Captain General before leaving Lordaeron but it mattered little to Abbendis. As long as he was concerned, he was the only leader this expedition would see.
“As doesn’t sugar-coating our position, Captain General. It’ll take a miracle if we are to even challenge Arthas and you said your troops would march through this land without any hardships! What nonsense! You never seemed to understand the seriousness of this operation!” The older man said in an angry voice. It was caused by frustration most of all but he was also disappointed in his officers. He turned frantically to look at Fellari who started to speak again.
“The way I see it, our position is secure for now. I cannot see a way that we could be surrounded and the opening to Icecrown must be near. We might be freezing and our supplies running low but the situation is far from lost, High General. If we manage to conquer the paths to the glacier, we’ll hold the advantage of terrain over the undead. Tracking anything down in this snow is impossible but the normal rules of war still work in this place. Trust me, we still hold the keys to eventual victory.” The elf said in determination as she investigated the map’s description of Icecrown’s eastern edges. After thinking the elf’s words for a moment, Orman answered to Abbendis with a serious voice.
“My forces will follow me wherever I go with similar zeal as yours do your command, High General. There have been no signs of mutiny during this campaign and I assure you that there won’t be. The Light will provide us with this victory. You heard that our odds are better than what they seem.” Orman said but Abbendis seemed to merely order him silent. The older man was one of the few high-ranking commanders of the Crusade who had never belonged to the Order of the Silver Hand and Orman’s words started to slowly to wear him off.
“Forget the Light, Captain General! It may be a powerful tool but it won’t assure our victory in this cursed continent. This is the Lich King’s realm and we can only trust in ourselves if we are to survive! We must continue our march at first light, my commanders. For better or worse, either we or Arthas won’t see the next sunset. You are all dismissed!” The two other crusaders nodded in respect and left the tent. Abbendis sat down on the snow and shook his head. This situation wasn’t a new one for him but the stakes had never been this high before. The whole fate of the Crusade rested on his shoulders and the knowledge that every struggle of his life had let to this one offensive weighed immensely on him. Even then, Abbendis realized there was no other who could take command of this fight due to his immense experience and renowned strategical thinking. No matter what, Abbendis knew that he would give his all to destroy the Lich King once and for all. He could only hope it was enough.
“That was the last night many of us would ever see. Few of us slept well due to the biting cold but the fatigue eventually prevailed. I and I llon were luckier than most as our tent kept the cold better out than the others’.” A respecting silence had reigned in the Cathedral during Harthal’s tale and it continued even long after the paladin had started his break. The audience looked at the knight in deep interest but it was Osran who asked the first question.
“You said you hadn’t seen the slightest trace of the undead. Are you saying that such large areas of Northrend are actually free of the Lich king’s corruption?” Osran asked in disbelief, finding it hard to believe that the Scourge had swallowed nearly all of Lordaeron but not Northrend. The story about these frost trolls had been enough but now Harthal was claiming that the Scourge didn’t actually rule even Icecrown’s surroundings? Harthal looked at him for a moment and tapped the pulpit in slight anxiety.
“That’s correct. There were groups of undead here and there but they were far and between. However, none of that land is safe or welcoming to outsiders. Everywhere we went there, we were an enemy. Whatever one finds in Northrend, it won’t bring anything good.” Harthal said absentmindedly, his thought wandering in far more personal issues. His thoughts were once again interrupted by Whitemane’s remark.
“That doesn’t come as a surprise. The friendliness stays unchanged whether you go south or even west. Lordaeron must stand on its own because no other people came to our help in our darkest hour. The Crusade can trust only itself.” Whitemane said, her eyes fixed forward with a determine expression in them. The High Inquisitor would never forgive the dwarves or Quel’Thalas for abandoning her homeland to the Lich King’s mercy. Because of it, Arellas’ next remark only worsened her mood.
“The revered Anasterian made a serious mistake when he initially overlooked Arthas’ campaign but you must understand that Quel’Thalas has believed in defending only itself for millennia, High Inquisitor! We paid a heavy price from our stubbornness but I assure you, there are still people determined to bring down the Lich King. They may not care for you but we all have the same enemy.” Arellas spoke, trying to bring Whitemane to see reason but her answer did little to raise his hopes.
“Which would soon change again. I tolerate your presence, High Wizard, due to your long-term contributions to the Crusade but Thalnos just proved that we may never know what’ll happen. I prefer to have allies that won’t plot behind my back, waiting for the moment to benefit from my moments of weakness!” The priestess would have cringed heavily if she had given even the slightest of thoughts to the hypocrisy of her words. However, she didn’t and Arellas was left to look at her in chagrin.
“I know my subordinate was a traitor but I’m still here as is Fellari Swiftarrow, and we are ready to continue the fight. I apologize deeply for what Thalnos did but I’ll do everything in my power to undo the damage he caused all of us.” Arellas said as Osran looked at the two, feeling extremely awkward as he thought about his role in that incident. He knew Arellas was extremely taken aback by his stern and quick actions but that didn’t mean Osran was even planning to apologize. He merely sighed and spoke in a tired voice.
“The justice is served, High Inquisitor. There’s no reason to push the issue further. What’s done is done.” Osran looked to Arellas in a compassionate look to which the priestess was about to answer when they heard a voice from in front of them.
“May I have your attention? I thought you wanted to hear what happened in Icecrown while you were simply sitting here doing nothing!” Harthal called in rising anger, his patience severely tested by the episode in the Cathedral. He hadn’t heard a word about the campaign against Diodor which caused him to say what he did.
“You have a lot of catching-up to do, Truesight! You weren’t the only ones fighting an important battle but for now, go on!” Whitemane called, trying to overlook the knight’s unthought words. She could understand Harthal’s reasoning and it was mostly her pride that was damaged by his words. The speaker looked at her in confusion but he continued after clearing his throat.
“As I was about to say, the night itself was rather uneventful. Two of us slowly froze to death but they were casualties that couldn’t be avoided. None of us truly knew where we were going to and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in falling before the north’s frozen winds. However, as Abbendis had decided, we gathered our camp at first light and ranger Swiftarrow restarted her job in finding the opening we were looking for. She listened to voices in every direction, compared all the breaths of the four winds and followed the behavior of each living being we encountered. Slowly but surely, her endless efforts paid off and we could see the menacing mountains rise before us, the feared dark mists floating in the air behind them.” Harthal took a swift pause and a quick sip of a cup of water that the monks had brought to him. The paladin relaxed slightly but his posture continued be tense and worried.
“Even our flawed maps could tell that the maw to that icy Hell was near us. For the first time, at least as far as I can remember, the High General was seemingly scared. He glanced continuously around him and his orders were sometimes vague and always spoken in a forcefully brave voice. However, he showed none of it to us and each of our commanders stayed calm before us and their example gave us the courage we needed to press on. It wasn’t long before we reached an opening in the endless range of mountains, the pass leading towards the northwest. Right towards the heart of evil.” The paladin had a haunted look in his eyes as he spoke and he was putting all of his weight on his right leg as a token to his anxiety. It was clear that the following parts of the story still brought great fear to the hardened paladin.
Harthal and Ilon walked in deafening silence as the army of the hundreds of crusaders moved through the quickly darkening valley. None of the paladins dared to say a word as each of them knew that this was it. The moment that could end all of the struggles starting with Arthas’ betrayal all those years ago. Many of those marching towards the icy heart of Northrend today had never known anything but the endless fear that the former prince’s treachery had brought upon the world. Arthas had taken everything from them while they were still young children and each of them would sacrifice themselves gladly if they could just ensure that no other human would ever be forced through that same crucible that they had.
One of the two paladins breathed deeply as he looked at two strange undead fly over the valley, seemingly paying no attention to those far below it. Ilon couldn’t see what it was but he knew it was likely nothing he even wanted to know. The knight cursed heavily as his belt cracked and broke under the freezing air. Harthal had been right: the temperature was dropping and fast: the crusaders would have to get out of here fast or they would all freeze to death. However, his worried thoughts were interrupted by an odd sight that caught his eye. It seemed like a huge rock at first glance but there was something odd about it. Parts of it seemed suspiciously high, as if it had been made artificially. As if… as if it wasn’t a rock at all.
“Captain General Orman! Take a look at that!” Ilon called to the officer that was closest to him. Orman looked at him in surprise and asked in an annoyed voice. This wasn’t the situation to start examining rocks or make a fuss about their position.
“What is it, crusader Tarien? Can’t you see that we are about to enter Icecrown so close your mouth!” Orman used Ilon’s last name but the crusader didn’t take heed of his words. He continued to push the issue further to Orman’s surprise and displeasure.
“It’s not what you think! That rock looks a building but why would there be any here? Except if it’s hideout of the Scourge!” Ilon voiced his concerns and the higher-ranked paladin took an annoyed look at the spot Ilon had pointed to. The pretender of Stromgarde took a sigh when he realized his responsibility. He called to the others and called in a restrained voice.
“Halt! We’ll go investigate that one point crusader Tarien seems so interested about. We’ll continue soon.” Orman could feel Abbendis’ eyes boring into his back in annoyance but it couldn’t be helped. If he missed something of importance, the failure of this campaign would be on his shoulders. The Captain General dismounted heavily, cursing as his feet sank into the thick cover of snow. He moved closer to the stone and observed it for a moment. Sure, it was strangely formed but that didn’t change the fact that it was of very little value to the crusaders.
“Perhaps now you’ll think twice before you waste my time! Come, let’s…” Orman was interrupted as he saw Ilon start to wipe the snow away from the stone, not seeing the point at first. Under the white curtain appeared nothing more than black ice that was of no interest to anyone. However, there was something that caught Ilon’s attention. A flicker of red could be seen under the ice which could point only to one possibility. He swung his sword at the ice, pieces of the hard matter flying in all directions. However, something surprising was hidden under the now-destroyed layer of ice. A red crystal-like lining on a white wall. Orman panted as he looked at the sight before him. Only one kind of people built their buildings like this.
“Blood elf keep! How? Why would one of them be here?” Orman took a few steps back as he realized that the stone before him were the remains of the center of an old blood elf outpost. However, he couldn’t put the pieces together just yet. Ilon whispered shortly in distinct respect and sorrow.
“This must have been one of Kael’thas’ outposts during his attack on the Lich King! This means that we are already in Icecrown!” Ilon said in awe as he realized what the battle must have looked like all those years ago. Shivers run down his spine as he remembered what Harthal had said about that battle just yesterday and he thought about the ghastly end the elves had suffered here.
“But where are the other parts of the outpost? Surely the elves built a whole village to support their war effort!” Orman exclaimed in worry. Ilon glanced at him and looked around him more closely than before. His breaths stopped for a moment as he saw something that he hadn’t noticed before. Small mounds rose here and there, hardly noticeable under the snow. They must be all that remained of the proud blood elf village that had graced this valley. Ruined and forgotten, slowly being swallowed by the endless frost of the north. A truly tragic end to those noble elves despite their allegiance to Illidan the Betrayer.
“Look around you, Orman. Everything is still here.” Ilon whispered, deeply moved by the horrifying testament to the reality they found themselves in. They were walking on the ruins of a past force to defeat the Lich King and the crusaders themselves were in in a serious danger of joining the dead in this Light-forsaken land. Orman looked around himself in fear, seeing that Ilon was right. He was about to go investigate one of the smaller ruins when he suddenly fell to the ground, tripped by an object he expected to be a small stone. However, another shock waited the Captain General as he turned around. A grisly sight of entrails-covered skull in the middle of a bloody blob opened under the icy snow. Here lied one elf’s earthly remains, forever buried under the dark sky of Icecrown. Ilon saw the sight and spoke in a fearful voice to Orman.
“Let’s go, Captain Commander. The others are eager to continue.”
“I followed that scene from a distance but it told me everything I needed to know. It was easier to recite what someone else had said about Northrend’s horrors and to experience them myself. After that moment I finally realized that this would be all that would be left of us if Lordaeron would ever fall. A slowly vanishing ruin covered with our bodies. Ilon’s discovery shocked many and the atmosphere turned into an ever darker one. To our luck or misfortune, however, that didn’t last long. Soon, we were forced to confront our worst nightmares face to face.”
The pass started to finally open, revealing an endless expanse of the Icecrown Glacier. It was just as the stories had told it to be: mountain ranges dotted the environment but the Frozen Throne was still too far for us to see. Harthal was enamored to see the sight he had heard so much about but that didn’t last long. His excitement would have been seriously checked if he had realized that it had been the Lich King’s bidding to let the enemy reach his doorstep. Even then, that didn’t last long.
“Giants are coming after us! There are dozens of them!” One of the knights in the last ranks called in clear panic. Nearly all of the assembled crusaders turned around to see that the soldier was speaking the truth. Even Abbendis himself looked shocked for a moment but he didn’t climb to the position he was in by panicking in dangerous situation like this. Especially when he already had an idea how top beat these monsters.
“Surround them but don’t go near enough for them to kick you! Burn the giants down one by one but whatever you do, keep the initiative! If we lose control of the battle, we’re all as good as dead!” The High General immediately turned around and headed to lead the execution of his plan. Hundreds of crusaders nearly instantly moved around the monstrosities but there were always a few who went a meter or two too far so the giants to be able to squash them. A giant after another fell with a loud thud but more of them approached from the pass. Orman realized that the crusaders would never win this battle if they kept on fighting everything the Scourge could throw at them. The Captain General fought his way towards Abbendis, his steed clearing the way through the undead.
“High General! We’ve got to keep moving forward! We’re being slowly grinded to death if we continue fighting these monsters!” Orman yelled in desperation, the sudden ambush shocking him greatly. Abbendis responded to him with a stern but understanding look, knowing that the other officer’s remark was a correct one. A retreating battle would be a risky one which would claim many crusaders but staying here would be a certain defeat. With a nod, Abbendis yelled at his followers, willing to make his point clear immediately.
“Charge towards the south and Frozen Throne! Try to hold the enemy at bay but whatever you do, keep moving forward!” The High General called, moving around the army to regroup his soldiers. Long and mobile lines were formed in order for the last ranks to hold the giants back but just as the army was once again ready to advance, another surprise waited for the unfortunate leader. A sea of ghouls covered the entire plain before him.
“The next minutes were a complete mess which I don’t even remember too well. In any case, we hoped beyond hope to break the undead ranks and to reach the Lich King’s domain. Our wide line cut thousands of undead down but Icecrown was a larger place than any of us can imagine. We never could get too far before the most dangerous of the Lich King’s servants found us.”
Harthal looked around himself in desperation, realizing that the Crusade’s advance had stopped completely. The five hundred crusaders were surrounded in the center of Scourge’s heartland, unable to do anything but to make their last desperate stand. The paladin was determined to give his all to fight the coming end when something unexpected happened. The Scourge’s troops halted their attack, disengaging from the fight quickly. The humans were left looking around themselves in confusion when the ranks of the undead opened, giving way to a monstrous creature none of the crusaders had ever seen. It bore a resemblance of a beetle with insect-like wings and a clear proboscis. Even then, it was longer than any beetle of that size would be and it didn’t have an insectoid-resembling face. Also, its color decorations seemed even cloth-like, leaving the defenders to wonder whether this race had actually been civilized enough to decoratee themselves. However, the beast’s grisly appearance and hostile arrival gave the crusaders little time to do anything but prepare a desperate but frantic defense. They looked in waiting fear as the massive insectoid-like creature approached them.
“Unwisely, you have marched into the realm of the Lich King, never giving another thought about your foolish quest! Completely ignorant, you’ve moved above the eternal halls and caverns of Azjol’Nerub and thought you were safe! Aieek hi-r-rk-k-k-k-!” The creature hissed in a loud and mocking voice. Its bluish eyes penetrated Abbendis who looked at the monstrous insect in disgust. The High General’s voice dipped with disgust as he answered.
“Leave now, monster! Go back to whichever pit you creeped up from and let us finish our fight! Fight and you will fall, this I, High Geberal Abbenddis wow!” The middle-aged man’s eyes burned with rage as he answered. Orman stood by his side, his eyes fixed on the enemy, his mind burning with endless hate and disgust. This wasn’t a fight their new enemy would win.
“No mortal filth is able to question the power of Anub’arak! I’ve ruled for long before you were born and I will rule long after I’ve slayed you in the name of the Lich King! Come and face the might of the Scourge!” Anub’arak spoke in a venomous voice, finally breaking something in Orman. This whole campaign had been his idea and it was quickly becoming a disaster without him being able to do anything to prevent it. The paladin had already contemplated the foolishness of this quest and there was only one way to redeem himself of this enormous mistake. The pretender of Stromgarde locked his eyes with those of Anub’arak’s and yelled in a decisive voice and started to run.
“Be silent, mindless beast! The Light’s vengeance will engulf you and your master!” Orman felt the time stop around him when the giant insect suddenly disappeared from his sight, digging its way into the ground in a matter of seconds. He looked around himself in confusion, unsure whether his enemy had escaped or if there was something else he was planning. However, his contemplations were cut short by a mind-breaking pain from his legs.
Harthal looked in horror as the massive insectoid appeared from below Orman, tearing his legs to pieces before he moved to disembowel the rest of the paladin’s body. A stunned silence fell upon the crusaders: in a matter of seconds, they had lost their second leader, destroyed without the least of a chance to resist. What was even worse, he had fallen without accomplishing anything before the enemy had destroyed his body with his massive limbs.
“Surrender or each of you will find yourself tied into an eternal web’s embrace before you serve the Lich King! The soldiers of Azjol’Nerub will take pleasure in taking care of trash like you, Ireesh, sh-k-k-k-k!” Anub’arak spoke in a triumphant voice, looking at the crusaders sadistically. Harthal and Ilon could see to their horror that hordes of massive spider-like creatures were moving among the hordes of the Scourge, quickly approaching the living. Harthal whispered to his comrade in resignation as they tightened their ranks.
“It was an honor fighting beside you, Ilon. There’s no way we survive from this.” Harthal’s voice was pained but it still held his courage even in this hopeless situation. The other knight nodded to himself as he waited for orders. He answered shortly in a wavering voice it was clear that neither was he going to give up as long any life flowed through him.
“It isn’t that time as long as our troops still stand! The Crusade’s light won’t be vanquished by these monsters!” Ilon spoke in determination, knowing that the hundreds of crusaders still standing wouldn’t submit to the Lich King’s slaves. The battle was still on.
The High General’s eyes scoured Orman’s bloody remains as Anub’arak walked over them. The sight was extremely gruesome but Abbendis knew he didn’t have the luxury of being stunned by this bloody display. His mind raced on overdrive as he thought about his options. His troops were surrounded, desperately outnumbered and increasingly beaten by the biting cold. The road back to the ships was a long one and he knew that it would be highly risky endeavor anyway. If he chose to advance, his troops’ total annihilation would be a real possibility. However, the High General knew his mission and as long as Arthas could be beaten, he’d take that chance to beat him, no matter what. Abbendis raised his sword and called to his troops.
“Take heart, brave Scarlet Crusaders! Stick to the courage in your hearts and let it shine through this cursed glacier! Spare no effort in destroying the enemy inside you and these devils will follow! Trust in your cause and regroup! March upon the Frozen Throne!” Abbendis yelled and started the charge against the incoming spiders and he was relieved to hear that his troops followed him without question. The crusaders moved to the wide formation co tut down the enemy in as large as a line as they only could. The dark glacier would likely be their tomb but they would crush as many of the Lich King’s servants as they only could.
Great astonishment flowed through Anub’arak’s mind as he looked at the charging knights. This was a development he would have never suspected but it also was a major mistake. Anub’arak’s face turned into a wicked smile as he hit his legs on the ground and crouched as low as he could. Soon, hordes of flying scarabs appeared from under his wings as the mighty warrior charged against the incoming barrage of death.
Many of the crusaders fell as the undead king of Azjol’Nerub charged through their ranks. He suffered many serious injuries but they were of little effect to the beast. Ilon looked at the sight around him in fear and distinct pride as hordes of spiders and skeletons fell along with the proud paladins. If this was the end, it was the kind of end he would be willing to through. He saw that Harthal’s sentiments were highly similar to his own. Anub’arak was moving quickly towards their ranks, half-burrowed on the ground and destroying each and every crusader on his way. Harthal could see that the beetle-like monster would wipe his comrades out quickly if left unchecked. The middle-aged man rode quickly before Anub’arak and yelled to his enemy in a thundering voice while strengthening his aura towards his allies.
“Stay where you are, monster! You nor your spiders will prevail today!” Harthal’s voice didn’t hold a flicker of fear as he spoke, his cause giving him all the strength he needed. Many heads turned towards the rider on his red-armored steed as he stood against the incoming juggernaut of death and destruction. Anub’arak looked at him in annoyance, surprised that any of the puny living would dare oppose him after what he did to Orman. This crazy human wasn’t worth his answer. The insectoid king resumed his attack immediately and prepared to annihilate this arrogant creature immediately…
… until his attack suddenly stopped. Harthal created a wide shield of white which engulfed Anub’arak from all sides, stopping all of his attacks in their tracks. They weren’t enough to cause him even a theoretical threat but the former king was furious by this show of resistance. He called immediately to his minions in a loud voice.
“Crush the paladin in the name of the Lich King! Tear his head from his shoulders!” Masses of spiders and skeletons begun their march on Harthal who was more than stunned by his own display of power. The knight turned around and called to his allies.
“Go, now! I’ll be able to hold them away for a bit longer!” Ilon and the others hesitated in leaving Harthal here but they knew that none of them were likely to survive the battle anyway. Many honoring glances, including those of Abbendis himself, laid upon the paladin, stunned to see such display of valor in this moment. Still, Harthal was left at holding the army of Azjol’Nerub at bay and to his relief, his earlier powers continued to hold the enemy back.
It was like a bright wall of Light holding the undead at bay. Harthal had always been one of the most powerful paladins among those he knew, often rivalling even his commanders. However, this was the first time that he had stood against an army alone and never had his mastery of his powers been so absolute. He felt like a hero of legend, standing against an overwhelming enemy without fear. In any case, his powers were slowly depleting and he knew he had to either flee or die. Anub’arak was clearly bewildered by the paladin’s deeds but he knew that the Scourge would prevail in the end. With a horrified leap, Harthal released his shield and galloped to join the other crusaders.
Even after the surrounding display of courage, the crusaders’ numbers dwindled quickly but they were also moving towards the south with a good pace. They were more spirited by the fact that their rear was safe for now but that knowledge was quickly being set aside by a majestic but horrifying thing in the horizon. Slowly but surely, a sight that each of them had waited for days, appeared from behind the mountains.
The Frozen Throne stood calmly in the middle of hills marking the southern end of Icecrown Glacier, its white form dominating its surroundings with cold majesty. It was like a beacon of the Scourge’s power in its heartland and a fitting bastion for the Lich King. However, none of the Crusaders knew that this was the closest any of them would ever get to it.
A massive, towering giant of flesh appeared from the plains in front of the knights, its height surpassing a normal abomination’s nearly tenfold. Even Abbendis himself stopped as he saw the enormous enemy who was quickly approaching his troops. Even worse, something happened that finally broke the knights’ spirits for good.
“Did you truly believe you could simply walk here and kill me? Pathetic fools… those who still follow the Light deserve to be wiped from the face of my new world!”
The voice felt like the ultimate distortion of a noble man’s voice, the low, horrifying rasp seemed to twist the very nature of the world. It seemed to come from the land itself with the speaker nowhere to be seen. Even then, everyone who heard it knew to whom this monstrous voice belonged to. The voice of the Lich King held no resemblance to the valiant and determined voice of prince Arthas, all traces of it buried under this monstrous creature who had once been the beloved prince of Lordaeron.
It didn’t take a second until the last bits of light disappeared from the sky, giving way to a ravenous and violent blizzard. Simultaneously, the icy ground broke as endless hordes of undead fought their way up from the depths of the glacier itself. Their eyes and bodies glowed with a bright blue light, clearly raising the ferocity of their attacks. All of these horrors at once finally broke the crusaders’ spirits. There was no victory against this the enormous monstrosity and the Scourge’s true master and his endless stream of slaves. This battle was lost.
“Retreat! We must get away from this place! This campaign was doomed from the start!” Abbendis could feel his mind breaking as he spoke those words but these soldiers would serve better in Lordaeron than to die here. The High General cursed that he had ever agreed to Orman’s suicidal idea but there was no way they could known about giant beetles or massive giants of flesh. The Scourge was more powerful than anyone could have thought. All that remained was to cut down his losses.
“It broke our morale to turn away from the Frozen Throne when we were already that close. I’m sorry that we couldn’t finish what we started.” Harthal’s voice died down as he concluded his last remark. It was clear that those memories had been painful for the paladin but none of those present dared to question his or his comrades’ bravery. At this point, only one question remained.
“How were you able to escape from Icecrown? There’s no way Arthas could have just let you go!” Arellas said in confusion and compassion. He could only guess the horrors the paladin had gone through. Being trapped in that frigid, hostile hellhole surrounded by the most vile of creatures was a thing Arellas dearly hoped he would never have to go through. Harthal looked at the mage in sorrow and he seemed to shudder as he continued. He took one last deep breath before he started to recite the last part of his story.
“High General, we mustn’t try to return the same way we used to come here! The spiders and giants will destroy us!” Fellari called frantically to Abbendis as she rode to his side. The higher-ranked commander turned to look at the elf in anger and retorted to her in frustration.
“The last I looked, we don’t have an option here! Unless you present me with one, just shut up and concentrate on running!” Abbendis said bluntly but Fellari understood the source of his anger. She answered swiftly in order to calm her superior down.
“There is a small pathway through the central mountains towards the pass we came from! I saw it when we arrived here: I believe it allows us to bypass most of the enemies! We’re arriving to it soon enough!” Fellari concluded, her remark followed by silence from Abbendis. He knew it was a long shot but it offered at least a modicum of a chance at survival. He knew this would be his best chance to lead his troops home.
“Crusaders, follow me! Gather near me and don’t question my moves! We can still survive if you comply!” Abbendis yelled as he started to head towards the direction Fellari had spoken about. However, there was still one thing he’d have to do. He spoke to one of his deputies and ordered him to summon someone whose services the High General needed. It was less than a minute until Harthal arrived at the scene.
“Crusader Truesight, your bravery confronting that monstrous beetle was truly inspiring. I fear we might require your skills once again when we reach the place we’re looking for.” Abbendis said, briefly turning to look at Harthal who was extremely surprised by the High General’s praises. Even then, he wasn’t quite sure whether he’d be able to create his invincible aura of Light again. The paladin thought for a moment before he answered positively to his superior.
“I’ll do it, High General. I’ll safeguard our rear or die trying.” Harthal said in determination and turned to ride away before he heard Abbendis’ words which stunned him without end.
“Harthal, you should know that I’m ready to name you my deputy on this mission should you succeed and live. Go, Lord Paladin, and make us all proud.” Harthal turned to stare at the General immediately but his expression told him everything he need to know. Time was of the essence and Abbendis wouldn’t watch him waste time.
It was mere moments before the army entered the pass Fellari had told about. Harthal waited for the last survivors to pass before he moved again to block the Scourge’s advance. The middle-aged paladin took a deep breath and moved his hammer to point at the charging undead. With a determined expression, he sought for the release of another wave of Light. For a moment, it looked like he was about to fail but finally, pure Light filled the canyon. The bright power destroyed many of the following undead and prevented the rest from following. Like a solid wall of white, Harthal’s aura brought upon the decisive hindrance on the undead. The battle was lost, to be sure, but at least some of the crusaders would live to tell the tale of how their brave comrades who would never return from this heart of evil.
“It was all thanks to the High General and Ranger Captain Swiftarrow. The colossal giant crushed dozens of us immediately but there were still a third of us alive when we reached Crystalsong again. The rest of our flight was merely a war of attrition against the warriors of the Scourge who were chasing us through the frozen wastes. Very few of us ever made it back to the ships.” Harthal concluded in regret, knowing that the loss of those troops was a very serious blow to the whole Crusade. He felt a personal responsibility for that wasted army even if he had been a mere line soldier when the campaign begun.
“I understand why Abbendis was so keen on getting to relay these news to the Grand Crusader. It is a major concern for all of us if all of those monsters that you told about are actually in the Lich King’s command. We would have been spared from a lot if you hadn’t fled when you did.” Whitemane said in an arrogant voice, earning a grim and hostile look from Harthal. The paladin was extremely outraged by her remark but he knew that fighting here would solve nothing. All of the Lich King’s horrors were still out there and Harhal knew it better than anyone who the true enemy was.
“The Grand Crusader must know what we’re up against. Those monsters might be far away now but we can never know when they will spread to Lordaeron. We must be ready when that day comes!” Osran said in alarm, realizing the full depth of Harthal’s warning. If the Crusade thought for a second that Diodor’s downfall had been a major victory, they would be up for a major surprise. It seemed like the necromancers were going to be the least of their worries.
“No one can prepare for those abominations if he hasn’t seen them himself. I don’t even know if they can even be beaten but if the Grand Crusader and the Ashbringer won’t be able to figure that out, no one can. The Crusade must work together more than ever if we are to prevail. We must embark on adventures like these anymore as every life and crusader matter. There is no more room for weakness or waste in our ranks.” Harthal spoke grimly, willing to underline the power they were up against. Even Whitemane looked concerned by the news as the Crusade’s victory was also in her own interests. Everyone in the hall nodded in agreement, knowing that the Crusade would never be the same again after this failure. Osran rose up from his pew and spoke to the others in a respectful voice, bowing slightly.
“My task here is done, my comrades. I was planning to leave tomorrow but these news show our situation in new light. There is no room for rest and because of this, I’ll return to Tyr’s Hand tonight. I’ll gather my knights and prepare for departure immediately.” Osran realized that his announcement was a quick one but he also knew that time was of the essence. He would have to report to Valdemar as soon as he could.
“I understand, crusader Lowriver. You may take any steeds you wish but stay safe in your travels. I hope we can fight side by side again soon but until then, may the Light be with you.” The High Inquisitor managed to sound genuine but Osran knew she was only happy to get rid of him and to be honest, he felt the same way. Osran turned quickly on his heels and headed towards the Armory Wing in order to prepare his companions for the sudden departure. The corridors of the Monastery were eerily empty in the late evening and only the cold wind blew in the ancient halls. The paladin couldn’t help but continue to admire the magnificent building and the society that had lived within it for centuries. He felt a flicker of sadness that it would be led by the power-hungry priestess from now on but that was none of his business. He was about to reach the Armory Wing when a sudden voice suddenly called to him from the darkness.
“Crusader Osran Lowriver, I assume?” A robed monk appeared from the shadows, not revealing his face to Osran. The paladin’s hand moved instinctually to his sword’s sheath and he asked in a sharp voice.
“What business have you with me? Speak, now!” The knight assumed the monk was trying to avenge some of his actions as a commander, most likely Thalnos’ execution but he wasn’t going to let the monk proceed with those plans. The man’s face didn’t seem to even stir at Osran’s words and his voice was as stoic as ever.
“Stay your hand, Lowriver. I didn’t come to assassinate but rather to bring you a message.” He then straightened his hand and gave a sealed letter to Osran. The bearded knight looked at the man in suspicion but grabbed the letter that he had offered. Great uncertainty could be read from his face but the paladin quickly realized something extremely important. He recognized the letter’s seal: it belonged to the house of Isillien, whose current head served as the Grand Inquisitor of the Crusade. His line had served the Church for generations and every paladin knew their sigil.
The fact that the Grand Inquisitor himself had contacted him brought Oran great concern and excitement. Isillien was the spiritual leader of the whole Crusade and some had even called him its heart. He was easily the order’s most important figure after Saidan Dathrohan and Alexandros Mograine and he would never waste his time contacting line members of the Crusade. Osran opened the letter with a feverish speed and his hands nearly trembled as he read it.
The Grand Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade, Ierlas Isillien, sends his greetings to the honorable crusader Osran Lowriver. My associates have reported about your bravery defending the Monastery in its darkest hour, a deed that might have saved our cause in the longer war. You have my most humble gratitude for your valor. I must also salute you for the way you handled the traitor Thalnos as the Crusade’s unity and purity are among its most beautiful virtues and assets. Never forget that, Osran.
Your deeds have prompted me to offer you with a unique honor. I invite you to Hearthglen tomorrow for a ceremony that very few of our members will ever see. I invite you to join the ranks of our highest-ranked units known as the Crimson Legion. It is the highest honor any paladin can ever hope for, the true bastion of virtue and goodness, directly working under the Grand Crusader. I advise you to consider this offer thoroughly as you won’t get another chance like this. Stay silent about the contents of this letter as it is the duty of each of us to preserve the sanctity of the Crimson Legion. Report to me in Hearthglen’s Mardenholde Keep tomorrow if you decide to answer the call of the Crusade.
Grand Inquisitor Isillien
Osran trembled in astonishment as he read. The Crimson Legion was a highly secretive but honored group within the Crusade, even if its numbers were extremely thin. Its members were some of the most respected ones in the Order but nobody knew about their true mission, other than that they served the Grand Crusader himself. This wasn’t an offer he could ever afford to pass up.
It took a lot of effort for Osran to hide his excitement from the courier. It was obvious that he knew nothing of the letter’s content as was the custom with the most secretive messages of the Crusade. Osran nodded to him in approval and spoke briefly.
“My deepest appreciations about your message, good man. Thank you for bringing this to me.” Osran looked at him stoically to hide any hints about the letter’s contents as Isillien had ordered. The courier answered just as shortly before he headed back towards the main hall.
“My honor, crusader Lowriver. Have a good night.” The bearded knight was once again left alone in the dark hallways, only the moon’s pale light shining through the colored windows. Osran couldn’t help but wonder if the encounter had ever happened as the entire situation felt completely unreal. Still, the letter in his hand was an inquestionable proof about the events that had just transpired. He, an aging paladin whose best days were behind him, was invited to join the highest echelon of the Crusade’s leadership? The knight’s mouth turned into a smile even if he realized this changed his plans.
He would have to pass on the small paladin group’s leadership to Veria and tell her to relay the news of his delay to Valdemar. Once he had done that, he’d finally leave the Monastery and head towards the city of Hearthglen. No might in this world would prevent him from realizing the greatest honor in his life. He was more than humbled by the response his brief leadership had brought him. Even if the war against the Scourge would continue sooner than later, this day had ended in his ultimate personal triumph.
Now that the fate of the northern expedition has been fully revealed, it's time for the Crusade to start planning for the future. The coming battles will be tough but it seems that Osran will play an ever more important role in them... I hope you liked this chapter and any thoughts would be welcome! :)
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The Creed of the Crimson Legion
Silent splashes could be heard in the still-dark forest as a brown horse quickly galloped over the small ponds in the ground. The scene was covered with the mist of a late night as Osran ordered his steed to turn left from a major crossroads. It was still an hour until the breaking of the dawn but the paladin knew he was drawing close to the mighty city of Hearthglen. The road started to narrow quickly as the forest turned into the vale that held the city in its embrace. Osran hadn’t slept a second since the first of the three battles against Diodor but the knight knew he didn’t have the luxury of being tired today. This could easily turn out be the most important day in his whole life.
It was only on this journey that Osran realized that the passed day had been the zenith of the summer, the season starting to move towards its end from now on. Not that it mattered greatly but it was highly curious that the frantic campaign had happened on the same day as one of the old Lordaeron’s greatest and most popular festivals. It was highly possible that those hours would pass down to legend as the Summertide campaign or something like that.
The horse’s breaths grew heavier as the trip was slowly coming to an end. After Harthal’s story, Osran had learned to respect their enemy on another level. He could no longer tell what monstrosities lurked in the bushes around him, aside from the slowly rotting animals whose last cries any traveler would be forced to listen on a journey across this cursed land. However, the rider’s thoughts were too focused on the purpose of his ride.
What would the offer to join the Crimson Legion actually hold for him? The more he thought of it, the more their secrecy started to bother Osran. Everybody knew who they were but no one knew why they were such a distinguished group within the Crusade. Their closeness to the Grand Crusader implicated that they were some kind of ruling elite group but it was highly curious why they were so elusive. Well, he’d find it out sooner rather than later as the distant lights of Hearthglen’s watchtowers came to his view. They held the impression of a safe refuge in the middle of the tainted forest, the last bastion of the Light in this sickly land. Osran stopped as a hostile voice called to him.
“Stop immediately and state your business here in Hearthglen or leave! If you fail to comply, you leave us no choice but to eliminate you!” The guardsman could see that the newcomer wore the tabard of the Scarlet crusade but it meant nothing. Any kind of bandit would be able to kill one of the crusaders and steal his garb. However, Osran knew this kind of questioning was of extreme necessity during these times.
“Be at peace, noble crusader! My name is Osran Lowriver and I have a meeting with the Grand Inquisitor! Tell me, how is Isillien?” The paladin called in a strong voice, willing to make the alerted guards calm down a little. However, it seemed like they weren’t about to accept his passage just yet.
“Anyone can claim to be him but The Grand Inquisitor left us strict rules not to let any pretender pass. If you truly are crusader Lowriver, please tell which was the place where you joined the Order of the Silver Hand and who was the priest who initiated you to your new life as a knight?” The guardsman called in a calm voice but it was clear that he expected an answer. Osran frowned heavily as he heard the question, deeply surprised by the amount of questioning. Why would Isillien invite him here and then put him through such interrogation? The paladin looked at the guardsman disapprovingly for a moment, searching his memory for the answer. It had been a long time ago and especially the priest’s name took a moment to recall.
“I was initiated in the Chapel of Light’s Hope 36 years ago at the age of sixteen. If I remember right, the priest who accepted me into the Order was named Pelan Ylens but he is likely long gone by now.” Osran spoke slowly, struggling to recall his memories while he spoke. The guardsman changed a few whispers with his comrade and answered shortly.
“So it is, crusader Lowriver. Welcome to Hearthglen!” The two guards went to the levers and started to open the gate to the second largest city of the Crusade. It had once been Lordaeron’s fourth city after the Capital, Stratholme and Tyr’s Hand and it still stood valiantly after all these years of destruction around it. Osran begun to ride towards the walls when something unexpected happened. A group of ten pike-bearing soldiers walked towards him, seemingly in hurry. One of them spoke to the paladin quickly.
“Follow us and don’t try anything unthought. The Grand Inquisitor will see you shortly. In the meanwhile, do as you’re told.” The soldier spoke in a decisive but calm voice. The others gathered around Osran who looked at them in confusion. What was going on? Things were going far from what the paladin had expected.
“What is the meaning of this? You cannot simply walk to me and practically say I’m under arrest! I came here to talk to Isillien, not to be commanded by you! Move along, now!” Osran said in rising anger. This wasn’t the way any knight should be treated according to Faol’s old rules. Even if those guidelines were now history, this kind of behavior wasn’t something the aging knight would expect from the Crusade. The pikeman raised his weapon, pointing it towards Osran in a threatening gesture
“You heard what we said. You will comply or things will get rough for you. Now, dismount!” Osran looked around him in alarm, not knowing how to respond to this welcoming ceremony. Escalating things came to his mind but his opponents seemed to really be with the Crusade and getting into a fight with them wouldn’t end well no matter the outcome. Osran looked at the leader of the pikemen for a moment with blazing eyes before he answered in a highly annoyed voice.
“Very well, soldier. But know that I ëll tell the Grand inquisitor about this outrage.” Osran spoke in anger, not hiding his disgust at the other crusader. The pikeman snorted in dry humor as he turned around and started to walk towards the keep of Mardenholde.
“Do as you please, old man. It was his holiness himself who ordered us to this meeting. Good luck with trying to prove that he was wrong.” The man answered in a mocking voice, not willing to show any respect to the older crusader. Osran looked at him in surprise, disappointed by Isillien’s welcome. It seemed like this trip wouldn’t be as pleasant or easy as he had suspected.
Ten horses were being prepared for the long journey back towards Tyr’s Hand when Veria looked around herself and sighed. There were far fewer paladins returning home than had initially arrived at the Monastery. Especially Tareth’s loss weighed upon her even if she had already said her farewells to her old captain. No matter what, it was a soldier’s duty not to dwell in the past and to try to make their own way through hard times. This day wasn’t an exception.
Even then, Osran’s message late in the last evening had been a puzzling one. The paladin had relayed most of the things he had heard in Northrend and explained the urgency to begin reinforcing the defense of the old forest of Darrowmere. However, it was his next remark that puzzled the knight deeply. Osran had simply stated that he was needed in Hearthglen for questioning about his temporary leadership. He had seen very eager to get his point accepted, leaving a lingering doubt to Veria’s mind. Clearly Osran had something in mind that didn’t concern her directly but she would have wanted to hear at least something.
“Are you ready? It’ll be a long ride and the sooner we begin moving, the sooner we’ll be in Tyr’s Hand!” Veria called to her followers, still unsure about her newfound position. Osran had left the small group’s leadership to her who had never before served as any kind of officer. Still, she was humbled that Osran had put this responsibility upon her and she’d see that they’d reach their city safely.
“Just a little moment longer, captain! There’s just some problems with this saddle but I’m ready soon!” One of the knights called as he tried to prepare his horse for the trip. Veria sighed at the answer and looked at the start of the long road which would soon join the Menethil Road, the old lifeline for the whole kingdom. It would lead all the way to Corin’s Crossing from where they’d have to turn to Tyr’ Hand. Veria’s thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a sudden rider in the horizon. She could from his equipment and garb that he was a courier but the knight was highly surprised to see that he was riding towards her. The messenger stopped near her and spoke to her while panting heavily.
“I’ve got a message to the leader of the Tyr’s Hand’s knights in this Monastery. Where is he?” The man asked in confusion, having no knowledge of the small group. Veria looked at him in confusion before she answered.
“It’s me but… what business do you have with us? We were just about to return back to our city.” Veria said in surprise, drawing the courier’s eyes on her. The man turned her gaze at her quickly and started to speak.
“There has been a change in plans knight captain. The situation on the field necessitates your and half of your troops’ presence near Andorhal. The Scourge’s activity has increased concerningly there in the past weeks.” The courier said frantically, clearly willing to get make his point clear and finish his own mission. Veria looked at him in a suspicious look, not understanding this new command at all.
“Andorhal? What business would we have there? We were specially promised that we wouldn’t be forced to move to fronts away from Tyr’s Hand, the only exceptions being the Crusader Lord’s specific orders! It read in the agreement by which he joined the Crusade in the first place!” Veria said sternly, not accepting the mission she had just been presented with just yet. She had prepared for a journey back home and she wasn’t going to let this man rob her of her well-earned return.
“The High General’s orders, captain. I don’t know about your arrangements but I wouldn’t question Abbendis’ commands if I were you.” The courier’s voice turned also into a ruder one as he hated those who started to argue with him like this. He was a simple messenger and he knew little more than those to whom he’d rely his messages. Veria still looked at the courier in puzzlement as she continued to speak.
“I don’t know what he thinks but this was a special promise granted to Valdemar when we joined the Crusade! I’ll comply for now but make no mistake, the Crusader Lord will hear of this! Our trust will not be broken this easily!” The paladin said as she prepared to mount her horse. The man looked at her in annoyance, answering one more remark to her before he left.
“Do whatever you please as long as it doesn’t involve me. I’ve had enough of people like you.” Veria looked in anger as she looked at the messenger starting to take his own horse to the tables, deeply displeased by his behavior. Nevertheless, she quickly turned to her followers and spoke in a frustrated voice.
“You heard him. Let’s head for Andorhal but with any luck, that post won’t be a long one. I know Valdemar won’t be pleased when he hears about this.” Veria then turned around and ordered her steed into a gallop. The remaining knights followed her silently, the small group still humbled by their comrades’ ends and this knew mission they had just been assigned to.
The paladin squeezed his hand to a fist as he waited for the time to pass. He was getting seriously infuriated by the endless waiting and the guards that were still around him. Was this some kind of test or was Isillien merely mocking him? The familiar interior of a Lordaeron’s keep offered him with little excitement, save for the traditional rows of different famous houses’ tabards in the walls. Once, when the war was over, these tabards and heralds might be the last thing that ever proved these proud families’ existence long after their last descendants had gone to their rest. In a way, these bastions at the hearts of the Scarlet cities were some of the most vibrant domains of Lordaeron’s history. Still, the names of the houses were of little meaning to the aging knight and he crossed his legs in anticipation for anything to happen.
It was nearly an hour since his arrival when a door near him finally opened. To Osran’s chagrin, the opener was merely another soldier. Still, it was a relief to see that he wasn’t completely forgotten.
“Follow me, crusader Lowriver. We cannot be too careful about the Grand inquisitor’s safety.” The soldier said absentmindedly, prompting another frown from Osran. Isillien had fought many battles himself and no one could say that he was a coward who would hide behind a massive machination of guards. What were these soldiers saying? The knight knew that the priest’s guards wouldn’t be of much more help so he decided to stay silent. Isillien himself would have to have a very good explanation for all this.
The group moved for a few minutes until their leader stopped before a small door. Osran looked at ii in puzzlement before the guards opened it and let the paladin in. One of them spoke one last time before they turned to leave.
“Know that we won’t be far if you do something unthought, Lowriver.” With those words, the soldiers went on to their normal posts, leaving Osran to stand in deep uncertainty. Anyway, he realized that he didn’t have much of a choice and entered the room carefully. He was shortly greeted by a deep voice from the room’s back.
“Light’s blessings upon you. I am happy to see you here, crusader Lowriver. I knew you’d accept my invitation.” Isillien was sitting behind a small table on which lied a few books, apparently about the codes of the Church. The priest himself was a middle-aged, bearded man whose traditional priestly garb was made more exquisite by the tabard of the Crimson Legion. The room itself was very small and it clearly wasn’t the normal residence of the Grand Inquisitor. Things got weirder by the minute, Osran thought.
“Of course I did, revered Grand Inquisitor. But why was I guarded so closely my whole time here? You know I couldn’t kill you even if I wanted so what is the meaning of this?” Osran’s eyes bored into Isillien who answered with nearly as displeased look. He hadn’t expected this paladin to understand and in fact, he hadn’t intended to. All of this was part of his plan.
“Very few could, that is true, but they served a purpose. For now, that’s all you need to know.” Isillien concluded cryptically, clearly not wanting the paladin to know too much. Osran was slightly disappointed but he chose to trust the Inquisitor’s judgement. He merely sighed and calmed down before he answered. Attacking his superior with accusations wasn’t the way he’d make this meeting a success.
“I’m deeply humbled by your words about my brief leadership. I worked mostly by instinct and merely to save my own life. I never expected to get into the position that I did. Anyway, I’m surprised that you learned all the details this quickly.” Osran said, willing to get into better terms with the priest. Isillien looked at the paladin, clearly judging his appearance carefully. Osran stood still in discomfort as he didn’t have the slightest of ideas about what was his counterpart’s plan. It was a while before he answered again.
“It is of utmost importance that I and the Grand Crusader know what is going on at all times, crusader Lowriver. Truth be told, your actions were highly arrogant and in normal circumstances you would have been worthy of a punishment than a reward. However…” Osran looked at the priest awkwardly but in relief that Isillien knew also his less than orthodox means to grab power in the Monastery. Still, he was happy that Isillien was willing to overlook that.
“However, despite your motives or means, you saved our western front from obliteration with quick and decisive measures. You might have saved us all in the long run but most importantly, you have seen the depth of the corruption among us.“ The Inquisitor ended in a bitter voice, prompting more thoughts within Osran. He could tell what the priest was referring to but did that mean that there were more traitors within the Crusade’s ranks? The mere thought brought shivers down Osran spine as he contemplated the damage Thalnos could have caused if he hadn’t been stopped when he had. He stuttered slightly as he answered.
“D… do you mean there are more members of the Cult among us? But we are all former soldiers of Lordaeron! Our order is as pure as ever!” Osran said unsurely, not willing to accept Isillien’s claim without questions. During his long years of service, Thalnos had been the first traitor he had met and now he was told that the whole Crusade was filled with them?
“That’s what most of us think but the revered Saidan Dathrohan ordered me to oversee the Crusade’s faithfulness to the Light and I can now see that there are many rotten villains among us. We wish to do it with extreme secrecy but thus far we have neutralized twenty-seven traitors among our ranks. I asked you to come here because you, unlike the others, proved that you are willing to do what is necessary to uproot the corruption that eats our order from within.” The Inquisitor’s voice was slow and it held immense weight in what he was saying. He crossed his hands as he spoke, his gaze looking into the infinite distance. Osran looked at him in concern, not knowing what to think of these news.
“So… am I asked to hunt down these traitors too? Is the Crimson Legion in reality Dathrohan’s secret police?” Osran asked oddly, clearly confused by the priest’s words. Isillien slowly rose up from his chair and took a sterner look at the paladin. It was clear that there was more to this meeting than what Isillien had told him thus far.
“It’s not only that, crusader Lowriver. It is the core of the Crusade and the one that will guarantee its success and purity in the years to come. However, only its members know the full extent of the Legion’s power. Each member of it hold more power than most “leaders” among our ranks, including Taelan and Valdemar. Our power is of different kind but things have been arranged in a way that ties them into our grasp. In addition to that, there are still things that you don’t deserve to know yet.” There was something in the Inquisitor’s voice Osran didn’t like at all. It took a darker tone and his eyes told that there was something coming, something that chilled Osran’s mind. Still, the paladin was far too proud to show any clues of his fear. All his life Osran had fought for the things he had deemed righteous and his pride was one of them. No matter what, he wouldn’t slither in horror before any opponent, either friend or foe.
“If I’m not worthy, why did you summon me here then? I know you wouldn’t waste your time like this. If you ask me to serve, I will do it, but I don’t like being taken for a fool!” The knight’s paladin was tense but it held no disrespect or anger at the priest. Isillien understood it and he knew that very few of the old knights from times of Lordaeron’s days of glory would bow before a threat. That was one of the reasons why he preferred to use them as his agents if at all possible.
“I summoned you here because I wished to give you a chance to prove your worth to me. I will have to know if you have what it takes to take the mantle of the Crimson Legion upon your shoulders. Succeed and you will join the group today.” Isillien narrowed his eyes as he spoke, willing to underline that Osran wouldn’t be able to join the Legion readily and that every member of the group had proved their worth in the same way Osran would. The paladin’s worries only grew more profound as he listened to Isillien’s words.
“And if I fail? How can you make sure that I won’t tell what I learned here to others?” Osran’s face stayed stoic even as he knew that his question would have an extremely distasteful answer. With a sickening feeling, the paladin realized that he had already been tied into this situation. He already knew more about the highest echelon of the Crusade’s leadership than the rest of the line members and he could no longer walk away from this situation. He had to win or suffer the consequences. Isillien’s face turned into a joyless, bitter smile as he answered. This was a question he had expected of course.
“Then you leave me no choice but to burn all traces of this meeting from your mind, Osran. Sadly, a lot else could be lost as well but with luck, you could continue to fight for Lordaeron while we would spread a rumor about the reasons of your sudden madness. Osran, I know that you find all of this as contradicting to the code of honor Uther created for the Silver Hand but we have no choice. Should you prove to be unworthy of this honor, we must silence you as in the unfortunate case you’d leak all that I’ve told you, the very structure of Dathrohan’s leadership would be threatened. I know you are clever and strong enough to understand that these precautions cannot be overlooked. Not in the situation we’re in.” Isillien tried to tone down his threats as he wanted Osran to see why he did what he did. Many of those who had served under Uther had had trouble trying to accept his policies but he didn’t care about their concerns. Osran looked at him in agitation, not wanting to understand what he was hearing.
“You are using the Light’s powers to ruin people’s minds and to hide your own dirty crimes? Isillien, I know that you are one of our most gifted and most respected priest’s but this is too much. Can’t you see that the Crusade can’t turn into a conspiracy that threatens and kills its own members?” Osran said without raising his voice too much. He knew he talking to one of the greatest champions of the Light alive but he wished to make his point clear. Isillien looked at Osran with unreadable expression and waited a moment before he answered.
“All of us are using the Light to advance all things that are good in this world. I thought that you understood it but that is exactly the reason why I called you here. I have to test your vision about what you are willing to do to see Lordaeron restored once again.” Isillien took his rod which had been leaning against the wall while Osran prepared for the worst. If Isillien was going to destroy his mind, he might as well face the end with dignity. Nevertheless, he answered in a stoic voice as he saw Isillien approach him.
“I’m prepared to do anything to see our homeland pure and able to support life again but is corrupting our code of honor really a price we have to pay? I know that you and Saidan do what you can to advance our cause but is there seriously no other way?” Osran tried to defend his position when the Grand Inquisitor suddenly stopped near him. He looked at the paladin in slight apology before he answered slowly.
“We chose the Grand Crusader to do his position and it is not your or my right to question his direct orders. I’ll simply fulfill his new orders to ensure the Crusade’s functionality.” Isillien quickly raised his staff and pointed it at Osran. The paladin struggled not to collapse to the ground in anguish. He knew this wasn’t the same spell Valroth had used on Thalnos and Doan as this wasn’t merely aimed at causing him pain. Rather, the knight realized that this was a spell that was aiming to force him to tell the truth about his motives, even if the spell’s power wasn’t nearly absolute. It put more pressure on him to tell the truth but his mind was still his own, more or less.
“Why did you oppose all orders and your superiors when you took command during the battle for the Monastery? Speak!” Isilien’s voice turned into an angry one as the beam of Light continued to emanate from his rod. Osran looked at him with a highly uncomfortable expression as he answered.
“I already told that I saw it as the only way to survive the battle! Also, I was highly displeased with Whitemane’s mistakes earlier!” Osran spoke truthfully but to his concern, Isillien’s expression softened none. In fact, the priest’s next question was asked with an even grimmer voice.
“So you simply wished to usurp your superior’s authority because you were displeased with her? If you don’t trust those who wish to lead you, where do your loyalties lie?” The Inquisitor continued, willing to get into the bottom of Osran’s ambitions. A man of his morality and sense of duty would be invaluable to the Crimson Legion if he could just prove his loyalty to the Crusade. Osran knew that he was starting to tread on dangerous waters and tried to escape from this situation with a slightly twisted version of the truth.
“Grand Inquisitor, I’ve always fought for our order and its predecessor! I’ve proven my loyalties dozens of times! I opposed Whitemane because I felt that she was leading us astray!” The paladin said in concern as he cringed at his last remark. It was true that he didn’t trust the priestess’ leadership abilities but he also wanted to be the one do put an end the necromancer and avenge the High Abbot. That, accompanied by his frustration at the unending war and his concern for his remaining relatives, brought him with enough reasons to fight for but he decided to keep his personal issues away from this discussion. However, he soon realized his mistake.
“Tell me the whole truth, Lowriver! Don’t think I don’t see through you at all times! I’ve interrogated far too many people for you to even hope to hide something from me!” Isillien raised his voice and released another wave of Light upon Osran whose composure slowly started to crack.
“I never cared for the others as much as my own and my comrades’ survival! Believe me, Grand Inquisitor, I still have a lot to defend and I want to do my all to keep the dream of Lordaeron rebuilt alive! I felt that Whitemane was a threat to that hope and so I wanted to make things right! My utmost loyalty is for the Crusade in order to defend the things I have left but I never cared for strangers or bad leaders! Please understand that!” Osran said in a pained voice, starting to pant from the ordeals he was going through. Isillien stopped his spell for a moment to weigh the paladin’s words. Osran couldn’t say what was going in the priest’s mind but soon the spell continued and the knight was presented with another question.
“You are correct that the creed of the Crusade is supreme but even then, times change. If you wish to join the Legion, you have to cease believing blindly in the Lightbringer’s words. He was an inspiration for all of us still, he lost. You already showed you were willing to go to any lengths to see our cause fulfilled. Was it all just a show?” The priest narrowed his eyes and intensified the beam of Light from his rod. Isillien knew that his younger self would have been appalled by his deeds but those times were gone. The Light’s vengeance was slowly awakening and he couldn’t afford any signs of weakness in himself or his subordinates.
Osran’s face turned into a conflicted mask as he contemplated the Inquisitor’s words. It was true that he had already broken the traditional code of the order by ordering Valroth to torture the two mages and by denying a fair trial to Thalnos. In a way, he didn’t have any right to claim a moral high ground against Isillien but he was still sickened by this situation. He had often seen the Lightbringer’s code of honor as absolute, as a codex of virtue which would anchor the Crusade into its noble past. However, Isillien’s words hit a raw never in his mind.
Despite all of his great deeds, Uther had lost to Arthas and as a result, the whole Lordaeron had been grinded to dust. How could an ideology that failed even its own defender offer a believable way to survive these times? For years, Osran had thought that it was a matter of treachery and deceit from Arthas that had managed him to spread the Scourge of Lordaeron but in the end, it had been a fair duel. However, that didn’t change the fact that the Crusade should strive to preserve his legacy as a way to safeguard its own dignity before the monsters they fought against.
“I was ready to judge Thalnos because I had seen what he was capable of! I know there are many faults in the code of the Silver Hand but what else keeps us from turning into bandits and murderers? I acted because I saw it as the only way to end that campaign of horror and to get rid of the traitor! I simply wanted to safeguard our victory, not stalk upon my comrades in search for some deviation from the Church’s plans!” Osran finally raised his voice in frustration at the amount of distrust Isillien had raised in him against his own ideals. Never before had he questioned the Lightbringer’s strength but it was true that the Grand Inquisitor was slowly gaining ground and it was clear that he knew it as well.
“The Church of the Light is but a shadow of its former self, Lowriver. It is true that it offers us with support but I’d be a fool to play by their rules. Remember, all of my orders come from Saidan Dathrohan himself and he’s the most powerful and respected paladin alive. He saw things as you do for a long time but, unlike you, he acted and travelled these lands all the years after the Scourge’s fall instead of defending in one city. Your service was valuable but the Grand Crusader and I met countless spies of the Lich King, foreign saboteurs and those who were simply disloyal to Lordaeron. Those long years taught us what it takes if we wish to strive for unity in this struggle. There must be no weak links and that will be one of your most important jobs if you pass my tests. It was easy for you to execute Thalnos as he was a stranger to you and an extremely unlikable person as well, I’ve heard. However, I wonder how you’ll fare in a more personal situation…” Isillien’s voice turned into a softer one and it chilled Osran’s heart greatly. Isillien rose once again from his chair and waved Osran to follow him.
The Inquisitor led the paladin to the stairs that traditionally led to the dungeons in human keeps. The knight looked at Isillien with a fearful look, afraid to see what waited him in these cursed prisons. The torches lighted the cold and ghastly place as the empty cells waited for a victim to spend his or her last days in this world in this Light-forsaken jail. There was something in Isillien’s eyes that made Osran highly concerned about this revelation. After a short walk, the Inquisitor finally opened his mouth again.
“If I’m not completely mistaken, you know this one well.” Isillien said as he stopped in front of one of the cells, the blazing torches illuminating the poor prisoner’s face. Still, the dim light forced Osran to look at the man’s pained face before he recognized the poor prisoner.
“Arlos? Wh… what are you doing here?” Osran said in shock as he realized that this was one of his long-time comrades in Tyr’s Hand and one of the first ones he had met since his flight from Northdale. He had always been a loyal and good comrade. To think that he sitting here imprisoned for some crime made Osran pant heavily. He had last time seen this knight during the defense of Barrowhome and back then everything had been as it always had. What had happened? Isillien turned to look at Osran as he answered and took a hardly condemning expression.
“This traitor has revealed many of our plans to the Forsaken in the past in order to save their little outposts around our lands. It was always a good question how they always were one step ahead of us but this revelation is a good start in solving the puzzle!” Isillien’s voice was dry as he recited the former paladin’s crimes. Osran looked at both of the other men, taking a moment before he could clear his thoughts enough to say something sensible.
“Is… is it true, Arlos? Did you truly deceive us like that?” Osran asked in stunned disbelief, his eyes boring into Arlos’ starved face. The jailed man returned the gaze in fatigue, knowing that his case was already lost. He could only hope to save some of his face in Osran’s eyes.
“It’s true, Osran, but I did that only to try to forge some kind of common ground between us. I saw a long time ago that the Forsaken are still the people who they were, even if they hold changed views about some things. There wasn’t any place for mistakes as I met one of my old friends who had been turned into one of them. We both wanted to believe we could one day be allies against the Lich King.” The man spoke sadly, knowing that his vision would never come to pass. Not only that, his foolish endeavor would also cost him his life in this disgusting hellhole. Osran’s breaths deepened as he heard his former comrade’s words. He had seldom heard such trash, especially from a knight he had once deemed wise and honorable.
“They are undead, Arlos! They may claim to be the same persons they were once but can’t you see that it’s all a lie? They are all just as tainted by Frostmourne’s evil as the slaves of the Scourge! They could even be working together as far as we know! You know that I’m speaking the truth!” Osran’s voice turned into a more toxic one as he spoke, his earlier shock slowly turning into disgust. All their lives, they had fought against the curse of undeath and now this moron was claiming they could once be their allies? The imprisoned paladin looked at his old comrades in desperate plead.
“I know it’s hard to believe but all I did, I did for the Crusade! If you could just listen, we might gain a valuable ally! You trusted me once Osran and I ask you, trust me once more! I know what I’m talking about!” Arlos yelled in growing panic as he saw the new fire being born in the older paladin’s eyes. Osran looked at the miserable shadow of a knight who was merely waiting for the end anyway. Some part of Osran’s mind wished to believe the paladin as a token of respect for their common history. There weren’t many people with whom he had served longer than with this knight but the other part of Osran was outraged by this development. Tareth had been literally stomped to death by the Scourge, many of their closest comrades had been slaughtered by the undead before Arlos’ very eyes and even if the Forsaken weren’t a part of the Scourge, they were still bearers of the curse and a distortion of humanity. That wasn’t a thing that could ever be reconciled.
“Do you? The Arlos I knew wouldn’t fall into that kind of wishful thinking or daydreaming. Don’t you understand that you’re betraying the memory of each and every soldier who gave the ultimate sacrifice trying to restore our homeland! You’ll never speak yourself out of this! I’ve given far too much to let anyone get away with this kind of outrage! I don’t say this with pleasure but the very sight of you sickens me.” Osran turned to look away from his old comrade, his thoughts being pained by his words. Isillien turned to look at Osran with an asking look and spoke shortly.
“The punishment for allying with our enemies is death as you well know, Osran. You heard his confession yourself.” Isillien said briefly, not willing to push Osran on this issue any further forcibly. From now on, it was up to the paladin to make his own conclusions about this issue and if he was strong enough, Isillien knew what he’d do. If not… then Osran had wasted the opportunity of his lifetime. The knight looked at Isillien for a moment, not knowing what to make about all this. Clearly all of this was a clear test carefully planned for him, a thing that Osran despised greatly. He didn’t want to be anyone’s pawn but still, the sight before his eyes made Osran’s fists shudder in rage. This paladin was an antithesis to all that he had fought for and he had knowingly harmed the Crusade. Osran listened to him one last time as the man pleaded to him one last time.
“Please, Osran! I don’t see what you went through at the Monastery but please, listen to reason! I want only what’s best for us all! My deeds never brought harm to any of us, they only helped the Forsaken! Please, Osran, don’t listen to him! The Grand Crusader leads us all to ruin if he’s too stupid to listen!” The man cried which only made the older paladin’s expression grow ever colder. He only helped the Forsaken? The Grand Crusader leads all to ruin? Osran didn’t know Saidan personally, that was true, but he knew his great deeds and he was a man the knight was willing to follow, unlike this traitor before his eyes. No matter Isillien’s motives, Arlos had already lost all respect Osran had ever held for him. The Inquisitor’s face stayed stoic as he knew the outcome of this day wasn’t in his hands anymore. He would respect Osran’s decision in any case even if he’d have to suffer the consequences of his failure. The paladin’s eyes lost their last traces of compassion as he answered.
“It is true that Isillien created this whole situation but you gave him the right to do that! If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened and the Forsaken would be severely weakened! This isn’t the kind of outrage I can tolerate anymore! Tareth and Marcus gave their lives for our cause and both of them were far greater crusaders than you’ll ever be! Arlos, you don’t deserve to serve the Grand Crusader anymore. I’m sorry but you’re far beyond anyone’s help.” With the last, resigned words, Osran formed a powerful hammer of Light which he crashed upon his old comrade, crushing his body under its holy wrath. The paladin looked in a nearly neutral expression as the floor started to turn red and the dead knight’s last shivers died down. Silence reigned for many seconds before Isillien finally broke the silence.
“So you decided to do it. I truly appreciate the respect you give to our cause. This isn’t a situation any of us should go through but the sooner we accept it, the better.” Isillien spoke glumly, his eyes turning to Osran after a moment. The paladin took deep breaths for many seconds before answered. His voice was fatigued but it wasn’t desperate in the way the Inquisitor had expected. In fact, it bore more resignation to the reality than sadness at the loss of his old comrade.
“Don’t think that I did it because you demanded it, Isillien. My choices were my own.” Osran answered as he contemplated his deed. Even now, he didn’t feel any regret as he knew that this traitor had received what he deserved. There was no reason to waste his compassion on him. Isillien nodded slightly before he answered.
“Of course, crusader Lowriver. A man cannot be forced to do anything against his own will. You acted for reasons you felt were right and your readiness to face the cold reality is something that I truly admire. Needless to say, you passed my test.” The Inquisitor continued to speak in an emotionless, calm voice. Unlike many others of his kind, Isillien didn’t believe in pure manipulation of others but rather in directing them to face the future they should strive for. If he tried to brainwash someone, the Crusade itself could be undone if the knowledge of it spread but willing assistants were something that he strived to have. Osran finally returned the Inquisitor’s gaze and answered again.
“Are there more people like these in the Crusade? How can anyone be willing to believe this crap after all that has happened since Mal’ganis appeared on our lands? This is pure madness!” Osran said as he tried to calm down. All his life he had believed in the rationality of his comrades and in the principle that the undead were the common enemy of all humans. Apparently he had been wrong. Isillien sighed before he answered again.
“I don’t know. It seems some seek power, some, like your friend, seem to believe in impossible things. But yes, there are most likely many more within our ranks that wish to cause us harm, without even mentioning the outsiders. We can never know who they serve.” The priest said in a cryptical voice, finally hitting one nerve in Osran’s mind. He may be forced to accept it sooner or later but Arellas wasn’t his enemy and Isillien wasn’t going to convince him otherwise. There may be traitors anywhere but that wasn’t an excuse to become paranoid.
“I’ll decide that myself, Inquisitor. Don’t push me too far.” Osran said in a silent voice, one that caused Isillien to frown deeply. The paladin still retained his pride and he still held some principles. No matter. I already know what I want to.
“Well, Osran, I trust your judgement. You have proven yourself to be willing to look the truth in the eyes and I trust that you’ll find your way even from now on. Finally I ask, are you willing to continue safeguarding our Crusade and to serve directly under the Grand Crusader’s command and as his hand in Tyr’s hand?” Isillien asked calmly, willing to underline that he asked a question, not a command. Osran cast one, final look at the lifeless corpse and felt a shiver run down his spine. Was he willing to spy on his comrades and to report about Valdemar’s deeds to Saidan?
A heavy sigh came from the paladin’s mouth as he contemplated his options for the last time. He knew this wasn’t the future he wanted for himself but this was a task that he had to do for Lordaeron. He had come too far in his quest for revenge against the Lich King to turn his back to this offer now. He would regret this later but Osran’s mind was set up.
“I am, Grand Inquisitor. No matter what, I will make sure that the Crusade’s will shall be executed without a compromise. I will work in the shadows to stop each and every offense against us and prevent the leaders of the city from opposing the Grand Crusader’s command. Of this, you have my word.” Osran spoke slowly but firmly, making sure that he meant every word he said. Isillien took a more approving expression as he spread his hands and bowed slightly.
“That is all we can ask of you, Osran. From the bottom of my heart, I bid you welcome to the Crimson Legion.”
Osran managed to join the revered Crimson Legion but at what cost? It's becoming clear that noble principles and once-loyal friends may become a victim to the Crusade's creed but many are willing to pay whatever price is necessary to restore Lordaeron. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and see you in the next one! :)
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Setting the Next Horizon
Five bright candles lighted the dim room near the famed Hall of Lights in the Scarlet Bastion. That small hall resembled more of a cubicle than a part of the fabled stronghold of the Light but Archivist Rael Galford appreciated his small library near the heart of the Crusade, the Crimson Throne. He was one of the most trusted servants of the Grand Crusader and the head of the scholarly society of the order. It was both Galford's duty and honor to lead the efforts to restore and upkeep the history of Lordaeron but at this point, he was working on a far more important issue. To find out if there was anything that could stand up against the might of the Scourge that had been overlooked in the past years for whatever reason. However, all of his efforts had been thus far proven to be for nothing.
The old chronicler sighed as he moved on to clean his monocle. The man's eyes rested on one of his bookshelves that contained countless volumes concerning age-old legends of Lordaeron, history of the servants of the Light as well as mere archive material saved from the royal libraries of the lost capital of the kingdom. Galford knew most of them by heart but more and more books were being researched by him and his assistants every day. The archivist was beyond honored by a chance to serve this close to Dathrohan and to be a part of the Crimson Legion without being forced to fight. Galford knew he had to repay his leader with a breakthrough in his studies sooner or later. Sadly, that seemed to be easier said than done. The chronicler rose from his chair to take another book from the shelf when the familiar creak of his heavy wooden door opening interrupted him. His closest assistant, Keris Highdale looked at his master from the door and asked carefully.
"Are you still awake, master Galford? It is quite late and it seems like we haven't made much progress. The new books we got yesterday held nothing of value." The younger man said regretfully, looking at the dark hall in slight melancholy. Each of the chroniclers wanted desperately to please the Grand Crusader but if there was nothing to report, it couldn't be helped. Galford took the book from its shelf and laid it on his table before he answered to the lower-ranked scholar.
"I am and so should you if you wish to be of any help! The Grand Crusader didn't bring us here to sleep but to find a way to beat the Scourge! Go and make yourself useful!" Galford snarled aggressively, disappointed by his colleague's apparent disregard for their work. Keris looked at his master pleadingly before he answered.
"With all due respect, sir, try to be sensible! We'll get four more books tomorrow but until then, there's not much we can do. We'll be of more help to Dathrohan if we are in full spirits before tomorrow's offerings, if you allow me to say so. If there's nothing we can find, there's no reason to exhaust ourselves." The younger man said carefully, knowing that this wasn't what Galford had wished to hear. To his disaster, the older chronicler was even less receiving this day.
"There are still volumes that we haven't fully read or translated! If you didn't realize, we still have a few books also in Thalassian and Dwarven languages and not everyone can read those chicken scratches! Get back to work or disappear from my sight, moron! We have work to do!" The higher-ranked archivist said as his eyes penetrated into his assistant. Keris swallowed and prepared to turn around to return to his duties when another form appeared in the massive hall, running towards them. Galford narrowed his eyes and after a moment, he could tell it was one of the lowly apprentices. He was already preparing for another enraged fight with an incompetent assistant but to his surprise and astonishment, he was addressed first.
"Master Galford! Pardon my interruption but I believe I found just what we were looking for!" The rather young scholar called in clear excitement. The highest-ranked archivist straightened his monocle as he prepared to answer the arrogant apprentice.
"I highly doubt it, young man. Turn on your heels and stop wasting my time! Far more experienced scholars have failed to find anything of interest and I doubt you have anything to offer either!" Galford was preparing to turn around and continue his studies when the lowest-ranked man started to stutter in a stunned and saddened voice.
"B… but it's true! I may be just a novice but please, just take a look! There's a lot of information about the eternal flame of Alonsus himself! It beats back every undead near it! Just think what would happen if we could recover and even duplicate it!" The apprentice said in a pleading voice, stopping Galford in his tracks. The old scholar returned his gaze to the apprentice and he seemed to judge him for many moments. He could see that there was more to this interruption than mere incompetence. In fact, he was slowly become interested about the younger scholar's findings.
"Every archivist has heard of the sacred flames that Alonsus created all those years ago. They were truly miraculous things but none are known to remain anywhere in Lordaeron. They could be of help but sadly, they are long gone." Galford's voice no longer sounded angered but rather disappointed by the cold fact. His mind was already starting to linger in that lost opportunity when he heard something that finally caught his full attention.
"That's just why I'm here! Not many know it but during the fall of Stratholme after Arthas' fall, a few of the fleeing paladins could see that no undead ever came near the Chapel itself! There must be one flame still in there which is why the Scourge never captured it! It's all in this book!" The young man said while showing the volume to his superior. Galford's eyes widened as he heard those news and quickly took the book from his apprentice. It was titled "A Collection of Tales From the Eyewitnesses of the Plague", apparently containing rather miscellaneous information but it seemed like there was something of value to be learned from even that volume.
"Well, I'll take a look at it. If what you say is true, I can promise that your career just took a good leap forward. Now, go and let me take a look at whatever this book has to offer." The two other scholars bowed quickly and headed towards the sleeping hall of the common crusaders, located near the Hoard. Galford couldn't deny his own excitement as he sat down and opened the index of the book. After a moment of searching, his eyes widened as he saw something interesting. Most of the accounts from last the Fall of Stratholme had been told by Falric, one of the nearest captains of Arthas during the cursed mission in Northrend. Galford was surprised to see that even he had managed to share his experiences before his fall from the hands of his master. The archivist knew that the text before him was valuable even from historical viewpoint but at this point, what interested him the most were the actual account of things during the aftermath of the final fall of Stratholme. Galford knew that the great captain had met his end only after the collapse of the kingdom but it seemed like he had lived longer than had been thought until now.
Galford browsed the book until he found the correct chapter. There was a lot of personal lamenting about Falric's part in Arthas' atrocities and remembrances about the preparations for the final defense of Stratholme. However, none of that was of any interest at this point. Galford moved straight to the latter part of the chapter to see what the doomed captain had told about his fight in Stratholme. The archivist moved a candle near the large book in order to provide enough light.
At that moment, I realized that Stratholme was doomed to fall again. Hordes of abominations and ghouls swarmed into the city from the gates that had been devastated by the unstoppable magic of the Lich. I and Marwyn had tried to escape our old prince's grasp for so long while doing our all to defend our homeland but at this point, both of us seemed to understand that there was no escaping from that hellhole. How I wish we would have seen the madness in Arthas' eyes at the very start… no matter what we want to think, we're both as guilty about all this as the prince himself.
We were taking our last stand near the Artisans' Lane, just north of the already-fallen Elders' Square. There were no more than thee dozens of us, facing the quickly falling shadow. I and Marwyn had already once witnessed Stratholme' fall and that turned out to be our fate once again. There's not much I can tell about the fight except that it was a quick one and my dear friend and comrade Marwyn fell from the hands of one of our old leaders: the former baron of Corin's Crossing, now-fallen noble called Rivendare. The two fought for seemingly eternity but finally, the death knight's powerful runeblade cut through Marwyn's sword and at that point, all of us knew that our fate would be no different.
Except that it was to be. A group of twenty soldiers quickly charged towards us from the Elders' Square and to our great astonishment, the undead scattered immediately. Even Rivendare himself seemed greatly disturbed by the holy fire of the revered Alonsus as we later learned. This miraculous event was too late to save my dear friend but at least it saved me and my comrades. But even more importantly, this gives us a way to defeat the Scourge if we ever will be able to reach the Chapel again. I owe it to tell about this weapon to Marwyn and to my people for all my failures and my blindness about Arthas' true intentions.
Galford was slightly disappointed by the brief and unprofessional descriptions but this tale was apparently documented soon after the battle had ended. In fact, the chronicler realized that there was a brief epilogue about Falric's and the other soldiers' stories. Galford lowered the book carefully back to the table as he contemplated what he had learned. It was cruel irony from the fate that a man who had survived being surrounded in the heart of Stratholme would be ambushed and killed the next day in the northern forests of Darrowmere, an area that was slowly being called on a more appropriate name: the Plaguewood. No matter what, the fact that even this brief account had survived from the fallen captain was a miracle and an opening that could prove to be an unbelievable blessing to the Crusade. It could turn out be Falric's last blessing to his homeland.
There was only one question left: could this book be trusted? Even if hoax stories weren't exactly common, it was always a possibility that had to be addressed. Galford returned to the first pages to see who had collected and published the stories relayed in this volume. After a moment, a smile rose to his face as he saw who it was. High Abbot Ferren Marcus of the Monastery of Righteousness. Every scholar in Lordaeron knew there was no more trustworthy source than the recently fallen Abbot. There was no doubt about it: the stories of the book were authentic. Finally, this is it! The Grand Crusader deserves to know about this immediately!
The chronicler knew there wasn't many times when Dathrohan had approved of intrusions but he had also said that he wanted to know all breaking news immediately, no matter the time. He quickly rose up, taking the book with him and once again opened the door of his chamber. The familiar sight of the hundreds of pillars of the Hall of Lights greeted his eyes as he walked into the massive room.
The sight of the giant chandeliers and the windows on the walls filled the old scholar with immense pride and happiness every time he walked through these halls. It had been only a few months ago when all of this had been in ruins after the Scourge, the hallowed statues and paintings ruined and the beautiful items destroyed and scattered everywhere. This very citadel had once been the very symbol of the Silver Hand's destruction and Lordaeron's fall and Galford still couldn't believe he was walking in this same fortress that had finally been restored to the way it had once been.
Once again the walls were free of holes, the proud coats of arms and insignias covered the walls and once again the feeling of utter humbleness hung in the air. The old chronicler had already seen taking back this holiest of places as a lost cause and he'd never expected to tread these halls again. Despite all the hardships he and his comrades were currently going through, Galford was already feeling as if he lived in a waking dream.
The aged chronicler looked in respect at the opening massive hall before him, initially preparing to knock the door of the Grand Crusader's private quarters. Dathrohan was usually sleeping at this hour but soon after his arrival, two different things surprised him. A faint light glowed from the Crimson Throne and a faraway sound of speech could be heard from the Crimson Throne. The Grand Crusader was still awake but who was he talking with? As the old archivist drew closer to the speakers, he quickly recognized the two others. They were none else than the Highlord and the High General themselves! Was this some kind of secret, additional gathering of the Crusade's leaders? As he drew closer to the hall, he started to hear some words even if they were spoken rather silently.
"I don't care what is out there but no cursed undead will ever escape the Light's fury! It is not up to any one of us to judge what we can or cannot do but our cause is holy and just. I'll send every monster to the gates of Hell before my faith starts to crumble and so should you, Abbendis!" Galford could easily tell the Ashbringer's thundering voice as he seemed to encourage the clearly fearful High General. The archivist knew he wasn't allowed to eavesdrop but he wanted to at least get a picture about what was happening between the three founders of the order.
"I know what you think, Alexandros, but I believe that Abbendis doesn't exaggerate his story. It's true that we have only one way to go forward but that doesn't give any of us a chance to simply believe blindly in the Light! We must act ruthlessly but each one of our steps must be calculated in case of any surprises. We would have never gotten where we are now if we acted brashly. Not all of us have a weapon of legend after all." This voice belonged to the Grand Crusader whose voice was thoughtful above all else. Galford smiled at his last remark as it was true that the Ashbringer's personal strength sometime overshadowed his judgement.
"It's highly improbable that even it would have been of any help. No matter how I look at it, there was nothing the whole Crusade could have done against Arthas' forces. I did all I could and we were still completely destroyed!" Abbendis said in a still-bothered voice as he spoke to the others. It was clear that he was still living in those horrors of the past. He was greeted by Saidan's grim answer.
"We've heard all of that already! We get that the Scourge is more powerful than we thought but if you wish to dwell in that for the rest of your life, I have no choice but to relieve you of your duties! I trust you, Abbendis, but I won't accept that you walk around merely saying we're doomed! The Crusade was once an impossible dream and so is ever winning the Lich King! However, I, unlike you, am willing to see this struggle until the end and if you cannot get your mind over this defeat, I no longer have use of your services!" It was clear that Saidan meant what he said as his anger was apparent in his voice. It was a moment before anyone spoke again and the next voice was clearly bothered.
"I'll serve until the end but I want you to believe my warning. We will fall if we continue this war. It doesn't mean anything for a soldier but dying for vain isn't a fate any of us want." Abbendis spoke in an intermittent voice as he tried to find the right words. Mograine glanced at him in suspicion as he answered to his fellow leader.
"No one has died in vain, High General. Each of us has given our lives with pleasure as a service to a greater good. As long as we bring goodness to our people and ruin to our enemies, things are as they should be! You know that as well as I do! There's a way we will be able to create a path to victory even now." Alexandros concluded as he looked at the two other knights. Dathrohan glanced at him in amusement as he prepared to make the next remark. However, he was interrupted before he could speak. Galford decided that it was finally time to make his entrance. He tried to seem as hurried and excited as he was when he had first found out about his discoveries.
"May I interrupt you, good sirs? I have something I'd like to report to you." The archivist said as he came in from the corridor. The three crusaders looked at him in surprise, not entirely happy by this interruption. The old chronicler had already caused them many disappointments in the last weeks and they had a hard time believing this occasion would be any different. However, Dathrohan sighed and answered to his honored assistant.
"What is it, Galford? Have you finally found something of worth after all this time?" The Grand Crusader's voice held a distinct tone of annoyance at the archivist's slowness but he still decided to keep an open mind. Galford smiled as he answered to the Grand Crusader.
"In fact, I believe one of my apprentices did. I think we have found a way to get a decisive advantage over the Lich King." The balding chronicler said as he looked around himself. The three leaders were sitting around a large table in the middle of the room, with dozens of other chairs dotting the hall's sides. Galford couldn't help but sign in astonishment when he saw this magnificent room. Even more so than the rest of the Bastion, the heart of the Crusade was a masterpiece of Lordaeron's architects, the beautifully-crafted windows and skylights casting the Light at the candelabrums and figures on the floor. They had recently been painted in red, giving the room a distinctly scarlet hue. This wondrous room was a worthy center for the Crusade.
"That is difficult to believe, good archivist. Many have promised us a miracle but even after all of them, we have no other force to trust than our own hearts." Alexandros narrowed his eyes as he looked at the chronicler, deeply skeptic about his claim. The Ashbringer's faith was exceeded by no man but he also knew that there were no shortcuts to victory. True, his weapon was a miracle in itself but the Highlord saw it as a mere reflection of the Light's power in the right hands.
"I truly hope you bring us with something unforeseen, archivist. It's highly exciting to hear what you believe will make such a difference." Abbendis said in a tired but otherwise neutral voice. The horrors of Northrend still lingered in his mind and he knew that there was no victory in this war. Still, his whole life was dedicated to continuing this struggle and he knew it was a true privilege to serve beside the two other legends in this room. Despite his fear, he knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be. Galford knew he should have expected such a cold welcome but that didn't flatten his mood just yet. There was too much at stake for it right now.
"We all know the full extent of the revered Alonsus Faol's expertise with the Light. There has never been a more powerful priest or beacon of the Light than the founder of the revered order of the Silver Hand. Now, I believe I know the location of one of his most powerful belongings still left here after his passing. His eternal flame." The archivist could feel six eyes burrowing into him as he concluded. All of the three leaders knew the stories Galford referred to but none of them had given it much thought. Faol was long gone and so were the miracles he had been famous for. Dathrohan thought for a moment before he answered.
"I've heard of it but what good does that do it to us? It is nothing more than a parable of our old order's "eternity". It didn't do anything of interest and if it worked as Faol envisioned, it should have been extinguished when Uther fell." The Grand Crusader said as he contemplated about his subordinate's words. The flame had never shown any extraordinary qualities in addition to its longevity and he couldn't simply contemplate why Galford was so excited about it. The archivist looked at his audience in deep excitement and he quickly answered.
"Apparently that isn't true. I once thought as you did but it seems that this flame burns any undead near it. My apprentice found an account about Stratholme's final downfall by no one else than captain Falric himself." The chronicler took a small pause which was interrupted by Alexandros whose expression took a clearly darker turn.
"Falric? What does that traitor have to do with this and why are you telling us about him? He is one of the greatest enemies of this land his is one of the names we should forget for good!" The Ashbringer's eyes burned with anger as he thought about the late captain. Even if he knew that Falric served Arthas only because of Frostmourne's power, that didn't change the fact that he had been instrumental in finding that cursed weapon. That was a crime the Highlord would never forgive.
"He wasn't evil, Mograine. I knew him for years and he was always a faithful and skilled commander. If he was still capable of relying this story for us as the archivist says, I'd believe him." Abbendis said deep in thought as he remembered the times when he and Falric had served the king together. He had always respected the captain and he had regretted it deeply when he had heard of his downfall. Apparently it had happened later than he had initially thought but that didn't change the situation greatly.
"As faithful and skilled as Arthas himself, eh Abbendis? I'd say your respect here is a bit misplaced." Alexandros gritted his teeth as he tried to come to terms with the High General's comment. Abbendis would have wanted to continue the argument but he knew that he'd end up arguing for the prince sooner or later, something that wasn't acceptable in the Crusade or anywhere in Lordaeron, for that matter. Dathrohan looked at the two with an unreadable expression as he thought about their words. He wasn't interested in the least in the dead traitor and they clearly had better things to think about.
"Quit fighting over that bastard! We have enough problems as it is and I truly don't want to give that traitor the honor of having his name spoken in this holiest of places! I don't know what you think about him, High General, but I'll hear none of it! Now then, go on Galford." Dathrohan said as he slowly turned his gaze back at the chronicler with an impatient expression. It was clear that he wanted to get over this meeting. Galford looked thankful about his words and without a major pause, he continued his explanation.
"As I was saying, the teller's identity makes no difference in this issue. What is important is that the fleeing soldiers of Stratholme found the resting place of Alonsus' flame and used it to help others escape from being surrounded by the slaves of the Lich King! The chapel itself remains untouched and the fire inside it might just be the way we may regain our footing against the Lich King's onslaught!" Galford explained in a dedicated voice, knowing that this discovery could well turn the tide of history. His audience looked at him in disbelief and doubt. Sure, each of them wanted nothing more than to the old man's words to be true but after all their struggles, they had a hard time believing this would be the answer to all of their woes. A simple fire in this very same city would alone beat the Scourge? Such a scenario wasn't one any of the veteran knights who had given the last years of their life to resist the undeath readily accept. The Grand Crusader was the first one to answer.
"Are you sure about this? One small tale in a book told by an ally of the Lich King about a legend that no one ever deemed of any worth is suddenly becoming our salvation? That sounds unlikely." Saidan knew and respected the Archivist greatly and he wanted to give him a chance to state his business. Galford frowned somewhat as he thought about the answer before speaking again.
"That book was assembled by the revere High Abbot himself and I know he'd never finish a book that has wrong information. I've researched hundreds if not thousands of volumes and I can tell fake information from the right one. The descriptions, the account of what happened and Falric's thoughts… I can see that they were genuine. I put all the respect I've ever gained as a scholar into swearing that this information isn't fake!" A silence fell upon the room as each of the leaders of the Crusade thought about the implications of Galford's words. If what the chronicler said was true, they could have a real window into gaining a true advantage over the Scourge. However, even if what he said was true, the chapel was on the other side of Stratholme, surrounded by hordes after hordes of undead. In essence, this goal would require the Crusade to conquer the entire city Stratholme for the flame to be of any use. This was a prospect that none of the leaders present were anxious about just yet but retaking Stratholme had always been one of the Crusade's main goals. However, it hadn't been considered realistic at this point. The silence dragged on for nearly a minute before it was broken by the Ashbringer. He raised his sword to the table to the others' puzzlement and started to speak.
"I know that this mission will be our most difficult one yet but no one would have ever expected me to find or at least complete the Ashbringer. These kinds of weapons of pure Light belong to legend, not to these dark times of death and destruction. Yet, you've all seen what artifacts like this sword can achieve. I don't know what we'll find in Alonsus' chapel but if I had never taken leaps into the unknown, I would have never been the Highlord I am today." Alexandros spoke as she finally put the massive weapon back into its sheath. The silence continued as the others continued to weigh their options. After another long pause, the Grand Crusader let out a long sigh as he looked at the dark clouds from the windows.
"When you went all the way to Ironforge to ask the dwarves to complete Ashbringer, Mograine, you had a concrete promise that what you possessed could be turned into a force for good whereas now we have nothing except one vague tale. The Crusade has already spread its troops thin and attacking Stratholme now, without securing the surrounding lands, would be madness. This is a step we cannot afford to take just yet." Dathrohan looked bothered at his own words as he knew this was against his own usual policy of faith and occasional gambles. Alexandros looked back at him in clear chagrin and started to speak briefly.
"Haven't you heard what Abbendis told? Normal means of beating the undead aren't enough in this war! Courage and bravery are important assets but we need more than that! Uther fell because he was afraid to act and we cannot afford to make the same mistake! This might be one of the most important decisions in your life!" The Highlord looked grimly at his superior who returned the look with a thoughtful look. Abbendis wished to continue pressing the point.
"He's right, Grand Crusader! We cannot win this if we aren't willing to take risks! We may be able to fend off the Scourge here in Lordaeron but there's nothing we can do if the Lich King brings his full might at us from Northrend! We need this weapon Galford speaks of!" Abbendis joined Alexandros' plea and Dathrohan moved his gaze at to his fellow leaders. He could that they were fully serious about this issue and he could easily tell why. However, there was more to this attack than that. It would be a long campaign and there could be more important goals the Crusade could follow. However, he couldn't question his subordinates' words. This eternal flame sounded highly intriguing and it could help decide the war. Even through his doubts, he realized that in the end, this wasn't an opportunity he could let slip by. But he'd take it on his own terms.
"I agree with you my comrades and I never said we couldn't do this. However, what do you think would happen if our whole army was surrounded in Stratholme? We would all be slaughtered and that would be the end of the Crusade. We must safeguard our rear and flanks before we can take this risk." Dathrohan said in his usual determination and the two other leaders seemed somewhat relieved by his words. They sat in silence as Dathrohan outlined his plans further.
"Our first objective is to create a firm supply line to this fortress! We cannot let this siege continue any longer and only then can we continue to push the offensive! The most important part to realizing this goal is to take the most central crossroads town of this land, Corin's Crossing. Once we rule the southern road, we may move northwards and to secure the rest of the Menethil road. We must restore the watchtower network to ensure that this road will never again fall into enemy hands! Our last step is to slaughter every last undead in the Plaguewood and only then can we even dream of capturing Stratholme." The Grand Crusader said in a serious voice, willing to underline his point. As the head of the Crusade, he simply wasn't allowed to make any kind of foolish mistakes. He'd always be remembered as the man who led Lordaeron to its final defeat if he led his forces to this kind of ambush. Abbendis looked at him and after a moment, he answered in a more approving voice.
"Yes, we have to secure the main roads and strategic points but we have to do so quickly. If the Lich King's power grows too great before we get the fire, we're all doomed. You're right in assuming that we have to play safe, Dathrohan, but don't forget that time is off the essence. We must hurry." Abbendis said as the thought about the plan. He knew the Crusade could advance in the Plaguelands one step at a time but that wasn't simply enough. There would have to be a serious gamble if the crusaders would ever win this battle in time. However, ideas were slowly beginning to form in his mind. For the first time in days, the shroud of horror started to lift from the High General's eyes and he was already starting to feel like himself again. The others realized it and every one of those gathered could sense that they had found a consensus. Dathrohan was the last one to speak and he concluded the meeting.
"So this is the way we'll take. I trust that you are up to the task, Abbendis, to make a successful plan how to best execute this battleplan. I and Mograine will lead this endeavor and the Scourge will fall under our onslaught! Send messages to all members of the Crimson Legion. Soon we'll see who we can trust and who deserves to be get rid of. You're all dismissed." The Grand Crusader rose up from his chair and the others followed his example. Galford bowed deeply as thanks to the trio for accepting his proposition. The atmosphere turned into a lighter one as another flicker of hope had been born on this meeting. After the crushing defeat in Northrend, the Crusade was once again on the offensive.
The morning hadn't aged greatly after the usual morning prayer in the city of Tyr's hand and the rest of the normal procedures were still ongoing. Osran was eagerly waiting for the next announcement from Stratholme as his new position didn't allow him any special treatment. Membership in the Crimson Legion was a great honor bestowed only to the most respected members of the Crusade but its members were seldom seen as anything special by the other knights. Not that Osran even wished for anything like that. Despite the unfortunate encounter with Arlos, he still felt that he was an integral part of the core group of Tyr's Hand's knights.
Even then, the aging paladin knew that his most important job now was to ensure that the Grand Crusader's orders were executed smoothly and without question everywhere in the city. Thus far he had thought Isillien had overestimated the threat they possessed to the Crusade but he had to be vigilant whenever he could. No orders had been given at this point so he should mostly ensure that nothing suspicious was going on. That had been the case until he noticed that there were groups of high-ranking officers were moving away from the city's keep, signaling that there had been some kind of meeting Osran hadn't known about. At first the knight didn't think of it as any interest in itself but a few words from Isillien returned to his mind. All of the major meetings by the Crusade's leaders were supposed to be informed to the local members of the Crimson Legion also and the fact that he hadn't been notified about it was of immense puzzlement to him. No matter what was going on, he should know about it.
The Crusader Lord was moving around his room in deep outrage. The leaders of the Crusade had a nerve to tell his troops to regroup somewhere else where he hadn't ordered them? Such actions had clearly been prohibited in the agreement in which he had pledged Tyr's Hand to the Grand Crusader's service and now he was unilaterally changing it? This wasn't something he was planning to let slip by without a fight! This was exactly what he had feared when he had received the invitation letter in the first place! The Crusader Lord was slowly beginning to think that that decision had been a mistake The meeting in which he had informed his officers of this outrage had ended shortly and Valdemar himself was slowly coming to the conclusion that he should go do his other duties also. There was no use fretting about this unfortunate development at this point after all. Even if Dathrohan got on his nerves, there was no use letting it ruin his own leadership and reputation in his own city.
The seemingly higher-ranked officer turned the key in his room's door as he headed towards the first floor of the castle. However, he was surprised to see a very familiar form near the stairs, as if waiting for him. He had met Osran only briefly after his return and he had looked somewhat off even back then. As if something was bothering him even if he had finally received the promotion he had deserved. Valdemar had heard of Tareth's passing but he wasn't the first close comrade Osran had lost during his life. The Crusader Lord approached his long-time comrade in a confused look, worried about what Osran was up to. Deepening his confusion further, it was the Crimson Legionary who spoke first.
"I saw that that there were a lot of officers here just before. Is something wrong?" Osran asked in apparent worry, going rather bluntly into the issue at hand. Valdemar frowned somewhat, not willing to bother Osran with these issues.
"Not really, Osran. It's just that the Grand Crusader doesn't understand the boundaries of his powers. But that doesn't concern anyone here in addition to me. You may return to your duties if that is what you had in mind." The Crusader Lord was still in a bad mood and he didn't want to rely all of the outrageous orders he had just received to the other man. It would do no good to anyone. Osran, however, was deeply concerned. So it was just what he had feared. Isillien had warned him that there was a chance he'd probably get to problems with the Crusader Lord soon enough as he tried to keep to the promises Dathrohan had given him when he had joined the Crusade. Osran understood better than well their meaning to his friend but after everything he'd seen, Osran had had come to the conclusion that beating the Scourge was a superior objective to everything else, including his friend's honor. However, he had to tread carefully here in order not to raise suspicions about his motives. Thankfully, he had the perfect way to continue this conversation.
"Is it about Veria? I heard she was ordered to Andorhal without your consent." Osran knew this was the closest he'd get to the truth without endangering his cover. Even after through all this, he wanted to preserve this friendship and he'd try to hide his deeds from Valdemar as long as he could. Perhaps, in the end, he'd believe that the paladin was making all this simply to help the Crusade, not because he harbored selfish goals. Valdemar looked at his friend in a sad way, realizing that Osran knew more than he had given out.
"Indeed. I tried to ask the Grand Crusader to let them home but he denied my request, even after our agreements! If we cannot trust each other, what can we do? I made it clear that I don't like surprises about these things!" The Crusader Lord said in apparent disappointment and uncertainty. Osran, however, cringed brig time as he heard his old friend's answer. This thing was clearly a painful one for Valdemar and Osran knew he would have to play some role in trying to change his mind. However, Valdemar was a highly stubborn man and trying to speak him out of his privileges would be merely a losing strategy. But what were his alternatives? He could always kill the other man but Osran wouldn't consider that option until it was absolutely necessary. Valdemar was one of his oldest and closest friends and killing him here was simply not an option. For now, he'd just have to keep a low-key appearance and avoid creating suspicion.
"Damn… why can't Dathrohan keep his hands away from these things. Even then, it'll be difficult to deny his requests at this point. I just hope he stays sensible until the end." Osran said somewhat absentmindedly as he thought about the situation. Neither of the leaders would ever back down from their demands willingly and it was easier to try force Valdemar to give up than the headstrong Grand Crusader. The paladin knew at this point that the only way to avoid a confrontation inside the Crusade would be to weaken his friend's leadership to a point where he could no longer avoid the inevitable. However, those thoughts only made the knight feel extremely guilty already but the Crusade's effectiveness was the highest goal anyone should have. Valdemar simply nodded sadly as he answered.
"I hope so too. Dathrohan has always been a good comrade but he is an extremely proud man. He may lead us as well as he can but he never sees things from anyone else's than his own eyes. I'm slowly starting to wonder if I should have thought twice before accepting his request. However, what's done is done. Go now, Osran. We have our own duties to do even now. I'll handle the politics by myself." After those words, the Crusader Lord finally walked past Osran in a worried manner but he knew there was nothing his friend could do about it. He was the leader of Tyr's Hand it was his charge to see it through these turbulent times. Valdemar could only hope that he'd serve his long-time comrades with the honor they all deserved.
Osran sighed deeply as he raised his gaze at the stone ceiling of the castle. The confrontation between his old friends and new alliances had appeared on the very same day he had returned to his home. Even if he knew this would happen sooner or later, the aging paladin was extremely disappointed that he would have to get involved in these things right away. He had hoped for at least a bit easier start to his new charge. Well, that can't be helped at this point as there's not a whole lot I can do!
Osran shuddered as he thought about his options. Dathrohan would know about his failure to act sooner or later and there was no room for inaction inside the Legion. But if talking and murder were more or less discounted as real possibilities, what else could he do? Weakening Valdemar's position seemed like the best way to proceed and the only way to do that would be to spread rumors inside Tyr's Hand and to create conflicts of interest between the Crusader Lord and is deputies. However, none of that would be easy and if he was ever uncovered, it was most likely that Dathrohan's agents would silence him sooner or later. Still, he couldn't but feel that he was turning against everything he had once respected. Valdemar would immediately turn against him for this and Uther would have never accepted his methods. However, none of that was relevant now. He had accepted membership in the Crimson Legion and for better or worse, this was a charge he'd simply have to see through. The knight immersed himself in his thoughts as he slowly walked out from the castle, preparing for a strategy that would help him overcome this highly dangerous and unpleasant task.
Scarlet Protector Carlin Redpath looked at the two dozen people assembled before him in slight disappointment. These were the only ones who had sought refuge in Tyr's Hand in the last weeks and survived the inquisitors' test. Five had turned out to be weak of mind or they simply had been deemed unpure. Such measures worried the Scarlet officer greatly but it wasn't up to him to decide what the priests did with those who searched refuge from the Crusade. He was only more than happy to provide these poor villagers with something that would give them hope of survival even in these rough times if only their heart was in this struggle.
"Welcome to Tyr's Hand, brave villagers. I congratulate each of you for your decision and for the fact that the priests have found each of you worthy of this great honor. I just hope you're all ready for the coming ordeals." Carlin understood the recruits' situation very well as he could remember his own survival even too vividly. The fall of Darrowshire would be a nightmare than would forever follow in his footsteps but he wouldn't mic his own concerns with these recruits.
Each one of the prospective crusaders knew what was at stake in this meeting but only one of them had seen a knight of the Crusade in battle himself. Carethas Yrendel looked around himself in deep worry as he listened to the Scarlet Protector's words. The life in Barrowhome had grown increasingly tough in the past weeks and even the Crusade's defense wouldn't be able to keep the dying hamlet alive for much longer. Carethas had searched for a chance to join the Crusade ever since the brave knight's defense of his home. Perhaps the paladin named Osran was still somewhere around this city?
"I know each of you have your own ways you could be of use to the Crusade and we can show you the way to utilize your talents to their very limits. But remember that while Light always watches over you as you stand against the darkness, only you can stand your own ground. There is nothing supernatural or secret power in our use: our strength comes from years of unwavering service and a brave heart. As the Lightbringer used to say to his followers during the war against the Scourge of Lordaeron: The Light is your guide, your shield and your sword but without the will or strength to support them, they're all worthless to you." Carlin spoke with great stress on his words in order to underline his point. He would turn no recruit away but if they happened to fall because of their own weakness, then so be it. Carethas frowned somewhat at his words but he knew them to be true. Even inside the Crusade, it would eventually be every man for himself. However, he knew he'd give his all in order to earn his right to fight beside Osran and the rest of the knights of this mighty order. He listened in deep interest as the officer continued to speak.
"If you believe you lack that will, tell it now. The Crusade has more use for farmers, blacksmiths or couriers than for dead corpses. Every one of us has a role to play and acknowledging yours is a true test for each of you. If you feel those positions are more suitable for you, speak your mind now." The Scarlet Protector looked in silent approval as five hands rose from the small crowd. Even if he had hoped for all of these young men to be capable of fighting, his words were still true. Dead recruits would help no one and there was always a shortage of workforce in Tyr's Hand. He looked at five men and women in an emotionless face as he answered to them.
"I'm grateful to you for being honest to yourselves. Please, report to the western barracks for further instructions." No heads turned to look at the departing backs of the five even if some of the remaining peasants seemed somewhat amused. Still, Carlin's stern expression kept each and every one in the room silent. Carethas knew he couldn't blame anyone for choosing the easy way but he had a mission to fulfill here. For his beloved Barrowhome and to the knight who had first shown him the courage of a true knight. He wouldn't give up until his home was safe again or would find rest in the peace of his own grave.
"Now, I must admit that we have no time for a sufficient training periods. You might have to face the undead in a few days already so we have no time to lose. I won't lie to you, this training won't be able to prepare you against the enemy but they will teach you to defend yourselves. I apologize for this but you have to earn most of your experience in the battlefield and some of you won't live to see whether you are fit to be a paladin. But I promise you, if any of you show talent in mastering the Light, we will help you in using it. But enough talking. You have half an hour before you will be shown on how defend yourselves against the weaker undead and how to mount a counterattack against them. Welcome to the Scarlet Crusade!" The officer said as he concluded his speech. The new recruits seemed somewhat disappointed by his speech but the sad fact was that there was hardly time to do the necessary preparations for the current troops and there wasn't a whole lot of time anyone could spare for the new ones. Carlin knew this wasn't fair for them but this was one thing that simply wasn't in his power. Even now, he was needed to oversee the guarding of New Avalon's port and he had already gone to this meeting knowing that it would interfere his own duties.
Carethas wasn't more impressed than his comrades. After the perilous and hard journeys and the investigations they had gone through, he had expected even a slightly more respecting welcome. As things stood, it seemed line no one seemed to even appreciate his or his counterparts sacrifices to even get to this point. Still, it was clear that the Crusade was waging a full-scale war and it was likely that there would be little time to spare for complete novices like himself. The young man took a neutral look as he joined the other recruits in moving out of the small room and head for the courtyard. Carethas didn't have the slightest of illusions about what kind of ordeal the beginning training would be.
Each one of the fledgling Crusaders felt extremely awkward as they moved to the courtyard of the barracks to investigate each other. Each one of them were from small hamlets and they had known nearly all of their acquaintances since their childhood. Every one of them knew that this would be the group they'd spend the next few days but the oppressing silence seemed to drag on for minutes. Finally, it was Eneath who spoke first. His voice was nervous as he tried to find the right words to speak at this point. He simply wanted to break the ice and hope that he'd be proud to stand by the side of these men and women before the end.
"I'm honored to meet each one of you. Let's prove it to ourselves that we are ready to take this step." Carethas said the words that first came his mind and he knew the others felt the same way. None of them had come to make friends here as it was likely that most of the others had already lost a loved one to the Scourge. Only one thing united the new cadets: the yearn for revenge and justice. However, the first answer he received was an even grimmer one than he had expected.
"I don't care about you or what you're after here, brat. I came here to slaughter as many undead as I can and I can see that I came to the right place. Just stay out of my way and we'll all have an easier time here." The speaker was a heavily muscled, bald man who carried a large axe on his shoulder. Everyone present looked at him with a tired look as none of them had the least wish to begin a fight already. It seemed like this was one of those things that simply couldn't be avoided during the training. However, his arrogant words earned a quick rebuke.
"And if you understand that all our lives are on stake here, we might even survive. I don't want to be here any more than you want but we cannot think that we have any luxuries here. Remember that." The other man concluded grimly, earning a cold stare from the muscled man. However, after the duo's words, a deep silence fell upon the small group. Carethas sighed as he looked around himself. The first training session would begin soon and all of them could get underway with their training. Despite his apprehension at this whole situation, he'd be proud to join the brave knights who had defended his home for so long. He could only hope his time with them wouldn't be cut short prematurely because of the arrogance of his comrades.
Wow, 100k words crossed! I hope those of you still read this story have found this offering enjoyable. I'll give more focus on the internal conflicts of the Crusade even if the main focus will be kept on fighting the Scourge. That being said, I'd appreciate any feedback you'd be willing to give. See you soon! :)
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Naxxramas Beckons
Deep nervousness raced in Osran’s mind as he thought about the best course of action here. He would have to find help among the officers to support giving the Grand Crusader the support he needed but he’d have to make it subtly. None of them would probably accept his proposal willingly but he couldn’t fail. Luckily to him, he saw a familiar figure nearby who could be the right person to start with. Carlin Redpath was a man of honor and even if he was loyal to the Crusader Lord, Osran knew he would listen to his ideas readily.
”May I have a moment of your time, Scarlet Protector?” Osran asked in a determined voice when he saw Carlin Redpath head towards the stables, apparently preparing to leave for his guarding duties. The balding man turned to look at the newcomer and answered to him in an urgent, surprised voice.
“If you’re quick, Osran. I already used up too much time in giving the new cadets a shadow of a real welcome but it can’t be done in such a hurry. What’s your business with me?” Redpath looked at the other knight in a disapproval, hoping he hadn’t met any other hindrances before he could take off once again. Even if he respected his comrades as anyone else, this was an audience he wanted done quickly. The bearded paladin took an unreadable expression as he thought how he should put his business.
“It’s nothing too important but I’m just saying that I’m really looking forward to our next campaign. Rumors have said that soon enough, we’ll launch an attack that should retake the rural areas of Darrowmere and that attack will be our greatest yet. It’ll be an honor to stand with you as we retake our homes from the Lich King.” The knight knew his words were rather vague as could be seen from Carlin’s conflicted face. The Scarlet Protector had no idea how Osran had heard of this but his new membership in the Crimson Legion probably brought him many benefits. However, he had no idea what Osran was after. The two had fought together in the past but they were nowhere as close as Osran’s words seemed to suggest. He answered quickly in a puzzle voice.
“Aye, It’ll be a great day when we begin our real attack but I don’t if I’m ready to see Darrowshire again. That day was the most horrifying I’ve ever experienced but at least I’ll be able to avenge my brother and nieces. I’ll do anything to redeem their memory as I’m sure you’ll do to avenge your friends in Northdale. But why bring up this all of a sudden? It’s not like this is a new development.” Carlin concluded in a thoughtful note, willing to know what was Osran’s point with this conversation. This wasn’t the most likely situation to remember the old, happier times even if both of the two had painful pasts. Osran cringed internally as he realized that now was the time to push his point or the opportunity would be lost.
“During my time in the Monastery, our battle was lost only when all of us stayed together and put our differences aside to confront the enemy. Don’t tell of this to anyone but I can’t help but feel that our pride here in Tyr’s Hand might be misplaced. We all know and trust each other but we serve the same goal as the other cities. I wished to say that we shouldn’t overestimate our part in the coming campaign as we are but one army that will lead the Crusade to victory.” Osran said slowly, knowing that his words were sudden and slightly wrong but he had to get his point through. He hadn’t spoken of the Grand Crusader but the aging paladin’s words were highly regarded by everyone in Tyr’s Hand, including the Scarlet Protector. If he could weaken his belief in Tyr’s Hand supremacy in the Crusade, he could begin weakening Valdemar’s position. Carlin looked at the other man oddly but his interest was slowly being awakened by this discussion.
“We pledged our allegiance to the Grand Crusader in exchange of our special status within the order. That doesn’t mean that we think of ourselves as anything “special” or something that weakens our comrades in other cities. It is not my position to try to understand the situation but I trust Valdemar to guide us through this as he always has. You should too, Osran. We ordinary soldiers should simply concentrate on staying alive.” Carlin said as he narrowed his eyes at Osran. He was taken aback by the crusader’s sudden words but he knew these weren’t things that concerned either of them. Osran, on the other hand, was growing increasingly concerned by the way this conversation was going. Carlin, perhaps by accident, was getting too close to his own intentions.
“You know I’d lay down my life for the Crusader Lord in a second but I have a bad feeling his pride might not serve him well in the coming battle. I hold nothing but respect to our leaders, especially for Valdemar, but the only thing I want is to return home and to see Lordaeron reborn. We should defend Valdemar’s position at all costs but we should also make sure we do what’s best for all of us. That is what I wanted to tell you.” Osran said in a thoughtful voice, willing to underline that was only saying what he thought, not imposing his thoughts on the Scarlet Protector. Carlin looked extremely thoughtful and he looked at Osran oddly. It was clear that he hadn’t thought things this way but it was clear that he was far from convinced.
“I trust Dathrohan knows what he’s doing, Osran. But I also trust Valdemar and so should you. He has led us for years with wisdom and even if the Grand Crusader is a great man and a champion of the Light, I trust a leader I know, not a one I’m told to trust.” Carlin looked at Osran in an unreadable expression, clearly rebuking the knight’s words. Osran looked at him in disappointment, knowing that he was in a rather weak position here. Still, installing even a flicker of doubt in the officer’s mind could serve him in the long run.
“As should we all. I hope none of us have to think of these things in the future but keep an open mind, Redpath. We never know what the Light throws our way. Goodbye, Scarlet Protector.” Osran suddenly turned around to continue his own rather light duties today when he heard Carlin call to him for one last time.
“Oh, Osran, I just heard that the new recruits’ trainer isn’t able to arrive in time today. Could you please show them a trick or two?” The Scarlet Protector called to the knight who didn’t seem too excited by this request. To tell the truth, he had had other plans regarding his new position and duties but on the other hand, a too quick effort to change the officers’ minds could quickly become suspicious. Also, for the sake of avoiding suspicions, he would have to work as hard as everyone else in the city and to avoid idleness in the others’ eyes. With an unreadable voice, he answered.
“Yes, I heard that we had some new cadets but I hadn’t thought I’d be their instructor. Well, if no one else has time for them, I guess I have no choice. I’ll do it.” Osran looked as Carlin nodded to him in approval and rose to his steed. Osran’s usual schedule had been somewhat relaxed today but these days none was allowed a moment of reprieve. The more he thought of it, he had only increased his workload by joining the Crimson Legion but that couldn’t be helped at this point. He had no choice but to move forward and fulfill his tasks the best he only could. Carlin was left looking the crusader in deep thought, surprised by Osran’s behavior but it was none of his business. With a slight shrug, he finally mounted the horse and took off for New Avalon.
There was still a bit over ten minutes until he was needed in the training fields so Osran decided to go buy a small refreshment from the city’s tavern. The prices were extremely low due to the pressure from the city’s leadership so nearly any member of the Crusade could afford a small drink in addition to the normal meals of the day. Osran was just about to open the door of the tavern when he heard someone call him from behind him.
“Osran! What are you doing?” The voice belonged to Eneath and Osran sighed silently as he turned around to greet his nephew. It wasn’t his appearance that worried the older paladin but his tone which communicated only one thing. The two had met only briefly since Osran’s return and he couldn’t blame his nephew for sounding a bit displeased.
“I was planning to buy a small flask of some beverage before getting to today’s work. Don’t you have anything to do yourself?” The paladin sounded somewhat tired and far more repulsive than he would have wanted. Eneath looked at his uncle in clear chagrin, not understanding his behavior in the least after his return.
“We have hardly met in a month and you seem really willing to get rid of me! Is something wrong?” Eneath frowned as he spoke, never seeing his uncle like this. There had been periods where he had acted dismissively and stressed but not like this. Something was clearly wrong with the older knight.
“It’s nothing. A lot of things happened during my journey and the workload just keeps increasing. I’ll get over it but as it is, I’m just a bit tired. But come, let’s go inside.” Osran opened the door and Eneath quickly followed him. The younger man looked at his uncle with a suspicious look, knowing that losing one’s comrades wasn’t enough to break his spirit and the flow of tasks in the city had stayed somewhat stagnant. He knew Osran was hiding something from him and that fact alone wasn’t something he liked. He was the only family he had left and the fact that his uncle didn’t seem to trust him was highly worrying. The two sat down on a small table near the back of the hall to drink their beverages. The younger man looked at the other for a moment before he restarted the conversation.
“Is it about the Crimson Legion? I know you are too strong to be this greatly upset by battles and I don’t know what else has changed in addition to your new position. You may tell me.” Eneath tried to get his uncle to speak but Osran didn’t seem too happy about his words. The paladin hadn’t even realized how severely his newfound problems with Valdemar had begun to affect him and it was true, he didn’t feel nearly as energetic or self-confident as he usually did. It seemed like he’d have to either accept his new role or be revealed sooner or later. Even if Osran hated to lie to his nephew, this was simply an issue to which Osran couldn’t get him involved. No matter how looked at it, this was a thing he’d simply have to resolve himself.
“No. As I said, I’ll get over it once things get a bit simpler again. Right now, I just have a lot in mind with the news from Northrend and Veria as well as coming to the terms that many of my old comrades will never again greet me during the morning prayer. I hope you understand.” Osran tried to sound a flicker more relaxed as he drank a deep gulp of his Moonberry juice. Eneath looked at him with continuing suspicion but at least it seemed like his uncle wasn’t completely depressed by whatever was going on. For now, he imagined that it would be best if he just stayed silent and tried to return to his problems soon.
“I can imagine that. I am horrified by Harthal’s tale too. We can simply hope that the Grand Crusader knows what he’s up to, We can’t afford to face any more undead than we already have in our hands.” The younger paladin said, turning the conversation to another unsavory subject. Osran looked at in a dry look as he put his mug to the table.
“So do I. I simply hope he knows something that we don’t, something that can prevent them from ever arriving in Lordaeron. But to other matters, how is Orotha? I haven’t had the time to visit her since I returned.” A certain tone of guilt could be heard in Osran’s voice as he realized that he hadn’t visited his mother in ages. An extremely unsavory thing as an old person like her could catch a disease in the refugee camp any day and with her, things could become fatal far too easily. To his relief, Osran didn’t see Eneath’s face fall greatly.
“She’s as fine as anyone can be in there. She’ll survive but this kind of life is taking a toll on her. I just hope she’ll be able to take it. But don’t worry, there hasn’t been any great developments since you left.” Eneath said as he finished his drink. The two men looked at each other and nodded briefly. It was clear that it was time to return their duties.
“That’s a relief at least. However, I’m needed elsewhere shortly. See you sometime soon again, Eneath.” Osran said as he quickly rose from his chair, leaving Eneath sit there for a moment longer in deep thought. Osran was clearly up to something but still, Eneath knew it was none of his business. He knew his uncle and he had always survived on his own and he had no doubt that wouldn’t be the case now. However, the young paladin wasn’t about to see his uncle suffer alone. If things got too bad, he would help him, whether he wanted it or not.
Osran, on the other hand, was grateful for his nephew’s concern but at this point, it helped him none. He couldn’t know how Carlin had really reacted to his words as only he knew what was going on in his mind. He could only hope he had made the first ally among the officers of Tyr’s Hand but only time would reveal the truth about that. Right now, he would have to do his normal duties in order to not raise any fuss about his situation. Even if Osran was rather benevolent towards those who had searched out the Crusade to defend themselves and their loved ones, right now this wasn’t a task he did with great pleasure. His mind was already burdened with his current concerns and overseeing a group of completely unskilled cadets wasn’t something that helped his mood any.
Especially when he saw the small group. Most of them were pure and completely peasants who seemed like they had never even held a weapon in their hands. How was he supposed to teach them anything in a day or two? On the bright side, Osran’s tabard and the knight’s armor seemed to make a good impression on the cadets as did his calm and proud attitude. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to give group much attention. He only moved absentmindedly before them and took a deep breath and looked upwards. He wouldn’t let his personal issues hinder his abilities to prepare these recruits for the coming ordeals. None of them would face their ends because he was too stubborn to train them well.
“Welcome to the Scarlet Crusade and to the city of Tyr’s Hand, potential defenders of Lordaeron. I am crusader Osran Lowriver and Protector Redpath asked me to oversee your training today and I will share all of my experience I can with you. In return, I expect each of you to give your all and to cooperate with me and with each other. In the end, only you can safeguard yourselves in battle and if you wish to live, I suggest you take the little training I can give you with the seriousness it deserves. I can see that none of you is a warrior and that only underlines my point.” Osran managed to sound almost normal with great dedication and he was happy to see that the cadets seemed genuinely interested about this words.
Carethas was stunned to see that the knight he had once fought would be the one training him and the other recruits this day. He was rather sure Osran had already forgotten him but at least he would tell that the knight had been an inspiration for him in the past. But before that, he would have to do well in this training. All of his efforts would be in vain if he fell in the first battle. Silence reigned above the group as Osran continued.
“Each of you have been given a blunt but natural-sized training sword and I trust you can use it to some degree already. Now, you must deepen your mastery over that weapon if you are to be of any use in battle. But remember: you won’t be fighting against each other or any other rational being so sparring is highly useless in its traditional form. In its stead, you have to try to defend yourselves against a group of dogs. The hounds, though not ghouls, have similar irrational moves and drive to simply eviscerate you without a strategy. Your training swords won’t hurt the hounds seriously so don’t worry: however, you might not be so lucky. I will stop the beasts if things get really rough but that won’t look good on your hopes of leaving for the battlefield anytime soon. Any questions?” Osran looked at the group in a dry look, feeling like this would be a waste of time. To his slight chagrin, one voice answered him from the small crowd.
“But how can we keep the hounds at bay if we can’t hurt them? They’ll maul us!” A woman’s voice called from the group. Osran looked at her dryly while leaning on his own sword. Even through his disapproval of the situation, he answered calmly.
“You can’t hope to survive from a battle without injuries, cadet. How you are going to minimize them is up to you. I know this is a harsh test but that’s the best I can do with this short notice. Come, let’s go meet your opponents.” Osran apologized as he walked waved at the recruits to follow him. They looked at each other in worry as they started to follow the experienced paladin.
“Well then, are you ready?” The young man shuddered as he looked at the door before him. He was locked in a small room inside one of the barracks, facing a door behind which growled five giant dogs who were clearly trained killers. The cadet held to his training sword in horror, struggling to find his voice again. After a moment, he nodded and answered.
Ye… yes, crusader Lowriver. Open the door.” Osran returned the nod and pulled the switch opening the gate between the two locked rooms. The other recruits looked in horror as the door opened slowly, the hungry dogs already fighting to get under the rising gate-like door. The young recruit tried to calm down and put on a defensive stance which, however, broke as the dogs charged towards him. In a matter of seconds, the hounds surrounded the man and started to rip his sides fiercely. As he heard the man’s cries, Osran knew the time for intervention had come. He opened the emergency door and quickly moved on to cast waves of bright light to drive the animals back to their cage. The cadet lied on the floor in a pool of blood, his breaths weakening by the minute. Osran knelt beside him and put his hand on the fallen recruit’s shoulder. Bright light filled the room and the man’s gaping wounds started to close slowly. Soon, the bleeding stopped but the man remained extremely weak. The aging crusader turned to the others and spoke in a serious voice.
“This poor man lost his courage at the first sight of enemy. It appeared that he would have been a capable swordsman but skill means nothing if your heart is weak. Remember that as your turn comes. Once I see your capabilities here, I can give you more sophisticated training. Alas, I fear this cadet won’t be the last to fall.” The assembled recruits looked at their instructor in fear as he pulled the wounded man away from the room. None of them wanted to be the next to face his fate but on the other hand, they couldn’t simply turn back at this point. With a courageous face, the next recruit walked into the room, ready to be the next to try his luck.
The next fifteen minutes hardly brought more confidence to the young cadets. Three of the next ones were also mauled horribly whereas two managed to defend themselves and even push back the hounds long enough for Osran to decide they were decent enough to deserve a shot in the battlefield. Of course, this test proved nothing about their actual capability to face the undead but there were no other or better ways to determine their worthiness at this point. Carethas felt extremely worried as Osran looked at him, waving him to step into the room. Even if he had been one of the best fighters of Barrowhome, his confidence shook as he faced the now-bloody room. He was slightly disappointed that Osran didn’t seem to remember him at all but he had probably met thousands of people. At this point, he decided to put all of his thoughts into the ordeal. With intense effort, he could stand still with a valiant look on his face as the door once again opened.
The young man felt his heart sink as the barking dogs charged at him but unlike most of the others, he didn’t falter. He ran towards one of the dogs, kicking another away from him, and hit the animal to the wall. These hounds were too large to be seriously hurt by the kicks and Carethas was too busy to think about mercy at this point anyway. The five dogs begun to surround him but he quickly sidestepped away from them. This was how the others had passed this test, by attacking one animal at the time and escaping before the next one hit. However, Carethas wasn’t so lucky.
With a sickening realization, he realized he had been surrounded to one of the corners of the room. With terrifying brutality, the dogs started to tear his legs apart but it was at this moment when something unexpected happened. Despite the pain, the cadet’s consciousness seemed to drift away and something seemed to take control of his mind. Osran and looked in appreciation as the young man released a weak bolt of light around himself which was still powerful enough to drive the dogs away. They started to regroup swiftly but before it happened, Osran’s voice rang in the room.
“Well done, young man! That was a most impressive defense! It isn’t often that fresh recruits are able to show that they are able to learn to control the Light!” Osran said as he opened the smaller door to let Carethas out from the room. The black-haired man didn’t seem to realize what had happened at first and he stuttered as he answered.
“What? Did I manage to… use the Light in battle? Will I be a paladin?” Carethas said in awe as he started to realize what had happened. It had been a strange experience but for some reason, he felt warmth conquer his body and a sense of bliss rise within his mind. Osran, while still sounding approving of Carethas’ feat, answered slowly to keep the test going.
“Not for a long time as you couldn’t control it consciously. However, I’ll show those who pass this test to how to hone their skills and if you manage to survive long enough, you might one day become a full member of the Order. However, we must continue now. The next one, please!”
Carethas sat down in awe as the trial continued. He couldn’t believe he had used the Light even by accident as he had never even dreamed he could be a paladin. His gift was a rare one and utilizing it would require him to survive the next battles. However, he wouldn’t play safe as he wanted to serve the Crusade, not himself. Today, he had taken the first steps towards that dream and he could rest for a moment now. The training would resume soon enough.
Two cadets able to use the Light, six brave and skilled enough to serve as line soldiers. Not enough but they will have to suffice.
Osran sighed slightly as he looked the last trainee fail miserably. Less than half of the cadets had proved capable of even hoping to survive the coming battle which was far less than he had hoped. He looked as the wounded recruits were taken away for further treatment and turned to look at the remaining eight cadets. Most of them had been heavily bruised by the hounds but that couldn’t be helped. At this point, time was off the essence and none of them would have any time to rest. The knight spoke to them in a respecting voice as the failed ones had been taken away.
“Congratulations to all of you. I’ve seen that all of you are worthy of being sent to battle. Two among you held even the promise of becoming real paladins but let us not get ahead of things just yet. You will have to survive the coming offensive but now that you have learned to defend yourselves, next you will have to learn to kill. Please, follow me to our next training field.”
The dim light of the candle illuminated Galford’s tired face as he continued his research on Alonsus’ flame and the late archbishop’s work. At this point, he was reading something that resembled a biography but it also contained chapters concerning his works. The volume was called “The Obscure Works of Alonsus Faol”, written by one his closest apprentices. The archivist had studied the whole night following the approval of his idea by the leaders of the Crusade. The dawn was breaking soon but the scholar wished to repay the trust entrusted to him by doing all he could to learn about the fire they were planning recover. That was until he heard a surprising creak from his door and a sudden question soon afterwards.
“So, you actually think this stuff of legends is still there. I wonder how things will go if things don’t go as you think they will.” Archivist Galford was heavily startled by this new voice from behind him. The scholar quickly turned around and saw the Highlord of the Crusade stand before him. The archivist was surprised to see Alexandros visit him at this time. It was a very only morning and even if Galford hadn’t slept a minute the whole night in search for more clues, he hadn’t expected the others to be awake at this hour. It seemed like the Ashbringer wasn’t one to sleep long either and the scholar would have to be happy for awakening his interest, Galford figured.
“It’s as I said, Highlord. There’s no mistaking it: Alonsus put great emphasis that everything he created would stand the test of time. Sadly, with the Silver Hand that hope wasn’t to be. However, he also created many sacred, unbreakable items like the ones he shared with the five original knights, like the Grand Crusader’s shield. No one really remembers it but Alonsus was also a capable blacksmith and if his feats in magic were even a shadow of his usual fortitude, there’s no way the undead could have snuffed out the last light of eastern Stratholme.” Galford exclaimed in pride at the Highlord who seemed somewhat worried still. He thought about what he had just heard for a moment and leaned to the door as he answered.
“I met Alonsus only once myself as he deemed me unworthy of joining the Order as its founder. He may have been a mighty priest and a hero but he was also insufferably self-confident and I was on his bad side for disobeying his principles mercy in a battle against the orcs. He couldn’t suffer anyone trying to stand up to him and in my eyes, that is a major stain on his memory. However, it’s a shame Saidan doesn’t use his shield. It’s truly a marvelous piece of art and power but he has never been one to hide behind other things to protect him.” Alexandros answered dryly, somewhat saddened by the rift between himself and the late Archbishop. He was far too experienced and old to care about his wasted honor by not being among the first invited to the Silver Hand but he was somewhat disappointed to be forced to rely on his powers to survive. Galford looked at him in interest as he listened to his story.
“Few have dared to speak like that of the most holy Archbishop but those who have, have largely echoed your tale. He was a proud, self-righteous man but he used even his unsavory side to serve the good. But, Highlord… may I ask you about your weapon? I’ve heard dozens of stories about it but is it truly blessed by the Light itself? You are a living legend, Highlord Mograine and as such, your feats have been hard to restructure truthfully.” The archivist said carefully, not knowing if the other man was willing to tell him about the issue. Ashbringer had almost grown to symbol the very struggle for preserving the Light and it wouldn’t be a surprise if Alexandros wouldn’t want to recite everything to him. However, he took a deep sigh and answered briefly.
“I know that I’m told to be able to beat an army of the Scourge by myself and to radiate Light brighter than the Sun when I face the enemy. It’s true that the Ashbringer is a wondrous weapon and a real miracle but its true strength doesn’t lie within the sword itself: it lies in our bond.” The Highlord answered cryptically, prompting Galford to frown in confusion. Alexandros had been called the Ashbringer for years but it had also been seen as a testament to the weapon’s power and wielder’s bravery but the scholar had never heard of any actual bond between them.
“What do you mean, Highlord? I’ve never heard of anyone being able to create a bond with a weapon before. Is such a thing even possible?” Galford asked in disbelief, willing to listen to what the man before him had to say. One of the many things he had to do in his position was to always listen, always be willing to learn new things, no matter how unbelievable they were. To his surprise, Mograine moved his hand forward, pulling his sleeve up to reveal his hand to the scholar. Galford stared at it in deep shock. The hand was dead in absence of a better word, all traces of skin and muscle wasted away, only a blackened bone being lighted by the dim illumination in Galford’s room. The archivist looked at Alexandros in fear, his breaths growing heavier at this ghastly display.
“Highlord, how? Are you…” The chronicler started but he couldn’t finish the sentence. If Alexandros was an undead, there would be little reason for him to reveal it. He started to calm down as the taller man continued his story.
“No, I’m not. Most of me anyway. At first, Ashbringer’s essence was a thing of pure evil and when I found it during the battle for Blackrock Spire, it did this to me. Any sensible man would have destroyed the crystal already back then but it seemed like the crystal spoke to me or at least manipulated my thoughts for me to believe that it wasn’t pure evil. Even with my hand, I kept it with me every moment, hiding its existence from my comrades. Even Saidan learned of it only during the rise of the Scourge. It had taken my hand, corrupted my thoughts… yet I still understood it.” Alexandros said deep in thought, causing deep frowning within Galford. He didn’t like these confessions at all but he didn’t have any authority to stand against the champion of the Crusade. He merely nodded to the Highlord as a gesture for him to continue.
“I take it that you know how we tried to destroy the crystal but only managed to turn it into Light? It cried out to me, even asking me to turn it into a weapon of legend and good… and without any further thoughts, I knew that I had to do it. I wouldn’t have travelled to Ironforge without a very good reason but I knew this would be worth it. The crystal didn’t manipulate me as I could still refuse its requests and pleads. One by one, our minds seemed to converge and we began to think as one.
At first, I was extremely concerned by the implications of all this. Could the crystal be trusted? Was it taking over my mind? Was it still in the service of the Horde? Those were some answers that I couldn’t answer and even my dear friend Fairbanks couldn’t help me. Yet, I realized that this was an opportunity to make a real difference in the battlefield. I decided to give it a chance… and I have never once regretted that choice. It turned out that the crystal had truly been turned to Light. King Magni himself said he had never once seen a weapon this pure or powerful. He told me that it was his honor and privilege to forge it.” Alexandros said dreamily, looking at the candles burning in the room. Galford could see Ashbringer bringing light and warmth into the room, making the whole atmosphere that of wonder and disbelief. He realized that he was in the presence of a man who would join the hall of legends once he was gone from this world. This was a true embodiment of the Light.
“But… when you speak about it, it sounds like the crystal and the sword have minds of their own. I’ve only heard of such a thing with mages’ beings of arcane, never with a paladin. Are you sure that is the case here? Do you feel that the Ashbringer has a mind of its own?” Galford asked for one last time, willing to see whether Alexandros was ready to go that far in his tale. If he was speaking the truth, it would be quite a development in this regard. Alexandros looked at Galford briefly and returned to his cryptic answers.
“Yes and no. It does have its own will, to be sure, but it is not a person who thinks and feels. It is more like a vengeful spirit, thirsting to spill the blood of the unpure. Yet, I have managed to link my thoughts to it and we fight as one, the sword always knowing what I’m going to do. However, this is a bond I know any other cannot hope to understand. Our wills and eyes are one in battle but only I decide what to do.” Alexandros concluded, earning a confused expression from Galford. It was clear that the chronicler wasn’t at all convinced but at least he had received some kind of answer, no matter how convincing it was. He turned to look at his book again as he answered.
“Very well. I’ve heard that some items of immense power can make themselves known to someone but these cases are extremely rare and none of them have reported as strong experiences as you. For example, in ancient times, there were tales that those sentient bugs, the qiraji, carried some kinds items of power so potent that they had an effect on the wielder’s mind. However, those items are long gone and the accounts from the War of the Shifting Sands are extremely rare and unreliable. But the only thing that matters is that the Ashbringer guides and serves you well.” Galford said as he made a few notes about the books’ contents. Alexandros was about to answer when a loud call could be heard from the Hall of Lights.
“Get up and gather your weapons, now! Man the gates! The undead are massing around us!” A man’s voice called from the corridor, followed by other cries of urgency and fear. Alexandros quickly nodded to Galford and spoke quickly.
“Serve the Crusade the way you’re able and we'll do our part. The Scourge will never again step on this hallowed ground!” Alexandros then opened the door and started running towards the main gate to check the situation. Not a shadow of fear could be read from the red-bearded man’s eyes, only a bright and burning hatred for the undead. This was a defense he would see through, no matter what. He could see the massive gate to the Bastion open as the crusaders ran to safeguard the palisades guarding the main opening to the mighty fortress. Alexandros quickly moved outside from the door and asked another, familiar member of the Crimson Legion.
“What’s the situation, Malor? How many are attacking?” The Highlord asked in an urgent voice, demanding the answer immediately. The other man, nicknamed “the Zealous” for his unyielding hate towards the enemy, answered quickly in a decisive voice.
“Hundreds at the very least, sir! But they won’t stand a chance against the soldiers of the Light. Let’s give the bastards hell!” Malor said and Alexandros merely nodded to him. At the same time, Saidan appeared from the gate as well, clearly alerted for this attack. He looked somewhat cautious about the counterattack as he knew what was the most important thing in fighting the Scourge.
“Locate the leaders of the attack before you attack! Lookouts, to your positions!” The Grand Crusader yelled as he saw the swelling mass of dead flesh oozing around the walls. There were a few wooden palisades at the roof of the bastion, a few ladders built to serve the lookouts who were tasked with locating the brains of the attacks in order for the others to know where to strike.
“Archers and soldiers of the Light, keep the enemy down for now!” Alexandros yelled as arrows and judgements begun to rain down upon the slaves of the Lich King. The Ashbringer knew that it wouldn’t keep them down for long but all they needed was time to keep the enemy down long enough for the living to start their counterattack. However, it was at this time that they heard a chilling and mocking voice among the attackers that still held a shadow of familiarity.
“Only a fool would still linger within the walls of Stratholme! Know that your time here is finally over, Scarlet Crusaders! Such is the will of Kel’Thuzad!” The speaker had a low and irritating voice but it was horribly twisted by death. However, after a moment, Alexandros was able to decide whom this voice belonged to. It was a voice he hadn’t expected to hear again, even less want to under these circumstances.
“So, you’re one of them now, Rivendare. I should have expected as much. But it matters little as the Light’s justice comes for you! You will share the fate of your master soon enough!” The Highlord yelled as he listened to the fallen baron’s words. However, it earned him only a mean laughter and a grisly answer.
“I doubt it, Ashbringer! You may be the bane of the undead but even you have your limitations as you shall soon see! Behold the might of the Dread Necropolis!” Immediately after those words, it felt like the whole ground was shaking. The defenders tightened their ranks, only to hear another, extremely disheartening cry from the lookouts. They were seemingly terrified and as Alexandros felt the violent thuds in the ground grow ever more profound, he could tell why.
“It’s a dog-like giant abomination and it’s charging right at us! You can’t hope to stand against it!” The man yelled in deep shock. The Ashbringer tried to come up with a plan but the Grand Crusader was first. It was clear from his heavy, nervous panting that he was extremely worried but none of the other crusaders questioned his logic for a second.
“Flee to the gates! We cannot fight the monster here!” Saidan yelled as he looked at his followers flee into the bastion. He yelled to his old friend soon after, willing to make sure he realized what the plan was.
“Defend the others’ rear with me! We must make sure the retreat is orderly!” Dathrohan said as the two old knights stood side by side. Even if the high palisade blocked their view of the Crusaders’ Square, both of them felt their hearts pounding violently and their breaths growing ever more terrified as the footsteps grew closer. Just before the incoming crash, another cry could be heard from behind the wall.
“Fall, weaklings! Gluth will drain the last shreds of hope from your hearts and the rest of Lordaeron will follow. Behold my power!” Suddenly, the entire palisade blew up as a bold of dark energy hit the wooden wall. However, neither of the two had any time to shield their eyes as the terrifying monstrosity charged in from the hole in the wall. It resembled a deformed canine but not even the rotting flesh that made up its body could be seen on its head, only the skull remaining. Parts of its fur were replaced by sickly, greenish matter that seemed to be a substitute for the missing body parts.
“Run, Mograine! The others are already inside! We cannot fight this enemy!” Dathrohan said as he rolled to his side, dodging the abomination’s attack. Alexandros did the same and to his disappointment, he had to admit that his comrade was right. This monster could only be killed with a strategy and an army. The two wouldn’t stand a chance. Mograine quickly nodded to Saidan and both of them started to run towards the gate. The monstrosity quickly started to charge after them, knowing they wouldn’t be able to outrun it. For the first time in years, the Highlord felt a flicker of fear as he heard the giant gaining on him. In a few moments, it would reach him and force him into a duel which would likely not end well for living. However, those thoughts proved to be mistaken as he heard Dathrohan’s call.
“Duck, immediately!” They quickly jumped towards the door, revealing the depth of the Grand Crusader’s plan. As the two fell to the floor, a wall of pure Light flew over them right at Gluth. Five paladins had gathered to contain the abomination’s charge, buying a safe escape for their leaders. However, this attack didn’t stop Gluth. The monster was rather blinded and slowed down enough for the two to escape but its charge continued, eventually ending right at the closing main gate of bastion. The heavy doors were obliterated by the impact, opening a doorway for the mass of ordinary undead into the castle.
However, all of this were in the calculations of the Grand Crusader. He wasted no time relaxing from his close call and immediately started to give orders to his followers.
“Malor and the rest of his squad, follow the Highlord! Cannon Master and you three, come with me! We must surprise and surround the death knight to stop this madness. The rest of you, hold back the horde!” The two highest-ranked leaders nodded to each other before moving away. The tactics were ones that had been planned in advance but the canine abomination’s appearance had complicated things greatly. Still, if life had taught them anything about fighting the Scourge, the key to victory would be getting rid of its leaders. The two heads of the Crusade would now spread out and lead their groups towards Rivendare from two directions: Dathrohan would use a less-known side door which Abbendis was guarding right now and Alexandros would make a surprise attack starting from the roof. In the meanwhile, the main group of the crusaders would do their all to advance and put pressure on the enemy at any cost.
“We cannot waste a second! Come, let us go put an end to this, crusaders!” The Ashbringer called as he started to run towards the Hoard where the ladders to the roof were located. The way there was quite short even if the cannons which were lying everywhere hindered the group’s efforts somewhat. It was the Crusade’s storage of weapons in their vulnerable stronghold and one of the most important spots in the massive building. The ladders were now located in the middle of the room and the Highlord wasted no time starting to climb them. For many others, the mere height of the room would have been a major worry but none of the knights had a choice at this point. The climb took only half a minute before the first ones of the host started to reach the roof. The hatch was still open after the lookouts as opening and closing it would often be quite challenging as it could only be closed and opened from the inside.
The opening to the roof was behind the roof’s ridge in order to provide cover for the defenders and to prevent any kind of surprises. There were modest stairs to the lookout palisades on the ridge but that wasn’t where the small group was going. However, Alexandros called to the guards before starting his offensive.
“Are there any new developments? Is the death knight still in his old position?” His voice was urgent and he knew time was of the essence. Saidan was likely leading his own group already down there and he couldn’t stand staying still while others fought his battles.
“No, sir! Rivendare is moving closer to the frontlines and he seems to be raising the undead to fight again! Please, hurry!” The lookout sounded worried as he and his comrades released another volley of arrows downwards. The Ashbringer cringed at these news as Malor spoke in an angered voice.
“Why is he moving in? Does that cursed traitor truly think he can win? Let’s crush him before he manages to escape!” The black-haired man said in clear agitation. He raised his hammer to underline his point. Alexandros didn’t stop to answer as he was already heading to the lower slopes of the roof in order to strike at the side of the enemy. If Dathrohan was attacking from the other side, it was likely that the defenses would be rather light in the rear of the undead horde.
“He certainly won’t! However, we must stay unseen before we can attack! Stay your hand until I give my mark!” The Ashbringer said as he jumped on a lower part of the roof, heading for the surrounding houses to start his assault. The highest part of building grew quickly lower, low enough for the crusaders to use the surrounding houses to their advantage in times of need. The old Silver Hand bastion had been built for this purpose even if it had seldom been actually used. The infrastructure for the defense of the sacred fortress had been prepared a long time ago and this would be the time to put them to use.
The roof of the left side of the bastion joined that of the next house, allowing the small group to run to the next house and to the next one after that. In fact, the whole Crusaders’ square was built with only the safety of the fortress in mind, a fact not told even to the old inhabitants of those houses. The only downside was that the small group of defenders wouldn’t be able to see the battlefield due the fact that the main passageway for the knights was behind the ridge of the houses to make their arrival a surprise.
“Come with me! It is time for us to join the fight! In the name of the Light, destroy the wicked and cursed!” The Highlord entered one of the buildings from a secret hatch which led straight to the door of the home and to the square itself. The room itself was beyond ghastly with decaying wooden structures and destroyed items everywhere and the stains of blood forever attached to the walls. It chilled even Alexandros’ mind to think what kind of end the original inhabitants of this house had experienced. Even the door of the home had been destroyed so the knights had no choice but to join the fight immediately. None of them had any interest to linger in the cursed house any longer, anyway.
Ashbringer glowed brightly in the faint light of the burning city as it cut down the first of the swarming ghouls of the square. The red-bearded man grinned in hateful smile as he charged into the mass of undead, Malor and the rest of the knights following him quickly. The grotesque crushing sound of Malor’s hammer rang in the paladins’ eyes as it obliterated the remaining bones of the undead.
The precise attacks of the legendary sword sang their deadly song in Alexandros’ mind as it searched for the next throat to sever from their shoulders. He didn’t know whether the sword guided his hands or whether it was their combined fortitude and experience cooperating flawlessly. Yet, to anyone witnessing the grisly scene, they knew that this was truly a legendary sight and this man’s memory would be remembered for centuries. Yet, even in his bloodthirsty rampage, the Highlord didn’t forget his mission.
“Attack towards Rivendare! We mustn’t let the death knight leave this place!” Malor listened to Alexandros’ words and he didn’t need any further encouragement. He had once been a young hunter who had spent his whole youth in the wilds of Silverpine forest. He hadn’t had the slightest interest in the Light or the fate of the kingdom and he had long lived as a hermit in the forest.
However, all of that changed when the undead arrived. They desecrated his beloved land, killed his hunting hounds and defiled everything he had ever known. He had always lived with clear principles and once his true passion had been taken away from him, all he had been left with was revenge. Revenge at those who had robbed his life from him. The young man had quickly found his place among the Silver Hand and even if he had never had an interest in the Church, his endurance and burning passion for everything he did helped him to overcome every obstacle that came his way. However, that wasn’t enough. Soon after his joining, Lordaeron City fell and the kingdom and the Order crumbled under the Scourge. Once again, Malor witnessed destruction on a scale which he couldn’t have imagined during his simple life in Silverpine. However, he had been one of the first to join Saidan’s new order and he had quickly climbed to the Crimson Legion with mere brutality and passion. Now, as with every fight, the man yearned to crush every enemy of the Light in his path as painfully and gruesomely as he only could.
The Highlord and Malor the Zealous led the charge towards the death knight who hadn’t noticed their presence just yet. It seemed like their plan was working as there was apparently wedge of crusaders on the other side of the fallen noble. It was clear that Gluth had caused terrifying casualties among the ranks of the main group of the defenders but that couldn’t be helped. With luck the monster could be trapped and destroyed before it could escape.
Rivendare looked at the group attacking his position in loathing. Even with the presence of the Grand Crusader, did they actually think they could withstand the might of the true master of Stratholme? They were approaching him swiftly and Rivendare smirked mockingly as he drew his famed runeblade from its scabbard. It was another weapon of great power, forged by the greatest blacksmiths of the Kingdom of Azeroth as a customized symbol of power to the noble. Few could afford such a masterpiece and it had always been the baron’s pride. Even in death, Rivendare would never part with his prize.
“Come then, warriors of the Scarlet Crusade! I’ll show you how to truly fight!” Rivendare prepared to command his steed into gallop when he heard further noise from behind him. With annoyed expressions, he turned to look behind him and saw another group of crusaders fight their way towards him. Immediately, the fallen noble knew he couldn’t fight the battle by himself and with a sharp move of his sword, he commanded dozens of ghouls hold back the attacking knights while he would deal with the other group. Time was of the essence: he would have to win the fight now or retreat.
Even if he hadn’t often seen death knights this close, Saidan knew what Rivendare’s urgent commands meant. Alexandros was on the way and more undead were ordered his way. However, the Grand Crusader wasn’t about to let his plan come to pass. This would end quicker than the enemy would want to.
Alexandros could immediately see what was happening. Hordes and hordes of undead swarmed around his group but not once did he even think about stopping or changing his battle plan. The sight of the blue skeletal steed and the hooded figure riding it filled all of his vision, making it impossible to turn back now. For better or worse, this battle would reach its conclusion very soon.
Steel clashed against steel as Rivendare’s mighty blade clashed with the Grand Crusader mace. The duo’s eyes were locked at each other as they traded blows in a frantic manner. A smug smirk greeted Saidan’s eyes as he looked at the death knight riding his steed. All of his comrades were engaged in a fight with the other undead. For now, it was a fight between the two leaders.
“Your unholy sight will be purged from this sacred place, you cursed monster! I promise you this much.” The Grand Crusader said as he started a charge at the fallen noble. Rivendare seemed taken aback by this display and, as if in a miracle, Dathrohan’s club sunk hit into the baron’s abdomen. For a moment, the crusader thought the Light had granted him a miraculous victory when he heard a twisted smile on Rivendare’s face. With a sick feeling, Dathrohan saw the runeblade starting to glow red, as if with blood, and it started to flow into the horrifying wound. Before Saidan’s eyes, the usually lethal wound disappeared, only the crushed spot in the armor implying that his strike ever happened.
“An empty promise. I cannot be wounded that easily and you’ll never be able to deliver a lethal strike on me. Your cause is lost, Grand Crusader. Just lay down your weapon and join your true people…” A shock of frost suddenly left Rivendare’s sword and hit Dathrohan on his chest. Initially, he was taken aback by this twist but when he saw the baron’s reaction, he knew his time had come.
“Once I’m done with you, the rest of your order’s leadership will follow. Soon, you will follow in the footsteps of Uther and Gavinrad… and our king will reign supreme!” Rivendare commanded his steed to charge towards the seemingly falling knight, prepared to deliver the final blow to his enemy. Saidan, however, had different ideas. He had fallen to the ground but only to heal the damage his enemy had caused. When he heard Rivendare starting his attack, he knew his time had come. Suddenly, he rose up and started to run towards the death knight.
“Your king’s slaves will never set a foot in our Bastion again! For Loarderon!” Dathrohan yelled as he swung his hammer towards the skeletal horse’s head, crashing it into a thousand pieces of bone flying around the raging battlefield. The fallen noble himself dropped the ground as his mount disintegrated below him. He rose slowly, turning to face the Grand Crusader once again. His voice dipped with hate and loathing as he started to walk towards the human. Black energies could be seen flying from the mighty runeblade towards the fallen steed as he spoke in a dark voice.
“Deathcharger will rise again, fool. On the bright side, you will rise along with him.” The baron attacked again and the Grand Crusader answered in kind. No quarter or mercy was given as Rivendare’s swiftness and horrifying, dark powers met Saidan’s strength and courage. A blow after blow was exchanged, soon enough bringing the fight to a stalemate. However, that wasn’t to last. The fallen noble soon heard a call which forced him once again change his plan.
“Prepare to answer for your crimes, monster! The Light demands justice!” The voice belonged to Alexandros who was dangerously close to Rivendare’s back. The only way for him to regain control of the fight would be to call Gluth to hold them back, regrettably giving an opening to the crusaders still stationed near the main gate. However, that was the only hope he had at that point.
The Ashbringer radiated with bright power as its wielder headed towards the leader of this horde. However, his and his followers’ charge was soon halted by a sight that would have dispirited any other crusader than the Ashbringer. The massive abomination was quickly moving to hold them away from Rivendare and for a more, Alexandros thought about revising his plan but something within the sword commanded him to go on. The back of his mind echoed the Ashbringer’s demand for blood, his emotions going against the voice of reason. Even then, he knew he had to bring down this enemy. Without it, all would be lost.
However, none of this felt too overwhelming for the Ashbringer. He started running towards the beast, his mind working on overdrive to find the weak spot in the abomination’s terrifying body. The massive undead also started running towards him, the two preparing for the coming confrontation. Alexandros shook in holy rage as he hit at the enemy’s leg, trying to get it off balance. However, the hound didn’t even twitch from the strike and tried to bite Alexandros’ hand off in its stead. The paladin, however, managed to roll away and inflicted a deep wound in the beast’s abdomen. Its counterattack was halted as Malor ran near it, locking it in melee for a few seconds. The abomination, feeling the effect of the many cuts in its body, quickly locked its eyes on another undead and took a few, swift steps towards it. The two paladins looked in disgust as the monstrosity grabbed the ghoul between its jaws and in the next moment, after a sickening crunch, rotting flesh dropped to the ground as the beast swallowed the corpse.
Even then, it was only the next moment that truly shocked the Ashbringer. Bolts of lightning suddenly emanated from the beast’s body, spreading to the paladins around it. Alexandros looked in horror as he was engulfed in the lightning himself. However, it soon disappeared, seemingly leaving him as he were. However, as he tried to raise his holy weapon once again, he felt his strength completely depleted. For a moment, he felt like he couldn’t move a muscle, as if he was unable to continue the fight. He could see a similar condition on his troops and one of them was soon grabbed to the monster’s mouth. The Highlord heard his comrade’s final, horrifying cries as he put his hand on his chest, using all of his remaining power to infuse himself with the most potent blessing of the Light, the Lay on Hands. At this moment, he felt his strength return for a moment and the voice of his comrade being swallowed awoke the final call of retribution within him. The Ashbringer called for the being’s death and Alexandros was more than happy to agree.
The Highlord once again ran towards the abomination, the rage burning in his eyes. The monstrosity was still engaged in a fight with the other crusaders and its movements did little to hold back the attacker. Ashbringer sank into Gluth’s skull but there happened something that not even Alexandros himself had expected. The sword ignited in bright fire, burning its way through the undead. The abomination cried in pain as the sacred fire turned its decaying body into ash. Every paladin seeing the scene looked in awe as the red-bearded man brought down the mighty abomination, the bright fire illuminating the entire square. Gluth tried to shake the paladin off and it turned off from its enemy, finally freeing it from the deadly hit. The monster fled into the depths of the city horribly wounded, leaving the rest of the Scourge in disarray.
“Follow me, brave Scarlet Crusaders! The victory will soon be ours!”
A shocked grin formed under baron Rivendare’s scarf. Had the Highlord truly defeated Gluth, the mightiest construct created in the depths of Naxxramas itself? Was such a thing even possible? If nothing else, the noble knew his battle was finished. All that remained was to flee and try to prove to Kel’Thuzad that the war would still be his. He had underestimated the courage of the Crusade this time but now he knew what he was up against. The Ashbringer had won the fight but without it, the Crusade would be nothing. Rivendare’s voice was mocking as he spoke to Dathrohan for the last time.
-
“You surprised me this time but this changes nothing. I will grind your forces to dust if I have to! No one can withstand the power of Rivendare!” The baron mounted his already-reformed Deathcharger and before the Grand Crusader could stop him, rode away from the battlefield, armies of undead safeguarding his flight. Saidan cursed heavily as he realized that both of the biggest living weapons of the Lich King had escaped. The last of the ghouls in the square were either butchered swiftly or in total reatreat but that didn’t change the fact that the none of the knights were dispensable whereas Rivendare could probably sacrifice thousands of its undead without a problem. Even then, this attack had been repelled and one more great story of heroism had been born. He walked towards the Highlord who was still recovering from the electric shock of the canine monster.
“Thank you for your intervention, Alexandros! I wish we could call this a victory but we cannot.” Dathrohan said simply, the disappointment evident in his eyes. Even if he wished to offer his deepest thanks to his followers, this simply wasn’t a situation where it could be done. Mograine seemed even more upset by the conclusion and his voice dipped with bitterness as he looked the crusaders secure the openings into the square.
“This was all a complete waste! Those cowards run the first moment they lost the initiative! I won’t stand for this kind of outrage!” The Ashbringer said as he started to finally realize what this battle meant. The Crusade had been weakened even in victory while Kel’Thuzad’s plan had merely been delayed. Dathrohan knew what this meant. There simply was no time to wait for any longer. The Scarlet offensive would have to start immediately or the knights of the Scarlet Bastion would be leeched slowly but surely and the Grand Crusader wasn’t about to let his followers face a slow death. He was about to answer when he heard Abbendis’ voice nearby.
“It’s… it’s over! How did you beat back the giant abomination?” The High General asked in astonishment, for a moment even fearing that the Bastion would be lost once again. Alexandros looked at him in weary eyes as he answered.
“There’s nothing we cannot do if the Light is with us, Abbendis. You should know it by now. However, wounding that monster means nothing if we cannot strike at the heart of all this. Kel’Thuzad must pay for his crimes.” As if as an answer to the Highlord’s comment, the three leaders could see giant drops of slime fall from high above them. Their gazes turned upwards, towards the giant necropolis in the middle of the sickly, orange sky. The citadel of the Lich Lord of the Plaguelands was their true prize as without vanquishing it, Stratholme would never be free from Kel’Thuzad’s grip. The flying fortress was the heart and symbol of the Scourge in this land and right now, none of three men could even start to think about what kind of monsters were being created in its cursed halls. Assaulting Naxxramas itself would likely be a suicide but it was a necessity soon enough. Each of three knew leading the assault could fall on them in time. For now, there were other things that would have to be addressed, however.
“Let’s return inside. Whether or not Tyr’s Hand and Light’s Hope are ready, our attack will begin tomorrow.” With a loathing face, Saidan glanced at Naxxramas for the last time before heading towards the Scarlet Bastion in deep worry. He was followed by his two officers closely, each of them knowing that the true strength of the Crusade would very soon be revealed.
After a rather long wait, this story has finally been updated. The brief period of relative peace has ended abruptly and it won't spell good for Osran's efforts to influence the leadership of Tyr's Hand or to the young cadets' training. The coming battle will be anything but easy and its success is far from guaranteed. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and see you next time!
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The Breaking Point of Mutual Trust
Flickers of doubt and excitement rushed through Carethas’ mind as he followed Osran to the next training field along with his remaining fellow cadets. It was still a shock for him to see over half of his comrades failing in the first test, not least because he had expected to be a mediocre fighter at best. Now he had proceeded further than most of the considerably stronger and determined-looking recruits. Not only that but he had also shown the promise of becoming a paladin one, a prospect he had never even dreamed of. Still, the deep wounds in his body still sent shivers of pain flowing through his body which caused him to grit his teeth in discomfort. Even then, it was more than likely that he’d have to fight for hours with far worse injuries in a real battle. It was no use thinking about that.
The small group stopped near another barrack near the northern mountain range sheltering Tyr’s Hand. To the cadets’ slight relief, there didn’t seem to be anymore dog cages or anything else that seemed too vicious. However, they seemed somewhat puzzled as three new people arrived to the scene soon, their red cloaks revealing them to be priests of the Crusade. The recruits looked at the newcomers in puzzlement and waited for Osran to begin speaking again. Each of them had developed a certain level of trust to the crusader due to his simultaneous mercilessness and righteous guiding during the first test. The knight put his hands behind his back when he started to speak again.
“My deepest appreciation for your presence, brothers. I’m honored to see you coming to test these new cadets in their quest to learn to deal the mortal blow to the enemy.” Osran bowed to the trio briefly and they returned the gesture. Carethas looked at the scene in puzzlement, not realizing how these priests could ever offer any real resemblance to the ghouls or skeletons. The cadets looked at the newcomers in honoring looks when Osran continued to speak.
“Those two of you who have showed to be master the Light won’t partake in this test. You will follow me after I’ve told what the rest of you will do. These three good priests are here to test your fortitude and willingness to fight until the end. You might wonder what these servants of the Light might be able to teach you. Be so kind and show them.” Osran said to the priests who realized what he meant. The recruits looked in astonishment as the trio cast streams of pure Light before themselves which seemed to slowly form into something new. Before their eyes, the bright glow turned into flying ghost-like creatures with clear heads and hands. They had never seen anything like this and they simply stared in awe. Their instructor, however, broke the silence almost immediately.
“These creatures are called the lightspawn and they are beings of pure Light. Not many priests can summon them but they are extremely potent and useful servants in battle. In a real fight, you wouldn’t stand a chance against them. But this time, they will serve as your opponents. The priests will hold them back while you have to prove you have what it takes to take a lightspawn down. You won’t be able to kill them but you will be told when you are doing the fighting well. These priests know a good fighter once they see one and they have my utmost trust to train you with efficiency and honor. However, I’ll leave you here for some time now. I’ll have to try to teach these two how to begin the long road to master their strength. Is everything clear?” The paladin said to the recruits, regretting that he’d have to leave these cadets here but he had to put his full attention to begin training these two potential paladins. One of the priests nodded shortly and answered to Osran.
“It’s clear, crusader Lowriver. We’ll take it from here.” The man said to Osran who addressed the recruits one more time before turning on his heels.
“We’ll try to return in an hour to see how you’re doing. Remember, the only person who’ll benefit from doing your best is yourselves. Best of luck to all of you.” The aging crusader said as he looked at the two younger men who begun to follow him briefly. Carethas looked at the other potential paladin, not remembering if he had heard his name ever before. He seemed unusually weak and short but even Carethas could see that his mind was determined and resilient. He knew that the other man could cause surprises soon enough. The two followed Osran inside another barrack nearby where they stopped inside a rather large training room. The crusader turned to his followers and addressed them once, more this time in a more personal, friendly manner than before.
“You two have shown that you have what it takes to become real paladins. I can help you to learn to master the Light but it is you who will do the real work in the coming months. What are your names?” The paladin asked in a friendly voice, an awkward thought lingering in the back of his mind. The other man seemed familiar but he simply couldn’t remember where he had seen him. Osran had met thousands of people during his life and he couldn’t remember everyone. I will remember once I hear his name. I just hope he isn’t anyone truly important.
“My name is Iren Highfield, sir. I’m from the village of Streamlea which was recently overrun by the undead. I’m honored by this chance to learn from you, crusader Lowriver.” The bald man said as he spoke to the paladin. His voice was low and revering. It was clear that he had the makings of a real servant of the Light. Osran nodded to him acceptingly before turning is gaze to the other cadet. Carethas knew this was the time to reveal his identity and he could only hope Osran didn’t remember him in a bad light.
“My name is Carethas Yrendel, I fought with you in Barrowhome six weeks ago, master Lowriver. It is an honor to meet you again.” Osran nearly flinched as he remembered the young man’s face as he spoke. How could he have forgotten the courageous farmer who had most likely saved his life during that dark hour? Osran knew he could be excused for this forgetfulness but he knew Carethas deserved better after that day. Still, it wasn’t his place to show any real attention to him as he had two trainees who needed real guidance.
“Oh yes, I remember now. I’m honored to have you here today but you will have to work as hard as anyone else. Now then, let’s get to the business. Highfield, sent a wave of Light towards me. Show that you are capable to master the true essence of the Light!” The knight said as he pointed his sword towards the cadet. Iren was clearly taken aback by this development, not expecting such a stern and sudden command. He looked at Osran for a moment, seeing that his hard look didn’t ask for any disagreement. The younger man would have liked to say something to give him more time but he knew it would be futile.
Slowly, Iren stretched his hand forward, trying to remember with all his might how he had summoned the power against the dogs. It had come as if by itself, without further thought, and now, he didn’t seem to have the slightest of ideas on how to do it. He would have wanted to sink through the floor when Osran’s penetrating eyes gazed through him and Carethas’ somewhat amused stare accompanied his efforts to shake his hands and concentrate his thoughts on what he was doing. Still, seconds passed and the only reward he received was the deepening of the awkward silence in the room.
Just as Iren was about to give up, something unexpected happened. Suddenly, Osran started to walk towards him and pulled his sword from its scabbard. The cadet looked at him in puzzlement, not knowing what he was up to. There flamed a burning fire in the aging paladin’s eyes as he approached young man. Iren didn’t know what to do until he felt Osran’s sword slice through his chest, cutting a deep wound into his flesh. He looked at the knight in shock, seeing that only cruelty and sternness lived in Osran’s eyes. They were accompanied by a cold voice.
“Defend yourself, weakling! Fight or fall!” With terrified expression, Iren started to fumble his own scabbard, pulling his sword out in rising alarm. Had his instructor completely lost his mind? Why on earth was he attacking him with this severity? Still, as if in trance, the younger man started to defend himself but all too soon, he realized he was absolutely no match for Osran. The older man dealt blow after blow on Iren and slowly but surely, his stance and position grew increasingly awkward. On his fifth hit, Osran finally dealt the decisive blow, sending Iren’s sword flying into the left corner near the younger man.
At this point, Iren would have wanted to beg for mercy but Osran’s murderous eyes showed there was no mercy to be gained. The older knight pressed the cadet against the wall, putting his sword against his neck. Slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, the knight started to slice his throat open, small trickles of blood starting to appear on the sword. At this point, Iren’s movements turned into desperate struggles he felt Osran’s sword sink ever deeper into his throat and his whole chest feeling the dropping blood. At this point, it happened. The older man suddenly felt an unseen power hitting his body but he managed to dispel it before it got any worse. Still, Osran answered with a sharp snarl.
“Do it again, now! Don’t hold anything back!” Suddenly, the radiating Light around the wounded cadet started to grow quickly larger, filling Osran’s eyes with the glowing power. He took a few steps backwards and yelled loudly.
“Now, direct it towards me! Do it will all your might!” Iren was growing increasingly weak by the increasing blood loss but even through his mental and physical fatigue, a beam of Light flew towards the trainer. Osran absorbed the incoming Light with his ease, looking in appreciation as Iren collapsed to his knees, panting heavily and looking in shock as his hands turned red as he touched his wounded throat. Osran walked to his side and, the injuries closed out as they had done after the first test. Iren was alarmed by Osran’s presence but he was too weak to even protest it at this point. He was shocked to hear Osran’s earlier, much calmer voice to speak to him.
“Do you now see how you do it? Did you think about what you were doing when I commanded you to attack me?” Osran looked at the cadet in an asking look, the earlier murderous stare gone but the stern, demanding look remained. The younger man panted as he answered to his trainer.
“I… I don’t know. I tried to stay on my feet and when you commanded me to attack you… I think I did it only because of fear. I feared to fail here and let my beloved home unavenged. But… I’m not sure if I can do it again. Sir… is there no other way to do this training?” The man asked pleadingly, knowing his question would have no impact on the paladin’s training methods but he couldn’t fight his fears anymore. First the hounds had ripped off half of his thigh to shreds and wounded his abdomen and now Osran had literally sliced his throat open. The crusader’s stern look told all that he had to know but his words only reinforced the impression of Osran’s resolution.
“I wasn’t the one assigned to take care of your training but I was asked to act as his substitute here. I don’t know what would have waited you if another knight had been here to guide you. I know what you think about me but I simply try to show you what you are going to face very soon. Make no mistake, Highfield, the ghouls will tear your whole body to shreds and they will completely obliterate your whole neck. And if that is what I must do to awake your real strength as a lesson to you, I will do it. Don’t forget that you’re always welcome to leave for our farms but you both answered to Scarlet Protector Redpath that you’re worthy to become knights of the Scarlet Crusade? Was he wrong?” Osran asked in a completely calm voice as he eyed his two apprentices in a wondering look. Iren and Carethas exchanged worried looks but they answered simultaneously to the question.
“No, sir. I will see this to the end.” The two said, surprised to hear each other answer with identical answers. Osran looked at them in an unreadable expression as he walked silently towards Carethas. The younger man looked at his trainer in worry as he started to speak.
“Then what about you, Carethas? I’ve seen you in a real fight but do you have the courage to the next step in your path to join us? There are no easy ways to learn the skills you need to survive and I cannot decide if you are strong enough.” Osran said as he walked to the younger man who nodded to him in clear determination. The paladin sighed as he looked at the two cadets but he knew that it was his duty to see that they’d get all the training they needed. He then moved to the middle of the two and gave the next orders for them.
“Well then, the only way to learn to use the Light is to face a threatening situation, one that will take all of your skill and courage. I wouldn’t be a good challenge to either of you so I suggest that you fight against each other as it is the only way you may even begin to understand the qualities to command the Light. Granted, there are other ways to do it but with the schedule we have, they are mere curiosities. Give your all to this fight and I’ll tell what you are doing right. Are you ready?” The two recruits looked somewhat relieved that they wouldn’t have to face Osran himself in duel anymore but fighting against each other wasn’t something they waited eagerly either. Still, they were ready to give their all to learn the skills they needed. Osran looked at them and said sharply.
“Start the fight! Give no quarter!” The crusader said and immediately the cadets’ swords clashed against each other, Carethas being slightly overpowered in first clash. He took a few steps backwards to which Iren took two steps forward. A serious mistake as Carethas managed to punish him for his too brave advance. He quickly hit the other cadet with the side of his sword, sending him back and inflicting a wound on his hand. Then Carethas did the same mistake, which Iren didn’t manage to punish as effectively. Still the fight was far from decided.
The two continued to trade blows to each other but they managed to only make Osran cringe at the novice-like mistakes the cadets did continuously, deeply lamenting that he simply didn’t have any chance to teach them any skill with the sword. They had a lot to learn in that realm as well if they wished to ever join the Crusade as its real members. Still, the aging knight was pleased to see that the two gave their all to this sparring match. No mercy or reprieve was given and Osran could see that all of their attention had been directed to the foe before them. Still, any signs of the Light was still absent in the fight and especially Carethas seemed quite concentrated on ordinary battle tactics which prompted Osran to yell sternly.
“Stop the tricks with the sword, Yrendel! Even if you could do them properly, remember what this match is all about!”
Those words shocked Carethas as he realized that Osran was right. He had forgotten that he had little chance of impressing anyone with his skill and he hadn’t given a thought on how he was planning to call the Light to his side. If he could remember correctly, he had felt like he was passing due to the immense pain out the first time he had managed to use the holy power. Yet, there was something familiar in that feeling. He had been completely focused on destroying the hounds that were intent on killing him on the spot. Maybe complete disregard for what he was doing and simply focusing on his opponent would help?
The other fighter, Iren, could see that Osran’s advice seemed to have had a clear effect on how Carethas was approaching this match. His movements had become slower but more determined than before, and his intent had clearly turned more hostile. Some kind of mental abstention radiated from his eyes and Iren was growing increasingly worried by the turn of events. Still, Osran’s words were most likely directed on him as well. Iren, too, had mostly focused on staying safe in the face of his earlier beatings by the hounds and Osran. He hadn’t given a thought on how he had used the Light earlier. It had come by itself when Osran had threatened him but on deeper thought, her had always managed to utilize his gift when the threat to his life was the greatest. Perhaps it had something to do with the feeling of danger?
Osran was more than happy to see that his words had awakened some deep thoughts in the duo and that they had finally started to really think what using the Light was all about. He looked in some relief as Carethas charged towards his opponent, throwing away the earlier hesitation. Even the aging crusader was thrown back by the ferocity of the attack. Carethas hit his opponent’s sword from his hand and cutting a long wound on his hand. However, it was only when Iren tried to regain his weapon and Carethas started his next attack, ready to beat his opponent in this moment of glory. It was at this moment when he realized that his sword started to blaze once again and heard the song of the battle in his ears. Carethas was more than happy to see that he had managed to recall his powers in this manner, proving his capability to wield his strength in this way. He was prepared to force Iren to surrender… until the other man managed to get his sword and parry the hit at the final moment.
However, that brief save didn’t shield Iren for long. Carethas’ hit bypassed his defense and his weapon sank into the other man’s shoulder. However, the other man wasn’t done just yet. He could feel the calmness conquer his mind, and in complete serenity in the middle of the battle, the Light started to engulf the weapon that was still buried in his flesh and in shock even to the cadet himself, the pain left his chest immediately. It was if it had been healed… but Osran hadn’t moved a finger during the whole fight. But… he couldn’t have possibly done it, could he? The duo’s mutual surprise was interrupted by their trainer’s voice behind them.
“Well done, both of you! While I could say a lot about your handlings of the sword, the most important thing here is that you got the grasp of what you are doing with the Light. Not only did you manage to use it without absolute danger but you also showed your strengths in handling this gift.” The crusader said in a cryptic voice, prompting asking looks from the two younger men. They didn’t seem to be the least of idea what Osran was getting at but Carethas asked him with an unsure voice.
“Do… do you mean… that this one fight showed what we can do with the Light and what we cannot?” The former villager asked from the knight who looked at him in a judging look.
“You can learn to master all parts of this power in due time but for now, yes, it does show where you should start your training. You seemed to excel in using the Light to take the fight to the enemy and in trying to vanquish your foe. All the while, Iren, you managed to keep your calm and undo your wounds using the holy power you carry. You are more fit to heal the others’ injuries and bless your comrades in the midst of the battle. You both have clear gifts in these arts and I’m sure you’ll use them for the good of the order. Now…” At this point, Osran words were interrupted by a female voice from the door of the room. She was a trusted courier, one of those who were honored enough to carry the messages between the leaders of the city. The aging knight was immediately taken aback by this as her presence seemed to indicate that something was wrong.
“Crimson Legionary Lowriver! The Crusader Lord demands your presence in the fortress immediately!” The woman called to Osran who frowned deeply at this interruption. Not only was he disappointed to have his training session cancelled because of this development but he was also worried about the reason of this meeting. Had Valdemar learned about his mission from Redpath? The paladin felt his mind run cold at the thought but he knew he had no choice. He had to attend
the meeting and see what was wrong. It was highly unlikely that he had been revealed just yet.
“Thank you for the message. As for you two, I’m terribly sorry by this interruption but I’m required elsewhere. I’ll see if I can return at some point but for now, just continue to hone your skill with the Light. Do whatever helps you to develop those skills. You will need them soon enough.” Not waiting for an answer from the duo, Osran followed the courier to the meeting, deeply hoping that the worst possibility wouldn’t come to pass.
None of the officers present were happy to have another meeting called only hours after the conclusion of the last one but the situation simply called for it. Valdemar had received another letter from Stratholme and its contents were far from what the Crusader Lord would have wanted. His face was the mask of outrage, deeply insulted by the Grand Crusader’s newest order. Just as he had thought he had known what Dathrohan was after came another, even more crushing order. He was being told to assemble his troops again and to take Corin’s Crossing the very next day! Who did the Grand Crusader he was?
The Crusader Lord rubbed the corner of his eye as he waited for his officers to arrive. He had heard Redpath wouldn’t be attending this time but it seemed like most of the others would. Demetria was already in the room as was Brigitte Abbendis who Dathrohan had sent along with the courier. Her presence brought another concern to Valdemar who was increasingly being tested by the autocratic Grand Crusader. Had he sent the younger Abbendis to spy on him or to give him orders? Daughter of the High General or not, she would have to stay away from his path or answer to him personally.
Another person present was a former noble who had ruled over the former county of Northern Darrowmere bordering the lost lands of Quel’Thalas. Nicholas Zverenhoff still liked to be referred to as duke, a favor which most of his comrades, including Valdemar, were more than happy to provide him. He had been a major ally to Valdemar who had wished to continue their old alliance even after Nicholas’ domain had crumbled under the horde of the Scourge and he was another commander of Tyr’s Hand these days. That left only Osran who had earned the right to attend these meeting due to his new promotion. Valdemar had been surprised to hear that he had seemingly taken training the new recruits to his shoulders. Valdemar smiled at his old friend’s fortitude but the earlier meeting with him still bothered him. Osran had seemed extremely odd earlier, almost too eager to show his support to his cause. He had seemed very unnatural back then and Valdemar had to wonder what had been wrong back then. The Crusader’s Lord gaze rose up from the tale when he heard the door open and Osran walk in to the room.
“My greetings to all of you. Am I late?” Osran asked in a steady voice, more than realizing that his cards would be abysmal if anyone suspected him of working against the city’s mater. To his relief, nothing among those attending seemed to implicate anything like that. He was extremely relieved to hear Nicholas answer to his in his usual low voice.
“We were waiting for you, Lowriver. Sit down so we may start.” The former duke said in an impatient voice, seemingly worried about Valdemar’s invitation. None of those in the room knew anything about this instance and they waited eagerly to hear the explanation. Valdemar looked at his officers with a long and serious stare before he relieve their curiosity.
“My honored officers, I’ve invited you here to tell about yet another overstepping of Dathrohan’s authority. Without further words, he ordered us to take Corin’s Crossing TOMORROW! Doesn’t he realize that we are simply not ready! I have every right to decline this order!” The Crusader Lord hit his fist to the table as a gesture of his outrage. At this point, most of his respect to the Grand Crusader were vanishing at a rapid rate. In his mind, even pulling out from the Crusade didn’t seem like an impossible idea. Id Dathrohan wasn’t ready to cooperate, then all hopes of a meaningful war machine would be vanquished. The other leaders assembled looked at Valdemar in surprise, Zverenhoff being the first to open his mouth.
“I agree! We have to pull the line here and now! We cannot let that bastard overstep his authority at our expense. If this is how the Crusade works, I want nothing to do with it!” The noble said, clearly behind his words. He had been a close ally and supporter to the Crusader Lord and he knew how this kind of overstepping by the Grand crusader must feel for another proud lord. However, the meeting grew considerably more tense after the next speaker. Brigitte Abbendis made her presence known in an unusually diplomatic way but it was still enough to take the situation further towards an all-out fight.
“If this is how your city works, we will never stand a chance! I know you have your own ideas on how we should proceed but this for the good of all of us. I hope you can see that without Tyr’s Hand’s participation, Lordaeron is as good as lost!” The younger Abbendis said in a steady voice, willing to advance her cause without taking the situation further towards confrontation. She wasn’t prepared to compromise in any way but even she knew that there was no use in provoking the others too much too quickly. However, she was very disappointed as she heard the next answer.
“Then it is with an even better reason that Dathrohan sticks to his promises! Does he seriously think he can say anything and expect me to follow him like a damned dog? As I said, that won’t happen and I’m not about to agree to this outrage. Tell the Grand Crusader to make a better offer or he’ll have to do without Tyr’s Hand’s help!” At this point, it clear that the situation was reaching dangerous levels of tension but none of the others wished to partake in the duo’s fight just yet. Abbendis looked at Valdemar in clear disappointment and she answered immediately.
“If you think you are too good to obey the Grand Crusader, you’re terribly mistaken, Crusader Lord. Dathrohan sent me here to make sure that everything goes according to plan and I’m planning to see it to the end! I’ll tell it right now that pulling out of this campaign isn’t an option!”” These words brought momentary silence to the hall as Valdemar thought about the younger Abbendis’ words. Had she just claimed he had no right to rule this city in any way? Had she just said what he had feared all along? Valdemar rose up from his chair as he yelled to his guest.
“You have no right to command me, girl! If you think you are the leader here, I ask you to leave immediately! I won’t allow anyone to steal my city from me, not Dathrohan and not you! This is my domain and no one, not even Abbendis’ daughter, will change that fact!” The Crusader Lord yelled in a loud voice, silencing everyone else present but Abbendis. Osran looked at the duo in fear, hoping that this meeting wouldn’t escalate much further. The younger leader belonged to the Crimson Legion and he knew his duty lied with her but he certainly didn’t want to stand up to Valdemar like this. It simply wasn’t something he wanted to do. The paladin looked in concern as Abbendis answered to Valdemar’s comment.
“Steal your city? Why would I do it when I have the Grand Crusader’s authority to make his will known here! As always, you will be leading these troops but we cannot negotiate about launching the attack! The future of Scarlet Bastion is at stake here and your pride won’t strip us from our holy sanctuary and our homeland!” Brigitte said in a loud voice, earning another hateful glance from Valdemar. Nicholas was about to answer but Osran was first. The aging paladin wished to make his stance clear before letting the situation go too far. He tried to sound as polite as he only could but he could feel the poisonous atmosphere tangibly as he spoke.
“With all due respect, younger general Abbendis, Tyr’s Hand will stand behind its lord as it always has. However, I trust that Dathrohan isn’t pulling us by the strings as he wills. We expect a more reasonable offer from him than mere direct orders. This isn’t a mutiny but a righteous request.” Osran cringed as he spoke, fearing he was giving too much away to Valdemar in this situation. Brigitte’s expression confirmed his fears but neither was Valdemar happy with his old friend’s words. He had expected more support from him, not any vague statements calling for negotiations at this point. Still, the female looked at Osran with an odd look before he answered.
“His first and only proposal is more than fair to everyone here. As I said, we have no will to overthrow you, honored Crusader Lord, but we expect you to follow our lead. Dathrohan simply cannot begin asking his officers about these kinds of decisions. You must understand it yourself and I know you must understand our stance. This matter isn’t up for debate!” Abbendis said in a storming voice. However, it wasn’t received well by Nicholas.
“As isn’t our position here! It is futile for you to think that we can be manipulated to give up the rights we were promised! How stupid you think we are?” The noble asked in a toxic voice, knowing that he had a point. Valdemar nodded to him before continuing where he left.
“Exactly. These kinds of arrangements would never end in our favor. Yes, I understand that Dathrohan needs to do tough decisions but not this clearly on our expense! His requests are purely outrageous! I could n…” At this point, the Crusader Lord’s words interrupted by a pained voice. Osran decided to interrupt his old friend’s words as he looked at him in clear resolution.
“And if we decline, what then? The last Light-blessed district of Stratholme falls and hundreds of our comrades will be slaughtered! What’s even worse, we could become enemies of the Crusade and a conflict between us would be a blessing to the Lich King! That cannot be allowed to happen!” The knight hated himself for saying those words but he had as little personal options here as Tyr’s Hand had in regard to the Crusade. Valdemar looked at Osran in shock, his eyes communicating deep betrayal. He was about to answer when Demetria joined Osran in his stance.
“Our fate is tied to that of Lordaeron, my lord. No matter what, we cannot leave it as point. It is the Light’s will and demand.” The priestess said in a silent but steady voice. Valdemar looked at her and Osran for a long time, not willing to believe what he was just hearing. Were two of his most trusted officers really standing against him?
“You two… are you seriously suggesting me to back down? Should I bow before this child and give up the city we have built for years? Is that what you want?” The lord retorted sharply, willing to get to the bottom of this. At this point, he wanted nothing but the pure truth, not any kinds of circumlocutions. Demetria’s answer confirmed his worst fears.
“The Grand Inquisitor, the head of our Church, has called us to this order and I have no choice but to trust him. You have my utmost respect, lord Valdemar, but this is a holy cause.” The priestess said in a surprisingly clear manner which chilled Osran to the bone. Before he could give his answer, Nicholas’ cry caught the attention of everyone in the room.
“How can you say that, Demetria? You haven’t met Isillien in ages and you have never served him! Valdemar is much more worthy of our loyalty than some priest who hasn’t visited here since the War! Osran, tell me that at you know what is the right thing to do here!” The former duke said in a stunned and increasingly unbelieving voice. Osran cringed heavily as he spoke. He wanted to continue his balancing act but at this point, he realized it would be far from easy. With forced words, he started to speak.
“We have to confront Dathrohan for this later but as things stand now, there’s only one way to go. We must follow Abbendis’ orders for now!” The knight knew these words would only polarize the meeting further but he said the only thing he could. However, it turned out soon that it wasn’t enough. Valdemar looked at the two in shock, realizing that Dathrohan’s conspiracy against him was moving on full speed. His words started in a restrained manner but they grew ever more raged as he continued to speak.
“I see how it is… After all this time… my old friends and comrades wish me to give up my city, your home? I’ve led it for decades with wisdom and strength and I always thought I had the backing of all of its inhabitants. Have you two really plotted against my back to surrender Tyr’s Hand to outsiders on Dathrohan’s behalf? Have I really been deceived this badly?” The Crusader Lord’s hands shook as he looked at the gathered crusaders around him. He simply couldn’t believe that the two would ever rise against him but here they were, ready to side with this outsider and plotter against him, their real Lord. His mind was already seething when he heard Osran speak to him once again.
“Please understand, Valdemar! None of us want to see it but we have to think beyond our pride! We simply have no choice but this to beat the Scourge!” Osran pleaded with a desperate voice, trying to show how much he believed in his own words. The aging knight knew that his chances of changing the mind of the stubborn lord were dwindling fast but even through all this, Valdemar was walking to his own doom and he was apparently trying to take down the whole Tyr’s Hand with him. Osran knew it was his duty to try to steer him away from this disastrous path, no matter how unlikely that endeavor would be. However, it was Nicholas who was the first to answer to Osran’s words.
“We survived for years without any pompous Crusade and we can do just well without it, Lowriver, and you know it! There’s no…” At this point Valdemar rose to stand, seemingly forgetting all restraint as he opened his mouth. It was painfully clear to everyone involved that Valdemar was beyond offended by his comrades’ decisions and his voice thundered with uncontained rage.
“All my life I have worked to safeguard Lordaeron and its remains, trying to earn my position with hard work and undying dedication to my followers. I have worked my way up to the position of a lord from a lonely peasant and I’m not planning to give it all up because some upstart demands it! On top of all this, one of my most trusted comrades and the head of Tyr’s Hand’s church have risen against me! Get away from here, all of you! I will announce this city’s withdrawal from the Crusade this evening and I will show that joke of a Grand Crusader what I think of his dictates!” The Crusader Lord yelled to the attendees, his whole body trembling with hatred and disgust at the people before him. These people he had once called his allies were in truth traitors and nothing they could say would prove it otherwise. However, the tension was only upped by another answer, this time from the younger Abbendis.
“You know what this means, don’t you Lord Valdemar? No one leaves the Crusade at this point without a price! You are a traitor to humanity and a lowly outcast! Mark my words, your reign here won’t be a long one!” Abbendis said in a calm yet enraged voice. The situation in the room didn’t stay silent for long after that statement as Valdemar’s toxic-dipping voice answered to her.
“You may try, cowards! Leave my city immediately or I’ll send you to Dathrohan without a head! Go, now!” Dathrohan hit his fist to the table as a gesture of his resolution and slowly and with concerned looks, all those assembled rose up, looking at each other in either confusion or in loathing. Abbendis’ gestures communicated deep anger before anything else and it was clear to everyone that she had meant these last words. Demetria’s unsure steps and worried look gave away her extremely conflicted mind while Nicholas’ utmost feeling seemed to be that of loathing. Loathing at the two officers who had come here to oppose their honored master and their benefactor from countless years.
Osran, however, was horrified by this sudden and unexpected escalation. Had Valdemar actually just announced his decision to withdraw from the Crusade? The knight felt like he was floating in nothingness as he approached the door. His task of keeping the situation in the city had failed horribly and as a consequence, a n easily-exploding conflict was about to be born between the Crusade and the largest remaining human city in Lordaeron.
And what about himself? He wouldn’t be able to stay in the city without revealing the entirety of his deeds to Valdemar, potentially earning him a death sentence from both Dathrohan and Valdemar while weakening the Crusade’s command structure even further. if this was what Valdemar had claimed, he would have to leave the city along with all of the forces still loyal to the Crusade. Horrific images flowed by Osran’s eyes as he exited the room. However, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a hand which quickly put a small piece of paper to his hand. Even in this hurry, Osran could see that it had been the younger Abbendis whose hand had left the message. The knight quickly looked at the message before anyone else could see anything odd in his behavior. The knight frowned slightly as he read the brief request from the general.
Meet me in the second floor of the abbey in ten minutes, Crimson Legionary. We have a few things
to discuss.
BA
Osran looked at the message in worry, knowing Abbendis’ loyalties to lie purely with the leadership of the Scarlet Bastion. The knight knew his own situation didn’t differ from hers as much but she was an outsider. She hadn’t felt the solidarity that had lived in Tyr’s hand before the first letter from Dathrohan and she didn’t bear a personal attachment to the city. And worst of all, Valdemar was merely a pawn to her, one small piece on the board of the Crusade that could be sacrificed for the greater good. Still, the knight knew he had no choice but to abide by her command. With unsure and forced steps, Osran set out for city’s great abbey.
The massive building was dimly-lighted even in the middle of the day and even if it was very modest in comparison to the cathedral and Scarlet Monastery, it was still an impressive sight and the humble home of the city’s priests. To his personal regret, Osran hadn’t visited the abbey many times but he could still guess the place where Abbendis would likely wish to meet him. The aging paladin rose the steep stairs to the second floor and headed towards one of the corridors filled with candelabrum’s and beautifully-painted windows everywhere. There were tens of doors in the corridor but to his relief, he could see that Abbendis was waiting for him already in the hallway itself. To his increasing regret, he could see that Abbendis seemed far from amused by the situation. it was she who opened the conversation.
“At least you came on time. I had feared these traitors had taken a toll on your loyalty as well, Lowriver.” The general’s voice dipped with poison and Osran could see burning rage in her eyes. Still, even in this situation, Osran wasn’t planning to completely throw away his own caution and critical thinking. Osran’s voice was calmer but just as resolute as he answered.
“This is all just a terrible misunderstanding, general Abbendis! Valdemar is a great man and a noble leader and we simply cannot discard him just yet! He’s the only one this city listens to!” Osran sizzled as he tried to calm himself and to make his stance clear to the younger leader. Abbendis frowned at those words and she answered briefly.
“He just announced he’ll leave the Crusade! That is an utmost treason and it has to be punished with death! We cannot allow any city to leave us at this point, especially Tyr’s Hand!” The woman answered quickly, prompting an increasingly uncomfortable expression from the older paladin.
“If we kill Valdemar, at least half of this city will be up in arms against the Grand Crusader! He’s the only thing gathering all of our loyalties and hopes together! He’s the only master most of this city has seen and only he has enough respect to lead the knights here!” Osran said pleadingly, knowing Abbendis was his superior and she could force her point if things ever got that far. However, it was the next words that chilled Osran even further than anything he had heard today.
“That is where you prove you’re still a novice among us, Lowriver. I guess you think Valdemar is an important leader in the Crusade, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something important about the Crimson Legion. We are the Grand Crusader’s chosen, the only ones who he or his closest friends trust. We are the ones who get his commands and we are the ones who execute them. The actual command structure of our order isn’t exactly the same as the official one.” Abbendis concluded as Osran’s mind started to register her words. Was the whole promise to Valdemar a mere lie from the beginning? Did Dathrohan never even intend to hold on to his bargain? Had his old friend only been Dathrohan’s pawn all along? The situation dawned slowly on him and the knight was far from happy about this development.
“But… that’s a complete outrage! We have to trust each other if we are going to beat the Scourge! The Crusade can’t be led by a secret group that’s unknown to the common soldier! Even the Horde had its own secret leadership, the Shadow Council! If we follow in their footsteps, how can we ever claim to be better than the orcs?” Osran said in a higher but still restrained voice to Abbendis who looked at him in growing disapproval.
“Snap out of those dreams, Lowriver! You’ve seen it yourself how the servants of the Lich King and the Banshee Queen have penetrated our ranks and how hard it is to measure which peasants are infected with the Plague and which ones aren’t! The Crimson Legion’s true creed is a secret because of that very reason! As long as we are a secret to our comrades, we will be a secret to our enemies as well! Also, Dathrohan can’t lead us if we, his hand, won’t obey him without question. The Crusade needs a secure and flexible core which is protected from all vile influences!” The woman spoke quickly in an annoyed voice, prompting another determined answer from Osran.
“That may be but we can’t lay down our whole fate on his shoulders! I know Dathrohan’s feats but he’s still only one man and capable of mistakes! Can’t you see that his absolute rule will only lead to further conflicts with the nobles and lower our morale? We will get rid of each and every traitor but Valdemar or the other leaders aren’t asking too much!” The aging paladin said, prompting a disappointed look from Abbendis. She took a long breath before she answered to this outburst.
“You still don’t get it? This city is the only one who causes us problems! Whitemane has already pledged herself to us, Taelan is too stupid or naÔve to realize he’s being manipulated and Light’s Hope lacks any real leader who could bargain with us! Valdemar has been a thorn on the Crusade’s side for too long and we aren’t going to do compromises because of one man!” Abbendis said to the man who seemed increasingly fatigued by this argument. He was surprised to hear how easily the other cities had pledged themselves to Dathrohan’s direct service. Osran knew his hand was getting rather empty here.
“Very well. I can see that this thing has already been decided but even then, we have to hold on to Valdemar. I think there might be a way we could get him to cooperate with us. Mark my words, even if we could stage a coup d’Ètat here, things wouldn’t be easy. Too many things depend on him.” Osran regained his composure as he tried to calm down. He was treading on dangerous waters and earning the general’s hostility would do very little to help him in the long run. Abbendis was happy to see Osran backing down from his initial argument but she could still see Osran was clinging to his rather strongly. Still, she decided to give him a chance.
“The Grand Inquisitor put a lot of faith on you when he invited you to join the Legion. I trust you are worthy of that honor. Tell me what you plan on doing.” It was clear that Abbendis was far from convinced but Osran was happy to see that it was possible to find a middle ground with her. Osran put his hand on his scabbard as he begun to speak.
“Valdemar may be proud and stubborn but he’s not stupid. As long as his announcements are not made public, he still has a chance to back down. Even if the meeting was far from helpful, I think there is still a chance he would listen to me if I place my words right. But that means I’ll have to tell him the truth about my new charge and about the necessity of the situation. And I think there’s still one more thing working in our favor if all else fails: the one thing Valdemar fears is losing everything he has earned in his long years of service: this city. We may be able to convince him even that way if we make our case clear enough. This is a long shot but the Crusader Lord has earned a second chance.” The determination and strength in Osran’s words seemed to change something Abbendis’ composure as she pondered he older knight’s words. They seemed genuine and even if it contained a huge risk of leaking important information, Abbendis was beginning to believe in the benefits of a softer approach in containing the rebellious lord.
“Very well, Lowriver. I trust in your judgement but don’t think I’ll simply think I’ll trust in your trustworthiness just yet. I’ll take a few of my soldiers around the meeting place and if he won’t see things our way, we’ll show no mercy to the traitor. Is that clear?” The younger crusader asked in a slow voice, willing to make her point as clear as possible. Osran felt his fears rise immediately at her words, knowing that this was it. As if on accident, he had recently given up so much of his past and honor and if he would be forced to slay his old friend, nothing would remain of the Osran who had served Tyr’s Hand without selfish thoughts or doubts about his loyalties. On his stead would appear a cunning, murderous agent of the Grand Crusader who could never again call himself a servant of the Light and all that was good in Azeroth. That thought sickened the knight to the bone but he was relieved he had been given a chance to avoid that grisly future. He could only hope he’d be able to take it.
“It is, general Abbendis. Gather your soldiers and meet me near the central keep in half an hour. There’s one thing I’d like to do before we begin.” Osran said to Abbendis who seemed somewhat irritated by the delay but she simply nodded before leaving the corridor, preparing for the coming ordeal. Osran on the other hand, knew it was his time to report to Isillien as a major development had happened that he needed to know about. Even if there was no time for any courier to ride to Hearthglen and back in time, Osran needed to know as quickly as possible if the plans had been affected in any way by the event. This was a time when Osran knew it was his duty to send such a note. He went on to sit on a small table in the back of the corridor and with pained, forced movements he started to write.
To Honored Grand Inquisitor Isillien
Far too much has happened since I last reported to you and some of the recent developments have reached magnitudes none of us could have ever imagined. As you know, the Crusader Lord has never been one to accept our methods and the recent decision by the Grand Crusader to redeploy Tyr’s Hand’s troops without Valdemar’s acceptance finally took us near the point of no return. Still, it felt like things might become calmer again and in the meantime, I started to train our new cadets with new, harsh methods Uther would never have accepted as I felt it was the only way I could prepare them for the coming battles. But that’s only of secondary importance as it is the next development is what I wanted to report.
To my deepest shame, my mission to calm down the situation in Tyr’s Hand has failed. While I must second the Crusader Lord’s sentiment¥s that the Grand Crusader’s delegate in this delicate time wasn’t ideal, I will do all that I can to bring him back to line with our plans. I beg your deepest pardon for my failure in containing the situation but believe me when I assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to defend the peace in this city. Either I will make Valdemar see reason or this will be my last report from Tyr’s Hand. I pray for Light’s guidance in assuring the latter won’t come to pass.
OL
Osran cringed heavily at his last sentences but he had promised himself he wouldn’t let Valdemar go to his grave alone. If things ever got that bad, Osran knew he’d align with the Crusader Lord, no matter how foolish that decision might look from an outsider’s point of view. Still, the aging crusader wanted to see himself as a man of honor and killing his old friend in cold blood would be the last plunge into the world of shame and darkness for him. No matter what, this was one last privilege he decided to retain regardless of the consequences.
The crusader quickly run towards the stairs and headed for the main door of the abbey. Like every member of the Legion, he always had a courier waiting for his messages near the gates who were usually disguised as ordinary guardsmen. Osran quickly walked towards one of them whom he recognized due to the courier’s slightly unorthodox boots which were more suitable to riding than fighting but which were not enough to raise any doubts among the other guards. Osran moved close to the guard and spoke to him silently in order to not raise suspicion.
“Are you ready to ride for Hearthglen? The Grand Inquisitor must have this message without any delay!” The knight asked to which the man only nodded in approval.
“That’s my job, servant of the Crimson Legion. I’ll be on my way right away.” The courier said and Osran handed his letter to the man. Unlike official letters of the Crusade, these secret notes bore no insignias or anything that implicated about the importance of the message. The messengers were chosen from the absolutely most trustworthy of crusaders so worrying about them wasn’t a concern. The courier took the paper and put it quickly to his bag. Before leaving for the stables, he spoke to Osran one more time.
“I’ll return as soon as I can, crusader Lowriver. Serve the Grand Crusader well until then.” The messenger said to which Osran only answered in slight worry.
“May the Light guide your path through those cursed lands. Good luck.” Osran wished as the courier saluted and left the aging crusader to himself. Now, everything he had worked for hanged in the balance as he’d have to meet Abbendis shortly. The clouded sky seemed to weigh down upon him immensely as he slowly started to force his steps towards the stronghold of the city’s lord. Soon enough it would be seen whether he’d live on as a man of honor or die as a despicable traitor.
The fledgling distrust within the Crusade's leadership has finally escalated into open hostility and there's a real chance it could begin to tear the whole order apart. Osran's position is extremely volatile in the face of his broken friendship and failed mission but is he able to survive the situation that has come to pass? As always, I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter and see you next time! :)
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The First Step
The walls of Tyr’s Hand’s keep stood proudly in the middle of the city, it’s massive form casting an imposing presence on the surrounding landscape. For years it had been the center of the resistance to the Lich King as the center of the mighty, defiant city. However, that spell had been recently broken for Osran who moved towards the castle. Uncharacteristically for him, he had shrouded his head with a thick hood in order to hide his true identity for as long as he simply was able. In addition to it, he had covered his tabard and armor with a brown robe to draw the attention away from himself.
The knight looked at the people around himself with an apologetic look, regretting the mission he had assigned for himself. However, the knight was far past the point of no return as any failure to do his duties at this point would lead to both his own death and to a serious disaster to the Crusade itself. With forced steps and clearly anxious expression, Osran headed towards a small house near to the entrance of the mighty castle, knowing that Brigitte Abbendis was most likely there, waiting for Osran before they’d start their dangerous task. Abbendis looked at Osran with suspicious eyes as he approached her.
“I hope you’re up to this, Lowriver. I don’t want to see even a flicker of hesitation or regret within you. The Crusader Lord will either budge or fall. Is that clear?” The younger paladin asked Osran whose nerves were slowly being tested by the constant suspicion and angered remarks. Osran frowned at her antics, willing to keep his own dignity while still affirming his commitment to the mission.
“That is what we decided, general, but don’t think I’m your servant. I’ll do my part if you keep silent and lead your men wisely. I don’t want this to turn to a bloodbath and you’d better make sure that won’t be the case. Most of these people don’t mean anything to you but I assure, each one of the paladins around us is a true asset to the Crusade.” Osran spoke silently, the hood partly covering his worried eyes from Abbendis. The younger paladin looked at Osran for a moment and returned the sharp remark.
“That was the plan but there can be no bargaining about this if things begin going against us. We go as far as we can peacefully but once the tide turns against us, I am not going to spare anyone.” Abbendis said, her eyes gleaming with the anticipation of taking the fight to the renegade noble. Osran knew there was nothing to be gained from reasoning with the general at this point and he merely nodded to her slightly, his beard being close to the only thing the other crusaders saw of his face in the house’s shadow. He then answered briefly.
“Understood, Abbendis. But there’s one last thing: we can’t take more than four of your fighters with us without raising too much unwanted attention. The others will have to stay here.” Abbendis felt her heart sink at this comment but it was true: eight “bodyguards” could seem suspicious for the guards. Her low voice snarled one last time before she headed towards the entrance she and Osran had agreed to use.
“Very well. But let us not waste more time. Every second I waste here fighting with you is another second closer to our order’s dissolution. Follow me!”
The keep had only one primary entrance which was used by nearly all of those who wished to enter the citadel. However, Osran knew the guards would most likely recognize Abbendis even in disguise and there was no way they’d reach the Crusader Lord without becoming overpowered. That left only one another option to enter the stronghold: a little-known tunnel from the Cathedral. Its mouth was in the bishop’s private room which had been abandoned ever since the death of the last holder of that office during the Third War. It was very little known and there was only a handful of people still living who knew of its existence anymore. Osran knew Valdemar was one of them but he still liked to believe his old friend didn’t expect him to infiltrate the castle. Osran felt miserable, knowing he was about to prove his friend’s trust misplaced. The aging paladin led the group of six towards the Cathedral which had no guards at this point. Osran kept his eyes in the floor in front of him but he felt Abbendis’ eyes observing his every movement, clearly fearful that his loyalties were still conflicted.
A few of the clerics in the room looked at the group in slight interest, wondering why such a host had entered their quarters. Still, they stayed silent as it wasn’t a completely unprecedented sight. Even if they usually stayed on their own areas, they would enter the cathedral once in a while. Osran was more than grateful he or Abbendis need to explain anything to the priests as the seemed to stay preoccupied on their own tasks.
“Follow me. The tunnel begins under the western part of the church where the room is.” The hooded crusader said to Abbendis who didn’t answer to his comment. Osran entered one of the doorways opening from the main hall of the church and headed towards the side room. However, there could be heard a silent curse as Osran noticed something unexpected and highly unwanted.
“The damn door’s locked! Can any of you open it?” If there was one thing Osran had never excelled, it was the small-scale tinkering that needed stable and swift hands. Luckily, one of Abbendis’ aides stepped forward, almost pushing Osran aside as he approached the door. He quickly pulled a picklock from his pocket and hit the door in a gentle flick. The man then kneeled before the door while the other crusaders tried to act as normally as they could in order to not raise suspicion. It was only half a minute before the door quickly opened, the creak making most of the soldiers cringe in anxiety.
“Enter, now! We don’t have all day!” None of the five others hesitated for a moment and they quickly entered the room. It was a small but rather small but cozy looking hall that was now seeming abandoned this had been the room of the last bishop of Tyr’s Hand and the long absence of his successor was apparent. The entire room was covered in dust and there were spider webs everywhere. The windows were unclear with the dirt of the years but luckily, Osran knew exactly where the mouth of the tunnel would be.
“There it is, under the bed. Help me move it before we’re found!” Osran said as another of Abbendis’ followers moved to raise the heavy bed. Under it lied apparently nothing of interest but the aging crusader knew better. He put his hand to the ground and shortly, he found a small hole in the floor. With growing relief, Osran moved the switch and slowly and carefully, the hatch opened and revealed dark entrance to the underground. Abbendis turned to the others, willing to quickly explain what she and her followers were going to do.
“As all of you know, Lordaeron has never built a fortress which doesn’t have an emergency exit or some trick which catch the enemy off guard. If Osran’s words are correct, this tunnel will lead to the keep’s dungeon, opening us a way to enter the building without any kind of security check. However, we won’t be allowed out of the dungeon without questions. That is our first dangerous part: we have to take the guards out before they can ask any questions. But don’t kill them: they will still be valuable comrades to us once the rotten head is cut off.” Abbendis took a small pause, earning a disapproving look from Osran. There was no way he could defend Valdemar but it didn’t make Abbendis’ words any more pleasant. As an effort to promote his own position in the small group, Osran continued where Abbendis had stopped.
“After we enter the ground floor, we should split up and head towards Valdemar’s room from two directions, each group lead by one either me or the general. Try to maintain the peace but if problems arise, you have to defend yourselves but don’t attack Valdemar before I get there. Otherwise the main objective of this mission is going to fail. I trust things are clear to everyone?” Abbendis had explained the plan to his followers earlier and to his slight relief, Osran didn’t see anyone’s faces twitching. It was actually somewhat ironic: just over an hour ago, he had been addressing the new cadets with similar words but in a completely different situation. Only a while ago, everything had seemed easy and peaceful enough but now he was surrounded by suspicious agents who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if it suited their needs. Osran had known he had played on large bets when he joined the Crimson Legion but only now did the whole truth dawn on him.
“Very well, follow me! Oleria, light the torch.” One of the paladins took the torch from her belt and quickly lighted it and headed first towards the tunnel. Abbendis waited for the others to go but apparently Osran had similar ideas. With an impatient voice, Abbendis spoke to Osran.
“Go there, now! I can never be too careful with the traitor’s friends.” Osran snorted in outrage but he had no choice. With slow steps, the bearded knight entered the deep tunnel, following the light ahead of him. There would be no way to see around oneself in the pitch-black tunnel which bore no sources of illumination. It was surrounded by naked ground, and large cockroaches and spiders crawled mere inches from the crusaders’ faces. Still, that was far from enough to dissuade any of them from their goal. Some of the knights nearly tripped over a few branches that stuck out far from the ground but they managed to regain their balance soon enough.
After a few minutes’ careful walk, the tunnel started to rise again steeply and it wasn’t long before a hatch could be seen on the cavern’s ceiling. The torch-bearing crusader looked at it for a moment, trying to find a way to open the way to the world above. After a few, fleeting seconds, the silence was broken by the woman’s silent and stern voice.
“This is it, everyone. The cells are above us and once I open the hatch, there’s no turning back. Are all of you ready?” The voice that was a mere whisper to begin with nearly sank into the darkness as the paladin spoke but it was just loud enough so everyone could hear it. No looks or words of regret could be heard among the attackers as Abbendis answered angrily.
“Of course we are! And, as a warning to you all, the one who ruins this mission will answer to me before the end! Now, open it!” Abbendis cast a murdering glance at the foremost knight and she merely nodded hastily. Hardly the meekest of creaks could be heard as the hatch begun to rise and the pale light of the torches in the dungeon cast their gleam into the opening tunnel. The woman quickly jumped up to the jail and each one of her companions followed her instantly. Osran looked around himself briefly before he could tell their exact location.
“This is the deepest part of the dungeon and there are hardly ever guards or prisoners down here. Follow me, I know where we should go!” Osran said as he thought about the keep’s interior in his mind. The aging paladin quickly entered the corridor and turned left. The other infiltrators wasted no time following him as they drew out their weapons in anticipation of the possible confrontation.
Osran was pleased to see that his memory hadn’t failed him. In the darkness before him could be seen the wooden stairs that led to the main part of the jail and after it, to the ground floor of the keep. The paladin quickly slowed down his running as he reached the top part of the stairs, knowing that this floor would probably contain at least a few guards. He could see that Abbendis knew it also as she moved to follow him. Osran pulled the hood from his head, knowing that his identity would most likely confuse the guards long enough. Osran knew he was sacrificing his good name and honor-bound relationships to the unity of the Crusade but that was a price he was willing to pay.
“Follow me but try to remain unseen. I’ll handle this part.” Osran said as he heard distant speech in the next corridor, implicating there was at least guards gathered there to play cards, most likely. The other crusaders did as was told, Abbendis knowing Osran wouldn’t do anything funny if it would endanger the lives of his comrades. The general wasn’t by no means a stranger to these kinds of sentiments but her father and the ordeals she’d been through had taught her to bury her personal feelings under her drive to eradicate the curse of undeath wherever it could be found.
Osran walked in as normal way as he only could towards the guards and suddenly, to the ultimate surprise of the trio, he interrupted their game quickly.
“Greetings to all of you. Has there been anything to report?” Osran cringed as he asked but he knew this was as good an opening as any. One of the gathered men looked at Osran in a stunned look, the obvious questions rising to his mind instantly.
“Osran? What are you doing here and why were you in the lower dungeon? Weren’t you supposed to be training the cadets?” The man asked, frowning heavily as Osran moved closer to them. The knight’s expression didn’t change at all as he heard those questions, as two of Abbendis’ bodyguards appeared from the darkness. It was clear they were warriors of the Crusade but it wasn’t enough to alarm the guards just yet, especially if Osran was with them. They had heard of Valdemar’s outburst but they weren’t quite ready to accept its finality. However, Osran’s next words started to quickly raise their fears.
“I received a far more important task and believe me, I’m doing it for all of us. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt.” Suddenly, the two strongly-built knights attacked the trio alongside with Osran and the defenders didn’t manage to draw their weapons in time. Osran’s sword’s scabbard hit the first guard to his head after which Osran threw him to the ground, only to give another hit to the man’s head. Osran’s companions did the same and it was mere seconds when the three guards were lying on the ground, unconscious. The paladin cringed at the sight of his comrades’ bleeding heads but he was thankful he had survived without being forced to kill the poor guards.
“You two, follow me! The rest, go with Osran! Remember our plan! We have no room for mistakes!” Abbendis said as she took her followers with her. Both of the new groups quickly headed out of the jail and immediately following their exit from the dungeon, they went their separate ways. Most of the human keeps had stairs to the upper floors on both sides of the building, the symmetrical structure familiar to every soldier who had ever served a human kingdom. When the groups reached Valdemar’s floor, they’d unite once again and push the renegade leader against the wall.
At this point, Osran and his two followers walked rather slowly, knowing that the guards wouldn’t stop them at this point. They knew nothing of the episode in the dungeon and because of their ignorance, they thought the crusaders had passed the safety control at the main door. Also, their old comrades’ presence was far from unusual within the keep so the calm was preserved.
None of the three could believe their luck as they approached the upper floors of the castle. Osran tried to avoid showing his concern to the guards and he did his all to walk in his normal, graceful pace as if nothing was wrong. To the paladin’s puzzlement, there were even less paladins patrolling Valdemar’s floor. Could he truly be that lucky that he could simply walk to the Crusader Lord’s office without being interrupted. However, those hopes were crushed quickly when the three moved on head to their final destination. From the side rooms quickly appeared two strongly-built and heavily-armored knights who looked at the newcomers in deep suspicion.
“Crusader Lord Valdemar doesn’t wish to be interrupted right now! Turn around and leave immediately!” One of the men said in a loud voice, his brutish gestures bringing cold sweat to even Osran’s forehead. However, the paladin wasn’t about to turn back now. He frowned at the comment and answered in as resolute and strong voice as he simply could.
“Our business with him is more than urgent, good knight. I give you my word that he won’t wish to decline this audience.” Osran said, knowing that there was a good chance Valdemar’s personal guards would remember his words at the meeting only two hours ago. To his disappointment, he soon saw he was right.
“I beg to differ, traitor. Valdemar said that especially you nor your new friends are to be let near him. So, leave now, or we’ll show what it means to turn your back to our lord and our city!” The two armored paladins said as they raised their weapons. Osran knew he had already lost this war of words but he wasn’t about to turn around. Too much was at stake for him to falter at this point. He was about to take a terrible step but for some reason, it didn’t seem to bother the bearded crusader anymore. He had already suffered too much for his new allegiance to care.
“This isn’t up to debate! We will meet Valdemar!” Osran said as suddenly cast a powerful judgement of Light against the rightmost defender, determined to knock him out with one hit. The tall man visibly thrown back by this hit but the surprise attack didn’t knock him out. After regaining his balance, the man raised his axe and raised his hand to return the favor to Osran. Light filled the narrow corridor as the larger man begun to advance towards Osran with terrible, brutal power. The weapon sank into the walls as the massive knight did his all to smash the traitor before him.
The only relief for Osran was to see his two companions taking on the other guard, even if they seemed to struggle in their efforts to stand their ground. Osran knew he would have to turn the tables against their enemies or all would be lost. Osran dodged one last hit from the avenging wrath and concentrated all of his power into his sword, preparing for one, mighty hit worthy of the Crusade. When the powerful man raised his axe from the floor again, Osran saw it was his time to strike.
The blow cut through the defender’s chest armor but to his momentary horror, Osran saw that the heavily-built man had managed to stop his attack with his weapon, practically parrying his attack. However, Osran quickly regained his concentration and in a moment of great determination, the paladin quickly threw a hammer made of pure Light towards his enemy. The armored paladin looked at the weapon in fear but he didn’t have the time to stop it. The knight fell to his knees and for a moment, Osran weighed the possibility of saving him in his mind. This man was one of Valdemar’s trusted defenders and most likely a good acquaintance to him. However, Osran could see that his companions were being overpowered by their foe and with a sad acceptance, Osran realized he had no time to try to knock his opponent unconscious. With one, heavy blow Osran sank his sword into the defender’s chest, ending his struggles immediately.
The other loyalist paladin looked in growing fear as his companion fell heavily to the ground. He knew he couldn’t stand against all three attackers and Osran’s entrance to the fight quickly proved him right. it was mere seconds until the other loyalist’s battle was ended. Osran looked at the corpses, knowing all too well these were the first humans, save for necromancers, he had killed in battle and to his worry, he didn’t feel nearly as guilty as he would have wished. The men lying on the door were merely in the wrong place in the wrong time and there was no use mourning them when there was a mission to complete.
“Follow me! Now nothing stands between us and Valdemar!” The three started to run their last leg to the lord’s office and Osran’s mind worked on overdrive. Would he manage to convince Valdemar to change his mind or would his mission end in a bloodbath? The paladin could feel the blood pumping in his ears as he took the final turn to the familiar hall… only to see his old friend’s eyes staring right at his. The renegade lord wore a joyless smile accompanied by bitter thoughts and to Osran’s growing worry, he wore a full battle armor. Had he expected the group’s arrival? And if that was the case, where was Abbendis and her group? The tense silence was broken by Valdemar’s poison-dipping voice as he looked at his former friend.
“There’s no reason to even begin, Osran. I can see how it is. It’s rather brilliant actually: you return to my city on the shadow of an old comradeship, infiltrate my inner circle only to lure me into the Crusade. Afterwards, you betray me and then try to assassinate me to deliver Tyr’s Hand into the Crusade’s open arms. I can only imagine what they promised you: did Dathrohan offer to make you my successor perhaps? Well, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you break the records of the most lowly, despicable traitor I’ve ever met.” Valdemar leaned on his table while he looked at Osran with a trembling voice. Osran’s words during the meeting had raised deep suspicions about him and the Crimson Legion and the alarm he had received from his followers had confirmed his deepest fears. Osran was about to stutter as a response but he managed to regain the control of his voice right away.
“You know that isn’t true, Valdemar! It was an honor serving by your side all these years and I’m more than proud to say I called and still call you my comrade. I can only say that I never intended to see this day. All I ever did was to help in the war against the Scourge in the best way I simply could: by helping the Crusade. I’ll say it now: I chose the Crusade over your position in this city but I did it only to help the Grand Crusader beat back the Scourge!” Osran’s voice trembled with upheld emotion as it hurt him immediately to see Valdemar talk him to like this. He knew his words wouldn’t stand a chance of convincing the outraged lord but he would leave no stone unturned in this war of two former friends. Valdemar laughed in deep hate as he answered.
“And you plan on doing that by trading away all that you once claimed to respect? Tyr’s Hand stood for years as a bastion of humanity against the Scourge but I see nothing is good enough for you, Osran. You have abandoned everything to chase a dream that will never succeed and you plan to take me along with you! You won’t get away with this, I assure you, old friend!” Valdemar said as he raised his hand to give order to his troops. Osran realized immediately what the gesture meant and he shouted quickly before Valdemar could say anything.
“Wait! I have to admit that Abbendis wished to kill you but I managed to convince her to strike out a compromise between you and the Crusade! The Grand Crusader needs Tyr’s Hand’s help and Tyr’s Hand needs you to lead it! There is no other here who can lead our men to victory but you and Abbendis is willing to overlook your earlier words if you swear now your loyalty to Dathrohan. I ask you, Valdemar, accept this in the name of everything our city, what Lordaeron and what the whole world has gone through. Your title isn’t worth throwing the last remains of Lordaeron away. You know it’s the truth.” Osran said almost pleadingly, knowing that his chances of success were growing slimmer by the second.
The Crusader Lord’s mind cried out with the idea of giving the final order to attack Osran and his companions. Osran had betrayed everything the two had once believed in, his true crime perhaps not being his siding with the Crusade but the keeping his plans from his old friend and at the very last by engaging in this coup attempt against the city’s rightful lord. At this point, Valdemar knew Osran had stepped too far and even if his own emotions fought against the idea, he knew Osran was beyond pardoning. The Grand Crusader and his followers had betrayed him and as the city’s master, Valdemar had to show what happened to traitors. His voice grew slightly less enraged but it took a more final, heavyhearted tone to it. Before opening his mouth, the lord closed his eyes and tried to calm down to his best ability.
“Even after all of this, I’d like to believe you, Osran. You always made it seem like your path was the pure one and you were always there by my side in the battlefield. But look at you now: can you truly call your choice the correct one? You joined headlong to Saidan’s organization and after only a few days, you are here murdering your own comrades in his name. Do you think the Osran who nobly lead the survivors of Northdale here would have agreed with you? Is this what Uther and Alonsus would have wanted?” The room had grown silent, each one of those present understanding how much was depending on the two paladins’ debate. Could the battle still be avoided? Who would take the first step to a full-fledged battle?
Osran, on his part, as seriously taken aback by his former friend’s words. It was true that a lot had happened since those days and he had given up a lot of his former honor and it was true that the Osran of old would never had done but he was doing now. Uther would probably strip him of his paladin’s powers in an instant along with the Crusade’s leaders but even them, Osran didn’t forget for a moment his reason for being here. He had repeated them in his mind over and over and now, the aging knight felt like he had the courage to answer.
“It isn’t and it is far from what I would have wanted even now either. But can’t you see? This is about so much more than mine or your personal wishes! This is about the future of Lordaeron and humanity and for that, I’m willing to part with my honor and past! There is nothing more important than bringing down the Lich King and ending the mockery of the house of Menethil! Together, we can do it! Uther would never have approved of this but Uther failed and we are not planning to follow him to his grave!” The paladin panted with exhaustion as he spoke to the rebellious lord in a quick voice, willing to make his point as clear as possible. Valdemar looked at him with a thoughtful look and even if Osran’s words raised some dreamlike thoughts in his mind, Valdemar was not willing to follow his friend on his new path. He looked at the Crimson Legionary for a moment before he answered in a heavy voice.
“That is what you believe. I, on my part, have seen that Dathrohan will lead us only to defeats like in Northrend and then he uses those disasters to consolidate his own power and crush all that question him. This Crusade won’t succeed, Osran, and I will follow him no longer. I’m sorry it will end like this but you chose your own fate, my old friend. Attack, now! Leave no traitors alive!” Suddenly, there erupted dozens of knights still loyal to Valdemar from the lower floors and they easily overpowered Osran and his companions. However, the left stairs remained empty, indicating that Abbendis was keeping part of the reinforcements at bay for now. Still, that helped little if he was forced to fight in this large disadvantage. The crusader knew there was only one option to him left: he had to beat Valdemar and force him to listen. He roared quickly in clear fear as he started his attack.
“Follow me! No matter what, we must bring the Crusader Lord down! Keep his bodyguards in check!” The two crusaders quickly run towards the guards surrounding Valdemar while Osran set his sights on his old friend. Valdemar narrowed his eyes as he knew he’d have to repel Osran’s attack and his reinforcements would take care of the rest. The paladin knew this all too well as well and he decided to put all of his strength to bringing his opponent to his needs.
Similarly to High General Abbendis, Valdemar wasn’t a full-fledged paladin. He had some command of the Light and he could infuse his weapon with the holy strength but his true forte was his command of his sword. He wasn’t even particularly strong but his mastery of his weapon as well as his infinite knowledge of the art of dueling had cost many of his opponents’ their lives. Osran of course knew all of this and he tried to gain an early advantage by casting a bluish judgement on his enemy as well as paralyzing him for a moment with a powerful hammer of justice. Osran, however, was too late to make a true breakthrough. His sword only cut a moderate wound to Valdemar’s stomach before he regained his composure. Valdemar wasted no time starting his counterattack and, faithfully to his style, hit Osran’s blade with a quick strike, forcing the paladin to defend himself. After many seemingly useless maneuvers, the lord suddenly took a step forward and with an immense risk, stabbed Osran to his side with a nasty hit.
The knight cringed in pain at this point but it wasn’t long before the injury disappeared under the power of the sacred power of the Light. Osran quickly created a mighty blessing around himself, changing his main power from healing to spells. They were Valdemar’s weakness and those were what he’d need to use to win. Suddenly, a bright tempest formed around Osran’s body, knocking Valdemar towards the wall and almost felling him to the ground. Osran used this moment to cast another demonstration of the Light’s vengeance which hit Valdemar to his chest with a powerful force. Osran moved to finish the fight but to his misfortune, he left one last opening for the Crusader Lord.
“Not so fast, Osran! You always were too eager to finish the job!” Valdemar rose back to his feet, his face twisted with pain, and he managed to repel Osran’s attack and sink his sword into his old friend’s upper abdomen. Osran was stunned by the sudden pain but his mind realized that this wouldn’t be the end. With a deep breath, Osran called an impenetrable shield around himself and with one, last strike, he sent the Crusader Lord’s weapon flying to the corner of the room. With his shield wearing off, the paladin started to shine with golden light as the red pool below him slowly stopped spreading. Osran knew the fight was still on but he decided to try one last time to see if this mission held any chance of succeeding anymore.
“It’s done, Valdemar. Order your men to stop the fight and I will spare your life. I swear this on my honor as a paladin and a servant of the Light.” The knight looked in a mixture of guilt and fear as he saw the lord’s increasingly forced breathing and the depth of pain he was in. A single bitter snort came from Valdemar’s mouth as he looked at Osran.
“You threw the last vestiges of that honor away long ago. Kill me if you wish but at least I will pass away as a true servant of king Terenas, a right you no longer have. I will only say that I will never join your cursed Crusade anymore. That is not up for discussion anymore.” It was clear that Valdemar’s injuries would be lethal without healing but that mattered little to Osran at this point. All that mattered was the resolution to this conflict, one way or another.
“Very well. I did my all to prevent this from happening but it was not enough. In the name of…” The knight’s words were interrupted by a call from behind him, the voice belonging to someone whose Osran had wondered for a while now.
“Do it, now! Show no mercy to these traitors!” Osran didn’t know at first what was happening and he looked in shock as Abbendis’ words’ content dawned upon him. Nearly half of the “loyalists” in the room suddenly turned around and stabbed their comrades to their sides before they could even begin to defend themselves. A few of them managed to dodge the initial attacks but it wasn’t long before they were cut down by the turncoats. Osran, who was still holding his blade on Valdemar’s throat, couldn’t believe what he had just seen. What… how… why had this happened? To his growing numbness, Abbendis walked to the center of the room and spoke to her soldiers triumphantly.
“You have made the Grand Crusader proud this day, my warriors! The Light will whisper your names for all eternity for answering the call of the Crusade and abandoning the traitor to his fate. You’ve all done a great service to Lordaeron.” The woman said as she begun to walk towards Osran with a careful smile on her face. The man looked at her with wide eyes and his voice was unbelieving and angered as he spoke.
“You had convinced Valdemar’s own soldiers to slaughter their comrades in cold blood without telling of your plans to me? This is a disgrace! Did you ever even seek a peaceful resolution to all this or did you just use me as your pawn?” The knight knew this was a clear success from Dathrohan’s perspective but this wasn’t what he had wanted or asked for. Twenty of his comrades lied dead on the ground and his old friend would join them shortly. Abbendis continued his walk towards Osran and in a few seconds, she was at his side looking at the weakening lord.
“I would have welcomed your success, Lowriver, but I knew it was almost impossible for you to actually convince this old fool about anything. Did you truly believe I’d follow you to a certain death? There were some things I had to take care of before this endeavor.” The younger Abbendis’ eyes scoured the fallen leader as she drew her sword from its scabbard. However, Osran saw what she was going to do and quickly put his hand before her to stop her plan. The bearded man felt beyond humiliated by his own deeds as all of his remaining hopes had been proven wrong. He couldn’t even save his old friend from this fate and Abbendis had proven to be his superior in coming up with strategies. Still, he wanted to do this last gesture as a token of respect to his fallen lord.
“Let me do this, general. He deserves at least to be put to rest by my hand.” Osran said with a heavy heart, willing to his last honor to his old comrade-in-arms. He was taking another breath as Abbendis’ words stunned him completely. The woman looked before her with an expressionless face which, to Osran’s enormous surprise, seemed to even hold a small flicker of sadness to it.
“Too many have already fallen in this foolish endeavor. Valdemar’s life will be spared.” At this point the general turned around and addressed her followers in clear seriousness and calm that Osran hadn’t seen in her before.
“As I said, each one of you is a true hero of the light. However, there is one thing for us to do. We must hold a little conversation with your lord. He will receive another chance to serve the Crusade. I must request that you leave now as this is a matter we have to do by ourselves. We will make an announcement to the entire city soon.” The crusaders looked at her in slight disappointment but they knew better than to question the general’s order. They quickly left for the lower floors leaving Abbendis, Osran and Valdemar alone in the hall that had once served as the Crusader Lord’s sanctum. The weakening crusader tried to rise to a sitting position as he spoke in a forced and resolute voice.
“My position remains unchanged, traitors. I will never serve your evil purposes. Kill me now as there’s nothing you can gain about this meeting.” The lord’s face was pained as he struggled to speak and in a surprisingly kind voice, Abbendis approached him.
“That is where you are mistaken, Valdemar. We offered you many chances to cooperate with us but each time you threw that chance away. However, Tyr’s Hand really needs you but we cannot keep you as a burden for the rest of this war. We have to move to drastic measures.” There was something in the way Abbendis spoke that sent worried shivers through Osran’s spine. His instincts told him there was something seriously wrong and he quickly turned to Abbendis.
“What are you saying, general? We cannot force him to fight against his will! A noble death is all we can give him at this point!” The crusader wanted to believe he was right but time and time again, he had been surprised by the different ways of magic. He could only hope no darker powers had been discovered. The paladin’s already fearful thoughts were further increased as steps could be heard from the corridors surrounding the hall. Two figures soon entered the room and Osran wasn’t exactly relieved by the newcomers.
“Priestess Demetria and inquisitor Landgren, I’m honored to see you could answer my call. Your help is sorely appreciated by everyone who still stand against the falling shadow.” Abbendis said as the two clerics joined the three paladins in the hall. Osran looked at the two and in a disbelieving look, he turned to Abbendis for answers.
“What are they doing here? There’s nothing a priest can do in this situation! Let’s just get away with this!” The paladin said in an increasingly forceful voice, the latest development unnerving him greatly. Valdemar was also staring at the newcomers in suspicion, his misery only deepening as he saw Demetria joining Osran’s side. At first, he had hoped he was only paranoid with his fears but it seems like his worst fears were coming to pass. Had his rule really caused this much hate in his former subordinates?
“You are in quite a hurry to kill the same man who you wanted to save so badly, Lowriver. I summoned the good inquisitor Landgren from Hearthglen to teach new arts of the Light to our priests and Demetria has gone to great lengths to learn everything she can from him. Together they can convince the Crusader Lord to join us once again. I’m confident the Grand Inquisitor told you about these things during your initiation to the Legion.” Abbendis’ words raised memories within Osran’s mind which made his heart feel like it was going to explode. It was true: when he had asked Isillien what would happen if he failed to pass his initiation, he had answered there was a way to destroy part of his mind to wipe away the memories of the meeting. But… certainly Abbendis wouldn’t be planning to do this? Even considering such a thing had infuriated the aging knight and if it was going to be used here…
“Absolutely not, Abbendis! We have to use each and every weapon in our disposal against the Scourge but Valdemar is one of us, one of the defenders of Lordaeron! Even if he fought against us, he is still a good man and he doesn’t deserve this kind of fate! You know this is true, general! Let us not betray our cause by this kind of barbarism! Dathrohan or Mograine would never have agreed to something like this!” Osran was shaking with rising hate and disbelief. What was Abbendis thinking? Did she really plan on making the proud master of Tyr’s Hand to her mindless puppet?
In the inside, Abbendis felt the loathing of the older crusader grow by the minute. It was true, this operation wasn’t authorized by the highest echelons of the Crusade’s leadership but they would never know of it. Most couriers served Isillien and they wouldn’t deliver any letters containing such information to Scarlet Bastion. Isillien, while not planning to raise a coup against the Grand Crusader, had secretly taken many things to his own hands.
“You did your very best to prove to me that sparing the Lord’s life is paramount and I’m going to see that to the end! Isillien has always done what is best, even more so than my pompous father!” The younger Abbendis said in resolution to Osran whose expression hardened along with his counterpart’s. The knight was deeply upset by her words and his words turned into a growl as he answered.
“Your father is one of the greatest leaders this world has ever known and I know he would never order something like this! Stop this madness, now!” Osran cried, his hand approaching his sword slowly but surely. Abbendis replicated the gesture but her next words reminded Osran what was going on and how out maneuvered he truly was.
“You have nothing you can do about it, old man. Either you agree to this or I must order you to leave. And if you try to do anything unthought, you will be judged in front of the whole Church of the Light and believe me, it wouldn’t end well for you. What do you choose?” Abbendis narrowed her eyes in deep hate while Osran’s eyes slowly turned to his wounded friend. His mind told him to give his old comrade the mercy of clean death but it would be likely it would end in his own death before long. He knew this order wasn’t issued by the Grand Crusader and once he’d learn about this outrage, the aging crusader knew the young Abbendis would pay and Valdemar set free. In the end, Osran decided that sacrificing himself here would accomplish far too little. He quickly turned his back and he didn’t look back once he spoke.
“Very well. But know this general: it is you who shall pay before the end. The whole Crusade will not be turned into a monstrosity like you: I will make sure of that.” And with those words, Osran left the room, his steps still audible in the nearby corridor. However, Abbendis didn’t waste time beginning her dark plan.
“Now that that old fool is out of the way, let us begin! I trust both of you know what you are supposed to do?” The question was purely rhetorical as the two knew full well their task and the means they had to use to accomplish it.
“It’ll be our honor, good lady. We’ll certainly help this man find his path again.” Landgren, who had for a long time worked as Isillien’s apprentice, said with a clear smirk. Demetria nodded to his words, both of the cleric’s knowing their mission.
Valdemar had tried to hold on a brave and noble composure but it started to crack as the three crusaders approached him. The former lord cursed Osran in his mind for his treachery and cowardice in standing up to the Crusade but he loathed Demetria even more at this point. Unlike the paladin, she had apparently joined Abbendis for her own will and not because of some genuine if misguided ideals. Osran might have been a weak fool but Demetria was a full-blown traitor. Even then, the words Osran and Abbendis had exchanged made his forehead get covered with cold sweat. Had they truly spoken about some kind of manipulation of the mind? Valdemar had never heard of such things before but apparently there were many things kept from him. The lord’s voice wavered as he raised his head as a final show of courage.
“Stay away from me, betrayers of Lordaeron! You may kill me but you’ll never use me for your own ends!” Valdemar said weakly while he coughed blood due to his massive chest injury. He looked in growing fear as streams of Light left Abbendis’ hands and moved straight to his body, healing his massive injury. At the same time, Abbendis spoke in a deep, merciless voice.
“So you think, pitiful old man. However, neither Valdemar’s story nor your lordship over this city will end today. In a few moments, you’ll forget everything about the Grand Crusader’s plans, some of your dealings with him and all about this uprising nonsense. Soon, you’ll be who you were before this war begun: with the distinction that your loyalty to the Crusade will be unquestionable from this day on. Just hope that you won’t lose more than that! Begin, now!” With Abbendis’ mark, the true priests moved on both sides of Valdemar and in a few seconds, a flurry of light and darkness danced around Valdemar’s head. At first they seemed like they were only circling around his cranium but soon enough, the streams changed their direction and entered Valdemar’s brain.
The Crusader Lord’s screams would have haunted his tormentors hadn’t they been far too hardened for that. Landgren and Demetria seemed to even be enjoying the display while some small parts of Abbendis’ mind cringed at the display. Valdemar’s eyes grew dim immediately and his body was twitching violently. The man could feel parts of his mind being literally torn away from the soft membrane of his brain as the duo’s spell continued. It wasn’t long before the lord’s mind darkened altogether and he collapsed to the floor with a ruined mind.
The afternoon was growing old when the familiar form of Crusader Lord Valdemar could be seen stepping out from the gate of Tyr’s Hand’s keep once again. He was accompanied by general Abbendis and Nicholas Zverenhoff, their presence necessary due to the impact of the coming announcement. The latter looked at his lord in worry, not able to understand what had changed Valdemar’s mind so thoroughly. He had been known as a strong-willed leader who wouldn’t bow in the face of pressure. Now, he was preparing to completely take back his earlier, monumental decision and he even seemed calmer than in weeks. Abbendis looked somewhat triumphant but that was to be expected after this breakthrough. However, something in her face made the duke easy but there was nothing he could do against her for now.
A grey curtain of clouds had creeped over Tyr’s Hand from the sea in the past hour and the rain was growing with a rapid rate. However, none of those gathered hesitated to brave the rain to hear what the city’s master had to say. Valdemar’s voice sounded just like it was before as did the pace of his speech. Only Abbendis knew the truth of those present.
“My honored comrades, I’m here to correct a grave mistake I committed earlier today. After some of my trusted officers rose against me, I was lost. For many years, I’ve made the decisions here and to my great pride and honor, I’m willing to say they have often been the correct ones. However, a great leader has to listen to the others and to hear what they have to say. That is a lesson I learned only today. Due to my pride, I was going to make a mistake that could have cost us everything.” Nicholas tried to look at his old comrade for any suspicious signs but he couldn’t find anything truly worrying. Maybe there was a slight, ominous empty look n the corner of his eye but his expression was otherwise sharp as ever. The man beside him raised no questions about his identity or doubts about torture.
“Earlier today, I announced our withdrawal from the Crusade but that decision was based on hasty and emotion-driven things that clouded my judgement about what is truly important: to bring justice to Arthas. This is the first time when I announce to you that I’ll declare my earlier order null and void! Tyr’s Hand will stand with the Scarlet Crusade until every last inch of this land is free and cured again!” His words were greeted with loud cheers which were dampened by the strong wind and the voice of the rain that was far more than pitter-patter at this point.
Abbendis looked at her companion with a self-satisfied smile. With luck, her trick would never be leaked outside the small circle that she had trusted with the knowledge and her slight departure from the Light’s path had been worth it. Valdemar didn’t know the truth himself at this point and her subordinates would never betray her trust. However, Osran was still a question mark at this point. Abbendis knew getting rid of him would solve many issues but the risk in killing another Crimson legionary was too great. The idealistic knight was a trusted member of Isillien’s inner circle and the Grand Inquisitor wouldn’t look kindly if she killed his honored aides. No, Osran’s silence would have to be ensured in other ways. Abbendis’ thoughts were interrupted as Valdemar raised his sword high into the raging sky and yelled in a voice which rivalled the storm’s power.
“Prepare your swords and gather your ranks! The Grand Crusader needs our help in securing the sacred site of Scarlet Bastion and I promise to you, my friends, he will receive it! Tomorrow, Tyr’s Hand will begin its march on Stratholme along with Hearthglen and Light’s Hope! This Brewfest will be celebrated on the liberated and pure streets of our glorious city! Do you hear, Kel’Thuzad?! Your reign of terror is nearing its end!” Valdemar’s emptied mind was filled with confidence and trust as he looked at the wave of war cries before him. Even in his current state, Valdemar knew he’d see this campaign to the very end.
With Abbendis' deed and Isillien's manipulations, the Crusade has taken its first, major step towards its eventual fate. How will Osran respond to this development and will the knowledge of Abbendis' transgression spread further? I truly hope you found the major developments in this chapter satisfying and see you next time!
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This has been a long time coming. I kept putting off reading this but I guess all of this recent WoW talk has helped motivate me to finally submit. :smile I've only read chapter 1 so far and I liked what you did with setting up the main characters. The rallying really does encourage and fill one with hope...if you have no knowledge of WoW. For anyone who have at the very least been to the eastern plague lands this chapter is pretty much just filled with dramatic irony, especially with Alexandros Mograine's introduction due to his obvious connection to Naxxramas. I'm not the most knowledgeable when it comes to Warcraft lore so a few of the characters were unfamiliar to me. As for Alonsus Faol...that name is familiar but I can't exactly remember who he was. Was he the forsaken that shot the plague bombs onto Bolvar in WotLK?
Anyways, it's a good start and I'll get around to reading the rest at some point. I'm not sure how much I'll comment but I'll try to chirp my thoughts every now and then.
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It's great to hear you're giving this story a read! It hasn't received nearly as much reviews as Separate Ways but I hope you'll find it interesting! :) And yes, it's true that the initial optimism of the Crusade is a complete tragedy when we know has happened to the order in WoW. However, the characters in the first chapter aren't the ones we'll follow through the story (though they'll be major players throughout) but that'll be elaborated soon enough. :smile I'm a complete sucker for WoW lore so there might be some rather references to off-screen events and appearances of characters that aren't too important in the game. To answer your question, Alonsus Faol was a former archbishop of the Church of the Light and the one who gathered the original five founders of the Silver Hand together though he is deceased by the time this story begins. He is also a priest companion in Legion (don't know much about that appearance though except that he is undead these days). The one who bombarded Bolvar was Grand Apothecary Putress who doesn't appear in this fic.
Anyway, I truly appreciate you giving this story a read and I hope you find it enjoyable! And don't worry about the reviews, I appreciate the mere fact that someone reads this story though I'll be looking forward if you have something to comment. :yes
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The Paladin’s Meltdown
A waiting, serious expression radiated from Eneath’s eyes as he gathered the metal-clad armor and tabards from the armory. Even if the offensive to take the city of Corin’s Crossing would start only at the following sunrise, all of the knights knew all of the preparations had to be done on the preceding day in order for the fighters to be ready as soon as possible. Even if the afternoon was still relatively young, Eneath was rather confident that there was very little to guard on the city’s streets at this point of the da so, there was no reason to waste his time later in the evening on these chores. The young paladin was turning the key on the locker which held three armors for the knights’ steeds when Eneath heard a familiar voice speak to him nearby.
“Are you really that eager to get to action that you are willing overlook your guarding duty?” The speaker had a low, rough voice but neither it or his words raised any concern in the young man’s mind. He turned slowly around and looked at his comrade who was standing near the door.
“I’m willing to take that chance as there are dozens of people on the streets after Valdemar’s announcement anyway. And I’m not seeing you do any too complex tasks either, Keril.” Eneath gave a laugh as he started to pull one armor to the floor. It was extremely heavy but he’d be able to get it to the nearby stables using a small cart that were available for such tasks. The man who had been called Keril softened his own expression as he walked towards the other paladin. The two had known each other since they were mere squires and even if they hadn’t spent too much time together, they were still pretty closely acquainted during their common years of service. He moved to Eneath’s side and took a more neutral composure.
“Nobody cares about repairing the barracks’ ceiling at this point so I might as well do these preparations as well. But, Eneath… there was something in Valdemar’s words that really bother me. He has never before changed his mind like this and that’s really strange. Rumor has it that he hasn’t been too fond of the Crusade lately and now he just takes it all back! It doesn’t make the least sense!” Keril said as he frowned heavily at that development. Both of the knights had been there listening to the Crusader’s lord and truth be told, there were few people in Tyr’s Hand who didn’t share their sentiments. All of them had grown to know Valdemar’s strong leadership and Eneath surely was one of those who held an endless amount of respect to him. However, this wasn’t an occasion in which he lamented their lord’s change of heart. The mere thought of taking Tyr’s hand made his mind swirl in excitement.
“It doesn’t but who are we to question him? He said that his officers have made him see the error in his ways and I see no reason to believe he is lying to us. None of us is infallible and I don’t think there’s more to this thing than that. I’m just happy that we can resume our campaign once again. It’s been too long since we last took the fight to the undead.” Eneath said as he moved to take the cart from the corner of the large room and it was clear that he believed his own words. Even if Osran had acted strangely in the past days, Eneath still wanted to believe he had had a good influence on Valdemar’s decisions. Keril cringed at his words but not because of any endless disapproval. He just seemed concerned by the developments.
“I know but… we need Valdemar at his very best to lead us. The Northrend campaign was a disaster and I fear that we’re running towards another defeat like that. The very best of us died there and the tales tell that there are monsters there against which there’s no victory. I can’t shake off the feeling and I’m not feeling too confident about all this.” The man said in clear worry but Eneath merely snorted as an answer as those were some words he wasn’t willing to listen from anyone at this point. The Crusade had gone too far to question itself at this point and Eneath wasn’t going to stomach such doubts now. He merely threw his horse’s red-colored tabards to the cart and prepared to answer to him before he heard another, this one unknown, voice call to him from the door.
“No matter what the traitor prince throws at us, we are not going to slither before him. I thought you knights would trust yourselves if you hope to take the fight to the Scourge. We need every last bit of courage we can gather if we wish to see Corin’s Crossing free once again.” The two turned to look at the newcomer who, to their surprise, wore no tabard, no armor or anything that would prove he even was a member of the Crusade. This complete stranger’s appearance brought slight nervousness to Eneath’s voice and he answered with a rough question.
“I’ve never seen you before around here. Who are you and what do you want? Choose your words carefully.” The young man prepared to strike the newcomer down if he had absolutely any second thoughts about his plans in the armory. Every paladin knew that the servants of the Lich King could be anywhere and the appearance of this stranger unnerved Eneath somewhat. The other man looked at him in surprise, clearly taken aback by his harsh words.
“Uhhh… why, I’m one of the new cadets who was sent here to come get my armor for the coming battle. I heard your discussion and I just decided to voice my thoughts. I… I want no trouble, I assure you.” His words were nervous but they were by no means frightened or unsure. Eneath could see that he wasn’t here on any shady business here but Keril was the first one to continue the interrogation. He didn’t seem to be as convinces as Eneath.
“What’s your name and who sent you here? Not many cadets are deemed worthy to have a knight’s armor this quickly! Speak!” Keril narrowed his eyes and it was at this point that the newcomer took an even firmer expression as he was highly disappointed by the duo’s antics. He raised his voice considerably as he answered.
“If you let me explain myself, my name is Iren Highfield and I was sent here by one of the priests according to the commands of my trainer, Osran Lowriver. Sadly, he was needed elsewhere and he left the training to the clerics. However, he gave them strict orders on how to proceed during his absence.” Iren was seemingly annoyed by the situation. The training against the lightspawn was surprisingly frustrating and it had a long and pain-filled struggle to even touch one of those odd creatures. However, he was surprised by the sudden change in the other man’s expression. Eneath knew that he was on righteous business here and he quickly answered to the newcomer.
“So you are one of the new recruits Osran told me about. He seemed somewhat hesitant about this whole training thing but I trust he left a good impression on you? I am his nephew, Eneath Lowriver.” The young man said to Iren as he heard about his uncle’s trainees. The latter cringed as he thought about how to answer. On one hand, Osran had displayed true valor in his behavior but he could still feel the older paladin’s blade on his throat. He had put on a far rougher show than Iren would have liked but he still knew better than to complain. Every last inch of experience could be the difference between life and death the following day.
“Let’s just say that he knows what he’s talking about but I’m not sad that the training’s over for today. Anyway, do you have any ideas about how tomorrow’s battle will go? Should the Scourge be able to field a good challenge to us?” That was the most obvious question that could be in a young cadet’s mind at this point. Iren knew that he’d give a rather weak picture of himself but he wanted to know if the two had anything they’d want to tell him. The recruit could see that both of these paladins were hardly over twenty years old, younger than him, and barely even full knights at this point. Still, they were far more adept in the ways of Light than he was and Iren was more than happy to learn from them if they had something of interest to share. Keril looked at him in deep thought as he thought about how to best answer this simple question. It was never easy for a new recruit to fight his first battle but the newcomer seemed to be strong enough for the challenge.
“You’ll find your own way to fight and serve the Light as you gather experience but don’t understand me wrong. Don’t hold anything back in the coming battle but use only your strengths first and try to survive. You’re no good to anyone if you’re dead and we don’t have an abundance of new blood in our ranks. Give your all and before long, you’ll find your own way.” Keril said with some cringe as he knew this wasn’t the advice his superiors wouldn’t want him to give. There could be no holding back at this point and there was no telling what monstrosities Kel’Thuzad could have brought to Corin’s Crossing since the last battle. Eneath looked at his companion with some chagrin but continued where he ended.
“Also, remember that this is an issue of our own calling. Cling to the hope inside you and never let it go. The founders of our noble order knew that all other skills stem from the very realization that our skills come from our willingness to follow the path of righteousness. Remember that and you should do well tomorrow. At least if there are no surprises.” Eneath said the last sentence under his breath but Iren still heard it. However, he knew better than to cling to it as he knew it’d be better if he didn’t know of the coming horrors. Eneath, however, noticed the other man’s fearful gaze and he suddenly moved closer to him with a more lighthearted expression.
“But none of that matters today. There is no reason to dwell in such thoughts now as these small moments of reprieve are what we should treasure. Leave those worries for the right time.” Eneath smiled slightly as he saw Iren’s anxious expression fail slightly. If there was one thing Eneath had learned during his own, short time of service was to try to keep his spirit high whenever simply possible. Whether it was by simply resting and dreaming about better times, playing cards with his comrades or by honing his own connection to the Light, Eneath didn’t want to leave any more room to gloomy and desperate thoughts than was absolutely necessary. Iren looked at him with a confused expression and after a moment he answered to the paladin.
“I know you’re right bit it’s not too easy at this point. There is still some training to do and knowing the clerics, things will only get more complex from now on. I should be on my way by now, anyway. I didn’t even have the time to get my armor yet.“ Even not considering his preoccupation with the training, things weren’t looking that simple for the cadet. The whole situation was still a new one for him and it was far more difficult for him to simply prepare for the next fight than it was to someone who was far more experienced than he was. Keril nodded to Iren before he left the room.
“I wish you luck. I trust we’ll meet on the battlefield soon enough.” The light-haired man said as he looked at Iren move into the corridor in apparent hurry. Silence returned to the room after a loud closing of a heavy door in the corridor. It was broken only by a thoughtful remark from Eneath who slowly turned to look at his companion.’
“I hope he’ll find his way. There are too few paladins with a real insight of the Light’s miracles and somehow, I think he has potential.” The young man said as Keril crossed his arms, clearly more doubtful than the other paladin.
“That remains to be seen, Eneath. You can’t say anything about these cadets before they face the first undead. Anyway, I’d say that’s enough jabber for now. We both forgot what we were doing.” Keril chuckled as he looked at the massive armor lying on the dusty floor. Eneath seemed to flinch awake of his thoughts as he heard Keril’s words. He suddenly seemed to regain a sense of his surroundings and answered to his comrade before moving to get his cart.
“Oh, you’re right, Keril. I was too preoccupied by this meeting to pay attention to our own business. Anyway, by all means, let us go on with our task.” Eneath said as he looked outside of the small window. The earlier rainy weather was slowly giving way to the usual dim sunlight that so often overlooked the Plaguelands. The young man headed towards the corridor, glad that he had this evening left before the ordeals of the next day. However, his uncle’s gloomy and stressed appearance still haunted his thoughts. In a way, Eneath hoped he wouldn’t have to meet Osran again as trying to make him see reason wasn’t his idea of a calm preparation for battle. Eneath only hoped that the older paladin would find his own courage again before long.
Hurried rustle was all that could be heard in the small room as the bearded man moved on to open a small letter. As usual, it held no seals or anything that would reveal its importance but Osran knew better than that. Still, he could only imagine what kind of message had sent him this time. The aging paladin knew that his earlier, rather brash message wasn’t likely to be appreciated and it was likely that his quarrels with Abbendis were known to the Grand Inquisitor as well. Osran’s face was twisted into a sickened grimace as the events of this day still dominated his thoughts. However, the letter managed to calm him down somewhat even if he knew it wouldn’t hold any encouraging words. The knight took a more comfortable position as he started to read the writing.
Crusader Lowriver, I’m full aware of what happened between you and the Crusader Lord. I am relieved and thankful for your help in containing this serious threat to the Crusade as our order once again stands united and safe from any internal upheaval. However, it seems there are a few principles I have to make clear.
It was clear from your last message to me that you put your relationship with the treacherous lord before that of our order and even if you did your duty in the end, this kind of behavior is completely intolerable. I didn’t make you a Crimson Legionary so you could throw away your life after one of your supposed friends turns against us.
Additionally, general Abbendis already reported to me that you were far from cooperative during your most important mission. As a paladin, you have to understand the importance of discipline before your superiors. You seemed to disapprove of her methods of containing the rebellion for reasons I can only guess. Valdemar was a traitor and he received his just punishment and you seemed to stand against our righteous and just resolution!
This mustn’t come to pass again, Lowriver. The fact that you didn’t hinder Abbendis’ efforts saved you this time. Despite the honored general’s request, I will not order sanctions against you but know that I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior anymore. Stand true to your path and you will be richly rewarded before the end but if you continue to stand on our way, know that you will be taken care of.
GII
Osran put the letter to the table and took a deep sigh as his mind slowly registered all that Isillien had told him. Of course, none of it came as a surprise. In fact, Osran had expected some kind of punishment but it seemed like Isillien held him in high regard. Still, this message was far from what Osran would have wanted to hear. It seemed like Abbendis had had Isillien’s blessing to her deed all along and that was the issue that truly sickened the aging knight.
He still couldn’t believe that Valdemar was either brainwashed or mind controlled in some way because of his help. He had proposed this mission to save Valdemar’s life, not to destroy his will! It was a fate no servant of the Light should have gone through and for the first time during the war, Osran fully felt that he was the villain, the traitor to the Light. Without him, Valdemar would have been killed but at least it would have been a clear end to his noble life and the twisted leadership of the Crusade would have been revealed once and for all. It would have helped the Lich King but, unlike many wanted to remember, Arthas had once been a noble paladin too and Osran had once looked at him as a king worth following. In fact, he had been highly disappointed when his request to accompany Arthas to Northrend had been rejected.
All had begun when Arthas had thrown away the path of the Light and Osran couldn’t help but feel like history was repeating itself. Osran buried his hands to his hands in despair as his mind wandered to the faraway days, to the bright, warm day when he was being welcomed to the Order of the Silver Hand. Everything had been so simple back in those distant times, back when he still believed in the traditional love of the Light. He had been a youth full of promise and hope back then, something Osran still longed for so dearly…
The young paladin looked around himself in endless awe and humility as he looked at the small group of knights who had gathered around him. Among them were numerous officers of the Order of the Silver Hand as well as some landlords of the nearby villages. The initiation of a new knight was always a notable occasion and the moment’s sanctity was more than clear to the young man. He had knelt before an old priest called Pelan Ylens in front of the chapel’s altar, the bright rays of the sun lighting the room into complete white. The young man nearly wept with emotion as he contemplated the situation. He, a humble peasant’s son, was about to fulfill his dream of joining this most revered of orders. Osran’s head stayed low until he finally heard the priest’s words reach his ears. It was low and soft and for some reason, Osran knew he was blessed to have this man leading the ceremony.
“Rise, servant of Lordaeron. The time for your joining has come.” The priest spread his hands and Osran immediately complied to his request. The two now faced each other, mutual respect radiating from both of their faces. However, the occasion was far from equal. Ylens’ features radiated with authority, of kindness and honor but all the same it was clear to everyone who the higher-ranked man was.
“I know you have asked yourself this question many times but I ask of this question from you now, in front of the Light and all these good people gathered here. Osran Lowriver, are you willing to serve the Light and spread its wisdom and goodness everywhere you go?” Ylens took a grimmer expression which still held no anger or suspicion towards Osran. The knight already opened his mouth but the large statue behind Ylens interrupted Osran’s thoughts. It was a memorial to the mythical Tyr, the ancient hero who was said to have brought the knowledge of Light to humans in the first place. He was described as a stern-looking but noble warrior whose rock eyes seemed to pierce into the young paladin’s heart. Suddenly Osran felt like the whole chapel had grown darker and the people around him turned hostile. For a moment Osran wavered in doubt but soon he found the spark of trust and hope from deep within himself. The brown-haired man took a deep breath before he simply answered with a firm voice.
“Yes, I will.” The priest looked at Osran in further examination, having noticed Osran’s hesitation. He frowned somewhat before he asked his next question.
“Do you swear on your life to hold on to this truth, no matter what comes your way? Will you remain a beacon of Light for everyone in the face of darkness and withhold the name of our order for the rest of your life?” Ylens looked at Osran whose composure was remarkedly better than to his first question. Osran waited a few moments before he answered again.
“By my life, I swear this.” The young man said as he suddenly felt the light warm his soul more than it ever had before and at that moment, Osran felt like his life was complete. He was suddenly snapped out of his dreamlike thoughts as the priest continued the ceremony.
“Then, Osran Lowriver, with the authority of my charge as a priest of the Light, I name you a paladin of the Silver Hand. Good knights, gather around this man and share your blessings with him!” About a dozen armored figures rose from the pews and they steadily walked towards Osran. Even the young knight knew what was coming as even if he had never seen this ceremony before, he had been told a lot about it before this most important of days.
The knights gathered around Osran and moved their hands above their soon-to-be comrade. Osran closed his eyes in silent respect, knowing that the most important part of his initiation was coming. The knight could feel the Light’s hope flow into his very body as the paladins muttered their own, equally heartfelt blessings on their comrade. After a moment, they pulled their hands back and Osran closed his eyes to meet the priest’s gaze. He nodded to Osran slightly before he spoke the last, affirming words of the sacred ceremony.
“You came to this chapel as a farmer’s son but you will leave it as a knight of the Silver Hand. As long as you continue to follow the righteous path, valor and goodness will follow in your wake. Never abandon that path and you will make each of us proud.”[/i]
Those last words chilled Osran’s thoughts as he put his hand in a fist. For decades, he had always held Ylens’ words close to his heart and never questioned them and even to his own astonishment, those words had always been true. He had long been seen as a true paladin and a hope for others but what was he now? What would the priest and all those knights who had blessed him back then say of his recent deeds? Would each of them shun him and regret that they ever knew him at all? Most of them were dead after all these years but it alleviated Osran’s fears little right now. He felt utterly worthless and his mind wandered to a simple thought.
I did my best to save you, Valdemar but it was not enough. I hope you can forgive me of the path I’ve taken but I did it to protect the things that matter to me and even you.
The knight turned to look out of the window but he could only see the courtyard of the complex of barracks with a few assistants doing their simple tasks. Sadness flowed to Osran’s mind as he thought about all the promise and trust of that beautiful day to naught and forced to this dark road. The worst part was that he couldn’t even turn away from it anymore as he was also guilty of Valdemar’s fate and tightly tied to Isillien’s web of control. Osran’s mind continued to wander those dark roads of thought when he suddenly heard the door open. The newcomer did very little to ease Osran’s anxiety.
“What have you done to him, Lowriver? After you and your new friends’ appearance, Valdemar hasn’t acted like himself for a moment! He has never before changed his mind and now he seems to slither before Dathrohan’s commands! Think very carefully before you answer to me, traitor!” The outraged voice of Nicholas Zverenhoff spoke as he quickly marched towards Osran from the door. The black-bearded man’s contained utter rage and it was clear to Osran that the threat was real and Osran couldn’t really blame him. The knight wasn’t given time to rise from his chair before a blade pointed right between his eyes. The Crimson Legionary took a few moments to consider his options before he finally gave his answer.
“With all due respect, Zverenhoff, I’ve played no part in any of this. I know only that Abbendis was here to make sure that Valdemar didn’t turn traitor but it seems like he simply saw that this city has only one way to go. That is more than obvious.” The knight’s voice was cold and defiant as he answered. Beneath his harsh cover, however, the paladin knew he was pulling himself ever deeper into the web of lies, into the bottomless pit from which there was no escape. However, his words did very little to calm the enraged noble down.
“So you know what Abbendis was up to and still you chose to side with her? I don’t know what foul game you are playing here but it certainly doesn’t serve any righteous purpose. Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now before you spread any more poison with your twisted ideals!” Zverenhoff’s words held even more hate with the last sentence but they didn’t worry Osran too greatly as he knew he’d be able to defend himself and perhaps even overpower the former duke if things escalated that far. However, he had been through too much already to engage in another pointless battle. He wanted to get through this unsavory meeting peacefully.
“Because it’s too late for that. What’s been is done and I’d change it all if I were able. Killing me, if you happened to be able to do that, would only make matters worse for you and Valdemar would likely order you to be executed. The Crusade has won and the Scourge will taste the might of our united might.” Osran stared at the wall in a faraway gaze, the words pouring out of his mouth without thinking. The knight wasn’t willing to deny everything but he knew better than to tell what had happened to Valdemar and his words did very little to alleviate Zverenhoff’s alarm. He had only seen Osran as a noble comrade but the two had never been even close enough to call the other one his friend so the former noble had no reason to hold back his words.
“So the Crusade has indoctrinated you beyond all hope, Lowriver. However, Valdemar won’t be part of this anymore. I knew you did something to him and I’m planning to get to the bottom of all this. I promise you, I’ll find everything about what is going on and if I found proof about what I think you are really up to, Osran, you will pay the price before the end. This treachery…” It was at this point when Osran realized there was no talking out of this situation and with quick movements, he rose up from his chair and raised his own sword to match Zverenhoff’s threat. The knight cocked his head slightly and hissed in an angered voice.
“I dare you to try, Nicholas. If you embark on that kind of journey, you will not get far. Even the walls have ears in this city and if you think you are free to spread lies about the Grand Crusader, I’ll be forced to take you down. I’ve seen enough death today so don’t force me into this, Zverenhoff. Leave now, and don’t speak about this day’s events to anyone and you might just survive.” Osran’s mouth turned into a hate-filled grin, boring its way into the former noble. Zverenhoff returned Osran’s challenging expression but his mind raced mercilessly. If even half of Osran’s words were true, he would win nothing by ruining his own life but he couldn’t just leave this terrifying crime go unpunished. Still, Nicholas realized that retribution would have to happen on another day. He sternly pulled his sword to his scabbard and hissed silently.
“This isn’t over, Lowriver. Your crimes will be known to everyone.” And with those words, the duke turned around and pulled the door forcefully shut behind him. The aging paladin was left to stare at the closed door in an empty gaze, his mind void of any coherent emotions. He had just made a powerful enemy who had just a day before been his respected comrade. The paladin prayed in his mind that Nicholas would give up his quest before it would be too late for him.
However, facing the noble like this only gave further proof to Osran about who he had become. A loathed outcast who had in a matter of days been turned into an emotionless executioner of noble knights who had only questioned the righteousness of the Grand Crusader’s methods. As he thought about how quickly his life had been turned into this heartbreaking mess, something finally gave up in Osran’s mind. The knight buried his face in his head and for the first time in decades, started to sob hopelessly, for a moment throwing away all the pride he had savored all his long years of service like he had done to his once-precious honor when he had accepted Isillien’s offer less than a week earlier.
The Grand Crusader was far from content as he read his newest report. He was sitting alone on the Crimson Throne, the seat of the order’s master, as he was going through the summary of the failed uprising in Tyr’s Hand. Not that he wasn’t relieved to see the crisis was over but the report itself brought deep frown to his face. His expression turned from unbelieving to outright suspicious as he finished the rather long message.
Dathrohan creased the small piece of paper and threw it on a table next to him. Like so many reports before this one, it seemed to be only the partial truth. Everything seemed to be in order at first glance but as he looked deeper than the first impression, there were serious flaws in its text. For example, who had given Abbendis and this unknown crusader Lowriver the aurhority to assault Valdemar directly and how had they changed the headstrong lord’s mind? The report claimed that they had managed to make him see the truth in the bigger picture after they had shown him mercy. What complete rubbish!
The heavily-built man rose up from his throne and started to walk around in the mighty hall that once again served as the center of all good and pure in the Plaguelands. For weeks now, Dathrohan had felt that the reports he received were lacking in depth and he couldn’t shake off the terrible feeling that he was being manipulated. He, the Grand Crusader! And the only person who would ever be capable of such acts was, no matter how hard it was for him to possible, his old and trusted friend and co-leader of the Crimson Legion, Grand inquisitor Isillien.
He stopped to think about that kind of possibility as he looked at his mighty throne. Isillien had served him faithfully as long as they had known each other but somehow, it felt like there was more going on with the Crimson Legion than he had ordered. At first he had dismissed it as his own forgetfulness but lately it seemed like they were truly executing orders the Grand Crusader hadn’t authorized and the Legion’s agents’ reports seemed to be only growing vaguer. Earlier he had wanted to think these things as mere oversights from his servants but such a weird and unbelievable tale from Tyr’s Hand raised his concerns greatly. He was the master of the Crusade and he had to make sure none of its members were hurting its purity and to do that, he’d have to get to the bottom of all this. Dathrohan took the latest report and headed towards the corridor.
Unusually bright Light shone in from the numerous windows, as if the endless, dim, sickly shroud resting over the land had been taken away. For a moment, someone could have been forgiven for thinking the land had been restored to what it used to be but it wasn’t many seconds until the orange hue once again entered the sacred halls of the Scarlet Bastion. The Grand Crusader stopped for a few seconds to see if the momentary reprieve to the endless nightmare returned but that hope was for naught. Dathrohan turned away from the window with a slow movement and headed towards his subordinates’ quarters. He had an important decision to make.
“So, have any news from Silverpine, Galford? I guess you have heard that the cursed Forsaken are on the move?” Malor the Zealous asked, outraged by the recent news that the Banshee Queen’s pawns had moved on to the Crusade’s outposts in his old homeland, attempting to take what remained of the old frontier of Lordaeron’s center. Galford had been returning to his room after he was returning from one of his rare pauses when he had been stopped by the paladin. The scholar looked at the knight with a surprised look when he turned to look at him.
“Why, yes, I have. We always knew they were on our enemy but it seems that Sylvanas has regained her strength quicker than we thought. I hear they even ambushed ranger Swiftarrow and her troops and at least of what I’ve heard, she hasn’t been seen since. We have to fear the worst concerning her. It seems like that frontier is lost.” The chronicler’s voice was pained but calm as he spoke. Silverpine Forest was an integral part of Lordaeron, true, but it had never
been its heartland nor a central area of operation for the Crusade. Losing the few outposts stationed there wouldn’t fell he whole order but it certainly was a concerning development. Malor more than agreed with that statement.
“And we’re doing nothing! I always knew we should slaughter those abominations when we had the chance! And to make things even worse, we just had to leave Silverpine’s defense to a spineless elf! And now that whole’s place is lost!” Malor raised his voice and his eyes thundered with rage. He would give anything to be given the chance of return to his old, simple life. Galford looked at the other crusader in disapproval and he answered soon in the only way he could.
“We will liberate the capital in due time, commander. However, in case you haven’t noticed, we are surrounded in Stratholme, not there! The Banshee Queen will share Arthas’ fate but we have to advance one step at a time. Lady Swiftarrow was a true champion of the Crusade and we will have to make sure her sacrifices in Northrend and Silverpine will not be forgotten. The remembrance of the heroes who fought for our victory is just as important as fighting the battles themselves.” As a scholar, Galford knew the value of tales of heroism among the soldiers and, if the Crusade would be victorious, their names would pass down in history. Malor, however, snorted dismissingly at this remark.
“Remembrances or writings won’t prevent the undead from turning Silverpine into the next Plaguelands, Galford! We have to stop them on every front or this whole world will burn! The demons might be beaten but Arthas isn’t lesser a threat and you know it! The Grand Crusader should…” Malor’s remark was interrupted by a cold voice from behind him, one that took him off-guard for a moment.
“I should do what, commander? Please, go on.” Dathrohan hadn’t heard what the two had spoken about but these kinds of conversations were far from new to the lord of the Crusade. Malor hesitated for a moment before he decided against holding back. He was seriously disappointed in Dathrohan’s inaction over Silverpine and here he had the perfect opportunity to voice his misgivings. The paladin didn’t even lower his voice as he turned to Saidan.
“With all due respect, Grand Crusader, I cannot even begin to understand why you let Silverpine fall! That forest was instrumental in safeguarding Tirisfal and in keeping the Forsaken at bay. And you let it fall to Sylvanas without sending any reinforcements there to help our comrades! Have you lost your mind?!” An ordinary crusade would never have dared to speak to Dathrohan like that but each knight in the Bastion was handpicked by the Grand Crusader and Malor was a member of the Crimson Legion as well. His was one of the few opinions Dathrohan would listen. Saidan looked at the other knight for a moment, his displeasure evident in his tired eyes. However, his answer was as authoritative and firm as always.
“I discarded that front in order to achieve breakthrough here, where it matters. Sending reinforcements there would have seriously hampered our chances of breaking this cursed siege and our comrades gladly gave their lives for the greater good. I know that was your home but you have to accept that sometimes we have to put our personal feelings aside and concentrate on what really matters! I was born in the old capital but I haven’t ordered us to give up Darrowmere and brashly attack that place! But I didn’t come here to debate about these things with you.” The master of the order cast a somewhat hostile look towards Malor who frowned in anger but knew better than to take this issue any further. It was clear that Dathrohan had already decided the course of action and complaining about those things wouldn’t help things any.
Dathrohan walked towards Galford who looked at his superior with some curiosity. It was clear he had something to show to him as he walked towards the scholar in clear resolution. The knight stopped near the chronicler and silently put a small piece of paper to his hand and snorted sharply.
“¥Read it and tell me what you think about it! Quick!” It was clear to Galford that Dathrohan wasn’t on the mood to wait so he started to quickly go through the letter. He had received the previous reports also but he had only read a few of them. Still, the chronicler was getting a good idea what the Grand Crusader meant. However, out of mere caution, Galford soon raised his gaze from the letter and answered as neutrally as he could.
“It’s good to hear that the situation in Tyr’s Hand has normalized. What is the problem?” The scholar asked carefully but it seemed like it wasn’t the correct way to approach the issue at hand. Dathrohan looked at him in clear frustration and almost shouted the answer.
“You know full well what is the problem! Or do you believe the explanations Abbendis gives in them?” Dathrohan demanded, his anxious movements telling Galford that he had to answer as truthfully as he could. The scholar took a swift glance at Malor before he spoke.
“I don’t know Valdemar as well as you do but if there is even some truth to what I’ve heard about him, yes, this seems a bit strange. How could they change his mind and more importantly, how weren’t the Crusader Lord and his troops able to take down the mutineers? The report overlooks that part completely. B… but what are you trying to say, sir?” Galford frowned as he took another glance at the message. Dathrohan was also perplexed by the scholar’s words, that particular point being overlooked by the Grand Crusader. He simply couldn’t believe Valdemar would leave himself unprotected in a dangerous situation such as this. The whole case was getting ever more suspicious and he took a short pause before he responded to the question.
“I don’t know, Galford, but I can see there’s something going on under my nose. It is as if these messages are manipulated and cut before they are sent to me. In fact, I’m sure that is the case.” At this point, Malor joined the discussion once again. The knight’s expression had turned into a somewhat agitated one and his sentiments were clear as he spoke.
“So you’re saying someone in the highest leadership of the Crusade is a traitor? Just forget it, Dathrohan. You handpicked your closest followers yourself and each and every one of them is a living legend. Even the mere thought of them working for the Lich King is completely ridiculous!” The paladin said unusually brashly but Dathrohan merely ignored his outburst. However, he partly answered his question as he once again started to speak.
“If I’m not completely mistaken, there is only one person in the Crusade capable of this kind of manipulation and treachery. It sickens me to even think that he has strayed from our path. The one I believe is behind this is none other than Grand Inquisitor Isillien himself.” Saidan crossed his arms as his companions gasped in shock. Both of them had all their lives seen Isillien as a beacon of virtue and this announcement caught both of them off-guard. They knew Dathrohan had to have a good reason for his doubts but the two still couldn’t accept this accusation. Once again, Malor was the first one to answer.
“The Grand Inquisitor? How can you even consider that kind of possibility?! He’s the head of our Church and he has never shown us anything but kindness and valor. This must be a joke!” Malor nearly thundered as he spoke but Saidan turned to merely look at him coldly. After he had stopped his yelling, the Grand Crusader answered shortly and sternly.
“If your answers are like that, stay silent, Malor. I have better things to do than listen to that kind of senseless yelling.” He was about to continue when Galford seized his moment and interrupted the Grand Crusader.
“W… what makes you think so? He is Abbendis’ old and trusted friend and all of us respect him greatly.” The scholar’s voice was completely stunned and it contained deep conflict. Dathrohan looked at him with melancholic eyes as he answered.
“As I said, he’s the only one who can do this kind of thing. He leads Crimson Legion in our western lands and he’s the acting head of the Church and the priests back him without question, giving him many loyalists if he tried anything brash. Isillien has always been an ambitious man and now that I think of it, he has seemed to be even too righteous to be a mere mortal. However, all of that is mere speculation for now and I cannot prove anything to anyone yet. I need to have evidence if I’m going to confront him publicly and to show his true colors to everyone. That’s why I searched you two out as quickly as I could.” That announcement didn’t come out as a surprise to either of the two crusaders but they caused Malor some frustration. First Dathrohan came only to insult him and then he’s asking for his help? Such things didn’t sit well for him but Malor more than knew his duty. However, there was no reason to answer before the Grand Crusader had finished his proposition.
“Galford, I need you to research all of the letters and to find if thy hold anything that could help us. After that, I need you to begin revealing and fighting back against those who have taken control of our messaging network. As for you, Malor, I’ll have to ask you for a more direct mission.” The announcement was followed by a slightly awkward silence which was only stopped by the paladin’s answer a few seconds later.
“And what is that “mission”? My sword is yours, Grand Crusader, but I have to ask you to speak directly!” The knight’s expression took a slight agitated look to it which didn’t move Dathrohan in any way. He respected the knight greatly but Malor’s antics were often far from what Dathrohan appreciated. However, he knew he owed an explanation to the man who he was asking to risk his life.
“You will gather me the proof I need to publicly attack the Grand Inquisitor. Only the Light itself knows what that damned priest is up to but I cannot trust any other Crimson Legionary than the ones inside these walls. You will go to Hearthglen and you will confirm my fears to be correct. That’ll open us the opportunity to discard all of those who have given up the pure path to serve the evil.” Dathrohan’s eyes blazed with righteous fire as he spoke but Malor’s frown only deepened he could easily see what his superior was up to but it did little to alleviate his own concerns or curiosity about what he was supposed to do. Malor asked one question that he hoped would ease his curiosity.
“But, in the case you’re correct and Isillien is a traitor, how can I alone hope to gather evidence under his very nose? I’ll never get to even begin my task before he squashes me!” Of course, danger wasn’t something Malor would never escape from but he wanted a very good reason to laying down his very life. Dathrohan turned to face the paladin and spoke to him in a more encouraging voice than before.
“I trust you take caution during your mission. Trying to stay unseen in Isillien’s eyes will be more than wise but remember that the others are our comrades as well. I will give you a letter to take with you in which I’ll give my authorization for your quest. Not even Isillien will dare to rise against the man who carries the seal of the Dathrohan.” The sickening uncertainty of the depth of Isillien’s betrayal lurked deep within the Grand Crusader’s mind as there was a small chance Isillien could start an open rebellion if things had gone far enough. However, that was a risk he’d have to take. Malor could see the flicker of doubt in his superior’s eyes but he trusted Dathrohan deeply. He bowed before the Grand Crusader before he answered in a dry but clearly revering voice to him.
“Very well, Saidan. I will leave tomorrow and I’ll leave no stone unturned before I find what you want. I swear this in my life and honor.” Malor said as Galford replicated the other crusader’s gesture. The scholar also answered and confirmed his acceptance of the mission.
“Consider the mission done, Grand Crusader. I’ll make sure that I’ll do my all to repel this threat.” The chronicler said as Dathrohan crossed his arms and nodded to them approvingly.
“I expected nothing less from you two. I’ll give you two companions to go with you, Malor, and you are freed from all other tasks, archivist. I trust you’ll serve me well.” The two saluted quickly before they turned around and left to prepare for their new tasks, leaving Dathrohan to once more reflect the situation.
The prospect of this treachery chilled the lord of the Crusade deeply as he looked at a tapestry hanging high from the ceiling. Dathrohan couldn’t even begin to consider the possibility that Isillien had usurped most of the Legion from the Grand Crusader’s control. Certainly, he couldn’t have been that blind? No matter what, Dathrohan resolved to get to the very bottom of this and to ensure that his serious oversight wouldn’t compromise the fate of the order. Dathrohan turned around and headed back towards his room. He couldn’t do more to reveal Isillien’s treachery for now but he could begin the preparations for the day when his doubts would be confirmed.
The offensive towards Stratholme is about to begin but will Dathrohan's new plans to cleanse the Crusade of Isillien's treason be successful? And will Osran be able to overcome the lowest point of his entire life or will the Legion end up being his own undoing? As always, i hope you enjoyed this offering and see you next time! :)
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Raising the Scarlet Banner
The loud banging of the city’s cathedral’s bells told without mercy that the day’s operation was about to begin. Each and every man and woman in Tyr’s Hand worked their absolute hardest to prepare their armor, steeds and weapons as they headed to join the ever-growing mass of soldiers gathering near the city’s protective gates. Today the first major offensive of the Crusade since the disaster at Northrend would begin and no one who had ever taken the oath of a paladin would withdraw from it without an excellent reason.
And despite his deep self-pity, neither would Osran. The paladin hadn’t slept well due to the images of his past flowing before his eyes but that couldn’t be helped. Even if in the inside the Crimson Legionary was completely broken in the inside, he’d never let it hinder his efforts in a battle. He had fought dozens of serious battles and he wouldn’t have survived them if he’d let his personal feelings get the best of him. However, the post he was assigned to didn’t appeal to him at all. Osran took a slight sigh as he cast a glance at Carethas and Iren standing next to the main horde.
Carlin Redpath, one of the last honorable officers in the city, had asked him to oversee the two paladins in the battle as a gesture of respect to the duo. However, the mere thought of that fought against Osran’s experience as each and every paladin earned his experience alone and no other soldier could help them in it. However, Osran had accepted that request because, after his fight with Zverenhoff, he was the last old comrade who still trusted the paladin completely due to his obliviousness to what had happened between him, Abbendis and Valdemar. He was one friend the knight was still determined to keep. Osran rode near the two cadets and spoke to hem in a harsh voice to hide his own internal torment.
“I hope you two are ready. I cannot even begin to imagine why the Scarlet Protector thinks I can help you in the coming fight, but for his sake, I accepted the request. However, I do apologize for leaving yesterday but I had different… matters to attend to.” Osran’s voice dropped at his last comments but he hoped it wouldn’t raise any suspicions from the duo. Not that it mattered as a cadet’s word wouldn’t weight too much. Carethas looked at the knight with some puzzlement but he could see Osran wasn’t lying. He took a moment to reflect on the situation before he answered.
“We understand, crusader Lowriver. We will do our best in the coming battle. I assure you we won’t be a hindrance to you in any way.” The younger man said to Osran whose mind was filled with bitterness to his own situation. Without thinking, he answered in a way he would have never done consciously.
“That’s a lot for a cadet to promise. I have absolutely no reason to believe you’ll survive even the initial charge but I guess we’ll see. At least you can’t do much worse than some other recruits I’ve seen in my day.” Osran cringed at his own words but he wouldn’t take them back in front of his words in front of the cadets. Carethas frowned at Osran while Iren turned his gaze at the main group of the knights, remembering his brief talk with Eneath on the preceding day. With some hesitation, he spoke to Osran as the Crusader Lord slowly rode to the front of the group, apparently preparing to announce today’s strategy.
“Your nephew, Eneath, said that the mere trust in the Light and ourselves will bring us the victory. I plan to follow his advice and to prove that I have what it takes to serve the good in this world. That’s all I can give and I hope that’s enough for you.” There was a small but distinct tone of condemnation to the older knight’s words but it was clear that Iren meant no offense to his superior. Osran looked at him in surprise, not expecting Eneath to have met the two. Even then, he was slightly disturbed by his nephew’s words as they were so similar to those he’d have said himself not too long ago. However, he didn’t allow his emotions to show themselves.
“Eneath is a good paladin surely but he is also inexperienced enough to say something like that. But do whatever you think helps you most in surviving the coming horrors. Just remember the things I showed you yesterday and you might just live.” The knight said in a slightly silent voice as Valdemar raised his blade to the air to demand attention. Of course, the outline of the strategy was already clear to everyone but no operation was merely a reflection of the last one and Valdemar had to be prepared for any surprises. The already- silent chatter died down altogether as their lord’s voice started to thunder over the horde of knights.
“Today we start writing the noblest chapter in the history of our blessed order and the legendary tale of Lordaeron’s rebirth! As all of you already know, we will feast in Corin’s Crossing before the sun sets in the east! We will slaughter each and every slave of the Lich King in our old, beloved town and it will once again shine as a beacon of peace and prosperity all around these lands! Corin’s Crossing was once a bastion of honor and it will be once again! Of this I, as a lord of the Scarlet Crusade, wow to you!” Loud cheers rang across the city as the knight greeted their leader’s announcement. Every even slightly more experienced knight remembered the city’s markets filled with exotic delicacies and finest cloths all the way from the enchanted woodlands of Kalimdor as well as the ever-hopeful and cheerful lanes of that beloved town. However, the cheers ended soon enough as Valdemar continued.
“But we cannot simply charge to the streets. For all we know, there might be hordes of necromancers in the buildings, just waiting to rot our flesh at first sight. Because of this, our first objective is to secure the city’s surroundings which will be made more challenging due to the lakes surrounding its western approaches. However, once the city is under siege, we will begin our push to the streets but no matter what you face, always keep your defenses up against any attack from a necromancer. If we lose any parts of our army to the Scourge, it seriously compromises our entire operation! We must always take the widest streets first and the narrowest lanes will be the last areas we’ll liberate. The main objective is not to kill as many undead as we can but to minimize our own casualties!” Valdemar’s speech was greeted with a revering silence as each of the knights knew this battle would reveal the Crusade’s true chances of
ever winning this war. Each of the paladins present knew a lot was depending on their ability to execute the strategy flawlessly. The silence was broken by one final call from the Crusader Lord.
“Open the gates! Today, we begin our march to Stratholme or join our old comrades in the afterlife! Charge, my comrades, to Corin’s Crossing!” The massive gates started to open agonizingly slowly. Osran felt sick even listening to Valdemar like this but right now, he didn’t have a real choice. Despite his lost self-respect, Osran hoped beyond hope that this offensive would be a success. After all he had given to the Crusade, he could only hope something good would come out of it. With a forced sigh, Osran spoke to the two cadets.
“Well, good luck for your first battle. It is always the most difficult one but whatever you do, don’t let your guard down. Let’s go.” The two cadets nodded silently towards Osran as they joined the main horde of the paladins. It was immensely rare for a fresh recruit to be accepted among them but Osran wanted to believe that Redpath knew what he was doing. And should the duo survive, they’d be forced to learn invaluable skills and soon enough, they’d be a regular part of the group. Osran himself, however, didn’t care about anything but victory. In the middle of the lowest point in his life, the last thing he cared about was to look after two novices.
The gate loomed as a menacing portal to another world as the mass of crusaders quickly poured out into the wide stone path surrounded by the never-ending sickly mist. However, none of those present paid any attention to it anymore and the army begun its advance towards the lost gem of southern Darrowmere, preparing to clear the entire city and its surrounding lands of the Lich King’s corruption for good.
“Something feels off. This has been too easy.” Eneath said frowning as he looked at his surroundings. Corin’s Crossing couldn’t be any further than ten minutes’ ride but the crusaders hadn’t met any real resistance on their march. Keril looked at his comrade briefly before he realized what the other young knight meant.
“You’re right. The Scourge hasn’t been too active in these lands lately but they shouldn’t be allowing us to ride all the way to their stronghold without any resistance! But certainly they can’t be expecting us… can they?” Keril asked with clear concern and Eneath’s expression echoed that of his companion’s clearly. He didn’t know any more than Keril did but Eneath had found himself more sharp-eyed than most of his comrades.
“I pray to the Light they aren’t. But remember that we aren’t fighting against a foe we can understand. Dead corpses and fanatic madmen can be up in arms even if they don’t know we’re coming. In other words, they may have laid a trap many weeks ago already.” The young man bit his lip as he answered. He knew the disturbing implications of his own words but on the other hand, he was more than confident their leaders were more than aware of these details. He had seen Valdemar in action many times before and the younger Abbendis’ name wasn’t unknown to him either. These two knew the situation better than most of the other leaders and Eneath was ready to follow them into this battle. Keril, on the other hand, wasn’t as confident.
“T… then should we tell of it to the others? I’m not willing to fall into the Lich King’s trap.” The man said with a wavering voice, one that finally made Eneath to raise his voice.
“Snap out of it, Keril! They are much more thoughtful than we are and if you claim to know better than Valdemar, why haven’t you shown it before?!” Eneath cast an angry glance at his companion whose expression darkened immediately. The former regretted his words slightly but sometimes Keril’s even slow mind got to his nerves. To his relief and concern, it was at this moment that Valdemar’s voice could be heard under the beating of the horses’ hoofs.
“We’re approaching the city! The first group, come with me! The second follows Abbendis and the third begins assaulting the city to keep at least part of the Scourge’s forces busy! Let’s surround the city, quickly!” Eneath immediately turned his steed to the right and started to follow the general to the village’s northern side. The old, ruined houses started to slowly appear in the distance, the ghastly reminders of the city that had once been Corin’s Crossing. Eneath had never seen it himself before but the mere tales of it brought slight melancholy to his mind. However, his thoughts were soon interrupted by a terrifying screech from high above him. Many gazes turned immediately to the sky but it was already too late for some of the knights. Large, grey creatures were quickly falling from the sky, darting against the crusaders with a terrifyingly vicious way. Before many of the knights could even begin to defend themselves, their throats were either torn to pieces or their stomachs eviscerated through their armor. The attack was terrifying in its brutality before the defenders could contain the new threat. One voice called to the others, trying to tell how to best fight against the attackers.
“They’re the creatures from the northern wastes of Northrend! Defend each other as they’re too stupid to fight against multiple foes at once! These bastards were the end of many good men in that frozen hell but how can they be here, too?” His words were interrupted by another surprised voice but it wasn’t particularly friendly.
“Think about that only after you’ve slaughtered each and every one of them, fool! Give no quarter to these monsters!” The voice belonged to Valdemar who was just removing his sword from one gargoyle’s entrails, preparing to strike another one of them down before it had the time attack him. Osran, who was riding only a few ranks behind the Crusader Lord, cringed in pain as one of the servants of the Lich King dealt a swift blow to his back but the knight managed to turn around and impale the attacker. The flurry of claws and screeches slowly wore off as the creatures started to disengage from the fight but Valdemar wasn’t ready to let them go. With a loud cry, he yelled to his followers in rage.
“Priests, strike them out of the sky, now! Don’t let them to have another chance to attack ever again!”” Many torrents of Light filled the sky as the priests brought many of the gargoyles down with holy fire. Valdemar frowned as he saw that most of the herd would escape but he knew better than to waste any time. He looked at Nicholas Zverenhoff who was riding on his side and the latter gave the next order.
“Continue the advance and if the gargoyles try to attack us again, bring them down immediately! And burn the fallen, for their own sake.” The last sentence was spoken in an almost normal, if melancholic voice, and some of the riders immediately lighted torches they were carrying on their belts. Osran looked with complete indifference as the burning corpses were left behind him, the fallen knights’ endless war against the Scourge finally brought to an end. However, there was no time for such thoughts the lake on the city’s western approach grew ever closer to the advancing host of crusaders. The other group led by Abbendis was also charging at the same pace but the gargoyle attack hadn’t hit them as severely as Valdemar’s group. Osran could see the undead finally beginning to man the city’s surroundings and the main streets in anticipation of the offensive. And Osran knew that meant only one thing. So they have a leader
in there. I can’t wait to find out whether it’s a death knight or a necromancer. We’ll see soon enough.
The moment of collision grew closer as small groups of the advancing crusaders confronted the undead at the mouth of the streets while the others moved towards the mighty bridge that had for many travelers served as a symbol of Corin’s Crossing. It was a rather traditional bridge, not unlike the others in Lordaeron, but it matched the relaxed yet happy mood inside the town and it would now serve as the final springboard for the crusaders into the city. Osran took a deep sigh as he took his sword from his scabbard, preparing for a violent collision.
The entire situation felt surreal to Carethas. Here he was, standing as one of the fabled knights of the Scarlet Crusade, on the side of the very paladin who had inspired him for so long. Even if the knight in question resembled very little the man who had defended Barrowhome, Carethas knew he had a blessed luck to stand by his side on this day. Maybe Osran would acknowledge him once he’d shown his bravery in this coming fight? Even if he knew his skill with the sword was questionable at best, Carethas would give his all in the fight for the city. Each second that brought the two hosts closer made Carethas cringe ever deeper until the moment his sword finally sliced through the rotting flesh.
In a matter of few moments, the entire bridge turned into a site of slaughter as the armored steeds rode over the undead. The blades cut through them like they were nothing but it was clear they were only hindrances to slow the attack force down to buy the Scourge time to execute whatever vile plan they were preparing for. In his moment of initial excitement, Carethas couldn’t even begin to suspect the battle at the bridge was an integral part of that very plan. Suddenly, to each of the crusaders’ horror, two deafening booms emanated from the lake’s depths, causing violent waves of contaminated water to fly to every direction. Carethas looked in fear as the mass of water from both sides of the bridge fall down upon him, the very essence of the Plague reeking from the lake’s wretched waters. He could see many of the paladins suddenly covering themselves with the impenetrable shield which served as one of the paladins most trusted abilities. The cadet, however, wasn’t capable of creating such a defense himself and he was already preparing for a premature end to his life in the Crusade… until he felt the sacred hope being reborn in his body. In amazement, Carethas looked around himself to see who had provided him with salvation and soon, a voce spoke to him in slight annoyance.
“Don’t waste time wondering about life and continue to advance! I didn’t shield you to simply stare around!” The cadet’s eyes spotted the imposing form of Nicholas Zverenhoff who was near him looking in fear as a few of the paladins, who were slow enough to save themselves, fell to the ground. Their flesh had already started melting away and it wasn’t many seconds until their earthly remains were being spread to the winds by the releasing fire. However, Carethas knew Zverenhoff was right and he immediately nodded to him and headed after him towards the city’s main street.
“My deepest thanks, duke Zverenhoff. I won’t forget this.”
The situation only earned a few curses from Osran as he looked at a knight fall beside him. This had been a most unsavory surprise but one that couldn’t be helped. He quickly lighted his torch but burning his comrade’s corpse didn’t seem to spark any regrets in Osran. It was as if he was just sending a stranger away instead of parting with a trusted comrade for the very last time. In a way, Osran acknowledged the change in his way of thinking but the recent events still dominated his mind. It was much easier to accept his part in life if he simply stopped caring about his old comrades. Those emotions had just brought him pain with Valdemar and there was no telling who would be the next one to earn the Grand Crusader’s retribution.
Still, the tiniest ripple of relief waved through Osran’s face as he saw Carethas surviving the wave. Despite everything that had happened since that day, the mere courage and faith the young man had shown on that day still awed the aging knight to this day. Maybe Carethas could one day find his place among the Crusade and Osran, despite his situation, was happy to tell he had been his trainer on his first steps to becoming a paladin. But all of that could wait. After getting over the initial shock, Valdemar ordered his troops to restart their advance immediately. Osran, with weary and routine-like gestures, ordered his steed to return to gallop while healing his own slight hits of the water. The offensive was ready to continue in full swing. However, the bridge had served as a deadly trap and even if nobody voiced the thought, everybody knew there was no telling where the next one would be waiting for them.
There was something in the atmosphere of the street that worried Keril greatly. On the outside, nothing in the outlook of the ruined, blackened houses seemed unusual for the Plaguelands nor did the hordes of ghouls swarming all around him and the rest of his squad. However, the air itself seemed increasingly heavy, even suffocating the deeper he and his comrades went inside the city. Initially the clashed didn’t seem too unlike those he had fought in the past but now it really seemed to weigh down upon him and he could see similar weariness creeping into his comrades’ movements. The whole city seemed to slowly grow more blurred. Still, Keril could see clearly enough to strike down the next attacker but after that, he cried to Eneath in a surprisingly tired-sounding voice.
“Can you feel that something is wrong with this place? It’s becoming ever more taxing to strike these devils down!” Keril said as he parried a rather large skeleton’s hit against him. Eneath impaled a ghoul to his left before he answered.
“How couldn’t I!? This must be the Scourge’s doing! Only a man capable of dark magic can taint the air itself! I’ll have to ask Abbendis if she has any idea on how we deal with this. If we cannot get rid of this nightmare soon, none of us are going to live to tell of this!” The general was standing near Eneath leading her troops ever forward and for some reason, her fighting didn’t seem to be bothered by the vile spell at work. The paladin figured it her burning desire and zeal to kill each and every undead in this land that gave her the strength to go on but he imagined that under her tough exterior she felt the same way as the others. Eneath fought his way to her and shouted to her amid the heavy melee.
“We have to get rid of this spell that is weighing down on us! You can feel it also, don’t you?” Eneath knew Abbendis wasn’t the most easily approachable of the Crusade’s leaders but her answer still surprised the young man.
“Of course I do and we aren’t going to rest until we take down its source! The casters have to be inside these houses and you are going to help me in slaughtering each of the villains casting this curse upon us. So stop complaining and continue the fight! The quicker we kill these devils the faster we can breathe easily again!” Abbendis was just about to cast a powerful judgement of light but to her utmost shock, it died down in her hand. She frowned deeply and tried to do it again but with the same result. No matter what she tried, she could no longer summon the Light to her side and one by one, the other paladins fell victim to the same fate. The loss of her strength general brought an extremely rare moment of hesitance to Abbendis’ mind but with a loud cry, she tightened her grip on her sword and resumed the advance.
“To hell with the Light! Use whatever weapons you can and continue the attack! Take no one step back until the city is ours!”
The same feeling of powerlessness had completely taken over Osran as he faced a rather hastily-built abomination. The monster’s viscera drooped even further away from its stomach than usual and it had no real recognizable face. However, it was every inch as powerful as others of its kind and the loss of his strength almost cost Osran everything. He was just charging against the undead with all of his might, ready to infuse his sword with the holy power needed to kill the monstrosity with one blow. However, the usual glow never appeared into the weapon. The paladin’s hit caused another, deep cut to the abomination’s abdomen but it wasn’t enough to kill it once and for all. Osran rolled away as the massive chain hit the ground where he had just stood. When he had stopped, Osran looked at his hand and he saw that no matter what he did, it had no effect. Immediately, the fearful thought flowed into the paladin’s mind.
Has the Light abandoned me? Have I really drifted that far from the right path?
However, those thoughts were swept away when he saw Zverenhoff and Valdemar face the same problem. In many ways, the former duke was the kind of paladin who Osran would still have wanted to be, a true champion of pureness still faithful to the code of honor they both had shared for decades. Seeing him face the same problem as the Crimson Legionary swept Osran’s personal fears away as he knew that the former duke wouldn’t be abandoned by the Light because of straying from its pure teachings.
Even then, it opened another possibility that wasn’t in anyway more appetizing. Osran had seen too many battles in his time to understand that this was some kind spell used to drain the magical energies from the enemy, some kind of enormous, long-term counterspell. The knight panted with concern as he faced the massive undead ready to crush him like a tiny insect under the chain it used as a weapon. With or without the Light’s help, Osran knew he had to take down this disgusting aberration or everything else would be for nothing. The monster’s weapon hit the ground on his side and Osran knew his time had come. With a loud cry, he reached for the creature’s throat and with a mighty thrust, his blade sank into the abomination’s unbeating heart and after a moment of wavering, it fell to the ground with a loud thud. Just in time for Osran to hear the next command from Valdemar.
“Don’t waver! We will regain the Light’s favor once we’ve taken out the villains holding it back! Attack now, in the name of king Terenas!” Those words bothered Osran immensely as everything in the Crusader Lord’s gestures, voice and his inspiration had survived the yesterday’s attack intact. It seemed like Valdemar had more or less forgotten his relationship with Osran and that thought chilled the paladin. It pained Osran to know that he could just walk to Valdemar and start their long comradeship from a clean table if he really was the same man Osran had known. But even then, such an option was monstrous beyond measure for the paladin. Simply acting like one’s friend while actually being the one who had ruined his life would simply be too cruel and twisted. With a heavy heart, Osran knew it would be better for both of them if Valdemar only deemed him as another officer of the Crusade and nothing more.
“We have to separate to two different groups. The left wing…” That voice belonged to Zverenhoff but it was interrupted by a sudden, chilly cloud which suddenly formed in the middle of the city. The paladins looked at the aberration in fear which only intensified by a laughing voice which sounded as cold as the chill of the northern land itself.
“Forget those plans, brave defender of the Light. This city belongs to king Arthas and to his glory I will destroy your pitiful army here and now. The Scourge is rising again and no one in your pitiful “Crusade” can prevent it anymore.” The knights looked in fear as a vague form appeared inside the icy cloud and the forming creature was a thing stripped of every knight’s worst nightmares. It was a long, blue skeletal ghost whose purple garment covered its white, immaterial body. The ghost’s head carried a crown and other decorations of purple. Even if only few of the knights had been unfortunate enough to actually meet such a monster, each and every one of the crusaders knew what kind of being stood before them. It was one of the mightiest servants of the Scourge, a master of undeath, a remnant of a power-hungry mage’s passed mortal life. The ghastly mage’s kind’s mere name brought fear to most human’s spine: a lich.
“Lay down your defense, you despicable monster. I will make sure you never hurt another being ever again. I had hoped we’d never meet again but I was wrong, weren’t I, Araj?” There were a few surprised looks as Valdemar spoke the lich’s real name. They hadn’t expected him to know this particular slave of the Lich King but in the end, it mattered very little. Whether nor now the two had once known each other, the coming battle would be an extremely dangerous one and it would likely be the last fight for too many of them. However, all those thoughts were swept away as the terrifying voice spoke again, this time filled with mockery.
“So you still remember me, foolish lord. It feels like it’s been millennia since I served under your command against the orcs but it matters little. You and your pitiful followers sealed your own fates the moment you assaulted this city. Can you feel your powers being slowly drained from you? Before long, you’ll be too weak to even hold your weapons attack and even now, all the exits are being blocked by the faithful servants of the Scourge. You fell into this strap all too easily, Valdemar.” The lich’s face was incapable of expressing any human emotions but his voice told everything the knights needed to know. The Crusader Lord took a hateful grin as he thought about the situation. For all he knew, Abbendis’ group could be on their way here right now. Araj wasn’t in an enviable position but there was a chance his powers more than made up for that fault. At least the paladin understood that the suffocating spell had to be dealt with if the crusaders were to have any chance of beating him.
“The ones closest to the houses, break into them and kill whatever devils are casting the spell! We have to keep the lich in bay until we have our full powers back! We don’t have a second to waste!” Valdemar said as a dozen knights from both flanks attacked the buildings’ doors and it didn’t take a lot of effort before the completely rotten wood broke down under the intense hits. To everyone’s puzzlement, Araj didn’t seem to be moved by this development in the least.
“That plan is doomed from the beginning. But don’t worry, I will teach you to respect the might of the Lich King before you’ll join his invincible army and sweep over Azeroth as a pure wind! Together, we will purge this world of the blight of the living! And I’ll begin with this pathetic army!” The lich suddenly raised his hands towards the sky and immediately huge chunks of ice started falling down upon the defenders who were only further slowed down by the immense cold. Furthermore, Araj cast a massive barrage of darkness force upon the crusaders, dealing terrifying injuries upon many of them. Valdemar knew what was at stake as his shield took the battering from the incoming attacks. He waited until it finally halted and then cried to his followers.
“Take the fight to the lich! We have to keep him busy until our comrades have finished their task! Hold on to the Light inside your hearts and the day will still be ours! In the name of the Grand Crusader!”
The decayed chairs and blackened walls brought deep anxiety and sorrow to Osran as he headed towards the house’s basement where the villains were likely to be. It still saddened the paladin to imagine that this had been some family’s home, these very rooms the sights of all the joys of that beautiful time. However, very little remained of that time as most of the furniture was long gone. Only the haunting, long-lost memories of those times lingered inside these cursed walls.
The entrance to the basement was, as was the custom in Lordaeron, near the kitchen. The hatch seemed completely untouched but Osran knew better than to be fooled by such appearances. The magi were likely waiting for them and the moment when the hatch would be opened was likely to be followed by a furious and unrelenting attack. Osran turned to his followers, among them Carethas as he laid his hand on the lever, ready to open the gate to the stronghold of the Scourge.
“Be ready for anything, my comrades. There’s no telling what we’ll face but keep your guard up! Take them out quickly before any of us fall victim to their evil!” Osran said as his followers merely nodded to him. Osran took a long sigh as he tightened his grip on the hatch. After a few seconds, he pulled it opened with one, quick movement and led the charge into the basement.
What followed was even worse than he had even expected initially. He was met with countless bolts of shadows and fire and… small imps? Through the flux of different lights and smoke, the tiny demons seemed to rush towards him, preparing to tear him to pieces before he’d have the chance to defend himself. However, the aging paladin wasn’t about to let that happen. His comrades ran to his side and together, the crusaders pushed deeper into the basement, finally receiving a good look on their enemies.
There was a small ring of black-robed acolytes, probably from the Cult of the Damned, casting a part of the vile spell over the city. There were a few more of them defending the others and there seemed to dance scores of small demons around them, ready to attack the infiltrating knights. Osran frowned as he looked at them and sickened feelings started to creep into his mind. The Scourge had once worked with demons but they hadn’t been seen since the end of the War. What were they doing here, obeying the commands of these acolytes? One of the robed figures spoke silently as the rest of his comrades chanted after him.
“Don’t take another step, servants of the curse. You will not break the sacred circle of death over this city. Leave now and embrace your role among us. Whatever you do, you cannot stop us.” The man’s words were unclear splutter and the others humming only deepened the unclear atmosphere over the group. Osran, however, knew that these acolytes were mere novices when compared to the master necromancer Diodor who he had faced in the Scarlet Monastery during that battle which seemed like it happened so long ago…
“You won’t get a chance to finish that spell, cowards. Your disgusting tricks will pale under the grace of pure hope which will redeem this city soon enough! Death to the Scourge!” The paladin called as he and his comrades charged towards the group of dark magi but they seemed like they weren’t going to give up easily. Suddenly, many of the black, formless demons seemed to grow in size, blocking the knights from threatening their masters. Carethas cringed as the terrifying, dark ghost bowed over him, almost blending into the house’s shadows themselves but the cadet knew the threat was very concrete. He tried to take a defensive stance but before he managed to dodge, part of the demon suddenly seemed to drift towards him and stroke him with a great power.
However, it was at that moment when Osran’s teachings returned to his mind. Even under the looming presence of the demon, Carethas closed his eyes and even surprisingly easily, he managed to let the holy warmth flow through him again. But the rest wouldn’t be as easy as fighting against Iren in the empty barrack room. The power was far harder to control and the demon did its best in trying to bypass his sharpened defenses. No matter where the young man tried to attack, the shadow seemed to have drifted away and he received more hits than he managed to inflict himself. Still, he was doing far better than some others of his companions. Three of them had already fallen and two more were slowly being overpowered by the seemingly invincible demons. In additions to them, the imps were doing a good job in causing mayhem across the basement and harassing the crusaders defenses with their fiery attacks.
However, many of the older knights seemed to be slowly pushing forward, their long experience in controlling the Light allowing them to hold on to their inner Light even in this hellish situation. Carethas himself managed to keep the demon on the defensive until a large exorcism casted by one of the other paladins finally took the large voidwalker down. However, that hit had a major drawback. Just as the demon returned to the void it had come from, a bolt of black energy casted by one of the acolytes flew towards Carethas, ready to destroy his chest completely. However, instinctually Carethas managed to call a minor shield on its path, completely negating its effect. None of the knights managed to get a glimpse of the stunning display of tranquility except for the young man’s long-term trainer.
He had many difficulties trying to continue his advance through the enemy but Osran had managed to see Carethas’ effort from the corner of his eye and he slowly started to see the wisdom in Carlin Redpath’s advice to let the young man join the knights in this battle. What Carethas lacked in pure skill he made up with his calm and extremely mature way of fighting. He made no real mistakes and the fact that he had managed to create even a flicker of divine shield
proved he’d become a great paladin in his day. Osran nodded to him in approval as he separated one imp’s head from its shoulders.
The acolytes were slowly coming to the realization that their work was going to soon be interrupted. However, none of them had expected to be allowed to work in peace and with annoyed gestures, they ended casting the spell and instead created a barrier at the place the hatch had been. The cultist who appeared to be the small group’s leader spoke again with his chanting voice.
“You may have interrupted our service to Kel’Thuzad but it’ll resume soon enough. We’ve made sure none of you are going to escape from this trap. Our barrier ensures that this basement will serve as your grave until our master deems you worthy of being allowed to serve him! Prepare to be cleansed, followers of the false Light!” The man cried as the room’s air suddenly turned dense with a mysterious, dark mist which only served to make the room look even darker. This wasn’t the aura the group had casted over the city, this was more intense and it concretely seemed to eat away at the crusaders’ flesh. Osran cringed in pain as he prepared for the final confrontation with the group. Most of the demons had already been vanquished and from now on, it was only the knights and the acolytes against each other. The tension was tangible in the air and Osran knew there were no more words that needed to be exchanged. The aging paladin merely raised his sword and when he took the first step, it took less than a second until the battle had resumed in full swing.
Carethas looked at the servants of the Scourge before him, knowing that even one well-aimed bolt of shadow could end his fight against the Lich King forever. The aura of death wasn’t an immediate threat just yet as the paladins could heal it away but the mere presence of a group of fanatically zealous magi was more than enough threat at this point. The young man charged along with the rest of the knights, twisting in pain as additional dose of toxic gas made its way under his skin, only worsening his physical foes. However, Carethas thought he had enough time to take the extremely short and thin man down but it proved to be a terrible mistake.
The cadet approached the caster quickly, determined to take him out with one swing. Everything went just as he had envisioned: his advance was practically unchallenged and the mage backed down from the fight… only to surprise Carethas completely. The short acolyte, stepped out of the cadet’s path, making him lose his balance. It was at this moment that he took a small dagger from his pocket and kicked Carethas’ leg, causing him to waver even further. A manic smile formed to the acolyte’s sickly lips as he sank his dagger again and again to the cadet’s chest, knowing that his attacks were beyond lethal. Carethas’ unusually white face became momentarily petrified and his light-colored hair flushed as he stopped his charge. With a crazed grin, the acolyte moved his dagger over the cadet’s heart and prepared to carve the still-beating organ out of its fleshy prison.
Those thoughts, however, were ended by a sudden hit to his back. A massive bolt of Light resembling a shield hit the robed man to his back, immediately felling him to the ground. Osran looked in deep apology as Carethas’ lifeblood dropped to the ground in mass. The knight was more than sorry that the young man’s promising life in the Crusade had to end like this but it was a part of a soldier’s life. With a heavy pull, the critically-injured paladin took his sword from the ground and just as the acolyte rose back from the ground and put his sword through the servant of the Lich King. Carethas’ attack immediately stopped the fanatic’s attack and the black-clothed man fell upon the cadet, leaving both of them lie unmoving in the increasingly bloody floor.
No matter how distasteful it seemed to an outsider, that sight was quickly swept away from Osran’s mind as he turned to face the leader of the acolytes once again. He’d have to beat him here and now for the sake of all those who had given up their lives in the war against the Lich King’s tyranny. However, there was one thing that seemed to work against him in this battle. One thing seemed to cry with its absence and that was his internal sense of companionship with the paladins around him. In the previous battles he could have felt their trust and appreciation which would give Osran courage. That feeling was till there but the knowledge of them being terribly misplaced brought deep shame into Osran’s mind. The spirit of companionship had been replaced by the disheartening feeling of guilt. However, those thoughts were ended as the lead acolyte’s greyish, decayed face turned into a horrifying grin. The mage pulled his hand forward in order to cast a spell but to his shock, his attack was stopped in its heels and he was instead beaten back by a weak but potent judgement.
The fallen mage looked around himself frantically, looking for the source of the interruption. However, none could be seen and by the time he regained his focus, it was too late. One paladin alongside Osran reached him first and with a weapon powered by a sacred blessing of the Light, he lowered his weapon upon the acolyte. However, that attack was countered by a shield which was obviously derived from the classic mage spell called ice block but it was severely weakened by the corruption within the former student of arcane magic. And that proved to be his downfall.
Seeing how the acolyte was preoccupied with dodging his comrade, Osran knew his time had come. He ran towards the other man but he knew he didn’t have a chance to safely strike the killing blow as there were three other fanatic cult members around him. Instead, Osran knew the situation called for clearing first. In deep concentration, Osran formed a whirlwind of bright power around him which swept the assisting casters away from him, leaving and the leading acolyte alone. The aging paladin knew his window of opportunity wasn’t a long one and he did the first thing that came to his mind.
A sudden force of Light concentrated around the former mage’s chest but it wasn’t the blessed power the Light was most often used for. Rather, it was the violent, judging image of how a paladin’s strength could be used to inflict pain. After a moment of increasingly immense pressure, the acolyte’s chest was crushed internally and his struggles ended without even the slightest hiss of pain. He stayed completely loyal to his master until the end, completely overlooking his own injuries. However, Osran knew this was but a tiny step towards victory in the battle for the control of the city as it was highly questionable whether the other groups of acolyte had been dealt with. Still, Osran wished to make sure that no seriously injured fighters would remain unhealed.
“Is everyone alright? We’ve got to help Valdemar as quickly as we can and try to recover your strength as quickly as you can. Leave the dead here.” Osran looked at his followers in sadness but he knew there was no use mourning for those who had left this hellish war for good. No nods came from his followers but just as the paladin was starting to make his way back to the central square, one of the other knights bowed to look at one of the corpses on the ground. Carethas’ corpse.
“I ordered you to leave the dead, Wanil. I saw him fall: he’s no longer within our ability to help.” Osran said sadly as it had been just a minute when he had deemed the cadet unusually gifted and now he lied among the rest of the dead, his promise gone before he hardly even started his life in the Crusade. However, before he could dwell further in his bitter thoughts, a completely unbelievable announcement reached the knight’s ears.
“No, Osran, he’s alive! He still breathes ever so weakly but he’s still alive!” The white-haired man yelled as he put his hand before Carethas’ mouth. Osran frowned in surprise and bowed next to his comrade and to the paladin’s amazement, he could see that his comrade had been right. Carethas was still alive.
...
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...
The lich’s initially confident composure wore out slowly as he slowly felt the spell’s strength wear out as the groups of acolytes fell one by one. He had expected those fools to buy him at least twice as time as this but here the paladins were, encroaching ever more forcefully around him, overwhelming his minions slowly but ever so surely. Sure, dozens of knights had fallen but his own position grew increasingly dangerous. It wasn’t a situation he had been prepared for when he had been ordered to safeguard this village from the rumored attack of the Scarlet Crusade.
Yet, here he was, fighting for survival as more and more of his followers fell around him. The spell had almost worn out by now and Araj knew his chances were beginning to thin out rather quickly. This knowledge pained the lich without end as the Lich King had shown him a rare favor by purging him of life and granting him the gift of eternal life and power undreamt by any mortal. And this was how he was going to repay him? By falling in the hands of weaklings like these ones? No, that surely couldn’t be his destiny. The lich prepared for his last defenses when a taunt by Zverenhoff reminded him of what was at stake here.
“It’s over, monster! The Light’s justice will purge you from this land!” The former duke yelled as he cut down another of the countless ghouls swarming around the square. It was clear that the crusaders would be upon the skeletal sorcerer very soon and Nicholas’ taunt seemed to finally tell Araj his situation and it certainly wasn’t one he’d ever accept. With a flash of final determination, Araj called upon the power of the cold dark of the depths of Northrend and with a roaring voice, he yelled upon the gathered group of paladins around him.
“You’ll never capture this city, not as long as I can serve my master and repay him for his never-ending grace! Now, fall you cursed beasts! Fall before the might of the Scourge!” Araj raised his hands towards the sky and immediately the tempest of hail intensified and the earth itself turned to ice. At the same time, the ice begun to glow with dark energy and each one of the paladins knew the lich was giving his all to the battle with this attack. Most the paladins lost their composure completely as they faced at the coming onslaught and even Nicholas’ advance halted at the sight of this brutal, unspeakable power. The Crusade was facing total annihilation at this moment… but their leader wouldn’t hear any of it.
The Crusader Lord looked at his sword which seemed to hunger for the lich’s life. Valdemar was slowly beginning to understand that many things in his life seemed off, as if there were some events of which he simply had no memories of and there seemed to be many parts in his life that didn’t seem to make much sense, as if a part of it had been snapped away. However, there was one thing that would never change, not as long as he breathed. He was the master of Tyr’s Hand and he would serve his followers best by serving the Crusade with all his heart. And this villain was only but one obstacle he’d have to conquer if he was able to fulfill his great charge. The Crusader Lord would find out what had happened to him later but for now, he’d take down this monster.
With a loud cry, Valdemar impaled another skeleton and crushed its bones with a mighty blow. After that strike, he begun to run, determined to do what was needed of him. This battle would be decided here and now and it wouldn’t end in the victory of the Scourge.
Feverish thoughts flowed in the lich’s mind as he struggled to maintain his crushing spell. None of the living would be able to resist it and if he were lucky, Kel’Thuzad would never know of his near failure. A slight wave of relief was beginning to form within Araj, maybe he would be able to save his face in the eyes of his lord. However, that hope took a heavy blow as he saw Valdemar running towards him with a determined look, telling the lich that he was only after one thing.
Araj knew he couldn’t fight the Crusader Lord and cast his spell of death at the same time but letting go of the spell would only doom his slaves and by extension, himself. Even then, Araj knew he had no chance. It would be mere seconds before the crusader would reach him and at that point it would be too late. With a sickened grin, the lich ended his most potent spell and quickly, turned his left hand towards Valdemar and launched a massive bolt of ice towards him. However, to Araj’s ultimate shock, Valdemar merely dodged his attack as if it were nothing. Araj cast another chunk of ice but with the same result. The duo’s distance from each other was nearly spent and with one, desperate effort he tried to freeze the crusader’s legs to the ground with a powerful aura but to no success. Araj could only watch in fear as Valdemar’s sword fell down upon him, ever closer and closer…
Gaps of shock left Valdemar’s mouth as he looked at the lich emanating a terrified scream as he suddenly disappeared before him. The lich was gone, as if he had been devoured by the ground he had been floating above. The adrenaline begun to slowly wear off as Valdemar realized that his followers were surrounding and finishing the last remnants of the Scourge’s resistance. No matter what the Scourge would do from now on, the battle was won. Corin’s Crossing was under human rule once again and for the first time since Arthas’ betrayal, the defenders of Lordaeron had managed to retake a major town from the Lich King’s dominion. With a triumphant cry, Valdemar cried to his followers.
“Corin’s Crossing is ours, a testament to the fact that the Scourge can be beaten! Come, let Lordaeron’s gracious emblem fly over this city once again!”
The darkness hindered Osran’s efforts to rush to his comrade’s side as quickly as he could as the stairs back to the house were in far worse condition than he had thought at first. His efforts to save Carethas had already taken far too long and he dreaded the possibility that he had wasted the precious moments needed to save the battle by saving Carethas but helping the needy was his duty as a paladin. Furthermore, Carethas’ courage had made a good impression on Osran and he felt it was his charge to try to help him survive this fight. The knight only dreaded what price he’d have to pay for his decision. Osran’s eyes were fixed on the still-open door, hearing that there was still fighting but the primary roar of the battle had subsided. That only deepened Osran’s dear but what waited him outside wasn’t what he had expected.
“…and now, my brave comrades. lay your eyes on the blessed emblem of our holy order! In the eyes of the Lightbringer and every brave and noble paladin who came before us, I declare this city liberated from the blight of the Scourge! In the name of the Scarlet Crusade!” Valdemar cried in a triumphant voice as the flag of the scarlet Crusade reached the top of the city’s central pole, the Lordaeron’s ancient symbol being spread wide by the rising wind. That sight nearly made Osran collapse from deep relief, not believing such a great victory could be true. The Crusade had achieved its greatest victory yet which would serve as an ultimate reminder of what the order could do as long as it stayed together. After all these painful sacrifices he had made for the Crusade, Osran was more than moved that he had made the right decision after all. With emotional and overjoyed gestures, Osran raised his sword towards the sky and cried along all the others.
“In the name of the Scarlet Crusade!”
It was at this moment that Osran knew this would be his destiny. Despite the initial pain, he now wanted to believe Isillien had been right all along. All the sacrifices would ultimately lead to the rebirth of the lost kingdom and its symbol flying over Corin’s Crossing was a testament to that. No matter what would happen from now on, Osran knew he’d live and die under the scarlet banner.
But not all of the assembled crusaders were pleased with the outcome of the battle. Iren, who had followed Osran in the course of the battle, was disgusted to see the celebrating crowds in the middle of the town that should have belonged to the Cult of the Damned and its master. Today had been a major disaster but these crusaders were pathetic fools if they thought this would mark the beginning of the end of the Scourge. Oh no, this was but an unfortunate loss of a few worthless ghouls and Araj was the only servant of the Scourge in the city whose survival mattered. And thankfully, his rebirth was what the treacherous cadet was going to ensure.
Iren followed the rest of his “comrades” into the celebrating crowd but he had something completely different in mind. Those fools might believe Araj was gone but they had no idea that a lich didn’t fall simply by striking him down. A lich’s spirit lived in phylacteries which were left to the ground once they fell and with proper skill, they could be resurrected to heed the call of the Lich King once more. With any luck, it would be somewhere around… there it is!
The young man could see the small decorated box lying in the ground, completely unnoticed by the jubilant knights. Making sure he’d remain unseen, Iren took the phylactery from the ground and put it under his cloak, knowing nobody would suspect him of anything at this point. He had slain two of the acolytes in cold blood and his presence in the city had already made the others see him as their comrade. What gullible morons they were. With the box in his hands, he used the fuzz of the moment to quickly run behind the nearby houses to deliver the phylactery to someone who’d be able to restore the lich to life. Someone from the Cult would usually be nearby just to observe the progression of the battles…
“This mission was a complete failure, Iren. I thought you knew Kel’Thuzad doesn’t approve of setbacks caused by the failings of lowly pawns such as yourselves.” The young man twitched in surprise and shock as a voice suddenly spoke to him from a nearby door. He quickly turned to look at the speaker and answered after a moment of stuttering.
“M… my apologies, honored Diesalven. W… we could never had expected the fury the crusaders slaughtered our comrades with. T… there was nothing I could have done but at least I brought you this!” Iren said in anxiety as he pulled the phylactery from his bag. Diesalven’s face didn’t communicate any emotion as he took the box but his words brought a chilly grip to Iren’s heart.
“Do you think delivering another failure to me will make me forget about your own uselessness and lack of benefit to Kel’Thuzad? Do you think Araj’s survival is enough to save you?” The necromancer’s words were chilly with loathing as Iren realized how bad his hand actually was. He had joined the Crusade to sabotage the order’s capabilities but instead he had been completely preoccupied by meeting Eneath and Keril. He hadn’t actually done anything for the Scourge during the battle… but he had to gain the other knights’ trust to be able to do anything! Iren tried one last time to make the necromancer listen to him.
“I’ll do better in the future, I swear! I just tried to gain the others’ trust and I got it! From now on, the Crusade will feel like everything is falling down upon them!” Diesalven listened to the lowly traitor with a weary look but sudden sounds of shouting and running steps interrupted his thoughts. He had expected as much: the mages among the crusaders had sensed the presence of his necrotic magic. The robed man whispered to Iren as the voices grew quickly louder.
“Show now what this trust of yours is worth. In the service of the Lich King, power and usefulness are the only things that matter. I’ve got the feeling this is the last time we’ll meet.” Diesalven’s mouth formed a smile as a few of the knights appeared at the door, immediately crying loudly at the duo.
“What is the meaning of this?! In the name of the Grand Crusader, surrender immediately!” The man’s voice rang across the small room but Diesalven didn’t have too much to say. He only addressed the paladin briefly and with an indifferent voice.
“Not this time, good paladin. Farewell.” And with those words, a black cloud seemed to swallow the necromancer, leaving Iren alone to face the five crusaders who surrounded him within a few seconds. Iren dropped his sword to the ground, full well knowing that he had no chance of fighting himself out of this one. One of the knights raised his blade to Iren’s throat and softly touched the bottom of his chin with it.
“It’s a shame that your boss got away but trust me, you won’t. We’ll have a lot of questioning with you, traitor.”
The Crusade has earned its greatest victory yet and the road towards Stratholme is clear. However, this was only the first step in this most crucial of campaigns and Iren's betrayal surely casts a shadow on Osran soon enough. What does the treacherous cadet know and will the Crusade's momentum last? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and Merry Christmas to everyone! :)
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A Traitor’s Due
The last sounds of the battle still raged around him as Eneath looked at the moving ceremony in the center of the city. All his and his comrades’ sacrifices had yielded fruit as they had given their own blood to vanquish the hordes of acolytes and demons in the buildings. The moment he felt the terrifying spell being vanquished was one of the sweetest ones he could remember, even if it had been bought at the cost of his comrades’ lives. The young man still didn’t know how heavy their casualties had been but he would learn it in due time. For now, however, it was time to revel in the glory of their victory as there wouldn’t be a long time until the offensive would begin pouring ever further into the north, to the once-green woodlands around Stratholme. However, just as he was about to join his comrades in their celebrations, he saw someone quickly appearing from the crowd. It was his uncle and at least he hadn’t sustained any serious injuries.
“Hail, Eneath! I’m glad to see you made it through all of this. It was quite a fight.” The older paladin said as he reached his nephew who looked at him in similar relief. The thrill of the battle still lingered in both of them but Eneath could see some kind of change in his uncle. He seemed less tense and he seemed to have regained at least a part of his earlier composure. Eneath could only guess his reasons but at least the change was in the right direction. He didn’t really care for the reasons, though.
“It was. For a time I thought I wouldn’t survive but thank the Light I was wrong. This is an amazing day uncle. I’m happy to be here now.” Eneath said as he looked at the, town around him, already imagining it rebuild to serve as a new stronghold of the Crusade. For Osran, however, that prospect was even more precious as he had seen the town as it used to be and for the confirmation that his path had been the right one. Even if his situation was still a precarious one, the knight had received the courage to face it again.
“Likewise, nephew. I’ve had a rough time lately but this day makes up for all that. Corin’s Crossing was a beautiful city in its day but this was only the first step of our campaign. These are the days of our glory, Eneath. If we are victorious, songs will be sung about our Crusade for centuries. We will lose more comrades but they will still guide us through the Light’s grace. I’m honored to share these times with you.” Osran said as his nephew’s presence made him feel like himself again. Even if his incidents with Valdemar and Zverenhoff still weighed on his mind, he felt more relieved than at any time since before his journey to Scarlet Monastery. Eneath returned his uncle’s smile, understanding what he meant. He was too young to care about his legacy just yet but he understood the older paladin’s sentiment fully.
“So am I. We’ll celebrate in Stratholme before long and then we can finally return home. At… at least we can begin restoring at our family from a clean table.” Eneath said as he realized that all other members of his family were gone, save for Osran’s mother. Despite that, the name of the Lowriver would once again stand as the pride of reborn Northdale. He was sure about that. Osran was about to answer when he heard another call from behind him.
“Crusader Lowriver. You are needed urgently!” The man yelled as he rushed towards Osran who was far from amused by this interruption. He exchanged glances with Eneath before he turned to look at the newcomer. The knight answered with a grim voice.
“What is it? Who needs my help this time?” He sounded impatient but the previous desperate, weary voice was gone. The rather long and heavily built courier looked at the equally long paladin and his voice was rather humble as he answered.
“I cannot tell the reason but go to the town hall. You should learn more there.” He said to Osran who shrugged slightly, knowing that this “invitation” would most likely concern his duties in the Crimson Legion. He turned around and looked at Eneath who suspected the very same thing.
“I’m sorry, Eneath. I hope we’ll see again before we march north by the Menethil road. Be safe.” And after those words, he walked beside the courier, heading towards the town hall which, if he remembered correct, would lie only a few streets from his current position.
The building was just as badly damaged and gloomy as any house in the city. However, unlike most of the buildings, the town hall was built of stone and the pungent smell of mildew glowed with its absence. On a side note, the door was still in its place and it creaked loudly as Osran stepped into the house. It didn’t take long for him to see something that immediately stunned him. Near the opposing wall of the room stood a familiar-looking priest and Landgren, the latter’s sword hanging over some poor man who was on his knees. However, the situation grew more concerning after Osran recognized the prisoner, He quickly turned to the other priest and after a moment, he remembered who he was. He was Valroth, the priest who he had used to interrogate Thalnos and Doan back at the Monastery. What was he doing here and what was wrong with Iren?
“What is going on here? Why is the cadet tied up like this? Speak!” The paladin said as he looked Valroth starting to walk towards him, his face bearing a somewhat threatening expression.
“I was sent here to reinforce the sway the Legion has on this army and I am not exactly impressed, Lowriver. This cadet, who I heard trained under your supervision, has been found dealing with one of the Cult’s leading necromancers under our very noses.” Landgren said in an uneasy voice, prompting Osran to cast a disturbed glance at Iren who carefully turned to look at his former trainer. Osran quickly walked towards him, clearly disappointed by this development but no look of compassion or regret could be read from his face. He walked near Iren and looked down at him in condemnation and growing outrage.
“Is it true, Highfield? Have you done the worst crime any human can do? Have you given up your life and dignity to surrender yourself to the Lich King’s service?” The paladin asked, not willing to believe the clerics’ words as he had seen Landgren helping Abbendis in wiping out Valdemar’s mind and despite his loathing at the priest, the paladin knew both of them served the same master now. There was no reason to get to fight with him now and to be honest, it wasn’t hard for Osran to imagine Valroth being associated with Isillien in some way either.
Iren, on the other hand, fully felt the full misery of his life as he looked at Osran’s condemning eyes. At this point, he couldn’t have explained his motivations if his life depended on it, as it did at this moment. For some reason, the promised power and salvation from the fate that had awaited his village had clouded his vision and in the hopes of avoiding the most terrible of deaths, he had searched for the acolytes who could provide him with orders on how to achieve that. However, he had seemed to forget his goal in Tyr’s Hand under Osran’s guidance and his comrades’ support but now his original purpose had been exposed. He had chosen wrong and due to his mental weakness, he couldn’t even start walking his dark path. And now any kind of path for him would likely be cut for him forever. He quickly looked at Osran and answered to him with a pleading voice.
“It is, master Lowriver but I was ready to abandon that allegiance! I searched help from the Cult, it’s true, but only to save myself from… from becoming one of those terrible creatures! You have no reason to trust me but you showed me a different way to take and I’d still like to take it! Please give me that chance! I swear you won’t regret it.” Iren looked at the paladin’s unmoving face, not sure what to make of it. Was he only toying with him or was he actually considering his words? However, those ponderings were promptly ended by a powerful kick from Osran to his face which sent the cadet flying to the wall and the hit crushed his nose immediately. That kick was followed by a judgement spoken with a thundering voice.
“You’re right, I certainly won’t regret my decision! The fact that you even speak of my “guidance” only shames me and only proves that you’re one of the most spineless snails I’ve ever met! Believing you could ever trust the Lich King will always be the last mistake a man can make in his life and you will be no different!” Osran’s hand yearned for a quick retribution but Landgren and Valroth’s presence bothered him somewhat. With a quick sigh, he put his sword back into the scabbard and turned to the duo and asked them impatiently.
“Why did you invite me here? You know what happens to traitors and you could have executed him completely fine without my help! And if this is another “test”, I’m growing sick of them! Explain yourselves and don’t even try to lie!” Osran said, gritting his teeth together. The cadet’s betrayal infuriated him greatly and neither did the priests’ presence ease his disappointment. To his slight relief, Landgren walked towards him and there was no sound or look of superiority on his face. Even if Osran couldn’t help but feel hate towards the priest due to his past actions, he seemed like a sensible, honest man.
“This isn’t a test, Osran. This traitor must know quite a bit of the ways the Scourge infiltrates our ranks and we have to learn everything we can. We two are here to do the real work but you know him better than we do. You know the best questions and if you still hold even a modicum of authority in his eyes, you might find the answers more easily than we could.” The tall, black-bearded bishop said in a calm voice, earning a slight shrug from Valroth who would have preferred more direct action. Osran frowned at the answer but no matter how he looked at, Landgren’s reasoning was rather sound. The knight was deeply ashamed by his failure to see Iren’s true self immediately but it couldn’t be helped anymore. He was about to answer when Valroth crossed his hands and spoke in a low voice.
“But we won’t use the Light today, Lowriver. Its efficiency depends on the vigilance of the priest but there can already be things that can escape his notice. No, we have far better methods this time which will make our prisoners speak out of their own, free will.” Valroth’s lips turned into a grin which would have brought deep anxiety to Osran if the situation was less inflamed. Iren’s silent whimpers could be heard from the corner of the room as Valroth pulled a long, board-like object from the next hall of the large building, the terrifying table brought to the city in a large, secretive wagon just in case something like this would happen. It had never been used before in an actual situation but there was the first time for everything. Osran quickly moved to help him but the object didn’t really raise good feelings within him. The paladin’s voice was wary as he asked the obvious question.
“What in the name of sanity is this thing? How does this work better than the Light?” Following this mighty victory, Osran decided to overlook these kinds of cruelties if the successes kept piling on and he absolutely felt no compassion for the young man. The priest stopped pulling the table-like structure and answered.
“Because this will leave no piece of information uncovered. There’s no point telling everything about how it works as you’ll see soon enough… But by all means, let us try to ask him nicely at first. Let’s see how far he wishes to cooperate with us.” The inquisitor said to the knight who looked at him in acceptance and moved back near the weeping man and nearly immediately, he asked the first question that had started to bother him. It wasn’t perhaps the question the clerics had hoped him to ask but as a paladin, it was a one he felt obliged to present.
“I don’t know what is waiting for you if you stay silent but I doubt it’s something any of us want to go through even if you deserve whatever is going to happen. But to start with, how were you able to use the Light if you never held the love for our cause or to the truth inside your heart? The Light answers only to those who are pure of mind and that hardly includes you.” Osran almost wished Iren to go through everything the priests had planned but he still remembered that he shouldn’t want to bring pain upon others without a good reason. Iren slithered on the ground, asking the paladin in despair.
“If I speak, will you let me live? Please, master…” Another, more powerful kick hit the prisoner’s head as another, disgusted hiss escaped from Osran’s lips.
“Speak!” Osran’s patience was being tested already and these kinds of pleadings only served to raise even more disgust within him. Iren could feel that his face was badly bruised but no matter what, he’d have to try to make this situation as easy from himself as possible. However, there was also another thing swirling in his mind. If he told everything and he was somehow allowed to live, what kind of punishment would the Scourge bring to him? The mere thought of Diesalven’s powers chilled him to the bone and with a silent resolution, he decided to keep the worst revelations to himself for now.
“I… I’m not sure. I never intended to be trained as a paladin…. it just… happened. I never thought the Light would protect me against the hounds! And when you threatened me, it just came to me… all I wanted at that point was to live!” His words sounded genuine but it still made little sense to Osran. One’s own selfish thoughts would never serve as an incitement for the Light’s guidance yet this traitor seemed honest enough. A distinct thought woke up within him as the thought about Iren’s words.
“You’re lying. The only way that could be true would be if you believed in my teachings and in the hope promised by our sacred order. However, one whose soul has been tainted by the Lich King can never be pure again. The Scourge is the antithesis of all we stand for.” Osran knew some paladins had told about the redemption of the soul but Osran had never believed in such things and he certainly didn’t now. And as a final straw, this kind of weakling could never show the kind of strength needed to redeem one’s very spirit. Likely it was just some kind of aberration in the way the Light worked and nothing more than a mistake. Iren tried to calm down but it proved to be more difficult than he had thought.
“That’s all there is to it! My plans changed so many times already and I would do anything if I could take my alliance with the undead! Why did I ever seek them out…” Those words suddenly raised Osran’s interest as it was the first reference to his association with Kel’Thuzad. He quickly interrupted about it and spoke in an angered voice.
“Tell me everything about it! Tell me how you joined the Scourge and who initiated you to it! Tell me how their vile recruitment works!” The paladin said, seeing that Valroth and Landgren were ready with their machine. Iren’s time to speak willingly was growing short. The cadet had reached the point he feared the most: to be forced to try to sate his interrogator’s curiosity and to avoid the wrath of the Scourge.
“M… my village was razed out by the undead, that much was true. But unlike I originally told, I searched for the Cult in the hopes of saving myself from the Scourge’s worst curses. I… I searched for them for days and finally, they noticed me. I didn’t find them myself but one acolyte once approached me when I was trying to reach Stratholme in search for them. He told me that I’d have to work in cover for them and if I was successful in sabotaging you, I’d be allowed to join them and they’d spare my life. That’s all there is to it.” The former cadet said, earning a swift rebuke from Osran. Even if he believed the younger man was stupid enough to search for Stratholme alone, it was impossible that Iren wouldn’t know anything more about the Cult.
“You, seeking for Strathome? Do you take me for a fool?” Osran said threateningly, finally earning an answer from Valroth. All of them could see Iren was still internally conflicted about how to answer.
“There’s no use questioning about those things like this. Never trust a prisoner’s tale headlong, Lowriver. They become slightly honest once they’re slightly persuaded at first and once you really start the questioning, you’ll soon be far closer than brothers. Put him on the table and let us start!” The inquisitor said and while Iren shuddered clearly, it seemed he still feared the Scourge more than the Crusade. Osran was slowly getting over the breaches of the original code of honor and to tell the truth, he didn’t pity the traitor at all. He nodded to Landgren who quickly moved to ensure the prisoner wouldn’t try anything funny. The priest quickly nodded to Iren and said silently, almost with a whisper. Iren would have wanted to run but he knew he wouldn’t get far. In resignation and fear, he rose up and with fearful steps, walked towards the table and under the watchful eyes of his torturers, did as was required of him. Iren gritted his teeth together in fear as his hands were locked to chains to prevent his escape later on. However, he didn’t realize that the chains also served as the actual ways of torture that would be used against him. However, it begun to quickly dawn on him as Valroth slowly started to pull on the lever next to him.
Suddenly, the chains tightened and the weights under the table were pulled together at the center of the board’s bottom. Quickly, Iren’s hands and legs were pulled in opposite directions, causing an unimaginable pain as his muscles were pushed to their absolute limits. One inch at a time, his body stretched but just as his limbs were starting to internally rip themselves apart, Valroth released the terrifying machine, allowing Landgren to give him one more chance to cooperate.
“I ask again, Highfield. Where did you find this “acolyte”, where did he take you and what was your business with the necromancer just before you were caught? The Light may still show you mercy if you choose the right thing now.” The priest’s beard blocked a proper line of sight between Iren and his face but the man could imagine that his expression wasn’t as hateful as it could have been. Still, Iren knew feared without measure the revenge of the cold dark and in panic, looked at the building’s damaged ceiling swallowed audibly but saying nothing. Landgren glanced at him in disappointment and gave one, brief gesture to Valroth.
“Do what you have to. It seems this poor fool doesn’t know when to give up.” To Osran’s surprise, it didn’t seem like Landgren enjoyed this in the least. He seemed genuinely sorry for Iren but not once did the priest question his charge. In some way, a certain respect towards him rose within Osran as it seemed like there still was goodness and valor within him. Valroth, however, didn’t look disappointed at the cadet’s decision in the least. He seemed almost amused by Iren’s disaster as he again pulled the lever, this time further than before. Also, he put a thick billet to the young man’s mouth in order to prevent him from screaming and alarming the still-celebrating crowd outside. Tears formed in the young man’s eyes as the weights pulled his limbs ever further. After many, long seconds, the inevitable seemed to happen. Each one of those present cringed in disgust as a silent and ripping sound emanated from Iren’s left hand and the limb was completely painted black with the internal bleeding. The sound continued as it would take some more time for the muscle to completely be ripped apart but it seemed like the traitor had had enough. At this point, the unintelligible mumbling seemed to be twisting into something that tried to be something meaningful. Determining to show him mercy, Osran pulled the billet from his lips and as soon as it had been removed, Iren screamed under his breath and begun to talk.
“Please, don’t do it again! I’ll talk! The acolyte who I met was one of necromancer Diesalven’s apprentices who took me to his master! Diesalven often sees the value in having new servants who are still new to the ways of this conflict! He kept his secret stronghold within the ruined village of Darrowshire but I was never let inside! They only told me that more knowledge would come with success. They sent me to you and that’s all I know! The Cult seems to search for new members all around the Plaguelands but I don’t know their ordinary measures!” Osran approached him, knowing those words were the truth. The blackened hand turned his stomach upside down but to be fair, Iren deserved all of it. Still, there was one more to ask.
“And what was this Diesalven’s business here? Why did he in essence reveal you to us?” The knight asked in a weary voice, prompting one last hesitating look from the cadet. This was the only real way he had harmed the Crusade and the secrets about the lichs’ rebirth were ones he was sure weren’t something the Scourge would like to spread. Valroth looked at him and as a clear threat, spoke to him in a hissing tone.
“If you won’t tell, we can tear each of your limbs to pieces one by one and after that we’ve still got plenty of options left. Trust me, you have nothing to win here.” The torturer said as Iren realized Valroth was right. He didn’t have the strength to go through that pain through even once more. He looked at Valroth in fear as he started to speak, knowing he’d seal his own fate with this decision. He’d regret this moment for sure but he simply wouldn’t stand by as his body was slowly shred to pieces.
“I… I delivered something to him. I… it was of Araj’s, something that…” However, at that moment, something happened that none of those present could have foreseen and even less hoped. Iren’s body quickly started to twitch as if it was being thrown around by some mysterious force and then it happened. The poor if misguided man suddenly exploded, his entrails having been turned green by the curse. Unknown to everyone, Diesalven had planted the plague into Iren just before he had left, knowing that he would talk. The secret of the lich wasn’t something the Crusade would be allowed to know and Diesalven had not only decided to eliminate this failure of a servant while simultaneously attempting to turn him into a weapon.
The sickly remains of the one Osran had seen as his apprentice flew around the room and it was only the trio’s reflexes which allowed them to shield themselves against the incoming blood stains which would certainly would certain to infect anyone it hit. However, Diesalven’s plan had failed for now as the explosion didn’t manage to hit anyone directly, without the victims being able to protect themselves. Still, Osran panted in fear as he looked at the ghastly man slowly drop to the floor, looking at his hands to make sure he had made it. Landgren retained his unmoved but respectable posture as he moved towards the disfigured corpse, knowing that the plague wouldn’t spread anymore as this dose had been created to use its whole potential in the initial shock. He seemed to pray for a moment before he turned around and spoke to his two companions.
“Apparently there is more to the lich than we know. It’s a real shame that he couldn’t finish his tale. It would have been of immense value to the Crusade. However, this whole case proved one thing we had feared all along. The Scourge is trying to infiltrate our ranks using our cadets which means we cannot trust in their purity anymore.” Landgren said sadly as he walked towards the two. Osran raised his hand to his chin as he thought about what Landgren had said. Was there a chance Carethas could have collaborated with Iren behind his back, only waiting for the moment to assassinate him? No matter what, he wouldn’t be taken a fool anymore. The time for understanding and trust in the outsiders had passed. If overseeing and interrogating everyone really was the price of victory, there was no options on this issue. Osran stepped forward and started to speak, his face a mask of righteous rage.
“Then we must make sure of it! We can’t continue the war without more recruits and if they’re genuinely interested in fighting the Scourge, they’ll do anything to achieve the goal of fighting the Scourge. I propose that we will force the whole and complete truth from each and every recruit with whatever means necessary! Even if it takes more of these kinds of inventions!” Osran lowered his hand atop the machine, knowing that the Crusade’s safety was at stake here. The cadets wouldn’t have to be truly harmed but they’d speak about their true motives if they were interrogated long enough with these tables and even with some new contrivances later on. Osram’s words earned an accepting nod from Valroth who turned to look at Landgren.
“He’s right. We can’t afford to let any other traitors within our ranks. We’ve got to change our earlier reasoning on the issue of recruitment to the direction where our comrades’ true allegiances won’t be up for guessing.” This comment was answered by Osran as he knew, despite the importance of new recruits, that these kinds of things would have to be shielded from the eyes of the ordinary Crusaders. If they knew everything about the actions of the Crimson Legion, there could be some unsavory repercussions.
“Yes, but for now, our main focus is this campaign. If some villagers seek us out before we reach Stratholme, we’ll have to discuss this in more detail but we’ll also have to plan our next moves. Kel’Thuzad won’t rest until he has beaten us back and because of that, we mustn’t give him any quarter. We must continue the campaign before the evening as was our plan!” The knight said as his companions nodded. The former’s confidence had started to return because despite their differing methods, these clerics seemed to be willing to listen to Osran’s ideas unlike Abbendis. Landgren looked at him in understanding as he lighted Iren’s remains to fire. The room was made out of stone so there was no possibility of a larger fire.
“Indeed. Our next major operation is to reach the border of Stratholme’s old forest which has been given a more appropriate name these days: the Plaguewood. Valdemar will most likely require the Legion’s presence at any moment. Light’s blessings to you, my comrades. We’ll all need it in the days to come.”
However, despite those dire warnings, the nightmarish confrontation and the Scourge’s counterattack never came. Days passed slowly and ever larger stretches of the Menethil road fell under the Crusade’s dominion. The knights left most of the former countryside untouched, choosing to hold on only to the major arteries and towns of the land, knowing that the countless, ruined villages were of very little help to their war effort. The crusaders established small outposts along the road to ensure its safety and their supply line’s integrity. Only small groups of undead appeared here and there and as long as they approached the advancing army of knights, they were obliterated.
Those days seemed like a dream come true: the unstoppable army of the Light marching over the wicked army of the dead as if the holy power’s hand sweeping the evil away. The ruins and spoiled lakes were left behind the knights and before they even realized it, the imposing forms of the unnatural, ghastly fungi appeared in the horizon. That marked only one thing: the dreaded Plaguewood would start here.
The mere sight of that cursed land made Nicholas Zverenhoff cringe in worry. He had never entered that cursed place himself but the small groups of brave paladins who had braved the shadow of the mushroom-like monstrous vegetation had told terrifying stories about horribly twisted creatures, endless groups of crazed necromancers as well as aberrations of flesh created from the poor victims of the Lich King’s evil. Also, it was rumored that the entrance to Naxxramas itself was hidden somewhere deep within the woods. The cursed necropolis itself could be seen floating high above the land in the far distance, also revealing the location of Stratholme itself.
“Halt! We’ve already covered more than enough ground today! We’ll rest before we enter the Scourge’s stronghold itself!” Valdemar yelled as he stopped his steed’s advance. The former duke looked at the Crusader Lord wearily, slowly coming to accept the fact that the old Valdemar wasn’t going to return. In a way, he seemed like the man Zverenhoff had known but the characteristic pride and honor were gone. As he looked at his changed leader, the duke couldn’t
help but curse Osran in his mind.
The fact that the knight had pretended to be Valdemar’s friend for so long and now commit the terrible crimes against him made something fume within the noble’s mind. There had been a time when he had looked up to Osran skill and strict code of honor but these days he wanted nothing more than to reveal his despicable deeds to everyone and to bring him to justice before the Light’s graceful gaze. However, if even half of the things the knight said were true, the situation was even grimmer than he had initially thought. Would it be true that the Crusade was that badly corrupted from the inside or was Osran a mere zealous aberration within the Crimson Legion?
No matter the answer, the former duke knew confronting the paladin again would only worsen his own situation while accomplishing nothing for the restoration of justice. For now, the best he could hope for was the success of their campaign. Nicholas knew there were many good people within the Crusade and in its higher echelons of power but he couldn’t say whether they or the corrupt men were the more powerful group at this point. The noble could only hope for the best and pray that Valdemar would receive justice for the wrongs committed against him and that the guilty would pay in due time. He was just about to dismount when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“It truly looks as disgusting as they say. I can’t wait until we can purge that abomination from the face of Lordaeron, lord Zverenhoff.” The speaker was Thomas Thomson, a veteran knight from the Silver Hand and one of the most eager but also honorable paladins Nicholas knew. The latter turned towards the other knight but didn’t stop to address him as he walked past him to help his comrades unloading the tents from the carriages.
“Remember that the forest isn’t our primary objective just yet, Thomson. We’ll wipe it out in due time but before that, we have to take Stratholme and find that damned entrance to Naxxramas. But you’re right, it’ll be a spectacle I have to agree I look forward to, no matter what monstrosities come our way.” The noble knew his words would be seen immature, even childish in their obliviousness to the war’s horrors but this was a moment the people of Lordaeron, and indeed all untainted peoples of Azeroth, had waited for years. Each and every member of the Crusade would gladly spill their blood for this noblest of causes.
“I just hope we’ll find that damned door to the necropolis. Our scouts have never found it, no matter how they’ve tried to search for it. Without that portal, Naxxramas is impenetrable as any gryphons would be shot down a long time in advance. That search won’t be an easy one.” The knight said as he pulled the heavy fabric of the tent to the ground. He knew his words didn’t contribute to the situation too much but he wanted to relieve his own impatience with this small talk. Nicholas, however, asked him a question that surprised him somewhat.
“Without a doubt. The Scourge must have hidden it well but we’ll find it before long. Also, I heard you were considering sending your family to safety. Did you go on with that plan?” Zverenhoff wasn’t completely interested as his own family had fallen under the Scourge’s onslaught during the original invasion of Lordaeron. Thomas was slightly taken aback by this personal question as it had been weeks since he had told about his idea to the duke. He stuttered for a few times before he regained his confidence.
“Why, I did. Suzannah, Joel and Gina are long gone. Their ship left the port of Southshore over two weeks ago. I… I wish they’d still be here beside me but I know it’s for the best. They should be arriving at the waters surrounding the colony of Theramore in the next few days… At least it gives me some relief to know that they live on in the case I meet my end here.” Clear melancholy filled the man’s eyes as his eyes were locked at the distant fungi-resembling aberrations. A clear look of longing and melancholy radiated from the paladin’s eyes as the faces of his wife and children flowed before his eyes. Zverenhoff looked at the lower-ranked knight with understanding but he chuckled slightly as he answered. The noble put his leg on a nearby rock near Thomas and started to speak to him in a thoughtful voice.
“You’ll see them before the end, trust me. None of you will depart this world without your family reuniting at least once more in a moment overflowing with happiness. They are lucky to have you as their husband and father, Thomas. Your children will grow up feeling pride for the right to call you their father. You’ll have many great stories to tell them when you meet them again.” Zverenhoff tried to build hope inside his comrade and Thomas seemed slightly surprised be the duke’s words. Still, he shook his head and continued his gaze.
"I hope so but all of it seems so final… they took off from our ancestral homeland to start a new life in that newly-found, magical land while I’m left in this hell fighting these monsters! It’s like we are in two different worlds… what if they decide to stay in their new one? What if I’m fighting for nothing?” Thomas was surprised by those words himself as he hadn’t actually thought about it before. Zverenhoff frowned deeply as he looked at the other paladin, surprised by these kinds f thoughts. He scratched his neck briefly before answering.
“Do you think fighting for Lordaeron is futile? Even if your family decides to stay in Kalimdor, don’t you want to honor your house’s memory by removing the undead filth from your ancestral home? Doesn’t Arthas’ betrayal raise any emotions within you? We’re not fighting for nothing, Thomas, and you know it. But I’m sure they’ll return before you know it. I’m sure of it.” Zverenhoff said as he nailed the peg into the hard ground. Thomas sighed slightly as he heard the other man’s answer, hoping dearly he was right. He simply stared at Zverenhoff and said to him in a silent, worried voice.
“I hope you’re right, Nicholas. The last thing I want is that all I do will go to waste before the end.” The former duke looked at the other paladin and simply nodded to him as a signal that he had said everything he had to say. The latter turned away from him and moved to get additional pegs from the wagon. He wanted to get over this part as quickly as possible.
This brief conversation had another beholder, however. Osran was standing on a slight higher ground not near from the duo, likewise preparing for the brief rest. He, too, had known Thomas for a long time but he had most often been quite a solitary man, most often preferring to stay on his own within Tyr’s Hand. It was quite surprising to see him this open about his thoughts to another paladin but Osran wasn’t surprised he had chosen the noble to talk to due to his friendly and respected insight into a variety of things. But those thoughts were quickly overshadowed by his own personal issues which had quickly escalated since Iren’s untimely betrayal and death. The paladin was still torn whether or not to trust Carethas but deep down, there were some regrets within his mind whether or not he had done the right things with the surviving cadet.
Osran looked around himself, waiting for Eneath to come help him as the duo’s tents would be located side by side and they’d often help each other with erecting the temporary shelters. As his nephew was nowhere to be seen, Osran’s mind wandered to the day evening following the treacherous recruit’s gruesome end when he had paid Carethas a visit in the city’s former church the priests had made their headquarters immediately. The cadet had been intensely healed following his injury and his own confusion about the whole situation had made him do something which still lingered in his, despite knowing his reasoning and the numerous argument behind that decision. Osran looked at the sky as he returned to that hazy afternoon four days ago…
The paladin felt a mixture of suspicion and appreciation within his mind as he looked at the cadet still lying in the ground in absence of any better facilities for the wounded. Osran had met Carethas earlier than Iren, that was true, but that meant little in the disgusting manipulations of the Scourge. In his eyes, Carethas was guilty until proven otherwise. He wouldn’t likely know the absolute truth about the recruit just yet but he’d have to investigate the remaining cadet’s behavior closely. Luckily he was already awake after the intense efforts of the priests and Osran headed straight to the room he was being held. The paladin looked at the bandages around his chest, surprised that they didn’t seem to hold even a drop of blood. He broke the silence shortly after he entered the room.
“It’s good to see you already in this good shape, Yrendel. You took quite a beating out there.” The paladin sounded completely neutral, even laconic as he spoke but he didn’t want to reveal his real business for being here. He wouldn’t have visited most of his other comrades but this time he had a real reason to be here: to investigate if his doubts had been misplaced in the first place. The younger man seemed surprised by his former trainer’s appearance like this but he knew he owed his life to the aging knight. He took a moment to find the right words to say before he answered.
“I… I’m grateful for saving me. I… I failed everyone when I underestimated the acolyte’s abilities. I would have died if it weren’t for your and the others’ healing. I’m sorry, master Lowriver.” The recruit said as he felt humbled by his failure. He had trained under Osran for only one day but he still would have wanted to repay his inspiration better than by making these kinds of blunders before his eyes. Osran glanced away from a broken window, taking a deep breath as if he was announcing some bad news, which he from Carethas’ perspective was actually doing.
“Don’t worry about that. You did much better than many others as you at least survived. That’s more than some others can say. Iren, for example, didn’t make it. He fell shortly after your injury.” Osran shook his head as he spoke, trying to reinforce the impression of his sadness. He couldn’t tell the truth as this tale determined much better whether Carethas deemed Iren as a rival or a friend or as a despicable and failed collaborator. Also, if the young man was completely oblivious to Iren’s treachery, it was better to not tell him about the Crusade’s more unsavory deeds. Carethas was about to gasp as his gaze dropped. Hearing that his only peer had already met his end shocked him greatly as Iren had seemed in many ways more gifted than him. The recruit took a moment before he answered.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I often saw him as someone who I would have to compete against to prove my worth and I always felt like he would make a better paladin than me. H… how did he die?” Carethas had lost enough loved ones and friends in the long years of struggle in Barrowhome to be overwhelmed by these news but he still wished to know what had become the bane of his comrade. Osran stared at him without a clear expression, seeing that Carethas’ restrained reaction seemed like a genuine one. If he was a pawn of the Lich King, he at least was good at faking his gestures alongside with his words. Osran decided to push his test a little further, seeing if Carethas would react in any way if he mentioned the necromancer’s name.
“Shortly after we took out the remaining acolytes and broke the spell, we headed back to help Valdemar against the lich. Iren was very eager to decide the battle once and for all and it was this youthful impatience that became his downfall. The Scourge had set up a new trap for us in the house above the basement and Iren and a few others took the first blow. They were infused with the Plague and we cut them down immediately to save their souls from the cold dark. This ambush was led by a necromancer one of us seemed to recognize: his name is rumored to be Diesalven. Sadly he managed to escape before he paid for his crimes.” The knight concluded, ending his highly altered version of the events with a heavy, faraway tone. To his slight surprise and relief, there was nothing suspicious in Carethas’ reaction as in his eyes lived the disbelief and shock that he had seen so many times in the cadets after their first battle and personal loss. Osran was gladdened by the young man’s reactions, slowly realizing that there was a chance his doubts had been misplaced.
“Well, may the Light smile upon his soul. The most important thing is that we won the battle, right? It just feels so wrong that Iren proudly stood by my side in Tyr’s Hand and now he’s dead. Just like my brother so many years ago.” Carethas thought mournfully, not willing to remember those terrible days. A careful thought begun to form in the knight’s mind, however. Even if Carethas hadn’t been Kel’Thuzad’s pawn, that didn’t mean some other of the later recruits wouldn’t be. Carethas couldn’t officially join the Crusade for months but maybe, considering their long if distant acquittance, he could offer Carethas a shortcut on his career. That idea seemed to bother Osran somewhat but it was something he knew would benefit them both.
“I’m sorry about his fate but it’s better that we fall fighting for something worth fighting for than live in fear all our days. But Carethas, I have another thing I came to talk about. To our utmost concern and disappointment, there have been rumors that the Scourge has sent spies and saboteurs among our new cadets. I’m sure you have nothing to do with them and I’m not asking you to try to judge now if any of your peers did something suspicious as the servants of the Scourge are unbelievably cunning. However, I’d ask you to keep an eye on the other cadets from now on.” The paladin said in a strong voice which still failed to soften the shock on the cadet. The Crusade infected with the Scourge? First he had lost his closest comrade and now he was being told that the Crusade was rotten inside? He cringed heavily as he answered.
“I… I never knew that. I thought that the days of fast and interrogations would drop out any of those bastards! B… but I guess trying to help you in finding them is my duty as a paladin. But… but what can I do if they are as wry as you say? The younger man said in confusion, earning a slight sad look from Osran. He hated to lie about Iren still but he couldn’t be too careful here. Carethas would learn the truth in the future if he proved to be worth the older paladin’s trust but for now, Osran figured he’d keep all the cards to himself. He answered to the recruit and spoke to him, trying to sound as trustworthy as he simply could.
“It’s easier for those infiltrators to keep their cover if they know they’re being watched but even they cannot stay alert every second of their existence. I simply ask you to keep your eyes and ears open but remember that no one must suspect you of working for us. If you prove to be of use to the Crusade, I’ll promise you that I’ll help you to become a true knight faster than most of your peers. It is your reward for doing your best to keep our sacred order safe. Do we have a deal?” The paladin knew that asking a young cadet to spy on his comrades in exchange of favors wasn’t exactly the most honorable way of serving the Light but at this point, the Crusade’s sanctity was the most important thing of all. His own concerns were further dampened by the surprised and interested smile-resembling expression that crept to Carethas’ face. It was clear Osran had just presented him with an offer he couldn’t refuse.
“We do, master Lowriver. I’ll do everything within my power to bring those traitors to justice. You have my word of it.” His earlier melancholy clearly lingered within the cadet’s eyes but the promise of such a meteoric rise in the Crusade brought great hope to him. Osran took a brief smile as he headed back towards the door before he briefly turned his head towards the recruit as he lowered his hand on the door handle.
“Very well, Yrendel. I’ll look forward to the fruits of our cooperation but for now, rest for a bit more. We’ll begin moving in a few hours and I advise you to be ready by then.” The crusader said before he left the room, leaving Carethas with many conflicted feelings. He had lost a comrade and a piece of his early, unreserved hope in the Crusade’s purity but suddenly, he had been offered a clear path forward in his life, one that offered great promise for him. With his head a complete flux, Carethas decided to comply with Osran’s request before the continuation of the battle and fell asleep on the cold, rocky floor, his injuries still weighing on him heavily.
Since that day, Carethas hadn’t offered him any major clues but he expressed his doubts about some of his comrades’ antics and seemingly unchivalrous behavior but nothing that would require serious investigations. It was clear that the cadet wanted to find out something of worth to redeem his prize but even he knew he couldn’t find traitors where there weren’t any. Osran sighed as he looked towards Plaguewood, wondering if he was pushing the young man too far this quickly on his career. Still, he wanted to think that this plan wouldn’t go waste in the long run and with a short sigh, entered his tent preparing for the coming battle.
He dreaded what the Crusade would face in the cursed forest but he had a bad feeling Kel’Thuzad had spared his most powerful minions for the defense of his own stronghold and if those fears would prove to be correct, there was no telling what horrors he would have to face under the damned canopy of the mutated trees. The aging paladin trusted the Crusade’s strength and its ability to head towards the final, decisive victory but the following day would most likely be a subject of horror stories for many years to come.
Against all odds, the Crusade has put the Scourge on the defensive. The living are even readying for the final attack against Stratholme itself but first they have to take its surroundings and the dreaded Plaguewood. Will they continue to push forward as a force of righteous reckoning or will the Lich King's forces regain the upper hand? Hopefully you enjoyed this offering and see you again in the next one!
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The Perils of Plaguewood
A brief yawn escaped from the Grand Crusader’s mouth even if he was more than eager to know the contents of the letter he was opening. Dathrohan had awoken only a few minutes earlier but the knowledge about this day’s importance more than made up for the lingering drowsiness within his mind. Today would be the day the siege of Stratholme would be broken and the Scarlet Bastion’s safety would be secure once and for all. However, to his slight worry, this new message didn’t seem to concern the Crusade’s campaign at all. Rather, it was a message from Malor who had reported far less from his progress than Dathrohan would have liked. The crusader put the letter on his table in a small room near the Crimson Throne, deciding to read this message in his private quarters before preparing for the coming battle.
To my honored superior I send my greetings.
I’ve continued to make progress on my mission and I’ve gathered a great amount of important information. It seems like the Grand Inquisitor has indeed tried to control the flow of the information within the Crusade but I cannot say whether he is using this ability to strengthen his position or simply to try to limit the spread of useless messages, thus trying to spare our couriers’ capabilities. However, it is difficult for me to believe that he has gone to these lengths without trying to manipulate our view about some issues. If I were forced to guess, I’d guess your concerns were justified.
However, there’s another, far more grave, issue I’d like to report. Our honored Grand Inquisitor seems to be spreading alarming influences on our comrades. Many of his associates seem to possess new kinds of magic and tools that seem to be developed only to cause pain to the others. This is not the way Alonsus Faol taught us even if I can see the wisdom in spreading fear upon the wicked. However, it is not my right to evaluate the necessity of his actions. In any case, I’ll continue my investigations and may the Light continue to shield me from Isillien’s gaze.
MR
Dathrohan finished the letter, scratching the corner of his eye in disappointment and fear. Even if he had dearly hoped otherwise, it seemed like his original concerns about Isillien had proven to be correct and that the Crusade’s spiritual leader had truly strayed from the righteous path. Even if Isillien wasn’t actively undermining his position, the mere fact that he had tried to prevent the reports from reaching him and that he was developing new ways of bringing pain to others without his knowledge more than justified revoking the cleric from his charge. It would cause great upheavals within his followers but safeguarding the order’s purity was his charge as the Grand Crusader.
But that would have to wait. Right now, all that mattered was beginning the liberation of Stratholme and that operation demanded all of his attention and the sight of the Grand Crusader leading the charge would certainly inspire his followers to give their all to the battle. He planned to meet Valdemar and his knights somewhere within the forest after their two armies had crushed the undead in Plaguewood under their merciless heel. A serious but confident expression crept to Dathrohan’s face as he finished equipping his battle armor and headed towards the corridors. In a few hours, this holy place would finally be free of the Scourge’s siege or he would fall trying. This he promised to all the paladins who had walked these holy halls in the past.
Carethas looked around himself in worry as his steed marched slowly but surely towards the horrifying aberration of a forest. Even around it, the ground looked brown and sickly, the green grass that had once covered the ground long since gone and replaced by complete emptiness and sickly lichen. His earlier injury had largely healed and he had learned far more of fighting during the last days’ offensive but he still didn’t feel like he was ready for this battle. The sight of Naxxramas in the distance and the knowledge that the Lich Lord of the Plaguelands was there, waiting for him and his comrades was a horrifying one for the young man.
Kel’Thuzad’s evil was legendary throughout the lands that had once been provinces of Lordaeron. This was the same fallen mage who had first introduced the Plague to the kingdom and the one who had accompanied and advised Arthas on his conquest of the previously invincible kingdom of Quel’Thalas and the one that had reportedly first ascended as a lich. And there was no telling what else lived inside Naxxramas’ cursed walls, welcoming the crusaders into their stronghold like a spider would welcome a fly into its web. However, Osran’s offer managed to stray him away from those fearful thoughts as he wanted nothing more to follow I his master’s footsteps and one day becoming another champion of the Light, perhaps even continuing his fight against the Scourge in Northrend itself.
Still, none of that would happen if he couldn’t fight his way through this nightmarish day. Even Valdemar himself was seemingly nervous as the massive tree-like fungi slowly engulfed the troops, their canopy forming a surreal and sickly sight whenever a paladin would look towards the sky. This fight would be a long one and the defiled environment only added to the fear the young cadet and many other crusaders felt at this dark hour.
The stench of sickness made Osran cringe in disgust as the fungi slowly pumped their poisons to the air. The paladin could easily imagine the odd mist filling the forest carrying the dreaded Plague but the carriers who had delivered the messages and supplies to the besieged part of Stratholme had proved that a brief passage though the forest would only cause severe nausea and breathing difficulties. Osran could only hope this battle wouldn’t linger for too long.
At first he had wondered why there were no undead to be seen but after a few moments, he could see rotting hands rising from the ground and distant shadows lingering under the massive forms of the terribly mutated trees. Even to his own surprise, however, his mind only drifted to his previous ride through the Menethil road to Stratholme. The old beauty of this once-tranquil forest still resonated in the old soldier’s mind as he drew his sword from its sheath, his fingers yearning to strike the defiled corpses of the long-since deceased humans back to the soil and to rest. However, he couldn’t help but feel melancholic as he thought that these rotting piles of flesh were actually the former residents of this land.
The scent of the early spring’s wind and all the newly-born life’s sweetness mixed with the smell of freshly baked bread as Osran remembered how it had felt to ride this road back in the old days of peace and stability. The edges of the road were filled with booming villages inhabited by kind and industrious people. The birds would sing as the still-cool wind of the fleeting winter swept through the woods, making an occasional traveler eagerly wonder what the next turn of the road towards the legendary city of Stratholme would hold. However, Osran was soon forced to prepare for conflict as Nicholas Zverenhoff’s voice ran through the forest.
“Give no quarter and whatever you do, don’t allow them to surround us! The last regiments, keep them away from the road and the rest of you, push on! Secure the road and remember that the Grand Crusader himself is on his way here! This is the hour of our glory, now make your fallen comrades and leaders proud! Strike for the memory of our beloved king!” Zverenhoff yelled as Valdemar turned to his followers and yelled only one, resolute cry.
“In the name of Lordaeron!” And with those words, the lord headed for battle, prompting the massive front of the crusaders advance quickly. If the last days had been any kind of inclination of the Scourge’s power, this battle was already done for. However, each of the crusaders knew better than to put their trust on that possibility as none of them wanted to throw away the chance of fighting in the cursed streets of Stratholme in the days to come. Osran gritted his teeth together as he once again prepared for the initial clash, beginning the battle in full swing. The knight didn’t know what monstrosities were waiting him and his comrades in this fight but at this point, he didn’t care. Right now, all he wanted was to taste the taste of victory once more.
The hordes of ghouls weren’t a match for the advancing host but the knights were careful not to leave the road for a second. None of them knew what was lurking in the depths of the sick forest and no one was interested in finding out at this point. They’d have to eventually enter it to find the entrance to the floating dread necropolis but that objective would have to wait. Right now, reaching the headquarters of their order was the more important goal.
“Halt! Do not chase them any further! Remember the orders!” Valdemar yelled as he looked at a few knights trying to cut the fleeing undead down into the forest but his sharp cry stopped them immediately. The knights stopped as soon as they heard the command in slight shame, rejoined the rest of the crusaders. They still weren’t anywhere near the crossroads to Stratholme but nobody had expected this battle to be an easy one in the first place.
The cadet looked with some embarrassment as he returned from the brief chase, once again blaming himself for forgetting his orders. Carethas’ earlier injuries in Corin’s Crossing had been caused by his lack of focus and the fact that he had readily abandoned caution to achieve a quick victory. Such things would very quickly become his end if he couldn’t snap out of this dangerous fault. However, he didn’t have a lot of time to dwell in those thoughts as one of the skeletal warriors quickly approached him. Seeing that the others had no time to aid him, the young cadet quickly drew his sword and ordered his steed to gallop towards the undead soldier. Carethas made sure to maintain his patience and he prepared thoroughly for the clash of their swords.
To the cadet’s surprise and shock, however, the skeleton’s hit was unusually powerful but it quickly disengaged from the impact, only to strike again in the next second. The young man cringed in pain as he felt his arm being hit by the rusting blade. However, seeing that the undead had charged him too quickly to efficiently flee, Carethas suddenly hit the skeleton in its head, crushing its skull to a thousand pieces and felling it to the ground for good. The cadet, however, didn’t have time to revel in his small, even petty victory as he suddenly saw a powerful flash of light in the sky further in the forest. The eyes of the knights turned to this great sight, knowing that the other army was advancing with a terrifying force.
The bearded paladin looked at the fallen monster in disgust as he pulled Ashbringer from its decayed entrails. Alexandros Mograine had seen many of these odd monsters of the swamps during his journeys in the dwarven lands of Khaz Modan but this was the first time he had seen them forced to fight for the Scourge. He and Dathrohan rode side by side, leading the charge towards the depths of the woods but these disgusting beasts hindered their efforts greatly. Alexandros snorted in anger as he suddenly asked from his old comrade, not really expecting an actual answer.
“How did the Scourge recruit these monsters? They live far away from here so there should be no ways they could have brought them to Lordaeron!” The Ashbringer cried as he looked once again to the sight around him. Had the Scourge actually transformed this forest into this hell to spawn some kind of sick abominations of these lonely creepers of the distant marshes of the world? Had Kel’Thuzad actually fallen this low?
“Then we must make sure they don’t get any older here! We will cut down every one of those aberrations, is that clear?” Dathrohan cried as he hit another of the huge, brownish beasts with his mighty hammer. The beast was hit back by the blow but the beast didn’t fall, it’s red, gleaming eyes burning with ever-increasing fury. The Grand Crusader looked with disgust at the vegetation literally growing from the being’s body, those plants just as plagued and sickly as any other part of the cursed bog monster. It quickly ran back towards the paladin, trying to strike him down with its huge, powerful hand until Dathrohan ended such plans once and for all. He released an immense force of the Light, completely engulfing the ruined being in burning Light. Many of his followers looked in awe at this power and their leader’s complete control over the Light. The undead giant fell to the ground but Dathrohan knew that there was no time waste. He raised his sword to the air and pointed towards the enemy.
“Fight on, my comrades! Today is the day of our ultimate victory! Make your Grand Crusader proud!” Dathrohan cried as he and Alexandros continued to lead the charge. However, just as he was engaging the next monster, something completely unexpected happened. A wall of dark fire rose between the Grand Crusader and his followers, separating him from the rest of the crusaders. Alexandros looked at the scene in concern but he knew Dathrohan would survive long enough against any opponent he would face behind that wall until he and the rest of the knights could move to help him. However, the Ashbringer didn’t want to take any risks and cried to his comrades urgently.
“We must help the Grand Crusader immediately! Fight your way around the wall and soon! We don’t have a second to waste!” Alexandros yelled as he looked at the masses of bog monsters and other disgusting aberrations swarm between him and Dathrohan. The Highlord looked in slight fear at the sight but Dathrohan was one of the first knights of the Silver Hand and a living legend. He raised his mighty sword as he charged into the mass of undead, safe in the knowledge that dozens of brave crusaders were at his heels.
Shocked gasps escaped from the Grand Crusader as the heavy, black smoke engulfed his senses. At first he could see nothing but complete darkness before him. Slowly but surely, he regained his composure and prepared to fight back the next ghoul trying to surprise him. However, it never came. He could feel the wall of fire growing thicker by the second and just as he was preparing to sprint and try to rejoin his comrades, a cold laugh could be heard from somewhere around him. The Grand Crusader turned to look at that voice’s source promptly, his eyes scouring the smoke-covered sights around him.
“So you are Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan, human. I hadn’t expected you were this easy to fool but know that you sealed your fate the moment you allowed me to face you in this fight.” Dathrohan’s breaths grew heavy as his eyes finally caught the sight of movement. The paladin tightened his grip on his hammer a form of a death knight appeared from the dark smoke, his head covered by a large, black helmet of his order. Dathrohan looked at the newcomer in rage, answering to his taunt in a powerful, demanding voice.
“I won’t cover under the words of someone who won’t face me fairly in a field of battle and instead relies on these kinds of cheap tricks! Prepare to face your end, despicable slave of the Lich King!” Dathrohan hissed, following the other knight’s movements carefully. Something in the stranger’s movements seemed off as if he was evaluating him like a living, thinking being would. The duo’s eyes met as the death knight once again started to speak.
“There’s very little you understand about what I am doing here or who I am but that’s something that matters little at this point. Let’s just say I have my uses for you. In any case, prepare to fall, fool!” Suddenly, the undead knight raised his hand towards Dathrohan and to the paladin’s shock, more dark clouds formed around him and out of them swirled reddish, horribly deformed dog-like creatures which had no identifiable eyes. And to make matters even worse, Dathrohan felt like his very energy was being drained from him by some unspeakable force.
However, he decided to do his all to prevent the element of surprise from the enemy and despite the ever-increasing pain, managed to gain the early initiative. His hammer met the dearth knight’s sword and the latter weapon was sent flying towards a nearby tree. However, the horrifying hound-like beasts prevented Saidan from fully utilizing his advantage. One by one, he cut them down but to his surprise, huge splashes of green, burning blood were sent flying on him, causing extremely painful injuries upon him. But the most remarkable thing about this development wasn’t the effects of the blood but the fact that the monsters bled at all. The undead didn’t shed blood, at least not like a living being would, but these deformed dogs bled like a normal hound. Saidan frowned as he realized the beasts weren’t undead at all and that left only option: that there were demonic acts in play here.
“I thought that the Scourge rose against the Burning Legion long ago! It should be impossible for them to use demons anymore! What are you?” The Grand Crusader asked in slight disbelief, not knowing what to make of this development. Why would a death knight serve the Legion… unless… Another worrying thought rose to Saidan’s mind as he investigated his opponent. What if he wasn’t a death knight in the first place? They couldn’t create walls of black fire and that would explain the mysterious opponent’s odd behavior. The stranger’s true form had to be revealed and there was only one way to do that. Suddenly, bright lights begun to swirl around Dathrohan as he prepared for a sacred storm, intended to force the death knight to his limits.
However, the stranger merely smirked under his helm as he suddenly begun to waive his hand as if to start a dark ritual. Dathrohan looked in surprise as he saw greenish rock from the sky towards him. The Grand Crusader quickly started to advance towards his enemy, preparing to take him down before he could go on with his vile schemes. The apparent undead knight replicated his enemy’s idea and the two ran towards each other, knowing no mercy would be given in this fight.
The young man’s hands trembled with shock and pain as he looked at his right thigh being painted red by a deep wound one of the ghouls had inflicted upon him. The vicious attack had torn off his leg’s armor and the injury radiated pain throughout his body. Eneath, however, didn’t have any time to heal it as masses upon masses of the servants of the Lich King swarmed around him. The inexperienced paladin was holding off the undead from the outskirts of the road, not far from Valdemar and the most important leaders of this campaign. The defenders’ line held strong as each of the knights secured each others’ flanks but injuries like that of Eneath’s were growing increasingly common among the crusaders.
However, as long as the Crusade advanced towards their goal, Eneath would take any injury and he’d even offer his life without second thoughts. Still, the sight of the endless stream of the undead arriving from the forest made him grow increasingly alarmed. Keril, who was standing on his left side, was slowly being overwhelmed by the attackers but the line would stand as another knight could always take his place. Even then, Eneath didn’t want to see his close comrade fall like this and despite his own woes, Eneath quickly took down two skeletons who were giving Keril a tough time. The young man tried to heal Keril’s wounds but soon it became clear to him that it had been mistake.
As if lighting from the sky, a gargoyle dashed towards the young paladin but Eneath had just enough time to prevent a deadly attack towards his head. He managed the imminent threat from gargoyle’s sharp claws just in time but the monster recovered from this setback quickly and soon enough, its fangs tore into Eneath’s cheek and throat. He nearly lost his composure doe to the savage attack and unimaginable agony but he managed to retain his sense and with one, mighty sting he impaled the flying monster, immediately ending its assault on him. However, the massive injury in his face clouded his entire sight and more and more undead were coming his way. The young paladin could hear a fearful cry from his side.
“Eneath, for the Light’s sake, defend yourself! The undead aren’t relenting in their assault!” The voice belonged to Keril who looked in fear as his closest comrade defended himself with massive struggles, the blood flowing from his face dropping to the ground. Keril knew Eneath had been wounded only because he had tried to help him and that thought only worsened his regrets. Eneath, on the other hand, knew that his duty as a paladin was to hold the line as long as he was able to, no matter the cost. He knew he would go down soon enough but despite that, he answered surprisingly calmly to his friend.
“Don’t worry about me, Keril. Both of us know what we have to do so fight and handle your own enemies!” Eneath said as he received another cut to his side. He regretted that every paladin around him seemed to be too preoccupied to heal him but he knew he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He had broken his orders when he had moved to help Keril and now he was playing the price. The young man cringed in pain as kicked another ghoul to the ground and then beheaded the foul creature in disgust.
The situation in the frontline wasn’t much easier as the Scourge’s resistance surpassed the Crusade’s expectations greatly. However, none of that mattered to Osran who looked at a massive skeleton before him and all the lesser undead which swarmed around it. The paladin knew there was no time to waste in this duel and he quickly ran nearer the monster and simultaneously as he hit its leg with his sword, Landgren cast a massive bolt of Light which immediately felled the skeleton, its bones breaking as they heavily hit the ground. Osran looked at the cleric, happy that she was here in the heat of battle as his will to fight and skills in battle were extremely impressive for a priest. However, there was no time for words of gratitude as the Crusade had to push on without a pause. Osran knew that time was off the essence in attack as delays could prove to be fatal.
At least he knew that until he saw something that took him off guard immediately. As he quickly cast a glance behind him, he could see that some spot in the humans’ lines were struggling to hold the line. In the worst spot of all stood his nephew who seemed to be viciously wounded and in a clear risk of being overwhelmed by the masses of invading undead. The aging knight realized Eneath couldn’t hold his position for much longer and he knew the younger paladin would never step back against his orders.
Osran cut down another ghoul as he looked at the disgusting fungi around him, cursing this terrifying place in every way possible. He couldn’t betray his orders and move in to help Eneath as it would threaten the offensive’s effectiveness. But neither could he simply watch his nephew being gutted before his eyes when he could save him. Eneath was the only family he had in addition to his mother and he remembered fondly all their common times ever since Eneath’s childhood and he knew there was only one right thing to do. He quickly stepped back from the frontline and spoke briefly to Landgren who was standing behind him.
“Hold the line, good priest. I’ll try to return as soon as I can.” The paladin knew that there was a good chance Isillien wouldn’t forgive this decision but that was a risk he was willing to take. If he would be judged for defending his nephew, then so be it. Landgren looked at the paladin in shock and just as he was about to answer, Osran ran away, leaving the priest look at the paladin in confusion and to handle the next wave of three ghouls.
Drops of cold sweat flowed across Saidan’s forehead as he and the mysterious stranger crossed weapons and fought to overpower each other. With a horrified realization, Dathrohan realized he was being severely overpowered by his opponent, as if his strength seemed completely superhuman. The Grand Crusader glanced around himself in growing concern, seeing that there was no help in its way. Dathrohan had always managed to hide his fear under a cover of bravery and nobleness but that didn’t change the fact that he was losing this most important of battles.
The worst thing of all was that he didn’t have the slightest of ideas that was as, despite their great power, he had previously been able to face any of the undead warriors in at least a dead-even manner but this time he was slowly been grinded to death. Saidan knew he didn’t have any hopes of winning his mysterious enemy by prolonging the fight. The first objective was to reveal what he was actually up against before he stood any chance of victory. This was the moment when he was forced to show the whole power of the master of the Scarlet Crusade. Suddenly Dathrohan engulfed himself with blinding light and let out an ear-piercing cry.
The death knight looked in momentary shock as Dathrohan’s massive display of power built up before his eyes. Most the power the Grand Crusader mustered seemed to flow into his legendary hammer. The paladin’s eyes turned golden with the holy strength as he suddenly cried and ran towards the death knight.
“Begone from these lands, you devil! Soon, I will teach you to respect the house of Dathrohan and the sacred order of the Scarlet Crusade!” The paladin yelled as he ran towards the death knight with a great speed. The latter wasted no time in taking a defensive position and prepared for the attack. Saidan noticed that the defender’s gestures were surprisingly calm given his position but he didn’t plan to stop his attack for a moment.
The death knight twitched heavily as Dathrohan’s glowing hammer hit his sword but to the human’s shock, he managed to hold his ground. However, the continued power unleashed by the paladin slowly forced the undead back, his
position growing more dangerous by the minute. Under his helmet, however, an ever wider grin formed. Now was the right time to end this charade.
Suddenly, streams of darkness started to surround the Grand Crusader’s glow, growing ever more profound as the death knight started to slowly change. Dathrohan’s eyes widened in fear as his opponent started to grow in size, soon towering clearly over him. The creature’s armor started to change, becoming wider and less detailed, the black plates surrounded by yellow edges. Large wings stuck out from the monster’s backs, opening wide behind him, their red color gleaming weakly in the dim forest. And most shockingly, the former death knight’s skin turned even more pale, the disappeared helmet revealing a human-like face but accompanied by sharp fangs, long horns and hellish green eyes. The demon’s power seemed to grow along with his side and with one, powerful nudge, he sent Dathrohan away from him but the knight managed to stay on his feet. Dathrohan gasped with a disbelieving noble voice as he spoke to the monster, panting heavily from the shock and exhaustion.
“Y… you’re a dreadlord! B… but how can you be here? Your entire cursed kind was slaughtered by your former allies during the War!” The knight gasped in disbelief, looking in despair as the demon slowly seemed to flow towards him, the creature’s voice hissing in the wind as Dathrohan felt his powers fail him. Suddenly all of his power seemed to be spent as he looked helplessly as the villain spoke his last words to his pray.
“Some were, yes, but as you can see, the nathrezim are all but beaten, old man. But don’t worry, neither your body nor your work will go to waste. Soon, the Crusade will be born anew under Balnazzar’s and the Grand Inquisitor’s command.” The pale monster said as he prepared to finish his opponent off. Saidan gasped on his knees, alarmed beyond words by the incoming end. However, he still managed to ask one last thing before Balnazzar’s magic engulfed him under its dark power.
“So this is Isillien’s doing? It was my blindness that doomed us all! But don’t even think you’ve won, demon. The Light will prevail in the end even if I, it’s humble servant, fall on this field of honor. Remember this when the brave heroes bring you and your vile schemes down once and for all!” The last words were little more than a whisper as the paladin’s last strength was drained from his body. The last thing Dathrohan heard before his consciousness failed him was the vile, triumphant words of the demon that seemed to drip with poison and malice.
“The Grand Inquisitor certainly helped me with planning this change of order but he was driven to me only by your attempts to bring him down. But sleep now, Grand Crusader. Soon your eyes will see the birth of a better and stronger order, one that you could never even have dreamt about.” And after those words, Saidan Dathrohan was fully engulfed by the dreadlord’s spell while the brave knight’s consciousness died down for the very last time.
Eneath’s hands felt increasingly heavy and his movements forced as he did his best to keep up his defenses against the increasingly violent offensive and his mounting injuries. Keril was once again being overrun but Eneath knew there was nothing he could do to help his comrade at this point. Apparently the duo’s fate would be to fall on this wretched battlefield, under the never-ending onslaught of the Scourge. That impression grew only more concrete as he saw a large, odd-looking abomination running towards him. Its body was covered with large vials containing some green ooze and it had some odd needles for arms. As he looked at this monster’s arrival, Eneath knew his end had finally come.
The young paladin tried to make his last stand by casting a powerful exorcism, attempting to halt the abomination’s advance at least for a short, fleeting moment. When he saw that his efforts were far from successful, Eneath let out a brief sigh of resignation, regretting that these were probably the last moments of his fight. At least he was glad that he hadn’t sold his life with a low price and he had fulfilled his charge as a paladin. The young knight prepared to strike at the aberration’s leg when he suddenly felt his wounds heal up and the monster suddenly twitched under great power when a massive bolt of Light hit its head. Eneath quickly turned around and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Osran! What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to fight at the frontline? Each of us have to keep our position! You know it!” The younger knight asked with deep frown, stunned to see his uncle here at this time. However, Osran didn’t waste any time before he moved to engage the monster and he answered only after he had moved to safeguard the line.
“Am I supposed to watch my only nephew being grinded to death under these monsters? I may have done terrible things during my years or service but leaving you to die isn’t something I’m going to do! Besides, the whole situation here looks pretty worrying so I figured you’d need some backup!” Osran said as he turned his sword golden with his sacred powers and cut a gaping wound to the abomination’s leg. Feeling his powers return, Eneath quickly moved to join his uncle in his efforts to bring the monster down. He couldn’t decide whether he’d approve of Osran’s decisions as a paladin but he certainly didn’t regret being alive. He simply nodded to Osran before he hit the abomination’s other leg, the two relatives then looking at each other before casting a simultaneous barrage of Light upon the aberration, causing it to slowly begin disintegrating.
However, the construct of rotting flesh wasn’t going to fall this easily. It locked its eyes on Osran, willing to lay waste on the aging paladin’s power before its own damned existence would come to an end. It quickly approached Osran, concentrating every inch of its strength to overpowering the knight while its own entrails were spilled to the ground with an increasing speed. To the monster’s frustration, however, Osran managed to repel its attacks with fast movements and flawless maneuvers. Somehow realizing that its time was quickly running out, the abomination started its last attempt to crush the human Osran but the paladin noticed it just in time. However, it was not enough. The monster managed to grab Osran’s leg and with its last strength, threw the knight into the forest, far from the frontline while falling to the ground with a loud thud.
Osran twitched at the ground in shock as he slowly rose up, not realizing where he was until he saw two ghouls approaching him with merciless speed. Despite the impact’s great force, the aging paladin realized that he didn’t have the luxury of a calm recovery and quickly impaled the two attackers while glancing around himself in fear. He saw that he was alone behind the thickest ranks of the undead, separated from his comrades by seemingly endless rows of the servants of the Scourge. Osran frowned with alarm as he realized that he couldn’t fight his way back to his comrades in the thick of the raging battle. He would never survive the onslaught that was happening between him and the rest of the crusaders.’
But what else could he do? Certainly he couldn’t try to escape into the forest? He would certainly be slaughtered by the undead and there was even a chance he’d join these monsters before the end. However, what else could he do? If he tried to return to Eneath and the others, he’d have absolutely no chance of survival. In a sickening and terrifying moment, he realized he had only one option to survive this battle and even that was highly unlikely to yield success. However, it was the only way but Osran regretted in his mind that there was no other way. With a saddened look, the knight searched Eneath from the thick of the battle and for a brief moment, the uncle and nephew’s eyes met once again. Osran nodded one brief time to the younger Lowriver before he quickly turned on his heels and headed into the nightmarish forest.
The bearded knight fought forward in desperation as he finally managed to get around the seemingly endless wall of black fire. Alexandros blamed himself from the fact that it had taken many precious moments before the knights had managed to get past the wave of undead and he couldn’t help but fear he was too late. No matter how powerful Dathrohan was, even he couldn’t match the might of dozens of undead. Soon, he and his followers would reach their Grand Crusader but Alexandros feared greatly what he would find behind the next ranks of the Scourge. It’s leader’s loss would be a massive blow to the order and the thought that he’d very probably be his successor didn’t comfort the Ashbringer. Dathrohan had served as the Crusade’s leader for the entire length of its existence and despite Alexandros’ own legendary reputation, he knew he couldn’t replace Saidan’s authority and his natural gift of leadership.
Disgusting sounds of dismembered flesh could be hear all along the Ashbringer as he cut down the ghouls one by one. Two other members of the Crimson Legion fought by his side, allowing the elder Mograine to concentrate all of his forces to advancing as quickly as he could. Surely, soon he would meet his old fried once again… Among the great horde of enemies, Alexandros suddenly saw the familiar colors of the Scarlet Crusade flashing between the rows of ghouls. Suddenly, the Ashbringer’s efforts only multiplied as he saw that the hope of saving his superior still lived.
“We’re coming, Grand Crusader! Thank the Light you’re alive!” The Highlord of the Crusade yelled as he and Dathrohan cut the last enemies, finally allowing Saidan to rejoin his comrades. Alexandros was astonished to see his old friend being relatively unscathed and there were no serious injuries within him to be seen. The Highlord was the first one to speak as the two highest-ranked leaders of the order met in the heat of the battle.
“I was already certain that you didn’t make it! I’m sorry it took us this long to reach you!” Alexandros said, soon regaining his usual proud expression and calm composure. However, his optimism would have faded very quickly if he knew what had come to pass only moments before. Little did Mograine know that Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan was no more. Instead, before him stood dreadlord Balnazzar who held little appreciation for this reunion nor the
“rescue”. However, his voice and manners were completely unchanged due to the masterful manipulative abilities of the demon’s kind. Dathrohan’s voice sounded just as steady and noble as could be expected from the knight of legend.
“I appreciate your help, Mograine but we have a battle to win! So let us not waste more precious time jabbering!” The Grand Crusader cried, earning an approving nod from the Highlord. It was clear from the higher-ranked knight’s tone that he wished to hear no more of this issue and Alexandros understood his friend wouldn’t want to make any further fuss from this small incident. After all, both of the two had made much more deeds of merit than surviving against a handful of ghouls. Alexandros nodded as the two leaders of the Crusade turned to face the rest of the undead. He knew today would become a day that would be sung of through the centuries to come. Mograine’s confidence would have fallen greatly if he knew that this battle did indeed mark an important day in Lordaeron’s future but in a far different way than he could have ever imagined.
Eneath’s eyes were locked towards the edge of the forest in fear, not able to believe what had just come to pass. It had been mere seconds when Osran had disappeared into the woods and the young man knew what that would more than likely mean. But it just couldn’t be true: his uncle, who had been his inspiration and closest friend for years couldn’t be gone! Eneath knew more than well that his uncle would have close to know chance of survival if he became lost in that hellish woods, as it was probable that it would hold even more hordes of undead that would probably obliterate the older paladin before he could even start his journey back to his comrades. However, his momentary mental stasis was quickly stopped by Keril who, despite his great debt to his comrade, knew that these simply was no time for grief. The other paladin cried loudly to Eneath who suddenly snapped back into the reality.
“I’m sorry for your uncle, Lowriver, but continue the battle, dammit! Don’t let his efforts go to waste like this!” The other paladin cried as he brought down another slave of the Lich King. Eneath frowned in deep concern as he realized his friend was right. He suddenly attacked another skeleton and brought it down swiftly. He quickly answered to Keril in a voice that sounded angrier and more enraged than he had expected.
“I certainly won’t, Keril. This kind of end is a pure disgrace to a paladin like my uncle! They will regret their actions before long!” The shock and overwhelming sense of loss flooded into Eneath’s mind but the thrill of the battle managed to hold it in bay right now. He prayed to the Light his uncle would survive this day but in the case he wouldn’t, Eneath swore one thing to himself. He would take on Osran’s dream of restoring the of the Lowriver family and preventing their family’s end. More than likely, he was the last hope for their respected family and Eneath would gladly take that responsibility if he was ever forced to that situation. However, one thought lingered in his mind.
I know you can survive through this, Osran. I trust on it.
To the paladin’s growing concern, the toxin in the air seemed to grow ever more powerful the deeper he went deeper into the diseased woodland. The aging man’s coughs grew ever more violent and Osran knew he couldn’t take it for many more hours. However, to his slight reprieve, most of the undead in the Plaguewood seemed to be engaged in the battle and only an occasional servant of the Lich King still wandered under the terrifying canopy of the fungi-like vegetation. Still, Osran knew that this state of matters wouldn’t last for very long as it was highly likely that someone would sense his presence sooner than later. No matter what, he’d have to escape from this forest as soon as he was simply able to.
Osran stumbled over a small mound of dirt, first making sure that there weren’t any more dangerous enemies near him. The paladin had realized, to his growing alarm, that most of the enemies had been packed around the battlefield and thus cutting the possibility of trying to flee towards Light’s Hope. That left only one option: he’d have to head for west and towards Stratholme’s southern outskirts.
The fact that there weren’t any major escape routes through the mountains surrounding the forest alarmed the Crimson Legionary greatly but he’d have to take the small chance he had of survival. He had to live through this nightmare to uphold his dream and to see the coming glories of the Crusade’s campaign. But most importantly, he’d have to survive for his nephew and mother. Eneath didn’t deserve to face the future’s horrors alone and Osran had resolved on guiding him as long as he was just able. Still, the sick feeling in stomach grew more profound as Osran saw another wide field filled with the sickening gas before him. The knight suddenly fell to his knees, determined to surprise one ghoul walking on the other side of the giant mushroom he was standing on. Even one undead could alarm the others and finally ending his last hopes of ever escaping Plaguewood alive.
With one, fast sweep Osran attacked the ghoul and before it could even twitch its hands, the paladin severed the monster’s head from its shoulders. The knight panted for a moment at some relief for accomplishing this small feat that served as a minor springboard on his quest to escape this nightmare.
Utilizing every inch of knowledge and skill he had gathered during his long years of service, Osran fought his way through the land that had once been a charming farmland surrounding the pride of Lordaeron, the mighty Stratholme. Along with the fungi and undead, the paladin saw many ziggurats of the Cult of the Damned nestled between the hills of the land surrounding the mountains south of the central parts of the forest. Osran could only guess what kind of disgusting purposes those places were used to but he knew better than to try to find out. Even if he found the truth, nobody would ever hear it. Still, it pained the paladin to know that it was more than likely that one of those places was the entrance to Naxxramas, a piece of information of unspeakable value to the Crusade. Still, he had to leave those dreams be for now.
It had been almost an hour since his separation from his comrades and Osran felt like his entrails were being slowly burned by the forest when he finally caught a glimpse of a ruined building in the distance. However, that told very little about his exact location as there were probably several different ruined hamlets dotting this land. The sight of that lonely house did little to raise Osran’s hopes until he saw that the mountains were slowly appearing behind the ruined home, signaling that he had reached the western end of the Plaguewood. But if that was the case, this had to be the long-lost village of Cinderhome! But it was thought to have been destroyed by the Scourge years ago as no one had seen it since the arrival of the Plague. However, as Osran approached the house, he could see more of the village’s remains in the distance, proving that there indeed was something left of the old village.
But the thing that really caught Osran’s eyes was the sight behind the lost hamlet. At the foot of the mountains opened a large mouth of a cave which, after a moment of thinking, nearly overwhelmed Osran with hope. It was the old
Thondrodil Tunnel which had once served as an additional path from Stratholme to Hearthglen but due to its constant darkness and remote location, it had never served as a major artery for Lordaeron’s trade. However, it could possibly
safe the paladin from this nightmarish situation he now found himself in. However, just as he was beginning to run towards the cave’s mouth from among the twisted forest, he saw something that immediately shocked him beyond measure.
Among the ruined buildings walked a massive and hairy spider, its pale body shimmering between the houses. Osran followed the arachnoid, not willing to believe what he was seeing. The spider was clearly undead so was this another kind of curse the Scourge had brought with it from the Cold North. Suddenly Harthal’s stories from Northrend returned to his mind and a fearful thought came to Osran’s mind. Were these the same monstrous spiders the Lord Paladin and Orman had faced in the frigid glacier of Icecrown? If that was the case, the knight knew he had to be prepared for anything.
Yet, Osran knew he had no choice in this matter. He couldn’t turn back as the Thondrodil Tunnel gave him his only chance of survival. The aging paladin took a long, fearful sigh as he begun moving towards the village and the cave. No matter what, he’d fight his way through these spiders and rejoin the Crusaders main force for the final assault on Stratholme. This he swore to himself as he prepared himself for one of the toughest and most terrifying challenges of his life.
With Dathrohan’s death, the Crusade’s future has been irrevocably altered. With the dreadlord at its helm, is there any chance for the order’s founding ideals to survive the coming days? And will Osran be able to survive the nightmare he now finds himself and join his comrades and avoid being overwhelmed by the enemy? This chapter differs somewhat from the original lore in regards to Dathrohan’s fate but I hope you still like it! As always, any feedback is welcomed!
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On the Path of Horror
The wind blew weakly through the fungal forest as Osran counted the slow, painful seconds and listened for the ever-strengthening footsteps behind the house’s corner. Osran was leaning against the ruined home’s wall, listening how the massive spider-like monster walked towards him. He had already taken two of them down but with each kill the odds of the enemy spotting him grew ever greater and he wasn’t even near the mouth of the tunnel which would lead to his salvation. The paladin tried to keep the creeping despair out of his mind as he quickly grabbed his sword and heard that the undead monstrosity was approaching him quickly. Osran closed his eyes and imagined his incoming strike in his mind. After he heard that the threat was soon upon him, the paladin jumped out of his cover and before the spider could even move one of its legs, Osran sank his sword deep into the creature’s head while burning its chest with his holy power. With pained squeaks, the spider fell to the ground, leaving Osran to pant in momentary relief.
However, it was only a fleeting moment before Osran once again regained his vigilance. He had won a tiny victory but he’d have to keep his advance up or the remaining arachnoids would find their fallen comrades or whatever these beasts regarded each other. The knight raised his gaze to the empty, ruined street and was more than happy to see that he was now alone and there were no other immediate threats to him. Still, there was a chance that another one of the villains would show up. With fearful movements, Osran started to jog towards the direction where the tunnel lied, knowing that each second mattered at this point.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why this particular village had been forgotten so utterly. No one had ever uttered a word of it since its fall and no adventurer or courier had ever seen it again until now. Yet, apart from its disgusting new occupants, there was nothing out of the ordinary in this village. The all too familiar sights of ruined homes and blackened walls greeted his sight but it wasn’t too different from what Corin’s Crossing had been only a few days earlier. However, there was one thing that caught Osran’s eyes on one, narrow alley as he passed it. It was a drooping plaque that had once belonged to a certain place that had served the town and the strangers passing through it. It was the small hamlet’s inn and another sad reminder of what Cinderhome had once been.
Osran frowned slightly as he saw the plague and for a moment, he was about to turn back towards his destination but suddenly, one thought came to his mind. If the monstrous arachnoids had made the Thondrodil Tunnel their home, he’d have to fight his way through masses of the enemies and there was a real chance of physical and mental exhaustion before he’d reach the other end of the dark road. The paladin knew it was a long shot but maybe there would still be some potions or anything else useful that would help him on this risky journey? Many inns in Lordaeron had prided themselves with their wide selection of different enchanted drinks or potions from distant lands and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance there was something that would help him on this long and dangerous journey back home.
The paladin carefully moved to the street and the sight of the old inn’s destroyed door didn’t raise the aging knight’s hopes any. If there had been a large battle in that place, it was more than likely that everything of worth had been destroyed many years ago. Osran quickly moved inside the building, just in time to avoid the gaze of another one of the monstrous spiders which was just moving pas the larger street. Osran panted for a few seconds before he raised his gaze to look at the main room of the ruined inn, the sight greeting him making him feel ill. There was a large hole at the back of the room, most likely caused by some magical attack and all of the former tables were lying on the floors in pieces, decaying slowly but carefully and filling the whole room with the disgusting reek. And to make matters even worse, there were huge splashes of blood everywhere and there were even some remains of the village’s defenders here and there, with half-rotten bits of human flesh and bones lying here and there.
The sight wasn’t so unlike most of the other places destroyed by the Scourge but they still pained Osran every time he was being forced to face one of these hellholes. However, the knight remembered his duty and got on the move. Every moment he wasted here his comrades were giving up their lives in the battlefield, all because of his failure to follow the orders. Osran cringed as he thought about his situation and whether he would even be allowed to rejoin the army without any punishments in the case he ever found his way out of this lonely, remote place. Isillien had made it more clear that he wouldn’t allow any more mistakes from him but there was always a chance he would ever lean of this unfortunate occasion. Osran had grown to respect Landgren and he wanted to think that the bishop would keep his departure from the frontlines as a secret and Eneath would never tell of his misdeeds. In any case, all of that would have to wait as his whole fate was in the hands of the Light now.
It was clear to the knight from the mere outlook of the room that there wasn’t anything to be founded in the main hall as it had been completely ruined which meant only one thing: he’d have to move to the basement and try to see whether there was still something of value within the inn’s storages. Osran cringed as he looked at the stairs leading to the basement, the lower floor filled with seemingly impenetrable darkness. Osran quickly took a torch from his belt which he had carried with him in order to quickly release the souls of his fallen comrades in battle but it would be more than useful here as well. Seeing that there weren’t any immediate threats lurking in the basement, Osran started to slowly head downstairs, his other hand firmly held on his sword’s hilt in case he’d face any hostile being down there.
Even with the help of the torch, it was impossible to see even one’s own hands in the lowest floor of the inn. Osran looked in disbelief as the torch seemed to merely float in darkness, its light being devoured by the darkness almost as soon as it emanated from the small flame. Osran moved slowly by the wall, starting to slowly question the whole wisdom of his quest. No potion or enchanted water to temporarily regain his strength was worth the danger he had surrendered himself. Maybe it would be just better for him to turn around and…
During the next second happened many different things simultaneously. Osran suddenly heard a slight creak behind him which was immediately followed by a silent scream. Instinctually, Osran turned around and quickly jumped away from the ghoul’s path. The undead tried to then turn around to resume its attack but Osran didn’t allow his enemy such luxuries. Before it could even manage begin to think about attacking the paladin again, Osran cut it down with savage vigor, hate the only emption his expression communicated. He looked with some satisfaction at the pile of rotten flesh before him but this attack had only underlined his earlier fears: it was far too dangerous down here and it was more than probable that anything he could find was infected by the Plague. Osran was about to head back for the stairs when he was suddenly interrupted by a high-pitched, chuckling voice from somewhere in the darkness.
“A living wandering in the realm of the dead?! Hehee… I haven’t such things in a while but… I wonder if this brave adventuring wishes to take a look at my INSANE PRICES?!” The sickly chuckling continued for a while and Osran lamented the fact that he couldn’t see the speaker but he was more than prepared to strike him down. The voice certainly belonged to an undead but Osran didn’t yet know whether it was a danger to him. After a dew seconds, the paladin answered to the mysterious speaker.
“Whatever you are, show yourself now and I’ll let Light’s grace take you to its embrace quickly! This I swear on my honor as a paladin!” The knight yelled, not expecting the undead to obey him but no matter what, he was prepared to deliver justice to the wretched beast. Moments passed and suddenly, the maddened laughter resumed and it was much closer this time.
“But if you send me away, then who is going to sell all these beautiful, powerful fungi to you, hmm? You wouldn’t hurt your only helper here, would you?” Osran looked with repulsion as the decayed and pale face of an undead suddenly appeared from the darkness, its walking clearly forced and its back disgustingly bent. However, the detail that stole Osran’s attention was the undead’s face as it was cut up by thick, black strings that met each other around the spots where his eyes had long before been. Osran quickly walked towards the wretched being and rose his sword to point at his counterpart’s chest.
“What are you doing here and why aren’t you trying to kill me as every other undead? And where did those spiders come from? Speak!” Osran hated the fact that he was being forced to speak to this abomination but as distasteful as it was to accept, this insane undead was the only one who could shed some light to the questions swirling within the knight’s mind.
“Augustus doesn’t care about such things! He only wants to do business with anyone who…” The rotting corpse’s banter got quickly to Osran nerves and the paladin slowly poked Augustus’ throat with the tip of his blade to and whispered in a silent, cold voice.
“Stop the banter and answer me, fiend! I have little patience for this.” For a moment, the undead seemed to realize the seriousness of his situation but just as Osran was beginning to hope he’d receive an answer, the situation turned completely. With one, hateful pull, Augustus took one of the many fungi from his pouch and threw it to the ground. Everything happened too quickly for Osran to realize what was going on and the next thing he noticed were green, sickly clouds engulfing him in the middle of the darkness. The paladin then tried to cut the vendor down but for some reason, his hand felt too tired to do it. Osran begun to cough ever more violently as he heard the undead’s crazed, creepy voice all along him.
“I tried to help the paladin but all it earned me was stupid threats! Now, you will see what happens to those who turn down help when is being offered! Hahahaa!” Augustus guffawed as he looked at Osran struggling to breath and his eyes to turn red because of the poison. Osran knew he had to get away as quickly as he could and he begun to head towards the stairs, concentrating all his strength to avoid dropping his sword or torch to the ground. However, he soon realized the dangers of the burning torch and even through his agony, the paladin extinguished the burning torch and threw it to the floor to ease his burden. However, his consciousness was beginning to fail him as he reached the stairs and without truly realizing it, the knight fell to the ground, forcing him to pull himself up the stairs with his hands.
For a few times, Osran felt like he was done for but after what felt like an eternity, the smell of the decaying wood and sickly air once again greeted his senses. It felt unbelievable that the normally disgusting smell would now feel heavenly after the deathtrap the basement had turned into. Osran gasped for air as the earlier suffocating feeling slowly gave way to a clearer yet still sickened feeling. The paladin looked behind himself, seeing that he whole storage had been filled with the green, poisonous smoke. He dearly lamented that he had let the undead escape but it simply couldn’t be helped. There was something odd about him, as if he was free from the Lich King’s command but what would a Forsaken do here? And more importantly, what did it matter at this point? The only thing that mattered here was his survival and a chance to bask in the glory of the hour of Stratholme’s liberation.
Soon enough, the paladin felt like his breath was slowly returning to normal even if the dizziness within his head still remained. Osran sighed deeply as he rose to his feet, knowing that he would have to resume his escape without further waiting. Even if he regretted the fact that he hadn’t found anything useful, Osran was prepared to overlook that fact as long as he’d learn how the battle had ended. The aging man felt sick at the knowledge that the Crusade could have very possibly lost the battle but he decided to shake those thoughts away for now. Giving in to despair or doubts would serve no purpose here whatsoever. Osran walked slowly back towards the place where the door had once been and quickly moved to the street after making sure there weren’t any of the spiders nearby.
After a few, fearful minutes Osran had fought his way nearer to the cave’s opening but he would still have to take final leap of faith to reach its dark shelter. It would be nearly certain that his run would draw some of the arachnoids towards him as there were at least eight of them stalking the streets and surroundings of the ruined village. However, that was something he would have to accept if he were going to start his flight. Osran was just about to start his sprint… until he saw it.
A massive, purple-haired spider slowly appeared from the cave, its mere size filling Osran with disgust and fear. This particular monster was far larger than the others and its legs and fangs seemed far more powerful than the smaller creatures’. Even worse, it seemed to command some sort of authority over the rest of the monsters as the ordinary arachnoids clearly gave way to their apparent leader. Osran’s eyes were wide with horror as he looked at the spider slowly headed towards the village that had once been the cozy village of Cinderhome. The sight was a revolting one for the knight and several thoughts flowed within his mind.
Damn you, Arthas! We all know the depth of your betrayal but why did you have to bring these monsters to Lordaeron also? Weren’t the pathetic weaklings not enough? How am I supposed to defend myself if I face one of those in the tunnel? This plan seems to be getting worse by the second.
Osran breathed with some relief as he saw the purple spider disappear behind the houses, dearly hoping he’d never have to see the creature again. There was a chance it would be alerted to search for him later but right now, the paladin didn’t have a real choice. Osran took one, long, breath before he rose up from the ground and jumped over the boulder he had been hiding behind. Osran felt his heart beating in his ears as the tunnel quickly grew closer and closer, its dark entrance looking like gate towards salvation in the middle of the ruined land.
However, even if he would have wanted to close his eyes from that reality, Osran soon noticed that his flight had indeed drawn unwanted attention towards himself. Two of the monstrous spiders were running towards him from the village’s outskirts but Osran knew there was no point in turning back at this point. Maybe, just maybe, there would be some spot in the caves where he could hide and shake off his chasers. Osran took one, brief breath before he dived into the darkness of the cave, hoping that he’d live long enough to see the light shining at its other end.
The sight that greeted the veteran paladin’s eyes wasn’t the one he would have wanted to see. The fungi-like growth had spread into the cave even if they were far smaller than the ones outside. These ones, too, were spreading the disgusting poisons into the air but Osran knew that couldn’t be helped. What was even worse, the darkness seemed to be complete in the deeper parts of the cave and it was at this moment the knight cursed himself for throwing away his only torch back at the inn. Blood started to flow from Osran’s lips as he bit them in deep fear. Still, he didn’t have a real time thinking about those things as the spiders were slowly closing the gap between them and the paladin. Osran turned quickly around to face the villains and it took all his courage not to back down before their monstrous faces and threatening fangs. He had managed to take a few them down with ambushes and quick assassinations but now he was facing two of them simultaneously.
The knight tried to quickly come up with the best way to proceed and soon enough, he noticed a few things that could be of use to him. The spider attacking him from the left was at least two meters ahead of its companion while the other one seemed slightly weaker and slower than the left one. Perhaps he could try to take the more eager one down first and hope the slower was wouldn’t be able to help its companion before it would be too late. The tunnel’s mouth was too narrow for the two undead arachnoids to fight too effectively anyway.
After the tunnel’s shadow fell upon the two slaves of the Scourge, Osran knew it was the time to take the initiative. He suddenly formed a judgement with his hands but held it for a moment so that he had the chance to cause some fear within the enemy. To Osran’s surprise, the foremost arachnoid actually seemed to hesitate for a moment, but as the paladin had expected, the other undead didn’t twitch to any direction as both of the spiders seemed to think the knight was attacking the left attacker. Osran frowned deep in thought as he released the judgement on the weaker attacker. Did these beasts actually try to foresee his moves? But these were merely brainless animals… they had to be…
In any case, the paladin wasted no time in countering the charging spider. Once again, his sword turned golden by the grace of the Light and even if the humongous arachnoid tried to defend itself from the attack, Osran’ blade sank into the beast’s chest, sending it to take a few steps back, a horrifying screech accompanying those seconds. However, neither did the knight have any time to celebrate his small-time victory. One moment Osran was preparing to take the wounded spider down, the next he was screaming as he felt parts of his back seemingly corroding away. The man gasped in astonishment before he turned around to face yet another of the spiders running towards him. To his shock, Osran saw that his back was covered with some disgusting, green liquid which more than probably was the spider’s poison. The paladin’s mind swirled with different ideas on how to defend himself from the enemy while attempting to get away from the acid which was slowly melting his entire back away.
With one, desperate tug, Osran pulled his armor away as it was completely covered with the poison and then jumped forward to finish off the spider he had already wounded. It couldn’t provide any real resistance as its wound had been a deep one and it seemed to incapacitate the creature completely. After that one low, Osran turned around to face his remaining opponent, the acid still causing unspeakable pain to the paladin. Osran knew he’d take the abomination down easily in normal circumstances but this was far from one. Osran could only hope he’d be able to take the arachnoid down quickly.
The knight did his best to keep the pain at bearable levels and started slowly started to walk towards the monstrous spider, knowing that even the slightest of mistakes at this point could very probably prove to be his end. He took a few steps to his left, trying to see whether the spider was in any imminent plans to attack him. To the paladin’s chagrin, that wasn’t the case. It was as if his opponent was doing the same things as he was: trying to investigate its opponent and try to find his weakest point. The more Osran was forced to see these creatures, the more he got the feeling that these monstrous beings weren’t mere brainless animals. It was as if they were also capable of planning and even thinking. But Osran cringed as he realized this fact would only make his job more difficult.
After many, long seconds, the silence was finally broken as the arachnoid started its attack. But unlike the other ones Osran had met before, this spider seemed much more reserved and prepared for his counters. It quickly charged towards Osran but unlike the paladin had expected, it didn’t attack him headlong. Rather, it used it’s charge as a distraction to block Osran’s escape route from the cave and to pin him towards the wall, ridding him of any hopes of running from this battle. However, the human had a trick in his sleeve the spider hadn’t expected.
With immense efforts, the air itself started to swirl with holy power around Osran as he used his powers to call forth a maelstrom-like concentration of the Light, destroying anything impure on its path. For a moment, the spider tried to stand its ground and to stab Osran with its fangs but soon enough, the monster realized such attempts were unrealistic at this point. The arachnoid twitched in pain as it fled further into the cave, its legs completely burned by Osran’s attack. The knight used this moment to attack the undead but to his surprise, his opponent wasn’t left unprepared for his attack. The spider waited for Osran’s attack and when he was about to end the fight, the black arachnoid turned around and pushed Osran against the wall with its back. The knight was sent flying against the rocks with a violent force and Osran spent many moments fighting for breath. However, immediately after that, the arachnoid made its final mistake.
Thinking Osran’s powers were close to spent, the monster attacked Osran to finish its job. However, just as it was preparing to stab Osran with its fangs, the paladin suddenly drew his sword which was lying beside him and sank it into the monster’s abdomen. It didn’t have time for a scream and a sickened gurgle was the only sound the spider managed to emit before it collapsed upon Osran.
Even through his injuries, the human cringed in disgust as he saw the spider’s faded eyes stare into his own and the arachnoid’s body lying on top of him. With enraged whispers, Osran quickly pulled himself from under the dead monstrosity, only now having time to take a proper look at his back. The poison still did damage into his back and the paladin cursed internally at his disability to do anything about it. He had heard the druids of Kalimdor and the shamans of the orcish Horde being able to cleanse toxic liquids but it wasn’t a power any paladin had ever been able to master. The best Osran could hope for at this point was to try to mitigate the damage caused by the liquid with his healing. With any luck, he wouldn’t have suffer any permanent injuries because of this one, small mistake.
However, those thoughts were suddenly interrupted by one, silent flush of a wind which swirled into the depths of the tunnel. It seemed like a sinister omen and it made the small mushroom-like plants quiver under its breeze. Osran gazed into the darkness, knowing that he didn’t have the slightest of reasons to believe it wouldn’t be filled with the same monstrous spiders he had been forced to fight on his way here. However, the thought of Thondrodil River’s waves waiting for him somewhere in that direction gave him courage. He had already survived the dangers of Plaguewood and managed to enter the tunnel without any major problems. Now, all he had to do…
Suddenly, those thoughts were interrupted by a slight thud somewhere deeper into the cave and immediately, Osran noticed a rather deep-looking crevice in the wall and quickly, entered it in the hopes of being able to avoid the threatening encounter. Osran crouched in an effort to minimize the chance of him being spotted by the enemy. After a moment, the all-too familiar form of an undead arachnoid appeared to his view. To Osran’s horror, it stopped momentarily and turned to look around the empty cave as if to check if there were any intruders out there. However, it soon seemed to calm down and resumed its slow walk through the dark tunnel.
Osran breathed in deep relief, willing to just sit down and imagine this to be a mere bad dream. The knowledge that he’d been through far worse situations didn’t seem to provide him with any relief but Osran knew he had to make it out of here alive, in the name of the Lowriver house and the honored Grand Crusader. The paladin was just about to rise up when he felt something that immediately seemed to freeze his heart still.
It was something moist, something that gave in under his fearful touch. Osran immediately rose up in shock and stared into the darkness, his heart beating in his ears. It took a short while for his eyes to see clearly what it was and it didn’t surprise the paladin in the least. Inside the utter blackness lied something that had once been a living being, most likely a dwarf, whose life had been snuffed out long ago. Osran cringed in disgust as he saw the state his flesh had decayed into and there were no recognizable features left of his face. Osran crossed his arms before he raised his gaze upwards and spoke a brief blessing to the Light on the fallen dwarf’s behalf. Even if his kind seldom was of any worth to Lordaeron, it was in these moments of threat and fear that Osran remembered that the dwarf, too, had once been in his situation, lost and alone.
“In the name of every messenger and beacon of the good in this world, I grant you the sanctity of becoming one with the eternal grace of the Holy Light. Rest well, brother.” Those words were the briefest prayer a paladin could give on a fallen comrade and it was most often used in situations where the speaker didn’t know the poor fool who had passed on. But on this moment, those words seemed to finally make Osran realize his situation fully. If he failed in his escape, he, too, would forever lie within this cursed tunnel, his body slowly rotting away while the knowledge that he ever lived in the first place would slowly decay and before long, disappear from this world. Osran cast one, apologizing nod to the fallen dwarf before he finally rose up. He was just about to leave when he suddenly noticed one, rather small crate lying beside the fallen dwarf.
The paladin frowned as he slowly bowed to look at the box and with careful movements, he opened it to see what the dwarf had carried with him on his last journey. The paladin was surprised to find that it wasn’t locked in any way but it was only the box’s contents that provided the real shock to the paladin. It contained two, long red tube-like objects and it took a short moment for him to realize what he held in his hands. He hadn’t seen things like these in years and even then, he hadn’t been too excited about them. These were goblin explosives, a fact that puzzled Osran greatly. Things like these hadn’t been for sale in Lordaeron in years so the dwarf had to have been some kind of
adventurer as the closest goblin merchants these days were many weeks’ journeys away.
At first, Osran was thinking about simply putting the tubes back into the box and leave them here as he had always seen them as honorless and dangerous tools best left for those without understanding of higher ways of combat. However, those thoughts turned into hesitation as he remembered his situation. Did he really have the right to turn any help away, no matter how unappetizing it seemed at first glance? These explosives could allow him to take out a few of the spiders before they even saw him and without any danger to the paladin himself. There was only one thing that made the knight cringe heavily: what if these bombs were powerful enough to bring the whole tunnel down, potentially burying him under the falling rocks? Osran thought for it for a moment and then decided that it was simply a risk he’d have to take. He quickly took the tubes and put them to his small pouch that was hanging from his belt.
This short moment of rest was suddenly interrupted by a long, distant screech from the outside of the cave. it was most likely some kind of plagued bat but it served to remind Osran that he’s have to restart his advance right away. The knight moved to look at the main corridor and to his relief, no more of the undead arachnoids could be seen for now. With slow, careful movements, Osran resumed his journey through the utter darkness.
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The long minutes passed agonizingly slowly as Osran did his absolute best to ensure that he would be the first one to see his enemies and to be the one who finishes the combat before it truly even started. Every time he heard some surprising or ominous creak before him, he immediately moved behind the sickly fungi or crouched into the darkness, waiting for the correct time to strike his enemies down. To his luck, it didn’t seem like the arachnoids had a hard time spotting him if he only stayed completely still in the darkness. In the easiest of situations, he could simply ambush his enemies and strike them down with one, mighty strike that severed their heads from their shoulders.
However, not all of the mysterious spiders were that easy to beat. One of them seemed to be far more vigilant than the others and it seemed to even foresee Osran’s attack. The paladin was taken aback when he noticed that his opponent seemed to be waiting for him to strike as it immediately countered his assault by raising its front legs to defend itself and to catch Osran off balance. However, neither was the paladin completely unprepared for surprising developments. Even if he hadn’t expected this sharp rebuke, he managed to regain his balance and composure with all the experience he had gathered during his years as a paladin of the Light. He decided not to give his opponent the slightest time to continue to make most of its initiative and immediately threw a bright, ethereal hammer at the monster, stunning it for a few, decisive seconds, Osran didn’t waste time in sinking his blade into the aberration’s face, earning him another victory.
The paladin had a hard time trying to realize his luck. In the journey which he had almost deemed a lost cause was actually nearing its end. Even if Osran couldn’t say how much longer the tunnel would continue, he knew without a doubt that he was well over the halfway in his path of despair and fear. He was glad that the tunnel was completely straight without any chance for him to get lost in its corridors. Osran could tell why this place had never really become a popular route even in better times, though. There were significant rises and falls inside it and it took all of his concentration trying to stay on his feet in this seemingly endless rocky ground. Also, it became extremely narrow in places, making it impossible for anyone but a single courier move through it at once.
Even then, Osran knew that this was the time to avoid any major risks as despite all odds, his hopes of survival had increased exponentially with every step he had taken in this tunnel. Now, all it would take for him to survive was to avoid any novice-like mistakes and everything would end well. Only a short while more and he would be able to start his efforts to find his way…
It was at this moment that Osran once again stopped and slipped into the darkness. In front of him stood three of the mysterious arachnoids looking at each other which in itself was more than odd for Osran. However, it was only what came next that truly took Osran off guard. One of the three spiders suddenly started to emanate a low, screeching voice that ended in a creepy rasping sound. To Osran’s ever-growing shock, however, that sound was soon answered to by one of the other ones which in turn prompted another noise from the first monster. Osran frowned deep in thought as he looked at the three abominations, not knowing what to think of this discovery.
]Are… are they really speaking with each other? But… but that’s impossible! No spider has ever shown capability of doing something like that except… that creature Harthal met in Icecrown! Could these really be the same kind that the mighty beetle-like creature in the heart of the cold north?[/i
Osran’s mind was a flux after those revelations as the mere thought of communicating, intelligent spiders truly wasn’t something that raised positive thoughts within him. It would make them all the more dangerous and unpredictable but even then, that didn’t change the fact that they were blocking his escape route and he’d have to clear them out quickly. The knight’s back was still in extreme pain from the last time he had to fight three of the spiders at once and, as he had feared in the first place, his strength felt like it had been heavily drained by his ordeals on this terrible day. That couldn’t be helped and Osran knew that there was only one realistic solution to this problem.
With a heavy sigh, Osran took one of the goblin explosives from his pouch, examining it carefully before utilizing one of his most powerful tools on this quest. If he remembered correctly, these kinds of devices had to be turned on from some kind of switch a short while before using. It took a short moment for him to find it at first but after a moment, he found the switch and a small clock-resembling object on the bomb. Osran breathed heavily, truly hoping using one of his two tubes like this was worth it and even more fearfully, that the cave wouldn’t collapse under the power of the explosion. With a heavy heart, Osran pulled the switch and looked in concern as the clock started to tick. The paladin realized that the explosion would occur in about ten seconds but even that was too long a wait.
The sudden, ticking voice alerted the spiders immediately and they headed without any delay to search for its source. The paladin looked in deep fear as the monsters approached him with a quick pace and knew that his time to act had come. He suddenly threw the bomb over the mushrooms and to his horror, he could hear the clank as the tube fell into the ground, for a moment fearing it wouldn’t work at all. However, the next thing he knew was a loud, violent blast wave that sent him flying towards the wall in a powerful force. However, he recovered from it quickly as he saw the impact the explosive had had on the arachnoids. They, too, had been hit by blast wave but in addition it had killed the last one of the trio and wounded the second one heinously.
Despite his own injuries, Osran wasted no time in attempting to finish the injured arachnoid up quickly but to his chagrin, it managed to beat back his initial attack. The paladin’s sword met the spider’s leg of which remained nothing but the rock-hard bone. However, Osran didn’t let the monster the slightest of reprieves as he concentrated all his strength into an attempt to outpower the undead. The knight’s already weary muscled were pulled to their absolute limits as he concentrated every last inch of his willpower into this one effort. After a few seconds, the spider’s defense finally failed but not before it had bought its companion precious time.
The second spider fell to the ground for the last time as Osran sword cut its legs and throat with decisive, precise strikes but as he delivered his last blow, he felt an unimaginable pain in his left side. He turned to look at his new wound in horror before he realized what had just happened. The third servant of the lich Kind had stabbed his unprotected side with its fangs, its poison circulating through his veins already. He almost lost his composure at the terrifying surprise but soon realized that he would be able to heal himself through this horrifying fight if he only kept his…
At this point, those thoughts were completely swept away by one, powerful footstep from behind him. Osran had a sickening, horrified inkling about what was coming and with slow, unbelieving movements, Osran turned to look at the ever-strengthening sound’s direction. At first, there was nothing but darkness there but after a short while, the aging knight’s eyes were able to spot slight movement within the darkness before the gleam of many eyes slowly came to view from the blackness. Osran nearly froze as the monstrous arachnoid slowly emerged from the corridor.
This was the same creature Osran had seen walking towards Cinderhome when he had first entered the cave. He could remember that purple hair and massive size anywhere and the fact that its eyes gleamed with malice only worsened his horror. The only thing that kept him from running was the fact that his battle with the remaining smaller creature was still in progress and it wouldn’t give him the luxury of a breather. However, Osran knew more than well that he couldn’t stand against the power of the massive arachnoid and his mind searched vigorously a way to escape from this nightmare. It helped his situation none that it was at this moment that the purple monster suddenly raised its head and made a loud, ear-piercing screech that echoed through the halls of the tunnel. Osran knew more than well what that meant: each and every spider in the cave was now after him.
That knowledge alone prompted the knight to give his all to escape from the extremely dangerous situation he now found himself from. With renewed fury, he hit the smaller arachnoid near him again and again, the spider’s struggles ending almost immediately. Osran panted with exhaustion and despair but his mind was set on giving his everything on his last stand. Even if he hadn’t yet accepted it consciously, Osran knew at this point that he was going down. He would never be able to take the apparent leader of the spider horde while also fighting his way out of this perfect deathtrap. However, he had one idea on how to sell his life with the highest possible price.
With a brief sigh, Osran pulled the second red tube from his pouch and without seconds thoughts, started the timer. He’d have to throw it behind himself to force himself from being surrounded and try to take the largest spider down as a service from all those brave heroes who would brave this path of dead after him. Osran only lamented that his story would end like this, just when it seemed like Lordaeron had hope for a better future again. Well, a soldier never had a choice on how to end his service and Osran had already resigned to that fact. He merely whispered to the wind before he threw the explosive towards the charging spiders.
I’m sorry, Eneath and Orotha. I’m sorry I couldn’t see this through with you two. May the Light shine upon you when I am gone.
And after those thoughts, the paladin straightened his hand and threw the bomb at the charging arachnoids, stopping their advance immediately. Osran quickly turned around and prepared to face the last challenge of his life. The massive spider was charging right towards him and Osran knew there was a real risk he’d be crushed under the monster’s mere mass if he weren’t careful. Osran put on a defensive posture, trying to find the best spot to escape to. The leader of the undead seemed to know the depth of its advantage and it was clear it was not going to give Osran any reprieve in this fight.
The knight’s eyes stood still as he looked at the massive creature growing ever closer to him and just as it’s front legs were about to crush him, Osran suddenly crouched and jumped forward, attempting to catch his opponent by surprise. However, the arachnoid didn’t seem to be startled in any way, rather it seemed to be only irritated by the struggles of its prey. Osran tried to direct his blow towards the monster’s underbelly but to his momentary horror, the spider proved to be surprisingly agile considering its size. It managed to flee from the paladin’s striking range and Osran’s sword hit only empty air, further interrupting his attempts to get any kind of early advantage.
Seeing that it’s opponent’s plan had clearly failed, the undead creature wasted no time on capitalizing on his misfortune. It quickly hit Osran with its legs, attempting to pin him towards the wall and to then sink its fangs into Osran, ending the fight immediately. Osran knew that his position was extremely dangerous and he needed to get the situation under his control once again or face an immediate threat to his life. He tried to rise back to his feet but the spider was making it impossible. Osran suddenly cast a powerful judgement of the Light at the arachnoid’s face while simultaneously hitting one of its front legs with all his might.
The spider took a few steps back and shook its head as the burning vengeance of the Light caused terrifying injuries on its forehead and one of its eyes. However, it was more than experienced enough to know that these kinds of things simply couldn’t stand in the way of its victory and to Osran’s shock, it managed to turn its leg into a position where it repelled his desperate strike. Osran looked in fear as his sword and arm were sent into the wrong direction, opening
another chance for the monster to deliver the killing blow. At this point, Osran knew it was all over… unless he’d be able to shield himself from the incoming attack!
A bright shield-like aura suddenly formed around Osran, just in time to repel the spider’s fangs which were aimed directly at Osran’s throat. The paladin gasped briefly in relief before he suddenly put his hands on the wall, knowing he had but a few moments to regain his footing before his sacred protection wore off. The paladin managed to grab his sword just in time to repel another of his opponent’s legs trying to get him off guard. Seeing that its opponent wouldn’t go down easily, the spider decided to give its strongest attack to finally end this charade once and for all.
Osran’s eyes widened in fear as he saw that the arachnoid was preparing to spit its poison upon him, still remembering the unimaginable agony caused by the smaller arachnoid’s toxins and he could only believe this one’s natural weapon would only prove even more deadly. Osran knew that this was an attack he would have to stop in its tracks or face total annihilation and he realized this was the time to give his all for an attack that could potentially end this fight once and for all.
Using each and every inch of strength he had left, Osran released another wave of Light upon his enemy while also infusing his every muscle with the sacred essence of his gift. The spider looked completely taken aback as Osran’s power seemed to increase considerable and he quickly hit the monster’s legs from protecting its head and just as he was preparing to deliver a serious blow to the monster, it did something that caught him completely off guard. It suddenly fled with extreme speed while also trying to spit its toxins upon Osran. an effort which largely failed due to the unsavory position the arachnoid was forced to.
However, any thoughts Osran had of victory were soon swept away as he looked around himself. He suddenly saw that he was completely surrounded by the arachnoids, and their leader was quickly fleeing behind its underlings. For a short while, Osran was thinking about trying to fight his way to the massive arachnoid but just as he was trying to gather enough strength for the final hit, he suddenly noticed something that dispirited him greatly. His hands were once again starting to glow with the familiar golden light but after a few seconds, it extinguished completely. And before Osran could really ask why from himself, he knew the answer. His strength was close to completely spent and he couldn’t create a true communion with the Light through his fatigue. Osran looked in growing horror as the spiders moved towards him, preparing to finish the foolish journey that Osran shouldn’t have been forced to in the first place.
Osran was almost prepared to lay down his weapon and resign his life in this desperate situation as he looked at the devilish forms of the undead arachnoids. After all of his years of service, he had finally faced an unwinnable situation, a dark place from which there was no escape from. With heavy thoughts, the paladin raised his sword in what he already assumed would be the last time… before something unexpected happened.
Two torches suddenly flew from the darkness, inflaming two of the spiders immediately. That attack was immediately followed by the flash of a large sword, splitting the one of the other spiders into two. After those few, miraculous moments, a silent whisper rang through the cave with the level of authority and hope Osran had heard very rarely.
“Escape, now! It’s your only chance!” To Osran’s astonishment, the voice sounded even somewhat familiar but he couldn’t quite tell whom it belonged to. What he knew was that he had heard it many, long years ago but the newcomer’s appearance didn’t give him any hints. He was dressed in a simple, brown vest and a deep brown hood which hid his face completely. Only short, grey beard could be seen from under his coverage. However, the knight wasted no time in complying with the newcomer’s order as, no matter who he was, the aging paladin didn’t have a real choice. He quickly headed towards the direction of the Thondrodil River, first affirming that the old man would follow him. After seeing that this was the case, Osran ran into the darkness, hoping that the newcomer’s intervention would be enough for him to make his escape.
He observed at the hooded man with deep interest, keenly wondering who he was. To his knowledge, there shouldn’t have been any civilians left in these lands and the mysterious newcomer certainly wasn’t a crusader. Furthermore, why did his voice feel so familiar? Osran tried to speak his mind as the two started their flight.
“Who are you and what are…” At this point, that question was interrupted by the other human’s loud hiss as he tried to silence his companion.
“Ask the questions later! We are still in grave danger!” He said as he quickly looked behind him, affirming that the arachnoids had given chase on the duo. Still, the newcomer’s gestures didn’t communicate any kind of nervousness or fear. Osran also saw the incoming threat but his running was hindered by the extreme pain from his injuries and from the poison still circulating inside him. Osran felt fainter and feinter by the second and he knew he wouldn’t be able to go on for much longer.
The mysterious newcomer could also see that his companion was growing weak but he knew Osran well enough to trust that he’d see this escape through. However, he also knew he’d have to stop the spider’s chase now as it wasn’t long until they’d reach the western mouth of the winding tunnel. The hooded man suddenly turned around, preparing to end this danger and quickly spoke to Osran.
“Watch my side and try to beat at least a few of them back. We’ll end this threat together!” Osran frowned at those words, his suspicion and confusion growing all the time. Who was this hermit and could he possibly believe he was worthy to command a knight of the Scarlet Crusade around like this? However, the commanding tone within his was more than enough to make Osran believe in the other man’s ability to fulfill his promise and so he stopped to stand by his side, willing to give his all to this fight.
The Crimson Legionary cringed as he prepared to once again engage the undead monsters in a battle as it still took his all to even start the fight. However, to his immense surprise, his companion seemed to simply cut through the enemies like they were mere ghouls. He didn’t seem to be using any kind of magic but that proved almost impossible for Osran to believe as mere skill and determination didn’t explain his immense powers. Still, he was more than willing to guard his savior’s side if that was all that was all he asked in return.
The fight continued for many minutes but it was more than clear what the result would be. The brown-hooded man’s attacks continued to cut the arachnoids down and it took all of Osran’s faith to simply believe what he was seeing. After a while, the battle was decided and the newcomer raised his hand and cried at the spiders in an echoing, fierce voice that Osran knew he’d remember for a long time.
“Fall back, monsters! Kel’Thuzad’s slaves won’t prevail here today! Fall back!” He cried and as if driven by some powerful force, the arachnoids suddenly started to flee, slowly beginning to disappear back into the shadows of the Thondrodil Tunnel. Osran panted from astonishment and disbelief as he and the newcomer resumed their flight. At this moment, it was more than clear that the two were saved.
The early afternoon’s wind blew strongly from the direction of one of Lordaeron’s mightiest rivers, slowly swaying the long-dead grass in the blighted ground. The sun’s rays were blocked by heavy clouds which further dimmed the already dark lighting of the Plaguelands but that mattered little to the weary paladin who couldn’t believe his luck when he watched at the wide fields opening up before him. He had already resigned to his fate in the cave but here he was, one of the few living people who could claim to have survived from being completely lost inside the strongholds of the Scourge. And there was only one person he could thank for it.
“You have my deepest gratitude for coming to my aid on this darkest hours, good man. But now, answer me: who are you? Only very few people can ever possess the power to stand against those monsters.” Osran made sure to express his gratitude but his deep frown told that he was expecting a definitive answer to this question. The hooded man looked at his companion absentmindedly but he made sure not to reveal his face to the knight. To Osran’s great disappointment, his voice was extremely cryptic once he answered.
“My name is not important you, brave knight. My part in the grand stage of things was completed a long time ago but you, on the other hand, still have a role to play. That is all that matters.” The man looked into the distance in apparent melancholy but his hesitation to reveal his name started to irritate the knight more with every passing moment. He didn’t like to be played with and when he asked a question, he expected an answer to it.
“Of that I have to disagree. A man of your fortitude could be an asset to the Crusade so I ask you again, who are you? I assure you, it’s in your best interest to cooperate. I’m grateful for saving my life so I’d hate things to get ugly at this point.” Osran said, knowing that his superiors would never forgive him for just letting someone of this man’s skill to simply leave and rob the Crusade of his help. The hooded man waved his head in apparent sadness but after a moment, he took something from his pocket and held it in his hand for a moment before he spoke sadly.
“You’ve really changed, Osran. You always were an understanding and noble paladin but it seems like those days are over. In any case, I owe you the favor of telling you who I am. But I ask of you: open this small pouch only once you are on your way and don’t seek me out again.” The mysterious man said as he offered the small bag to Osran. The latter knew it would have been his duty to open it immediately but something in the other man’s words haunted him greatly. Still, he kept on his interrogative stance and spoke in a cold voice.
“Whoever you are, you haven’t seen what I have and no old hermit has the right to criticize an agent of the Crimson Legion. Tell me old man: why would I keep your secret? Why would I break my word to the Grand Crusader because of you?” Osran asked, earning an annoyed grin from his counterpart in an effort to settle his thoughts about this whole meeting. He received an answer in a moment but it wasn’t the he had expected or even hoped for.
“Because I ask you to make this one, small favor to an aged comrade. I know you are a man of the Light, Osran, and I want to believe you are still able to see that you’d win nothing by attacking me. I only ask of you: keep your head high and do what is necessary to keep Faol’s dream alive. That’s something I was never able to do. But that’s enough talk. You need to reach your comrades quickly. You may borrow my steed for this journey, it’ll find its way back to me.” The man said as a horse suddenly galloped from the woods, stopping beside the two and emanating a hoarse cry. It was at this moment that Osran finally realized who he was talking to. The nobleness and valor that emanated from his counterpart’s every word and gesture were something Osran had remembered seeing only once before in his life. He took a slight smile as he suddenly offered the small pouch back to the hooded man.
“Thank you for saving me, good man, but I don’t need this, your house’s sigil anymore. Don’t worry, I’ll keep our meeting a secret. You deserve this one favor, master Fordring.” Osran said as he slowly mounted the steed, relieved to find that it didn’t object to his presence at all. He and the other paladin had known each other long ago and even if their relationship had been that of a master and a novice, Osran had regarded Tirion an honored comrade even after his exile. He was glad to have this brief reunion with him even for this brief moment but his duty called. This meeting would have to be kept brief.
The other paladin’s eyes opened wide but not with surprise alone. Rather, the astonishment was accompanied by relief and joy. He was more than happy to see that the man who had been a mere novice during his exile still remembered him. The hooded man was more than disappointed by the changes in Osran after those days but it seemed like some honor and love for the Light still remained under his hardened shell. He merely answered briefly, willing to get over this meeting quickly.
“I’m honored that you still remember me, knight Lowriver. But we’ve wasted more than enough time already. Head back towards Plaguewood and save our beloved Stratholme. Make Uther proud.” Tirion said with a slight smile which was greeted by a respecting salute from the slightly younger knight. The hooded paladin was left looking in slight melancholy as he looked Osran disappear into the woods, once again leaving him to his longstanding loneliness. However, it was the role he had brought upon himself so long ago and he knew it would be his fate for the rest of his days. With a deep sigh, he turned around and slowly walked into the forest, determined to stay hidden from any hostile eyes until his last breath in this life.
With the long-exiled paladin’s unexpected appearance, Osran has survived from his near-desperate situation and is now on his way back towards the Crusade’s main army. However, the battle’s resolution is still a mystery and the knight can only hope that the worst didn’t come to pass in that fight… I know this chapter deviates from this story’s usual narrative somewhat but I wanted to reinvigorate my (and hopefully yours as well) memories of one of my favorite places in the actual game. I hope it still fit the story well enough and I look forward to your thoughts about this installment!
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On Victory’s Doorstep
Only a small, almost inaudible noise could be heard as a small fungus-like growth was crushed under the feet of the Grand Crusader. Or the being’s that inhabited the paladin’s body anyway. Dathrohan’s eyes investigated the massive necropolis flying high above him in the sky but the demon who registered that sight saw a far different picture of Naxxramas than Saidan would have. Where the Grand Crusader would have seen the embodiment of all evil in his beloved homeland and the symbol of Arthas’ treachery, Balnazzar saw only one, small step on his long way to realize his revenge against the one who had humiliated him in the eyes of the masters of the Burning Legion.
He would have wanted nothing more than to attack the domain of the hated lich immediately but to his immense shame, the Scourge had proven to be a far superior power to the Legion’s forces on Azeroth and the pathetic and weak band of humans was even worse than his inadequate group of felhounds, infernals or doomguards. But neither was the Lich King’s army the unbeatable juggernaut of destruction it used to be and that was the demon’s hope of ever destroying the cursed citadel and the treacherous pawn himself for good. But his observations were suddenly interrupted by a voice behind him, a voice the demon had learned to despise during the day since his ascension to the Crusade’s highest position.
“The road is safe for now, Grand Crusader. There are constant attacks against our positions but we should be able to hold them at bay. However, we lost almost one fifth of our forces on the way, far more than we had hoped.” The voice belonged to High General Abbendis whose face communicated deep respect to his counterpart. Dathrohan turned slowly to look at him, willing nothing more than to teach him a lesson or two about executing missions in a more adequate way but he knew any major change of behavior compared to the actual paladin would very soon raise suspicions. Instead, he took a grim but thoughtful look as he answered.
“One fifth? The initial ambush turned into the disaster we feared back then after all… But that cannot be changed at this point. We must make sure their sacrifice won’t be in vain and take Stratholme before the undead can get a chance to regroup!” That proposition didn’t twitch one muscle in the general’s face as that was exactly how the plan was supposed to proceed. However, there was one problem that he simply couldn’t ignore at this point.
“I’m afraid that is impossible under these circumstances, Saidan. Most of our troops are fatigued and wounded by the long battle and it’s more than clear they’re in no condition to storm Stratholme right now. If you’d heed my advice, I’d say we wait until the evening and allow our men to recover their strength and courage. Our position is the most secure it has been in days and it seems we can afford this short delay at this point. Besides, some of our reinforcements are still on their way.” Abbendis said in an honoring but matter-of-factly voice. He was relieved that the Crusade had gone this far in this offensive but he knew his proposition was the only realistic way to proceed.
Those words, however, nearly caused Balnazzar to attack the lower-ranked crusader as anyone who questioned their superiors’ orders in the Legion would have been silenced immediately. Additionally, the fact that these humans whined for a moment of rest was only another issue that deepened the demon’s disgust at his followers and served as another reason why this race had no future in Archimonde’s plans. Still, he knew better than to question Abbendis’ words as, no matter how difficult it was for the dreadlord to admit, he still knew more about how to lead a human army than he did.
“Very well. I’m willing to wait until the early evening but after that, we must begin our push. One of the most important things to remember in battle is to push your advantage as far as you can, whenever you have the chance.” The bearded man said to Abbendis who was relieved to hear that Dathrohan saw things his way. He bowed to the Grand Crusader and started to speak.
“Thank you, Saidan. I’ll give an order for our troops to prepare for an attack in six eight. But before that, we must…” The general’s call for one, final strategy meeting was cut short by the sound of the hooves of a few horses approaching the two at a quick pace. Abbendis turned his gaze to look at the direction of the sound and to his puzzlement and growing expectations, he saw that the riders’ leader was none other than the Crusade’s Highlord followed by two other men, one who was seriously wounded and severely affected by the forests’ toxic atmosphere. To his puzzlement, the trio weren’t coming from the army’s main body’s direction but from some other part of the woods. The man seemed like this could well have been his last battle but apparently he and Mograine still had something to tell their leader.
“Grand Crusader! Thank the Light we found you this quickly! This paladin has discovered a major breakthrough! He and his comrades claim to have been close to finding the entrance to Naxxramas itself!” Alexandros cried as he stopped his steed in front of Dathrohan and Abbendis whose eyes had opened wide in surprise. Finding the rumored portal to the dread necropolis would be a massive development indeed but how could the undead possible let the knights find one of the most important places in the entire Plaguelands? Was the Scourge truly that weak?
“Are you sure, Mograine? It’s hard to believe they’d let us just stumble there. How do you know this?” Dathrohan narrowed his eyes as he thought about these new developments. He knew his last question was more than apparent as Alexandros wouldn’t otherwise had brought any mortally injured row knights, whose breaths grew more forced by the second, to this meeting. The Highlord answered immediately as it was clear that he was extremely interested at these news himself.
“This paladin here, Wacin Greywood, claim to have seen a group of death knights heading towards some well-hidden part of the forest but he and his comrades were annihilated before they could find the portal itself. While the knowledge of its location would indeed be of great worth to us, he and his companions broke against all our orders and rules as they decided to wander into the woods by themselves to find this entrance. All of his companions fell and because of him, Kel’Thuzad’s armies are more powerful.” Mograine’s tone turned into a more bitter one as the injured man looked at Dathrohan pleadingly, clearly devastated by everything that had happened. To his shock and fear, there was no compassion or approval in the Grad Crusader’s eyes but he continued to speak where Alexandros left off. He held his hands on his abdomen which was bleeding massively. The fact that even Alexandros hadn’t been able to stop the bleeding pointed only one conclusion for the knight.
“I… it’s true, Grand Crusader. I know it was foolish but I and four others thought that the closing moments of the battle offered us a way to penetrate the Scourge’s ranks and find their weakness. I… I am the only one left but please, make our sacrifice worthwhile. The death knights were talking about the entrance to Naxxramas and they were walking towards a remote part of the Plaguewood, apparently heading to their headquarters. But then… then we were suddenly ambushed and all of them fell immediately back there. But… but if you were able o finish our quest… it would offer us a chance to strike at heart of the beast.” The wounded man said as he suddenly started to gasp even more violently. The gazes that had already been targeted towards him became more concerned but the moment he begun to cough blood and all of his wounds opened wide open again, all of the paladins present run towards him and grabbed him away from the saddle and put him in the ground to do whatever healing they could. However, it was all too late. After a few moments, Wacin’s struggles ended and silence once again settled upon the small group of knights.
However, this small pause was soon ended by a concerned but ultimately unmoved voice of the Grand Crusader. To many of his followers’ surprise, he hadn’t lifted a finger to help the dying man. Even now, any compassion or sadness at the knight’s passing was gone as the demon possessing Dathrohan gave his command.
“Burn the body and if someone asks about him, tell them that he fell in the battle. We don’t need to honor traitors or those who decide to feed the enemy’s forces because they cannot follow our direct orders.” The paladin said, earning a deep frown from the Highlord even if he seemed to understand his superior’s reasoning. However, what he couldn’t understand was the way he acted. Dathrohan had often been a firm, even cold leader, but he had always honored his followers and their sacrifices for the common good. Simply disowning the fallen knight didn’t seem like the Grand Crusader he knew but even then, maybe the situation was getting even on his strong-willed comrade’s nerves. Alexandros nodded at his other assistant to proceed with Dathrohan’s command before he spoke to the Grand Crusader.
“Saidan? I think we all agree we must make use of this information as it opens us with a way to win the war in this land for all. We must find this portal immediately and take control over it. I know it sounds reckless but I say we storm the dread citadel itself simultaneously with Stratholme.” Those words would have been met with laughter had the situation been any less tense or dangerous. The three highest-ranking leaders’ eyes were fixed on Wacin’s corpse which slowly caught fire and started to turn to ash. Even then, Abbendis’ completely unbelieving, even mocking tone was apparent as he spoke to the Highlord.
“Storm Naxxramas headlong? Didn’t you hear what the poor man said? His comrade was torn apart mere seconds after entering those cursed halls! We don’t know what horrors lurk within Kel’Thuzad’s fortress and even if we did, we cannot divide our forces into two groups! We need everyone to even stand a chance at liberating Stratholme!” The general said as he looked at Alexandros while narrowing his eyes. He had always looked at things from the most realistic and objective point of view, one which would guarantee the best result with minimum risk and Mograine’s proposal waged war against all the rules he had learned to follow in his years of service. The bearded man took a few steps towards the other knight and spoke to him in an authoritative hiss.
“It’s unlikely that Kel’Thuzad will just sit idly and watch as Stratholme falls literally under his gaze! If we don’t take the fight to him, we could easily find ourselves surrounded by those monstrosities you mentioned! We don’t have to win in Naxxramas just yet but if we could even get a threshold there, we could use it to divert forces from Stratholme and ease the pressure in there!” Alexandros’ frown twitched as he spoke. He realized the massive risk he was advocating for but, according to his lifelong experience and faith, he wanted to believe this was the best way to go. He glanced at Dathrohan briefly but to his disappointment and puzzlement, the Grand Crusader seemed to be deep in thought.
Saidan’s eyes were closed as the demon inside him thought about the next way to proceed. Alexandros’ idea was indeed a brave one but the demon found only distaste towards such courage. The way he saw it, concentrating all of the attackers’ forces on Stratholme would offer the Crusade its best chance at victory. However, the nathrezim’s mind also registered another way to proceed. But it would require Alexandros to propose it himself if he wanted to avoid any second thoughts about his “noble” cause. For now, silence and listening to the duo’s argument further served his interests better than any kind of intervention.
“And what if the group in Naxxramas gets overrun? We have to send our very best troops there for them to even stand a chance of them staying alive but if they fall, our elite troops have been practically delivered to the hands of the Lich King! The risk is simply too large for us to ignore! Grand Crusader, you cannot seriously be considering this kind of plan!” This was the first time Abbendis had voiced his complete opposition to the Highlord’s plans but he knew it was the only way a major disaster could be avoided. To the general’s great concern, there was still no answer from the Grand Crusader. The waiting silence was soon ended by Alexandros’ rebuttal of the other officer’s comments.
“And if we get surrounded, we will all fall! You have always been a man of caution, Abbendis, but this is a moment when we have to take a stand. I’ll lead the group to Naxxramas myself if I have to.” Alexandros ended with a sigh, finally receiving some kind of reaction from Dathrohan. The brown-haired man opened his eyes to look at the Highlord and spoke to him after a moment of waiting.
“You’d be walking into the heart of evil, my old friend. That’s something I cannot give you a permission to do. The danger is simply too large.” Saidan said in a calm voice but inside he knew Alexandros wouldn’t simply give up now. The Ashbringer was a faithful man and he was nothing but a trustworthy comrade. However, there were times when he simply believed in something too deeply to turn away without a major confrontation. The dreadlord had observed the conflict in Lordaeron long enough to know the most legendary knight in the land well enough. Balnazzar fought away the urge to smile when he heard Mograine’s answer.
“I have to beg you to reconsider, Dathrohan! Kel’Thuzad will leave no stone unturned to crush us in Stratholme and an attack on Naxxramas would take away that possibility! Yes, we might fall, but not before we let ourselves be purged by the merciful fire. But I, and many others, are ready to give up our lives for you to take Stratholme!” The Highlord panted deeply as he spoke, fully realizing that this could very well be his last day. He had fought against countless odds in his life and there was a chance he could survive even this mission but he knew that chance was more than a fleeting one. Still, he was more than ready to face that fate if it ever came to that. Balnazzar knew already that he had won but still he took a deep, serious breath before he answered to the second most powerful man in the Crusade.
“Are you sure, Alexandros? Your courage is as admirable as always but this time your plan seems even too daring. Don’t you understand that you are, besides me, the symbol and head of the whole Crusade? The news of the Ashbringer’s fall would be a massive hit on our troops’ morale and could well turn the tide of this entire war. Is that a risk you are willing to take?” Saidan to his comrade, stopping only half a meter before him and looked into his eyes
with a serious glance. It was clear that this moment would have massive implications for the whole Crusade.
Alexandros, on the other hand, suddenly felt his words get stuck in his throat. All his life he had fought for himself and his homeland but never had he been forced to think about others than himself and his comrades in arms when thinking about an upcoming battle. He had always thought about how to best serve the kingdom and he had never shied away from battles which most others would have given up, slowly giving birth to the legend of the Ashbringer. He suddenly felt the weight of his own past deeds on his shoulders but in his heart, he knew there was only one way to proceed. If he now turned into a backseat leader who didn’t have the will or courage to face the enemy in fight himself, what would become of himself and all the ideals and goals he had risked his life for in the past? The Ashbringer returned the Grand Crusader’s gaze and with a low but steady voice, he gave his answer.
“It is, my lord. I have always done what I’ve had to and changing my ways now would be an antithesis to who I am and an insult to those who gave their lives to buy us this chance. There is no turning away anymore.” After those words, complete calmness reigned among the three men as they thought about the implications of what had been said. Abbendis looked like he’d want nothing more than to turn away and leave as a protest at what he saw a massive mistake and a complete folly. However, out of mere respect to his two old comrades, he stayed silent and let the meeting end the way his two superiors saw best. Dathrohan nodded at Alexandros slightly before speaking to him, his voice wavering with respect and hope for the future.
“Very well. You may choose three dozen of our best knights to give Kel’Thuzad something to think about. Make the whole of Lordaeron proud.” Saidan said in as revering voice as he could, prompting Alexandros to answer to him in a similar tone.
“Of course, Grand Crusader. I will spare no expense at buying you all the time you need. Stratholme will fall on this day.” The longer knight said as the two looked at each other with looks of respect. Dathrohan soon turned to look at Abbendis and finished the meeting with one last command.
“High General, begin the preparations for the invasion immediately. Alexandros, make sure to pick your group as well as you only can, ones you are willing to trust your life with and locate the entrance to Naxxramas without delay. Best of luck to you both.” Dathrohan looked as the two left the scene with varying levels of satisfaction. He had expected persuading Alexandros to this kind of reckless effort to be much more difficult but it seemed like fate was on his side on this day. Once the famed Ashbringer was out of the way, there would be no one to ever notice something was wrong with the Grand Crusader and even less challenge his grip on power.
The possessed human’s eyes narrowed as he already thought about the day when he could finally make up for his failure during the invasion of Azeroth and to once again rejoin the Legion’s leadership. No matter what, the renegade Lich King would fall but before that, he’d have to make sure his plans would be advanced without any flaws. And to make sure Alexandros would never stand on his path, he’d need help for that. And how lucky it was that he already had someone who was going to make his dirty work for him if everything else failed…
A powerful gust of wind greeted the paladin’s face as he saw another of the watchtowers appear from the hazy distance. He cringed as he realized it was only the second one, the same place that had been the Crusade’s first prize during its first offensive on these lands, just before his invitation to the Scarlet Monastery. That battle seemed like it had happened years, even decades ago even if it was barely two months since that day. A careful smile would have appeared to Osran’s face as he saw the old tower being restored to its former majesty, just as Corin’s Crossing which he had rode through barely an hour ago, if the situation wasn’t so serious.
He still hadn’t learned how the battle of Plaguewood had ended and the fearful visions of Eneath being disemboweled and raised to serve the Curse of Undeath flowed through his eyes. He was making good distance but every second that passed by seemed to stretch on forever as the grip of horror only tightened its grip on the paladin’s heart. He would never forgive himself if Eneath had fallen because of his own mistakes just before his separation from the main body of the army.
Osran’s thoughts were momentarily interrupted as his steed jumped over a large hole in the road, catching its rider completely off guard. However, as the ordinary gallop continued, Osran forced his thoughts to a slightly stressful issue. His meeting with the legendary paladin who he had thought to be dead for decades still caused deep conflict within him. Tirion had been one of the most noble and kind of the leaders of the Silver Hand and he had preserved the fond memories of the duo’s few old meetings. Back then, he had been but a lousy and unsure novice but for some reason, Tirion had always wanted to help him find the problem in his techniques. His speeches and lessons to the younger paladins were always beyond inspiring and despite Tirion serving as the lord of Mardenholde, he still visited Tyr’s Hand quite often. Osran was glad to see that the old friendliness and authority still hadn’t left the now-old paladin.
However, he dearly hoped his meeting would be kept as a secret. Fordring’s trial had been one of the largest and most publicized scandals back in the day and he was still a hated and despised outcast. Any association with him would still be condemned by even more than mere words, something Osran no longer approved of in the least. He had fought the damned orcs for years himself and lost many comrades to them but at this point, orcs or their helpers were the least of worries in his mind. Whereas Doomhammer had been a mere murderous savage, the Scourge not only killed and defiled the people, it would also spell the end of the world as the living knew it. No matter what, Osran had forgiven Tirion for his “crime” a long time ago and despite the potential backlash, Osran was more than happy to have met his old master one more time.
The weather grew slightly warmer the closer he got to the Plaguewood and the sickly mist grew less tangible but in the eyes of any outsider, the apocalyptic landscape would have seemed just the same as always. Osran took another sigh before he suddenly heard a loud cry from behind him.
“In the name of the Grand Crusader, halt your gallop immediately!” Osran didn’t even look behind him as he had learned during his years of service that immediate and faithful following of these kinds of orders paid off more often than not. All of a sudden, Osran could hear more sounds of horses’ hooves behind him, something which started to cause the paladin more worry. He looked at the group of knights slowly surround him and he knew better than to try to fight back as he had very little to hide. He looked at the apparent leader of the group ride towards him.
“Very few lonely men have any business in the Plaguewood. Who are you and on whose orders are you here? Speak but remember that lies will hardly improve your situation.” The knight said as he moved to face Osran at a closer range. Osran was trying to force his voice to calm down when he suddenly realized something important. He had seen that powerful face and yellow beard before but where? However, it wasn’t long before the sudden realization came to Osran.
“Harthal? Harthal Truesight? I always wondered when we’d meet again.” Osran said dryly, trying to even the odds at this conversation by not revealing his identity just yet. It remained to be seen whether Harthal remembered him as well. The other paladin frowned oddly, taken aback that this stranger knew him. And to tell the truth, there was something familiar about him…
“You didn’t answer my question. Tell me your name, now!” The leader of the small group, in a strict voice. It was clear he wouldn’t yield an inch in this battle of minds. Osran shook his head downwards and sighed before he answered. It seemed like the duo’s meeting at the Monastery hadn’t been meaningful enough to the other knight to remember him.
“Very well. My name is Osran Lowriver and in case you don’t remember it, we met back at the Monastery on the night following your return from Northrend. I was among your listeners and we exchanged a few words at that meeting.” The paladin said quickly, willing to ease the menacing situation as soon as he only could. Harthal looked at Osran for a while before his gaze finally brightened somewhat. This time his voice was an almost friendly one as he answered.
“Oh, I do remember. It wasn’t a long meeting indeed but it’s good to see you being alive and well as well, Osran. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re riding towards Stratholme alone.” Harthal said briefly, also glad that the situation seemed to be calming down.
Osran, however, was given his first opportunity to look around himself and see who the Lord Paladin’s followers were. His gaze wandered from one knight to another and there were some he could have swear to have seen back in the Monastery. But there were two figures among the group whose sight really caught Osran’s attention. Not far to his left was Renault Mograine, the rough but potent paladin and son of the Highlord he had met back at the Monastery. The duo’s eyes met briefly and it was immediately clear to Osran that very little had changed within the young knight.
The other paladin who he noticed among the group was someone whose absence had bothered him more often than he would have wanted to admit. He hadn’t heard a word of Veria Longlea since she had been ordered to reinforce the
Crusade’s forces in Andorhal. There would be a lot for the two discuss once this unexpected reunion would be allowed to start in full swing. For now, however, he’d have to answer the question he had been presented.
“Believe it or not, I was separated from the main army in the Plaguewood and I was presented with no other choice but to escape through the Thondrodil Tunnel. I’m now on my way to find them again and to prove them I didn’t fall in the battle.” Osran knew there were many detail in his story that could be hard to believe but he kept his face as neutral as he could to reinforce his honesty. Harthal’s gaze turned into an unbelieving one as Osran finished his brief story. He immediately rebuked the other knight’s story with the most obvious questions.
“Do you honestly claim you managed to escape from the heart of the Scourge’s stronghold here alone only to being forced to ride through this entire land when you could have just turned around and fight your way back to the others? Not to mention there aren’t many that well-kept horses anywhere near Thondrodil Tunnel.” The paladin’s voice neared a mocking one as more and more questions rose to his mind. However, Osran was quickly growing frustrated by this delay as every second he spent arguing here was another possibility for Eneath to meet his end. The Crimson Legionary’s voice rose considerably as he answered.
“I don’t know about you but I’d like to reach the army before the night falls! I doubt the Grand Crusader would like to hear of any unnecessary delays because of any unneeded interrogations, am I right, Truesight?” Osran knew there was only explanation for the group’s presence this far north on the Menethil Road and it was that they were heading to the same place that he was. This was probably another regiment of reinforcements from the west Dathrohan had asked to accompany him. Harthal looked taken aback by the other knight’s words ad his conflict-seeking expression turned into a thoughtful one. It was his duty to make sure the lonely traveler wasn’t up to anything that was against the Crusade’s plans but it was also true that the Grand Crusader wouldn’t want to hear that his losses had grown because of interrogating one paladin he had already met and found to be a man of honor. With a brief sigh, he answered to Osran while turning around to the direction of the Plaguewoods.
“We will get to the bottom of this in time, Lowriver. But for now, you may join us but if you try to do anything unexpected, we won’t hesitate to take you down. Is that clear?” The Lord Paladin said, not even expecting an answer from the other man. He quickly raised his voice and called to the rest of his followers.
“We must ride faster the rest of the journey! We have to reach the Grand Crusader before the evening!” He cried and the entire regiment of knights resumed their advance immediately. Osran looked at Harthal wearily while joining the second line of knights in the group. With any luck, there would be no more interruptions before he would be able to see that his nephew was alive and well. Osran briefly gazed at Veria and it was also clear that she had noted him as well. It was clear that both of them would be willing to share a brief moment if they’d ever be able to have one in this life again.
Pained twitches radiated through Eneath’s body as another flash of Light was being directed on his back. The young man was covered in deep, still-bleeding wounds that had by no means stopped threatening his life. There were four other men trying to cause his bleeding to stop but even their efforts struggled to contain the gaping wounds in his head, back and chest. The young man’s whole world was covered by the extreme agony but he hadn’t trained for years to give in to it. Eneath could feel his teeth being near to splitting apart as he gritted them together when he saw the Holy Light engulfing him again and again. Even in this terrible moment, the warm, sacred power gave him the strength he needed to go through one of the most terrible moments in his life. After a time which felt like an eternity, he finally heard the words he had prayed for in his mind.
“Very well, Lowriver. Your life is no longer under threat even if you lost massive amounts of blood.” One of the priests said in a matter-of-factly voice. The battle of Plaguewood had created countless seriously wounded knights and the priests and volunteering knights simply had no time to show any kind of sympathy or special treatment to those whose lives had been saved. Eneath breathed a gasp of great relief as he laid his head back to the woody stretcher which provided little real comfort. He was about to answer when quick, fleeting images begun to flow before his eyes.
The sight of countless of undead streaming towards him and Keril and the horror of slow but certain defeat once again rose to his mind. Even if his sword was nowhere to be seen, his fingers unconsciously searched for the scabbard in order to fight the devils off again. And the sight of the towering abomination looming over him and his comrades and the sudden, unexpected intervention from Osran… Suddenly Eneath shot up from his lying position and cringed in returning pain from the leaving group of priests.
“I thank the Light that you managed to save me in time but… where are Keril Strongstone and my uncle, Osran? They… they were standing on my side when… when this happened.” Eneath said carefully while gesturing on his badly wounded body. It hadn’t been many minutes after Osran’s disappearing before another of the skeletons had caused him the stab in his abdomen which finally caused him to lose his consciousness. H… had Keril made it through the battle? Had there been any sightings about his uncle or had he disappeared into the woods for good? Eneath felt like his heart stopped completely when one of the priests, an old grey-bearded man, turned towards him in a saddened look on his wrinkled face. He whispered something to one of the paladins who seemed to answer to the old cleric after a moment of thinking. After that brief exchange, the priest walked back towards Eneath and stopped near him.
“Strongstone, too, was badly injured in the battle but he’ll live. As for your uncle, I’m afraid he hasn’t been since he foolishly abandoned his position to help you, my child. I only pray he’ll find peace with the Light. But rest now, Lowriver. You took quite a beating.” The priest then turned around to treat the next wounded knight, leaving Eneath lying alone on the stretchers which had been laid on a rocky ground near the road. However, even the monstrous fungi rising around him no longer seemed mean anything to the young paladin whose world seemed to freeze immediately. Could it be true? Could it be that Osran had met his end in the forest, because he had been incapable of standing his ground in the first place?
Ever since their arrival in Tyr’s Hand during the War, it had been his dream to defend his homeland against the Scourge but it had always been his uncle who had served as his mentor and the model who he should strive to become. He had always seen Osran’s power as something only a select few possessed and he still wasn’t half the paladin his uncle was. To think he’d fall alone in this cursed forest was something that no one, especially not a paladin of his status, should suffer. Something that he simply couldn’t suffer. Eneath had heard the stories of the older Lowriver’s deeds in the Monastery and Osran had always been a resourceful and decisive man. No matter how unlikely it seemed, Eneath knew Osran simply wouldn’t allow his years of service end like this. Not after all he had gone through. Eneath turned into the now-calm forest and slowly but surely, he had to admit that it was more than likely he wouldn’t meet Osran again in this life.
...
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...
The knight’s breaths grew easier by the second as the group of around fifty paladins went ever deeper into the Plaguewood. To his immense surprise and relief, there were small squads of paladins stationed here and there along the road, apparently to ensure the vital supply line’s safety in the coming days. There were burning bodies here and there which were only a small part of the terrifying losses the Crusade had suffered to secure this one road. Even then, the presence of these knights meant only one thing: the order had won the battle and were now truly laying siege to Stratholme itself! He could see similar hopeful sentiments among his companions as they finally approached their destination.
None of these hopeful signs were lost on Harthal as he looked at the road before him. It seemed like riding night and day for two days from the Monastery was the right decision after all, despite his followers’ doubts about his plan. The knight commander was beyond fatigued but it was nothing to the five days of nightmare during his flight from Northrend. The visions of that expedition still haunted him during his every waking and sleeping moment but he been forced to learn to not give in to his inner fears. Whitemane had made that more than clear in the weeks following his return.
Even through his haunted and fearful mind, however, he was more than honored to be allowed to lead this group of reinforcements in the imminent battle of Stratholme. He had never visited the city itself but he, like any citizen of Lordaeron, had heard of its splendor and mighty walls but also of its eventual downfall and about the apocalyptic horrors that lurked within its walls these days. No matter what, he’d serve the High Inquisitor with all his heart and give his last breath to accomplish this mission of which would be spoken with venerating words for centuries to come.
Suddenly, a certain sight before him snapped him out of his thoughts once and for all. A small group of knights suddenly blocked the road before him and one of the men shouted to the Lord paladin in a surprisingly grim tone.
“Stop right there! Who are you and where are you and your followers coming from?” The man said, prompting Harthal to raise his hand as a gesture for his followers to stop immediately. The paladin wasted no time giving his answer.
“We are the regiment honored Inquisitor Whitemane promised to send from the Scarlet Monastery. We’re not too late, I assume?” Harthal said in a neutral tone, expecting this meeting to be finished very soon. However, to his surprise and slight annoyance, the guard wasn’t done with him.
“If you truly claim to be that group’s leader Harthal Truesight, I trust you have the High Inquisitor’s letter and seal with you as well. Without it, you aren’t going anywhere.” The man said, prompting a highly annoyed frown from the other paladin. Yes, Whitemane had given him such a letter but they hadn’t been really needed before as any help from a fellow crusader had previously been welcomed with open arms. With a deep sigh, the knight took one of his packs which were hanging on his steed’s sides and after a few seconds of searching, he handed the piece of paper to the guard.
“Here it is. Her seal is on the bottom part of the paper as you can see.” Harthal said in frustration but it still took a few moments before he received an answer from the guard.
“Everything seems to be in order, commander Truesight. You may pass but report to the High General immediately so he may order you to your posts without delay. May the Light smile upon us all.” The leader of the small band of guards said as he and his followers moved to the sides of the road, allowing the newcomers to reach the main part of the army. Harthal nodded to the man in approval before he ordered his steed to a calm gait. It wasn’t long before the first groups of wounded soldiers begun to appear on the sides of the road, surrounded by vigilant paladins who guarded their comrades on this anxious, waiting hour.
If he could tell anything from his experience, Harthal assumed that Abbendis was waiting somewhere near the frontline or if the timing was bad enough, he could be in a planning session right now with his fellow masters of the Crusade, However, he knew there was no point in bringing his whole regiment to this meeting so he suddenly turned around to look at his followers and spoke to them in a calm voice.
“You may rest a moment when I talk to the High General. Do what you wish but you must move to your posts we decided back at the Monastery whenever you are commanded to do so. It has been a long ride but I’m happy we made it in time.” The Lord Paladin looked at Osran slightly longer than the others as he still wasn’t completely convinced of his true motives. However, he had showed no questionable intents during the ride and even then, there was little to win by wasting time on him any more than he already had done. He waited until his followers honored him with salutes before he begun to move on the road towards Stratholme and the final frontline once again.
The entire situation seemed to suddenly come crashing down upon Osran as he realized he had made it. He had survived his stroll into the Plaguewood and was now back in the army he had been separated in that now seemingly faraway battle. He knew he’d have to report his survival to some of the other commanders here but at this point, there was only one person he’d want to meet. While he looked forward to meeting Veria again, he prayed in his mind that Eneath wasn’t among those who lied burning under the monstrous fungi along the road. Most of the newly arrived knights begun to dismount as soon as they could after countless hours of constant riding and Osran didn’t waste any more time than they did. He quickly approached one of the guards along the road who was facing the woods in case something suspicious would appear from its cursed depths. The man flinched noticeably as he heard the voice speak to him.
“I beg your pardon, good knight, but would you happen to know where I could find Eneath Lowriver? I haven’t been able to find him since the battle.” Osran decided revealing his identity would help little in this situation but to his disappointment, the guard’s answer wasn’t what he had wished for.
“I don’t know anyone of such name. But if you haven’t seen him since we drove the Scourge back to its damned lair, I’d say it’s more than clear he didn’t make it. Even then, the wounded are often tended in the places where they fought and fell. Where did your comrade serve in the battle?” It was clear that the man would have wanted to be left in peace but he seemed to be willing to speak out of mere respect to a fellow crusader. This answer was an unexpected one for Osran and he immediately turned to investigate his surroundings. At first, he didn’t quite remember this stretch of the forest but after a moment, he started to recall in which parts he had seen the massive mushroom to his far left and where the northern woods stuck closer to the Menethil road. This had been the place where the middle part of the army had taken their stand in the fight, meaning Eneath should be a bit further down the road if he had survived. He answered to the guard quickly before he prepared to begin searching for Eneath.
“In that case, he should be even further that way. You have my gratitude.” The paladin said as the guard turned around to continue his long watch. Osran was ready to finally conclude his worries and he was beginning to walk towards Eneath probable location when he heard another voice, to his great disappointment, behind him.
“What are you doing, Osran? Are you in too much hurry to even greet me after this past month?” The speaker was Veria who apparently had wanted to exchange a few words with the other paladin when they’d reach their destination. Osran welcomed her presence but he didn’t want to delay his reunion with Eneath so he just waved to Veria to follow him.
“Come with me, Veria. I’ll explain on the way.” Every feature in the aging paladin’s reflected his inner fears and extreme worry which Veria noticed immediately. The atmosphere was somewhat warm but extremely worried as the two old comrades headed west on the heavily guarded road. Osran didn’t want to show any more of his concerns and he looked forward as he spoke.
“It’s good to see you again, Veria. The last weeks have been quite hard without you or Tareth and I’m more than happy that you’re here. However, right now the only thing I want is to find Eneath. As I told Truesight, I was separated from him during a battle yesterday and I still don’t know whether he survived or not. If he did, he should be found around there.” Osran felt terrible for practically ignoring his companion’s presence like this but he wanted to shake this massive burden from his shoulders as soon as possible. To his slight relief, Veria didn’t seem upset by his behavior as she answered.
“I can’t imagine what happened but I expect to hear from it soon enough. This battle was a bloody one but all that matters is that were victorious here, just like in Andorhal. Let’s just hope Eneath didn’t pay for it with his life.” Veria seemed genuinely understanding of Osran’s words but the news she shared immediately caught the other paladin’s interest. Had the Crusade taken Andorhal alongside Corin’s Crossing? Things seemed more promising by the day for the living in this horrifying campaign.
“Indeed. However, I never heard Andorhal has been retaken for Lordaeron. I’m happy that your mission wasn’t for nothing.” Osran tried to force a weak smile to his face but it was from a believable one. Veria sighed briefly before she answered.
“I guess so even if there were many times when I hoped I would be released from that hell. The Scourge managed to surround us in the lands south of the city and many of us fell under onslaught of the abominations and necromancers. In the end, we broke their ranks and managed to retake Andorhal and it truly seems like Scourge’s grip on that area has been broken for good. I also noticed that the Crusade has managed to make major gains in old Darrowmere, most importantly in Corin’s Crossing. And also, I noticed that Isillien accepted you to the Crimson Legion. Congratulations.” She said as she noticed Osran’s blood and poison stained tabard. Osran glanced at Veria in slight approval but he knew that any briefings of his time in the Legion wouldn’t be allowed to be told to any outsiders. He answered to the other knight briefly as he investigated the wounded knights lying everywhere around him but none of them looked familiar, at least to any remarkable degree.
“Yes, I did. The Grand Inquisitor made it seem like an important occasion and I guess it has given me some more say in planning the offensives but most of the change has been mostly symbolic. It’s nothing to be proud about.” The Crimson Legionary said, the situation making it more than easy for him to lie without any fears of extra gestures. Veria found Osran’s answer somewhat odd but she decided against trying to push the issue further. Both of them had gone through a lot and clearly Osran wasn’t in his best state of mind. It was good to see that both of the two had made it through the last battles without any major injuries and to be honest, she felt great pride in the fact that she could fight in Stratholme alongside one of the knights who had always been one of the most noble fighters of Tyr’s Hand. She knew both of them would do their best to make Tareth proud.
“That doesn’t sound like what I’ve heard about the Legion. I…” Veria was about to continue relaying her news to Osran when the latter suddenly begun a sprint towards the edge of the forest where there still lied many wounded. It didn’t take long before she realized what had caught her companion’s attention still quickly. Osran stopped near her nephew and put his hands on his knees and begun to pant heavily as the massive fear of losing his beloved nephew finally left him.
“Eneath! Th… thank the Light you are alive! I’ve been so worried about… about everything.” Osran said as the younger man suddenly shot up from his stretchers to a sitting position, not able to believe his own eyes as he looked into the bearded and increasingly wrinkled face of his uncle. The last hours had seemed like a fearful dream but it ended the moment Osran had once again proved everyone wrong with his miraculous return. He nearly started to laugh in joy as he answered to his uncle’s words.
“Osran!? B… but how? Y... you really made it, didn’t you?!” Eneath merely stuttered as he couldn’t find the words to describe his astonishment and happiness at this development. Osran returned the wide smile as he slowly offered his hand to his nephew, a gesture the younger man immediately accepted.
“It’s a long story but all that matters is that we are both still here today. You’ve already made me more than proud but it’s even better that you can still continue to do so. It’s good to see you again, nephew.” Osran said as the two shook hands in mutual respect and affection. Eneath looked extremely moved by his uncle’s words and he answered a few seconds later, as their handshake had already broken up.
“Likewise, uncle. I already feared the worst but you’ve never let me down before, Osran. Neither was my survival far from guaranteed but it seems like the Lowrivers won’t be taken down easily.” Eneath said as he reflected on the situation. For both of the paladins, this day had already went far better than either of them ever had the right to hope for.
Veria looked at the display with a slight smile, happy to see her comrade alive and well but the prevalence of death and tragedy around her prevented her from reveling in the duo’s reprieve. This was a moment she’d allow them to share together but before long, all of the paladins located in this cursed forest would have to face death before long. And for now, she’d put all of her efforts to preparing for that upcoming onslaught.
As was to be expected from him, the High General was in the center of all the preparations for the coming fight. Barricades were erected, new offensive groups were being formed and more siege weapons were being constructed in an effort to grant the Crusade the advantage it needed to break the city’s defenses. He never engaged in a major battle without ensuring that all of the possible advantages were at his disposal. Even now, he’d make sure that the Crusade could enter the city’s streets without a major bottleneck forming at its broken gates by relentlessly bombarding the undead most likely swarming behind them with burning boulders. He would normally have enjoyed the preparation for his major triumph but Alexandros’ decision weighed down on him heavily. He suddenly turned to his side and looked at his daughter who was returning to him from a patrol around the army.
“How many of the wounded will be ready to fight by evening, Brigitte? We need nearly all of them if we want to stand a chance at overcoming Rivendare’s defenses.” The casualties at the first stage of this operation had been far more severe than he had expected but such things happened all too often in these kinds of campaigns. The younger general walked close to her father and it was clear she was far from happy with the way things were developing.
“They will fight no matter their condition! No true crusader will stay out of the fight as long as they can take another breath. Even then, things are moving on far too slowly! Doesn’t Dathrohan realize that we should have pushed our advantage when we had the perfect chance to do so? If we had moved on right after the battle, we would have been victorious by now!” The younger Abbendis had fumed ever since the securing of the Menethil road as she would never turn down a fight, no matter her fatigue. Her determination ever shadowed it completely and she wanted nothing more than to finish things just as quickly as she only could. The older officer frowned as he answered, not approving of this youthful recklessness.
“We are waiting because it only increases our odds of success! First of all, our soldiers need a moment of rest after all that has happened and this short reprieve allows us to investigate our enemy better and to break their leaders’ will before we even engage them. Attacking them headlong would have made it easier for them to lay traps on us and we would then be easy prey to them! Patience is a virtue a leader must learn before sacrificing his troops’ lives!” The man said in a loud voice, his nerves increasingly stretched by the dangerous situation he was in which could very easily decide the final fate of Lordaeron and by extension, the whole of Azeroth. Additionally, he was more than annoyed by his daughter’s lack of respect to the coming battle and the fact that she had nerve to come ordering him around. However, it was clear that his words did little to end the argument.
“And simply wasting time here makes it harder for them to repel our attack? They are mindless pawns who don’t care how many of them fall! You know better than that but if you are that scared, then perhaps it’s time for me…” She nearly shouted but she didn’t have the time to finish before her father cut her rant short. It was clear that the elder Abbendis’ patience was reaching its limits.
“Your time to lead this army won’t come as long as you see people as pawns to be sacrificed without a very good reason! I want nothing more than to see every last of these monsters annihilated but it is you who don’t know what we’re up against! You weren’t in the heart of hell itself to see your comrades torn to pieces before your eyes! Orman was a fool to ever believe in that strategy as he was another young, overly optimistic man who believed he was somehow destined to conquer Icecrown! And to make matters worse, that damned Mograine seems more than determined to replicate that fool’s folly, probably dooming this whole battle before it even began! I could even accept such decision from you but how can the Ashbringer be that blind?” Abbendis’ voice fell and he brought his hand to his face as he looked at another burning boulder drop beyond Stratholme’s looming walls. His mind was a complete flux and he felt more than betrayed by his two fellow leaders’ decision. He was trying to do what he did best, prepare his troop for victory, but it was increasingly difficult if everybody around him acted like they wanted to lose. Seeing her father’s growing despair, she decided against escalating the situation further but neither did her voice communicate any compassion to the older Abbendis.
“We cannot always do what is the safest way forward. If I had counted only the odds, I would never have saved Havenshire from the undead back then. Alexandros is only doing what he thinks offers us a chance to finish this nightmare. As should we all.” Brigitte was turning around when she saw another man approaching the two quickly. Brigitte glanced at him in slight annoyance but didn’t speak anything to the man. They bypassed each other coldly but it wasn’t many seconds before the newcomer saluted to the High General who was still looking at the burning city with a pained expression.
“Lord Paladin Harthal Truesight reporting for duty, High General. I apologize for any delays, Abbendis, but I came as quickly as I could.” He said in a revering voice as he looked at Abbendis who looked far more fragile and worried than usually. He was known as a calm, encouraging man who would never let the situation get the better of him. Harthal couldn’t help but notice that the change in him was more than profound. It was a moment before Abbendis turned around and answered to the other man’s greetings.
“And not a moment too soon, Truesight. I was already beginning to wonder whether you’d make it here at all. Even then, I’m glad to see you here. We need all the help we can get.” Abbendis said as he made another effort to calm himself down. He raised his chin upwards and forced a decisive and commanding expression to his face. Harthal was somewhat encouraged by this change and he answered shortly to his words.
“I understand that an assault to Stratholme will commence on this day. What will be mine and my regiment’s role in this battle? Our blades are yours to command, Abbendis.” The Lord Paladin said, willing to lend all the support he could to the clearly embattled officer. Abbendis had of course expected this question and gave his answer immediately, willing to get rid of the other officer as quickly as he only could.
“Your troops will help our main force storm the King’s Square and then to head for the Festival Lane while the rest of our troops will strive to secure the Bastion itself. I told Whitemane in the letter that the Alonsus chapel and the Eternal Flame will be your primary objective. is that clear?” Abbendis asked, his eyes resonating with the yearn for victory. Harthal nodded slightly before affirming the order However, he then frowned slightly and presented another question.
“It is but… if I don’t remember completely wrong, the chapel was located near another, smaller gate to the east. Shouldn’t we storm that one if we are heading for the Flame?” The red-haired man said as he thought about that question himself. Abbendis snorted briefly before explaining this one detail.
“The side gate is far too small for us to even dream of breaking the Lich King’s defenses there. The Grand Crusader told me that he fought a massive dog-like abomination a few days ago, reportedly large enough to nearly block that entrance by itself, turning that platform into a perfect deathtrap. Also, that gate is still in place and there’s no reason to spend the whole day trying to break through just for that outcome.” The General sighed as he spoke, that very question having brought severe headaches to him earlier. Harthal decided that answer to be sufficient but there was one last thing he wanted to know.
“There’s one more thing I’d like to mention while I’m here. On the way here I found a paladin by the name of Osran Lowriver and he claims to have been separated from this army during yesterday’s battle. He bears the tabard of the Crimson Legion so I decided to ask whether his name is a familiar one to you. He came with us so he’s here if you want to question him.” The paladin wanted to get his responsibility about this odd reunification off his shoulders. Abbendis’ eyes widened slightly as he heard that name again but his voice didn’t communicate much interest.
“Lowriver, eh? I don’t know him personally but I’ve heard about him due to his membership in the Legion. We thought he fell in the battle but it’s good to hear we were wrong. He has served us well thus far but his whereabouts in the past days have to be investigated sooner than later. Thank you for your report, Lord Paladin. You may now go prepare your regiment for the battle. May the past heroes of Lordaeron watch over us to prevent today from turning into another Northrend.” Abbendis said as he turned around again. The lower-ranked officer repeated the General’s words before he turned around to do as he was told. No matter what, he’d make sure to serve the Crusade better than on that Light-forsaken day in the distant, Cold North.
Now that the Crusade’s reinforcements have reached the gates of Stratholme, the final countdown for the most important battle of the Plaguelands can begin. There are still a few preparations to make but plots and unseen forces are beginning to move forwards even before the storming of the city’s gates… I apologize for the long delay but I had some serious trouble with my other story. Also, from now on there will be some minor changes to the original lore in order to enable me to utilize more opportunities in the coming chapters. Most of these changes will concern the Mograines and I truly hope you’ll like the slightly altered storyline. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this chapter after the long wait!
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Road to the Necropolis
The balding, black-haired man looked at the rows of soldiers around him, able to feel only deep respect to each of them for being able to even go on with this offensive for this long. Yet, the biggest test was still before them and he, as one of the Crusade’s High Inquisitors, would be more than honored to guide them forward on this most gallant of paths. He silently spoke to his companion, who had been his lord and friend for as long as he could only remember.
“We still need a few more knights to accompany us, Alexandros. Even then, I must say I’m more than honored by the group we have already managed to gather. We couldn’t ask for a better group of comrades on our mission.” He said, the excitement of the coming battle flowing into his limbs. He would make sure their attack on Naxxramas itself wouldn’t fail, if it only could be avoided. Alexandros looked unusually tense but his voice was still as noble and encouraging as always.
“Aye, I would lay down my life in the hands of each of those knights and I know nothing will stop them from spreading the Light’s justice upon the Scourge. Even then, I’m not going to lie to you, Fairbanks. It’ll take a miracle for us to be successful on this attack. Yet, I’d be cursed if I let Kel’Thuzad get away for this because I’m afraid to risk my life for it!” Alexandros was annoyed as he couldn’t get Abbendis’ words away from his mind as for the first time in a long time, he questioned his own motives for some reason. He, as the Highlord of the Crusade, served as one of the whole order’s heads and symbols and Dathrohan’s words had for the first time made him realize his value. However, Fairbanks seemed to be more confident about this quest and he had often served as his right hand and respected friend for a long time. The Ashbringer was prepared to serve alongside with him at any time.
“As would any of us be. This indeed is a dangerous plan but by the Light’s grace, we cannot fall. When I witnessed the birth of the Ashbringer, I knew that this would be the blade that would spell the end of the Scourge. It has made you the embodiment of the Light, Highlord. We cannot fail with you by our side.” The cleric said with a serious look on his face, meaning each and every one of his words. That journey to Ironforge had changed everything: yes, Alexandros had been a man of legend even before that but the birth of his famed weapon had immediately turned him into the unofficial head of the Silver Hand, second only to the Lightbringer himself. The Inquisitor had always been at his shadow but that was a role he was very content in. The only thing he yearned was to witness the fall of the Scourge and to see his old friend’s ascendancy into the eternal memory of humanity. Mograine gave the driest of laughs, not exactly amused by the comment his friend had meant as a compliment.
“So thought those who followed, Uther, too. Yet, I wouldn’t have signed up for this mission if I hadn’t believed in our chance for success. And for that, we need one more paladin who I know will stand nobly at our side. The Ashbringer said as he walked along the ruined Menethil Road, looking at the rows of knights around him. His mere presence raised countless honoring and approving glances but he had seen them long enough to pay them any heed. Fairbanks was just about to ask his superior what he meant when Alexandros suddenly raised his voice and called a heavily-bearded commander who was giving commands to his followers.
“Greetings, duke Zverenhoff! I thought I’d find you here.” He said somewhat informally as Nicholas had been another member of the Crusade he had known for a long time. However, his voice was enough to cause a notable twitch within the other man who immediately turned around to greet the higher-ranked crusader.
“Highlord Mograine! I… it’s an honor to see you here! What business do you have with me?” He asked nervously, not having the slightest of guesses about Alexandros’ intentions. The duke himself had survived the earlier fight unharmed and because of that, he had been more than busy reorganizing the surviving forces into effective groups under Abbendis’ command. He looked in surprise at the two newcomers but put his early surprise behind himself almost immediately. The Ashbringer answered after a slight moment of silence during which the only sound to be heard was the wind’s silent whistling among the massive fungi surrounding the three men.
“Usually I wouldn’t be this blunt but yes, I have one favor I’d like to ask you, Nicholas, if you only are able. One that I hope you have within yourself to accept.” The Highlord said, knowing that there was no time to waste if he was going to find the way to Naxxramas. Time was of the essence and if he was going to do this, it would have to happen now. Nicholas took an intrigued look and raised his hand to his followers to signal them to stay still for a moment. He then answered to his superior in a friendly yet honoring voice.
“Of course, my lord, if it within my power. What do you ask, Alexandros?” He asked, willing to hear what the other man wanted of him. Fairbanks looked at the noble for a moment and decided to answer in his friend’s stead.
“We are here to ask you to join us in finding the way to Naxxramas and storm the citadel while the others move on Stratholme. You are the last one we are going to ask to join this most important of missions. The Grand Crusader has authorized our quest and we hope you would honor us by joining us on this mission.” The inquisitor asked, keeping his voice as matter-of-factly and respecting as he simply could. His announcement had the expected effect on the duke whose eyes opened wide immediately. Clearly at a loss of words, he once again turned towards his followers and with a loud voice, he gave his order.
“Report to the younger Abbendis for further instructions. It seems I have other things to attend to.” He said and looked at the troops dispersing, knowing better than to question their superior’s words. This brief distraction had managed to calm Nicholas down for a moment before he prepared to answer to Fairbank’s announcement.
“Are you serious? Do you seriously expect us to be able to accomplish such a thing?” He asked, refraining from voicing his full disbelief as he knew more than well this was likely an issue the two had discussed earlier, especially if Dathrohan had accepted the plan. The Ashbringer moved closer to the slightly shorter man as he gave his answer.
“Only the Light knows the answer to that question but few would have expected a year ago us to lay siege to Stratholme either. We don’t have much time, Zverenhoff. No matter what, we need your answer quickly. Are you with us?” The Ashbringer asked, more than ready to embark on his gallant quest. Even if he wanted the noble to accompany him, he’d respect whatever answer he’d give him. Nicholas couldn’t come up with any explanation to Mograine’s plan but if the Ashbringer wanted his help, there was only possible answer. He was just about to open his mouth when another voice suddenly joined the conversation.
“As willing as always to face danger, aren’t you, father? I should have expected no less from the Ashbringer himself.” The three men’s heads turned to look at the speaker whom all of them knew immediately. The young man’s golden hair and strong facial features were easily recognizable and he very soon received an answer from the Highlord himself.
“So they sent you along with the latest reinforcements from the Monastery, didn’t they, Renault?” Alexandros asked, surprised to meet his older son for the first time in about two years. He had hoped to see him learn more about the way of the paladin at that sacred place of learning but his brash, even arrogant greeting hadn’t exactly raised Alexandros’ hopes. The young man stopped near the other three, his face turning into a more neutral look than before.
“They did and I’m more than honored to serve in the coming battle. It should be quite a spectacle, eh, father? However, I’ve been wondering about Darion’s whereabouts I haven’t seen him anywhere.” Renault asked in a voice which sounded genuinely curious about the issue. However, his appearance, despite the slight relief of seeing his son after a long time, wasted more precious time Alexandros simply couldn’t afford. Despite that, he decided to give Renault a fair answer.
“Your brother was left to Light’s Hope as a member of its garrison against the Scourge. And about the coming fight, don’t underestimate the enemy. It has cost many young paladins their lives.” He said grimly, not approving of the younger knight’s words in the least. Renault looked at him in slight disappointment but answered to him shortly.
“That may be but I happened to hear what the good inquisitor Fairbanks said. Are you sure this is wise?” He asked in a slightly worried look. The question started to slightly irritate the three knights and Alexandros gave him answer which he hoped would end this discussion once and for all.
“It is what is best for the Crusade and the kingdom. I don’t ask you to understand it but I hope you understand we have to go.” The Highlord turned his gaze before him, starting to go rally his followers into the coming battle. However, what he heard next nearly froze him in his place.
“I do more than well, father. And that’s why I beg to accompany you on this most important of missions.” He asked before earning a swift and even hostile look from the cleric. His face penetrated into the younger paladin as he gave his answer.
“Shake it off, boy! Each and every member of our group has been hand-picked by the Ashbringer himself, each of them having proven their worth on battlefields like which you’ve only heard in stories. You have no room on this group.” He, said, hoping that the conversation would be over after those words. However, his son’s words raised a deep conflict within the elder Mograine. In his heart, he knew his old friend was right and that Renault wouldn’t most likely live through what was to come. However, encouraging bravery and heroism and giving each one their time to prove their worth was an integral part of the Crusade’s creed as long as it wouldn’t hurt the order’s chances on the fields of battle. And even now, he couldn’t deny that more help would only increase his odds of success. No matter his own misgivings about the issue, he knew there was only one thing he could do. He didn’t even turn to look at the younger man as he spoke, only continuing his walk forward.
“Then follow us. I dearly hope you are ready for this.” Fairbanks and Zverenhoff glanced at their superior in surprise but they knew they weren’t in a position to question his decisions. Renault, on the other hand, did as he was told and soon headed after the older knights towards the fight which could probably be his toughest ones yet.
“…and that is how we finally managed to break the Scourge’s hold there. It was a surprise that most of the undead had gathered at the edges of the city, apparently trying to lock us in that cursed town. It was rather clever really as Andorhal is surrounded by the Thondrodil river to the south, which makes surrounding us that much easier for them. It seems the enemy’s tactics are becoming ever more sophisticated.” Veria said as she drank a mouthful of water, looking into the distance as she recited her story to Osran. The two wished to exchange their last weeks in an effort to ease the anxious wait for the battle to begin. The man felt slightly awkward as he was forced to once again lie about so many things but even Veria couldn’t know about the secrets of the Legion.
“Just like in Corin’s Crossing. Those cursed beasts are becoming an ever larger threat by the day. We’ve outsmarted them thus far but I dearly hope Dathrohan and Mograine will be able to plan better than Kel’Thuzad. I just hope Tareth were here: he always understood the tactical choices far better than I did.” He meant every word but he also couldn’t deny the fact that he missed the noble yet humble personality of the long-departed knight captain. He still hoped every day he hadn’t met the grisly end that became his part. He had seen worse fates during his days but Tareth was one comrade he missed more often than the others: of course excluding Valdemar. Suddenly, after a moment of peace since his reunion with Eneath ended as he remembered his old friend and what had happened to him. It was one day he’d never forgive himself for. Veria looked at him as a distant cry of a massive bat could be heard from somewhere afar.
“You’re right. After Gavinrad, he was the best captain I’ve had the honor to serve under. I’m sure the Light smiles upon him even now as few have served the goodness in this world better than he did. But I know he would have wanted to be here on this day. He really would have deserved it but we never get the privilege to choose where we fall. I only hope I’ll be half as honorable as he was until the end.” She suddenly realized how morbid the discussion ad become but what else could be expected on a day like this? Probably very soon, both of the paladins would have to prepare to fall in battle and while both of them would pay the price gladly, they wanted it to happen with honor and with a chance to serve the Light one, final time. Osran looked at the sun slowly heading towards the west, knowing the duo’s time of rest was up when it would touch the fungi in the distance. He was about to answer to his old comrade when he suddenly heard the steps of a horse right behind him.
“A message to Crimson Legionary Lowriver. Please follow the instructions detailed in the letter.” The courier said as he handed the message to Osran who felt a wave of concern flow through him. He already knew what the message was about and he had never actually expected his journey to escape the notice of the Crusade’s leadership. He took the letter and it immediately confirmed his fears and with a glum expression, looked at Veria.
“I am required elsewhere, Veria. I apologize for leaving like this but it isn’t in my power to decide.” He said with a sigh, already preparing for what was to come. The other knight turned to look at him and answered neutrally while looking into the depths of the forest.
“Of course not. Fare well, Osran. I look forward to standing at your side today.” She said, earning a brief nod from Osran who then turned to the courier and spoke to him briefly.
“Very well, good man. Your message has been delivered. May the Light guide your path.” After those words, the younger man saluted the higher-ranked knight and returned the path he had come from. The aging paladin headed for the Crusade’s lords’ tents as he was told, dearly hoping he’d be able to speak himself out of this mess as he knew Isillien and Abbendis’ patience with him had already worn thin.
The former duke felt the outrage and depression that had accompanied him for the last days cracking slightly as he looked at the men who accompanied him on this day. The constant and seemingly never-ceasing plotting of the Crusade suddenly felt like a distant prospect as the damned traitors he had been forced to call his comrades were nowhere to be seen. For too many times, the noble had been forced to question whether the Crusade still had a place for him but the fact that Alexandros was still ready to lead them with the wisdom he had always shown gave him new courage. Gone were the spineless plotters like that cursed Lowriver, Abbendis or Demetria and now he knew he was accompanied only by men of true honor. He felt his earlier pride and trust at his comrades return as his eyes wandered on the other knights.
Maxwell Tyrosus, Carlin Redpath, High Inquisitor Fairbanks and Ferelyn Bloodscorn, among the few dozen other knights who were less familiar to Nicholas. These were only some knights of whom he had never heard a word that wasn’t honorable and true and Tyrosus, for example, was known among one of the most capable and honest men the Crusade had ever known. He wasn’t widely regarded as one of the order’s heads but among those who knew him, he was outskilled only by the very leaders of the Crusade.
And Redpath had made a name for himself, alongside with his valiant stand in the final battle of Darrowshire, as a kind but strong-willed trainer of new recruits and as a constant defender of his comrades. And leading them was the famed Ashbringer whose very presence seemed to purify the air of any doubts or distrust that had clouded his mind earlier. These were the kind of men he had decided to serve under when he answered the call of the Light. Not to even mention their most noble of goals on this day. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a call from Alexandros.
“Move as silently as you can from now on. We don’t know where the entrance to Naxxramas lies but it shouldn’t be too far. We cannot give the enemy a chance to get the initiative at any time!” The Highlord said as he and the rest of the first rank of knights moved between two massive fungi towards the place Wacin had told him before his tragic passing. Somewhere around here, there should lie a hidden ziggurat inside which the portal to Naxxramas should be hidden. The path had been far too silent until now and every one of the knights knew that was more than a little suspicious. Yet, there was no choice about it that this point.
None was more aware of that fact than Alexandros whose eyes scoured the shadows of the horribly mutated woodland, searching for any clues about the presence of the undead. Even if he knew the chance of that possibility was slim, he wanted to believe the Scourge was actually running out of forces to control this area and they’d be forced to flee inside the protective walls of Stratholme for good. Yet, he’d never have become the leader he was now if he let himself drift into hopeful thoughts about the most vicious foe Lordaeron had ever met. As far as he was concerned, the whole forest around him was filled with monsters who were only waiting for the right chance to ambush him and his followers.
Yet, the minutes passed slowly and no such attack seemed to come. Alexandros was becoming increasingly concerned about the situation as he realized that they’d reach the right part of the forest at any moment. Here and there had lied ruins of long-destroyed villages and even some constructs of the Cult but none of them were even close to the point the fallen paladin had described. The Highlord was already beginning to hope for an attack when a thicker, heavily protected area of the forest appeared in the horizon. The paladin’s head had already turned into a frown out of ever-increasing disbelief when the sound he had waited for a long time finally reached his ears. The sound of a cracking branch near him. The knight immediately drew his legendary sword from its sheath and pointed it towards the sound.
“Show yourselves, slaves of the Scourge! Know that neither you or your damned lord will live to see the end of this war!” The Highlord cried as he looked in hate as the shadow of an extremely long man slowly emerged from the woods. At first, there was nothing extraordinary about him as he was dressed in a long and blue robe, not unlike most of the members of the Cult of the Damned. However, Alexandros’ expression darkened even further as he saw the necromancer’s head which was mostly covered by a massive beard and something which looked like a skull of a horned horse. The necromancer gave his answer quickly as he stopped near the host of knights.
“I see your fear, oh Highlord. I see that you know all of your words are for nothing and all that made you what you are will become undone today.” The necromancer’s expression was hidden under the skull but it mattered very little to Alexandros. He was just about to give the order to slaughter the necromancer before he heard another voice on his other side.
“No one can stand against our master. The Lich King’s power grows by the day and no matter what you think or do, this wretched kingdom’s despicable remains are only heading towards its final sunset.” The other newcomer was a shorter man whose face, unlike his companion’s, was completely within the sight of the crusaders. It was covered with some kind of paintings and his hair was, as was usual for members of the Cult, turned to white. And this was another cultist whose identity wasn’t a mystery to one of the knights.
“I should have known I’d find you here, Noth. After all, you never cared about anything else than the powers Kel’Thuzad offered.” Fairbanks said in clear hate, remembering to have met this man a few times during his many visits to Dalaran. He had been one of the most loyal of Kel’Thuzad’s disciples back in that legendary city of the magi and it seemed like his antics had changed none since those days. The necromancer looked at the inquisitor with contempt as he gave his answer to the older man.
“Kel’Thuzad was only the one who showed me the true path. I’d lay down my life for the Lich King at any moment but right now, I doubt it’ll be me who’ll fall on this day. We’ll never let you enter our master’s sanctum.” The necromancer said, earning a quick rebuke from Alexandros. He suddenly cried to his followers, clearly decided that there was nothing to be gained from talking with these villains.
“We’ll see about that, traitor. Give the wicked no quarter, my comrades! Cut these monsters down!” He knew more than well the depth of his comrades’ skill and he knew none of them would take unnecessary risks even if they faced only two enemies against the two dozen knights. These paladins, priests and magi would never charge the enemy headlong and fall into their cheap tricks. However, the two necromancers’ response to the Ashbringer’s call to battle surprised the attackers completely. Both of them cast their own spells simultaneously even if it took the knights a few moments before they could even feel what was happening. And even then, only one of them saved the others from total annihilation.
“It’s a curse! Mages, remove them before we’re all lost!” The voice belonged to Renault Mograine who had walked in the last ranks of the host due to his limited experience on the battle. The four mages in the group wasted no time trying to do as they had been told but it was at this moment they realized what was the effect of the other necromancer’s spell. As they tried to counter the power of the enemy’s curse, the magic seemed only to linger and linger in their hands, as if releasing it was something they couldn’t even attempt to execute. The casters nearly started to panic before they finally felt the familiar sensation of finishing their spell. Apparently this was some kind of mere delay to their magic, not a counterspell as they had initially feared. Even then, even this slower spellcasting was enough to delay their efficiency.
Suddenly, the dark power around the paladins seemed to suddenly sink inside them, the darkness making its way inside their bodies. For a moment, it seemed nothing was happening but that sweet illusion was shattered in mere moments. A terrifying cry could be heard from most of the knights as parts of their skins suddenly split open, a terrifying pain accompanying the monstrous curse. Smaller bones broke, muscles were torn apart and blood spilled around as Noth’s curse hit the knights in full swing. Alexandros panted in shock as he suddenly put his other hand on his chest, concentrating his power to try to mend the effects of the necromancer’s spell. As long as it was up to the Ashbringer, this battle wouldn’t end in the Scourge’s triumph.
Osran took one, final breath as he prepared to enter the tent he had been ordered into. It was one of the few ones that had been erected on this day of anxious waiting but it mattered little to the knight. At this point, he had no remorse about anything he did in the last battle. He had saved his nephew and if that was the crime he would end up paying for with his life, so be it. Osran’s life had lately been filled with countless honorless acts he regretted but this certainly wasn’t one of them. The paladin lowered his head in acceptance as he raised the fabric covering the entrance into the large tent. Waiting for him were too men, one of them whose face was familiar to him and one whose wasn’t. Osran was slightly relieved to see Landgren’s face again as, despite his methods, he had proven himself to be a reasonable man. Osran looked and him and spoke in a steady and confident voice.
“Hail again, good bishop. I am glad to see you safe and sound. A courier brought me a message calling me to arrive here. What is it?” There was no reason to bring up any of his guesses about this meeting as it wasn’t he who had called this gathering in the first place. However, Landgren’s voice was far from friendly as he gave his answer.
“Crimson Legionary Lowriver, according to reliable sources, you were separated from our main army during yesterday’s battle yet here you are. The Legion wants you to explain yourself.” The cleric’s face was cold but otherwise refrained from any kind of emotion as was custom in any kinds of interrogations. Osran was slightly worried by Landgren’s eerie words but it had been more than clear since the beginning this had been the reason for the meeting. Yet, he had nothing to hide in this questioning which eased his worries a bit.
“All that you told is true. I indeed got separated from the army but I managed to fight my way to the Thondrodil tunnel and escape the Plaguewood before I got overwhelmed. I even found the sad remains of old Cinderhome which was still a better condition than we had expected.” Osran said briefly, earning a somewhat annoyed nod from Landgren’s companion. He quickly stepped forward and asked Osran in a hostile, even outraged voice.
“You know as well as I do that no one could survive out there on their own, not against all of those undead roaming out there! The Tunnel is far away from here and you would have had a hard reaching it even with a steed. Do you seriously expect us to believe such a story?” The balding, black-haired man said as he looked Osran in his eyes. The paladin frowned deeply and raised his voice sharply as he gave his answer.
“I don’t care what you believe or what you don’t! It’s likely that most of the undead had been drawn into the battle and that’s why I wasn’t attacked! I met a few ghouls here and there but the first real resistance I met was a host of giant spiders in Cinderhome and in the Tunnel. It was practically swarming with those monsters but I eventually managed to fight my way through! Also, I’d appreciate if you would tell me your name, good man.” Osran asked, realizing his need to counter any immediate counter questions about the tunnel as he wanted to do his all to save Tirion from his failures. The other crusader seemed somewhat taken aback by that question but he knew he’d have to answer to Osran’s question as a sign of respect to a fellow knight.
“I am cannon master Derios Willey of the Scarlet Bastion but that knowledge does little good for you, Lowriver. As for your claim, there has been no reports about any giant spiders in Lordaeron and it’s not likely they’d just be living in one cave in the middle of this land. Your tale is becoming less believable by the second.” Willey said as he began to circle around the room which only heightened Osran’s growing frustration about this investigation. He was just about to rebuke the other man’s words when Landgren asked the question Osran had feared the most.
“In addition to that, I’d really like to know, if you truly managed to fight your way through the tunnel and reach the river, how did you exactly find your way back here in a matter of mere hours? You would have required a well-trained horse for that but they aren’t exactly bountiful in Darrowmere anymore. We haven’t received a word about anyone borrowing, nor stealing, a steed from any of our outposts in that area.” The cleric asked Osran who tried to hide his worries behind his annoyed composure. This was a question where he hadn’t been able to come up with a believable explanation but now he was put against a wall with the failure to explain himself not being an option. He forced his face to a normal expression as he started to speak.
“Believe it or not, I found my horse wandering near the river. At first I thought it had escaped from one of our garrisons but then I noticed it was circling around one corpse which had been torn to pieces by the bats and worms in that area. He had been a long and muscular man but he didn’t carry our tabard or armor. He had to be an outsider but that’s all I can say. In any case, the horse didn’t object to me trying to mount it and here I am.” The paladin said in a loud voice, looking at the other crusaders’ faces as he spoke. To his growing chagrin, neither of them let out any kind of emotions about his defense. After a moment, Landgren scratched the corner of his eye for a moment before he broke the increasingly tense silence.
“I dearly hope you speak the truth, Lowriver. In the light of your disappearance into the lands of the Scourge and unbelievable survival, you are suspected of collusion with Kel’Thuzad and possibly treachery against all of humanity. It is far more possible that you headed into Stratholme or Naxxramas to inform Kel’Thuzad or Rivendare about our plans instead of all of the things you claimed here.” The priest said which immediately triggered a furious rebuke from Osran who couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Shake it off, Landgren! You should know that true members of the Cult wouldn’t make their absence known the way I did! Besides, I’d be a terrible spy if I had let the Scourge lose to us like this! I’ve given my all to the Legion and I won’t stand for these accusations!” Osran raged as he tried to make his interrogators see the foolishness in their own actions. However, Willey’s composure did little to implicate any turn for the better in this discussion.
“Attacking us certainly doesn’t make you see less guilty, Osran. Yet, I think we all know what is the next part of this interrogation, don’t we?” He turned to look at Landgren who nodded to him in acceptance. Willey regretted not being able to help the priest in what was to come next but he would do his all to ensure Osran’s cooperation and to serve as additional witness to his possible confession.
Osran’s hand instinctually moved towards his sword not trusting in the justice of the two men but once he realized it would only spell his final fall from grace in the Crusade, he eased his grip somewhat. He still remembered the terrifying structure used to interrogate Iren but to his relief, nothing like it could be seen here. However, that didn’t mean he would have an easy time with the two sadistic crusaders but he knew this was something he’d have to go through for preserving even the slightest of hopes of breaking free of those ludicrous accusations.
“I assure you, you’re only wasting precious time here with me you should use to prepare for the coming battle. But I know more than well you’ll never believe me so please, let’s start this. I’d like to get ready to storm Stratholme as soon as possible.” He said dryly, earning a brief, annoyed snort from Willey. Landgren took his rod which had been hanging from his back and spoke to the knight one more time before he began.
“Very well, crusader Lowriver. We’ll see very soon if you’ve lied to us the whole time. Willey, tie his hands to the table.” The knight’s eyes flinched wide open as he heard those words. It seemed like his interrogators had a few new tricks on their sleeve after all. For a moment, he thought about finally attacking his torturers but the cold grip of reality returned to him once again. He merely took a deep breath as he saw Willey grab a long rope from the ground and looked in disgust as he moved closer to him. Landgren spoke to Osran who seemed to hesitate on this horrible moment.
“Follow the orders. Your status saved you from a worse fate and believe me, anything you do from now on will only make this harder. You could indeed take us out but you see, there are a dozen guards outside this tent who are more than eager to see you cooperate.” The cleric said and even if Osran knew he’d regret this in less than a minute, he put his hands on the table and let Willey tie them tightly to it. For the slightest of moments, Osran wondered what was to come but when he saw Willey take a long splinter of a wood and pliers and headed towards Osran who immediately growled at the two others.
“I’ll make sure you’ll regret this later. There’s no way Dathrohan or Mograine could have ever approved this.” He said as he looked at Landgren in deep hate. The cleric merely shrugged before he cast a spell at the knight.
“You can go tell that to the younger Abbendis later if you wish to but I doubt she’d pay your whining any heed! Prepare yourself!” The cleric said as a flash of pale light appeared from his hand. Osran cringed immediately as a violent, painful grip seemed to suddenly take a grip of his brain, searching for some kinds of answers about his memory. And all the while, Willey approached him with some infernal plan, more than happy to try breaking the paladin’s will.
The duke panted heavily as the terrifying wounds on his body closed at last. The long minutes following the terrifying spell had been characterized with an unspeakable mess as some of the knights seemed to lose their cool completely. Yet, it was clear that Alexandros had chosen his followers wisely. Eventually each of them managed to regain their composure in the face of total defeat and even if some of them had been gravely injured by the massive spell, each and every one of them were willing to continue the fight. The two necromancers continued their attacks but thus far, nothing they did was even close to rivalling the brute efficiency of the initial curse.
Nicholas looked at the other caster’s bearded face and something in his grim features made him shiver. It was clear that he had to be a total madman but that meant little when dealing with the insane zealots who wished for nothing more than to die at their master’s service and to rise as another one of those horrible monstrosities. It seemed like he was waiting for something and Zverenhoff soon came to the conclusion that it would be best if his plans were thwarted as soon as possible. He turned around and called at Alexandros.
“We have to take that madman out! We haven’t yet seen his attack and we can’t afford to be surprised now!” He cried to the Ashbringer whose eyes were locked into the tall wizard’s eyes. He had had similar thoughts to those of the other man’s and with a loud voice, he called to his followers.
“Surround the bearded necromancer and don’t let him try anything surprises! The last ranks, keep the other bastard at bay while we take the other one out!” The Ashbringer said as his eyes met briefly with those of the bearded caster’s. He said nothing but even this glance told Alexandros that he had some vile plans in his mind. Still, he wouldn’t be able to escape the Light’s justice no matter what.
The necromancer looked at his attackers carefully even if it was clear he despised them heartily. No matter who these arrogant blasphemers were, none of them would ever get near his master. Kel’Thuzad had ordered him and Noth to check this group’s advance by the Lich King’s name, that was what he would do. None of these self-righteous crusaders would survive what was to come.
Still, he waited one second after another as the crusaders approached him quickly. It was only when they were only a few meters away from him when he snapped two of his fingers together. No one could have seen the subtle gesture inside his long sleeve and it was clear that all of his opponents were completely taken aback by his sudden attack. In less than a second, the air around him was filled with the green cloud of death that was all too familiar to all enemies of the Scourge. However, it wasn’t the true trick he had aimed for. He suddenly hit rod into the earth and the crusaders around him looked in fear as the ground around them began to gleam with an eerie light. Most of them were in apparent loss of what to do by this turn of events. All of them in fact but one.
“Move to your left, now, or we’ll all be lost! Do it!” The Ashbringer cried as he felt the ground below him turn hotter by the second. He had never seen such a spell before but he could already tell its effect. It was a spell which slowly turned the ground below the enemies’ feet into a blazing inferno which would spell a brief end to a slow-witted enemy. The Highlord hated fleeing in the face of the enemy’s power but even more he hated the thought of actually losing to this mindless pawn of the Lich King. He’d pay for his actions soon enough.
None of the knights lingered for a moment as they heard their respected leader’s call. When they reached the one spot that did not gleam with the sickening glow, everything around them seemed to explode to pieces. The Highlord himself was impressed by this how of brute force as the dust fell back to the ground but only to reveal a ghastly sight. Out of the terrifying explosion appeared a massive axe which was carried by enormous skeletal hands. However, this was one fight Alexandros knew he could win headlong. Instinctually, he jumped forward and just as the huge weapon was falling to the ground, the legendary knight raised his word upwards and cut the attacker’s hands from its arms, the weapon itself dropping to the ground.
Alexandros wasted no time jumping towards the monstrous skeleton’s chest and it could only growl in agony as the Ashbringer sank deep into its chest. Despite the monster’s horrifying size, the battle was over before it could even fully begin. The bearded necromancer then looked at the knights and spoke briefly.
“You were lucky to have managed to escape my spell that fast, knights of the Scarlet Crusade. Yet, if you think it was of some consequence, you’re wrong. The night will fall upon this cursed land at last… I, Heigan the Unclean, will make sure of it!” He said as he cast another wave of his horrifying spell but this time, he also cast his previous, slowing magic. To make matters worse, they could suddenly feel the same sensation fall upon them as during the first part of this most taxing of battles. The Plaguebringer’s wrath once again descended upon them, this time accompanied by a large host of other massive skeletons. Alexandros looked in worry at the flurry of these attacks but his resolve didn’t fall for the briefest of moments. This was nothing compared to braving the fierce onslaught of dozens of massive orcs in the narrow, darkened halls of Blacrock Spire.
“Mages, do your best! The others, head towards the area which is free from the spell! And after that, regardless of what happens, attack Heigan! We have to take him out the next time we get the chance!” This time, three of the knights fell as the horrifying crunch of Noth’s spell penetrated their flesh, their bodies obliterated as they were left to lie in the fires of Heigan’s magic. Yet, this time the magi could remove over half of the spells before their true power manifested itself, enabling the knights to continue the fight far quicker.
Fairbanks panted as he released another powerful smite of the Light on another of the massive skeletal monsters, bringing it down quickly. Before him, the necromancer looked at his opponents in an annoyed look, apparently preparing
for his next trick. However, Fairbanks wasted no time beginning his own assault towards him. A massive pillar of the holy power appeared from the sky which seemed to penetrate Heigan before he even managed to flinch his fingers. The crusaders looked in renewed hope as Heigan seemed to falter under the inquisitor’s purging fire. The cleric was the first one to charge towards the wizard as he cried to his comrades.
“The way to the villain is clear! The time has come, my comrades! Take him down!”
...
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...
The priest frowned deeply as he concentrated all of his powers to see into the paladin’s mind. He could see countless flashes here and there but his pained screams made it hard for him to make perfect sense of them. The first and foremost feeling inside him was… regret? Landgren looked in confusion as he saw a man being crushed to pieces by an abomination, an unarmed prisoner was being executed for his crimes and the scene of Valdemar’s mind being crushed into a thousand pieces. Those visions were worthless to him right now and he released another wave of holy power to burn Osran’s cowardly mind.
All the while, the paladin tried to contain himself as the dual pain of the priest’s spell and Willey’s sadistic practice circled inside him. The cannon master slowly but surely put the stick ever deeper under Osran’s right hand’s thumb’s nail. It was clear to the paladin that it was already bleeding heavily and it only grew worse by the minute. The sensation was truly hellish as Willey’s pliers simultaneously stretched the nail upwards. The feeling itself and the pain caused by it were close, but not necessarily the most terrifying, pain Osran had felt in his life. His whole body twitched in pain but his hands stood still due to Willey’s knots. The stick was digging ever deeper into his flesh and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable would happen. And that would be only the first of ten. The paladin suddenly turned to Landgren and once again cried loudly towards him. No matter what would happen, he wouldn’t begin giving wrong confessions or beg for mercy but this whole situation rebelled against everything he had once thought to be.
“I hope you’ll burn in hell for this, Landgren! Can’t you already see you’ll find nothing of worth? Are you truly that blind?” Osran cried as he once again tried to pull his hand away from the terrifying grip of the cannon master. The cleric was becoming increasingly annoyed about Osran’s words and partly also about the truth in them. There were no wicked thoughts nor any kind of pledges to the Lich King. As much as he wanted to believe it wasn’t true, maybe…
At this moment, Landgren suddenly saw something that caught his attention. It was only a flash, some kind of brief memory from the past, but certainly something that Osran was hiding from him. It had happened a short while ago, possibly on his journey and if there was something the paladin was trying to prevent him from seeing, things would get grim for him very fast. He merely bypassed Osran’s remark as he nodded to Willey.
“Increase your efforts, Derios. He is trying to prevent us of seeing something of worth. Osran, I advise you to answer me now. Who did you meet on your journey? Your whole life is hanging in the balance right now.” The priest crossed his hands and his eyes met those of the tortured paladin’s. A terrible weight suddenly seemed to fall upon Osran as he realized he had already failed. In some brief, fleeting moment he had apparently thought about how much better things were if he had never met the old paladin and now he was put back against the wall. Realizing that he might slip his final failure very easily here, he put all of his concentration to thinking about the story Harthal had told about the lands of Northrend back at the Monastery. That memory had made a large enough impression on him while also serving as something which couldn’t reveal anything personal about him. Yet, to the cleric and the torturer, that wasn’t a welcome development. Willey intensified his efforts while Landgren cast another, violent smite upon the paladin.
“Stop wasting our time! I know the person you met is someone you respect greatly but I can also see he is someone you hadn’t met in a long time. Why do you want to preserve this man’s secret? None of this should mean anything to you!” He cried as he cast another bolt of Light at Osran whose agony was only growing worse by the moment. Still, he only intensified his efforts to concentrate on that terrible carnage on those distant, frigid lands. However, the amount of pain he got grew only worse and worse and Landgren’s manipulative words reached his ears.
“Your way out of here goes through that one answer, Lowriver. I know you met someone after you escaped the Tunnel, someone we both know more than well. I guess it was him who gave you your steed, wasn’t he?” Landgren asked as he suddenly saw something of interest. It was a brief glimpse if an old, roughly-dressed man but the vision was far too brief for him to even begin guessing who it was. Yet, the priest only continued to increase the intensity of his purging fire.
“Tell me who that old fool is. He certainly isn’t one of us and there shouldn’t be any civilians on that area. Was he some kind of agent of the Scourge? Tell me who he is and we can go make sure he’ll never spy on us again!” Landgren asked once again and at this point, the situation slowly begun to creep deep into Osran and, while unknown to him at first, that would be his failure. It was true that he could get away from this nightmare very easily. If he only told about who the man had been, he could save himself from worse curses. But that would be an antithesis to his honor as a knight and even through all that had happened, his old mentor was someone who had never seen what he had lately become. Additionally, Tirion had suffered enough injustice for him to reveal the location of his home. Yet, as long as Osran had thought those words, he realized his failure was complete.
“Tirion? Tirion Fordring? Is that old fool still alive? I had thought him to have died many years ago.” The priest said to Osran’s complete humiliation. The paladin felt relief as the stick left his hand, his ruined nail hanging disgustingly from the finger which lied in an increasingly large pool of blood. However, that brief moment of returning serenity was soon cut short as Osran realized how much he had changed in the last months. Before he could have been able to resist torture for far longer if it had been for someone he deemed to be worthy of defending. Yet, it seemed that the ordeals of the last months had taken an even greater toll on him than he knew. Now, his resolve had failed after a few minutes and even then, he felt only relief it in the fact that it was all over. Knowing his mind had been defeated, he decided he had nothing to save anymore. He raised his gaze and Landgren and cringed as he felt his nail finally dropping off completely.
“S… so did I but it was him. I defended him only because I gave him my word of keeping his survival as a secret. He deserves that much.” Osran said as his eyes fell back into the bloodied floor, just wondering how little his word mattered anymore. Even Tirion had noticed that he was so very different from the Osran who had first joined the Silver Hand. How long could this nightmare go on?
To his surprise, he didn’t hear any immediate response from neither Landgren nor Willey as the two walked near each other and exchanged some words with each other. The paladin looked at their conversation in a resigned look, not really caring about their decision anymore. After a while which seemed to stretch on for hours, Willey finally walked nearer to Osran, his face seeming completely neutral.
“Crusader Lowriver, your failure to rely this information to us in the first place was highly disappointing. The survival of the only surviving founder of the Silver Hand in addition to the Grand Crusader himself is something that a faithful member of our order should have certainly told us without even a need for a real interrogation. The High General was right to doubt your “disappearance” in the first place, even if you didn’t join together with the Scourge.” Willey took a brief pause during which Osran countered with a question of his own.
“The High General? Did he order this interrogation?” He asked in puzzlement, not knowing the older Abbendis to also actively command the Legion’s agents. Yet, it would have been highly surprising if only his daughter had been giving these commands. Willey looked at Landgren who nodded at him as a sigh to continue to his speech.
“He did after the good commander Truesight told him of your return. However, he also gave us the right to decided about what to do with you as all of our superiors are too busy to prepare for the attack.” The cannon master said to Osran who merely snorted at those words. Even if what they said were true, he wouldn’t give them any more edges in this conversation. If they wanted him to slither further before them, that wouldn’t happen. However, to his slight relief, Landgren’s composure turned back into the one he had seen earlier, into the trustworthy, honorable if fanatic one as he continued from the other Legionary’s announcement.
“That is right. And as he said, we would have certainly been more trustful of your motives had you been more cooperative. Tirion is a criminal, Osran, who should have fled forever from our beloved kingdom’s lands. His failure to do so is a clear breach of Lordaeron’s laws and in trying to cover his presence here, you, too, have tried your best to become a fugitive. And I truly cannot see why. It just seems like a total waste.
However, even if it should actually be my duty to order your imprisonment or even execution, you have time and time again served Lordaeron faithfully and it has become clear you are not aligned with the Scourge. We simply cannot lay down your help in the coming battle because of this deed as today will decided our land’s future for centuries to come. I know Abbendis might disagree with me about this but I cannot find it in myself to cast away your service in the streets of Stratholme. I won’t lie to the High General about what you did but I will defend you before him in the coming days if you prove to be worth it. If we all survive the battle, that is.” The cleric said as he moved closer to Osran.
The paladin was initially taken aback by what he was hearing but he very soon realized what Landgren was saying. In essence, the priest was giving him a chance to die with honor in battle rather than meet his end in the claws of the Crusade’s command. That was a slight relief to the beaten knight but at least he wouldn’t be judged immediately. He took a brief sigh before he acknowledged that he understood what he had just heard.
“Very well, Landgren. That’s all I ever hoped for.” Osran said even if he still raged inside. Despite his judgement, this was a day he wouldn’t forget easily. Willey looked at Landgren in apparent uncertainty but decided against questioning his judgement. He took slowly a knife from his belt and with a swift movement, cut the knots tying Osran’s hands to the table. The cannon master looked at the paladin grimly as he walked past him towards the tent’s door.
“Thank your luck Landgren let you go this time, Lowriver. Had it been up to me, this day would surely have been your last. Don’t waste this chance.” Willey said as he moved into the road, clearly disappointed by the conclusion to this meeting. Landgren was apparently about to continue from his companion’s words when the scene was completely interrupted by a loud horn from nearby and its meaning was clear to both of them. The brief moment of rest to the troops was over and the final preparations for the attack were about to begin. The priest them nodded to Osran one time before following Willey into the battlefield.
“Good luck, Lowriver. May the Light guide your path.” And after those words, the still shaken paladin was left alone but for the first time since his moment with Veria, he was free to have a brief moment to calm down. He would certainly give his all today but if Landgren though he’d give up his life willingly, he was terribly mistaken. He’d fight his way through the night and he’d make sure the actions of the Legion would be made known to Dathrohan and Mograine and bring the High General and his daughter to justice. Osran knew that both of them were highly honorable men and there was no way either of them could have accepted what happened to Valdemar or the ever-worsening methods of torture. He couldn’t come up with a realization how they could be ignorant about what the Legion was becoming but he’d make sure they’d know about it soon enough.
Yet, as the noise around him grew ever louder, the aging knight put his sword which had dropped to the ground back to his belt and raised his gaze upwards. At least his story hadn’t yet come to an end and he still had a chance to make into something he could be proud of. As he took his leave from the tent, he looked into the hazy-orange sky and let his heart make one last apology before he’d finally join his regiment in which he would serve this night.
I’m sorry, master Fordring. I was too weak to hide your secret no matter how I tried. But I promise I’ll do better in the battle to come. I pray to the Light I’ll make you proud, Tirion.
The necromancer looked in growing annoyance as the host of knights got ever closer to him. They had managed to survive his destructive spell far better than he had anticipated and at this point, he knew he couldn’t cast another one before they’d reach him with probably lethal consequences. Yet, the future Kel’Thuzad had promised him wouldn’t be denied by these weaklings. Thankfully, that wouldn’t be up to him soon enough. Only a few more seconds and he and Heigan could take their leave from this fight, after which it would be up to the others to take lead. The pale-faced wizard suddenly cast a simple bolt of shadow around him which soon surrounded him completely. It wasn’t part of his usual repertoire of spells but even the simpler spells would prove their worth in fights like these.
Heigan looked in satisfaction as his companion suddenly cast a massive cloud of plague and death upon the duo’s enemies. Simultaneously, another wave of the dead suddenly surrounded the brave knights who were taken aback by Heigan’s sudden defensive spell. The necromancer smiled in anticipation as he heard the horn call in the far distance, realizing that the time of reckoning was at hand. He was more than impressed by the Crusade’s resistance but none of that mattered when the power the Lich King had promised was so close to being his. He understood very well Kel’Thuzad’s eagerness to get rid of the leader of this group of knights as he certainly was one of the most skillful and powerful fighters he had ever met. Too powerful, in fact, for the two necromancers to actually stand a chance against him and his crew of loyal followers. Glad that he could finally take his leave, Heigan took his rod to cast the required spell… only to return to the present only a few seconds later.
Just as his portal was about to be completed, he noticed something that made his blood run cold. Out of the smoking wall of fire suddenly appeared another paladin who was able to penetrate his defenses using his invincible shield of blessed Light. Before he could even begin to cast another spell to repel him, it was already too late.
Renault Mograine grinned triumphantly as he saw his sword meet Noth’s right hand, the cold steel quickly sending the limb flying into the dead, sickly ground. The necromancer panted in slight shock as he looked at his missing hand, the pain quickly coursing through his whole body. However, the initial shock subsided very quickly as the manic faith of a member of the Cult of the Damned quickly manifested itself in the man’s mind. What did one hand matter when the eternal glory of undeath was waiting for him very near? What did another piece of his cursed, fleeting body matter when many of his own colleagues had earned the unbelievable glory of serving their beloved king as one of the invincible lich? Noth merely grinned with a maddened look at the paladin who prepared for a second attack.
“Your victory will be a brief one, defender of righteousness. At the end of the day, the Scourge will be victorious and your despicable order will fall at very last. You have Noth the Plaguebringer’s word about this.” And before Renault could say another word, Noth stepped into his portal which immediately closed behind him. The young man attempted to follow him but just as soon as they reached the spot, the swirling circle of pure magic vanished into thin air. The paladin looked around himself amid the song of battle which still circled in his veins. However, as he looked around himself, his emotions told him the same thing his mind had known already. Noth was gone and so was Heigan while the final servants of the Scourge were quickly being cut down in the middle of the field. In disappointment, Renault put his hands on his thighs while he attempted to regain his breath but his moment of rest was quickly interrupted by his father.
“Move forwards! Secure the gateway to Naxxramas!” The golden-haired knight had almost forgotten the goal of this battle but once he had heard the order, he didn’t waste a second trying to realize it. All of the surviving knights were covered in severe wounds and all of them were still coughing sickeningly from the seemingly never-ending clouds of the Plague. However, all resistance seemed to have disappeared with the two necromancers and only an occasional ghoul stood against the Crusaders at this point.
The Ashbringer himself was more than surprised by his son’s display of courage as he had before ben far too hesitant to put his own life on the line. He’d have to thank him later but for now, he’d have to finish the first step of their mission which would very soon reach its zenith.
The Highlord narrowed his eyes as another, another larger ghoul blocked his path once again but to the paladin of legend, it was nothing more than a mere worthless obstacle. Alexandros ran towards the monster and with one pull, penetrated the unlucky undead with the might Ashbringer. It was after this brief clash when he saw something which immediately caught his attention. It wasn’t a normal ziggurat, it resembled more like one room only partly covered by protective walls. At first, he was about to dismiss the unimpressive building between the looking fungi as something of little interest but as he soon saw a group of ghouls appear from the mystical entrance, the man immediately realized this was what he had come looking for.
“Surround that ziggurat and cut it off from the rest of the forest! Do it now!” Alexandros cried as his followrrs did as told. One by one, the remaining troops of the Scourge were cut down by the knights and to their immense astonishment, no further reinforcements arrived for the enemy. As soon as the paladins had completed the circling of the cursed gateway, the fighting stopped completely. The Ashbringer panted heavily as he realized the first step of his plan had been a success and the only known entrance to Naxxramas was under the Crusade’s control. His brief moment of respite was soon stopped by a very familiar voice near him.
“W… we did it, Alexandros! The undead are pushed back into their damned lair and the way in is clear!” Fairbanks said as he walked closer to his friend, still recovering from the morbid wounds caused by Noth’s spell but he seemed more than ready to continue the fight. The Highlord immediately turned his gaze to his followers, knowing there was no real time to linger at this point. He was more than encouraged by Fairbanks’ words but he decided it was for the best if he addressed all of the surviving knights at once. He looked above himself to look at the dark form of the necropolis around him, yearning for a chance to sink the Ashbringer into the traitor who had started this hell. He then waved his weapon towards his followers before he yelled loudly, his voice thundering over the sick forest, the diseased wind carrying his mighty voice forward.
“This is the end of the road for all of us, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade! This is a day which will decide the fate of our beloved homeland! We all remember the day when the Plague first appeared in Andorhal, when the ashes of our last king were scattered into the winds by his own son and the hour of the arrival of the Burning Legion into this world! We remember all those who died in the hands of Mal’Ganis, who were betrayed by Arthas and crushed to nothingness by the demons who laid waste to all we hold dear! While all of this was caused by innumerable villains, it was all started by the lich lord Kel’Thuzad! Ever since Arthas’ final departure to that wicked northern land, it has been this man who has fought against us for years and vigorously murdered our families, comrades and children! Only the traitor prince has committed more sins than the being who lurks in the citadel above us!
Never forget, my respected commanders, any of the things we fight for. The people of Andorhal, Quel’Thalas and the heroes of the distant Mount Hyjal are with us on this day! Let us make Kel’Thuzad pay for all the crimes he has committed against our very world, against Azeroth himself! Let us bring the Lich King’s general down and return peace into Lordaeron once and for all! In the names of king Terenas and Uther the Lightbringer, I ask you to follow me one last time into battle! The time of final reckoning against Kel’Thuzad has come!” And after those words, Alexandros sprinted towards the portal, the battlecries of his comrades and the distant horns of the Crusade ringing in his ears, knowing that this would be the day that would irrevocably alter the history of all of Azeroth.
With the Crusade securing the doorway to Naxxramas and the assault beginning on Stratholme, the stage is set for the decisive showdown over the old center of eastern Lordaeron. The brave defenders of humanity are prepared to give their all in an effort to save their homeland but it is doubtful the Scourge hasn’t prepared for their attack beforehand… I truly hope you’ll find my take on the Crusade’s greatest hour enjoyable and the few changes to the lore in this part justified. Let me know what you think and see you again in a few weeks!
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Into the Heart of Evil, Part 1
”Fire! Rain justice upon the cursed servants of the dark! Give them no rest!” Dathrohan cried as he looked at another volley of arrows fall around the main gate of the mighty city of the Stratholme. An expectant smile rose to the Grand Crusader’s face as he looked at the darkened and broken yet still imposing walls which could be seen standing in the haze of the darkening evening. Hundreds of crusaders were quickly gathering around the bridge leading into the city itself, waiting for their lord to give the final word to begin storming the fabled city in full swing. The time of waiting and planning was over: all that remained was to crush the Scourge once and for all. The demon turned at Abbendis who stood alongside him on this momentous moment.
“This will be a glorious day indeed, High General. I hope the Lightbringer will stand with us in the hours to come.” Balnazzar said with some hesitancy as he despised all the defenders of the Light with all his soul but he knew he’d have to make sure Abbendis would fulfill all his orders without any further questions. He looked at the banners of scarlet filling the air above the bridge to Stratholme but all he saw was a group of worthless weaklings that would serve best as mere pawns to be sacrificed in the name of his personal glory. However, what Abbendis saw was a juggernaut of the Light’s justice preparing to create a tiny flicker of hope in this dark world.
“And king Terenas too. He didn’t deserve to be murdered by his own son but at least he’ll rest in peace after we’ll restore his kingdom. I already yearn to feel the cursed monsters fall under my sword!” He said as he tightened the grip around his blade, already hoping to partake in the upcoming slaughter. Dathrohan nodded at him in approval as a small cloud momentarily darkened the cliff overlooking the lake in front of Stratholme the two were standing on.
“In that case, you may join the attackers now, High General. The moment the battle begins is a question of mere seconds now.” Balnazzar said silently, raising his hand as a sign that he was about give his order. Dozens of undead fell under the merciless arrows of the defenders of humanity but their inevitable return to their undeath was a secret to no one. It would serve as a momentary stun, at most. Abbendis saluted as he answered, close to getting moved by the implications of the upcoming victory.
“As you command, Grand Crusader! Everyone will soon be in position and our first push can begin in full swing.” He said as he put his hand on his scabbard, already waiting for the battle’s beginning. Even if it wasn’t necessary for a leader to lead his troops because of moral reasons, Abbendis was a man who wouldn’t give up a chance to fight against the darkness for any price. Dathrohan glanced at him briefly before crossing his hands behind his back.
“Very well, Abbendis. Remember: your target is the Chapel and Alonsus’ flame, all others issues are completely optional. This is the day we all have shed blood for years and none of us will hesitate to shed more of it. Go now and make sure the Scourge will fall.” The bearded man said in a loud voice and right after Abbendis had left to lead his forces, the Grand Crusader cried with all his might.
“Go, now! Start your march towards Stratholme, warriors of the Scarlet Crusade! Show no mercy for the wicked!”
The man’s heart beat in his ears as he heard Dathrohan’s cry, immediately joining his comrades’ charge. Osran’s hands grabbed his sword, looking in deep expectation as the walls of Stratholme grew ever higher as his feet struggled to retain their balance in the battered and broken bridge below him. It felt like an eternity since he had last walked this road but back then, the sight of Stratholme had been a welcome symbol of relief after a long and taxing ride. So unlike the ghastly, defiled ruins which now greeted his eyes.
Suddenly, hordes of undead appeared from the sides of the massive gate-like building which led to the actual entrance into the city. This was to be expected of course but Osran dreaded what he would find inside the old center of these lands. It was likely the Scourge had many more secret weapons in store, only waiting for the attackers to step in their trap like a spider waiting for a fly to fly into its web.
The moments following the call of the Grand Crusader’s horn had been filled with utter fuss as the leaders of the order seemed to suddenly be in a desperate rush to start the attack. Many of the soldiers in the last ranks of the attackers
were still yawning heavily even if the flickers of sleep were quickly being drained from them. Osran had been ordered into the main force of the army which would fight its way to the Alonsus Chapel through the King’s Square and Festival Lane. It was the same group of knights he had served in the previous day’s army and at least among them, Osran’s survival had been welcomed heartily. With a group of comrades like this, Osran knew each of them would serve with honor until the end. The fight would be long but with Light’s guidance, the Crusade could yet prevail. It would have to.
Veria cringed as her sword cut through the first ghoul of today’s battle. She had barely managed to reach the gate building itself but already the whole lane before her was swarming completely with the enemy. Yet, this would be her chance to avenge her own commander and to engrave her name forever into the history of Lordaeron. All her life, Veria had devoted all of her time to honing her skills as a paladin and to prove she could one day stand as one of the order’s champions. Yet, as the years had slowly piled on her, she had slowly started to realize she never had planned what would happen once this terrible struggle was over. Yet, in the end, she knew she’d be lucky if she even made it through this war and until then, she knew where her loyalties lied.
She gasped briefly as she barely managed to stop one skeleton’s surprising strike which nearly sent her sword flying from her hand. However, with a herculean effort, she managed to overpower the undead and take it out. However, it was at this point that she realized what was happening. As fast as the servants of Kel’Thuzad fell, they rose up almost immediately. Usually it took minutes for the necromancers to bring them back but now, that effect was almost immediate. Too fast for the crusaders to have the time to cleanse them with purging fire which meant only one thing: there had to be dozens of necromancers waiting for the knights just behind the gate. Many of the knights seemed more than horrified by this turn of events but almost immediately, the High General’s command rang through the ranks of crusaders.
“Push them back slowly and if possible, surround them against the walls and then obliterate the enemy!” A young female voice called sharply, each of the crusaders knowing it belonged to the younger general Abbendis. She was fighting in the very first line, her terrifying rage cutting through the endless ranks of the Scourge. However, her example was enough for many of the other paladins to realize that even if there was no immediate victory in sight, isolating and then burning the undead could open them the way into the city. The casualties would most likely be horrifying but very few of the crusaders had expected to live through this decisive battle. Veria nodded at her general’s words and along with the rest of her regiment, started to drive the enemy against the walls, one step at a time. With any luck, the first hurdle of this fight would soon be cleared once and for all.
The rather familiar, dizzy feeling filled Fairbanks’ mind as he stepped into the portal in the middle of the dark ziggurat. It resembled those of the ordinary magi which wasn’t a surprise to the High Inquisitor as at least yet, the Scourge hadn’t managed to develop a new teleportation technique. As he stepped into the light, the world suddenly seemed to disappear around him, a wide emptiness taking its place. Fairbanks had gone through this same phenomenon countless times during his life, far too many to give it any thought as had practically all of his comrades. All that remained was to prepare for what waited on the other end of the magical gate way. As the seemingly endless darkness started to fade, the balding man cast a wide barrage of bright radiation forward… just in time to stop the massive axe falling at his face.
The group of knights were greeted by a terrifying barrage of death, a deadly arsenal of steel and dark magic greeted their arrival into the citadel of Naxxramas. All of them had prepared for his onslaught of course as none of the crusaders had expected the Scourge to give them an easy time. However, the most ferocious attack was directed towards Fairbanks and the flurry of death soon seemed to grow too much for his defense. For the slightest of moments, the man seemed to be completely overwhelmed by the Kel’Thuzad’s forces’ attack to the degree that the paladin on his right was forced to intervene. Fairbanks looked in shock as a shield of Light formed before him but he was quickly brought back to the reality as the red-haired man cried to him in clear frustration.
“Get your act together, inquisitor, and fight! The Light must prevail!” He cried right at the priest who wasted no time doing as told. If there was one knight in addition to the Highlord he honored with all his soul, it was Maxwell Tyrosus who was ready to sacrifice his very last breath in the defense of his comrades. Far younger than Fairbanks, Tyrosus had made quite a name as a righteous and highly gifted warrior of righteousness. However, there was no time for expressions of gratitude as the priest had the chance to take his good look at the enemy.
Before him stood countless rows off different monstrosities of flesh, each one of them more disgusting than the next one. Some of them resembled ordinary abominations whereas some were mere blobs of flesh that seemed to overflow with a plethora of deadly toxins. Behind them stood another group of acolytes who were leading the efforts of the Scourge’s first line of defense inside their very stronghold. She stood in one of the small pathways leading deeper into the necropolis whereas the others were blocked by the swarming enemy. Fairbanks immediately turned to Alexandros and cried to him with all his might.
“We have to secure the pathways into the citadel! That’s the only way we can ever stop this onslaught!” He cried but before he received an answer, a loud, hollow laugh could be heard nearly directly behind him.
“Tae think ye came all the way here… Well, show us what ye’re made of, lads!” The voice was clearly that of a dwarf’s which prompted many unbelieving glances but sure enough, a heavily bearded human-like creature stood on the top of his golden horse.
“Don’t listen to him! The Crusade can still be saved if you only turn back now! You won’t stand a chance against the chosen of Kel’Thuzad!” The next voice was a fearful and clearly tortured one and it belonged to another horseman whose perfect white horse and armor seemed to create an unbelievable contrast with the morbid background of the cursed citadel. His veiled face and exquisite helm caught the attention of many of the crusaders but the small moment of hesitation by his words was quickly shattered by a third voice, this one clearly a female one.
“Be silent for once, Zeliek! These weaklings offer us a way to enjoy this day of the Lich King’s glory… as well as prove our worth to the master once again!” She cried, her face also covered by a large veil. Her steed carried an armor of brilliant blue and she took a menacing pose as she faced the crusaders. However, the fourth pathway to Naxrramas stayed empty to some of the knights’ worry but they didn’t let such a detail bother them any. Carlin Redpath, who had mostly took the role of a supporting aid thus far, had finally had enough and he cried to the three horsemen with a voice that thundered through the cursed halls.
“Then just come here and fight! We don’t have time to listen to the empty threats of each of Kel’Thuzad’s slaves! Come here and fight us, if you dare, cowards!” He cried even if the sight of the three undead knights and their skeletal steeds seemed to worry him more than he even managed to admit to himself. It was clear these really were Kel’Thuzad’s champions who were prepared to face each and any foe their master wanted to get rid of. However, he was quickly answered by the dwarf whose words seemed to worsen many of the crusaders’ worries.
“In time, lads, in time. The lich lord will want to follow yer deeds first and if Kel’Thuzad sees it fit, one of you will serve as his next champion! If ye prove yerself worthy, that is!” He said and just as quickly as the three had arrived, the darkness suddenly seemed to swallow them as if a wind extinguishing a flutter candle in the dark nights of fall. The dwarf’s words would have puzzled many of the crusaders if they weren’t engaged in a close combat with the undead. Yet, Redpath couldn’t put the dwarf’s words away from his mind. What had he meant with Kel’Thuzad searching for a new champion? Certainly he hadn’t planned for this attack to commence? If that were true…
The heavily-built man grinned in satisfaction as he looked at his sword sever one necromancer’s head from his shoulders. Even if Kel’Thuzad had foreseen all this, it would be up to him and his comrades to prove him wrong. As long as the Light was with them, they would be able to take on any enemy the traitor prince would throw their way. He hadn’t managed to break Lordaeron completely during the War and he wouldn’t do so now.
The Scarlet Protector’s heart swelled as a certain sight suddenly flashed before his eyes. The entrance to Naxxramas was a largely uncovered room practically hanging below the citadel proper, opening a great view over the Plaguewood and Stratholme. And from one of the openings, he suddenly saw the bridge of Stratholme and the fact that the battle in the city had also started in full swing. It was a magical sight as the torches and banners of the Crusade cast a small refuge of Light under the burning city and the darkening, cursed forest. Under there, his comrades were giving their all to keep the legacy of Lordaeron alive and ending the campaign in the Eastern Plaguelands. Redpath smiled as he thought about the mighty time he was living in. With renewed encouragement, he quickly took down another of the ghouls. No matter what, Naxxramas would fall on this day, this he promised in the name of all the brave paladins who had come before him.
“Now! Send the bastards to the next world for good!” Brigitte Abbendis cried as she and the crusaders around her had finally managed to surround a group of ghouls against the wall, disabling them from putting up any kind of relevant defense. At this point, all that remained of this pocket defense was a constantly crumbling pile of bones and flesh that tried to reform into some kind of relevant enemy but it was too late for them. Suddenly, a torch was thrown from the later ranks of knights, nearly immediately illuminating the group of undead. A powerful glow was cast on Abbendis’ triumphant face as she looked at the group of undead slowly turn to ash for good. She knew this was but a small victory, one that would have no clear effect on the battle’s outcome. Yet, one by one the groups of undead dwindles as the other crusaders managed to isolate them into mere pockets of resistance which couldn’t keep the crusaders back longer than a few seconds.
The initial, swarm-like attack of the Scourge had turned into a fight with roughly equal numbers, spelling the beginning of the end for the forces of the undead horde. The younger Abbendis was about to order a push for the gates when she saw her father suddenly rush towards her. He panted slightly but he was more than encouraged by how the fight had begun.
“We’ve managed to breach the gate, Brigitte! It’s time to push for the King’s Square!” He said as he kicked another skeleton and then pushed his sword into its ribcage, splinters of bone flying here and there as he broke the undead’s body with one, mighty strike. Brigitte looked at her father in slight frustration and didn’t stop for a second to answer to his words.
“I was just about to give that command! The Scourge is crumbling under the Crusade’s heels! Make sure our advance won’t halt once you take the command!” She said, still disappointed that Dathrohan had named her father the officer who would lead the Crusade towards the Chapel and letting her to only break the siege of the Scarlet Bastion for good. However, she was far too loyal to the order to question his commands. The older Abbendis took a joyless smile as he looked at his daughter and gave his command to the horde of crusaders around him.
“Bet on it. Crusaders, the way in is clear! Take the fight into the streets! He cried and his troops immediately obeyed his command. There were still masses of undead here and there but they would be cut down soon enough. Unbelievably quickly, the knights returned to their original formation and restarted their advance. Shield beside shield and sword beside sword, the juggernaut of death closed around the servants of the Lich King. The fight for the bridge was over but it would only be the first of many in this gauntlet of death and horror.
The barely middle-aged man breathed deeply as he slowly healed the wounds that he had suffered during the first fight in Naxxramas. One of the undead had created a long cut on his cheeks, stretching from his ear to his jaw and his arm also bled heavily. However, it was nothing compared to many of his earlier injuries and all things considered, the small group had survived with relatively little casualties. Two men lied on the floor, their bodies getting cold quickly but it was nothing compared to the disaster that could have come to pass if the attackers had been a bit more careless. Tyrosus looked around himself with a despising look as he glanced at the walls around him.
All of Naxxramas seemed to be built of the same, dark stone with very little other features but long halls and symbols of skulls here and there. It was an extremely morbid sight but he hadn’t expected anything more from a group like the Scourge. He only dreaded what kind of monster lurked these sickening halls…
“We have to head into one of these tunnels and fight whatever we will meet in them. That’s the only way.” He said angrily, stepping on a giant beetle in the floor in frustration. Kel’Thuzad was here somewhere but apparently the cowards was willing to let his minions do the dirty work for him. Another reason to hate that most despicable of fiends. Tyrosus looked in slight disappointment as it was Renault Mograine who answered first, Tyrosus being another paladin who wasn’t too amused by an unskilled, young boy’s inclusion on this mission.
“It is. That another platform will most likely lead to the bastard once he deems us worthy of his time. That bastard!” He said as he looked at a similar room over the entrance to Naxxramas, that one lacking a similar portal but its purpose was rather clear to the crusaders. However, that brief comment meant little to Tyrosus who merely glanced at Renault in slight anger.
“Then let’s get moving! We won’t have long before the monsters…”
"Meowww!" His words were quickly interrupted by a loud voice from the darkness. The crusaders turned to look at the darkness and soon enough, two orbs of yellow seemed to form in the corridor. Tyrosus was just about to grab his sword again in defense before the newcomer suddenly leapt forward but its target wasn’t any of the knights. Rather, it went for the prey it had hunted for the last few years.
In a matter of mere seconds, the cat’s jaws closed around a giant worm-like creature, the creature’s claws finishing the job just as quickly. The predator then shook its prey heavily in its jaws before casting a defensive look at the crusaders. It then turned around and with a triumphant scurry, disappeared back into the depths of Naxxramas. Briefly, Tyrosus started to form a barrage of Light in his hand, ready to strike down anything they’d find in this place. However, he stopped it when he felt Carlin’s hand on his shoulder.
“Let it go, Maxwell. I’ve heard of that creature and it wishes us no harm.” He said when Fairbanks suddenly presented the obvious question.
“What do you know about some ordinary cat here in Naxxramas, Carlin?” The cleric asked before the Scarlet Protector frowned slightly before he answered.
“That creature is called Mr. Bigglesworth and it is the last thing that still connects Kel’Thuzad to his human life. When he cast his mortality and humanity away from good, that cat was one thing he wanted to preserve like it always was. Unlike everything else in these halls, that cat is still a living creature. While killing it would certainly hurt Kel’Thuzad greatly, I’m not ready to go around and kill innocent creatures without a good reason.” He told, having heard that story years ago himself. He had found it a hardly amusing detail in Kel’Thuzad’s otherwise disgusting tale. However, that story was soon followed by a loud comment from Alexandros.
“We didn’t come here to look for cats, Redpath. I’m afraid Renault was right about our way to proceed but remember: this whole attack is almost certainly one, large trap carefully set for us. Don’t make one gesture that isn’t completely foolproof. It will prove to be the line between life and death. Let’s go that way first. We must force our way to Kel’Thuzad as soon as possible.” He said as he pointed the Ashbringer at the hallway left from the direction Mr. Bigglesworth had disappeared to. All of his comrades seemed to agree to his comment but a certain fear circled in the Highlord’s mind.
Had the dwarf merely tried to taunt him with his threats or did he actually reveal a small detail from Kel’Thuzad’s plan? His words seemed despicable enough to mirror Kel’Thuzad’s words but if the lich thought he could simply see the crusaders as future champions or servants, he was badly mistaken. The former necromancer might have been clever enough to fool Arthas but now that his manipulative nature was well known to all, he would never again get away with such treachery. No matter what lied in the tunnels before the crusaders, the Ashbringer would guide the way through those sickly, plagued halls.
Carethas couldn’t remember feeling such a symphony of glory and fear before in his life. Defending his beloved Barrowhome or liberating Corin’s Crossing had been occasions of great honor and pride to him before but despite not seeing any areas of the kingdom in addition to his home in their former kingdom, he could sense what was happening. Even more, the sight of the mighty street leading to the famed King’s Square was truly an impressive one as it beat even Tyr’s Hand in its grandeur. The mighty rows of houses and the massive walls had made a deep impression on him and he could merely have imagined how this place must have looked once.
Yet, every memory of this city had been plagued by its downfall in the eyes of each one of the knights. Even if only a handful of them had been present here during the Culling, the story of how Arthas murdered the tens of thousands of people once living here had become a warning example of where forgetting one’s principles could eventually lead. Even to Carethas, even the smallest details of that terrifying day had been made well known.
The still-inexperienced cadet cringed heavily as he was suddenly forced to shield himself from a mighty bolt of shadow. The young man was more than content about the mighty leaps with which his skills as a paladin were moving forward. His shield managed to block only a part of the bolt’s power but it was enough to save him from a serious injury. However, his small moment of triumph was close to ending abruptly as he saw a sword suddenly falling upon him. Instinctually, he blocked the incoming attack and then used the skeleton’s unsophisticated, overly ambitious to take the creature off guard before he took it down for good. However, it was at this moment when he suddenly heard a distant, cold voice in the distance.
“You may have broken into the Lich King’s sanctum but that is all for nothing! I know what you are after but I promise you, no crusader will ever lay their hands on Alonsus’ flame! Turn back now and some of you may live to see the rise of the new Scourge!” The cadet shuddered as he heard that voice, the chill creeping its way into his spine. In the middle of the mass of undead, he could see glimpses of a blue-armored horse and of a pale man who was riding it. This had to be Baron Rivendare who had occasionally been rumored to lead the Scourge in the city. However, to the former peasant his name still held a far different connotation as this was the man who had led the collection of taxes in Darrowmere before the outbreak of the War. Rivendare had been a hated name among the poor villagers but after the fall of Stratholme, his name had fallen into distant memory… until now.
To Osran, however, the appearance of the death knight mattered something completely different. Rivendare had been nothing but another noble in these lands before the Scourge’s arrival but the paladin had heard many stories of his cruelty in undeath. Getting rid of him once and for all would certainly be a major victory to the Crusade as the death knights, as Rivendare’s kind was called, were rather rare and few commanded such intellect in their malevolent plans as the former baron. Still, there was another thing that caught his attention.
The death knight had announced that he knew about Alonsus’ fire and its importance to the Crusade but he didn’t have any idea how. Had Iren actually been able to find out the Crusade’s entire plan and successfully report it to the Scourge? No, there had to be another explanation to that. No cadet could have found out the details only informed to the actual members of the Crusade. That thought only deepened Osran’s disappointment at the Legion as it seemed they considered him a greater threat than the actual spies of the undead. But it opened more disheartening thoughts as there was an actual chance that there could be an actual betrayal within the ranks of the Crusade in the middle of this fuss.
Yet, he had no doubt the two Abbendises as well as the Grand Crusader himself were considering that exact same issue at the moment. They were most likely preparing for the unfolding of the Scourge’s plot but that didn’t mean it wasn’t his charge as well. Despite everything that had happened lately, he was still a member of the Crimson Legion and it was up to him to oversee the Crusade’s overall stability. Yet, right now he’d have to help his comrades reach the fallen noble and return him into the rest of the grave.
The paladin cringed heavily as a massive chain of a nearby abomination hit the steely figure of a nearby streetlight, the sound ringing in his ears for a few seconds before he suddenly saw three arrows sinking into the monster’s head, allowing him just enough time to cast a massive judgement which brought the monster down. Yet, his small moment of triumph was quickly cut short as an arrow from one of the many terraces overlooking the street. For a brief moment, Osran felt his blood run cold as he heard a loud whiff of an arrow approach him but to the aging paladin’s luck, it didn’t hit him but rather a younger woman on his right. Stunned from this new threat, he suddenly turned to look at a nearby elf and cried to him quickly.
“Take the enemy archers down, now! We can’t afford to lose any more comrades for nothing!” He cried as the elf nodded, looking at the direction the paladin pointed. It didn’t take long before the archer had rallied all of his comrades to answer to this new, cowardly threat and Osran looked in slight relief as the skeletal creatures began to fall in the terraces and rooftops of the houses. For now at least, the knights’ sides were safe and they could once again concentrate into moving forward towards the King’s Square and to their final goal.
“Carefully! We must make sure our location remains a secret!” The bearded man said as he and two of his comrades moved through the tiny alley not far from the Crusade’s main force. Despite his hesitancy to engage in the fight directly, the demon possessing Dathrohan knew he’d have to partake in the fight directly or risk losing his cover. And with luck, this was a way in which he could retain his cover without risking the loss of his temporary body in this battle. He frowned deeply as he heard one of his followers answer to his statement.
“Of course, Grand Crusader. That cursed death knight won’t stand a chance once we ambush him.” Willey whispered, rather encouraged by his leader’s courageous plan. With any luck, the mere appearance of the Grand Crusader could make Rivendare flee or at least divert his defense decisively, aiding the rest of the Crusaders’ advance tremendously. This was just the kind of leadership he had learned to expect from Dathrohan over the years. However, the higher-ranked crusader answered to him in a rather unimpressed voice, wiping out Willey’s ungrounded optimism.
“He won’t but our objective isn’t to take him on directly, only divide the attention of our enemies. So stay silent and follow.” He said impatiently, his mind wandering in far greater things than in some lowly pawn’s concerns. Thus far, things were moving forward as he had planned as the city’s defenses had been breached and his worth threat was just where he wanted him. Entering Stratholme had been far easier than he had anticipated and his troops were advancing with a good speed. However, he knew it wouldn’t most likely be this easy. As long as Kel’Thuzad and Rivendare were still in this world, they could easily surprise the most vigilant of generals and turn the tide of any battle with a surprising move that he couldn’t predict. As long as they lived, he couldn’t breath in peace.
The sounds of the battle ringed in his ears as the Grand Crusader moved through the darkened lane, knowing the larger street it joined soon would lead back to the King’s Square, in effect opening another front against the undead. However, it was the other front of this same battle that amused Balnazzar the most. Soon, Alexandros would be gone for good and the one to wield the Ashbringer would be one that would follow him without further questions. And at that point, there would be no one left in the Crusade with the authority to challenge him even if there would be setbacks in the future…
A slight smile crept to Renault’s face as he gazed at the Ashbringer which his father held in his hands. That magnificently crafted blade with its perfect balance and swiftness as well as its perfect blessing of Light was one of the most legendary weapons ever made and he simply couldn’t wait until it would finally be his. Ever since his childhood, he had dreamt of inheriting it one day but why should he wait until his foolish father would retire and pass on his sword to him, especially when there was a really good chance Alexandros would even choose Darion as his heir before him?
No, the time to embrace his destiny as the true hair to the Ashbringer would be today. For many months, he had heard odd whispers in his dreams which called for him to join his plan and in return, he would become one of the Crusade’s greatest leaders, a Highlord like his father before him. Renault had never quite met his benefactor but he knew he or it would keep his word once the time came. And it would come very soon. The young man’s thoughts were suddenly cut short his father suddenly raised his hand as a sign to stay still for a moment.
Each of the crusaders stood still as a massive footstep suddenly echoed in the dark hallway. There was light nowhere to be seen and the black space around them suddenly grew far tenser than before. After the massive footstep followed another one, this one far closer than before. A waiting expression appeared on Alexandros’ face as he looked at the voice’s direction, the darkness nearly dense enough to be touched. Inside, the firm grip of fear had taken control of his mind but his heart shined as bright as during all the times he had stood against the darkness before. No matter what was coming, he wouldn’t run in the face of the Scourge. Not now, not ever.
However, not all of the knights shared their leader’s bravery and confidence. Carlin held his outer calm but inside the thought of being crushed in this darkness by an invincible monster was a terrifying one for him. As another step rumbled through the black hall, he whispered silently, the fear more than apparent in his voice.
“Highlord? Should we fall back?” He asked, knowing an uncontrolled escape would only make him a traitor to the Crusade, even if he would have wanted nothing more than to leave the hellish necropolis once and for all. Yet, no answer ever came and the seconds only passed slowly but at the very second of another footstep, Alexandros cried with all his might.
“We won’t take a step back anymore, my comrades! Strike the enemy down, for the king and for Lordaeron! Attack!” He cried as he released a judgement nearly in time to repel a massive blade which suddenly fell towards him from the darkness. Yet, the attacker didn’t stop its advance and the mighty swing of the massive blade continued its way towards Alexandros who realized his slight oversight and suddenly dodged to his right while concentrating all of his holy power to stabilize the situation somewhat. Suddenly, a warm light engulfed Alexandros completely as the Ashbringer burned with righteous fury as it met the massive yet unblessed weapon.
At this point, the Highlord and the Ashbringer seemed to once again fuse into the same being with Alexandros’ internal dedication and the sword’s grace and power fed each other. All of the other knights looked in awe as their lord stopped an attack by a weapon thrice his entire length. Yet, that sight paled quickly in comparison to what Alexandros’ bravery revealed. Holding the sword was a mountain of rotting flesh, at least twenty times longer than an average man. Its face was disgustingly deformed, it’s eyes nothing more than slowly decaying orbs which most likely saw nothing. Here and there, it’s skull was revealed by the quickly disappearing pieces of skin around it and the monster’s teeth looked like it had escaped from a living nightmare. The rest of the creature’s body was equally deformed but unlike some of the other massive abominations, it had all the limbs a human had and judging by its movements, the Scourge had spent a lot of effort in trying to get this monster work better than its previous experiments. Even worse, the light revealed another swarm of lesser undead charging towards the knight under the massive monstrosity. The Highlord, however, was too deeply drawn into the battle to feel any kind of fear. However, he didn’t forget his charge for a moment and cried to his followers in a loud voice.
“Keep the horde of undead at bay and I’ll take this monster down! They won’t stand a chance against us!” He said as he looked in expectation as his opponent slowly prepared for another attack. Alexandros took this brief moment to deliver his first counterattack and with a quick leap, he impaled the rotting stub of a leg, the Ashbringer seeming to nearly melt it with its power. For a moment, the Highlord already thought whether the monster was about to fall but to his surprise, it seemed like the loss of part of its leg mattered none to the abomination as it seemed to be able balance itself just as well without it. This sight made the paladin cringe slightly but unknown to him, the fight would soon take a different turn.
The brown-haired man smiled as he looked at another ghoul crumble to the ground. He looked at the wave of undead close upon him but the line of crusaders was wide enough to be able to block the corridor just barely, thus ridding the enemy of their numerical advantage. The massive monstrosity and Alexandros’ fight as well as the lingering darkness made fighting a real challenge but none of the knights had been chosen to this mission for nothing. Lacking his usual keen sight, Tyrosus let the Light guide his movements and his lifelong experience allowed him guess the enemy’s next movements to a large degree. However, he suddenly heard something which nearly made him drop his sword in shock. Sounds of another charge could be heard behind him but he didn’t have time to turn to check that he had been right. He saw that many others had noticed the same thing and with a loud cry, he made their only way of survival known to the others.
“Push these bastards back or all we’ll be surrounded! Go now, we don’t have a lot of time!” He said as he cast a massive divine storm which cut down nearly a dozen enemies and maimed many others. Many of the others seemed increasingly desperate but all of them kept their calm. They immediately started to push forward with a great risk, the sound of the other wave of enemies intensifying by the minute. The Light revealed the dwindling numbers of enemies many times and sure enough, the knights were heavily advantaged as long as they worked as one. However, time was running out very quickly.
That development wasn’t lost on Alexandros, either. He was heartened by the courage shown by his comrades but unlike the others, he had managed to get a glimpse of the other group of enemies and it wouldn’t be even a minute until they’d reach the backs of the crusaders. Despite his fight with the massive abomination, he knew he’d have to help his comrades break the enemy’s defense. He took a quick breath and just as his enemy had missed one, heavy blow, he suddenly started to run quickly and ran towards the mass of ghouls and skeletons and cut down dozens of the enemies in a matter of seconds. His intervention seemed to suddenly break the enemy in half and it allowed his followers to take the advantage of his attack. He then cried to the others, realizing there was one more way to buy a few more seconds of time.
“Throw your torches at the charging undead and it will stop their attack for some time! Do it, now!” He looked as three of the knights suddenly threw the fires towards them and it didn’t take long until the first of them caught fire. Alexandros would have treasured the chance to look at them turn to ash but there was no time for that. In fact, it was only a matter of seconds that he wasn’t crushed under the massive abomination’s foot. However, there was no time to think about how close his death had been. He then gave another order to the others.
“Follow me, now! We must face our enemy with our backs against the wall as that’s the only way we won’t be surrounded! Go, go, go!” He cried as he looked at the undead getting crushed under the feet of the charging knights. However, among them was one whose main concern wasn’t trying to escape from the undead.
For a fleeting moment, Renault had thought about seizing his opportunity and attack his father while he had fought against the abomination but even then, he had to accomplish his deed in secret as that was the only way he could ever seize his father’s position within the order. For now, that was the only thing that mattered to him and he would make sure that the story of the house of Mograine would turn a new page on this day.
The southern approach to the King’s Square was nothing but a sea of rotting flesh and fallen crusaders as the attackers pushed ever more vigorously towards Rivendare’s position. The crusaders’ casualties were mounting on a terrifying pace but it was nothing compared to the burning piles of undead that were flaming at the both sides of the road. The dark, ever-flaming fires of the city were slowly becoming one with the new pyres of burning corpses which was only a small addition to the terrifying look of the once-mighty city and one that very few of the crusaders noticed.
One of those men was Carethas who had never visited this nightmarish place before. He looked in expectation as the death knight gave increasingly desperate orders, apparently realizing his weakening position. Perhaps the Scourge’s downfall was happening between his eyes after all. He cast a surprisingly potent judgement at a nearby enemy before realizing that his inexperience was still a terrible fault. He had been too closely drawn into the fight to pay heed to his surroundings and he suddenly felt a terrible pain fill his entire right side. He was immediately thrown to the ground and almost crushed under the feet of his comrades when one of the knights behind suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him up while also healing his terrible injury. He then nodded and spoke to the cadet in a stern yet encouraging voice.
“Don’t make that mistake again, boy. Now, go on!” He said and Carethas wasted no time obeying the older paladin’s order. Yet, he looked in interest at the place where he had received his hit. Apparently one of the necromancers had taken refuge in the burning houses, thinking nobody would be able to attack him in there. Immediately, a thought of easy glory and praise rose to his mind as he weighed the possible threat of the necromancer. Apparently his or her spells were rather potent but with enough wit and effort, maybe he could take him out quickly enough. He gritted his teeth as he suddenly sprinted towards a nearby doorway. Surely none of the others would be able to notice his small sidestep with their minds locked at the battle…
And he was almost right but not completely. Osran’s eyes initially noticed movement in the corner of his eye and he was more than surprised to see his former apprentice rush inside the ruined building. What in the name of the Light was the cadet doing? Was he actually thinking of forgetting his duties and attack some of the undead archers or necromancers on his own or even escape from the battle? Or something even more sinister? No matter what, he was breaking the rules of the Crusade and thus, his actions would have to be investigated as soon as possible. After all, he and Iren had joined the Crusade simultaneously and even if he had acted like he was completely innocent, there was always the chance that he simply been a far better liar than Iren had ever been.
As he had done so often in the past weeks, Osran cursed that it had to be him who had to bring potential traitors into line but that was the pledge he had given Isillien without any hesitation. He cut down the ghoul before him before quickly heading for the house next to the one Carethas had entered. It was nearly certain that the two houses would be connected to each other as most houses of Stratholme were in case of times of siege. The knight frowned as he thought about what he’d find in those rooms. Would Carethas follow in Iren’s footsteps or was he only another cadet who had to be brought to obey the orders of the Crusade? The next minutes would determine whether the younger man’s life would end on this day.
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Carethas looked in fear at the decaying walls around him. The house seemed even surprisingly similar to those of his beloved Barrowhome but the interior worried him greatly. All that remained of the furniture were broken pieces of wood here and there and the ground seemed to be creeping inside from the many cracks in the floor, signaling the eventual reclamation of the building by the ill nature around it. Yet, his eyes were locked on the stairs which seemed to be located in the neighboring room. He’d have to move noiselessly or al advantage of surprise would be thrown away completely. He walked slowly, careful not to cause even the smallest of squeaks in the rotting floor, moving a meter at a time towards the necromancer who was lurking somewhere in the rooms above him.
The thought of the evil mage lurking behind him and be the one to open the battle crept to the back of his mind, fully knowing that such a scenario would have only one outcome. One moment at a time, he realized the many dangers he had so willingly put himself in. For him to even stand a chance of beating the necromancer, nearly all of the chances would have to go just as he had planned. Maybe he should just turn around and… Suddenly, he heard a slight whisper in the rooms above him which cut his thoughts short.
“We’ll keep them long enough at bay, Diesalven. We only have to buy enough time for the master to take those fools out.” The voice sounded extremely low and shady and it brought shivers to Carethas’ mind. What was the man talking about? The cadet realized he was hearing something of great importance for the course of the battle. He froze still and crouched against the wall to listen to the conversation.
“You and your subordinates certainly have to do better if you hope to accomplish that task. You were one of the first lines of defense yet you crumbled at the first sight of enemy.” This voice sounded even lower than the first one but judging how the battle was going, he sounded surprisingly calm and trustful. The cadet’s heart beat heavily in his ears as he heard the next comment.
“No matter what, those fools are only running headlong into our trap. Once their beloved lord will fall, they’ll run away like the scared children they are! The Cult may be at ease, Diesalven. I and the others will give our everything in order to buy the time our masters need.” This time Carethas managed to make more out of the necromancer’s voice and it sounded like a terribly sick man trying to act like everything was alright. That certainly didn’t raise his spirits any.
“I certainly hope so for your sake. But that’s enough for now. Remember that when we’ll be victorious, all of us will…
Creak!!!
An ever so silent voice emanated from the floor as Carethas fearfully turned his weight to rest on his other leg, a mistake which changed everything in a matter of seconds. The conversation stopped immediately and the cadet made the necessary decisions in a matter of a split second. This Diesalven certainly like a high-ranked necromancer and Carethas knew he’d never stand a chance against him and the other caster. He quickly turned around in fear and headed for the stairs only to be stopped by a horrifying surprise. Almost immediately, he saw flames engulf the stairs which blocked any hopes he had of an escape. At this point, he could come up with only one additional way of escape: the numerous windows overlooking the street. The fall would be a painful one but it would be better than to stay here and be killed by the enemy or probably even worse.
The young man was just about to jump out of the window when he suddenly felt something that horrified him beyond measure. Just like that, his movements seemed to slow down even if he did his all to try to force his muscles to move forward. However, his efforts were completely futile as he soon stopped completely, just before he had taken the final leap to escape from this nightmare. All the while, he heard a voice behind him which stunned him completely.
“Are you this eager to serve the Lich King, fool? Are you ready to acknowledge the master’s superiority over your fleeting mortal coil? He asked in a hissing voice while commanding Carethas turn around. The taller necromancer approached him slowly, as if to merely address him closer. The cadet’s head dropped merely as he managed to only say one thing. He knew he was done for anyway and there was nothing of to speak with this necromancer anyway. Diesalven, however, didn’t deliver the decisive blow just yet, instead recognizing the recruit to his slight surprise. This opened another intriguing possibility that was all too convenient to simply pass away.
“You are the one Highfield mentioned to me. You were the only one who could master the Light in addition to my pawn. What a coincidence that we meet here like this.” He said, remembering Iren’s descriptions about the Crusade including his closest comrade. Carethas was slightly taken aback by Carethas’ words but he shook them off as mere lies and manipulation. He stayed silent, deciding not to give any additional advantages to this monster. He looked in despair as the other necromancer approached them and spoke to his superior quickly.
“Just kill that fool, High Necromancer! Time is off the essence!” He said, always somewhat skeptical of Diesalven’s notoriously slow and careful moves. He would have wanted nothing more than to gather the ranks of the casters again and join the battle but Diesalven, who was leading the defense efforts of the necromancers, seemed to have completely different priorities. He merely waved the lower- ranked cultist silent while he returned his focus on Carethas. Diesalven’s bearded face suddenly turned into a dead serious one as he suddenly continued completely bluntly.
“I’ll make this very clear to you, Yrendel, was it? I offer you one chance to take your old comrade’s place and serve as my eyes and ears within the Crusade. I offer you a chance to escape the eternal darkness and agony the victims of the Scourge will go through once they finally realize their mistake of opposing our king.” He said silently, all the while looking at Carethas’ eyes with a slight smile, his wrinkled cheeks and long but sickly hair creating a ghastly sight that haunted the cadet greatly. For a moment, he was just about to give the answer any crusader should but even then, the memories of the hundreds of lowly undead he’d seen returned to his mind. Did he truly want to become one of them, forever roaming these cursed lands searching for some poor simply to tear him or her apart? Did he truly want that to come to pass? He listened in fear as Diesalven continued his speech.
“Pledge loyalty to the Lich King now and you will live to see even tomorrow and if you’ll serve us well, you might even have some role in the world to come. You’d certainly make a useful addition to our ranks, Carethas Yrendel.” He said slowly, hoping to turn yet another crusader into a traitor. The more turncoats there were, the easier it would be to rot the order from the inside.
This offer would certainly save the cadet from the worst fate but even then, the other option was even more unacceptable. To think he’d betray everyone who had helped him to commune with the Light and to serve this monster who tried to blackmail Iren’s memory with his filthy lies. And most of all, he didn’t want to betray the paladin who had guided him on his first steps as a paladin, Osran. In his heart he knew his decision had already been made as he raised his head to look at the necromancer but to unknown to him, he would never be able to give that answer.
Osran scratched the corner of his eye as he listened to those words. “You’d certainly make a useful addition to our ranks, Carethas Yrendel.” Even if he had hoped he had been mistaken, it seemed like his worst fears were quickly being realized. Even after his other student’s betrayal, he had hoped to be able to trust Carethas but it seemed like he had been betrayed once again. The young man had seemed so eager and hungry to learn more of the Light Osran hadn’t even considered the possibility he, too, had only searched for a possibility to turn against the Crusade.
Slowly, the paladin’s hand became tied ever more tightly around his sword’s hilt as his mind darkened ever further. First, the order had torn his nails off after he against all odds had saved himself from certain death and shamed his pride in more ways than one in the process. And now, both of his closest students had both dared to betray his trust? Was there truly no one he could trust anymore? No matter what, this betrayal wouldn’t go unpunished. The paladin took a deep sigh as he drew his blade completely from its scabbard and with quick, decisive steps, moved against the two men and spoke to the cadet in a voice that dipped with hate and disgust.
“So you indeed were in league with Iren all the time, weren’t you Carethas? I had hoped you to be different from him but it seems I was pitifully mistaken.” Osran cast a quick glance at the necromancer, fully well understanding the threat he posed but he was confident he’d be able to contain him long enough to finish his matter with the treacherous cadet. To his surprise, however, Diesalven didn’t make one move to attack the paladin, rather deciding to merely look at how things would develop. In the end, sowing seeds of doubt in the hearts and minds of the knights was also an extremely valuable thing for the Scourge.
Carethas, on the other hand, was momentarily relieved to see the Crimson Legionary’s face but it soon faded as he saw the cold and merciless look on Osran’s face. What was he doing? Did he mean that he thought that…? Suddenly he realized how this meeting must have looked from his perspective and with a fearful look, tried to stutter an answer to his former mentor.
“B… but I was just about to decline his request! H… he tried to force me to join him but you know me, Osran! I’d never betray you or the Crusade!” He cried in desperation, looking Diesalven’s face turning sourer by the minute. He could see that the cadet had made up his mind which disappointed him somewhat. As for Osran, there was no reason to engage him directly. His great skill with the Light was very apparent and any kind of fight against him could very easily turn against the necromancer. Knowing there was no longer any reason for him to linger here after Carethas’ cowardice, he decided to cast his last curse upon the poor cadet.
“Stop jabbering, acolyte, and prove your worth to us! Kill the knight and eternal glory will be yours!” He cried as the familiar pool of shadow suddenly swallowed him, knowing it would also serve as a warning to followers in the surrounding rooms. There would be no escape for Carethas from this situation anymore. With any luck, one of the knights would meet their end here completely without his intervention. There were far more important matters that needed his attention after all, informing Rivendare of the necromancers’ efforts first of all. His departure was also a sign for the other necromancers to flee further to the city to utilize their powers more effectively. Carethas was left looking at the necromancer’s departure in shock, trying to cast a pleading glance at Osran. His voice was low as he attempted to plead to the other man’s trust.
“Don’t listen to him, Osran! I came here only to take out one of those bastards but… but he was here sharing orders to the others who left earlier! Diesalven was only…” Carethas said in fear as Osran suddenly resumed his advance and answered in a stern voice which could have probably scared even himself had the situation been any easier.
“Do you now see why your friend fell before the Light’s justice, Yrendel? Do you now have the slightest of inklings who you made your worst mistake by seeking allegiance with a necromancer? No matter what, I’ve had enough with lying cadets who seem to want nothing more than eternal death and darkness!” Osran cried, suddenly slamming a bright hammer right towards the cadet. It was supposed to stun him just enough for Osran to finish the fight for good. However, something highly unexpected happened which stunned both men completely. With a quick, even panicked move, Carethas formed a flicker of holy shield around himself which blocked Osran’s attack. Yet, not a muscle twitched in Osran’s outraged face as he continued his advance, this time releasing a huge wave of gold at the cadet who was forced to acknowledge the fact that he wouldn’t stand a chance at this fight.
For a while, he was able to drain Osran’s strength but slowly, the older crusader merely intensified his efforts, knowing the full difference between the duo’s skills. Finally, Carethas fell to the floor, panting while slowly raising his glance at Osran. Not a flicker of sympathy or doubt could be seen in his eyes when he lowered his blade towards the cadet’s throat. Knowing all was lost, he pleaded one last time Osran to see reason.
“Please… You must believe me…” He said while preparing to feel his head severed from his shoulders. He was resigned to his fate already, only regretting deeply the level of distrust Osran was showing at him. The two had known themselves for months already and they had trained together back at Tyr’s Hand. Had those times meant nothing to him or was he simply overzealous because of Iren’s supposed treachery? In any case, Carethas couldn’t come up with any answer on how to forgive Osran for what he was about to do. The knight took a completely joyless cringe as he gave his answer.
“That’s the last thing I’d do, traitor. Your dark road will be cut short before it even truly began.” He said before he raised his sword to strike the final blow. Carethas swallowed deep and closed his eyes to take whatever was coming. He regretted deeply it had to end like this, regretting that he’d never again meet his old friends in Barrowhome nor ever grieve at the grave of his father and sister, long since taken by the Scourge. And all of this happened because his long-admired mentor couldn’t believe any of the words he had just said. Any second now, he expected Osran’s sword to end his struggles in this world forever… until he heard a loud cry at the door.
“What is the meaning of this? What is going on, Osran?” Carethas suddenly opened his eyes and turned to see the officer he, too, recognized as Harthal Truesight. His gaze was highly shocked by the scene, not able to comprehend why Osran was about to kill one of his own comrades. The aging crusader briefly glanced at Harthal, letting his blade wait for a brief moment before he would let it claim its prize.
“Don’t intervene, Harthal. This man tried to join the forces of the Scourge and who knows what secrets he has already told to his dark masters. I have to end this madness right here.” He said, cursing in his mind Harthal’s intervention. He knew that with a witness he would need some indisputable evidence for his deed, something he lacked at this point. He could only hope Harthal would see the wisdom in what he was going to do. Even if Osran was a member of the Legion, an officer like Harthal still would have a hard time accepting this kind of oversight of his authority. In the end, Osran knew he couldn’t win this argument in the eyes of the Crusade’s leaders as his image was already wavering in their eyes. This would have to end here and now. He only cringed further as Carethas spoke to the newcomer.
“That’s a lie! I was trying to attack the necromancer, not join him! I admit that I acted against my orders and I’m willing to pay for my failure to do as I was told! But even then, I never once turned my back to the Crusade! You have to believe me!” He cried, fully well knowing his life was hanging in the balance. With any luck, Harthal could save him even now but he knew his situation was extremely dangerous. He looked in a hopeful expression as Harthal walked further into the room and addressed Osran.
“I was alerted to come here because two warriors of the Light fighting each other is always an ill omen, Lowriver. Yet, not every man who can wield the Light is fighting for its glory as Arthas proved to us. But even then, you should have very convincing proof so that I’d give you the authority to kill one of our own in the middle of this battle, Osran.” The Lord Paladin said, his mind revolting against arguing here when the destiny-shaping battle was happening only meters from him. And it was clear that Osran was none the happier with the other paladin’s appearance.
“I heard the necromancer offer him a place in the Scourge! I saw him kneeling before the fiend, clearly offering his life for the glory of the Lich King! Hell, the bastard even ordered Carethas to begin his first mission in the service of the Lich King!” Osran cried in pure rage, shouting straight at Harthal’s face. It didn’t take long before the cadet rebuked his claim.
“Can’t you see you’re being deceived, Osran? He only said it to try to break the trust within our order? He offered me the place within the Cult but I immediately declined that offer! Don’t give the Scourge what they want, Osran. You’re better than this.” He nearly whispered the last words, finally prompting Harthal to speak to Osran again. His face was a serious as he could full well see Carethas was being honest. He had conducted numerous interrogations himself and Carethas’ expression was that of an innocent man. He could see the other experienced paladin to begin breathing more heavily as he began to speak to him.
“Let him go, Osran! Can’t you see he is speaking the truth? I could see the Light guiding him with all its love in battle and I’ve seen many traitors in my life and he isn’t one of them! Crusader Lowriver, I order you to step back from your murderous intent!” He cried, willing to get this issue dealt with. However, what followed surprised him completely. Osran knew he had lost this argument the moment the overly trustful Lord Paladin had entered the room, not willing to listen to any reason. He couldn’t merely kill Carethas anymore but there was something he could still do. He suddenly directed a heavy gust of Light to the tip of his sword and released it with a massive force. The cadet hadn’t fully recovered from his injury back at Corin’s Crossing and with any luck, he could simply wave any lethal injury as an accident, as something he hadn’t truly meant.
After all the bullshit he had been going through recently, Osran couldn’t help but feel slight feeling of fulfillment flow through him as he watched his former student suffer. Even a slightly younger version of himself would have been appalled by what he was doing but now, only the images of Iren, Arlos and Diodor were flowing before his eyes, all of their faces forcing him to hope that he could make the cursed traitor pay with his life. However, his moment of triumph was soon interrupted by a cry from his left.
“What are you doing! Stop at once!” Harthal cried as he saw the look on Osran’s face. It bordered between bitterness, hate and righteous retribution. Carethas’ massive injuries were only growing closer to lethal by the second and Harthal looked in disgust as he realized Osran wasn’t about to stop the torture. With a quick gesture, he raised his hand and hit the other knight with a mighty barrage of Light which immediately sent Osran flying to the floor, sliding for a few meters before he finally stopped. He didn’t even try to fight against Harthal’s attack, knowing he’d be interrupted before he could kill Carethas. He tried to immediately return to his feet but Harthal’s companions pinned him to the ground before he managed to make a gesture to defend himself. The Lord Paladin crouched to heal Carethas’s worst wounds, making sure he’d live through this horrendous day. After most of the bleeding had seemed to stop, he rose back to his feet and walked towards Osran with heavy feet.
“What has gotten to you, Osran? We met only briefly at the Monastery but I could already see you were a man of honor. But a paladin worthy of the name would never torture someone who cannot defend himself while taking pleasure of it!” He cried to Osran who seemed to be finally beginning to calm down. His breathing grew easier and his struggles weakened by the second. His gaze faced Carethas who looked at him in confusion, disappointment and even fear. Had he really done what he thought? Had he really liked the feeling of the agony he had put the cadet through? Slowly but surely, the implications sank into his mind but even then, he felt nothing. No remorse nor regret. Even after all this, he had heard the conclusion to Carethas and Diesalven’s conversation. His voice was resigned and bitter as he answered.
“That isn’t the way it should be, at least. But I’ve gone through enough to show mercy to traitors.” He said as he glanced at Carethas. At the back of his mind, Tirion’s face and words lingered which ordered him to take back his words and to make amends with the idealistic young knight he had been when they had last met. But that was over now: he would never be able to trust blindly at the knights he had once seen as close comrades. Harthal sighed as he looked at the bearded paladin, feeling sorry for him most of all. He had been told of Osran’s deeds during the defense of the Monastery and eve now, he looked up to his decisive acts and courageous defense of righteousness. Still, his words shocked him deeply.
“It is up to our superiors to decide who is a traitor, Osran. You of all of us should know that. Can’t you see that the Lightbringer’s vision is the one that guides our order forward? There have been far too many examples of what happens when one loses their sight of what is right and what is wrong.” He tried to reason, bringing bitter thoughts to Osran’s mind. Those mirrored almost perfectly the words he had told the younger Abbendis when she had told him of the Legion’s freed and his answer to her. Back then, Uther’s teachings had been as dear to him as they were to Harthal but so much had changed since then. Now, it truly seemed like the path of goodness and forgiveness wasn’t leading anything forward. Harthal was apparently blind to the amount of traitors within the order’s ranks. Despite her sickening methods, it seemed like the Legion’s methods of defending the Crusade’s core from corruption was the right way to go, after all.
“I only hope it were like that, Harthal. I’m sorry about my attack but please, heed my warning. We cannot trust anyone and the chance that Carethas speaks the truth is too low for us to trust him! The Crusade is filled with the agents of the Lich King, only waiting to betray us! That is one thing I’ve been forced to face during my years of service and you’d do well to understand it also, Harthal.” Osran cringed as he looked at the crumbling ceiling, knowing there was little else he could as long as the two younger paladin held him against the floor. Harthal looked at Osran with an extremely bothered look, only wondering what Osran had went through to say things like that. He had always himself to trust in his comrades but he wouldn’t question Osran’s words now. The only thing he had to do was to try to get this argument over with as quickly as possible. He walked closer to Osran and offered him his hand as a gesture of trust and comradeship as he spoke.
“The Scourge may try to infiltrate our ranks but believe me, Osran, each of us will do our all to keep those traitors out and if we begin to turn on each other, the darkness has already prevailed. I saw his innocence in this issue in Carethas’ eyes and believe me, he wishes us no arm. I know you are a man of reason, Lowriver, and I was honored to have you to accompany us on our long ride here even through my suspicions about your intent. But the thing I’d like to ask is whether you will accompany me into the heart of evil itself? The battle is still ongoing and my blade already yearns for undead flesh.” He said as nodded at his followers to release Osran’s hands finally.
The slightly older knight looked at Harthal with a suspicious look, once again regretting how naÔve the Lord Paladin still was after his failed journey into Northrend but apparently back then, the silent, unspeakable shadow hadn’t yet descended upon the order. Osran trusted Harthal greatly but his blindness and gullibility saddened him without measure. His encouraging expression made Osran want to give his hand but how could he when Harthal would lead him to further treacheries and defeats? Even if he knew the implications, he was about to start rising up on his own but to both of the duo’s luck, a cry rand from the street at that very moment and both of them knew it belonged to the High General.
“The King’s Square is ours! The right wing, follow me and take down Rivendare! The others, head for the Bastion! Victory will soon be ours!” Abbendis cried and even at this moment, both of the knights couldn’t help but feel the triumph singing in their veins. The tension between them was as strong as ever but they knew it could be resolved later. Harthal nodded at Osran even if the other paladin’s antics worried him without measure.
“Let’s join them before anything worse happens. We’ve wasted enough time already.” He said simply, looking with regret at Carethas who seemed like he wouldn’t rise again in days. However, just as he was about to leave, the cadet began to twitch and with herculean efforts, rose to his feet to face the two knights. He spoke to them with a forced voice, giving Osran an extremely bitter look.
“My fight isn’t done as long as I’ll breath! I will make it through this and prove I’m worthy of your trust.” He said to Osran even if his heart wasn’t anymore in his words. Osran had changed completely since the first time they’d met and he nowhere seemed to serve the Light but rather the Scourge’s efforts to divide the Crusade. His disappointment was only worsened by Osran’s answer before he headed out from the building altogether.
“It’s over for that, Yrendel. Make no mistake, I’ll make sure you’ll pay for your treachery soon enough. No servant of the Scourge will escape the final judgement of the Light.” He said, fully understanding Isillien’s vision now. If the others used all their energy to protect the wicked, the righteous would have to act decisively and without remorse. It would be the only way to preserve the Crusade as it was supposed to be: a juggernaut of righteousness bound to eradicate each and every trace of evil from the beautiful lands of Lordaeron.
Fairbanks panted in disbelief as he watched at the Highlord and Tyrosus cause horrifying hits to the giant abomination’s legs. The swarm of the undead still hadn’t dissipated any but the knights were able to contain their advance in the small hall. Everywhere around the knights could be seen bright lights of sickly green, the color emanating from massive vials of some sickening liquid. The inquisitor cringed as he looked at the pipes circling the ceiling, one even dropping its disgusting contents on the floor below it. This clearly was the center of Scourge’s research on how to best utilize their horrifying skills on creating ever deadlier monsters. And it was slowly becoming clear their enemy was the crowning achievement of these halls and the greatest insult to life yet created. Yet, that mattered little as the massive creature continued its onslaught against the crusaders. The cleric cut another ghoul done when he heard the Highlord’s cry.
“Fairbanks, cast all that you got on its head when we try to bring this Light-forsaken monster to its knees!” He cried, exchanging glances of mutual understanding with Tyrosus. The other paladin was as ready as him to cut the creature’s leg out completely, causing the mere gravity to fell the massive monster. Fairbanks wasted no time answering to his old friend and master.
“It shall be done, Highlord! The Light will turn this monster into ash!” He cried, looking as his comrades took another waves of undead down. Seeing that everything was alright on that front, he concentrated all of his attention at the monster. Suddenly the two mighty paladins hit the creature’s legs simultaneously while it was recovering from another attack. The two cringed as their blades sank ever deeper into the monstrosity’s legs, severing the two parts of rotting flesh from each other. Slowly, the creature began to waver, its massive body starting to sway ever more menacingly. Slowly but surely, it started to fall ever further forward, unable to keep its balance with its terribly mutilated legs. Fairbanks looked with a waiting position as its misshapen eyes and the countless sickly abscesses coloring its face became ever closer to him, ready to fulfill his part of the plan.
A loud voice could be heard as the creature fell to its knees, immediately attempting to again rise back to its feet. However, the High Inquisitor wasn’t planning to let that happen as he released all of his holy strength upon it. Endless torrents of gold and pure Light left his hands, hitting the creature at its face. Fairbanks looked as his strength slowly turned the monstrous face to a mere burning skull which slowly but surely began to crumble to nothingness. This was only a small payback of all the horrors he had been forced to go through because of these cursed beasts. Even then, something happened he hadn’t quite foreseen. Even in the throes of defeat, the monster realized there was one more curse it could cast.
Maxwell Tyrosus cursed in pain as a ghoul jumped towards him and closed its jaws around his arm, rending its way through to his bone. However, that didn’t stop him from mounting a counterattack and immediately, he raised his blade and pulled it through the ghoul’s skull. However, it was at this moment he heard something that returned him to the moment immediately.
“Tyrosus! Look out!” The voice belonged to Redpath but it was all too late. The massive abomination’s weapon hit his back with a violent force, immediately sending him flying to the ground. His entire world turned completely blurred as the shock filled his injured body, the pain starting to reach his brain slowly in tiny flickers. His armor was completely crushed, revealing parts of the horrifying wound he had suffered. Judging from its depth, Maxwell’s lower back was almost completely crushed, something which could very easily prove to be a lethal injury.
However, his comrades cries only made Fairbanks double his efforts to take the undead construct down. Already battered terribly, it was at this point all of its offensive capabilities were taken away from it. After a short while, the rest of the monstrosity’s corpse fell to the ground, leaving him to look at his handiwork in shock. In the back of his mind, he realized the first mighty creature defending Naxxramas had been dealt with but at a heavy cost. And there was no telling how many more of them were lurking in these cursed halls. However, those thoughts were immediately cut short by a distant, hollow cry that seemed to dance around the group of crusaders.
Putrideye’s fall is only the first of your trials, intruders. I can already see you won’t be a match to the Scourge but by all means, continue your doomed quest! The Lich King has given me the strength to rid you of any hopes you had of taking Naxxramas!
Alexandros looked into the gaping corridors which loomed at two walls of the hall. The flow of the lesser undead had all but stopped, calming the situation down momentarily. Even if he would have wanted to bring the fight to Kel’Thuzad immediately, he owned it to the wounded and the fallen to deliver them away from this nightmare. He turned to his followers before he gave them his order.
“Deliver Tyrosus and the others to our camp and try to save those who can be saved and then report back to me. You, too Renault.” He said to his son, looking in slight surprise as his son had survived without considerable injuries from the thick of the battle. Yet, that would be bound to change the moment the young paladin would run out of luck and it would best if Renault was given an easier task for a while. To his relief, the young man bowed to his father and answered silently.
“It shall be done, Highlord. The Crusade won’t abandon its wounded heroes. Come, let’s get them to safety while we still can.” Renault said in an apparent stoic voice but inside, he liked how things were turning out. His father was making his way through the massive necropolis but there had been heavy losses thus far. And now this task opened a new, intriguing possibility for him to move forward, something which would make him the Highlord before the sun rose again.
Alexandros, on the other hand, looked at the fallen monstrosity, wondering how many more horrors he’d have to beat to force Kel’Thuzad to finally meet him on the field of battle. The first real step had been taken but he knew it would only take one, unexpected turn of events and all would fall apart. He took a deep sigh as he looked at the dark halls around himself, preparing for the trials yet to come.
And with the abomination's fall, the battle for the Construct Quarter has concluded in the Crusade’s victory. However, many plots are moving steadily forward behind the scenes which will eventually decide the order’s whole fate… This chapter will come in two or three parts as this point of the story corresponds with the high point of the Crusade and the zenith of its efforts to win back Lordaeron. On another note, I won’t be able to write in the next two weeks so the next chapters will come with a slight delay. Regardless of that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
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Into the Heart of Evil, Part 2
A light breeze flew through the pitch-black corridor as the small group of crusaders headed back towards the entrance into the evil necropolis. The only voice in addition to their own footsteps were the knights’ heavy breathing as they carried three of their injured comrades back towards safety of their camp. Each of them knew that this noble endeavor was far from safe, however, as despite the Crusade’s victory in the first wing of the citadel, Naxxramas was still squirming with the filth of the undead. The paladins could only hope that Alexandros and his followers would be able to hold the bulk of the undead busy.
Of course, there was one certain man among the small group who didn’t share his comrades’ sentiments in the least. Renault Mograine grinned slightly in the darkness as he carried the heavily wounded Maxwell Tyrosus, knowing that his moment would soon be at hand. His father was doing just as he wanted: exhausting his troops with his folly of an operation, truly thinking he’d be able to stand against the might of the Scourge. Well, such arrogance would end up being his undoing and very soon, Renault knew he’d be able to take his next step. But until then, he’d have to act like one of the noble knights he had always been meant to be. The young man was suddenly awakened from his thoughts as one of the other knights broke the silence.
“We’re almost there. We have to hurry and return to the Highlord before any of us are ambushed.” He said, anxiety more than apparent in his fearful tone. Renault turned to look towards the voice and snapped back at him in a voice that sounded like a silent cry.
“Then you’d do more than well to not waste your breath only to increase the chance that we’ll be found prematurely! We are in bad enough situation as it is!” Renault said, waiting for the slightest of lights appear from the impenetrable darkness. The other man looked at the younger Mograine and voiced his chagrin at his words very quickly.
“I know we are all afraid but don’t begin to attack us here, Mograine. We’re…” He started but almost immediately, another of the knights cut him short with a fearful voice.
“Stay silent, all of you!” He said extremely sharply, interrupting both of the other men immediately. Renault narrowed his eyes and tried to see what had shocked his comrade that badly. Seconds passed as the small group stood still, all of them wondering the same thing. And soon enough, they realized what the young paladin had meant. A small battalion of ghouls were walking through the central chamber of the floating citadel, blocking their attempt to escape from the stronghold of the Scourge. But even worse, each of them could notice the small group of knights, possibly heralding their end. Most of the crusaders looked with growing hope as row after row of the undead moved by, apparently not noticing the living standing less than twenty meters away from them. However, Renault saw an opportunity when he saw one to make his own position as comfortable as possible.
Suddenly, he took one step back as if in fear and stepped upon a small stone and almost fell to his back. However, his “struggles” forced him to fall against the wall which caused a thud loud enough to be heard through the whole corridor.
The small group froze immediately in place, knowing what Renault’s clumsiness had done. Each of the other knights stared at the ghouls and skeletons with wide eyes, looking in
disbelief and fear as the first ones of them turned to face them, noticing them immediately. The crusaders realized that the time for hiding was well over but another morbid question rose to most of their minds immediately. Should they attempt to flee and avoid this battle or stand their ground? The former option seemed tempting to some of them but that would mean leaving Tyrosus and their two other comrades to their certain deaths. At first, one of the men thought about calling for a retreat but as his gaze met Tyrosus’ closed eyes, the words died down in his throat almost immediately. The sharp-featured, brown-haired man had always been one of the most honorable, most faithful and most courageous knights in the entire order, always ready to stand up for those struggling to find their inner strength and heart to move on. Time and time again, it had been Maxwell who had been the difference between certain defeat and eventual victory. He would have fought for his comrades until his last breath and none of the knights could leave him behind like this. Each of them owed the injured paladin at least this much.
“Block the entire corridor! Don’t let the ghouls through!” One of the older knights cried, each of his followers doing as ordered almost immediately. The swarming mass of rotting flesh hit the defenders’ line almost immediately and the initial shock almost broke their defense at first impact. However, the knights had lived their whole lives by the sword and they hadn’t come this far to simply lose these kinds of fights against the monstrous undead. Even then, the relief bought by their momentary victory was quickly spent and once again, almost all of those present knew they would slowly be overpowered by the Scourge.
Yet, that was far from something the younger Mograine had in mind. He knew it was time to make his move and embrace his momentary alliance with the undead. The first time his mysterious benefactor had informed him of Kel’Thuzad’s cooperation in making him the Highlord had been a confusing one and it had taken a long time for him to believe that he truly could one day stand in the middle of an undead horde. Now was the time for that step and the zealous knight didn’t question for a moment whether Kel’Thuzad would keep his end of the bargain. With a seemingly desperate voice, he called to the other crusaders.
“We have to stay strong and fight them back! The Highlord trusts that we…” At that moment, Renault’s cry was interrupted as a skeleton suddenly thrust its sword into the young man’s abdomen. However, the hit wasn’t delivered properly and at that moment, Renault knew that Kel’Thuzad had joined the plot completely. With wavering steps, he slowly moved forward, as if ready to fall into the ground at any second. The treacherous paladin heard a familiar voice of one of his comrades in his ears.
“Try to fight them back, Renault! We’ll clear them off in a few seconds!” He cried eagerly, cursing in his mind that he couldn’t do anything to help the Highlord’s son immediately. He hit another group of ghouls with a massive concentration of holy energy but just as he was about to start his final push to save the younger man, he saw something that immediately drained most of his hopes. Another of the ghouls had attacked Renault and it was tearing his upper back into shreds, his blood dropping into the floor in steady streams. He immediately turned the ghoul into pure ash but immediately afterwards, Renault fell into the ground and new groups of undead immediately stepped over him, closing their apparent victim behind their endless ranks. The older paladin panted in shock, looking at the direction where Renault had fell, knowing that it was all over for him. Just like that, the Highlord’s son had fell under the onslaught of the Scourge, the first of many casualties in this battle. However, he wasn’t ready to give everything up just yet as the Ashbringer had entrusted them with this mission and by the Light, he’d give everything to not let the legendary paladin down. He raised his sword and cried to the others.
“Don’t hold anything back! We have to forge our way forward because the Ashbringer commands it! The Highlord has always had our uttermost trust and I’m willing to prove he can trust as well! For Renault! For Alexandros!” He cried as he sank his sword into the skull of another dead, his comrades also fighting with renewed vigor. The Scarlet Crusade had been forced to do the previously unthinkable and the knights were more than willing to do their own part in redeeming that promise. The small group of knights moved deeper
into the horde of undead, all of them knowing this was a battle they’d be able to win.
A mocking smile rose to the younger Mograine’s face as he moved his hand to his back, attempting to stop as much of the bleeding as he simply could. If he wanted to make the others believe he had fallen in battle, he had to make the scene look as believable as possible. As the terrible pain slowly started to ease, Renault slowly rose to his feet and started to move away from the line of battle, knowing what he’d have to do next. Before long, his father would begin exhausting his forces in full force and only then he’d face the full might of the Scourge. And after that… Renault’s face turned into a deep grin as he disappeared into the darkness of Naxxramas.
The poisonous smoke of the ever-burning houses of Stratholme made any fighting in those cursed streets a true struggle but that was momentarily lost to Veria as she heard Abbendis’ call. The King’s Square, the famous entrance into Stratholme and the largest marketplace in all of Lordaeron, was theirs! In the middle of the merciless struggle, she had paid little heed to how the larger battle was progressing but sure enough, the last pockets of resistance in the Square were quickly dying down. Evening’s slowly forming shadows danced among the flurry of flames but the eerie sight did very little to sway any of the joyous crusaders from their first victory. The King’s Square was a place of fond memories for all of them and even in this situation, the Square radiated with its past grandeur. Veria smiled carefully as she stroke down the last undead near her, ending her part in this initial part of the long battle. Her momentary reprieve was soon ended as she heard Valdemar’s voice near the street which would lead towards the Crusader’s Square and her next objective in this battle.
The Crusader Lord looked expectantly as he investigated the street beside him and most of all, the knight who had made this momentary victory possible. He had done his absolute best in trying to lead his troops as valiantly as he could but not once in the past few days had he managed to shed away the disgusting feeling of constant headache and emptiness. He recalled joining the Crusade and pledging his life for the service of the man before him but… then nothing. He simply couldn’t remember what had happened earlier in the war or anything about his meetings with his officers since then. But as always during this critical campaign, he did his best to pull his fears firmly out of his consciousness and he addressed the Grand crusader with the same respect as always before.
“Thank you for your timely intervention, Grand Crusader. You saved many lives by crushing the Scourge from behind!” He said nervously even if his words were completely genuine. Dathrohan looked at him, his gaze telling of slight annoyance but his words were something that could be expected from the legendary crusader.
“Of course, good lord. The quicker we’ll achieve our victory here, the sooner we get to drag Kel’Thuzad out of his fortress and get rid of him once and for all! But enough rambling! We have to…” He was about to say until he was interrupted by a chilling voice from his left. Both of the officers turned to look at the direction immediately at the newcomer but the mere sound of that voice brought chills coming down Valdemar’s spine. That was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time.
“Saidan! What a surprise it is to meet you here, leading your misguided group of thieves against the Lich King! As far as I remember, you were far better than this, my old friend!” The low, rumbling voice called as the form of a long, bearded man appeared from, between the burning smoke of the city, his body slowly stepping out from the hellish haze. The first thing that could be seen from his face were his strong features and a thick but rather short beard as he approached the duo. He held his massive hammer in his right hand, carrying its mighty weight as if it were nothing more than a small stick. However, his skin was pale as a wraith and his eyes burned with the same cold light that possessed every poor soul who had been forced into the same destiny as he. Dathrohan narrowed his eyes, the demon inside him more than thankful the paladin’s memories were still intact. He raised his own hammer as he prepared for the upcoming fight.
“So you weren’t spared from this fate, were you brother? I’ve always respected the stand you took against Arthas, brother. Just lay down your weapon and I’ll let your memory remain untainted… Gavinrad.”
Those words immediately hit Veria like a thousand spells. Had she truly heard what she thought? Could such a monstrous coincidence be true? The endless days when she had given her all in the service of the one commander, besides the Lightbringer himself, who gave his all for his cause and his comrades suddenly awakened in her mind as she looked at his direction. The dawn of every battle against the orcs and undead had been a dawn filled with hope and trust as Gavinrad never passed an opportunity to inspire his followers which had earned him Veria’s loyalty forever. To think he’d be forced to return to the terrifying undeath like this…
The paladin immediately put her sword in her scabbard and began to move towards the street, cursing the slowness of the process as the troops orderly gathered behind their leaders in order to prevent any kind of chaos from forming in the midst of the surviving crusaders. She frowned deeply as she made her way through the ranks of knights, her heart beating terribly in her chest. It didn’t help any that the seemingly endless ranks of crusaders blocked most of her sight forward. After a while that seemed to take for years, however, Veria saw something that confirmed her worst fears. Among the flurry of heads and flags, she suddenly caught a glimpse of the Scourge’s commander in the Crusader’s Square.
The hair and the unyielding gaze in the death knight’s eyes and his simple but perfectly balanced hammer: this couldn’t be anyone else but Gavinrad the Dire himself. Suddenly, the entire scene around her seemed to freeze still as her eyes briefly met those of the deceased founder of the Order of the Silver Hand. Yet, that moment didn’t last long as Veria realized what she’d have to do. The monster in front of her was a mockery of her beloved leader and for his sake, for the whole of the Silver Hand’s sake, he’d have to be put down before his name would be stained forever. The knight suddenly started to walk forward and pass her comrades one by one, readying to take down the despicable creature before her at any cost.
A deep frown penetrated Osran’s forehead as he looked at Abbendis finish his speech. Even if he would never pass this victory as one with no value, his meeting with Harthal continued to haunt his already taxed mind. Was there any chance that Carethas had spoken the truth? Could it be that he was beginning to lose his mind himself or at least lose his faith in the Light he had treasured for so long? Carethas had been a good man and eager cadet in the past days and there had never been a trace of treachery in his eyes. But even then… neither had he detected Iren’s betrayal in time and he had heard what he had regarding Carethas as well. There had been no mistake: everything Carethas had claimed simply couldn’t be true as it would be a coincidence of epic proportions.
But in the end, what did it all mean? Had Harthal been too naïve to believe he was being deceived? Or, even worse, had he knowingly saved a traitor’s hide with his intervention? Such a possibility made Osran feel even more miserable as the implications of such a possibility were true distasteful to comprehend. Osran shook his head a few times before he once again turned his eyes at Abbendis, trying to concentrate on the battle at hand. Yet, no matter how much he tried to forget his encounter, one thought simply lingered within the back of his mind. If even a flicker of his fears were true, he couldn’t trust anyone anymore. From this day on, his way of fighting for the Light was the only one the aging paladin knew he could trust.
Deep gasps escaped from Eneath’s mouth as he did his best in trying to keep himself on his feet. His earlier injury was still weighing on him heavily and the new wounds and trials of merciless battle did very little to ease him in this battle. That pain and fatigue, however, was slowly becoming mixed with triumph as he listened to the High General’s next orders. He had never expected to see the liberation of Stratholme but here he was. He could only pray that he was one of the lucky ones to survive this onslaught until the end.
“…but don’t think for a moment that the Scourge’s back is broken just yet! We knew the endless swarm Kel’Thuzad used to sweep over our land and that hasn’t changed in the least. Remember: our left wing will form a defensive line north from the Elders’ Square and barricade it! Our best and only hope is to defend our lines there until we know how we can use the sacred flame! Only then… only then will our victory be complete.” He concluded his speech and turned to look at the wide, flaming streets and wondered what kind of monstrosities he and his troops would find out there. Thus far, the fight had been a complete bloodbath but he couldn’t believe the Scourge would simply agree to a simple fight to the end. There had to be something out there that Kel’Thuzad hoped would turn the tide of the fight to his advantage. Yet, as long as the Crusade had the momentum, the High General decided to put his fears into the back of his mind. He briefly raised his sword and called to his followers loudly.
“Follow me, warriors of the light! Into the Alonsus Chapel!”
With herculean efforts, Eneath stopped his panting and rose back to his full length, knowing this wasn’t the time to rest or give up to the pain within his viscera. Many of the knights around him had fought for hours on end with most of their bodies completely crushed by orc brutes and he wasn’t about to prove weaker than them. For better or worse, he’d fight on until the hour of victory or until the last muscle in his body failed forever. The young man wasted no time in joining his comrades’ battlecry as thy headed towards the Elders’ Square.
“For Lordaeron!”
The cry rang through the ruined buildings and one by one, the few ghouls on the knights’ way fell before the coming onslaught. It all felt like a dream: the undead had seemingly ran out of stream and it was only a matter of finishing the job. Yet, even Eneath knew it would be foolish to expect such a miracle, especially as he had heard Abbendis’ warning. All that would have to be ensured was that the undead would be walled off from the southern city. Yet, he could feel the triumphant feeling around him as the paladins, priests and mages headed towards their goal. Each of them hoped they were running towards victory and an inexperienced knight Eneath struggled not to join in their hopes just yet.
Osran, on the other hand, took this brief moment to look at the floating necropolis far above him. The thought that Kel’Thuzad was up there, observing the knights’ every move was a frightening one for Osran and he dreaded what new curses the lich still had in store for the living. The sight of the dread citadel floating over the sickly flames and black smoke was already a frightening one but the mere knowledge of all the horrors the scourge was capable of worried Osran further. No matter what, taking Stratholme would only be the first part of the massive operation to evict…
“The cursed beasts are trying to block us out of the Elders’ Square! Everyone, give your all so that we can achieve a quick breakthrough!” Abbendis suddenly cried, catching everybody’s attention immediately. The gate into the Elders’ Square opened before them and sure enough, the narrow passage was blocked by a row of abominations and most like different spells that would make entering the Square extremely difficult. However, this wasn’t a moment to start to spare one’s blood or breath. However, to every knights’ surprise and astonishment, Abbendis seemed intent to be the first one to enter that hellish series of traps and to lead his troops into glory himself.
For a moment, Osran thought about asking Abbendis whether he was sure about this but he knew the full extent of the High General’s abilities and he decided against acting like he knew better than the revered and beloved general of Lordaeron. Abbendis gritted his teeth together as he ran towards the sea of undead, knowing his life laid at the hands of his followers. However, he trusted them more than enough and if it spared the lives of his troops, he would willingly sacrifice his own life.
Immediately as the gate’s arch rose above him, Abbendis felt like a thousand swords hit his body simultaneously. After that, he felt some untold power drain his strength completely which for a moment made him feel like his end had finally come. He already spoke his last prayers of the Light as he saw the chains of a massive abomination fall down upon him. However, just before the crushing force crushed him, he felt his powers return thousand fold. The blessings of every one of his troops fell down on the general, giving him the strength he needed to parry the hit that would have obliterated him in a normal situation.
However, this was far from one. Immediately, Abbendis sent the chain flying backwards and with one hit, he felled another abomination near him and it crushed dozens of skeletons as it fell upon the lesser undead. Abbendis felt the countless spells tearing his very body to pieces but his many allies lessened their impact just enough so he could take the many hits and buy his followers just enough time to arrive to his side and start the final push into the Square itself. And after a short moment, Abbendis caught the sight of the Crusade’s final prize among the sea of undead.
As brilliant as the day it was built, the holy birth place of the Silver Hand stood defiant in the middle of the burning city, its light lifting the eternal shadow and smoke at least to some degree, its flicker of grace surviving the swarm of shadow that had consumed the very land around it. But to the paladins, the Alonsus Chapel meant even more than it did to their leader. Many of them had known the passed archbishop himself and the famed meeting inside that chapel was only spoken in whispers of utter respect and reverence. This place had been by the grace of Light and the eternal flame inside it was a testament that only a hallowed force could easily stand against the deepest shadow. As he realized that the frontline had been secured, Abbendis gave the order he had waited for so long.
“March forwards, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade! Our victory lies at hand! Push through the wicked and remember that no sacrifice is too great for us now! Recover Alonsus’ flame or die trying!”
The fallen knight tightened the reins of his horse as he ordered it to turn its side towards the attacking force of crusaders. They pushed on like they were driven forward by some unknown force which bothered him slightly but in the end, none of that mattered. As long as his soldiers stood in their way, the enemy would have no hope a swift victory and without it… a slight smile crept to the former paladin’s face. The Crusade would very soon learn to respect the power of the Cold North as he had.
Even now, Gavinrad remembered the endless devotion to stand against the darkness at any cost to himself: the hope that his death would have some meaning in the grand scheme of things. That his ideals would leave their mark in those who had truly believed in him and that in the end, each act of nobility would in the end bear fruit. What a fool he had been! To think that anyone could stand against the Lich King was pure madness but he had been right in thinking that no victory came without a price. Every one of his thoughts tied around the single motive of protecting the Crusaders’ Square with everything he got in order to buy Kel’Thuzad the time he needed to turn the tables once and for all.
The former founder of the Silver Hand frowned as he saw a massive whirlwind of Light cut through his soldiers, an attack which seemed to shake the ranks of his troops heavily. At this rate, his efforts to hold back the enemy could turn out to be far punier than he had thought but neither was the death knight completely devoid of new tricks in his sleeve. Gavinrad suddenly raised his hammer and pointed it towards one of the attackers and immediately released many streams of dark that seemed to sink into the poor knight and with horrifying screams, he collapsed into the ground, his entire body penetrated by the vile force of the fallen crusader. However, the latter wasn’t done yet and with one wave of his defiled weapon, exploded the corpse and to the others’ shock and dismay, the initial shock was followed by countless of ghouls appearing from the ruined body. That surprising display of the dark powers of the Scourge robbed the attackers from every last trace of momentum they had received but to Gavinrad’s surprise, one paladin didn’t seem to be held back by his efforts in the least. At first, he frowned slightly until his memories slowly started to gather after all these years.
Veria? Is it really her? It… it’s been so long and to meet her like this… But what does it matter? She’s an enemy of the Lich King as are all those around her!
The brief moment of hesitation ended very quickly as Gavinrad put his feelings far into the background. His miserable life as a misguided warrior of Lordaeron was past him and so were all his connections with those who had once served him. Veria was only one of those fools who had been of no help when he had faced the mightiest being on Azeroth as well as the one who would be its eventual lord and savior. However, the normal confidence in himself didn’t seem to return no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the task at hand but despite that, his loyalties were clear. He was a servant of the Lich King and no mere shadow of his past change that fact anymore. With a determined wave of his hand, Gavinrad launched a heavy bolt of ice towards his former comrade and looked with slight satisfaction as he noticed Veria’s feet being frozen into the ground by his attack. Now, all he’d have to do would be to finish this unsavory reunion once and for all…
Veria cursed as she felt her legs rebelling against her will. She had never heard that the death knights could also master the art of ice and to see her dear friend and leader being the first one to accomplish that… However, Veria realized immediately that she had no time to waste if she wanted to avoid being frozen to death by her adversary. The main force of the knights were busy driving the Scourge back and none of them had any time to spare to save one overly-zealous paladin. The world around her seemed to freeze still as Gavrinrad raised his weapon again and the blue, frigid energy began to gather at its end. Soon enough, he would release that dark power and end this fight once and for all as the ice shell around Veria seemed to prevent her from calling upon the power of the Light. In a moment of desperate frenzy, she grabbed her sword and hit the wall of ice to her left and to her utter surprise, a large crack seemed to form at its side. Emboldened by this development, she hit it again and again and it was more seconds after she escaped from her
prison when Gavinrad’s bolt of ice would have hit her hadn’t she escaped in time.
For a few seconds, Veria gathered her strength as she raised her head to once again face the fallen knight. Gavinrad seemed most displeased by her survival but he also knew he couldn’t concentrate all his efforts on one enemy. Seeing that his troops were beginning to grow thin, he called upon a cold wind to immediately extinguish any torches his enemies were using to burn the broken bodies of the undead. After that momentary reprieve, Gavinrad raised his hammer into the air and directed it towards the carnage that was going on before his eyes and with one, massive concentration of power, directed his spell towards any undead or dead paladins in the ground, starting to raise them to fight once more for the glory of the Lich King!
However, that plan wasn’t about to be successful as far as one general of the Crusade was concerned. The younger Abbendis was far from willing the knight to call upon any more enemies and with a spell of such power, he wouldn’t be a threat anytime soon. She cut three of her enemies down with one sweep and immediately directed a spell of her own towards the death knight. It was a spell used to purge the wicked which was originally used to bring back the demons aiding the orcs but they worked just as well against any undead. She raised her hand quickly and targeted it towards Gavinrad, hoping the mere brutality of her attack would interrupt the hellish spell he was attempting to cast.
The former paladin looked expectantly as the countless corpses in the ground began to rise once more, first their hands and legs starting to twitch slightly. As they regained their ability to direct their movements, they slowly rose to their legs and very soon, they’d rejoin the fight again and slowly but surely, turn the tide against the damned crusaders! Very soon, they’d realize that their cause was hopeless and then…
And then Gavinrad suddenly fell from the back of his horse, his head hitting the paved road with a violent force soon after. At first he didn’t have the slightest of ideas what had just happened but soon he noticed the massive wound within his chest. Cursing his lack of vigilance, the death knight rose to his feet and without any hesitation, rose his arm towards one of the ghouls and cast a simple spell that completely dismembered the poor undead and with a flash of black magic, its essence was merged with that of Gavinrad’s but he didn’t twitch a muscle as the gaping, possibly lethal wound within his chest disappeared. Once again, he stood whole but his efforts to stall the crusaders had failed for now. But very soon, they’d understand that this momentary setback would hardly turn the tides any.
It was at this moment that Veria realized her opportunity had come. With Gavinrad dismounted, she could fight him without any great disadvantages and despite his far more impressive skills, this hour would offer her her best chance of any succeed. The short-haired paladin started to run towards her former leader, eager to see this struggle end here and now.
She ran through the endless ranks of undead with stunning ease, not even understanding the implications of her deed as her whole attention was locked on the death knight. For the briefest of moments, she even dared to hope that Gavinrad was again too closely concentrated on his spell. If she could only wave her sword only once, this horrifying debacle would be over once and for all. With endless hopes and massive force, Veria raised he sword and directed it towards her opponent’s face… only for it to be blocked by the fallen knight’s hammer. Gavinrad turned to face Veria and gritted his teeth together as he faced his former comrade and friend.
“So you truly wanted to seek me out, didn’t you, Veria? I’ll make sure this is the last time you cross the path of the Scourge…”
High General Abbendis looked around himself with some regret as he looked at the swarms of undead. Even if masses upon masses of them fell under the onslaught of the Crusade, the Chapel didn’t seem to be inching any closer. Many of the crusaders were bearing increasingly serious wounds but their casualties were thus far limited. However, that would change very soon if the battle would continue like this. The aging general smiled as he contemplated about how Rivendare thought this battle would move forward. Whatever the cursed noble was expecting to come to pass would soon be doomed to failure as he looked at a few ranks of knights enter the buildings surrounding the Square. He would never engage in a battle until he fully and truly believed that his cards were better than the enemy’s.
Slowly but surely, the Crusade’s lines grew wider as they attempted to head towards the northern entrance into the Elder’s Square. That was the point where they’d have to stop the Scourge’s reinforcements and that was all they’d need to secure the Chapel and the Flame once and for all. However, there was another issue that would have to be taken care off. There were several necromancers behind the ranks of undead who would certainly prolong the battle for a long time, given a chance. A wider smile formed to the High General’s lips as he thought about what was to happen next.
Not far to his right stood Osran, who, like so many of his comrades, was slowly beginning to wonder whether this battle was a lost cause. Each inch that the Scarlet Crusade advanced was bought with blood and their goal seemed to be still so very far. The enemy’s leaders were completely safe behind the wall of flesh and as long as they were invulnerable, victory was impossible. Had Abbendis miscalculated? Was all of this just a complete…
“Fire! Don’t let any of those bastards to survive!” Abbendis suddenly cried as he dropped his hand which he had slowly raised up. Many of those around looked at him with confused looks but almost immediately, both the undead and the living heard the loud voice of a volley of arrows released above them. Osran stared with a mesmerized look as the sky was suddenly filled with the dark forms of them and glanced in surprise as they quickly fell towards the backlines of the enemy. Most of the necromancers were utterly penetrated by the arrows and their painful cries could be heard over the thunder of the fight. Immediately, the horde of dead meat started to waver as their ability to be reborn disappeared completely. Abbendis’ plan to spread some of the knights into the houses to take care of the necromancers had been a grand success. The dark wizards themselves would be brought to life soon enough but the archers would fell them once more each time they’d attempt to spread their taint into this world again.
However, that wasn’t where Abbendis’ plan ended. Almost immediately afterwards, another group of paladins felled cauldrons of burning pitch on the undead near the gate, blocking any reinforcements for the Scourge in a while. Without their necromancers and reinforcements, this battle was as good as over. Osran pushed forwards with returning vigor, finally willing to believe this battle would have a happy end.
The Ashbringer glowed with a bright light as it sank inside a massive, skeletal spider. Alexandros grinned as he attempted to find enough support for himself from the massive web but the legendary sword seemed more than eager to ignore such issues. It seemed to dive deeper into the arachnoid by itself and after a few, short moments, the monster lied in the feet of the Highlord of the Scarlet Crusade. Slowly, as the shock of the battle began to wear off, the elder Mograine drew his sword away from the spider’s skull and tried to catch his weary breath. The dimly-lighted hall was as grisly a sight as any other in this monstrous wing of arachnoids but to each of the knights’ relief, no more movement could be seen around them. For the first time of in almost an hour, everything was silent. Alexandros stared at the walls around him as Carlin Redpath finally spoke to him.
“That was the third quarter of this cursed citadel! We must have slain most of the filth down here already!” The usually calm man said, his voice dipping with hate. This battle had been an exhausting one and many knights had already been forced to pay with their lives so that their comrades could fight their way even this far. And surely enough, this was already much more than Alexandros had hoped for and he couldn’t help but begin to believe that this whole assault could be a success in the end. Maybe… just maybe his choice had been a succe…
“Highlord! Thank the Light you’re alive!” Alexandros suddenly turned to look to his right into the darkness as a small group of knights stepped forward from the dark corridor. This had been the same group which he had commanded to take Tyrosus to safety and to his relief, the brown-haired paladin was nowhere to be seen. However, there was another detail which immediately caught his attention.
“Where’s Renault? Speak!” He snapped sharply, feeling his heart drop terribly. His son couldn’t have fallen out there but… what other explanation could there be other than his untimely death? The Highlord’s face turned into a grave one as he followed his comrades’ reactions and after a short moment, one of them finally opened his mouth.
“We… we lost him soon after we departed. He got separated from us and even if we tried to save him… we were too late.” He said, hating to break such news to his respected superior. For the briefest of moments, Alexandros merely stared forward, trying to accept what he had just heard. Renault, his oldest son, was gone, fallen to a group of petty undead? On a suicide mission he had allowed him to join? The legendary warrior’s hand tightened around his sword, willing to strike down the knights around him but in the end, the older Mograine remembered who he was. He was the Highlord of the Scarlet Crusade and he was supposed to be above such personal qualms. He closed his eyes and knew there was only one to move forward. He inhaled deeply as he heard Fairbanks’ familiar voice on his side.
“May the Light guide his soul. He will earn his place among the martyrs of Lordaeron. But for now, we have to move forward and remember that we fight also for the memory of our loved ones. You know that, Alexandros.” The cleric said while glancing at the Highlord, his voice carrying clear sympathy for his old comrade and master. He hadn’t known Renault too closely but as far as he was concerned, he had clear potential to one day bask in the Light’s favor. But that dream was over now and his soul had joined the chorus of the paladins of the past. Alexandros looked before him for a moment before answering.
“Wisely spoken, Fairbanks. In the end, we will all get what we deserve and I’m sure all our comrades are in a better place now. Let’s go.” He said simply, not looking at any of his comrades directly as he passed them on his way back towards the center of the necropolis. The sooner this nightmare would end, the better. Somewhere out there, Kel’Thuzad was waiting and before he’d meet his end, no living being would ever feel safe again. For his son and for all the…
“Watch out, Highlord!” He suddenly heard Carlin Redpath’s urgent voice which sounded as fearful as if his own head was being torn from his shoulders. Alexandros turned immediately around and to his endless shock, he saw another entrance open from the floor right next to him and dozens upon dozens of soldiers of the Scourge emerged from the foreboding darkness. The Ashbringer realized that the new horde was attempting to split the defenders in the aftermath of their leader’s rare moment of hesitation. However, Fairbanks immediately burned a gaping hole into their ranks and cried to those around him.
“Go through, now, or you won’t get another chance! Then we’ll turn these monsters into ash!”
Increasingly painful gasps escaped from Veria’s lips as her opponent battered her with a merciless hit after another. Gavinrad’s skill was as admirable as ever and the Scourge’s horrifying strength only worsened things more. All the fight, it had been her who had been on the defense and not once had she been able to land a blow on her former master. The overall battle was static as the crusaders’ attempts to advance were time and time again hindered by their enemies’ resiliency. Even if she had hoped it to be otherwise, it was she and the former paladin alone who’d decide the outcome of this battle. Noticing that she was increasingly at a disadvantage, Veria suddenly disengaged from the fight to catch her breath but Gavinrad didn’t allow her any rest.
“The Light won’t help you in this world, Veria. Its hope is but a mirage! I once saw it a savior of everything just like you do, as the noblest path a man can take! However, it is only its false claim of justice that really makes it a force to be loathed and hated: it only serves you when it suits this mystic, unknown being but the power of the Scourge lives among us and it will never abandon you at your moment of need!” Gavinrad said with a loud voice Veria had heard so many times before. If she could overlook the former knight’s pale skin and words, she could have been forgiven for listening to his many sacred preaches at the churches of the Silver Hand. Gavinrad had always been a devoted servant of the Light and all who had known him remembered his inspiring voice and uplifting words which would double the will to fight of any fighter. However, to see him twisted like this… Veria shook her head as she answered.
“It is true that the Light won’t always heed our calls like we’d like but at least it’s a power for something right! The arcane magic only sows destruction and death everywhere if its wielder cannot wield it properly whereas the shamans and druids do very little else but worship their little deities in some forsaken woods! And not to even mention the strength of the Scourge… I know you understood it once, too, Gavrinrad, but I also know you simply are far beyond questioning your lord now. While the Light might seem weaker than most other magic, it at least strives for something good, something worth fighting for! Think, my old friend. What were your last thoughts before Arthas mercilessly slaughtered you?” She cried, knowing the conversation was completely futile as even if the hollow memory of her old friend could remembered his past, he would have no way of voicing any kind of real remembrance to his opponent. And sure enough, not a muscle twitched in the death knight’s face as he spoke.
“That matters little, Veria. I deserved every last bit of pain I went through for standing against the one real king of this land! I dwelled in my misguided thoughts as long as I could but all of that changed when I woke to this new reality! It’s a shame really. I would have wanted you to join me once but now I see you’re little more than another nuisance trying to draw me away from the one true path!” He said, immediately creating an aura of sickly light around himself which seemed to increasingly draw power from Veria as well as reinforce his own strength. Gavinrad then walked forward and used another bolt of shadow to hold Veria still while he started to drain her strength in an increasingly fast pace. Veria gasped for air as she felt herself unable to escape from the knight’s death trap. Each second that passed seemed like another step towards a trap of which there would no rescue: even now, she felt her strength fail her ever faster. But this couldn’t be the end… it just couldn’t! Such a fate wasn’t one she was about to answer and it would also be the final blow to the brave paladin’s memory. Concentrating all her holy power into her sword, she quickly stabbed the fallen knight into his hand, buying just enough time to earn a small moment for her to begin mounting some kind of counterattack. However, her eyes caught a glance of something which stole her attention completely.
Is that… is that a flicker of the Light? But it shouldn’t be possible…
She thought as she noticed a weak glow emanating from Gavinrad’s right leg. It seemed as if some kind of golden sphere was glowing but it seemed to come right from his leg itself! Had the founding member of the Silver Hand managed to turn a part of his very body into something that carried a piece of the Light itself? She had never heard of such a thing but on the other hand, if there was someone who could become that close to the holy power itself, it would be Gavinrad. And if she could utilize that remainder of purity even Arthas himself hadn’t been able to drain, perhaps her opponent’s body would practically turn against itself in an attempt to purify the tainted, cursed flesh around it. Immediately, Veria raised her hand and released her power towards the remainder of Gavinrad’s purity and hoped her opponent wouldn’t realize what she was doing quickly enough.
The younger fighter’s sudden counterattack took Gavrinrad briefly off-guard as he had expected her to at least fight more conservatively after his dangerous attack but she had not only waited for a chance to strike but she had also found his cursed weakness, that one flicker of Light none in the Scourge had managed to remove even in undeath. But it would do little good for Veria at this point. She wouldn’t be able to utilize this weakness and never again would she even get a chance to strike again. Gavinrad took a step back and with a gracious wave, absorbed his former comrade’s attack completely. He decided against wasting more time and immediately created a massive vortex of purple and dark around himself, a twisted remainder of his past skills. Many had feared Gavrinrad for the mere brute force of his attacks and for the onslaught of the Light which followed in his wake. For a brief moment, Veria feared this would be it but suddenly she remembered something of great importance.
One orc had managed to catch Gavinrad off-guard by mere brute force and complete disregard for his own health. Even if the paladin created havoc and death around himself, the attacker himself was far from invulnerable. With a sickening feeling, she restarted her advance towards Gavinrad and before long, the endless flurry of dark power started ripping her body apart. Each second felt like her very soul was being torn from her living body but at this point, there was no turning back. In the middle of the raging storm, Gavinrad’s defiled features could be seen and Veria knew this was her moment to act. With a desperate leap, she jumped forward and simultaneously cast a brief judgement towards his leg. In a moment of shock and surprise, Gavinrad looked in disbelief as Veria’s blade sank into his stomach and his leg suddenly started to burn with the familiar yet torturing holy power. However, the fallen knight was far from done. The reinforced hold of the Light in him and his terrible injury could very well prove to be his end but Veria would pay very dearly for it.
“You did well, my old comrade, but each victory has its cost! Perhaps now you’ll see that my power is superior to yours!” The knight cried as he suddenly drew his hammer and pulled Veria closer with a hand of darkness and with a terrifying strength, the former paladin’s weapon collided with Veria’s head before she could even raise her finger to try to prevent his hit. The only thing she could do anymore was to feel the mass of iron crush every last bit of her teeth and the rest of her lower skull. Veria tried to take a few steps back in shock but Gavinrad had her in his grip. The fight was over and the warrior of the Scourge was victorious. The death knight smiled slightly as he raised his hammer again and this time directed it towards Veria’s chest, willing to end this charade once and for all.
“This is the end of the road, Veria. Maybe we’ll serve side by side soon enough again.” He said as he looked at his hammer obliterate his opponent’s ribs and also crush her heart like it was nothing more than a rotten apple. However, the ecstasy of his victory also made Gavinrad commit his final mistake: less than one second before the final hit, Veria managed to do a last, desperate effort to make this duel end at least in a duel. She looked with fading appreciation as she looked at Gavinrad glance at his own chest in disbelief, knowing she had completed her duty in full. She would have said a few final words if her destroyed mouth had only allowed it. With one, last gulp of her own blood, Veria fell into the ground, soon to be followed by the remains of the man who had once been Gavinrad the Dire.
Another of Osran’s closest comrades have fallen in the fields of glory but Veria’s sacrifice cleared the way for a breakthrough towards the Scarlet Bastion. Elsewhere, the fight for Stratholme is reaching its critical point and the hour of the final reckoning is coming very quickly… In fact, this and the next chapter were supposed to be a one installment but their massive length made me cut this part in two. Because of that, I have much of the next chapter already finished. I apologize for the delay but I had a really rough June and even now, my pace of writing might not be as consistent as usual. I apologize for this inconvenience but I hope you all have a great week and see you next time!
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Into the Heart of Evil, Part 3
“Their numbers are endless! We have to get away from here!” Fairbanks cried in fear as he looked at the thousands upon thousands of undead swarm all around him. This ambush had been a complete surprise but even more shocking were the mere numbers of the attackers. The Scourge had apparently hidden most of their forces in order to cause their enemies to drop at least some of their vigilance. The Highlord frowned as he looked at the approaching enemies and he knew his friend was correct. But all avenues of escape were blocked by dozens of enemy lines and not he could attempt such a feat without getting gutted by the enemy. And what was worse, his troops apparently fought with all their vigor to reach him but that attempt would certainly end in a failure. With a sickened feeling, he cried to the rest of the crusaders.
“Escape from Naxxramas! We’ll find our way out of here somehow!” He cried to them hoping they’d listen to him. At first, they seemed to hesitate and one of them even called back to their leader.
“We’ll never leave without you, Highlord Mograine! We’ll get…” He started but the Ashbringer cried with a far sterner voice to the younger knight.
“Go, now! The Crusade’s future is our greatest concern and we cannot let the Light’s banner fall because you cannot follow simple orders!” He cried and nodded in approval as Carlin Redpath and the others slowly moved to leave for the fearsome battleground below them. Fairbanks burned another enemy and then whispered to his old friend, clear sorrow apparent in his weary voice.
“You did well, Alexandros. It has truly been an honor to stand by your side all these years.” The cleric sighed as he prepared for the inevitable. He had stood by the Ashbringer’s side through many desperate situations but this truly seemed like a nightmare without any escape. Surrounded in one of Naxxramas’ endless corridors, faced with a practically endless stream of undead. This mission had been a desperate one from the beginning but what seemed like the most distasteful think of all was that he and his comrades had been so blind. None of them had ever questioned why Kel’Thuzad had allowed his enemy this far into his very stronghold. It was all so very simple… but in the end, what other choices did the Crusaders have? The cleric’s thoughts were interrupted quickly as Alexandros cried to him.
“We’ll make it through all this, Fairbanks! Now, give these monsters h…” And immediately after he said those words, he heard a brief yelp as the slightly younger man received a wide, gaping wound to his side. Fairbanks panted as he raised his hand to summon dancing pillars of pure Light which cleared the area near him, preparing to restore his wounds before anything worse would happen. For the briefest of moments, he thought his situation was safe for but that made him all the more shocked as he felt the Light’s embrace leave his body. In a matter of a heartbeat, his sense of security turned into a mask of pure horror as he realized his ability to defend himself was stolen by some fallen mage near him. This situation wouldn’t last longer than a few seconds… but it was well long enough for Fairbanks to feel one skeleton’s sword sink into his abdomen.
The Highlord cursed as he looked at his friend and realized just how unable he was to assist Fairbanks in his hour of need. He couldn’t afford a slightest of deviations from his never-ending defense or he’d face the same fate very soon. He could only listen as Fairbanks’ breaths grew weaker and as he heard the cleric’s fight come to an early end. The situation momentarily hit Mograine like a thousand hammers: he was alone, all those he had fought for dead or running for their lives. And soon enough, the Ashbringer would fall into the hands of the Scourge because of his hubris. However, those thoughts faded as Alexandros realized something. He had come here only to buy Saidan and Abbendis the time they needed and by Uther’s beard, he’d buy them that time no matter what!
Suddenly, the Ashbringer’s glow seemed to intensify as the memory of what he stood returned to his mind. Gavinrad, Uther, Turalyon, Renault, Fairbanks… all of those brave heroes knew what they had stood for and the legendary arm of the Silver Hand wouldn’t let their cause down. He’d take these monsters down one by one and only the Light knew how this struggle would end.
The fight stretched on and on as the long, bearded man taking down hundreds if not thousands of enemies, burning their unholy remains into oblivion. Not once did the lone crusader make a mistake or even thought of faltering in his quest. Minutes upon minutes passed with the Ashbringer holding his ground with very minor injuries. To any observer, the paladin would have resembled a cliff of righteousness which was constantly battered by waves of a dark, insidious sea. Any second it seemed like he would be overcome by the waves of ghouls but… he didn’t. One after another, he fought off any who tried to attack him as he had done for many decades. Be it orcs, demons, furbolgs or these cursed undead, his duty was only to the Light and king. After Elena and Renault had gone to their final prize, he’d make this world slightly more worthy for his last son, even if he’d have to pay for it with his blood.
Slowly but surely, weariness fought its way into the lone warrior’s limbs, slowing his efforts more and more as the numbers of the enemy also started to dwindle. From the corner of his exhausted eyes, Alexandros noticed to his amazement that he was facing only five more of the monstrosities. Certainly… he’d be able to beat them after… after all this. The elder Mograine struggled to stay on his feet as he did his best to direct his sword towards the remaining ghouls, the Ashbringer doing its best to give its holy strength to its wielder. Guided only by his many years of experience and faith, the Highlord sliced the head of last of the ghouls from the monster’s shoulders. He was alone, surrounded by a vast sea of fallen undead. Kel’Thuzad had sent his all to take Alexandros down… and failed.
The paladin suddenly collapsed to the ground, completely fatigued by the display of heroism that would the subject of legends for years to come. Now, all that remained was to find Fairbanks and see if there was anything he…
“Bravo, father. I never expected you to beat all of them on your own but here we are.” A voice suddenly called from the darkness, a voice that the Highlord knew more than well. Chills crept down his spine as the form of a young crusader appeared from the shadows of the corridor. As he slowly approached, the paladin’s eyes confirmed what his ears had told him. A symphony of hope and despair rose within Alexandros’ chest as he answered to his son.
“I… I heard you fell against the Scourge, Renault! H… how?” He asked as he slowly rose back to his feet, willing to preserve his authority even now. Yet, his wavering composure and fatigued movements ended those attempts completely and Renault didn’t even slow down as he answered.
“Because I’m twice the knight any of the others will ever be! At least I’ll soon be. You taught me well, father, about the ways of the Light but you did one, bad mistakes. Your will to always favor Darion over me, no matter how much powerful I was is going to be your downfall! You tried to lock me in that Monastery while paving the way for Darion to become a Highlord after you. Luckily, that won’t happen now.” He said as he picked Ashbringer up from the ground, his father too stunned and exhausted to oppose him. Had Renault really harbored this hatred for him all his life? It was true he had often seen Darion as his heir but in the end, Renault’s lust for power had always been far superior to that of his older brother’s but he had never just realized the depth of his mistake. And now it was too late to help it anymore: he briefly tried to cast a quick judgement against Renault but his pitiful effort was easily repelled by the young man.
All the most famed fighter in Azeroth could do was watch as his son grabbed him from his chest and slowly pulled him to a straight position and after a few seconds, he prepared to sink the Ashbringer into its own master’s heart. The father and son’s eye contact remained unbroken as streams of blood slowly started to flow from Alexandros’ mouth, his eyes pleading a question to only one question: “why”? And the only answer he received was a simple one, only highlighting the overall disdain his eldest son carried towards him.
“Because the Grand Crusader demands it. Sleep well, father, and know that the next Highlord will be one worthy of his title!” He said when his father cried in pain as his heart was impaled by the holiest of blades, its sacred anger biting deeply into him. The Highlord’s cries would have horrified anyone who heard them but the treacherous paladin had something even more urgent to think. The second the Ashbringer penetrated its master’s heart, it began to twitch and shudder as if the weapon itself was revulsed by its wielder’s deed.
After a moment, the shudder eased which brought Renault some relief but immediately afterwards, something happened that caught him completely off-guard. The weapon’s perfectly bright light started to suddenly crack, as if its rays had been cut in half by a knife. However, those new tears were far from empty as green and dark clouds started to rise from them. Slowly but surely, they spread further into the areas of the weapon that were still unaffected by the terrifying light that seemed to be stemming from the very depths of the legendary sword. However, Renault wasn’t about to let his prize, not after dreaming of it all his life.
Still, he could do little more than watch as the Ashbringer slowly turned black, some lines of green the only patches of color still left in the ruined blade. As the sinister transformation, a smile appeared quickly on Renault’s face. He had done it! He had managed to win the Ashbringer for himself and he had been strong enough to withstand its final test! The young man barely managed to control his excitement as he raised the blade and prepared to channel his strength into it, expecting a ray of brilliant radiance light the dark corridor. To Renault’s shock, none ever came. He looked at the sword with an asking look but decided to shrug it away as some kind of temporary problem.
Again, the younger Mograine attempted to replicate the many great techniques his father had mastered but no matter what he did, the Ashbringer stayed silent. As time passed, Renault grew increasingly annoyed by his new prize, not understanding in the least why it didn’t heed his calls.
Obey me, you worthless piece of shit! I won you fairly and it is your duty to act as an extension of my own arm! Do it!
Renault thought in deep anger and tried to at least wave the sword properly but to his shock, the sword didn’t seem to respond to the movement of his muscles in any way. Rather, it quickly turned around and before Renault managed to do anything, it hit his side with a terrifying force, finally prompting the young paladin to drop the weapon into the ground. What was happening? It was as if the weapon he had been born to carry was turning against him and there was nothing he could do with the mightiest weapon in all of Azeroth. The dream of his life lied before him but because of some sick twist of fate, his prize had been robbed from him! His benefactor had promised him the Ashbringer and…
Suddenly, Renault noticed a corpse of one of the countless ghouls fall down the mountain of fallen undead, immediately stealing the paladin’s attention. He narrowed his eyes and started to head towards that spot to check what was going on… until he saw a huge force of energy fly from the corridor right towards him! Or rather, the spot where his father had fallen! Renault looked in fear as it started to whirl around the corpse of the his father and at that moment, Renault knew his time was up. He looked at the Ashbringer for the last time but even if he knew he couldn’t wield it, being forced to abandon his dream like this hurt him without an end but he had no choice. He’d rejoin the Crusade and find a way to claim the Ashbringer for himself even in its current state. The young man quickly left the scene as the paladin who had once been the Highlord of the Scarlet Crusade once again rose to his feet.
“Don’t let the bastards any closer! We won’t allow them steal the Elder’s Square from us!” The worried voice of Baron Rivendare called as he looked at the mass of the crusaders close in on his troops. Not in his worst fears had he thought that the living would ever again stand on the brink of winning back Stratholme from the forces of the Lich King. They had advanced far too quickly for the Scourge to be able to even have a chance of using their numerical advantage in this fight. If he wouldn’t receive any help from Kel’Thuzad soon enough, he and the Scourge in the entire eastern Stratholme would be done for.
Osran, on the other hand, felt younger than he had in years. The chapel’s blessed form loomed over the advancing crusaders and at this point, nothing would rob victory from the Crusade. The attackers fought like one, each of them subconsciously protecting each other while forever marching forward towards their victory. After the necromancers had been dealt with, the Scourge were doomed to a slow but sure defeat and each and every one of the knights knew the hour of their greatest victory was at hand.
None of the glory of this jour was lost on the High General either as took pride in the fact that, once again, his plan had been a grand success and that he had managed to lead his faithful soldiers to victory. The Flame of Alonsus was the key to the final victory over the Scourge and in a sense, this was only the stepping stone for a greater prize. Baron Rivendare’s clear fear only underlined the thing everyone present could see: the Scourge was on the verge of its final collapse. Abbendis hit an attacking gargoyle with his sword, sending it drop to the ground with a crushing force. Immediately after it, he raised his voice and pointed his sword towards the Chapel.
“Tear down the door and take what is ours! Do it and…” Abbendis’ cry was cut short as a loud horn suddenly called from the King’s Square. It was a horn of the Crusade but it was supposed to be used only in times of utmost alarm. What could have prompted them to sound it now, especially as the Square had been cleared a long time ago? None of it seemed to make sense and the High General was about to shake it off as some kind of mistake or overreaction. Surely, it was of little consequence in relation…
“Flee, all of you! We have to get out of here before we’re all crushed under their shadow!” A voice called far from the gate into the Square, about a dozen other knights on his trail. Immediately, they headed towards the high General who everybody could recognize due to his exquisite armor and position at the army’s head. Abbendis looked at the newcomers in annoyance but decided to allow them an audience even in this situation. He took a stern look and immediately asked the first speaker in a serious voice.
“Do you have some kind of backing for your ludicrous demand, crusader? Nothing would justify aband…” He spoke but immediately one of the terrified knights spoke to him, fear dipping from his very voice. Even the High General was slight taken aback by his expression but he let none of it show. There were very few things that shocked him and he despised any of his comrades who let themselves become completely overrun by unreasonable emotions like fear. However, what he heard next immediately brought up one of the very few concerns he had had in this battle.
“It… it’s the Ashbringer, my lord! It has been reborn and it is going to destroy us all!” An old man called and immediately one of the others whispered in a horrified voice.
“It… it drains anyone it hits dry, it is only a harbinger of pain and death anymore!”
Additional murmurs escaped from the lips of the other knights but before the situation could descend into a total chaos, Abbendis raised his voice and drew his sword to ensure total silence among the knights.
“Where did this all happen? Where is the Highlord and how is the group headed for the Bastion? Speak quickly and clearly or I’ll make sure this is the last time you’ll ever speak!” This wasn’t the kind of language he’d usually use but he wanted quick and definitive answers in this tense and important situation. Most of the knights were too stunned to even mind this threat but finally one of them managed to force his voice down enough to sate the High General’s curiosity.
“It… it was the Highlord but… he has fallen… fallen to the Scourge.” He said, knowing that Abbendis would immediately understand the implications. Abbendis looked at him in shock, his worst fears being realized under his very eyes. However, he wasn’t about to accept the tale just yet. He grabbed the other man’s shoulders and stared at him in a nearly manic fashion.
“Are you sure it was him and not one of Kel’Thuzad’s tricks? Mograine is far too powerful to be killed by rabble such as the Scourge!” He cried, cursing in his mind both the fallen Ashbringer for his stupidity and Dathrohan for his acceptance for such a ridiculous quest. He had already resigned to the obvious truth when he finally received an answer.
“Yes, my lord. But his sword has turned black and green and the perfect sphere is now a skull… the Ashbringer itself is tainted by the Scourge!” The man nearly cried as he spoke, the legendary sword meaning as much to him as it did to everybody else and the thought that it had been turned against him was a terrifying one. Abbendis turned his gaze towards the gate, knowing that time was off the essence. Alexandros wouldn’t turn the tide of the battle by himself but the Crusade’s failure at Naxxramas as well as the collapse of the knights’ morale very well might. Yet, there was only one thing left for him to do. He turned to his followers and cried to them loudly.
“Then head for the Flame, all of you! Time is off the essence!” He cried in rising fear, not even willing to consider this development’s implications just yet. Not to even mention that the general himself had respected, even liked the Highlord during their common years of service. His loss was a massive loss for the entire order, without a doubt. Abbendis looked at his comrades beginning their attack but he was immediately interrupted again by the horrified knights.
“There’s no time, my lord! They’re heading here right now and when they do, they’ll…” He started when a low, rasping voice called behind them with a voice that dipped with mockery.
“Me guess ye lads really thought ye really thought we we’re on the run, didn’t ye? Well, the show’s o’er now, ye living bastards!” The paladins turned to look at the speaker and to their immediate fear, a group of riders were entering the Square from the Festival Lane, each of them reeking with the Lich King’s taint. The speaker was clearly a dwarf and behind him rode a white-armored knight who nearly resembled the paladin he had most likely been in life. Behind him was a hooded woman and… and behind him was a form that stole everybody’s attention fully. Gone was his noble steed and Light-infused armor as well as his strong features but it was clear to everyone who stood before them. Each of them felt their hearts drop as he prepared to put his hand on his scabbard but before that, he answered to the dwarf, his voice a cold, emotionless shadow of his old one.
“Stop the jabbering and act, Korth’azz! We must surround and crush the enemy, now! They’re searching for the Flame of Alonsus which is too powerful for even us to stand against!” He cried, looking in deep hate at the knights who had only a short while ago been his comrades. For some reason, he had himself believed the Scourge should and could be stopped but one by one, the armies of the Lich King would purge this world of the living once and for all. He smirked slightly as he looked at his foes cower as the Ashbringer slowly appeared from its prison, its newfound greenish light breaking their spirits completely. And soon it’d grow only worse: even in death, he was the Ashbringer and the Ashbringer was him and no power in the world could stand against them in this world or the next. Another of the knights spoke to him immediately while preparing for the inevitable charge.
“Of course, lord Mograine! Let us prove Kel’Thuzad our full worth here and now! Death to the living!” She cried as she ordered her steed to begin its gallop. The skeletal steed moved faster than any of its living counterparts and none of the arrows seemed to hinder neither it nor its rider. Alexandros immediately followed her example and headed straight towards the Chapel’s entrance. Once he could ensure that none of the crusaders reached the Flame, the fight was as good as over. And he knew just the right minion to do his bidding during these few, decisive seconds…
Suddenly, Baron Rivendare’s head seemed to explode as a stream of urgent commands reached his consciousness. He was already battered and broken but he was needed for one, final confrontation that would be the difference between victory and defeat. The death knight crushed another ghoul near him to heal at least some of his wounds and immediately afterwards headed towards the Chapel, all the while hiding behind his countless underlings. If he was quick enough, he could save himself from Kel’Thuzad’s wrath. The fallen noble looked at the knights barraging forward like a rabid horde of dogs but even faster were approaching the forms of four riders, the mere sight of their forms instilling their cold grip into the hearts of those men and women who were laying down their very lives to keep their dream alive. Rivendare looked at the door to the Chapel, hoping beyond hope he could reach it before the first human could. Maybe, just maybe, he could save the Scourge from a crushing defeat.
A frenzied glare was forming into the High General’s face as he frantically cut down one enemy after another. Whether it was a ghoul, abomination or even one of the countless swarming gargoyles, they fell before the despairing general like they were mere furbolg cubs. Surely, he would reach the Flame and then, everything would be well again. it would only take a few seconds, a few, pathetic seconds… He looked in anticipation as his foot stepped on first of the steps of the chapel. In his moment of triumph, he waved his sword towards a massive abomination, expecting to hear the sweet sound of slicing flesh but in its stead, he heard a surprising clank as his own blade met another one, saving the undead for a moment. Abbendis looked around himself in bewilderment, looking who had prevented his kill and when he did, his muscles only tensed further as he saw the face of Baron Rivendare once again before him.
“You again? Get out of my way or fall! I’ll beat any slave of the Scourge into a thousand cursed bits if I have to!” He said, immediately beginning to batter the fallen noble with his full strength and skill. He knew Rivendare was a skilled swordsman but he’d have to win this fight quickly or else the battle was all but lost.
Rivendare, on the other hand, cowered before his opponent but he took deep relief in the knowledge that his enemy’s struggle only underlined his desperation further. And sure enough, his efforts to outpower the baron certainly weren’t working as hurried attacks like those always left a vigilant fighter room to flee to. The death knight decided to stop the fight further and locked Abbendis’ sword against his own while putting on a grin and whispering to the High General in a soft voice.
“Can’t you see it’s already over, Abbendis? A leader of your stature should know when a battle is truly lost.” He said before Abbendis forced the brief confrontation to end. In the back of his mind, he knew his opponent was right but he simply couldn’t be! If he gave up here, all would have been nothing and the Crusade would never get another chance to mount this offensive. He merely shrugged those thoughts of and once again, resumed his offensive against the death knight who symbolized everything that had gone wrong for
the Crusade in these few minutes. He immediately moved forward and landed another crushing blow.
“You’ll burn in hell for this, Rivendare! I’ll make sure of it!” He said while suddenly grabbing Rivendare’s head with a quick move. However, just before the High General was about finish the fight, the fallen noble blocked the attack and once again locked the fight and looked expectantly at the development of the fight as a whole.
Osran wasn’t a knight to be overwhelmed easily but right now, it took all of his willpower to avoid turning around and running for his life. The sight of the massive burning steed before it and its maddened eyes seemed to bore into his very soul and even if he could catch only glimpses of its rider, the knight’s knew that all was lost. With the very same vigor he had shown in life, the former Highlord Mograine crushed his enemies one by one. An aura of cursed flame seemed to surround the death knight which burned into the very flesh of those trying to against him. Whenever anyone tried to land a hit on the undead knight, the Ashbringer was there to steal the life of anyone foolish enough to attempt to stand against the man who had only this very morning been the greatest champion of the Light.
Even the aging paladin looked in fear as Alexandros and his new comrades rode forward like a wave of death, the Horsemen running over each and every one of the defenders.
Their powers were beyond any comprehension and even the Grand Crusader would have struggled to hold his ground against these knights. Osran suddenly formed a mighty hammer in his hand, hoping to use it to deter the former paladin at least for a short while. To his utmost surprise, it did land just under Alexandros’ chest and at that moment, everything seemed to stop. The crusaders stopped their attacks as they looked at the death knight turning his look on the one who had been the first one to truly land an attack on him. Only then did Osran realize the depth of his mistake as he saw the flaming, skeletal horse slowly approach him. He couldn’t attack, he couldn’t run: it was as if the paladin was completely petrified, completely unable to end for the reckoning that was about to fall upon him.
However, the sudden coup de grace never came. Alexandros stopped just before Osran and spoke to the paladin, none of the others daring to earn the wrath of the Ashbringer. The knight stared in horror as Alexandros’ dim, dead eyes looked at him and as the twisted voice of the noble defender of Lordaeron flowed from Mograine’s throat.
“I see your faith and your zeal, Osran Lowriver. I always took great interest in your actions even if we never had the privilege to meet before. I can see you continue to surprise me even now.” Alexandros said which prompted a look of surprise from Osran. Had the Highlord really noticed him during the past months? It mattered little anymore but the aging man was relieved to hear many had taken note of his selfless acts. However, no death knight wouldn’t only come to congratulate his enemy. Osran knew the danger he was in and knew what he’d have to do.
“Unfortunately, it’s all too late for you now. You were always the best of us and I ask of you Alexandros, show us you’re stronger than those bastards’ spell! If any…” He began but Alexandros quickly took a sad smile and answered to the younger man in an almost apologizing voice.
“The lesser me would have done so too but I will not pass from this world until I’ll achieve the one thing I fight for. If I need the Scourge’s help for it, I’ll get it but until the greatest injustice of all has been repaid, I will not rest.” He said as he slowly to Osran’s side. The knight knew he shouldn’t have bothered to waste his time with a servant of the Lich King but something in the fallen Highlord’s voice bothered him greatly. Still, he answered sternly.
“That’s complete nonsense and you know it! No outrage can ever be worse than Arthas impaling his father and bringing this kingdom to ruin! You…” Osran tried to speak but the death knight quickly cut his comment short. The rides dead eyes seemed to see straight into Osran’s eyes whose entire line of vision seemed to slowly be filled by the former Highlord’s visage which haunted the paladin without end. When he spoke, Osran could only listen as if his own will had been drained from his mind, Alexandros’ cold and bitter voice only making the situation more terrifying.
“You know very little of it all, Lowriver. Arthas’ attack was a betrayal but he served at least someone who could forge a way into the future whereas the entire resistance to the Lich King is built upon a lie. A lie I didn’t see myself until it was all too late! The Crusade is pure no longer, Osran, if it ever was. And I’ll make sure you’ll learn the truth before it is too late for all of us…” Osran struggled in horror as he looked the death knight draw his legendary sword from its scabbard. The crusader did his best to resist but suddenly the flames dancing around the horrifying steed before him seemed to engulf the Crimson Legionary fully. Just as he was seeing the Ashbringer fall upon himself, Osran’s mental prison was suddenly ended by a mighty flash of light as well as a loud cry.
“Step back, fiend! You won’t win here!” A young voice said and Osran was completely flabbergasted as he heard a voice he’d knew anywhere. As he felt his hands once again close around his faithful sword, he turned to look as Eneath hit the fallen Highlord with full force, staring in awe as his nephew sent Alexandros’ hand flying towards the ground, ending each and any hopes he had of finishing Osran here and now. All of the crusaders looked in awe as the Ashbringer hit the ground, the clinging sound sounding above all the sounds of battle. The elder Mograine stared in shock at this surprising development, not expecting this kind of turn events anymore. Not only had his attack been halted but his beloved weapon had also been taken from him! Knowing that each of his enemies would want to claim the sword back for the Light, the death knight did the only thing he could in this chaotic situation.
Eneath suddenly headed for the Ashbringer, hoping to use it to end this once and for all. Its transformation horrified him greatly but even then, there was no choice. The famed blade’s powers were still unsurpassed by anyone in this battle and if he could turn it against its wielder, his victory would be absolute. He quickly formed an impenetrable armor of Light around himself to nullify any of Alexandros’ tricks and with a frantic leap, leaped towards the Ashbringer that lay in the ground.
However, that proved to be a terrible mistake. A whirlpool of shadow suddenly formed around him but Eneath knew his shield would protect him from the mysterious attack. But it took only a second to realize that that knowledge had been false. So very quickly, he felt his shield slowly being ripped apart by the shadows, as if the fallen Highlord was literally demolishing it. Even worse, the blackness prevented him from seeing forward even half a meter. Almost instantly, Eneath realized he had been tricked but he concentrated all of his power of trying to contain his body together through this ordeal. On the last second before the fatigue would have grown through large for him, the young man jumped from the dark cloud, just in time to see the death knight raise his sword again, ready to once again sow death and destruction around him.
It was at this moment that Osran knew that everything was lost. Alexandros was far from invincible but his comrades and the regrouping horde of the undead were something against which there was no victory. After seeing that Eneath was alright, the knight suddenly turned around and started to run towards Abbendis, knowing that if he’d listen to listen to anyone in this hour, it would be him despite his hostility before the battle. The fate of these knight were now in Abbendis’ hands: they’d live or die only according to the whims of this one man.
A feverish despair guided Abbendis’ thoughts as he tried to break the deadlock his duel against the former noble had become. Rivendare had proven to be every last bit worthy of his reputation as a swordsman which caused Abbendis to frown in utter fear. His opponent fought with the same vigor he did and he made no mistakes, being equally committed to keep the High General out of the Chapel as Abbendis was to enter it. The latter attempted to once again gain the initiative when he heard a cry behind him.
“The High General! Give us the order to retreat or we’ll all be crushed!” The knight cried to his superior, hoping against hope that he’d see reason and listen to his advice. Abbendis quickly parried another hit from his opponent before shouting to the lower-ranked crusader.
“Rejoin the fight, fool, or I’ll make sure you’ll face the consequences later!” He cried, completely resigned to the thought that he’d fight to his last breath if it meant keeping the hope of winning the battle alive. Osran, however, moved closer to the General and tried again, looking in horror as the Horsemen cut down the knights with a horrifying speed.
“Can’t you see it, Abbendis? This fight is already lost! Any moment we hesitate here only kills more of our own and only you can end the carnage! I beg you, High General and give us the order to flee!” Osran cried while joining Abbendis in his fight against Rivendare. Even the two of them weren’t enough to crush the fallen noble but at least he’d have an easier time getting to the General this way. However, the latter seemed to pay little heed to Osran’s warnings and his answer was only more annoyed than last time.
“Never! This is our chance to earn the decisive victory and this is an opportunity that’ll never repeat itself! Help me get through or leave this instant!” Abbendis cried, his entire mind fixed on the one thought of crushing his opponent once and for all. However, it was at this moment that Osran knew that it was his time to act.
With a quick move, the knight prevented Rivendare from attacking with a field of pure Light and used this time to finally make his move. Suddenly, he turned around and kicked Abbendis in his leg, taking the officer completely by surprise. Before he could do anything to stop it, Abbendis fell to the ground into the Chapel’s stairs, rolling all the way down them. He panted in shock and outrage before he rose up and faced the onslaught of the Horsemen, only now being forced to witness the death and destruction that was so prevalent around him. The sight of the powerful servants of the Lich King sowing their horrifying power everywhere around them and his paladins’ inability to stop them made something change within the High General and he couldn’t help but admit to himself that this battle had been lost once and for all. Immediately, he forgot everything about Osran and with a shudder of shock, the General rose to his feet and cried with a loud roar.
“Quickly, move to the Main Gate! We have to run, now, if we are to survive through this!” He called with all might while beginning to slowly back down from Rivendare with Osran. The former noble, however, wasn’t about to let his opponents leave like this, knowing the initiative had been given to him. He raised his famed runeblade upwards and he then sent a large bolt of power towards Abbendis. The High General managed to mitigate the damage caused by the spell but Rivendare had managed to re-engage him in a frenzied melee.
“It’s all over, High General! None of you will leave this place without carrying the glorious mark of the Lich King! Lay down your arms and I’ll even now make your death mostly painless!” He cried, reveling in the Scourge’s triumph. However, Abbendis knew time was off the essence and he suddenly cast mighty storm of light around himself and then hit his opponent with a bolt of holy strength which resembled a powerful hammer. Abbendis answered to the death knight’s words briefly before utilizing the few seconds his hammer had bought.
“You will go down one day, Rivendare! Don’t think of this as anything more than a temporary victory!” He said while quickly running down the stairs to join his comrades who were struggling to stay orderly while trying to back down towards the gate. All of them were completely shaken by the Horsemen’s attack and Abbendis knew this escape would require all his forces’ concentration. The crusaders had barely half of those paladins left who had entered the city and even those numbers were quickly getting worse by the minute. He cursed that the Southern Gate had been locked but it was no use complaining about the things you couldn’t change, especially on times like these.
A despair like he hadn’t known in years was making itself known in Osran’s mind as he continued the fight, hoping beyond hope that he’d live through this nightmarish battle. He had survived from a confrontation with Alexandros but most of his comrades weren’t so lucky. Even now, the four death knights attempted to block the way back to the Festival Lane and it would take the lives of many crusaders if the rest were planning to ever fight their way out of this cursed city. Osran once again cut down another ghoul but the magic of the Scourge brought them into life immediately. The paladin’s eyes locked onto the white-armored Horseman as his hesitancy to fight was more than clear. It was as if he had preserved his old mind through the Lich King’s hellish schemes which truly signified that this man could be none other than Sir Zeliek, one of the paladins who had accompanied Arthas on his way to Northrend and back to Lordaeron. He had made a name for himself with his unbreakable faith and hopeful and reassuring approach to whatever battle he was preparing for. His fate had been a mystery for years and Osran now hoped Zeliek’s whereabouts would have stayed that way. He had never met the knight himself but the word had circled quickly in the Silver Hand about those who had done something worth remembering.
And if Zeliek truly was as strong a mind as he had been told, maybe he could be made to help the crusaders even for a brief moment. He turned to face the white-armored knight and cried to him with a loud voice.
“Zeliek, you can fight it in the Light’s name! Don’t you remember how you stood against a horde of abominations with your legs buried in snow to save your comrades from certain deaths? Don’t you remember how you helped repel the Scourge’s attack on Brill? I’ve heard many times about you, Zeliek, and I know how powerful a paladin you used to be! And even now, I see you can resist Arthas’ evil! Fight him off from your mind, for the memory of king Terenas!” Osran cried with a pleading voice, catching Zeliek’s attention immediately. A mournful expression formed under the knight’s helmet as he looked at the paladin who had called him by his name. Of course, he remembered those fights but it mattered little as he couldn’t bring his mind to relive them properly. He knew that what he was doing was wrong but the magic of the Scourge prevented him from doing anything about it. The looked at Osran pleadingly before giving his answer.
“The Scourge’s power is far greater than you know, brave knight! The only way to be spared from it is to escape as far as you can!” He cried, the torment and anguish more than apparent in his voice. However, he continued his fight as Alexandros cried to him, his voice dipping with anger.
“Stop the whining, fool! Our king’s order is supreme and we have to crush our enemies here! So save us from your rubbish, Zeliek!” The former Highlord called, making Zeliek turn back to his task at hand. Osran, however, decided against giving up just yet.
“I know you want to fight it! Few were ever as strong in their trust in the Light and even now,…” He began but quickly, another voice cut the paladin short.
“Spare it, Lowriver! While he may have once been a man of the Light, we both know no one is able to break the hold of undeath! No matter what, he has to be returned to his grave, now!” The speaker was Harthal who used Zeliek’s confusion to his advantage and sent another judgement upon the death knight before he got the chance to do anything about it. That spell caught the fallen paladin off-guard and he was quickly pulled off from his saddle and a loud voice could be heard as he hit the cobblestoned street. The lord paladin wasted no time heading towards the white-colored undead knight and used all his power to prevent him from rising up again. However, once again, he underestimated the strength of a death knight of the Scourge.
Even if he would have preferred to die at the hands of these brave knights, sir Zeliek’s mind wasted no time preparing his counterattack. He nearly pitied the Lord Paladin’s efforts to keep him down as the dark power of the Scourge suddenly filled the air around him. Harthal’s light seemed to be completely eaten by the dark, greenish cloud which formed around the death knight, making his armor look like a distant light surrounded by a misty night. The paladin looked at the sight in utter horror, astonished by how easily and totally his efforts had been nullified. Slowly, Zeliek walked towards him and Harthal was already preparing for his inevitable end. However, it wasn’t about to be his lot in this battle.
Even in the middle of this hell, Abbendis saw the death knight’s horrific display of power and the lord paladin’s efforts to stop it. The High General was taken aback by that sight but he decided this was his chance to give his troops the courage they needed to get out of this slaughterhouse. He suddenly started to run towards the death knight, looking at Harthal’s desperate efforts to give his foe in bay. Zeliek paid no real attention to the fight around him as he knew few would ever dare to challenge him directly. However, he still wasn’t careless enough to allow the Crusade’s general rush him down as amateurishly as he attempted to. The death knight only raised his right hand and cat a wall of shadow to keep him at bay for long enough. But it was after that mistake when Zeliek realized he had overlooked a clear threat to him.
Abbendis’ face hardly twitched as the burning shadow engulfed him, dedication to win far overshadowing the pain. The injuries added on his previous ones but yet, Abbendis knew this attack was essential to rebuilding the crusaders’ trust in themselves. Zeliek had time to only turn around before Abbendis sank his sword into the knight’s chest, making nearly all those around him gasp in astonishment. Yet, the High General’s victory wasn’t nearly as complete as he had initially believed. He had no way of reading his expression but inside his white helmet, only a lack of expression could be seen. Suddenly, streams of red energy emerged from Zeliek’s hands which then moved towards Abbendis, turning his victory into a horrific realization. The death knight was using his power to make up for his mortal wound, in effect making Abbendis stab himself. But he couldn’t even back down as in that case, Zeliek would hold the decisive advantage. But to his luck, one paladin wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
Osran cursed internally as he saw Zeliek turning the tables on Abbendis and he knew he had but one option now. He wasn’t near enough to hit the death knight but he a massive exorcism upon the fallen knight, knowing it would be powerful enough to interrupt the fiend’s spell for at least a brief moment. Zeliek took a brief look at the paladin and even now, attempted to keep his spell intact. However, neither did Osran give up his attack and after a short while, Zeliek felt his grip on his counterattack failing. The knight gritted his teeth in complete annoyance but his injury prevented him from fighting back with all his might.
The High General panted in utter surprise but he also knew that he’d have to act before anything worse happened. He immediately thrust his sword towards his opponent and avoided Zeliek’s attempt to strike him back with ease. The knight had been a powerful paladin in his day but his command of the Light had been his forte rather than pure mastery of the sword which was something Abbendis truly excelled at. Zeliek could only watch as Abbendis made another, even more terrifying wound to his upper chest. After a few moments of wavering, Zeliek fell backwards, his temporary fall freezing the battleground completely. There was one less death knight blocking the crusaders’ escape now and most importantly, they had been shown that their death were not inevitable.
That display of courage was one that astonished Eneath without an end. He knew the stories of Abbendis’ deeds but it was a completely different thing to witness a man of legend this near to him. However, he knew there was no time to waste if he ever wanted to get out of her alive. The rest of the horsemen did their all to kill as many of the living as possible but the three of them were not able to stop hundreds of paladins from escaping. But even then, Eneath didn’t have any illusions about what this battle meant. The Crusade had failed to secure the Flame and along with it, all hopes of securing either Stratholme or Naxxramas were in shambles. And worst of all, the Highlord and countless other brave knights of the Light were gone, their strength instead serving the Scourge now. Even if the remaining paladins managed to escape from here, even the young paladin knew this was the turning point of the entire war.
That thought both saddened and infuriated him as he fought his way towards the Festival Lane, cursing in his mind that it would end like this. So many hopes had been placed on this one battle… which was a complete disaster. All that remained was a fight to try to stem the advance of the Scourge and hope that one day, the crusade could again be powerful enough to take its revenge. However, soon enough the young paladin’s thoughts were interrupted by the Horsemen’s effort to buy them the complete, total victory in this cursed city. A massive wall of solid energy blocked the knights’ escape and the troops’ confusion nearly turned into an all-out panic. Eneath turned around in fear as he heard Alexandros’ voice call to the enemies of the Scourge.
“Fight your battles to the end, you sorry excuses for paladins! The eyes of Kel’Thuzad are upon us and he deserves better than to know he has fought against spineless cowards all these years!” The former Highlord called to those he had only a short while earlier called his comrades. Rivendare had joined the side of the three death knights and in due time, a complete annihilation would be the only thing that waited the knights in this cursed place. Abbendis, however, wasn’t in any ways taken aback by this development as he knew the Crusade’s survival was within his hands. He cried with all his might, before rallying his soldiers to his side.
“All of the magi, destroy that cursed wall! The rest of you, protect them with your lives! The Crusade lives as long as we still believe in the victory in our hearts!” He cried, happy to see that most of the magi were still alive. The Crusade didn’t take too many of them to their ranks but they were completely invaluable in fighting against the enemy’s spells. The surviving paladins also did as they were told and formed a ring around the spellcasters, knowing this is where they’d make their stand. Yet, only few of them how difficult it was for the magi to fight against a spell this powerful which was most likely a blessing for them at this point.
The sight the Horsemen was a horrifying one for any of the living but they also knew there was no escape from this hell. Either they’d fall valiantly in battle of they’d be crushed to death like a herd of crazed animals. The Horsemen’s charge was a brutal one but still the crusaders’ lines didn’t seem to waver in the least. A knight upon knight fell but also the wall was growing weaker by the second. Abbendis fought like never before as he attempted to buy as much time for the magi and soon enough, he could see the wall crumbling altogether. He then cried to his troops as loudly as he could.
“Run for the gates as soon as you can! I and Lord Paladin Truesight will secure your rear! Now, go!” Abbendis cried as the crusaders began their escape in full swing. None of the paladins wasted time trying to get away from Stratholme as quickly as possible. Osran looked at the High General in concern, knowing that keeping the undead and Horsemen at bay on their own was a terrifying challenge. Still, the High General had chosen to rely on himself and Harthal to keep the enemy at bay and Osran knew as a soldier that he’d have to respect his commands. He breathed deeply as he ran through the Festival Lane, knowing that there were hundreds of undead right on his heels. All of the knights yearned for nothing more than the safety of Tyr’s Hand or Light’s Hope but still all of them knew that an orderly retreat was the only one that could offer them a way to escape. A second after second, the crusaders knew their salvation was closer but as long as the ever-burning houses loomed over them, none of the knights dared to even dream of the eventual salvation.
The Lord Paladin looked at the approaching enemies keenly, his eyes narrowing noticeably. Most men would have covered in fear in the face of the army of the undead but Harthal knew no trace of horror in his heart. He had faced more unlikely odds in Northrend and if he was to die in the defense of his dear homeland, so be it. It would be a sweet fate as opposed to dying in the icy wastes of Icecrown, especially as he checked his torch to know that he was ready to set himself in flames whenever necessary. True, he was only covering his comrades’ flight but no one could be blamed for such thoughts in the face of an enemy like this.
Yet, Harthal knew this wouldn’t be the end. The Light told him that much and as long as he’d keep his faith in himself and the High General, this battle wouldn’t end in the Crusade’s total annihilation. Just before the enemy was about to overwhelm the two, Harthal created a massive round of holy ground which would prevent the enemy from moving through it for a short while. Abbendis nodded at him in approval and simultaneously cut down a small group of skeletons attempting to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. The Crusade’s main force was already far behind the duo and they quickly retreated further towards them, hoping beyond hope the enemy wouldn’t crush their spirit before that.
One of the death knights, however, was growing increasingly restless. The dwarf turned to Alexandros and cried to him loudly, unwilling to believe these pathetic fools had resisted the might of the Scourge as long as they had.
“Stop yer hesitating, lad! We have to cut those bastards down before they get away! So lead us to the victory Kel’Thuzad promised!” The dwarf cried, earning an angered look from Alexandros. If this fool thought he knew better than him how to win this battle, he’d have to ask the lich himself why he hadn’t been chosen as the leader of the Four Horsemen. The former Highlord was beyond frustrated himself but he knew Abbendis and Harthal better than any of his new comrades. The call of Kel’Thuzad told him to crush the enemy and by the name of the Lich King, he would in due time. However, he had wanted to learn about Abbendis’ precautions before then and he cried at Korth’azz in fury as he gave his answer.
“And I will, dwarf! But only a foolish general would attack headlong without knowing his enemy’s plans at first! But the time for that has come to end now! Show them the might of the Icy North!” The elder Mograine cried as he suddenly cast forth a massive ray of the defiled, greenish Light at Harthal as he knew that without the paladin’s help, Abbendis would be easier to overwhelm. Harthal raised his hand in an effort to drain the incoming attack but he soon realized his mistake. The power of the Ashbringer was still intact and for the first time, he knew the power which had in times past left only piles and piles of burned orcs and undead behind him. The legendary sword’s might pulled him back several meters but still the Lord Paladin kept his balance.
He pulled every last inch of his strength to withstand the Ashbringer’s onslaught but he soon realized his mistake. No matter what he did, his power seemed to be drained at ever faster rates and soon enough, the Ashbringer would crush his defense completely. Abbendis was too drawn into fighting the swarming undead to help his comrade in his struggle. Harthal knew he was in a completely desperate situation but in the name of the Light, he wouldn’t give up before this mockery of Alexandros’ memory. The Highlord wouldn’t have deserved to be forced to fight against the order he and his most trusted comrades had built all their lives. Suddenly, Harthal felt his powers return and he felt like he could withstand this onslaught for a little more. However, it wasn’t even necessary.
“We have bought enough time, Truesight! Block this street and flee!” Abbendis cried as he noticed his troops closing in of the Elders’ Square. They would escape which meant that despite today’s catastrophe, the Crusade would live on. Harthal immediately cast a massive consecration in the ground before turning around and starting his flight.
The Grand Crusader looked around himself in outrage, not willing to believe his own eyes. The battle that had started so promisingly had turned into an all-out defeat and there was nothing even he could do about it anymore. His troops were dead or on the run and even worse, he was cut away from the Scarlet Bastion and its safety. Slowly, he had to accept he couldn’t fight his way back there and he gave his order after he knew all was lost.
“Head to the main gate, now! We have to get away from here!” He would have wanted to torture each of his followers to their deaths but once again, Balnazzar had to accept that such a deed would blow his cover in a matter of seconds. His own forces’ weakness and cowardliness had robbed him of his triumph which was something none of his kind could ever accept.
“We cannot flee now, Grand Crusader! We must slaughter these fiends here or now!” He heard the younger Abbendis call and it took all his willpower not to slaughter the paladin here and now. This puny human thought she could tell him what do? She was ready to question his direct orders? Balnazzar hated himself as he answered but he would have to stand these weaklings’ idiocy if he wanted to take down the Lich King once and for all.
“We have no chance, general! I would want nothing more than to finish it all here and now but we have to keep the Lightbringer and Alonsus’ dream alive! We have to make sure not to waste everything they strived for because of our inability to admit defeat! Get away from here, now!” He cried, earning a hateful look from the lower-ranked officer but Abbendis knew she had no way of trying to overlook his highest superior’s orders like this. With a deep sigh, she turned around and complied to Dathrohan’s order.
The demon felt only hate and bitterness as he ran towards the Elders’ Square, swearing that Kel’Thuzad would pay for this before this campaign was over. Another defeat had been added to his already-shameful record and he had to get his revenge in full if he ever wanted to regain his status in the Legion. After a few seconds, he saw another group of knights heading towards the Plaguewood from his left.
“The Grand Crusader! Thank the Light you’re al…” One of them started but Balnazzar had little patience for such comments anymore. He silenced the man immediately before checking that the retreat was advancing in an acceptable manner.
“Just save it, good knight! Now, head for our former camp, hurry now!” He cried as he saw first knights heading for the bridge leading out of Stratholme. He, the younger Abbendis and Valdemar moved to the main group’s rear to oversee the operation’s proceeding. It wouldn’t take long until all the crusaders had escaped to safety…
Suddenly, a massive pool of darkness appeared in the middle of the escaping knight, immediately swallowing dozens of them and preventing the rest of them from escaping. It had to be created by all four of the Horsemen as it was far more powerful and potent than any of the spells that had been seen thus far. The younger Abbendis looked at it in worry as he cried to his comrades.
“We have to get rid of it, now! But most of our magi have fallen already!” She shouted, trying to find a way to demolish this horrifying spell. Her father, who had just joined his fellow commanders, answered to his daughter, his voice starting to dip with deep fear.
“Not to even mention some of the survivors have already escaped! We should fight the Horsemen but… we can never beat them with our numbers!”
Do I really have to do all of this alone? I can’t believe Archimonde was ever beaten by these useless weaklings! It will be a blessed day when I can wipe this damned “Crusade” from the face of this world, in the name of Kil’jaeden!
Slowly and making sure that nobody saw what he was doing, small spheres of shadow appeared in the Grand Crusader’s hands and with one, small movement, Balnazzar released his spell which immediately destroyed the whole blackness blocking the street without even making a muscle twitch in its caster’s face. With a voice that was completely faked to be surprised, Balnazzar suddenly raised his hammer and cried to his troops.
“The enemy’s magic is too weak to even stay stable for one minute! Use this moment to escape, brave knights of the Scarlet Crusade!” The older Abbendis looked at Dathrohan in astonishment, momentarily wondering how calm he seemed after this miraculous salvation. However, he decided against questioning his superior now and he used this moment to escape into the defiled forest, leaving this cursed city for good. Dathrohan was the last one to leave the city as he knew that no undead, not even the Horsemen, could beat him in a place like this. He gave his command once he reached the bridge leading into the city, knowing the battle was all but over now.
“Man the barricades we created earlier! Prevent any of the monsters from leaving Stratholme!” He cried but that command was mostly unneeded. Dozens upon dozens of crusaders had already surrounded the Menethil Road leading into the city, knowing that not even their former Highlord could fight his way through this spot. Hundreds of undead were still swarming out of the city’s gates but they were quickly cut down by the knights emboldened by their miraculous survival. The Horsemen had apparently given up the chase which was the final proof that they had survived the slaughter.
However, the highest-ranking generals knew there was very little to celebrate. Alexandros was gone along with a massive slice of the order’s most valiant knights, the Scarlet Bastion itself was under a complete siege again and the Crusade’s ability to mount any new offensives had been severely hampered. In fact, in the face of what they had seen in the city, it was very unlikely that the knights could even hold the Scourge at bay for long.
Yet, the Grand Crusader himself watched in expectation as the fallen undead formed a massive pyre in the stone bridge even if he knew the situation just as well as his fellow
leaders. He may have lost the battle but the Highlord, the closest threat to his power, was gone and his control over the Crusade was complete. It would take months, if not years, to rebuild the Crusade’s might but eventually, he would take the lich lord down and deliver this world to Sargeras. That he would make sure of.
And so the battle for Stratholme and the story of Highlord Mograine as a warrior of the Light have come to an end. The Crusade’s offensive was a disaster and now the defenders of Lordaeron are perhaps irrevocably on the defensive. Will the brave knights be able to regain the initiative or did this one gamble cost them the whole war? I hope you liked this chapter and I hope to get the next one completed this month!
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Flight from the Jaws of Annihilation
A gentle wind blew through the sick forest as gently as it had done in happier times in the years past. However, it smelled like an approaching death as the Plague itself seemed to have become one with the nature of this lost land. However, none of the crusaders paid it any heed as most of them were forced to concentrate all their efforts to keeping the gate to Stratholme under their control. The stream of undead never seemed to stop and the defenders had no time to even dream of burning the fallen ghouls. The necromancers inside the city could work without any danger and any of the paladins could see that this battle was a hopeless one.
That reality wasn’t lost on Crusader Lord Valdemar either but he attempted to hide those dark thoughts under his current task. He looked at the rows after rows of wounded knights, some of whom were clearly taking their last breaths on this defiled land. Valdemar frowned deeply as he eyed at the wounded and the still-fighting defenders, noticing immediately that far over a half of the Crusade’s knights had fallen within the cursed city, among them many of their greatest champions.
Of the mighty army that had only a few hours earlier marched on Stratholme, only about five hundred remained and even many of those would succumb to their horrifying injuries soon enough. The commander’s mutilated mind prevented him from remembering most of his own knights which spared him from most of the emotional anguish but even then, he knew fully what this meant. The officer cringed deeply as he forced his steed to turn around and head to report his findings to the Grand Crusader himself. However, he didn’t get far before he heard someone call for him.
“My lord Valdemar! Might I have a moment of your time!” One knight appeared from the crowd with a deeply concerned look. Valdemar frowned at his appearance but his eyes then widened as he saw who the speaker was. He had forgotten all his recent meetings with Osran but he still remembered the knight from the distant times of the Second War. Yet, something in his mind prevented him from being surprised by this seemingly surprising reunion. Instead, he decided that he had simply forgotten something important and spoke briefly to the other paladin.
“Speak briefly, Lowriver! None of us have any time to spare here!” Valdemar said as he looked at the fighting before him, full well knowing that the battle of Stratholme wasn’t nearly at an end yet. He had to get his task done quickly but on the other hand, Osran’s position in the Crimson Legion forced him to listen to his old friend’s concerns.
Osran hated being forced to speak to the man he had hurt so much but there was one thing that bothered him. He had tried to search for Veria everywhere after the battle but to no avail. He knew that the chance she had fallen was a high one but he didn’t want to let his thoughts wander that far just yet. Maybe… just maybe she could still be alive.
“Crusader Lord, have you seen crusader Longlea anywhere after the battle? I can see that your job was to check the survivors so you if anyone must know about her whereabouts!” Osran said in a steady voice, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Valdemar frowned at the bearded paladin and snapped back at him rather quickly, willing to move on.
“I haven’t seen her anywhere, Osran. Over half of us have fallen and we have to do everything in our power for those who we know are still alive. Lady Longlea might have searched refuge within the Bastion but…”
“Crusader Longlea is dead. I saw her fight Gavinrad valiantly and she gave her life to take that cursed death knight out, like any crusader should. She has my respect but as the Crusader Lord said, we have to leave mourning for the dead later, Lowriver!” Osran turned to look and saw the younger Abbendis had heard the duo’s conversation and decided to share what she knew. Osran could only stare at her after her words after which his gaze fell to the ground slowly. To think his comrade had fought against a death knight alone and beaten him… few paladins could ever pride themselves with such a feat. He had never heard of Gavinrad’s return but he could only voice his gratitude to the Light the righteous paladin’s soul was at an ease. He could feel his hands shuddering with the shock but even then, Osran knew his charge after all his years of service. After a few seconds, he returned his eyes to the general and spoke to her in his normal voice.
“I understand, general Abbendis. Thank you for telling me this.” He said, feeling sick beyond words. The Crusade had not only lost one of its greatest heroes and legends but Veria, too, had gone to join Tareth in humanity’s hall of precious memories. Osran felt himself squeeze the hilt of his sword hard enough for his knuckles to hurt but his face remained unchanged. However, Valdemar interrupted the knight’s moment of remembrance and spoke to him quickly.
“But now, Osran, join the others in preparing to leave this cursed place! We must go or we’ll be overrun. The Grand Crusader orders this.” Valdemar cried as Abbendis rode away to tend to her own duties. Osran frowned slightly but prepared to answer Valdemar quickly, knowing he didn’t have the luxury of mourning Veria just yet.
However, Valdemar’s mention of the Grand Crusader raised some thoughts to Osran’s mind, something he had wanted to ask the order’s highest-ranking leader for a long time. This might not be the best time but in the middle of a war like this, when would he have this opportunity again? As a member of the Crimson Legion, he had the right to demand an audience with any of the Crusade’s leaders and this was the right time for him to use that right Isillien had given to him on that rainy day which Osran felt had happened years in the past. But to Valdemar, he merely nodded and spoke firmly.
“Of course, Crusader Lord. May the Light safeguard your steps.” Osran said as Valdemar returned the gesture and ordered his steed to a gallop. Osran took a deep sigh before turning around and headed towards the direction he had heard the Grand Crusader to be in. Soon enough, certain things would be made clear once and for all.
A careful smile rose to Abbendis’ face as he followed the filling of the many wagons the Crusade had brought along for situations like these. There was just enough space for the wounded and most of the other survivors still had their steeds reserved for them. However, the crusaders weren’t ready to depart just yet and he suddenly turned around to address Dathrohan who took his first breather in hours. He had spared no effort in getting the evacuation started or leading his knights in the battle against the Scourge.
“Two-thirds of the wounded have been loaded into the carriages, Grand Crusader. With any luck, we’ll be ready to go in less than an hour. However, we have to leave some of our weapons and catapults here. There simply is no room for them.” Abbendis said as Dathrohan followed the battle at the bridge to Stratholme. Inch by inch, his forces were being pushed back but with Light’s guidance, they would be able to hold the enemy at bay just long enough for their comrades to make way for their escape. Still, Dathrohan put his hand on his forehead and shook his head.
“We should have been able to get out of this mess already. But the worst thing is that we have to let the Scourge overwhelm many of our gains. If we’re lucky, we may be hold them off at our first watchtower and the hills around it but if we cannot, only the Light knows where we can put a stop to the Scourge’s advance. Our losses are simply too great.” Dathrohan said in a tone which made Abbendis frown deeply. He had never seen Dathrohan act like this and right now, he knew there was no place for such behavior in the highest echelon of the Crusade. In times like these, the order couldn’t afford to get consumed by fear or despair. He quickly moved to Dathrohan’s side and spoke to him in a firm voice which almost sounded angry.
“With the blessing of all that is still holy in this world, we will withstand those monsters’ advance as we have always done, Dathrohan! Our troops are giving their all to enable our flight and whether we are driven simply out of this wood or besieged in our cities, we will never be defeated!”
Of course we won’t, you fool! You would realize it yourself if you were ready to open your mind to larger things than simply the next day! Dathrohan quickly returned Abbendis’ look and it grew quickly firmer than before. Inwardly, the master of the Scarlet Crusade held nothing but disgust at his comrade but he managed to almost sound respecting and even friendly.
“I know, High General. But we’ll have to start nearly from the beginning. I would have liked to…” He started to answer before a new voice cut his comment short.
“Grand Crusader! I beg your pardon but I have to exchange a few words with you!” Dathrohan’s eyes grew wide as he turned to look who dared to waste his time on a like this. At first, he prepared to simply tell the newcomer to get away immediately but as his eyes caught the sight of the speaker, his face fell slightly. It was one of the Crimson Legionaries who, to the demon’s slight amusement, were handpicked by Isillien to serve the Crusade faithfully. The demon took a brief sigh but in the end, perhaps this pathetic human would deserve to have his say after all.
“What is it, Crimson Legionary Lowriver? Can’t you see that we don’t have time for useless jabbering here?” Dathrohan cried, looking at Osran with a clearly displeased look on his face. Osran felt his initial decisiveness fall a bit as his eyes met those of Dathrohan’s, only now remembering just how much he respected the Grand Crusader. He had met Saidan only a few times in his life but those moments had been just enough for him to grow to respect the tireless efforts to advance the Light’s cause and limitless wisdom Dathrohan had become known for. He truly was a living paragon of all the righteous in this world but even then, Osran didn’t falter. He forced the words out of his mouth even if the Grand Crusader’s face made him extremely uncomfortable.
“Lord Dathrohan, I’ve learned to listen and respect your wisdom during my years as a knight and I know that all you’ve done have been for the greater good of our order or Lordaeron. But in the past months, I’ve seen things that have worried me greatly. Things… that I don’t think serve the Light in the way they should.” Osran started, earning an angered look from Abbendis who still stood near the duo, not approving in the least about this interruption. He stepped towards Osran and attempted to end this discussion here and now.
“Can’t you see that we don’t have time for complaining right now? Those thoughts may have their pl…” The High General began but Dathrohan quickly raised his hand in front of him, stopping the lower-ranked officer’s sentence right there. After that, he looked at Abbendis and spoke to him in a firm voice.
“We’ll finish this conversation alone, High General. You may attempt to strengthen our defenses for now.” Dathrohan said, earning an extremely confused gaze from Abbendis. Did the Grand Crusader actually deem this knight’s concerns more important than the battle that was raging around them? Abbendis respected his leader even more than many others but this was a decision he didn’t understand in the least. Yet, he knew better than to question Dathrohan’s orders and he simply saluted as he answered.
“Very well, Grand Crusader. But please, don’t linger here too long. Our time for withdrawal draws near.” The general said as he turned around and headed towards the bridge to Stratholme. Dathrohan narrowed his eyes slightly but he didn’t waste much time answering to Osran himself.
“Indeed, your timing for such issues is a highly curious one. Our knights have worked night and day to buy us our victory but you seem to imply that our good commanders are leading us astray, is that it?” Dathrohan said while raising his right brow somewhat. He wanted to cause Osran to begin hesitating so that he’d receive the full control of the conversation. Osran, on the other hand, realized that his audience hadn’t started well at all. He knew the Grand Crusader wouldn’t approve of such sentiments in the least, especially from a member of his own inner circle. Osran gave his answer immediately, not willing to allow such thoughts to linger within his superior’s head any longer than necessary.
“No, my lord. The Legion has done what it had to do… except in a few cases. Grand Crusader, I know the Crimson Legion is yours to command but for example, what we did to the Crusader Lord… I have to ask you, do you know what really happened to him when we had to quell his attempts to rebel against us?” Osran gulped, knowing that such questions held many implications that probably wouldn’t sit well with the Grand Crusader. In essence, he was questioning his hold over the Crusade and at least indirectly, accusing Isillien of treachery. Yet, this question had bothered him without an end and he had wanted an answer to it ever since that sickening day. Dathrohan looked slightly taken aback by that question as of course, those implications weren’t lost on him either. He soon stepped a few step further towards Osran and his voice took a more threatening tone as he answered.
“Such questions hardly advance your cause among our holy Crusade, Lowriver. I can’t help but understand that you’re saying that I’m not capable of leading our order firmly and with wisdom. The Crimson Legion was my creation and it is mine to lead and mine alone. The Grand Inquisitor has been a good friend and ally for many years and he, too, has my utmost trust and he would never turn his back to our ideals. To even suspect such a thing is a disgrace for our cause, Lowriver. I knew about Valdemar and his betrayal all the time and I gave the order to wipe away his mind of suck treasonous thoughts. As always, Isillien works as my right hand and no thing that the Crimson Legion does happens without my order, Lowriver. Is that clear?” He said, the Grand Crusader’s voice rising while he spoke, his anger building as he dwelled within Osran’s outrageous words. Inside, however, the demon was laughing as it was true that the real Dathrohan had known nothing of what had happened in Tyr’s Hand and Isillien hadn’t answered to him in months. To have a chance to humiliate the paladin like this was another opportunity for Balnazzar to shed away any doubts among his followers.
The knight, on the other hand, looked at his superior almost pleadingly, only now understanding just how misguided his doubts had been. Dathrohan had proved himself a strong-willed, capable man and it was small wonder he was this upset by some of his followers’ doubts about his leadership. Osran’s face turned to a frown as he again returned to that horrifying day and even now, he hated himself for what he had done back then. To see Valdemar walking around like he wasn’t even truly alive, only doing his masters’ bidding… it ached Osran’s heart greatly. But… if it had truly been an order of the Grand Crusader himself… how could he question it? Saidan would never do something like it without a reason but even then, Osran wasn’t quite done with this issue even now.
“It is, Grand Crusader but… I know Valdemar better than most and we could have most likely brought him to our side even without such things. And besides, I don’t really think that making torture a common practice is going to work to our advantage. Dathrohan, I’ve seen many good men being terribly mutilated because of simple doubts or claims. Only a few of those cases have gotten anywhere and… and even I have had my share of those practices simply for being separated from our main force for a while.” Osran said as he pulled his left glove from his hand, revealing the bloody spots where his nails used to be. He hoped Saidan would listen to him but it seemed like he was hardly making a good impression on the other knight. Dathrohan took a deep sigh and put his hand on his forehead before he answered in a loud voice.
“Crusader Lowriver, your claims of me overlooking possibilities of saving the mind of one of our allies hardly tells much about your trust towards our beloved order. You might be a friend of the Crusader Lord but you have to realize we don’t have the luxury of leaving anything to chance. We might have failed today but just think what could have come to pass if we had been forced to attack Tyr’s hand, first? The Scourge would have crushed us simply because of one man’s pride.
About the rest of your claims, I’m sure the younger general Abbendis has already told you about the traitors in our midst and thus, I don’t have to remind you while all methods, even torture, are necessary. We don’t need some cultists to backstab us in our sleep or some infected poor soul spreading the Plague among us. As for you, I hope you aren’t implying any of us should be above the security we have built with so many efforts.” Dathrohan almost shouted his last words but he ensured that others couldn’t hear his voice couldn’t be heard over the battle’s sounds.
Osran frowned deeply as he looked at the looming walls of Stratholme, slowly realizing that inside, he didn’t feel nearly as disgusted as he had expected. In the end, Dathrohan had only confirmed that he had done the right thing all along, a thing he had wondered so many times in the past weeks. Osran returned to look at the Grand Crusader and beside his firm expression could be seen nothing except decisiveness and honor. Even after all what had happened, Saidan had stayed faithful to his own ideals all along. And now that he was in the higher-ranked knight’s presence, he remembered once again that this was a man he had decided to follow when he had read the original letter of invitation into the order. This was a champion of the Light and if he had decided to do everything in his power to make the Crusade as strong as possible, he had no option but to accept his position. Osran’s voice sounded relieved, even thankful as he answered.
“I understand, Dathrohan. We can win nothing if we play by the old rules that failed us during the Great War. I apologize for my doubts, Grand Crusader. I see I was a fool to question your commands from the very beginning.” Osran said as he felt his superior’s eyes suddenly overwhelm him completely. However, Saidan’s gaze suddenly softened slightly as he answered to Osran.
“We all have our moments of hesitation, Lowriver, but know this: we are not beaten, we are merely pushed back for now. If we continue to work tirelessly, we will rebuild the Crusade and we will eventually take back what is rightfully ours! But to reach that goal, you know we cannot rest for a moment in the coming days. Do what must be done and I promise that all who stand with me until the end will earn a reward beyond their wildest dreams and an eternal place in Lordaeron’s hall of heroes. Remember to believe in the Crusade’s cause, always.” Dathrohan said with a steady voice, looking at Osran without blinking even once. Osran tried to return a revering look but he feared immensely that he failed in that cause miserably. Yet, he answered to the Grand Crusader after a briefest of moments.
“Of course, my lord. Thank you for your time. Your answers mean a lot…” Osran started before he was suddenly interrupted by a massive blast near him. He turned his head immediately at the source, seeing that dozens of paladins and mages being obliterated by some incredibly powerful spell at the bridge to Stratholme. Osran could only watch in disbelief as he saw his comrades being literally torn apart by the whirlwind of darkness, their viscera being sent flying into the dark waters of the small lake. The defenders’ ranks fell immediately after this onslaught which only shocked the paladin further. However, Dathrohan didn’t allow himself to be incapacitated by a sight such as this and he didn’t hesitate for a moment to give his order. This battle was lost but with any luck, there would be another one in the future if the knights managed to flee in time.
“Abandon your positions! Everyone capable of it, get to your steeds! The rest of you, run to the wagons! We are leaving now and there is not one second we can waste here!” Dathrohan cried as he headed towards his own steed which was waiting for him nearby. Immediately, a terrible stir swept over the army but every one of the crusaders knew that no matter the situation, they couldn’t forget the necessity of order and discipline. Even through the near-panic and deep fear within the countless men and women, the mess didn’t seem to descend into a total chaos. Slowly but surely, the knights found their steeds and the caravan carrying the wounded and the necessary supplies started to move on the Menethil road towards safety.
However, not all had the luxury of an imminent escape. The spell had been only the first step by the Scourge to break the siege at last and it was followed by a newfound push by the undead to drown the living under their numbers. As before, the crusaders defended themselves valiantly but step by step, the immortal soldiers never faltered and it was clear to all of the defenders that it was completely senseless to continue this battle until the very end. They would flee in due time but only when the rest of the army was completely safe.
All the while, a new plan rose within Dathrohan’s mind. He knew the Scarlet Bastion still stood proud and defiant in the heart of Stratholme and it was the seat and pride of their entire order. Even if the demon didn’t care about the old headquarters of the Knights of the Silver Hand, he knew what it meant to his followers and it would forever be a thorn on the Scourge’s side. Maybe, just maybe, this new attack would allow him to find a way back into the city and save the heart of his power. As the other crusaders quickly prepared for their own departure, Dathrohan suddenly saw the High General prepare for his own flight. the Grand Crusader ordered his own steed for a gallop towards him as he’d need top relay his plans forward.
“Abbendis, lead our forces forward! I’m going back to the Bastion with a dozen other knights!” He said as the lower-ranked commander turned to look at him, seemingly stunned by these news. He frowned deeply and spoke to his commander in disbelief.
“Are you joking, Grand Crusader? Stratholme is lost and we have to…” He tried to reason but Dathrohan wasn’t willing to listen his concerns until the end. Time was off the essence and he wasn’t going to waste any time here.
“This isn’t the time to argue, High General! Just go and relay the reason for my absence to the others! I must save the Bastion, for the sake of our order!” Dathrohan cried, more than happy that the rows of knights around the two hid them from the sight of any potential enemies. Abbendis would have wanted to argue further but he decided against it, knowing that he had no way or even right to fight with his superior. He merely took a dark expression as he spoke.
“Very well, Grand Crusader. I just beg you to remember what happened the last time when I warned against engaging on such quests. But no matter what, do what you have to.” The general said, remembering his last conversation with Alexandros with utmost fear. Saidan prepared for his final answer but it was at this moment when a massive crack could be heard all over the horrifyingly malformed forest. An enormous abomination had broken the Crusade’s largest barricade, allowing the undead to flood into their inner camp, telling the two leaders their time was up once and for all. The Grand Crusader saluted other officer before turning around, preparing for his own task.
“May the Light watch over us all. Have a safe journey, High General, and stop their advance whenever you can. You have my trust.” Dathrohan said before he turned his steed around and waved at a few of his comrades. Abbendis frowned slightly but again, he was forced to overlook his personal misgivings. He quickly moved aside a small number of still fighting knights and cried to them and the rest of the army with all his might.
“Get on the move, everyone! Head for the safety of Light’s Hope and Tyr’s Hand and let nothing stop you! Go, now!” He cried as the last of the knights quickly turned around from the fight and ran towards the last of the wagons as its wheels started to slowly roll on the old road of cobblestone. Each of them held the desperate hope of joining their comrades again and hope for better days but many of the knights were torn to pieces the moment they started their run. Abbendis cursed the situation but he quickly joined the mass of riders around the wagons, preparing to defend their wounded comrades until the very end.
Osran glanced behind himself, looking in disgust as he saw the ghouls tearing a few mortally wounded crusaders who had been left behind to pieces. He cursed that the Crusade had to leave behind all their siege weapons and a part of their spare sword and arrows. Yet, that would matter little if the rest of the army survived from this debacle. The paladin ordered nervously his steed into an ever-faster gallop along with his companions. Even getting out of this horrifying forest would be a major relief for the crusaders. The Plaguewood had always been a stronghold of the Scourge and there was no telling…
“Take the flames out, now! The rest of you, take the fiends out!” Valdemar cried as Osran quickly turned to look at what was happening. Dozens of burning arrows suddenly flew from the forest into the wagons and into the crusaders, causing the former to catch fires almost immediately. Osran knew the magi could take the fires out almost instantly but he shivered as he looked into the darkness of the woods, wondering what kind of beasts were roaming there now. Yet, there was only one way to repel this attack, the same one all the knights had in mind. The mass of knights cast their own areas on consecration on both sides of the road, knowing it would take shooting arrows impossible. The spells caused distorted cries of agony from the woods, the sounds being more than familiar to the paladins.
The paladin frowned as he thought that it was only ordinary skeletons who had caused this small incident which had only caused some of the horses to panic and fall into the ground. However, this attack had had very little impact on the group as a whole, filling the escaping paladins with newfound hope. However, the following undead didn’t seem to be ready to give up just yet. Suddenly, the entire forest seemed to be filled with the monsters, pouring out from nearly every possible spot from the forest.
One of the younger escaping knights had already harbored hopes of salvation but Eneath’s heart skipped a beat when he suddenly saw a dark form to his side. From the blackness of the forest, one of the ghouls jumped towards him with a terrifying speed. Eneath cried as the monster started to tear his shoulder and side to pieces, his steed suddenly screaming in horror and trying to force both of its riders from its back. Eneath cursed under his breath as he turned around to face the ghoul himself. The undead beast revealed its teeth and it took all of Eneath’s willpower not to vomit at the monster’s scent. After a short moment, he raised his hand and hit the ghoul at its moth, sending the rotten remains of teeth flying into the darkened forest. The paladin, however, spent all his efforts to retrieving his sword but the ghoul had managed to get in a position where Eneath couldn’t safely divert even the slightest of efforts away from keeping the monster at bay.
In the end, there was only one thing left for him to do, no matter how much he had avoided it. With a deep breath, he hit his head towards the ghoul, feeling as it sank into the decayed flesh, the bloody stains of the long-since passed corpse quickly flowing down his face. Yet, that maneuver caught the beast off-guard, allowing Eneath to grab another one of its arms and close the monster against his steed. With a quick move, Eneath finally grabbed his sword and finally impaled the creature and before he even noticed it, the ghoul was sent flying into the dark forest, what remaining of its ruined body falling to pieces as the rotten limbs were torn apart by the impact. This small victory came at the last possible moment as the horrified horse was just about to crash into the other steeds, possibly starting a chaos in the retreating army.
Eneath took a brief sigh as he turned to look forward, his eyes widening at the sight. Not far before him, the cursed forest seemed to finally end and give way to the winding, just as sick plains of the Eastern Plaguelands. Yet, each of the paladins knew that the worst was now behind them: from this on, any hopes of a sudden ambush from the Scourge were now over. Eneath wholeheartedly welcomed even the cold, fetid wind after the countless hours spent in the symphony of plague and fire of Stratholme.
However, the young paladin was not nearly the most relieved knight of the army. High General Abbendis could simply stare before him in thankfulness, happy beyond measure by his success of leading his troops away from Plaguewood. From this point on, he had a clear vision about what was going on and he could begin to search for a new frontline against the Scourge. The undead were still on their tail and Abbendis bet his life that the Horsemen were not going to rest when they knew they had the Crusade on the run. The general knew he’d have to try to balance his desire to save the Crusade’s earlier gains and suitable terrain as well as optimally short supply lines. Now, the only thing that mattered was to stabilize the front line and to save the areas that really mattered to their cause.
Yet, that last realization suddenly made Abbendis sick beyond measure. There were very few areas out here that were of utmost value to the Crusade and to be completely honest, there was no reason to spend resources trying to defend any of the countryside or the small villages that were still standing. Corin’s Crossing was strategically vital but really, there was very little there to actually defend. In the end, preserving it would be a great asset to the Crusade in the future but if it seemed even for a moment that defending it would be foolish, Abbendis knew it had to be evacuated too. But for now, securing Light’s Hope and Tyr’s Hand were the most important issues, ones that could ensure or finally end the Crusade’s future. The general turned to look at his left and cried to Harthal who was riding on his side.
“Harthal, take our left wing to Light’s Hope and save it from the coming storm! I will take the rest to Tyr’s Hand!” He cried, knowing that Harthal would do his all to that cause. He lower-ranked officer answered immediately to Abbendis, understanding his point immediately.
“Yes, High General! I will defend it to my dying breath!” He then turned to face the group riding after him and he pointed with his sword to the rightmost rank he was addressing.
“You will accompany me to Light’s Hope! We have to get its defenses ready before the Scourge reaches it!” He cried, seeing all the knights he was talking to salute briefly before continuing to order their steeds into an ever-faster gallop. Abbendis nodded at the Lord Paladin approvingly, happy that he had at least one commander besides himself who could lead the crusaders with decisiveness and wisdom. He frowned as he thought about Dathrohan’s departure, dearly praying that the Grand Crusader knew this time what he was doing. His oversight had cost Alexandros his life and if Dathrohan had headed into his own death with this another folly… it brought Abbendis no relief to know he’d most likely be the next Grand Crusader as the second-highest ranked living member of the order. No one, not him nor anyone else, could take Saidan or Alexandros’ places as the paragons of valor they were and Abbendis knew his authority or wisdom could never come even close to those two legends. He shook his head in fear as he rode forward.
The Lord Paladin’s words surprised Osran somewhat as he had been one of the troops he had commanded to follow him. The paladin had already dreamt of sleeping in his beloved Tyr’s Hand but in the end, he had visited Light’s Hope more times than he could remember and he had grown very fond of the sense of sanctity hanging upon the ancient chapel and the small camp that had grown around it. If defending it was what was expected of him, he would do it with utmost valor. Osran breathed easier by the second as he saw the numerous watchtowers on the sides of the road roll by, knowing that each of them meant that he and his comrades were closer to salvation. The undead had been left behind a long time ago and most of the army was still intact. Suddenly, he heard Harthal cry again to his group as he forced his steed to turn left suddenly.
“Now, follow me! This is the place from where we’ll head towards Light’s Hope!” The Lord Paladin shouted as his steed left the Menethil Road and headed into a dead woods, beyond which could be seen the mountains surrounding Havenshire and New Avalon. Osran lamented the fact that there were no road leading to the Chapel but in the end, the terrain around it was far from difficult. All of the troops that had been placed under Harthal’s command followed him immediately and it wasn’t long until the main force of the Crusade heading to Tyr’s Hand disappeared into the distance. Osran eyed at the forest around himself, more than thankful that at least these were real trees and not the fungal monstrosities of Plaguewood. This land might be dead but it wasn’t the horrific, twisted nightmare of the Scourge, not yet anyway.
Minutes passed without major incidents and no words were exchanged between the crusaders as each of them prayed that this horrifying journey would finally come to an end. The sun was still hanging high in the sky when Harthal saw a familiar sight rising from among the woods, soon to be followed by the sight of the Light’s Hope Chapel and the group of tens surrounding it. There were only a few actual buildings around it but this place had earned an immortal place within the hearts of the servants of the Light as many the greatest heroes of Lordaeron were buried under its very stones. There were also memorials to legends whose remains couldn’t be brought there, starting from Uther the Lightbringer himself to the gallant Turalyon, who had so valiantly sacrificed his life to save Azeroth from the destruction occurring on the orc homeworld of Draenor roughly fifteen years ago.
Harthal finally raised his hand to order his followers to slow down as he saw a small number of guards beginning to run towards him even if it was clear they didn’t consider the newcomers a threat. Leading them was a man Harthal knew immediately and the Lord Paladin greeted him heartily, deciding to hide his news at least for a moment.
“Hail, crusader Eligor Dawnbringer! It has been too long since I visited Light’s Hope!” Harthal cried, earning a nod from the man towards his comrades. The paladin called Dawnbringer then turned back to the newcomer and spoke to him almost in a careful voice.
“Indeed it has, Lord Paladin. But that is of little importance right now. I take it that your presence here means that Stratholme is finally ours. Has that blessed moment finally come to pass?” The brown-haired man asked, the hope more than clear in his and the rest of the Chapel’s garrison’s eyes. Harthal frowned at the question and his heavy and forced breathing quickly started to dissipate their hopes. After a brief moment, he answered in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone decades older than the Lord Paladin.
“No, it hasn’t. The battle is completely lost and we were forced to abandon our positions out there. We rode all the way here to help you defend the Chapel in the hours and days to come!” Harthal knew his answer left countless of questions unanswered and immediately, the scene around him seemed to explode into a chorus of desperate cries and confused stutters. For a brief moment, Eligor merely stared forward, trying to come to terms with the news. The offensive which everyone had waited for weeks had turned into a disaster?
Any dreams of retaking Stratholme were over? Those thoughts almost swallowed Eligor in their darkness but after a moment, he raised his voice as he ordered his own garrison to calm down.
“Silence, everyone! Let us hear what else the Lord Paladin has to say!” He said before turning back to Harthal. The commander’s voice was grave but it still carried a revering tone towards the Lord Paladin.
“What happened out there? Nearly all our forces were marched on Stratholme and victory was all but assured! And what about the Grand Crusader? Is he alright?” He asked in deep confusion, looking as a haunted look appeared to Harthal’s eyes. Never since his return from Northrend had the higher-ranked paladin felt this miserable, this hopeless. It felt like another catastrophe from which there was no coming back. Still, he took a deep sigh as he jumped away from his steed’s back and walked towards the commander of Light’s Hope.
“We were overwhelmed by Kel’Thuzad’s plans and magic. That is all there is to it. The last time I saw him, Dathrohan was alive and Light willing, he made it through the battle.” He said, only now realizing the mental toll the horrifying battle had taken on him. He suddenly felt his hands shake and his eyes simply stare mindlessly forward as his mind tried to form at least some coherent thoughts. Eligor took a more hopeful look after the other man’s words but suddenly, another, younger voice joined the conversation.
“H… how’s my father? Certainly you know what happened to him?” Harthal turned slowly to face Darion Mograine, the younger of Alexandros’ two sons. Darion was barely even a man yet but his skills as a paladin weren’t matched even by many of the more experienced ones. Suddenly, Harthal felt his mouth freezing still, the mere thought of his last encounter with the fallen Highlord horrifying him without an end. The burning madness and cold will to serve the Lich King still lingered before his eyes, wondering what kind of fate would have waited for him had he and Abbendis been unable to hold the death knight at bay. The Lord Paladin’s wasn’t lost on Osran and he decided to make his superior a favor and spoke to Darion in a low, mournful voice.
“He’s gone, Darion. In his stead now stands a death knight who wants nothing more than to deliver all of Azeroth into the Lich King’s hands. None of us saw how he fell but we all saw what he has become. I’m sorry.” Osran said, knowing that his words were likely to make Darion more upset than necessary but the older paladin himself was completely swallowed by his own sorrow. Only now did his loss begin to fully manifest itself in his heart. Veria’s face haunted his thoughts and Osran was disgusted by the thought that he and Veria had reunited like that, only to be forever torn apart by the merciless hand of death. A pain he hadn’t felt in years manifested itself within Osran’s heart as he heard Darion starting to stutter.
“B… b… but that’s impossible! No servant of the Lich King is a match for the Ashbringer! You must have seen someone else!” Darion said as his gaze fell towards the ground, the young man starting to take deep and horrified gasps as Harthal walked towards him. He had a somewhat grim but also understanding look on his face as he addressed the mourning knight.
“He speaks the truth, crusader Mograine. We will all mourn him in the years to come but none of us can change the fact that his time with us is up. You have my deepest condolences, Darion.” Harthal said as he slowly turned around to face Eligor again. He took a tired, even angry look as he spoke to his fellow officer.
“But Alexandros’ loss is only part of the menace which we now face! The Scourge has been unleashed, Dawnbringer, and we must be ready when the time to take our stand finally comes. Surround the Chapel with barricades! Build catapults with which we can hold the undead at bay! Let no man, woman or child stay still while the time for stopping the Lich King is at hand!” Harthal cried, knowing he was overstepping his authority by giving orders to the knights who weren’t his to command. Yet, he knew Eligor well enough to realize that he wasn’t one to blame a fellow crusader for such petty things. Instead, he turned to his troops and cried to them with all might.
“You heard him! If the Highlord is leading the undead, we have to be ready when he attacks us! Every able-bodied crusader, get on the move! As for the wounded, we will allow them the time to recover until the attack itself!” The commander cried, the dozens of Light’s Hope’s garrison members joining the survivors of Stratholme in emptying the storages of lumber and the blacksmith’s house of any spare armor.
Osran, too, got on the move but he kept on eye for the Crusaders around him, there were still many comrades he hadn’t seen since the battle and even if they were most likely in Tyr’s Hand, there was a chance that they could… Suddenly, he felt some of his anxiety ease as he saw Eneath standing among the paladins but Osran immediately noticed something that made him frown deeply. His nephew seemed to limp badly and only now did he remember the injuries Eneath had suffered in the battle of Plaguewood. Osran quickly moved towards him and spoke to him softly.
“Thank the Light you’re alive, Eneath! I worried you wouldn’t be able to fight to fight your way from that slaughterhouse!” He said, wanting to begin this brief reunion on a positive note. Eneath looked surprised by his uncle’s appearance but he soon took a similar smile to the older knight’s.
“I could say the same about you, uncle. In fact, I’m surprised any of us are still alive, considering what happened out there.” He said, shuddering from what he had seen. The shame and outrage of defeat lingered at the back of his mind but for now, survival was the only thing that mattered. Osran nodded to his nephew and then spoke to him in a silent voice.
“You’ve done your share of today’s fights. You deserve a chance to begin healing your injuries so you can do your best in the days to come. There are many knights with less injuries trying to simply get a moment of rest.” Osran said, looking with some chagrin at the groups of wounded who were being carried into the chapel. Eneath’s eyes widened and he immediately answered to Osran, clearly disapproving of his words.
“I am in a good enough condition to help the others…” He began but Osran could see from his walking that his legs were seriously wounded and that each step was a painful one for his nephew. He suddenly snapped back at the younger man in a voice which brokered no disagreement.
“Eneath, I see that you’re in in condition to work right now. I’m proud that you want to give your all to help us out here but you also have to think about the future. If you exhaust yourself here and prevent your wounds from healing, who does that help in the coming battle? You have to always think of the best way to serve the Crusade, Eneath.” He said while laying his hand on Eneath’s shoulder, nodding at him encouragingly. Eneath looked at his uncle for a long time, willing to answer something to his proposition but he could see that Osran really meant what he said. And as he twitched his torso slightly forward, he could feel his body struggling to halt the bleeding from his countless wounds. In the end, he had to admit his uncle had a point and he took a deep sigh as he answered.
“Very well, Osran, but only for today. I don’t want the others to fight my battles for me as long as I can still breath!” He answered, cursing his earlier carelessness. He was about to turn around and head back inside when he heard Osran speak to him again.
“And please, keep your eyes and ears open. I saw in Stratholme that Carethas is a traitor. I was about to stop him but the Lord Paladin prevented me from doing my duty. I’m not sure about him but we cannot trust anyone who defends an agent of the Scourge. And after today, we have to be more vigilant than ever. Do you understand?” Osran said, regretting that he hadn’t told of his encounter with them to Dathrohan but in the end, the Grand Crusader was over such things. The Crimson Legion had to prove itself to be completely capable of handling treacherous cadets on its own and as for Harthal, Osran didn’t really have proof against him. Eneath frowned further, not willing to hear that another of his comrades had failed the Crusade but… Osran’s expression told he believed in that wholeheartedly and he didn’t have real reason to question his uncle. He nodded awkwardly before heading towards the chapel itself.
“I will. But for now, I won’t take any more of your time, uncle. Be safe.” Eneath said as he turned around and prepared for a well-earned rest after the battle. Osran was somewhat disappointed by his nephew’s answer but it couldn’t be helped now. The older knight, too, turned on his heels and joined the other knights in preparing Light’s Hope for the coming battles.
As the evening’s shadows grew longer, barricades twice higher than any of the knights had risen to surround the chapel, siege equipment dotting the surroundings of the chapel heavily. The crusaders spared no effort in attempting to spare their village from the Scourge but to their surprise, only small groups of ghouls and gargoyles attempted to breach through the wooden walls. It was hardly what had been expected but in the end, that could only mean the Scourge was either cleaning the countryside of any crusader outposts or charging into Tyr’s Hand right now. In any case, the atmosphere among the defenders was heavier than in ages as all of them waited for the final end of their precious dream.
However, it never seemed to come. An hour after hour passed and nothing out of the ordinary seemed to happen. The mood slowly turned into a confused one as this grand battle Harthal had promised failed to materialize. The Lord Paladin saw to the defenses personally, knowing he’d know the enemy forces better than any of his comrades but no matter how intensely he stared into the darkened woods, not one shadow of an undead seemed to dwell beneath the dead trees. The longer this fearful silence went on, the more concerned he grew as he could have bet his very life that the Scourge would have attacked Light’s Hope as soon as they could. And as the evening grew older, the Lord Paladin’s concern grew into a fear. There was certainly something going on and he would have to know what.
Harthal crossed his arms and gritted his teeth as he thought about what he was going to do. He needed a small group to search Light’s Hope’s surroundings and to see if there was anything suspicious going on. Harthal knew it was a dangerous gamble on his knights’ lives but there was no alternative. If the Scourge was on the move nearby, they couldn’t be allowed to see their plans through without any efforts from the Crusade to stop them. Harthal snorted in annoyance as he turned around, preparing to amass this small group he’d need to safeguard the order in this dangerous situation.
Only the silent steps of the steeds could be heard in the pitch-black night as the small group of knights treaded forward through the decayed forest. Osran cursed the fact that he was ordered on this mission as he had barely slept a minute after the start of the offensive on Plaguewood and he could hardly force himself to stay on his steed’s back without falling into the ground. Yet, as always, it was his duty to answer the call of the Crusade and he knew just how important this mission was. If there were any threats nearby, the knights would find them before it would be too late.
“Commander Dawnbringer? Did you find anything?” Osran heard Darion ask as the officer of the group reunited with the main force after a short search of his own. The aging knight could see no features of the officer of Tyr’s Hand but his voice confirmed his identity without any doubts.
“Only one abomination who tried to ambush me in a small glade not far from here. Luckily I could repel it before it was too late.” He said, seemingly willing to just forget that incident and move on. Osran, however, answered to him next, more than honored to have been named the second officer of this investigating party.
“That hardly qualifies as a harbinger of any incoming attack, commander. Neither have we found anything of note, despite searching these woods for hours.” Osran said, knowing that many of his comrades were already questioning this whole quest. Darion especially had been of little help as he was still completely broken by the loss of his father. Osran could relate to his pain after his own loss but he had done a far better job hiding his sorrow from his comrades. Eligor ordered his steed closer to his comrades and answered to Osran in a low voice, knowing that there was no reason to keep any more noise than what was absolutely necessary.
“There are still regions further towards Northdale where the Scourge could try to launch a surprise attack against Light’s Hope. Even then, I must say I’m astonished that we’ve found nothing thus far.” Eligor said as he forced his steed to turn around again to move to the direction he had spoken of. However, Darion’s voice interrupted him immediately as the young man’s pained wail reached his ears.
“But that area is far hillier than the lands around here! The Scourge would be crazy to attack us from there!” Darion cried, not able to hide his overall reluctance to simply go on with this mission from his superiors. Many of his comrades looked at Darion in annoyance and it wasn’t long until Osran rode past him, giving his answer to the young man briefly.
“Then that makes it a great option for them to attack against us, Mograine. We cannot overlook even the slightest of possibilities when we are facing a threat like this! So quit whining and ride forward, everyone!” Osran said before following Eligor into the darkness. Darion frowned deeply but he knew there were no options other than completing his duty.
Yet, the hills north of Light’s Hope were no more interesting than the plains to the south. Even from the higher mounds which overlooked much of the surrounding land, no major movement of the undead could be seen. The night was nearly completely still which disturbed Eligor even more than an army of the Scourge would have. The Light’s Hope was safe for now but these developments most likely implied that a massive offensive against Tyr’s Hand was under way. Yet, there was nothing to be done about it as sending reinforcements there could open Light’s hope for a potential attack. For now, the commander knew there was only one thing to do: to return to Light’s Hope and try to get a contact to Tyr’s Hand and, if possible, to the Grand Crusader himself too. He turned wearily to look at his comrades and spoke to them with a beaten voice.
“We won’t find anything in this night. Let us return to Light’s Hope. Maybe morning will bring some news about our situation.” He said, earning many nods of agreement from the other knights. Osran rode towards him slowly, answering to his superior’s proposition readily.
“I have to agree, commander Dawnbringer. We are just wasting time around here. Let us just hope that things stay…” Suddenly, a loud thud and a horse’s low wail pierced the night, immediately alerting the crusaders to full readiness. They turned to the direction of the voice which had come from an unusually lush thicket to their left. Eligor and Osran dismounted immediately and started to walk towards the bush, their blades in full readiness. The Crimson Legionary cried with a loud voice, dreading what they might find. If this was some trick of the Horsemen, the knights’ survival would become unlikely beyond any measure but they just couldn’t leave this matter uninvestigated.
“Identify yourself or prepare to be eliminated, whoever you are! Show yourself, now!” He ordered as slight movement could again be seen in the bush. Osran’s heart beat in his ears terribly as he knew the danger he was in. The tension was tangible in the air… until the stranger finally crouched from the bush, his voice wheezing horribly.
“I thought that… that I wouldn’t need introduction. Please… help me reach Light’s Hope.” High Inquisitor Fairbanks seemed utterly confused and weak and his body was covered with deep wounds. It was clear that he would be on death’s door soon without help. Osran, however, wasn’t completely satisfied with the answer and no mercy could be seen in his eyes.
“The High Inquisitor was told to have fallen at Stratholme along with the Highlord. If you are not some servant of Kel’Thuzad, I’d advise you to prove it and explain how you could have reached this place alone from Naxxramas.” Osran said, earning some confused looks from the other knights, even Eligor, but none objected to his order. The cleric took another deep breath and struggled to rise to his knees as he answered.
“I… I found one of the steeds that escaped during the first battle in Plaguewood and… and it was her cry you heard. It’s a shame that this is to be her final resting place. As for how I’m here… the battle was tough but most of the undead were drawn out of Naxxramas which allowed me to escape. I… I saw all of it, Crimson Legionary. I’ll tell all of it once we reach Light’s Hope.” He spoke as Eligor walked beside him and put his hand on the inquisitor’s head, closing his eyes for a moment. After a few seconds, he rose up addressed Osran and the rest of his followers.
“I sense no Plague within him. It is our duty to take him to Light’s Hope but then it will be his job to prove he is who he claims to be.” Eligor said, earning a deep frown from Osran. The latter knew his commander was right but he didn’t like this one bit. Osran simply had too many experiences of betrayal to accept Fairbanks’ words but with a forced sigh, he gave his answer.
“It certainly will be, Dawnbringer! Well, raise him on one of the horses so we can get going!” He said as the inquisitor took a brief smile. Against all odds, he had managed to rejoin the crusaders and soon, so very soon, he’d have the chance to tell the story which would change the fate of the Scarlet Crusade forever. Silence reigned over the small group of knights as they started their way back to the Light’s Hope under the pale light of the stars.
The crusaders have managed to escape from the most terrifying of deaths but the order’s woes are only beginning. With the threat of the undead hanging over the brave knights, will Fairbanks’ return and his story spell the final end of the Scarlet Crusade? If any of you have thoughts concerning this story, please let me know of them. Other than that, see you next time!
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The High Inquisitor’s Tale
A pained grin rose to Eneath’s face as he felt the priest turn him into the best position to begin healing the young knight. The paladin was in a better condition than many others who had been wounded in the battles of the day but Eneath’s injuries were still serious enough to demand healing. His sides were covered in deep wounds and his leg had nearly been snapped in two in Stratholme. And because of that, he was more than stunned to hear the priest speak to him in a voice that sounded almost like a happy one.
“You’ll be fine soon enough, Lowriver. Just wait a moment and it’ll be alright…” He said as he put his hand above Eneath, the young man’s pain soon turning into a holy glow which seemed to engulf both the pain of body and soul. One by one, the knight’s wounds closed under the cleric’s healing even if some of them were too severe to be healed immediately. No power in this world was strong enough to mend the most horrifying injuries but as long as a man wasn’t on death’s door, the power of Light could help him begin his way to full recovery. Eneath’s leg worried the priest somewhat but it was little compared to some of the horribly mutilated bodies of some other knights. After a few minutes, he rose back to his full height and nodded at Eneath.
“I’ve done what I can, honored crusader. In time, you’ll make a full recovery but as long as you can, try to take it easy. There’s a chance that too much fighting or running will cause your leg to take a turn for the worse.” He said rather absentmindedly, thinking of the dozens of paladins he still had to heal before he could call it a day. The night had already fallen but that meant little when there were still lives on the line. Eneath looked at his wounds, smiling with some relief to see that even the most serious ones had stopped bleeding and most of the pain was gone. He turned to face the priest and spoke to him in a relieved voice.
“You have my thanks. I realized only now that I really needed help. May the Light bless you.” He said as he watched the cleric stop near him as he was going to see to the next wounded crusader lying in the chapel’s floor, not far from Eneath. It was a cause of regret for everyone that the injured had to be brought into the chapel itself but only it was safe and large enough to house all those in need of help. The priest quickly looked at Eneath again and muttered absentmindedly.
“Of course. I’m just doing by duty in order for you to be able to see yours through.” He said as he bowed on another one of the knights, leaving Eneath lie alone in the middle of the row of his injured comrades. Even now, he could feel the blessed sanctity of Light’s Hope float all around himself, knowing that right now he was in a place where you could most easily feel all the sacred things in this world look over you. To think that most of the legends he had heard stories of were lying below him, in their graves which would forever be protected by this holy ground. The chambers below Light’s Hope were off limits for most knights but the mere thought of this place made Eneath’s heart beat faster than usually.
However, there was another thing that fought for attention within Eneath’s mind and they were the words of his uncle. He frowned as the thought about Osran’s comments, especially as he remembered the desperate, nearly manic look in his eyes as he had told about the traitors among the Crusade. Of course he respected Osran’s words but back then… he hadn’t seemed like himself. The older paladin had felt like he was fearing that everyone were threatening him or that he even suspected his own nephew of treachery. A deep frown rose to Eneath’s face as he thought about his uncle as this wasn’t the first time he had felt this way about him.
Already before the assault on Stratholme, Osran had seemed to be only going from one failure to other, at least he himself acted like it. Back then, he had felt more distant and desperate than ever but that had been seemingly wiped away by the victories earned by the Crusade but again, his fears had returned after his return to the Crusade after his brief separation from the others in Plaguewood. And things had only gotten worse since then. If earlier Osran had only been fearful and depressed, now it had been replaced by a newfound zeal and distrust of the others. Eneath had seen the aftermath of his encounter with Harthal and Carethas as well as his completely lost antics after the crushing defeat. And his fearful and concerned words to him on this evening… it seemed like his uncle wasn’t the same as he was before.
That in itself wasn’t a surprise after the countless losses all of the crusaders had gone through but it certainly wasn’t something Eneath liked in the least. Osran’s transformation had started shortly after joining the Crimson Legion. Eneath shook his head as the swarm of fears and concerns started to rise into his head. He had no way of telling what had happened to Osran lately but he was more than certain it was nothing he would want to experience himself. Suddenly, a breeze from the Chapel’s door reached him, tying the paladin to its embrace for a short while. Only then he realized that the entire atmosphere of the Chapel had grown oppressive as the brief cries of the wounded reached his ears. Eneath took a brief sigh and shook his head until he decided that he had to get a glimpse of fresh air to sort out his thoughts. So much was on his mind right now and he wanted a short moment of peace.
With slow, careful moves, Eneath rose from the stone floor to his feet, making sure not to let his recovering foot get too much stress. It still hurt clearly to take another step but Eneath could tell that his leg would make it through this short walk without any further damage. A few questioning gazes turned to Eneath as he headed outside but none of them were willing to stop him. The young paladin took a deep breath as he entered the dark night, relieved to be able to leave the Chapel for even a moment. However, it wasn’t long until he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of two men talking to each other. Eneath frowned in surprise as he recognized both of the two.
One was the Lord Paladin himself and the other was a paladin he had met only one in his life but it was someone who had offered written himself into Eneath’s memory. He was a paladin who was widely known within the Crusade as the Savior of Light’s Hope, Lord Raymond George. Apart from the Highlord and Grand Crusader himself, few were as widely respected as Raymond. For a brief moment, Eneath considered joining them but then he realized that both of them were clearly fearful of something. They had most likely something of great importance in mind so Eneath decided to step aside, allowing the paladin of legend to do as they saw best.
“There is nothing we can do, Truesight! If we try to help them, we’ll all be overrun here! Can’t you see that this was Kel’Thuzad’s plan from the very beginning?” Raymond asked as he spoke to the Lord Paladin, making sure nobody else heard what he was saying. The news of the attack on Tyr’s Hand had been a horrifying surprise to both leaders but the noble had been more than stunned by Harthal’s reaction. He might be higher-ranked than he was but Raymond didn’t lose a bit to him when it came to the respect he commanded among the rest of the crusaders. However, Harthal wasn’t going to give up just yet, speaking to his counterpart in an angered voice.
“We cannot stand by as Tyr’s Hand falls, George! As long as we can help them push back the Scourge, we have no choice but to gather our troops and head towards the city. If Tyr’s Hands falls, so will the Enclave and without it, we’ll starve to death if Kel’Thuzad won’t get us first!” He spoke, struggling to hold his temper at bay. He was frustrated to hear about the attack this late even if the courier had decided against giving any guesses about the outcome of the battle. However, without Tyr’s Hand the Crusade would be done for, a thought which hardly made him feel any safer. It wasn’t long before his counterpart spoke to him in an equally angered voice.
“That isn’t up to you to decide, Lord Paladin. You are not the master of Light’s Hope as only Commander Dawnbringer will have the right to ride to war! Besides, there’s no way the High General will allow the walls of Tyr’s Hand fall! The Light will guide him forward and the light of dawn will see him victorious over the Scourge. We simply have to trust in it and not to allow Kel’Thuzad to drive us astray with his plans.” The lieutenant commander said as he saw slight hesitation appear into the Lord Paladin’s eyes.
He turned to look towards the south, wondering whether he could simply do as the other man suggested. He knew just as well that an attack on Light’s Hope was a real possibility but still, that didn’t change the fact the whole future of Lordaeron was on the line. He was the highest-ranking officer in the Chapel right now so he had every right to command the knights into battle and as long as he could take another breath, that was what he’d have to do! Losing Light’s Hope would deal a heavy blow on the Crusade’s morale but losing Tyr’s Hand would reduce the order to a mere group of bandits around Hearthglen. No, he would have to act now if he wanted to fulfill his duty to the Grand Crusader.
“But neither can we simply trust in Abbendis. He’s only one man, no different from us, and he has lost many battles in his life. I have to rally the others to beat back the Scourge. In the absence of commander Dawnbringer, I take control of Light’s Hope and…” He began until he heard a voice behind him which suddenly seemed to freeze him still.
“You won’t take control of anything in my absence, Lord Paladin! What has happened here?” Harthal turned around to face the returning host of Eligor and Osran. He cringed deeply at the unlucky timing of his words but he knew more than well nobody could accuse him of them as that right had been enshrined in the Crusade’s very code. He immediately regained his confidence and saluted the commander.
“I’m glad to see you made it back safe and sound, commander Dawnbringer! We were just discussing about a recent report we received. Less than an hour ago, the Scourge launched an assault upon Tyr’s Hand and we have no knowledge of the possible outcome of that fight. Sir, I beg your authority to lead my men into battle once again!” Harthal said as he tried to seem as respectful as possible. Eligor frowned deeply as he dismounted his steed and walked towards the Lord Paladin. His voice wavered as he spoke.
“Are you certain of this? How is it possible that you don’t know whether our comrades will be able to defend themselves from the attack?” Eligor said as he stopped to face Harthal. However, it was Raymond who answered his question.
“We received a message from a courier not long ago. He was sent here right after the start of the battle but oddly enough, he didn’t specifically ask for our help. I’m sure things aren’t critical out there as in that case, he would have begged for our aid.” He said, looking pleadingly at Eligor. The commander thought for a moment and his voice only darkened the longer he waited.
“So this is why the lands around here were completely empty. Kel’Thuzad knew we’d split up and then we’d be easy pickings… And we fell right into his trap. We have to…” He started but suddenly he heard another voice join the conversation. Osran frowned deeply as turned to Eligor but he kept his voice completely calm as he spoke.
“I’d advise you to give a second thought to this, Dawnbringer. All of this sounds extremely suspicious as we saw no evidence of this attack. We may be manipulated without us even realizing it which is something we must avoid at all costs. Maybe the Scourge is simply trying to lure us out of here to crush us in an ambush. It is far too silent here for my taste.” Osran said as he stared at the Lord Paladin whose eyes widened as he heard the Crimson Legionary talk. The latter struggled to find words to voice his thoughts as he knew just how influential the Legion was among the Crusade. He tried to answer but Eligor opened his mouth first.
“Our couriers have usually been trustworthy enough, crusader Lowriver. Do you have any reason to doubt their words now?” He asked, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the other man. He was completely torn between the two options as he, too, hated how complicated everything had become lately. Yet, Osran bore the Grand Crusader’s trust as a member of his inner circle so maybe he knew something more than he did. Osran looked at Eligor with weary eyes as he spoke.
“Of course I cannot be sure about that but we have to be vigilant and consider all our options. We are not only surrounded by enemies but it also walks among us. I would never forgive myself if we fell victim to the Lich King’s evil simply because of our carelessness. The High General ordered us to defend Light’s Hope and he has my full trust. Besides, we have one mystery to solve ourselves. I’m sure the High Inquisitor has something of worth to tell us, if he is who he claims to be.” Osran said as he looked at the unconscious form of Fairbanks and he quickly ordered him to be taken down from the back of the horse. Osran was already preparing for the coming discussion when Harthal’s words reached his ears.
“We cannot take this risk, Lowriver! Do you not realize what is at stake here?” He asked pleadingly, causing Osran to take a short sigh as he shook his head. The Crimson Legionary quickly turned around, looking from the corner of his eye as Fairbanks was carried into the nearest tent. His voice took a chillier turn as he spoke this time, his patience with Harthal slowly running out.
“I understand it fully well but I wouldn’t be so sure about you, Lord Paladin. If I’ve learned anything of worth during my years of service, it is that you have to have the discipline to follow your orders and have a little faith on those who have proven their worth again and again but most of all, not to act brashly. Yet, this issue can only be decided by commander Dawnbringer. What is your decision, sir?” Osran asked as he looked at Eligor. The golden-haired man looked at the aging, bearded knight with wary eyes while also exchanging a brief look with Harthal too. He seemed to hesitate for a brief while but soon he regained his confidence.
“This is a difficult issue but I tend to agree with Lowriver’s view of this thing. If Kel’Thuzad foresaw our other option, we would be walking into a trap of which there is no escape. Whatever happens, I will take full responsibility about what is going to happen.” Eligor said, forcing himself to stay as calm as possible. A brief silence fell above the knights as each of them thought about the implications of what was said. It was soon broken when Harthal swallowed his defeat and bowed deeply before the higher-ranked officer.
“Very well, commander Dawnbringer. I will trust your word and I truly hope it is the right one.” He said before turning around, preparing to head for his own peace, deeply worried about what Eligor had said. However, he was quickly interrupted when he heard Osran’s voice behind him again.
“You are free to leave, Lord Paladin, but I thought you would want to hear High inquisitor Fairbanks’ story first. We found him wandering the plains with his last strength and he claims to have something of interest to tell us.” Osran said as he crossed his arms, looking as Harthal stopped in his tracks. The Lord Paladin stood still for a short while before he turned back to Osran.
“Wandering the plains? Did you make sure he doesn’t carry the Plague?” He asked with some fear but his question was soon answered by Eligor.
“Of course we investigated him but we could find no trace of the disease in him. We all agreed it was safe to bring him here.” He said as he followed Osran into the tent where Fairbanks had been carried a few minutes earlier. Harthal frowned somewhat but he soon followed Osran, interested about what he’d hear from the closest friend of the late Highlord.
A horrifying terror was the first thing that greeted Fairbanks’ senses as he snapped out of his uneasy dreams. The holy glow of the Light streamed through him but that was nothing compared to the sudden memories that immediately filled him fear. Immediately, he saw another wave of giant spiders running towards him, followed by a mass of ghouls in their wake. Fairbanks would have wanted to run but behind him he could only see Alexandros being torn to pieces by the Scourge. There was only one thing left to do: to defend himself to his dying breath. In despair, Fairbanks concentrated the power of the light into his fists and hit the first of the charging spiders with all his might. It would be the first fallen foe that would pave the way for his survival.
“What in the name of all that is holy are you doing? Everyone, keep him still!” A vague voice called and before Fairbanks could even blink, he felt his hands being pushed to the ground and slowly but surely, his mind started to calm down and he shortly returned into the reality. Slowly he began to see unclear forms of humans around him with three others next to him doing something Fairbanks couldn’t see. His breaths grew slowly more peaceful as the world around him started to make more sense by the minute. With a weak voice, he asked the men around him.
“Wh… where am I? What has happened?” He asked, everything that had happened seeming to be but a distant nightmare but deep inside, he knew that simply wishing the horrors of Naxxramas away would do little to help anyone. He turned to look at the first man who answered to him, startled by his enraged and even fearful voice.
“What do you think? You were found in the forest wandering alone and we brought you here to be healed but apparently it was a mistake! You nearly killed the priest that saved your life!” The words confirmed his situation to Fairbanks without a doubt. So, it was true… Alexandros was dead… killed by his own son! All that sacrifice and struggle undone by one insane brat! All the memories flowed back to Fairbanks’ mind and managed only barely avoid another outburst. The ghosts of the past were clear to anyone who looked the inquisitor in his eyes but even in this situation, he turned to look again at the man lying in the ground. He saw a terribly burned and wounded priest who seemed to only barely hold onto life. He looked in horror as he realized the brutality of his attack, remembering his vision when he regained consciousness. He was just about to speak when he saw the door of the tent being opened and another man spoke to him.
“So you are awake, High Inquisitor. I’m glad your injuries weren’t lethal.” Eligor said, followed by three other men who Fairbanks recognized as Lord Raymond, Lord Paladin Truesight and Crimson Legionary Lowriver. The other priests slowly and carefully released his arms, allowing Fairbanks take a weak sigh of relief. He turned to the commander, beginning to remember everything about his encounter with the other crusaders an hour earlier.
“Apparently they weren’t, Commander Dawnbringer. You have my gratitude for bringing me here. I… I simply want to apologize for my outburst. I… I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He said, looking as the injured priest was taken aside by the other clerics. He looked like he started a recovery, though, which gave Fairbanks a little courage. Eligor stopped besides him and the stretcher he was lying on and spoke to him in a relieving voice.
“He will make it so there’s no reason to discuss that any further. But you have quite a lot to explain to us, Fairbanks. I remember you saying you have something new to tell about the fate of the Highlord.” Elligor asked as Osran walked to his side, immediately continuing from where the commander had ended. His voice wasn’t nearly as kind as the previous speaker’s but after his encounter with Harthal and Carethas, he had come to see everyone as potential threats.
“But first of all, we would like to know whether you truly are High Inquisitor Fairbanks and not some agent of the Cult. We have seen enough of them as it is so choose your words carefully from now on.” Osran said, causing Fairbanks return to his original position, causing his eyes to face the ceiling of the tent. He waited for a moment before asking wearily.
“And how can I prove that?” He simply asked, wondering what kind of answer he would receive. Osran glanced at Eligor briefly and the commander soon asked the cleric with a curious voice.
“Mograine told me about your journey to Ironforge to forge the Ashbringer. All of us know the legend of what happened there but what Alexandros said most don’t know is Magni Bronzebeard’s real motive to help us. We are told that the Light spoke to the dwarf and told him our cause was the right one but in truth, that wasn’t the case.” He said, remembering how Alexandros had spoken to him in his moment of doubt. He had wanted to keep some of the details of what had happened in Ironforge as a secret to try to keep the dwarves out of this conflict. Fairbanks’ eyes rolled briefly as he thought about the question, his mind returning to the three days at the distant dwarven capital. Of course, he remembered all of it but what surprised him was that he wasn’t asked a more difficult question. Well, maybe if he answered truthfully enough, no more questions would be coming his way.
“Is that it? In truth, Bronzebeard’s motive shouldn’t be a surprise even to those who don’t even know it. Initially, I remember how very concerned he was about our presence as he wanted nothing less than to be involved in the horrible conflicts of Lordaeron. It even seemed like we would have to return without his help but as always, Alexandros wouldn’t give up. He was almost exiled by the amount of pressure he put upon the dwarven king, using all the experience in his disposal to tell Bronzebeard what would happen if Lordaeron fell to the Scourge. I remember that he listened to every word but he seemed to trust the defenses of Khaz Modan more than our claims.
Yet, it was I who found Magni’s weak point. It wasn’t only the fear for his people which prevented him from helping us. No, I saw that he had a far more personal connection to the undead and it didn’t take long until we saw that the reason for his hesitancy was the memory of his brother, Muradin. He feared a similar fate would upon his city if he allowed his house to get involved any further within the matters of the dark north.
But in the end, it was the hatred which he held upon the traitor prince who had taken Muradin from him that finally changed his mind. He agreed to forge the Ashbringer but only as a vessel for his revenge for his brother. His unwillingness to get tied to the crisis in Lordaeron is why we told the others the reason for his decision which wasn’t quite true. And because of our agreement, I ask you to refrain from spreading the word any further.” He finished, a deeply mourning look rising into his eyes as the memories of his old friend returned to his mind. Yet, as his comrades, he had seen enough death to prevent him from being devoured by it. Osran frowned briefly, weighing the inquisitor’s words carefully as he heard Eligor speak after a moment of thinking.
“I don’t think we have a reason to doubt him, Lowriver. All he told us makes perfect sense.” The commander said, exchanging glances with Osran. The latter took a brief sigh before starting to speak.
“I’m inclined to agree. At least he would be the best-trained liar I’ve met if all he told us was made up. In that case, I’m sure we all would like to hear the story you wanted to tell us, High Inquisitor.” Osran said in a voice which raised Fairbank’s eyebrows steeply. He didn’t like the arrogant knight’s antics in the least but in the end, he owed it to Alexandros to let others know what had happened within Naxxramas. He waited for a moment watching at the waiting looks of the four paladins before he finally rose to a sitting position on
his stretcher and with great efforts, he rose to his full height and started to speak.
“Very well. I will tell you everything but I hope you will stay calm as there will be some parts I fear you will find hard to believe. Know that whatever I say is true, by my oath as a priest of the Church of the Light!” He said, earning a somewhat disapproving look from Osran. He had no idea what to expect but something within him told he’d have to be wary about what the cleric would tell. For now, he’d let him speak but if anything that would hurt the Crusade were brought up, he would cut it short immediately. Fairbanks took a deep sway as a moment of weakness and pain washed over him but he regained his balance as he spoke.
“As some among you may know, we braved the halls of Naxxramas and vanquished many horrors which we could only have dreamt before. We thought we were on our way towards victory but eventually, I and Alexandros were surrounded by the enemy and then isolated from our comrades. We sent them away even if I think both of us knew what the Scourge was after. But even then… Alexandros never gave up. I saw the determination in his eyes and I know he was ready to go to any lengths to fight his way out of there.” Fairbanks said as he shook his hand, looking into the ground as he cringed at the pain standing caused him. However, he had decided to tell the story of his leader and friend with all the grace and respect he simply could muster. After a brief pause, he continued to speak.
“To my utter shame, I could withstand the onslaught of the Scourge for only a few minutes before I fell under the mass of undead, horribly wounded. Alexandros thought I had died and it pains me that I couldn’t prove him otherwise. I was no use in the battle anymore and only the rapidly growing pile of corpses above me saved me from being finished off the enemy. It was horrible: the otherworldly smell along with the weight of the fallen ghouls and the wounds I had suffered… even now it sickens me. It was only my powers of healing that kept me alive and to make things worse for me… Alexandros fought on!
It felt like hours after hours passed without the Highlord tiring from the never-ending battle. I could see only glimpses of what was happening from where I was lying but I’ve never seen Alexandros like that before. He and the Ashbringer were one and the courage he showed was something I doubt I’ll never see again. Alexandros seemed to become one with the Light, bless his soul. He was a man unlike any I’ve ever met. No ghoul or servant of the Lich King were enough to take him down… instead, he was killed by the hand of his own son!” Fairbanks wailed as he remembered that horrible moment. All the other knights gasped as he heard that, not able to believe their ears. It was Raymond who spoke first after Fairbanks’ comment.
“What? It couldn’t possibly be true! Darion was here all the time and not even Renault could do something like that! Are you out of your mind?” He asked, earning a sad smile from Fairbanks. However, before he could answer, Osran nodded at the other paladin.
“It certainly couldn’t. I’ve met Renault for many times and while he is one of the most arrogant and self-righteous men I’ve met, it is ridiculo…” Osran said but his words were cut short by the cleric. Fairbanks coughed heavily and again nearly fell at the physical toll this conversation was taking on him but he managed to keep his voice decisive.
“By the oath I gave to each of you, I swear it was Renault Mograine who took his father’s sword and impaled my old friend with the Ashbringer, corrupting it with his vile deed forever. I… I saw all of it.” Fairbanks said as he suddenly started to gasp for air more violently than before. Osran was about to rebuke him when Eligor decided to give his thoughts.
“I have no right to dismiss the words of a servant of the Church, especially its High Inquisitor. Yet, I have to ask why would any crusader, especially Renault Mograine, resort to such barbary? Such a thing is hard for me to believe.” Eligor asked to Osran’s severe chagrin but the latter knew he had no way of preventing Fairbanks from giving his answer. For now, he simply crossed his arms and stayed silent. Fairbanks calmed down a bit before answering to the commander.
“I cannot say about how he went that far but… I know you won’t want to hear what I have to tell you but… Renault told that by killing his father, he would become the next Ashbringer and Highlord. And worst of all… he claimed it had all been promised to him by the Grand Crusader himself.” Fairbanks said with a deep voice, knowing what came next. And indeed, it wasn’t even one second before he saw Osran’s blade against his throat. The bearded paladin had a grim look on his face as he spoke.
“I have to ask you to take those words back, High Inquisitor! The Grand Crusader has always led us all with wisdom and the future of Lordaeron in his mind! Even if that’s what Renault said, you would do better than to spread such lies any further.” Osran said as he touched Fairbank’s chin with the sword, earning a look of fear from the cleric. However, it wasn’t long before Eligor spoke to Osran.
“Step back now, Lowriver! He gave his word and even if he didn’t, we have no right to threaten a High Inquisitor of the Church!” Eligor cried as he drew his own sword and directed it towards Osran whose eyes were locked on the cleric. He knew that the Grand Crusader would want him to keep the peace at any cost but he simply couldn’t kill Fairbanks in front of the others or his lies could spread further. Osran had absolutely no idea where the other man had suddenly received his ridiculous claims but the bearded paladin knew that they couldn’t be allowed to spread any further. And the only way to do it was to prevent him from continuing any further without gathering any suspicions on himself. Osran smiled inside as he thought about his only chance of success and with a confident voice, turned to Eligor and cried with a loud voice.
“No true servant of the Light would raise such accusations about Dathrohan at a time like this! To even suspect such a thing is completely…” As he spoke, Osran slowly moved his hand and cast the weakest of judgements, its light faint enough to fuse into those of the small candles on the entrance into the tent. Fairbanks was suddenly hit by the power and he quickly collapsed into the floor, letting out only a brief sigh as his head his the ground. Raymond was the first one to run to his side and cry to the others.
“Help him, for Light’s sake! I knew it was a mistake to allow him to stand for this long!” He cried as he examined Fairbanks, cringing as he saw the new, long wound in his head. It bled heavily and the cleric’s situation seemed to be getting worse again. Osran joined his comrades immediately, lending what power he could to the High Inquisitor. But inside, he was more than happy that his answer to Eligor had drawn all attention away from his own gestures and everyone would simply consider Fairbanks’ collapse a result of his own fatigue and wounds. Soon, the crusaders had returned the cleric to his original position on the stretcher, looking at him in worry. Within a few moments, Eligor whispered to his comrades.
“We have to make sure everyone get the word of his tale. I don’t know what to make of it myself but everyone deserves to know of Renalt’s betrayal and about the rumors about the Grand Crusader.” Eligor said with a voice that sounded unsure and haunted at the same time. He didn’t know what to make of the Inquisitor’s words but he was extremely worried about them. However, it wasn’t long before Harthal answered to him, his voice far more defiant than the previous speaker’s.
“We must not act hastily, Dawnbringer. Fairbanks was still very weak and confused and we must not let these fears spread at least before we know more about Renault’s whereabouts or whether Fairbanks actually believes Renault’s words. Until then, we have absolutely no right to begin doubting Dathrohan.” Harthal said with a clear cringe, just wondering what all of this could possibly mean. Eligor gazed at the other man and after a brief moment, spoke to him with a slight sigh.
“Then we must hear those things soon. The battle of Tyr’s Hand rages on and we have no word about the Grand Crusader himself. Time is off the essence and the prospect that we’ve all been deceived hangs heavily upon us. I just pray to the Light that Fairbanks didn’t think clearly and this has all been a misunderstanding.” Eligor said, wondering what had happened in Stratholme. At the very least, Dathrohan had failed the order with his defeat and if the rumors about his acceptance of Alexandros’ suicidal mission was true… The commander shook his head to clear his thoughts as he heard Osran speak to him.
“As do we all, commander Dawnbringer. However, we have nothing more we can do about this for now. The High Inquisitor doesn’t seem to be able to tell anything more to us in a while and doubting our leaders without further proof will hardly help anyone.” Osran said in a seemingly grave voice, staring at the unconscious form of the fallen cleric. Inside, he was cringing at what he was about to do but duty called him and unlike so many times before, he would not run from it or regret anything he would do. Safeguarding the Grand Crusader and the order were the most noble things he could do in his situation as he had seen that Dathrohan was still the hero of Lordaeron he was known to be. If guarding him meant getting his hands dirty, then so be it. Osran’s steady gaze ended as he heard Eligor speak to him.
“I guess you are right, Lowriver. Let us rest for a short while but we have to hear Fairbanks’ tale to the end as soon as we simply can. If what he says is true, then we have to prepare to contact the Scarlet Bastion and find out what’s going on there. But for today, we are done here.” He said and after a few more seconds, he rose up and headed out of the tent, followed by the other officers of the Crusade. Osran merely glanced after them and spoke to Raymond in a weary voice.
“I’ll follow you soon enough. Have a good night.” He said as he turned his look back into Fairbanks. Raymond frowned slightly at his words but he merely shrugged and walked out of the tent. Osran then turned at the two remaining priests and spoke to them in a calm but demanding voice.
“You may take your leave as well, honored priests. Your presence isn’t required here for a while.” Osran said, knowing that the word of a Crimson Legionary was a powerful tool in the minds of many crusaders. however, one of the priests answered to him immediately.
“But we were told to stay here the whole night and we can see that the High Inquisitor needs help!” The cleric said, earning a slight frown from Osran. The aging paladin knew that it was more than troublesome that the priests would know that he had been left alone with Fairbanks but this was simply something he had to do. Almost instantly, Osran answered to the other man in a slightly sharper voice.
“I’m more than capable of keeping an eye on him as long as you are gone and when I leave, I’ll call you back here. Stay silent about this and I’ll spare a word or two to the Grand Crusader.” Osran said, looking as the two clerics seemed to hesitate for a moment. Both of them knew that even a slight honor in the eyes of Dathrohan was a major boost to one’s position within the Crusade and perhaps, just perhaps, the legendary paladin’s favor would help them reach a higher position within the Church one day. The cleric nodded to Osran briefly before answering.
“Very well, Crimson Legionary Lowriver. We trust your word. Let us know when you’re finished here.” In this moment, neither of the clerics knew about what Osran had in his mind and really, neither of them cared. Osran was much higher-ranked within the order and getting on bad terms with an agent of the Grand Crusader was never a good idea. The two had heard Fairbanks’ words but they didn’t consider them any more than some weird ramblings of a man who had seen too much. Osran narrowed his eyes in relief as he looked at the tent’s doors close behind the two priests. The aging paladin felt his heart starting to beat faster by the second as he prepared for what he was going to do.
First, Osran reached for the pockets of his armor, taking something which he carried these days always with him. There was no telling when he would have to persuade crusaders whose faith in the order’s cause was wavering and a gag was more than needed to ensure that the knowledge of his method wouldn’t spread further than the interrogator would want to. Osran carefully tied the rag around the inquisitor’s mouth and when he decided that he had managed to silence any possible cries from the poor cleric, he decided it was time for him to begin.
With a quick movement, Osran cast a bolt of lightning on the priest which seemed to snap him out of his unconsciousness immediately. Again, Fairbanks seemed to have trouble waking up and when he did, he was shocked to find that he was tied into the ground and his mouth to be covered by the thick rag. He immediately started to wriggle, attempting to fight himself free from this horrifying situation but to no avail. After a while of failed tries, Osran knelt beside him and whispered in a silent voice, taking great caution in making sure no one else would hear his words.
“I would regret this situation were it any less dangerous. Yet, I must assume that a High Inquisitor of the Crusade understands just how serious your accusations against the Grand Crusader were, do you not?” Osran said, earning further struggles from Fairbanks. The inquisitor was completely stunned by the lengths Osran was willing to go over his words but he wasn’t about to give up under pressure. He owed that much to Alexandros and to the Crusade. No overly-zealous Crimson Legionary was going to make him take back the words which were the only hope of ever getting justice for the fallen Highlord. Osran looked at the cleric with empty eyes, not really expecting a different reaction from him. After a few seconds, he continued with a voice that carried neither joy nor regret.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all you did but then again, I absolutely cannot allow your claims about the Grand Crusader spread any further. If you admit that all you said was sickly raving to the others, I will simply let you be for now. Do we agree?” Osran said, his expression revealing he wasn’t bluffing in the least. For a moment, Fairbanks seemed to calm down as he realized he had a way out of this but almost immediately, he noticed the disgust that was building inside him. If he did what Osran demanded, Renault and those he served would escape from this without any ramifications. After a while, he took a deep breath and looked at Osran with apologetic eyes. The bearded man stared at Fairbanks before shaking his head sadly, hoping he could have been able to receive the cleric’s cooperation by now. Yet, that wasn’t the case and Fairbanks left him with little choice.
“Very well, High Inquisitor. But know that I will have your cooperation, one way or another.” Osran said as he frowned at what he was doing. He knew he could never trust the other man with only traditional means of torture but even now, he wanted to avoid doing what Landgren had done to Valdemar. He didn’t even know how the Abbot had managed that spell but if it became absolutely necessary, Osran knew he would have to try replicating that spell to wipe out Fairbanks’ recent memories. Few knew it was even possible and because of it, no one would blame him for the Inquisitor’s state later on.
Fairbanks tried to cry with all his might as the bolt of burning power hit his chest, his inability to produce even the slightest of whimper only making him feel more miserable than before. He looked in horror as Osran drew his sword from his scabbard and looked mournfully at his victim. He glanced at Fairbanks’ arm and decided that it was simply wrong to use the power of the Light for vile purposes like this one. Its grace was over unsavory duties like this. Instead, Osran pointed his sword towards the inquisitor’s arm and with a slow thrust, sank it into the priest’s flesh. Tears appeared into Fairbanks’ eyes as he looked at the ceiling, unable to do anything but feel as Osran drove his blade deeper into his arm ever so slowly. He tried to fight against his torturer but it was all for nothing. All his limbs had been tied firmly into the ground and there was no way for him to escape.
After Osran had pulled his sword through the cleric’s entire hand, he again knelt beside the slightly younger man, his voice still a still mask without a major proof of any compassion. Fairbanks was horrified to see a Crimson Legionary act like this as he still had wanted to believe the Crusade to be completely pure. Yet, if Renault and the Grand Crusader had done what they had, then… then…
“I ask you one last time, High Inquisitor. I offer you one more chance to repent and tell our comrades you were wrong. If you still insist on moving on with your blasphemy, you leave me no other choice but to begin wiping out parts of your mind. Believe me, that’s the last thing I want to do and to be honest, I have no idea how it’s done so things will become ugly if you force me to go that far. So I advise you to think about your answer very carefully. Now, nod to me if you decide to take on the righteous path.” Osran said, not really knowing what to expect and if he wanted to be completely honest with himself, he didn’t even care about it. There was nothing for him to believe in and he had absolutely no reason to believe that Fairbanks was even faithful to the Crusade anymore. Maybe he had seen the same promise of easy power Arthas and Kel’Thuzad had and he was here only
to spread chaos in order to earn it from the Lich King. Inside, Osran fumed at that thought and he even realized that he would have simply preferred to kill Fairbanks here and now.
The cleric glanced at his mutilated arm and took a deep breath. He could always simply agree and try to tell his story to the end in a subtler way to the others but… how could he know this wasn’t some grand test to prove he had lied from the beginning? Could he give a member of the Crimson Legion the satisfaction of breaking him? No, Alexandros hadn’t given up once in his life and neither would he. Anything less would be a mere insult to his old friend’s memory. The inquisitor inhaled slightly but kept his head firmly in the ground.
Osran waited for a short while before shaking his head briefly. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this easily. The paladin locked eyes with Fairbanks before speaking to him again.
“Let us have it your way then. I tried to give you an easy way out but it all fell on deaf ears, apparently. Well, I gave you enough time to decide.” Osran said as he grabbed
Fairbanks’ forehead with his left hand and started to gather holy energy in his right one. Soon, he would see if destroying others’ minds was as easy as Landgren had made it look.
The time passed slowly as Eneath waited for Osran to come out of the tent. He had seen the others leave a good while ago but the young paladin couldn’t see a trace of his uncle anywhere. He had decided to wait and hear from him how the scouting mission had gone but those plans were in doubt as his uncle never seemed to leave the tent. Eneath frowned somewhat as he leaned on a nearby tree in slight pain. What in earth could keep Osran there this long. After many minutes, his gaze turned to the two priests who had left the tent last. Maybe they could offer him some explanation for his uncle’s absence? He walked towards them slowly and asked them in a calm voice.
“Greetings, you two. Do you have any idea why Crimson Legionary Lowriver hasn’t left Fairbanks’ side yet? All other officers left long ago.” He asked, full well knowing it could well be that he wouldn’t receive a satisfactory answer. And indeed, one of the priest shrugged briefly before he gave his answer.
“He didn’t tell us exactly but he made it clear enough that he doesn’t want to be disturbed. So if you have any business with him, leave it for tomorrow and go to sleep.” He asked with a slight yawn, wondering himself what the Crimson Legionary had had in mind. Eneath turned slowly towards the tent, pondering whether he should heed the cleric’s proposition but in the end, he knew what he had to do. He quickly answered to the other man before heading to meet the older knight.
“Thank you for the advice but I have to exchange a few words with my uncle now!” He said as he left the two priests standing behind him in the dark night.
Silent curses escaped from Osran’s mouth as he did his best to try to link the power of the Light with the High Inquisitor’s mind. Again and again, he tried to establish that connection but each time he came close to that goal, he seemed to lose focus of what he was doing suddenly. It had taken him many long minutes to even see the flicker of the other man’s mind but trying to attack it proved more than challenging. The priests needed years of training to accomplish something like this and now, Osran had only his own connection to the Light as well as his experience to find the way forward. Yet, those things didn’t seem to be taking him far enough, at least as quickly as would have been required.
Certain fear started to slowly flow into Osran’s mind as he wondered how long this would take. This had been a terrible gamble from the beginning but this was the only way he could try to maintain full stability within the Crusade. If he backed off now, Fairbanks would certainly tell everything of this to Eligor. And if he accidentally destroyed Fairbanks’ mind, it wouldn’t take long until he could be tied into the crime. The only chance was to succeed in his plan and hope nobody would catch him in the act before he was finished.
Suddenly, Osran felt a slight excitement rise with him. His brief glimpse of Fairbanks’ memories didn’t disappear immediately as they had before, enabling him to begin channeling his holy fire into them. He was just about to begin the final part of his operation when he suddenly heard something that nearly froze him still. Footsteps grew ever closer until they stopped just before the tent’s door. Osran cursed heavily as he suddenly let off Fairbanks’ head and rose to his feet just in time to see someone entering the tent. He didn’t see the newcomer’s face as he spoke to him in a cold voice.
“I must ask you to leave, whoever you are. The situation here is completely under control.” Osran said defiantly, praying that the other crusader would take the hint. However, Osran felt his heart sink further as he heard the younger paladin speak to him.
“What are you doing here, Osran? The others left a long while ago so what business can you probably have here?” Eneath asked, making his uncle frown deeply. Osran hadn’t expected his nephew to leave the Chapel tonight and this certainly was an alarming development. Fairbanks would stay silent but he’d have to prevent his nephew from seeing what he had already done to the High Inquisitor. Osran took a few steps forward to stop Eneath in his tracks and spoke to him calmly.
“The High Inquisitor fell when he was telling about his escape from Naxxramas and I decided to stay here in order to make sure everything would be alright with him.” He said in a voice that sounded completely genuine but inside, Osran was growing livid with fear. There was no believable way for him to stop Eneath from seeing Fairbanks and the cleric’s wriggling managed to cause some minor noise, something which Osran hoped wouldn’t catch the younger man’s attention. Eneath frowned deeply as he answered.
“We both know such things are up to the priests you sent away from here right after the others. What is going on, uncle?” He said in concern, quickly starting to realize something was seriously wrong. Osran nearly gave away his surprise at Eneath’s words but managed to contain his emotions in the last possible moment.
“Those priests needed a short pause from their duties and besides, I wanted to make sure that no further disturbances would come to the High Inquisitor. He deserves that much after all he went through.” Osran said, knowing that his words were slowly getting slightly unsure and Osran felt himself grow more miserable by the moment Eneath rebuked him.
“I doubt that is what is really happening here, uncle. No mere falling would cause you to spend the whole night here.” Eneath said as he bypassed his uncle to walk towards the tied cleric. Osran’s mind raced to find a way to prevent his nephew from seeing his handiwork but there was no way to do that without seriously wounding his nephew. Osran realized in growing horror that explaining himself was the only thing that could still save him here.
Eneath looked at Fairbanks with growing puzzlement as he walked closer to him. He could soon see he was well awake but why hadn’t he spoken for himself earlier… The young man stopped just beside the cleric and only then did he notice the ropes around Fairbanks’ limbs and the rag covering his mouth. He gasped deeply as he started to realize what was going on as Osran walked towards him and whispered to him.
“Whatever you do, nephew, stay silent and don’t do anything unthought. There is far more at stake here than you could probably understand.” Osran said to Eneath who was staring at Fairbanks’ impaled hand and the pool of blood around it, not able to understand that it was his uncle who had done all of this. It took many seconds before Eneath spoke again, not turning to look at Osran.
“What can possibly explain any of this, Osran? How could you do this to anyone… let alone the High Inquisitor?” He asked, knowing that Fairbanks was a highly respected figure within the Crusade, always helping those who needed his guidance whenever they needed it. Eneath had seen him carried here and he could imagine his journey here from Stratholme. Osran tried to put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder put the younger man wiped it away immediately. Osran sighed slightly as he spoke to Eneath.
“He dared to accuse the Grand Crusader of treachery without proof and I could see some others beginning to believe him. I know full well how this must look to you but I had no choice but to make him take back his words. I offered him a chance to repent voluntarily but he wouldn’t take the hint. I’m sorry you had to see this.” Osran offered with an apologetic voice, deepening Eneath’s misery as he looked at Fairbanks’ desperate eyes. After a few seconds, he turned at Osran and asked with a silent voice.
“Is that it? Is that his crime? To tell what he has seen? Have we really gone that low, uncle?” He asked, not even willing to think of the implications of the older paladin’s words. Osran’s face turned into an ever more sorrowful one but his voice still carried the confidence that all who knew him had come to know.
“His crime is spreading lies about the Grand Crusader, not his story. Can you not see it, Eneath? Dathrohan has always lead us with wisdom and honor and we have to trust in his judgement when we all stand on the edge of oblivion. I don’t ask you to understand but know that the Crimson Legion has taught me many things I never knew before. As an agent of the Grand Crusader and as your uncle, I ask you to leave and forget what you saw here. It will be for the greater good. You have my word of it.” Osran said, hoping that Eneath would listen to him in this most important of moments. So very much depended on whether his nephew had the will to serve the Crusade, no matter what.
Eneath stared at his uncle in concern, willing to listen to what his uncle said. Yet, what he had seen here disgusted him without an end. How did Osran know Fairbanks was lying? Or even worse, was the older paladin willing to silence the word of truth for some misguided sense of responsibility to the Legion? Eneath tried to see things through his uncle’s eyes but the things he had heard of Fairbanks as well as the High Inquisitor’s pained gaze haunted him terribly. No, he would not stand for this and neither should Osran. It was the time to say some words to his uncle he had wanted to say for a good while. Eneath turned to look at Osran and started to speak in a slow yet friendly voice.
“Osran… You know how long I have looked up to you and wanted to follow in your footsteps nearly wherever you went. You have me a lot about honor, faith and bravery and you have watched over me ever since the fall of Northdale. And for that I will forever be grateful to you. Through the countless battles we fought in together, you helped and even saved me more than I can even remember. I owe you a greater debt I can ever repay you.
But… you said it yourself. You have clearly learned a lot in the Legion I don’t know. But I can already see none of it has been something any of us should learn as the Osran I knew would never do this to a respected and honored comrade! Just look at him, uncle. I have a hard time believing a priest of his status would be lying to us. I don’t know what he said but Fairbanks deserves much better than this. You have changed and I cannot say it has been for the better! Please, Osran, I ask you: stop this madness before it is too late!”
Eneath said in a pleading voice, his expression taking Osran briefly off-guard. Eneath’s reaction was to be expected and for a while, a small voice began screaming deep within him against what he was doing but then again, he had already made his choice. He didn’t raise his voice but his tone was much more serious and angered than it had been before.
“You have no right to criticize me, boy. I was drawn into the dark secrets of our cause long ago and after those days, I’ve learned no one besides the Legion can be trusted. Believe me when I say I don’t enjoy any of this but for your and all our comrades’ sake, I don’t have a damn choice! Even now, Fairbanks may be just a member of the Cult of the Damned or he may just as well be infected with the Plague! The Crusade is our absolute duty and I will stand to the end protect its purity. And you would do well to do the same, Eneath!”
Osran said, clearly annoyed of being forced into this situation but he would not back off before anyone, not even his nephew.
Eneath, on the other hand, looked more miserable after every word Osran spoke. They only proved just far Osran had gone with his fears. Iren might have been a traitor but the accusations against Carethas and the Lord Paladin had bothered Eneath without an end. The young paladin knew both of them and he knew that neither of them would betray the Crusade. It seemed like his uncle was completely lost and Eneath decided that he couldn’t simply allow the older knight to move forward with his plans. He would be have to made to see the error in his ways and in the command he had received. If Osran was following the orders of the Grand Crusader, there were more things wrong than the young man had ever suspected.
“You may be right about me not knowing the full reach of the Scourge’s corruption. You may have seen more horrors than I ever have. But Osran, you have taught me yourself, along with all the others, that the truest victory against the shadow can only be achieved with good and pure deeds, not by torturing our comrades. Only a few months ago you knew this as well, uncle. And for this very reason, I cannot allow you do this.” Eneath said as he started to walk towards the tent’s door to alert Eligor and the others here. He knew that he would be endangering his uncle’s whole career, even life, but it would be worth it if he could make the older paladin see the error of his ways. However, he was momentarily stopped as he saw Osran’s blade fall before him, shortly followed by the enraged words of his uncle.
“Don’t take another step, nephew. I cannot allow you to reveal what you have seen here. There is too much at stake for me to allow anyone, even my nephew, to ruin things now.” Osran’s voice wavered as he spoke, his mind completely frozen by what was happening. Eneath looked at his uncle for a while before noticing something lying in the ground. It was a small horn, similar to those used by the guards on the walls. The young man couldn’t say how it was brought here but he knew that its voice would alert enough guards here within a few seconds. Osran looked in annoyance as Eneath reached for the horn and hit his nephew in his chest as he picked it up.
“Drop that, now. I will not give you another chance.” The paladin said as Eneath took the horn to his lips. He raised his sword to point right towards Eneath’s chest, meaning every word. However, Eneath could see the slightest of hesitation deep within his uncle’s eyes and knew that this was something he simply had to do. Without a second’s hesitation, Eneath brought the horn to his lips and blew into it with all his might.
Osran prayed until the very last second that his nephew would give up his folly but it simply wasn’t to be. His heart aching terribly, Osran was about to stab his nephew with his sword but only fraction of a second before hitting him, Osran realized the mistake he was about to commit. If he was found over the dead body of his nephew, he knew very well what the others would think about the scene. No, he had to try to speak himself out of this. After all, a Crimson Legionary’s words still meant more than a knight’s who was barely more than a cadet and the still-confused inquisitor’s. Osran quickly pushed Eneath aside and tore the rag from Fairbanks’ mouth and quickly cut the ropes tying him to the ground. Then he kicked piles and piles of earth over the spot where most of the blood had dropped to hide the proof of his handiwork. And none of it happened a moment too soon. Osran turned calmly to look as a dozen guards suddenly stormed into the tent, shattering the brief silence immediately.
“Who blew the horn? What is going on here? Speak, all of you!” The guard cried, causing Osran to cringe big time. This was one of the most serious threats to him inside the Crusade but he knew he had to succeed in getting through this. The very future of the Crusade depended on it and he would go to any lengths to prove his nephew and Fairbanks wrong… or at least contain the effects of their treachery.
After Eneath’s intervention, Osran now faces a situation which most likely is the most serious one of his life. Will he be able to calm things down or will this chain of events which began with Fairbanks’ return escalate into something much more dangerous? I hope you liked this chapter and see with the next one!
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The Great Schism
”Crusader Lowriver, I hope you realize the seriousness of your own nephew’s claims, not to even mention the words of the honored High Inquisitor! We know all what those two said has happened and none of it makes it seem like you were up to any good. But before you answer, I wish to remind you that your career as a knight of the Crusade and possibly even your life is depending on your answers.” Commander Dawnbringer said as he closed the door to the tent behind him. The man was accompanied by Lord Raymond George and Harthal but they stayed silent for now.
Osran nodded to himself in deep regret, cursing his nephew’s intrusion with all his soul. This was just what he had feared but he would do it all again in the name of the Crusade. The Crimson Legionary tried to pull his hands apart but as before, those efforts were hindered by the rope which tied his hands behind the chair he was sitting on. Osran’s voice was bitter but he still knew he had a chance to escape this situation, if he played his cards properly.
“Of course, commander Dawnbringer. I’ll tell everything about this farce you wish to ask. It is the least I can do to apologize for my nephew’s inexcusable behavior.” He said with a sigh, hoping to get this issue over with. Eneath’s actions hurt him more than anything in the past weeks as he had always been willing trust him with his very life. To see that Eneath had been this ready to betray him the whole time… Only with great efforts did Osran manage to keep his emotions at bay. Eligor frowned somewhat as he heard Osran’s answer but he continued without further hesitation.
“We already located the priests you bribed away with promises of power and glory and their words on your hesitance to inform them of your plans hardly raises any further trust in you, Lowriver. You’ve got quite a task in explaining that as well as the wound within the High Inquisitor’s hand and why you had buried the blood before our guards could stop your and Eneath’s fight.” Eligor bowed forward towards the sitting knight. frowning deeply at him. Osran investigated the expressions of the three men, finding to his great relief a hint of sympathy within Harthal. Maybe, he could get him on his side if he played his cards right. Osran forced his posture to be as noble as possible as he answered.
“It is true that I told the priests to leave me in peace and it is true that I didn’t want any further attention to my deed. You see, I wanted to investigate the exact extent of the High
Inquisitor’s injuries and how they affected his ability to remember what happened in Naxxramas clearly enough. Restoring peace to our beloved order is my sacred charge as a Crimson Legionary and I’ll do all in my power to fulfill my duty. I am just sorry I had to do it in secret from you. My nephew entered at the wrong time and apparently he made hasty decisions based on his false assumptions. My apologies for his mistake.” Osran never broke his eye contact with Eligor as he spoke, his expression unmoved the whole time. Even if Osran hated lying to his superior, his belief in his overall cause hid any hints of lying from the three knights. However, George snorted deeply as Osran finished, turning towards Eligor.
“What complete crap! The priests told us that all of Fairbanks’ injuries were purely physical and none of has any reason to doubt his mental capabilities, especially not a close servant of the Grand Crusader!” Osran’s eyes flashed open as he heard those words, not willing to believe George’s words. Had he actually attacked him because of his ties to Dathrohan? Such a claim was a clear act of treason against the entire Crusade! Osran immediately rebuked the noble’s words.
“I advise you to take those words back, Raymond! None of us has the right to question the Grand Crusader, especially in a situation like this!” Osran cried, expecting George to back down quickly but to his shock, such reaction never came and even worse, Eligor simply stood silent. Harthal looked at him in surprise, clearly as flabbergasted by Raymond as the Crimson Legionary was. The commander, however, continued like nothing of any worth had been said.
“Even if we believed everything you said, who stabbed the High Inquisitor in the hand? And Lord George raised a good point about your overall motive to question Fairbanks.” He said in a surprisingly normal tone. However, his reaction wasn’t too well-received by Harthal who finally joined the discussion.
“But commander Dawnbringer, certainly you have to condemn his words! We are in no pos…” He started but the other knight wouldn’t let him finish. Instead, he raised his hand towards the Lord Paladin and continued to speak to Osran.
“This is only up to crusader Lowriver to explain. Stay out of this, Truesight.” Something in the commander’s voice outraged Osran without an end, it was as if this self-righteous officer thought he was in a position to ignore the Grand Crusader completely. Or… even worse… could he actually be setting him aside knowingly? No, for now he had to trust in his comrades at least enough to give his false explanation to Eligor.
“I certainly hope you’ll take that back soon, commander and Lord George. In any case, believe it or not, it was the High Inquisitor himself who did it to himself in the moment he regained his consciousness, in the exact same way he attacked the priest who was tending to him earlier in the day. I guess the events in Naxxramas upset him even more than we already know. As for why I doubted his memory, I had to make sure he is in a condition to speak tomorrow! Even if the priests didn’t find any problems in his head, that doesn’t mean we should lay down the fate of the Crusade merely upon their judgement!” Osran raised his voice, seeing the smug if worried look on Eligor’s face. The aging crusader could see very easily that he wasn’t being told everything which annoyed him greatly. To his further chagrin, it was Raymond George who spoke next.
“Very interesting tale, Crimson Legionary Lowriver. Most interesting. However, we have to question the validity of your words in the light of some evidence we were presented with.” He said as he pulled something from his pocket, something which puzzled Osran even further. It looked like a tiny disk, rather remarkable in any ways. He knew items like that were sometimes used by the magi in some of their arts but how did it relate to him? He turned to look at Eligor askingly, a deep horror starting to take a hold within his heart. Seeing Osran’s reaction, the commander’s expression hardened and he took the disc from the noble.
“To my regret, this was all a test we set up for you, Lowriver. I know you probably won’t want to hear what I’ve to say. In any case, one of the priests you sent away wasn’t quite as gullible as you thought and even better, he has mastered magics most of us have ever heard of. Far sight, for example.” At this point, Eligor’s face darkened even further. The look of smugness was gone, replaced with a deep and condemning look which seemed to fight its way into Osran’s very soul. The Crimson Legionary, however, managed to keep his composure, no matter how deep his fears actually went.
“Far sight is a shamanic spell which he learned in the weeks as he prepared to stand against the Legion in Mount Hyjal. I must say I’m impressed by his cunning as he cast the spell into the tent when you sent him away, allowing him to see the entire scene unfold. And the worst of it all was that he was able to record it all into this disk. Do you want me to call him to repeat the scene?” Eligor asked in an anger which seemed to get more profound by the second. Osran looked at him with a deep frown, his earlier concern starting to turn into actual fear and disgust towards the other paladin. Did he actually he could beat him with such smears and threats? Osran had never heard much about the abilities of the shamans but he didn’t doubt for a second that the commander wouldn’t have some kind of evidence against him after his words. Still, Osran wasn’t about to give up in the face of this new obstacle, not as long as he’d be able to serve the Crusade.
“Really, commander Dawnbringer? Do you really resort to a two-faced priest’s fabrication to accuse a member of the Crimson Legion of an assault on the High Inquisitor as well as lying? Besides, anyone who has learned about the shamanic ways has acquainted himself with the Light-forsaken brutes of the Horde! Have you already forgotten all the comrades who sacrificed their lives to banish them and their cursed corruption from Lordaeron once and for all?” Osran cried in anger, his mind drifting to the bygone days of the Second War. Not only had Dawnbringer failed to condemn George’s insult to the Grand Crusader but he had also thrown away all his honor with his accusations. Harthal whispered to Eligor briefly, his face getting more worried by the minute.
“What are you thinking, Eligor?! We both know the dangers of shamanism and the Horde! We should never have welcomed him back into our ranks in the first place and you cannot possibly use his claims to attack crusader Lowriver! He may have done wrong but we cannot turn to such heresy in a moment like this! The Lord Paladin said to which Eligor merely snorted. He quickly turned to look directly at Harthal and snapped at him briefly.
“I use whatever evidence I can, Lord Paladin! I have every right to accuse Osran for attempted murder and this disk proves without a doubt that I’d be damned if I let Lowriver escape from this unpunished!” The commander said as he walked towards Osran and spoke to him slowly, each words dipping with threat.
“Admit it now, Lowriver. Admit all of it. Did the Legion order you to attack Fairbanks?” He asked in a softer voice which worried Osran greatly. Still, he would never let the blame of his mistake spread any further than himself.
“I worked on my own for the benefit of the entire Crusade as should you too, Dawnbringer. All my life I have worked to serve our homeland, whether it took the form of our kingdom, Order of the Silver Hand or the Scarlet Crusade! My decisions were my own but my loyalties have been clear to all my comrades for many, long decades! And they won’t change in the future, either.” Osran said, again forcing himself to calm down somewhat. However, that momentary effort to catch his breath ended the moment when Raymond stepped forward and spoke in a low voice which clearly carried a hint of direct threat.
“We have long held our suspicions about the Crimson Legion, Lowriver. They have far too often acted without any thought for the consequences and far too often they have failed to hide their intimidations and murders among our ranks. Yes, we know that the Grand Crusader doesn’t want any threats against his rule within the Crusade. One of your comrades revealed everything about the Legion two weeks ago but back then, we hoped the coming assault on Stratholme was worth supporting your Grand Crusader.” Raymond said as he crossed his arms behind his back, an expectant smile rising to his face as he saw a sword suddenly appearing under his chin, followed by an angered remark from the Lord Paladin.
“What is the meaning of this, commander Dawnbringer and Lord George? Are you completely out of your minds?!The Grand Crusader doesn’t have anything to do with any of this!” He said as he slowly walked to face the two other paladins with a flabbergasted look. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The two had shown no signs of treachery until now which made it all the more difficult for him to accept. He could feel his arm shaking as he waited for an answer while looking at Eligor’s emotionless face. It all seemed so very unreal to the Lord Paladin who had prepared for a normal interrogation instead of being forced to defend the Crusade’s honor against those he had deemed his trusted comrades. The impasse seemed to go on for minutes… until Eligor quickly drew his blade from its scabbard and before Harthal could even twitch his sword, the other paladin locked the weapons into a standstill. With an asking look, Eligor finally gave his answer.
“I knew you would be an obstacle the moment you and your army returned from Stratholme, Lord Paladin! You have followed the Grand Crusader without any questions ever since the order’s birth and you clearly never showed the courage to stand up to his leadership even at Stratholme! I’ll make it very clear to you, Truesight: lay down your sword and join us or fall by my hand!” Eligor cried, every last bit of his composure implying him to prepare for a fight. Harthal returned the favor but decided against attacking his opponent just yet. Osran looked at the Lord Paladin, praying he’d make the right choice for all of the crusaders.
“Why are you doing this, Eligor? Simply because some of your friends claim the Grand Crusader is incompetent and leads us with fear and intimidation? Is that it?” Harthal asked with a deep frown, looking as George also revealed his blade and started to walk towards him. His attention, however, returned soon back to the commander as he spoke.
“It is true that I would have hesitated if it weren’t for the fact that I was informed of all of this by Carlin Redpath who would never lie about things like these! But even then, our final decision came only after the news of your defeat and Lowriver’s assault on the High Inquisitor gives us more than enough reason to go through with this. For a long time, we have questioned the cruelty and fear being born within the order and now we and countless other officers across the Crusade have had enough! Today, the Argent Dawn will be born to guide us to the final victory against the Scourge!” Eligor concluded as he saw Harthal’s eyes grow ever more shocked by what was transpiring. He quickly cried to the Lord Paladin cursing the ties that still prevented him from rising from his chair.
“Can’t you see that this is all complete madness, Harthal?! You cannot let these madmen to break the Crusade when it most needs…” Osran started but he was soon cut short by a bolt of lightning that hit his abdomen. George walked towards him and spoke to the other man in apparent anger.
“Stay out of this, murderer. You’ve hurt enough people already!” He said before turning to look at Harthal again, narrowing his eyes greatly.
“We ask you this once, Lord Paladin. Give up your misguided path if you truly wish to serve the Light and our kingdom!” He said as he pointed his sword at Harthal. The latter looked at the two other paladins in fear, full well knowing the stakes here. He could simply do as he was told and join the two in their new order and to spare Light’s Hope from a bloodbath. He could tell himself he was only following other who knew the ways of the Light better than he himself did and keep his position within the Argent Dawn.
However, not once did Harthal actually even consider that option as he stared at Eligor. Who the hell did this man think he was? At no point had the Grand Crusader shown any signs of treachery or crushing dissent and certainly not one, cursed commander could claim he knew better than Dathrohan or Alexandros Mograine! The mere thought made Harthal frown deeply. Ever since its formation, Harthal had fought for the Scarlet Crusade and he would die as a brave defender of righteousness! Harthal sighed briefly before taking a slightly more relaxed but just as grave expression.
“Dawnbringer… George… I’m not sure what do you think gives you the right to question your betters. I can see you think Dathrohan and I led our troops to their defeat in Stratholme at least partly on purpose, don’t you? It’s far easier to just wait here to prepare to stab those in the back who gave their all to defend our Chapel! You may think yourself to be very clever and righteous, Eligor, but it is my duty to put a stop to your insanity!” Harthal cried, making the two other paladin think he was going to attack but with a quick move, he jumped backwards and with one, masterful strike cut the ropes holding Osran at bay. The paladin panted in surprise and shock as he looked at a small scratch that was caused by the other knight’s strike but Osran wasted no time rising to his feet, immediately trying to draw his sword before remembering he had been forced to give it up during his surrender. Seeing his companion’s situation, Harthal suddenly did something that surprised Osran greatly. He revealed another scabbard under his blood-red tabard and threw it at Osran quickly.
“That’s why I always keep additional weapons with me, Lowriver! Now, prove your worth and help me get rid of these traitors!” He cried as George and Eligor seemed to curse their failure and stupid oversight. Osran frowned at his unlikely ally, deeply surprised by Harthal’s move. Ever since their encounter at Stratholme, Osran had decided against trusting the Lord Paladin but… if he truly served the Scourge, it would have been in his interest to sow dissent within the Crusade! But in any case, any questioning about his motives would have to be left for later. Right now, these bastards would face the judgement of the Light they truly deserved!
Eligor, however, was not nearly as concerned as he appeared. He knew that as long as he fought near the Chapel, he could call as many reinforcements as he could and there was simply no way for his coup to fail. If things went in any way badly, he could always even the odds against the two powerful paladins. Yet, even then, he and George were almost evenly-matched with the Lord Paladin and the savior of Scarlet Monastery. This would be his moment to prove that the Argent Dawn was prepared to separate from the Crusade once and for all. Osran, however, had radically different plans as he answered to his ally’s words.
“Let us do this in the name of the Light, Lord Paladin! Let us lay waste to any who would bring ruin to the Crusade!” Osran shouted as he suddenly cast a powerful blessing upon Harthal, infusing him with the might of holiness. Harthal returned the favor and with a savage attack, Osran charged towards Raymond, casting a powerful bolt of exorcism upon his foe. The noble managed to stop the incoming spell but doing so allowed Osran to gain the early initiative in the melee. With urgent and courageous attacks, he swung his sword towards the other paladin’s chest, causing him to take a few steps back in slight shock. He, however, healed most of the damage almost immediately before turning back to Osran. The other knight had tried to capitalize upon his early advantage but he was too late to gain any decisive edge upon his foe. George smirked in expectation as he blocked Osran’s next attack before pushing him back finally.
“A valiant effort, Lowriver, but you need more than that to break my will!” Raymond cried as he suddenly started to glow with a bright Light. Osran looked at him for a moment in puzzlement but he suddenly realized what was coming. He suddenly formed a defensive aura around himself as he was being battered by one wave of the holy power after another. Avenging Wrath was a skill only few of the paladins ever learned and it was usually achieved by those who had devoted their life on defending those weaker than themselves. It was an extremely potent attack but Osran managed to withstand the onslaught completely. He wasted no time in then rushing towards his opponent, attacking with all the fury he could muster. Strike after strike hit Raymond’s sword and armor before Osran finally felt the Light become one with his very soul. He concentrated all of his strength into his blade and with one, massive swing hit the noble’s abdomen, sending him flying on his back into the ground.
This time, however, Osran wasn’t about to let his early advantage go to waste. He immediately ran towards the noble and prepared to end this fight once and for all. Even if Raymond had been a respected and honorable knight, Osran wouldn’t forge a traitor to the Crusade, not after everything that had happened. The aging knight could fell the lord trying to form a divine shield around himself but with a quick spell, Osran managed to stop his opponent’s casting. The fear that radiated from Raymond’s face confirmed to Osran that he had won the fight but before he could penetrate George’s torso with his sword, he suddenly felt a sudden pain in his back. The sacred strength of the Light burned its way into his back, immediately causing Osran to halt his attack. Despite the impact of Osran’s hit, the noble managed to regain his footing before Osran could recover from Eligor’s attack.
Harthal cursed without an end that he had left the commander with enough room to breathe to attack Osran on this crucial moment. He had had the option to let Osran finish George in peace and then help him finish Eligor but it was all over now. The Crimson Legionary had been injured and the course of the battle would very likely tilt on his foes’ advantage. Harthal had tried to avoid letting this fight spread any further but he certainly wouldn’t go down here just because of his pride. He quickly cried to Osran who had managed to stabilize his positions again his opponent.
“Follow me, Lowriver! We can’t win here!” He cried as he suddenly took a few steps backwards and with a quick move, cut a gaping hole into the tent’s wall. He immediately jumped into the nightly courtyard surrounding Light’s Hope, looking around himself in worry. Most of the troops loyal to him were injured and could hardly put up a believable defense but on the other hand, what else could he do? There was no way to prevent a full-fledged battle in this point so he might as well do all he could to prevail in it. With a loud cry, he cried into the night to call his comrades into the battle once again.
“Rise up, knights of the Scarlet Crusade! The sanctity of our order is under a threat by the hands of those who would betray our cause!”
Eneath looked into the ground, not able to do anything but think of the mess he now found himself in. Had he really done it? Had he attacked his uncle headlong and brought them both into this hellish situation? After all they had gone together, after he had practically grown under the supervision of his uncle… was this it? A cold, slight breeze entered the tent from its door, causing small shivers creep down Eneath’s spine. Ever since the departure of the three knights, he had stayed alone, struggling to hold his fear and his guilt at bay.
The scenes of his childhood in Northdale flew before his eyes but at the same time, the memories of his dear uncle became one with the ruthless, violent monster he had seen attacking Fairbanks. How could Osran have done this? How could he resort to such cruelty? Eneath had never feared his uncle before but he could have sworn he would have killed him if Eligor and the others wouldn’t have interfered. Suddenly, his memories turned darker, more corrupted, more bitter. He didn’t recognize his uncle now but at what point had he become what he was now?
Had it truly happened only after joining the Crimson Legion? Had the greatest triumph of his life really ruined it all? Or… had such ruthlessness dwelled within Osran for far longer? Had the uncle of his memories actually been a lie and was tonight the first time he had actually seen the true Osran? Eneath shook his hand as he thought about the enraged gleam within the older Lowriver’s face when he had attacked him only a few minutes earlier? Eneath turned to look at the direction of the tent it had all happened, trying to calm down after the horrifying encounter. The only thing he knew was that nothing would ever be the same anything for him.
Eneath sat still for a time which seemed like forever until he finally heard something which forced him to snap out of his gloom. They were the Lord Paladin’s words! What could possibly threaten Light’s Hope? Had the Scourge managed to avoid the Crusade’s expedition all this time and were now on the offensive? Without a second of doubt, he rushed outside after grabbing his sword to see what was the cause of the alarm.
However, what met his gaze was something he hadn’t expected in the least. Quickly growing rows of knights were surrounding their comrades as the latter group prepared to stand their ground. The defenders managed to hold their ground but the tension was more than tangible in the air. Both of the armies seemed to know there was no way to escape a severe bloodbath anymore. Piercing the air could be heard Raymond’s voice which suddenly seemed much more confident and certain than before.
“My comrades and the former knights of the Scarlet Crusade! I know my words may come as a surprise to many of you but we have been forced to stay silent of our cause thus far because of fear. My friends, we have suspected it for a long while and I know many of you have had close comrades who have been claimed to have murdered by the Cult or fallen in battle without you knowing about it! Well, I have something to tell you about it! Our honored ally Carlin Redpath managed to send me a list of the knights who have been slaughtered by the Grand Crusader’s Crimson Legion itself!” Many gasps but also snorts of outrage could be heard among the crusaders. None wanted to fight but many of those paladins knew very well where all of the noble’s words were going to. After a few, fleeting seconds, Eligor continued from where George had left off.
“The Crimson Legion has ruled us with terror and intimidation ever since our order was born but even we stayed silent because we wanted to believe the final victory in Stratholme would have been worth this disgrace! However, we only received words of defeat and shame from Stratholme and the Grand Crusader was completely helpless to stop it! Not to even mention all the dishonorable things our leaders have done in the name of the Light!
Look at yourselves now: would Uther even recognize us anymore? We have abandoned our most beautiful principles and cut ourselves off from our old allies! Only our own pureness will keep the shadow at bay and with the help of the high elves and the dwarves, we will prevail in the end! I know many among us ´know this to be true and I have countless allies in all the major cities of the Crusade who will on this day rise against those who would lead us to ruin! Now, I ask you to take another step on the path of righteousness and join the Argent Dawn, a symbol of a new sunrise over Lordaeron!” The commander cried, causing countless cheers among his followers. The horde of wounded and confused knights, however, seemed to hesitate as they thought about what to do in this horrifying situation. However, the peace wasn’t maintained for long as Harthal’s voice soon penetrated the air.
“I warn you, knights of the Scarlet Crusade, do not believe the words of these traitors! The war is still ours despite this setback and everything else that has been said is a pure, sickening lie that only serves the cause of the Lich King! I know the Grand Crusader and he’s still as resolute and honorable as he always has! Now, don’t let these power-hungry fools divide our order as we will be easy prey for Kel’Thuzad in that case! Fight in the name of the Crusade and in the name of Lordaeron and carry the Scarlet Banner with pride!” He cried, knowing that his time to speak was much more limited than his foes’ but that simply couldn’t be helped now. If he took too long, he and Osran would fall under the threatening onslaught. A complete stillness descended upon the army after the next call from Raymond.
“All that wish to join the Dawn, surrender now and you will be spared! The rest of you will fall with your Grand Crusader!” He cried, causing the rest of the mutineers to close their ranks further around the fearful groups of crusaders.
Among that group stood Eneath with his mind working in overdrive. He faced two tall and muscular paladins and he didn’t doubt for a second the duo’s readiness to kill him for a second. However, that wasn’t the foremost thought circling within the young man’s head now. To be completely truthful, he had found Eligor’s words interesting, almost enticing as the recent developments within the Crusade certainly hadn’t inspired him to any degree. To simply be able to begin anew without the weight of the Crimson Legion or the horrifying mistrust all over again… a hopeful feeling rose to Eneath’s mind as he thought of the ability to escape the hell the Crusade had been turning into.
Yet, there were other thoughts that swirled within Eneath’s mind as well. Was he prepared to risk an internal war within the Crusade in the hopes of overthrowing the Grand Crusader for good? And even worse, would he be willing to abandon any hopes of reconciling with his uncle? Eneath knew more than well Osran would never forgive such a move and the uncle and nephew would become enemies for the rest of their lives. Eneath briefly sniffed at the cool wind and gazed at the moon in the sky above. In his heart, Eneath knew he had only one choice. Osran had made his decision and he would have to make his own, regardless of his uncle’s failures. Eneath could only barely contain his emotions as he heard his sword hit the ground, followed by a thud as he fell to his knees.
Osran looked in horror and disgust as he saw groups of the crusaders lay down their arms in front of the overwhelming show of force. Nearly one fifth of the crusaders had surrendered before the enemy and even if most of them were seriously wounded, that sight still infuriated Osran without an end. He could hardly hide his anger but even then, his duty was still unfulfilled. He would serve the Crusade until the very end. A slight smile rose to the aging paladin’s face as he saw a few of the knights stabbing their former comrades before the Dawn led them to safety. It suited them just as well but he calmed his voice somewhat before crying to the remaining members of the Crusade.
“Do not leave this outrage go unpunished, my comrades! Drive these traitors from Light’s Hope!” Osran yelled as he prepared to disengage from his melee with Raymond and Eligor. He would lead the resistance against these turncoats himself and he would make sure they would prevail. In only a few seconds, another cry could be heard among the gathered crowd, one that ended any hopes of reconciliation.
“All who wish to join us have already done so! Finish off the servants of the corrupt Grand Crusader!” One of the men cried as he charged towards one of the knights still loyal to the Crusade and with an overpowering hit, severed his head from his shoulders immediately. Chaos broke down immediately throughout the whole area surrounding the Chapel as a former comrade fought against another, each of them facing moments of despair and rage as they met an old friend on this field of battle.
The Crusade was severely outnumbered and their position was volatile beyond words. They were surrounded from both sides. It was clear to everyone present that the defenders were done for if they couldn’t secure their flanks. If they failed in that goal, they would all be slaughtered without mercy. None of this was lost on Harthal, of course, and he immediately turned to Osran.
“Lowriver, try to lead our left wing away from that trap and I’ll see what I can do around here! But be quick as we are running out of time!” He cried, earning a quick nod from Osran who did as he was told. He fought off two rebel knights as he rushed towards his comrades who were clearly fighting for their very lives. He cast a powerful consecration into the ground below his foes, knowing it would allow his own attack to be even a bit more effective. His assault had gone unnoticed by the rebels and some of them were clearly taken aback as their very feet began to burn with righteous fire. Osran cut down three of them before they could even notice what was happening and the strength of his spells made the insurgent knights think they were threatened by a larger group of attackers. Osran saw this immediately and cried to his comrades.
“Push forward, now! This is your only chance!” He cried and to his relief, he could see that some of the trapped crusaders heard his words and concentrated all their attack in breaking the confused group of paladins, thus shattering their circle of death once and for all. Osran hardly felt the series of wounds he received by the fierce defense as he knew that his frenzied attack was the one thing giving his comrades a chance. He was one of the Grand Crusader’s closest servants and he’d do his all to prove his worth to the paladin of legend.
“Now, crush their ranks! In the name of Lordaeron!” He cried as he saw to his triumph that increasing numbers of crusaders were pouring out of the deathtrap, turning the tables among the turncoats and forcing them back, thus starting the process of stabilization of the frontline between the two armies. Harthal had managed to weaken the other wing of the Dawn just enough to buy a chance for the Crusade their as well. Any hopes the rebels had of an easy, effortless victory had evaporated during the first minute of the battle but that didn’t change the fact that the mutineers still held a clear numerical advantage.
Harthal knew this as well but to his concern, no easy ways of reversing this state of affairs could be seen anywhere nearby. The two leaders of the rebellion were far from the frontlines and the Lord Paladin knew very well that the Dawn’s troops were in any ways weaker as paladins than the Crusade’s. However, it wasn’t long before he noticed something interesting nearby. It was some kind of storehouse but it was what lay inside that really caught his attention. There were rows after rows of some metallic trash but also some weird-looking guns that he knew could only be of Gnomish origin. Maybe… just maybe he could find something of use among them.
The Lord Paladin quickly disengaged from his fight and ran towards the warehouse and after a of seconds of searching, he found something of great interest. It was a small red-colored weapon and he had absolutely zero idea of its purpose but it mattered little now. He quickly grabbed the gun and ran back into the fight and with a slightly fearful look on his face, pulled the trigger. He gasped in shock as he saw a great wall of electricity shoot out from the weapon, quickly engulfing several of the rebels under its horrifying power.
One by one, the knights seemed to fall under the Gnomish invention and for a moment, he thought he’d be able to turn the tables on his enemies. However, it was only a few seconds until those thoughts were swept away as an arrow hit his wrist, immediately causing him to let loose of the gun, breaking it to pieces. Harthal cursed as he looked at his injured wrist and the ruined weapon but at least he had caused enough harm upon the rebels to stabilize the situation somewhat.
Yet, Osran knew stabilization simply wasn’t enough anymore. More of his comrades were falling by the minute and despite Harthal’s impromptu attack, the Dawn was grinding the battle towards an eventual victory. Osran cursed as he received another hit to his chest, even if he returned the favor immediately to his opponent. Despite the never-ending fighting against the rebels, Osran knew he’d have to bring the fight back to Eligor and Raymond and take them out. Even if the Dawn had spread its tentacles all around the Crusade, it was important to get rid of their commanders immediately. There was still a chance for him to ensure that this Argent Dawn would never become anything more than a name symbolizing treachery and dishonor. The aging paladin could see Raymond not far to his right and Osran knew immediately he’d have to take him out now if he wanted to seriously harm the Dawn’s morale.
It didn’t take long for him to clear his way further towards him and it soon became clear that Raymond wasn’t oblivious to his location. The lord was a mighty paladin on his own right and the righteous fury in his eyes confirmed that he was ready to this challenge that had been left unfinished earlier. He immediately left his position in the battle and started to run towards Osran, determined to take the Crimson Legionary out for good. The Legion was the embodiment of the Crusade’s corruption and Osran was the man he’d have to get rid of to banish his taint from Light’s Hope forever. He waived his sword towards Osran and cried to him in a loud voice.
“This is it, Lowriver! Prove me that you still have enough honor to fall like a man!” He cried as he stopped before Osran as if to investigate his opponent for a moment. Osran returned the gesture and narrowed his eyes for a brief moment. He could still remember the respect he used to have for this paladin but it seemed like he had been the real architect behind this cursed treachery. Despite honor he had displayed earlier, he was going down today. Osran’s voice shook as he spoke to his opponent while keeping an eye on his surroundings.
“I’d advise you to abandon such false hopes immediately, lord George. My duty forces me to succeed but on the other hand, it would be a folly to expect you to know anything about duty or honor, isn’t it my lord?” Osran spoke the two last words with complete disgust, hardly being able to wait until he could put an end to his opponent. He had seldom felt this kind of outrage as he couldn’t even begin to fathom the depth of the Dawn’s treachery. Still, he kept his calm until Raymond answered to him again.
“Duty and blind following of an incompetent madman are two different things, Lowriver, but how can one who has spent his whole life telling himself lies tell that difference? Yet, if you hold any real love for the Light and Lordaeron anymore, know that your death will be a necessary stepping stone to saving our homeland!” Raymond cried as he leaped forward, swinging his sword with a violent force. Osran could hardly contain the strike with his sword but just mere inches before his foe’s weapon would have cut into his flesh, Osran could feel George’s attack stop. He took a brief breath to calm himself down from the threatening situation. Soon, he started to push the other paladin back and regain his standing against the noble.
Osran smirked slightly as he locked Raymond to a standstill and then straightened his hand to point at the knight’s abdomen. With a barely-contained smile, Osran channeled the power of the Light at his opponent, the sparkles illuminating his face as he looked at his opponent’s struggles. A look of horror and growing fear could be read from Raymond’s face as he felt his torso literally burning under Osran’s attack. Not once did the Crimson Legionary question his joy at Raymond’s suffering, his hate towards him hiding all the other emotions away. However, the battle wasn’t quite as over as Osran had thought as Raymond managed to regain the control over his mind just in time to prevent the final blow against him.
With a pained expression on his face, the noble managed to suddenly concentrate all of the powers in his command to stop his enemy’s attack once and for all. Osran gasped in shock as he felt his powers being pushed back towards him, sending him flying into the ground with a violent force. However, as if being driven by some unknown force, Osran forced himself back to his feet before Raymond managed to reach him. Yet, it was at this time when the real shock descended upon the fighting knights. Slowly but surely, the aging crusader became swallowed by an aura of deep, dark hue of Light which stopped Raymond’s advance immediately. Everyone present could only stare in shock as a whirlwind of sacred power surrounded Osran. At first, it seemed like an ordinary Divine Storm but soon, the perfect circle seemed to start ripping apart, sending flickers of the deadly power all around the fighters, regardless of whether they served the Crusade or the Dawn.
The paladin himself had concentrated all of his attention on Raymond who seemed to hesitate for a short while about his attack after seeing Osran’s response to his counterattack. This man was the embodiment of all the things wrong with this world and Osran knew he’d destroy him once and for all. Nothing else mattered at this point and he didn’t even notice what he was doing. Men were being burned to death all around in a show of brutality and strength that few paladin would ever achieve during their times. Osran looked like a paladin of legend as he prepared to strike his foe down but the sight’s majesty was horribly degenerated.
There was nothing graceful about the way Osran used the Light and it was clear to everyone he wielded it only as a vessel for his own hate and the power was being battered everywhere indiscriminately. Osran himself seemed darkened in the middle of his storm, his face a mask of vengeance and mercilessness. The Light itself seemed alarmed by what was happening but Osran’s complete mastery over this power prevented it from resisting his will in any way. Not one of his comrades, Tareth, Veria or Valdemar would have recognized this vessel of rage and twisted sense of duty as the man who had once served all the good in this world with the vigor he had.
This sight of unrestrained rage made Raymond to take four steps backwards, his courage wavering slightly as he saw the paladin before himself. Whether it was the power Osran displayed or his fury that frightened him, even he couldn’t say. But even then, he couldn’t let fear take a hold within his heart now. The noble had, like all of his comrades, devoted his entire life into the service of the Light and how could he ever even hope to regain his right to call himself a paladin if he gave up in the face of one other man? Raymond frowned as the sparkles of Osran’s spell flew to his face but he raised a shield of his own to defend himself against the worst blows. Raymond took a brief sigh of resignation until he finally made his move.
A golden shield of Light left his hand at a great force, not leaving Osran any time to rebuke the fierce attack. The paladin, however, didn’t need such a defense now. One wave of Light destroyed the lord’s attack before it reached Osran, causing the aging paladin to finally call to Raymond with a loud voice.
“Give up now, treacherous cur, and the Light may yet show you some mercy when you leave this world. Even then, I hope it won’t.” Osran said as the memory of Eneath’s betrayal again flowed through his mind, knowing it was the influence of these kinds of knights who had caused his nephew and all these misguided souls to move away from the right path. Everything Abbendis and Dathrohan had been true in the end and it was his earlier blindness and weakness that had led to this tragedy. He suddenly raised his hand and cast another judgement at his opponent, looking contently as he let out another scream of pain.
It was in this moment that the noble knew he had to make his stand or fall before the Crimson Legionary. Despite Osran’s power, George knew that wielding the Light wasn’t only about one’s skill or brute force. If one’s whole heart was out into his deed, a knight could stand against the worst of enemies and even prevail. Raymond couldn’t deny his guilt at being one of the architects of this massacre but right now, he was defending all of his comrades against the vengeful threat and he had earned his name by being able to sacrifice his all to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. The noble let his jaw drop a little as he looked at the lightening sky, just wondering about the glories of the day the new dawn would bring with it. His followers, his friends deserved a chance to live through it safe from the imminent danger and filled with sacred determination, Raymond could feel his courage return to his body. Just as Osran was about to strike him down, the lord suddenly found his courage and after a few seconds, the rays of the new morning shining around him, he stopped Osran’s attack once and for all. Suddenly, he moved closer to Osran and answered to his massive wave of Light with his own, gaining the upper hand against the Crimson Legionary. He cried to Osran as he dealt his first blow to his foe.
“This ends here, Lowriver! You’ve managed to twist the Light’s sanctity for long enough!” He cried as Osran suddenly felt something which made his blood run cold. Slowly but surely, the Light around him started to dissipate alongside with his power. Whereas his opponent’s power only grew, Osran suddenly felt weaker than he could remember in all his life. He had never seen the Light desert him before… no matter what he did, it seemed like his very lifeblood was sucked away from him by some unknown force. The paladins around him saw this rare display even if the fighting around the two armies didn’t stop for a second.
It wasn’t many seconds before Osran had returned to his normal state but he couldn’t summon the Light to aid he in his fight anymore. The crusader cursed many times as he attempted to even reinforce his weapon with all his power but not even a glimmer of gold was anywhere to be seen. For the briefest of moments, Osran was close to accepting this was it but… he simply couldn’t. Whether he could wield the Light or not mattered little in the wider array of events and no matter what happened, Osran knew he’d take his opponent down. He took a quick breath as he prepared for his final, desperate attack.
Raymond was just about to finish his foe with his newfound strength, believing to have broken Osran’s spirit once and for all. He knew the advantage a paladin held over an ordinary soldier but he couldn’t guess at this moment of triumph that it would be his overconfidence which would be his downfall. His eyes widened as Osran suddenly leaped towards him, dodging each and every attack the lord attempted to cast upon him. In this moment, Raymond was taken aback by Osran’s determination and before he could regain control of his thoughts, he felt a horrifying pain in his stomach. Osran gritted his teeth together as he felt his sword sink into the cursed traitor’s abdomen, causing the glow around him to begin dying almost immediately. The Crimson Legionary spat as he prepared to pull his blade away from Raymond, speaking to him one last time with a wavering voice.
“It truly does end here, lord Raymond. Tell my regards to Arthas and Jaina when they’ll join you in the hell reserved for traitors.” He said as he took his sword away from his opponent’s abdomen, then quickly moving to severing the noble’s head from his shoulders to finalize his task once and for all. Many eyes turned to look at Raymond’s head rolling into the ground and to the form now standing beside the lifeless body who had been one of the most respected knights of the Scarlet Crusade. Osran wiped the fallen lord’s blood away from his face and then called to the fighters around him.
“This will be your prize, you cursed servants of the Scourge. This fate will indeed serve you well…” He said as prepared to join the fight as he stopped in slight shock. Only now did he see just how the battle was progressing and it certainly wasn’t something he had expected or wanted to witness. There lied nearly twice as many crusaders in the ground than soldiers of the Dawn which was more than to be expected considering their dire numbers. Raymond’s fall had returned some hope into the Crusade but it was more than evident to everyone that the battle would eventually end in the defenders’ defeat.
Nobody was more aware of this fact than Harthal. He thanked the Light that Osran had regained control over himself and won his duel with the noble but even then, it bought the Crusade only face-saving tale to tell the High General. The Light’s Hope was lost and Harthal knew there was only one thing left to do. He suddenly cried with a loud voice to a large group of crusaders near him, knowing time was off the essence.
“Go secure the stables! We have to get as many of the horses as we can and flee to Tyr’s Hand!” Harthal remembered very well the Scourge’s alleged attack there but what choice did he have? The city was his only option if he wanted to save at least some of his followers. The fight was lost and the only thing he could anymore was to salvage at least something from the jaws of defeat. Raymond’s death widened his window of opportunity slightly but it would close completely very soon. Eligor stood near him but the commander was apparently too drawn into combat to hear his words.
Osran, however, heard the Lord Paladin’s words clearly and at first, his mind rebelled against them greatly. He wanted nothing less than to flee in the face of enemy again but he couldn’t deny the wisdom in his comrade’s words. Fighting on would mean certain death and rob the Crusade of its last hopes to crush the nascent Dawn in the coming days. After a deep sigh, Osran’s turned towards the tables and called on a group of knights to follow him.
“Help me get us away from this slaughterhouse! Our time to have our revenge will come soon enough!” He cried as he swung his word at a nearby knight, ending his battle once and for all. Many of his comrades seemed to hesitate to follow the man who had seemingly lost the favor of the Light once and for all. Yet, they still couldn’t find a good enough reason to disobey his direct order. Osran frowned in despair as he moved forward to cut down the horde of traitors between him and rescue, his loss of his powers making things seem even grimmer than before. The bearded paladin was even further disturbed by his inability to cure the wounds his opponents were causing him but he was simply forced to fight on while disregarding his injuries for now. At least until he heard a voice which caught his attention completely.
“Is this how it’s going to end, uncle? So you really are going to fight on regardless of the cost? Even at the risk of killing all of those who trusted in you and losing your own connection to the Light?” A young voice asked on Osran’s right, causing him to stand still for a moment. His eyes met the gaze of his nephew who was standing among a row of the fighters of the Dawn. Osran hesitated for a short while before answering to Eneath.
“It’s such a shame, Eneath. All your youth, your father and I tried to teach you to act with honor and duty to your family and to Lordaeron. I’m truly sorry, Eneath… THAT YOU LEARNED NOTHING AT ALL!” Osran said as he attempted to empower his blade with the power of the Light until he again was forced to face the grim reality. His sword retained its dark grey color and the Crimson Legionary was met with looks of contempt and pity, from even amongst his own soldiers. A paladin without the power of one was no good to anyone and Osran knew it better than most. Still, that fact simply couldn’t be helped now. Eneath narrowed his eyes in sorrow as he face Osran who looked completely torn between his options on how to proceed in his current situation.
“No, I’m sorry you never had the courage to fight what you have become. And, well, I think you said everything you have to say the last time we met, didn’t you Osran?” Eneath asked, his voice revealing the depth of the young man’s despair. Every part of Osran’s composure proved he was right as the depth of his twisted thoughts became clear to those around him. The aging knight would have wanted to make his nephew pay for his words dearly but even now, he could hear Harthal cry near the stables, leading his troops forward without any regard for his own misgivings. Osran merely glanced at the younger man and spoke to him under his breath without any hint of regret or sorrow. He no longer saw his beloved nephew in Eneath, only a cursed traitor to the Light.
“We will meet again, Eneath, then I’ll redeem our house’s honor once and for all. You will fall like the rest of your friends on that day. Soldiers of the Crusade, march forward!” He cried when he received a heavy blow to his side which stopped his advance for a while. However, despite the wound, it didn’t take long for Osran to beat his foe. Right now, Osran thanked all the righteous things in this world that he had spent so many hours honing his pure skill with his blade in addition to his efforts to command the Light. Despite his sudden weakness, Osran was relieved to see that the crusaders still fought alongside him as one.
“Slaughter the horses, now! We have to prevent them from escaping at any cost!” Eligor cried as he saw growing groups of crusaders escape into the dark of the night with their new steeds. The commander cursed he had overlooked this possibility as he had never expected this kind of resistance from the remaining crusaders. He had truly expected most of them to surrender immediately and the rest being far too demoralized to put on any meaningful resistance. But here he was, looking at the face of victory but not the total victory he had sought for. Raymond was dead and the bulk of the forces still loyal to the Grand Crusaders were on the brink of fleeing with their lives. The lord’s sacrifice heartened him greatly as he had saved the lives of dozens of his comrades with his own life. He would deserve to be remembered as the first leader of the Dawn for his courage and help in recruiting the first fighters of the Dawn. He had always been Eligor’s equal but he would be known as more than that among the generations to come.
Harthal knew the situation as well and he was more than happy to see that the stables were secured for now and thus the horses were safe from any immediate threat. Even better, Osran’s group was just about to join his, making the Crusade’s defense even stronger. Nearly half of his troops had fled at this point and Harthal smiled as he thought about his situation. He turned towards Osran and cried to him with a loud voice.
“Bring your knights here, Lowriver! It’s time for us to go!” The Lord Paladin cried as he suddenly released a wide barrage of Light to the knights around him before turning around himself once and for all. Osran’s group took his positions for the last few seconds as Harthal jumped on a horse of his own while overseeing the evacuation. After the last of the crusaders had found a mount, he suddenly grabbed a torch from the stables’ wall, throwing it into a pile of hays which were left for the horses. In a matter of minutes, the fires would engulf the entire building and scare the remaining animals away. He then forced his horse into a gallop and cried to his troops.
“Now, head towards Tyr’s hand! Let nothing slow you down!”
Eligor, however, wasn’t ready to give up himself just yet. He could very well see that most of the crusaders were now out of his reach but he could still at least take down the last dozen or so of them and to weaken their forces at least a bit further when he had the chance. He cried to his followers as he raised his sword, hoping to catch as many knight’s attention as he simply could.
“Cut the last traitors’ escape that with your strength! Form a ring of divine land around them!” At least two dozen of paladins did as they were told and they looked with pleasure as five of the paladins fell to the ground, two of them seriously. And what was best for them, one of the five was the cursed monster who had slaughtered lord Raymond George.
Deep gasps escaped Osran’s mouth as he hit the ground, its impact making him fight for air. As he raised his gaze from the ground, he saw the ground around him growing red, the righteous punishment hanging over the ring he and four of his comrades were lying on. A few of the other knights turned to look at their comrades in fear but realized there was nothing they could anymore for them. Osran backed down towards his comrades, looking in fear as he saw the horde of the renegade knights approaching him on a great pace.
As he glanced at his companions, Osran could sense the sense of dread and despair that hung over the small group of knights. He wanted to believe this wasn’t the end but Osran knew that was only wishful thinking without his powers. The paladin prepared to recite his last prayers to the Light when he suddenly felt something happening. It seemed like a distant ray of light warming his hand on a cold winter’s morning, slowly growing in power as the shining grew more powerful.
At first Osran disregarded it as some kind of hallucination caused by his mind but soon he realized that wasn’t the case. In shock, he turned to look at his hand and saw a faint glow of gold shimmering from it. At first, Osran couldn’t believe what he saw happening as he had already accepted the fact that he would be lost for good to the Light. But now… now it seemed like it wouldn’t be the case at all. Osran frowned in deep confusion about what was happening but suddenly, he snapped out of his fears as he remembered his situation. He suddenly turned around and cast his own spell above the circle of holy wrath and cried to his companions.
“We don’t have any more time to waste! Go now if you want to live!” He cried as he saw his comrades listen to his advise. Osran followed them immediately as his power prevented the enemy’s magic from hurting the crusaders. He could hear Eligor giving orders far behind him but at this point, all that mattered was to escape from this hellhole and save the dream called the Scarlet Crusade. Osran smirked slightly as he realized that with any luck, he and his comrades could vanish into the dark night without a trace, paving a way for them to their rescue.
The crusader could feel his heart beating in his chest as he heard the dead grass getting crushed under his very feet, his thoughts slowly beginning to clear up. Yet, there wasn’t any time for giving the past any thought. All of the crusaders concentrated their entire being into running, knowing there was no other way to survive. Bit by bit, the four men lost their chasers and after a few minutes, it became clear for everyone that they had managed to shed their enemies away from their line of sight. Osran cursed that the Crusade had lost their stronghold but at the very least, the tables could be turned in the future and on that day, the traitors, among them Eneath, would regret they ever abandoned the pure path.
With the birth of the Argent Dawn, the unity of the Crusade has irrevocably been shattered. Will there be any hope left for the latter order to stage a comeback or will Osran be forced to death of his lifelong dream? This story is nearing its final stages and I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride thus far. I appreciate any reviews and see you with the next chapter.
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The Hour of Defeat
A deep look of disgust appeared on the High General’s face as he pulled his sword away from one traitors’ chest. He panted slightly as he looked at the group of dead paladins around him, cursing them all with his entire mind. The central parts of Tyr’s Hand resembled a large open-air slaughterhouse, the deep scent of blood penetrating the air. The only thing that made Abbendis breath at least a bit more easily was that the infernal noises of death, pain and taunts had finally stopped, replaced by silence and the forced whimpers of the wounded and the dying. The general spat in disgust as he cried around himself.
“All the survivors, report to me! After that, provide me with a full report about the list of traitors!” He raged, kicking the dead knight of the Argent Dawn in never-ending rage. How the hell did these morons dare to betray the Crusade in a time like this? It was bad enough that they had attacked him and many other crusaders in their sleep, attempting to gain the upper hand in the most disgusting and dishonorable way possible but the fact that they had just made Kel’Thuzad’s job that much easier… It was only with great efforts that Abbendis managed to avoid beheading the corpse near him in anger as he saw large groups of paladins starting to gather around him.
That sight made Abbendis frown in disappointment and even in fear. Nearly half of his army had either joined the rebels or slain in the following battle. Abbendis’ breaths grew deeper and more forced as the final survivors saluted him. If this was really all that was left… then the Crusade’s situation had turned from bad to a total catastrophe. He prepared to speak to the gathered troops when he saw a familiar figure walk towards him from the army, clearly having something to say. However, Abbendis was the first one to speak as he brought his fingers to his forehead.
“It’s as if they were more than happy to do the Scourge’s own work for them, Demetria. I always knew that cursed Tyrosus and Zverenhoff were unreliable but to think they’d do something like this… May the Light help us.” He said, not seeing real reason to hide his sentiments from his knights, knowing each of them felt exactly the same way. He could see the many looks of outrage from his followers, many of them being forced to fight their comrades, their friends… and some even their own brothers and sisters. It was clear this was a massive blow to all of them, one that even Abbendis found hard to overcome. The priestess stopped hear the High General, looking at him in worry.
“Even… even I couldn’t sense this coming. They must have trained for a long time for a betrayal like this! My general, we may have beaten them here but Zverenhoff and some others are still on the run! We cannot let these traitors to survive through this!” She cried, astonished that her unusual gift of sensing future events through the Light had failed completely in the face of such a massive rebellion. Abbendis didn’t even turn to look at her as he counted the survivors in his mind. Four hundred knights and members of the garrison… that was but a tiny portion of the force that had marched for Stratholme only a few days earlier. Even the High General’s spirit was close to failing at that thought but even then, he had faced total annihilation before and this situation wasn’t any different! He wouldn’t let these spineless cowards break his spiri!. He finally glanced at Demetria and snapped at her in utter rage.
“Then go prepare the mounts for seventy of us and stop just standing around there! Time is off the essence!” He cried, leaving zero ground for disagreement for the cleric. He then turned to his followers and cried to them in utter rage.
“Gather a group of seventy volunteers to hunt those bastards down! They caught us by surprise but I promise to you with all my honor, they won’t get away with this! We will hunt them down and make them wish it was the Scourge who found them! Those willing to see this debacle through, follow me!” He cried as he prepared to follow Demetria towards the stables. Many among the survivors seemed hesitate slightly about going after the High General, nearly all of them bearing fresh wounds from the recent battle. However, the chance to bring the traitors to justice after this nightmare was a welcome one for many and one by one, the group of knights following Abbendis started to grow. The highest-ranked officer didn’t pay them any heed, his whole mind focused on his coming showdown with the cursed Tyrosus. He would make him pay for every, death, ever pain that his treachery had brought upon his order and he wouldn’t grant him the peace of death until he had told him absolutely everything about this sickening conspiracy. He’d…
Suddenly, Abbendis’ thoughts were interrupted by the loud squeaking of Tyr’s Hand’s gates behind him, a sound that he certainly hadn’t expected right now. After all that had happened, he could have sworn that none of the gatekeepers would be stupid enough to let anyone in. He frowned deeply as he turned around to face the newcomers, ready to either hear any news about the Scourge or to end their earthly wandering here and now. Even through the darkness, he could see rows of knights entering the city, a sight that didn’t immediately stand well with the High General. If this was some cursed attempts by this Argent Dawn to infiltrate Tyr’s Hand, he’d show them just how badly they were mistaken.
However, as he approached the newcomers, his expression grew only darker. What in earth were the Lord Paladin and Crimson Legionary Lowriver doing here? They were supposed to be guarding Light’s Hope from the Scourge, not follow him to Tyr’s Hand! At the back of the High General’s mind, sickening thoughts started to form that made him want to attack somebody right away but he knew more than well his charge. Despite his brewing rage, he kept his voice relatively normal as he cried to Harthal who was just dismounting his steed.
“Explain immediately your presence here, Lord Paladin! I gave you a direct order so why aren’t you defending Light’s Hope? Speak!” He cried, the beaten look in Harthal’s eyes making him even more uncomfortable. Osran stopped near the two but let the Lord Paladin answer the question. The latter frowned in sorrow as he looked at the corpses lying all around him, knowing immediately what had happened here.
“I did all I could, High General but Light’s Hope is lost. And looking at this slaughter, I think you know what happened there too. I’m sorry but we were simply outnumbered and overpowered.” Harthal said, looking as Abbendis stared at him, his face showing only slight signs of his true emotions but his hands shook with withheld anger. It took a few seconds before he answered and when he did, his voice wavered in disbelief.
“Light’s Hope was yours to guard, Truesight! You know very well its worth to us and a crusader’s charge is to defend his cause with his life. I can’t help but see that you have betrayed your oath, Lord Paladin! What do you have to say in your defense?” He said, bringing his hand to his sword’s hilt, preparing to spread justice if it went to that. All his life, Abbendis had stood his ground and gave his all to defend the Crusade’s honor. He had faced foes while being outnumbered ten-to-one and prevailed and he wasn’t going to accept anything less from the other officers of the Crusade. He was slightly surprised as he heard Osran speak next.
“With all due respect, High General, we had nothing to gain by staying there. We were being slaughtered one by one and if we had fought to the end, only the Lich King would have benefited from it! We did get rid of one of their leaders though. I am more than saddened to tell that the once-honorable Lord Raymond George was one of their main leaders.” Osran said, fighting his own emotions as he spoke. His face was a mask of stillness but inside, the destructive feeling of betrayal and sorrow dwelled.
The memory of his last meeting with Eneath ached within his mind even if that was only buried under compassion and regret. Eneath had proven to be a traitor to the Light and whether it had been due to his decision or being introduced to wrong ideas, it mattered little. Eneath had betrayed his father’s memory and his uncle’s trust as well as shamed their entire family. Osran knew their next meeting would be their last time but he owned it to his brother to put his failed son down. Abbendis, however, knew nothing and cared even less about what was going within Osran’s head, his attention being focused on the implications of this development. A clear curse left his lips as he prepared to give his answer.
“Even lord George? Screw them all… what madness has taken hold of our noble order? Lowriver, you said he was one of their leaders. Who were the other ones?”” Abbendis asked, taking slight joy from the fact that at least one of the architects of this outrage had been dealt with. It wasn’t much but perhaps the loss of somebody as prolific as the fallen noble could break the traitors’ morale. Harthal frowned as his mind drifted back into the moments when he was forced to raise his blade against the knights he had just minutes earlier
deemed as precious and loyal comrades. At least he could now make sure they would be brought to justice by rallying the Crusade to end their madness once and for all.
“We met only one other of their leaders, one who seemed to be their leader. To my greatest regret, I must tell that Eligor Dawnbringer is one of the ones who brought this catastrophe against our beloved order. They also mentioned that Carlin Redpath was an integral part of their plot but of that, we have no proof.” He said with a heavy voice, hating each and every one of the words he said. If only he could wish this night away… so much trust and so many friendships had been broken and all for nothing. Abbendis frown only deepened as he suddenly turned around and hit the nearby tree with all his might, having to have something he could funnel his hate into. He then panted for a few seconds before turning back to Harthal.
“Of course he was. The traitors started their attack by raiding our abbey and recruiting dozens of the wounded to their ranks! Most of them were too badly wounded but not Redpath, no… He fought like in his old days before fleeing along with the others… along with Zverenhoff and Tyrosus!” He cried, making Harthal and Osran all the more miserable. Both of them had thought Tyrosus to be practically at death’s door but apparently those fears had been misplaced. But the news that both the famed Maxwell Tyrosus and the long-wavering noble had left the order… both of them knew very well the depth of this blow. Osran’s hand tightened around his sword’s hilt as he yearned to strike down the cursed traitors with his own hand. He bowed towards Abbendis and said the only thing he could in this situation.
“By my honor, I swear none of them will escape the righteous retribution. Whatever is your order, know that the Crimson Legion stands behind you, High General.” Osran said, hoping to finally get some clarity into everything that was going on. He could see that Abbendis already had something in his mind and he certainly was ready to follow him to battle if that was what he ordered. However, the answer came even faster and in a more urgent fashion than even Osran had expected.
“Then turn your damned horses around and join my troops! Regardless of how many poor fools the Dawn has recruited, I will not allow them to escape my justice any longer!” He cried, resuming his preparations for the coming battle. Harthal, however, saw the fault in his command immediately and he stopped the general from ending this conversation just yet.
“But you cannot launch an offensive with these forces! It would leave Tyr’s Hand open for the Scourge’s attack!” The Lord Paladin cried, happy to see that the earlier rumors of the imminent threat on Tyr’s Hand had been false, most likely fabricated by the Dawn, but that still didn’t change the fact that the Crusade’s forces were running critically low. However, Abbendis wasn’t about to let that fact stand in the way of his plans as no matter how he tried to look at the situation, he saw only one way forward.
“And if we let those parasites occupy the Light’s Hope any further, we will be crushed slowly but surely! Our unity is something we simply have to preserve! We leave a small garrison behind and they’ll alert us with gnomish fireworks if the Scourge attacks! Now, stop wasting any more of my time!” He cried as he joined the rest of the knights in mounting up for the coming battle. Harthal sighed slightly as he looked at the High General, full well knowing the danger of Abbendis’ plan. The Crusade still enjoyed numerical advantage over the renegade Dawn but not by a wide margin. It wouldn’t be much of an effort for the Scourge to crush what remained of the humans’ forces after the coming bloodbath. The Lord Paladin sighed slightly at that thought as he turned at Osran.
“Well, I guess we have no choice, Lowriver. I trust you are ready for what is to come?” He said, obviously referring to Osran’s brief losing of his powers. The Crimson Legionary frowned as he thought of those horrifying minutes. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what had happened back then but at least he was still in full command of his powers. That was all that mattered right now.
“I am Lord Paladin. I’d be cursed if I allowed such incidents prevent me from taking my righteous vengeance!” He said, earning a brief nod from Harthal. Both of them knew that the Dawn was a direct threat to everything the Crusade stood for and neither of them would rest until it was crushed once and for all.
“… and to our highest regret, we were unsuccessful in our efforts, commander Dawnbringer. We were crushed in Tyr’s Hand.” Lord Maxwell Tyrosus said as he looked at Eligor. The commander frowned deeply as he looked at Carlin and Maxwell, highly disappointed by those news. Not only had he failed to utterly annihilate the Crusade on Light’s Hope but his allies’ efforts had also proven to be a disappointment. He shook his head slightly as he quickly glanced behind himself at the piles of fallen fighters of the Dawn and Crusade who were thrown into the large pyres that illuminated the entire Chapel with its dancing flames. He then turned back at Tyrosus, speaking to him silently.
“That is a real disappointment, lord Tyrosus. I and George trusted the city’s capture for you because we truly trusted in your ability to…” He began but he didn’t get a chance to finish his comment before the taller man walked towards him and stopped only when he towered over the other officer. His voice seethed as he looked at Eligor and gave his answer.
“You do not have the right to criticize me, Dawnbringer! You were not there to face the High General and his fanatical followers with half of your back broken only a day earlier! I fought by the Highlord’s in Naxxramas, giving my everything to vanquishing the cursed undead from our lands while you simply sat here, waiting for a chance to strike! If we hadn’t already planned this earlier, I might just as well decided not to join your little plot!” Tyrosus said while hitting Eligor to his chest once, only his honor preventing him from showing this upstart his rightful place. The commander was taken aback by the noble’s reaction but inside, he realized his disappointment with him. He was just completely confused by George’s death and the Dawn’s failure to win a total victory outright. He shook his head slightly but he wasn’t about to simply about to apologize and beg for the other officer’s apology. His pride was still too precious for him.
“I risked my life to clean the Crusade’s filth from this holiest of places and many of our comrades fell by my very side! Among them was lord George who fell by the cursed Lowriver’s hand! The fight in Tyr’s Hand might have been larger than the one here but I will not hear my or my respected comrades’ sacrifice be attacked!” He said in an equally angered tone. Tyrosus was about to answer to the commander he had disliked his whole life but Carlin Redpath, who had stood near the two, interrupted their brewing fight immediately.
“We have far more important matters to tend to, in case you haven’t noticed! We all know Abbendis won’t leave this matter to this and you would all do well to prepare for the inevitable counterattack!” The lower-ranked officer said in a loud voice, slight whimpers accompanying his words as he struggled to ignore the pain radiating from his wounded abdomen. Tyrosus spat into the ground as he turned to look at the former Scarlet Protector.
“I know that more than well, Redpath! Few generals would dare to follow us but Abbendis is one of them! But we are still slightly outnumbered even if we managed to recruit more people than we ever hoped. Dawnbringer, we cannot fight here in the Chapel.” Tyrosus said, his last sentence dipping with the still-lingering disgust at the commander’s last comment. Dawnbringer frowned deeply in the dark night, not able to believe what he heard.
“Surely you must be joking, lord Tyrosus! We barricaded the Chapel in case the Scourge would attack and it offers us our best chance to defend ourselves! Engaging them in the open field would be a suicide!” He cried, not exactly understanding why in earth Tyrosus would say what he just did. It bordered near insanity but his fears were quickly ended as Tyrosus took an expectant smile.
“I never spoke of an open field, commander Dawnbringer. No, we have to take another kind of approach…”
The late night’s winds flushed through the dead woods as the army of knights rode forward. Not a flicker of light could be seen anywhere nearby and it was only thanks to their lanterns that the crusaders avoided the trees still remaining as still-standing memories of the old woodlands of Darrowmere. Osran hadn’t expected to be forced to return into the battlefield this quickly as it had barely been an hour since he had left Light’s Hope. The black shadows of bushes dotted the sight around the crusader but he kept all his attention on the other knights around him. But most of all, his mind was focused on Abbendis who he knew rode not far to his right.
The paladin understood very well the High General’s urge to get to action and eliminate the opposition to the Crusade but… it wasn’t like Abbendis to simply ride to battle headlong without any apparent strategy. He had fought alongside him more times than he cared to remember and not once had he acted brashly or risking his troops’ lives for nothing. Perhaps he counted in the efficiency of a swift counterattack but even then, it was a folly to simply put one’s entire trust on something like that.
After all, if the renegade officers had planned for this insurgency for that long, surely they had had a larger plan on what to do even if everything didn’t go according to plan. They knew Abbendis more than well and they held a major advantage over the Scourge in dealing with the general of the Scarlet armies. Yes, Osran declined to believe Abbendis would overlook all of that. He had achieved many great victories for the order even if others had found his plans lacking or even falling for the enemy’s trap. Even now, Osran couldn’t help but believe that Abbendis would have a trick or two in his sleeve.
After a few minutes had passed, the lanterns carried by the first knights revealed that the forest around the crusaders was beginning to turn into a wide pass near the eastern mountains sheltering the fertile plains of the Scarlet Enclave. This realization didn’t cause any further emotions within Osran, however, as he had ridden through it just an hour earlier. It would only be fifteen minutes’ ride to the Chapel and Osran’s entire mind was focused on this one battle. This fight would decide whether the wound within the Crusade would close and start its long recovery or whether it would begin to fester and rot the entire order along with it.
Abbendis knew all of this as well but his thoughts were far from the Chapel. Even if he hadn’t told of it to many of his followers, he had never expected to face the enemy out there as he, just like Osran had predicted, was sure that the Dawn would decide to fight him in the place which would offer them the strongest advantage possible in dealing with the stronger army. He did a phenomenal job hiding his investigative look from the other paladins but his attention was undivided in regards to his surroundings. And when he finally saw a tiny flicker of flame in the far distance, he knew his doubts had just been proven true. He immediately drew his sword and cried to everybody around him.
“Form a circle against the wall! Quickly, those with shields, defend your comrades!” He cried as the night sky suddenly turned into a fiery inferno. A slight smile appeared to Abbendis’ face as the lines of enemy knights suddenly appeared from the darkness, his plan completely vindicated by the Dawn’s sudden appearance. He looked contently as the crusaders formed a clear line to hold off the enemy’s arrows. Dozens of arrows hit the shields before dropping into the ground. However, Abbendis wasn’t about to just wait for another volley and he immediately cried to his troops.
“Sanctify the ground before them! Then, charge them with all your strength and the night will be ours!”
Countless curses left Tyrosus’ mouth as he looked at the pathetic display. Even if he had thought that simply crushing the Crusade in this pass would have been too much to ask, he hadn’t expected a total rebuttal of the Dawn’s strategy. To his knowledge, not one of the enemies had fallen in the ambush. It was proved once again that Abbendis was indeed worthy of all the honors he had been given during his years of service.
However, neither Tyrosus or Eligor were foolish enough to head into a battle where only one smart move from the enemy would prove to be enough to crush his forces once and for all. A smaller group of the knights of the Dawn were hiding on the other side of the pass who would attack the Crusade the moment when they expected it the least. The casualties would be massive but this was the one chance he had of crushing the Crusade in the Eastern Plaguelands once and for all. He cried to his comrades, happy that he had told them of his plan.
“Let them come to us, heroes of the Argent Dawn! If they want to take us out, let them come for us then!” He cried, baring his teeth as he saw the lanterns of the Crusade penetrate the darkness of the night approaching him and his troops slightly. His ranks blocked any hopes the Crusade had of escaping the pass but the circle wasn’t obvious enough to be immediately clear to the defenders. When the time would come, Tyrosus knew he’d give his opponents the hell they deserved!
However, Tyrosus was again underestimating Abbendis’ natural gift on the battlefield. He didn’t doubt for a second that there was some real reason why the Dawn wanted the Crusade to engage them. It seemed like the traitors were preparing for a defense, something that was highly unorthodox for the army that had initiated the battle. Abbendis turned to Harthal and spoke to him in clear expectation.
“Take a dozen of our troops and make sure there won’t be coming any phony attack from behind us. If Tyrosus and Dawnbringer believe they’ll win us with those kinds of tactics, we’ll show them just how very wrong they are!” Abbendis cried as Harthal saluted to him eagerly. The real battle would begin very soon and save for the greatest of miracles, nothing would save the Dawn from facing its downfall before it had truly even been born.
Osran could see the enemy knights cowering in apparent fear as the charging horses ran towards them. The consecration of the cursed earth was about to expire just in time to allow the charging host of crusaders through to strike at the enemy. The aging knight’s mind raced as he thought about what was to come. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that the enemy wouldn’t just stand still while they were charged down but he was ready to continue the offensive, no matter what would come his way.
It was only a few seconds before the inevitable collision between the two armies when Osran saw the Light flash before him, causing his steed to twitch heavily. Osran, however, wasted no time in tending to the animal’s wounds and he managed to prevent the horse going into a full-blown frenzy. The paladin heard only a brief yelp of horror as the first of the renegade knights fell under his steed. The battle was in full swing and each of those present understood fully the effect today’s events would have in the years to come.
Conflicted thoughts ran through Harthal’s mind as he stood still, looking at the battle unfolding before his eyes. Standing by while his comrades gave their lives for the common good was something he had never done before and the thought sickened him without an end. He would have wanted to join the struggle against the traitors and prove he was still worthy of his title and all the honors he had received as a knight of the Crusade.
Yet, he knew that his duty was to follow his orders and he couldn’t question the wisdom in Abbendis’ words in making sure there wouldn’t be any unsavory surprises in a battle that the Crusade had already practically won. His eyes explored the darkness, making sure to at least fulfill his orders to his best ability. Still, as the seconds passed and nothing happened, Harthal’s misgivings about his situation seemed to only be growing worse by the second… before he heard a heavy whistle next to his ear and a pained cry that alerted the small group immediately. Harthal immediately turned to look at the man next to him and saw that an arrow had penetrated his entire head beginning from his right eyes. It was immediately clear who the real target had been and Harthal wasted no time giving his orders to his comrades.
“We must waste no time in avenging our fallen comrades! My friends, let us take the traitors out once and for all!” He cried as he started to run towards the direction where the arrow had come from, shielding himself against further attacks with his holy power. In only a few seconds, a row of shadows appeared from the night, running right towards him and his comrades and cried to his companions in a loud voice.
“For Lordaeron!”
Tyrosus’ mind started to grow darker by the second as he saw his backup plan failing in its objective too. Even if his other group could break through Harthal’s troops, even the smallest of traces of the element of surprise had been totally and completely lost and with it, the hopes of trying to overpower the enemy’s advantage of superior numbers. He cursed deeply as he dismounted one of the crusaders and cut him into the ground and took him out. It was but a small victory but he needed every flicker of success if he wanted to keep the dream of the Dawn’s victory even remotely alive.
Ever since the first propositions for an armed resistance against the Grand Crusader and his corruption, Tyrosus had been one of the first to advance such an idea in the hopes of salvaging the true heart of the Order of the Silver Hand. It had been him who had first asked Eligor to join the idea if it should ever turn into real action. Even if the idea of breaking the Crimson Legion’s hold over the Crusade was much older, the loss of Alexandros had been the one blow that had caused Tyrosus to call Eligor and ask for the fulfillment of his promise. However, that didn’t change one fact about the Dawn’s birth.
One of the noble’s deepest dreams had been to gather enough evidence of Saidan’s and the Grand Inquisitor’s corruption to bring Dathrohan’s old friend and the embodiment of the light into the Dawn. With Alexandros in its lead, this new order would have eclipsed the Crusade immediately and Isillien and Dathrohan’s crimes would have been made known to all. However, that dream had died with the Highlord but at least his demise had opened the door to the final uprising against the old Crusade and the ideals it embodied.
However, it had all been for nothing thus far. The battle for Tyr’s Hand had been lost and lord George lay dead as stone. He had been the paladin who had first brought the idea of the rebellion to his mind and because of all his work in bringing the Dawn into fruition, Tyrosus had agreed to let him become its first leader if it ever came to being. And now his old friend was gone and their common dream was quickly getting crushed under the enemy’s onslaught. He quickly turned towards Carlin and Eligor and cried to them with all his might.
“Take your troops forward and try to take down Abbendis! That is our only hope if we ever want to win the day!” He cried, earning brief nods from the two. After George’s demise, Tyrosus quickly came to realize that he was now the leader of the Argent Dawn, at least until his probably end on this night.
The noble’s cry didn’t reach Abbendis’ ears but he could soon see that something had changed. Whereas the Dawn had previously attempted to mainly stand their ground because of their failed attempt to encircle the crusaders, now they were clearly heading towards his position near the frontlines of the Crusade’s left wing. He could see Eligor fighting fiercely at the head of his troops, approaching the High General inch by inch. A pitying smirk rose to Abbendis’ face as he looked at that sight, surprised that the Dawn still seemed to hold out the hope of an eventual victory in this desperate struggle. Well, fat chance. If they wanted to meet him in a fight, then Abbendis was more than happy to give them that favor before the end!
He immediately started to head towards the advancing enemy, more than prepared to lead his forces to victory himself. Even if his belief in the Crusade had been shaken by the disasters in Northrend and Stratholme, he had been completely infuriated by this sickening uprising. He would see this debacle through before the night would be over.
Steel hit against steel as Osran locked weapons with another renegade knight of the Dawn. The former was surprised as he saw the fear in his opponent’s eyes, the same look that he had already witnessed so many times tonight. He was aware that he was known quite widely these days due to his deeds in the Scarlet Monastery but that didn’t explain this reaction. He couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that this had to have something to do with his temporary loss of control in Light’s Hope. Osran only remembered his fight with Raymond but the details surrounding it were completely overshadowed by some strange feeling. He’d have to ask Harthal about it later but right now, he had more important things to tend to.
Osran looked calmly as the knight before him fell into the ground screaming horribly until he suddenly noticed something that caught his interest. He could see the form of Carlin Redpath heading towards Abbendis, a sight that made him immediately tighten his hold of his weapon. Redpath was a knight who he had seen as the embodiment of trustworthiness and kindness within the Crusade and to think he was another key player of this conspiracy… Osran didn’t wait for a moment before he headed after his enemy, ready to take him out once and for all.
The nearly-bald paladin panted deeply as he glanced before himself, seeing Abbendis leading troops near him. He could immediately see just how central the High General was in holding his army’s morale high and he could only guess the effect his death would have on the course of the battle. He knew Abbendis and his part in any battle couldn’t be overstated. However, Carlin reversely doubted his own chances in trying to stand against the High General. Abbendis’ abilities in one-to-one fights were rivalled by few and even if he wasn’t too potent in wielding the Light, his mastery of the more traditional ways of fighting were legendary. Even if he could fight his way to Abbendis, it would be a terrifying struggle to try to best him in a fight. His efforts were only made worse as he heard a mocking cry from nearby.
“Already getting winded, are we Redpath? If you didn’t have the guts to see this through in the first place, you were even bigger a fool to start this debacle than I thought!” Abbendis yelled as he and his bodyguard approached the former Scarlet Protector. It was as if Abbendis wanted to face him personally which could only mean one thing: that Abbendis thought that making him an example for the others could be the best way to break the Dawn’s morale once and for all. However, Redpath was no puny paladin himself and he also realized that by putting a good fight against Abbendis, he would buy precious time and thus dividing his attention for long enough for the others to actually take him out or at least turn the tide of the battle. The weaker knight moved to face his opponent once and for all.
“At least I’ll fall with honor if it comes to that, Abbendis! Know that I have no misgivings about any of my choices, something that I really doubt you can say when it is your turn to fall in the fields of battle!” Carlin cried, landing his first hit towards Abbendis, causing the latter to take one step back before mounting his counterattack. The High General’s expression was beyond grim as he prepared to take out the former Scarlet Protector. He would have enjoyed teaching his opponent the depth of his mistake but Abbendis would never have ceded even the smallest of grounds to the enemy because of his personal wishes. Carlin was nothing but one obstacle in his effort to find Eligor and Tyrosus and crush the enemy once and for all. Abbendis took one, deep breath before he began his assault.
In a flicker of a second, the High General stepped forward and threw away all pretense of a defense and instead, pointed his sword towards his opponent’s chest and on his other hand, grabbed Carlin’s sword, his armored gloves keeping his hand safe for just long enough for the High General to execute his quick attack. Carlin’s eyes widened as he saw the maneuver but with a quick shield of the Light, he managed to stop the enemy’s weapon just before it penetrated his viscera. Even then, Carlin knew his situation neared one of desperation. Any hopes he had of counterattacking were effectively stopped the enemy and he couldn’t uphold his defenses forever. Once his mana would be depleted, it would be all over for him. He knew Eligor was behind him but he had absolutely no way of knowing whether he would be able to help him in this struggle.
None of this knowledge was lost to Abbendis as he looked at Carlin’s fearful face. Soon, his defense would break and one of the highest-ranking traitors would fall by his hand. Any sense of comradeship between him and Redpath had disappeared the moment he had raised his sword against the Crusade and Abbendis wouldn’t give even one thought to regret what he was soon going to do. The increasing desperation and horror within Carlin’s eyes told the High General all that he wanted to know: it would only be a few more seconds and it would be all over to the former Scarlet Protector. Only a little more and…
The next few moments seemed to wipe the entire world away as Abbendis was sent into the ground with all the other paladins around him. He immediately rose back to a sitting position, only to see a massive smoke of green rise right before him. He could already see rows of the renegade knights rotting away before his eyes, their lives completely snuffed away by the bomb of Plague that had exploded among them. All thoughts of finishing his fight with Carlin left his thoughts as he scrambled back to his feet but before he even received a chance to give his next order, a monstrous sight caught his attention. A massive abomination carrying dozens of bottles of pure Plague was rushing towards the fighting paladin, crushing each and every human in its way. Abbendis’ eyes widened as he looked at the slaughter, his situation only worsening as he heard another cry behind him from Harthal.
“Take cover, everyone! A massive dog-like abomination is coming your way!”
None of these events escaped Osran’s notice as he scrambled to withstand the massive wave caused by the explosion. He looked in utter horror as the two abominations closed around the rival orders, killing anything in their way without even the least discrimination. Dozens of paladins fell without any chance to defend themselves. Osran cursed deeply as he struggled to disengage from his melee with the renegade knights, each and every one of the living knowing that their priorities had just changed radically.
The aging paladin was completely taken aback by the brutal assault but even then, he couldn’t help but feel deep outrage by Abbendis’ decision. He had been warned that something like this could happen but he had paid those warnings zero heed and here was the outcome! Many eyes turned to look at the High General who seemed completely stunned on these precious seconds.
Tyrosus wasn’t doing much better as he coughed sickeningly among the green smoke. His efforts to encourage his troops towards victory had quickly turned into this unspeakable hell from which there seemed to be no escape. He looked at the charging abominations, their massive forms slowly starting to be lighted by the pale glow just over the eastern mountains. As he looked at them, Tyrosus knew that there was no victory against them here. There was no other choice for him or his troops but to turn around now but to do that, he would have to confirm that Abbendis would also understand the situation. The one-eyed noble raised his blade towards the High General and released a weak but long beam of Light towards him, praying to the Light that the other leader also understood what he meant.
No sentient thoughts flowed with his mind as Abbendis looked at the onslaught around himself. This… this simply couldn’t be the end! He had been so very close to crushing the Dawn forever but his moment of triumph had been irrevocably ruined by this sickening twist of fate. Only death and destruction could be seen around him now and Abbendis knew without second thoughts the full gravity what was happening here. Aside from the one in Hearthglen, this was the only army capable of standing against the Scourge these days and if it fell, it would snuff out the Crusade’s hopes of ever taking a stand in Darrowmere forever. The thought of that fact made Abbendis despair without an end as the sight of Tyr’s Hand falling before the Scourge flowed in front of his eyes. And it would be all…
Suddenly, Abbendis’ focus on those horrors failed completely as a radiant glow of Light suddenly filled his entire vision. He turned to looked at the source immediately and to his surprise, he saw lord Tyrosus stand on a field below the sloped the Crusade had been fighting on. At first, Abbendis was about to completely ignore his gestures but then, something happened that caught his attention immediately.
Slowly, Tyrosus lowered his blade and nodded at the massive Plague abomination before returning his gaze on Abbendis. The High General stared at him for a few seconds, thinking about what his counterpart meant. He seemed to be willing to fight the monstrosities but certainly even he couldn’t be stupid enough to think the Crusade would legitimize the traitors’ efforts by joining forces with them like this… and as Abbendis thought about it a bit longer, he realized that wasn’t the case. Apparently he wanted to end this fight to allow both of the armies to look after themselves. The High General frowned at that idea in deep annoyance, hating even the thought ending his efforts to take out the Dawn here and now. He’d teach that cursed traitor that there wouldn’t be escape from the Crusade’s wr…
“High General, an army of ghouls is approaching us! We’ll be annihilated!” One officer cried to Abbendis who immediately saw the truth in the other knight’s words The woods were quickly getting filled by the enemies and it wouldn’t be long before both of the orders would be slaughtered to the very last knight. Finally, Abbendis snapped awake from his momentary shock and knew what he had to do, no matter how much that infuriated him. He turned back to Tyrosus and nodded to him deeply before he yelled to his followers.
“Gather against the mountains, knights of the Scarlet Crusade! We have to get back to Tyr’s Hand, now!” He cried, knowing that the escape would be a desperate one. All of the steeds had either fallen or ran away and it was a long run back to the city. However, there simply were no alternatives at this point. There was no victory against the Scourge anymore and staying here would be a pure suicide. It didn’t take even a second before the knights did as they were told, knowing that this was a matter of life and death to them all.
A bitter smile rose to Osran’s face as he turned around, reflecting on the implications of this second escape on the same night. If only Abbendis had listened to him and Harthal, all of the lives lost today would have been spared. The aging crusader dodged another blow from the two-footed abomination as he hit the monstrosity with his sword. The following wound was a minor one but it was enough to give a chance for some of his comrades to escape from this slaughterhouse. He used this small relief to hit the abomination’s leg again and casting another judgement at its upper torso. After that, Osran joined his comrades in his escape.
He looked at the soldiers of the Dawn also turning around to head for the Chapel. Osran knew immediately the implications of that fact: the Dawn was here to stay and Abbendis had abandoned each and every hope of ever reuniting the order to what it once was. That thought angered Osran without an end but still, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn’t like the High General would pay his pleas any heed at this point, especially as he was still most likely blaming Osran and Harthal for losing Light’s Hope. The Crimson Legionary was just about to disappear into the darkened woods when he suddenly saw something that made his blood run cold.
There was a wide front of ghouls trying to cut the escaping knights’ escape route and completely surround them against the mountains surrounding the Scarlet Enclave. That would be a total deathtrap, one from which there would be no escape for any of the crusaders. He could see the first knights starting to cut into the army of monsters but the slowing down of the knights’ advance was inevitable when they would be forced to fight their way forward.
Harthal cringed deeply as his blade cut into another gargoyle that had attacked him from the dark blue sky of the early morning. The beast was no match for the seasoned paladin but still, he knew the situation as well as each of his comrades. The escape would soon be out of reach for him and his comrades and that would mean the end of everything. If there only were something he could do to save the order from this horrifying fate…
Suddenly, his eyes caught the sight of something which caught his attention. Many of the knights were carrying torches to light the way through the night but none of them seemed to pay any heed to what they could also be used for. The grass around the living was dead but it would still burn alongside the massive trees looming over the knights. Without a second thought, the Lord Paladin ran towards one of the knights and quickly took the torch from the other man and threw it into the ground between the Crusade and the advancing undead. The ground immediately caught fire and started to spread through the dry grass, confirming to Harthal his idea had indeed been the correct one. He immediately turned to the others and cried in a loud voice.
“For the Light’s sake, throw your torches to block the enemy! It’s our only hope!” He cried, prompting everybody to do as told. Harthal sighed in relief as he turned to look behind himself to see the sights of the two monstrous abominations being swallowed by the flame as not even they could penetrate the quickly spreading wall of fire.
However, it wasn’t long before the downside of their new protection became known to each of the knights. The smokes spreading from the fire seemed to engulf their entire world as breathing grew increasingly difficult and forced. Many of them felt like they would fall into the ground at any second but with some unknown strength, they managed to keep up their escape. A minute passed after another and the Crusade managed to move forward despite the smoke, knowing that it wasn’t a long way to Tyr’s Hand anymore. Only ten more minutes and surely, its walls would rise from among the mountains…
The moments leading up to that sweet sight were long and filled with dread as the flames started to slowly die out around the remnants of the once-mighty Scarlet army but eventually, the familiar sight of the mighty walls of Tyr’s Hand came to the sight of the crusaders. Osran felt grateful beyond words despite the failure of the order’s efforts to crush the Dawn. If only the Scourge hadn’t come when it did… even if Osran knew quite well just what had happened. Either Maxwell and Eligor had been in total cooperation with the Scourge or at least they had been manipulated by the slaves of Kel’Thuzad into dismembering Scarlet Crusade from the inside with some vile plots. Either way, the Dawn’s split from its parent order played right into the Scourge’s hands and the undead had known just what would happen after the breakup of the Crusade and of course Kel’Thuzad had wanted to safeguard the Dawn’s survival by any means necessary.
The paladin’s glum thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud call from Abbendis’ horn. Many sighs of relief could be heard as the massive gates into the city started to open slowly after the High General’s command but immediately afterwards, it became clear to everyone that they weren’t safe just yet. Another group of the abominations and lesser undead appeared from the horizon, approaching the exhausted knights with an astonishing speed. Osran cringed deeply as he saw that sight, knowing there was only one chance:
to hope that the mighty trading center of eastern Lordaeron would withstand this assault as well.
One by one, the fatigued knights started to enter the city, most of them completely broken by today’s massive defeat. Osran panted terribly as he finally let himself stop in the wide courtyard forming the entrance into the city proper, nearly collapsing after his seemingly endless sprint. Similar sights could be seen everywhere around him but to each of their chagrin if not surprise, they weren’t provided any meaningful rest just yet. Instead the High General cried to his troops to give his next order.
“All of the archers and magi, man the walls and make sure to keep those cursed monsters at bay! Paladins, heal them and guard the wall in case the Scourge somehow manages to break through!” Abbendis cried as everyone did as they were told. Abbendis followed his troops, knowing it was his duty as the High General to do his all to safeguard the best outcome for the Crusade. He had already failed in so much and he owed it to the Grand Crusader to at least prevent the Crusade’s largest strongholds from falling.
The swarming undead ran with all their vigor towards the gates which were still open to allow the final crusaders safely into the city, knowing that his was their best chance to
cause real damage for the enemies of the Lich King. Harthal looked in horror as he turned around to see that the gates couldn’t be closed in time to prevent the undead from entering the city anymore so he called to his comrades without second thoughts.
“Help me keep them at bay for a short while longer, my comrades! Don’t let them enter the city!” He cried as the three very last knights stopped by his side, their rescue followed by a loud cranking sound as the enormous gates started to slowly close. The Lord Paladin looked in fear as the first row of undead fell under a volley of arrows but it was but mere seconds until they were replaced by another wave of enemies. Just before a large abomination started to swing the chain it carried as a weapon, Harthal cried to his comrades as he and eight other crusaders prepared to take their stand.
“Strike in the name of king Terenas! Tyr’s Hand won’t fall this day!” He cried as he released a massive exorcism at the charging undead, turning half of its rotting form into pure ash. However, the abomination wasn’t about to be bested by such attacks and to the defenders’ surprise, its assault continued as if nothing had changed. Two of the knights were caught by surprise and Harthal looked in disgust as their blood stained the walls and other defenders around them, their broken bodies completely obliterated by the brutal attack. However, despite their obvious fear, two others took their fallen comrades’ place in the defensive line, looking as the gates had reached their halfway into completely sealing the entrance into the city. Three of the defenders cringed deeply but they knew there was but one way forward. They moved to surround the monstrosity and two of them managed to penetrate the undead’s already-revealed viscera. This allowed Harthal to deal the finishing blow upon it, finally causing it to fall into the ground without a trace of life.
However, that tiny victory was but another chance for the incoming undead to swarm through the closing gate in ever greater numbers. Dozens upon dozens ghouls struggled to get through the nearly-closed gate before the opening became too narrow for even them to fit in. Harthal was prepared to finish them off as the light that shined through the nearly-closed grew ever weaker. However, it wasn’t long before the Lord Paladin knew just how folly his thoughts of final victory really were.
Just before the two doors of the gate clanked together, a tiny flicker of shadow flew through the still-existing gap and before Harthal could even lift a finger, the necromancer’s spell exploded in the middle of the courageous defenders. Limbs were torn apart and heads were separated from shoulders as the explosion shuddered the entire wall around the main gates.
Harthal himself was sent flying away from his former position, his battered form hitting the ground nearly ten meters away from the epicenter of the explosion. The surrounding crusaders looked in horror as they saw Harthal struggling to get another breath, his right hand nearly torn off from his body and his face nearly completely ruined. His screams could be heard around Tyr’s Hand before he gradually lost his consciousness. Many of the priests moved to immediately help him but even then, it was clear the battle itself wasn’t finished yet.
A rare look of fear rose to Abbendis’ face as he looked at Harthal’s injuries, the very brutality of his wounds disturbing even the High General who had seen nearly everything during his years of service. Yet, his charge wasn’t done yet. He remembered what was the best way to keep the enemy at bay from the Crusade’s withdrawal into Tyr’s Hand and he knew it would work again. Now that the gates had been closed, he cried to the archers around him.
“Now, drop the tar into the ground and ignite it! That’ll end their assault once and for all!” He cried, looking in satisfaction as the crusaders did as they were told. It wasn’t long until the back started to turn black and soon, flame engulfed the entire plain around the walls of Lordaeron’s largest remaining city. Countless undead feel under the fire and the rest started to slowly pull back. Abbendis was already preparing to hope that the battle was won but he didn’t notice one necromancer among the horde of ghouls who was preparing to cast another spell towards the High General. It would be only a few more seconds and the Crusade would lose its second highest-ranking officer…
If it weren’t up one of his body guard’s vigilance. He noticed the diverging form among the Scourge and he could see immediately that the necromancer was up to no good. He didn’t hesitate for a moment before he pulled his bow from his back and turned his aim at the lone figure. The arrow found its target almost unbelievably easily but it wasn’t enough to completely deny the villain’s attack. He managed to finish his spell with his last breath but he didn’t have the time to concentrate fully on his aim. The spell headed slightly more upwards than he had intended and the vigilant bodyguard realized he’d have to do more of he wanted to save the High General. He turned towards Abbendis and jumped towards him quickly.
“High General, look out!” He cried as he tackled the taller man, the spell missing its target only by a few pitiful inches. Abbendis prepared to beat some sense into his body guard before he saw the spell explode a few meters from his position. Its impact could be felt from his position but it was far enough to not cause any real damage to the High General. He panted slightly as he looked at the remnants of the explosion, only now realizing the danger he had been in. He slowly turned to look at the archer in shock before he rose up now spoke to his savior thankfully.
“Well done, crusader. I will remember this.” He said before he turned to look at the retreating undead, realizing that the victory was now the Crusade’s. The bodyguard nodded at his leader in approval and spoke to him quickly.
“Of course, Abbendis. I did only my duty. He said before taking a deep sigh before finally allowing himself to relax in the glory of surviving to live another day.
However, not everybody was as hopeful as Abbendis was. Osran stood at the other end of the wall, staring in to the wide fields which were engulfed by the flames. Yes, he may have lived through this night but from this on, things would only get worse and worse. Osran glanced behind himself and saw only 150 crusaders at most, knowing more than well what that meant. The Crusade would lose all the areas it captured previously and the fate of Scarlet Bastion would become only more desperate by the day.
The paladin shook his head sadly a he slowly started to descend from the wall, the morning sun shining on his back as he carefully moved downwards the stairs. Harthal’s situation was a perfect metaphor for that of the Crusade’s: it was still alive but terribly wounded and it would be a long, long time before the order would get another chance to rise to its feet… if it ever would.
With the Scourge’s intervention, any hopes of retaining a united human front against the undead have been ruined. What follows now is a long-term campaign for the Crusade to reach the same strength as it used to possess but that may turn out to be an uphill battle… This story is approaching its last stages and I hope you’ve liked the ride thus far!
-
On the Brink of Downfall
”I’ll take a look at it, courier. Take a small rest, you’ve earned it.” Osran said tiredly as he looked at the sealed letter in the other crusader’s hands. His voice was extremely tired as he spoke and not all of it was due to the fact that it was well past midnight. The messenger frowned deeply as he looked at the Crimson Legionary, not approving at all of his comment. He waited for a few moments before answering to the older man.
“I must beg your pardon, Lowriver, but I was ordered not to present my message to anyone else but the Grand Crusader. I must…” He started again, attempting to make Osran see things his way. He knew his message was of utmost importance but Osran’s face showed no signs of understanding. Instead, he doubled down on his angered look and answered again, this time in a much harsher tone.
“The Grand Crusader is sleeping and he ordered me to take care of incoming messages for tonight. I will deliver it to Dathrohan if I find the message worthy of his time. So, I must ask you again to give it to me, now. I will not ask again.” He said while offering his hand to the courier. The red-haired man looked extremely bothered as he looked at Osran’s harsh expression, easily seeing he wasn’t about to give up on his demand. And indeed, he knew that Lowriver was one of the Grand Crusader’s chosen these days so maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t betray his oath by agreeing to Osran’s request. He finally nodded to the Crimson Legionary and gave his scroll to Osran.
“Here. But please, I want the Grand Crusader to tell me he’s seen it some time tomorrow. I must get his orders concerning this development back to Hearthglen as soon as possible!” He said in an urgent voice while Osran looked at the letter. His interest picked up immediately as he saw the seal of the house of Fordring in it. However, that fact brought worried thoughts to him, having already an idea what kind of news the letter would contain. He then looked at the other knight and spoke in a hoarse but a slightly more friendlier voice.
“Thank you. You may spend the night in the third room to our left in the Hall of Lights. Good night, crusader.” He said before he turned around, not waiting the courier’s answer. He sighed in growing anxiety as he entered his small room close to the gate to the Scarlet Bastion where the messenger had just entered the massive fortress. He could hear some kind of answer from the other knight but he gave it no heed before he closed the door to his room. Osran nearly yelped in agony as that act brought a sudden bolt of pain through his back. He moved against the wall and put his left hand on his back, taking deep breaths as he waited for the pain to go away.
It was many seconds before he finally calmed down, cursing his back heavily. Those bolts of pain had become more and more common in the two years that had passed since the last time he had set a foot inside this cursed city. Two years since he had last sensed a sense of victory… two years since he had last met his nephew. The months following those events had been long ones indeed and after each one of them, Osran felt like he had aged decades. His brown hair and beard had quickly started to turn grey and the wrinkles in his face seemed to be deepening by the day.
A silent sigh escaped his lips as he sat behind his desk, candle illuminating the room with its weak, fluttering flame. The cold stone walls could hardly be seen in the dark of the night, the massive fortress completely silent in these early hours. There were dozens of other messages from all over the Crusade on his table that still had to be gone through but right now, only the newest one interested him to any significant degree. Yet, he grew fearful as he prepared to read whatever disastrous news he would find within this letter.
Without further waiting, he then broke the seal of the Fordring, and took the message itself out of its envelope. However, when he looked at the message itself, his frowns deepened greatly.
To the Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan and the Crimson Legion.
The disaster we had feared all along has finally come to pass. As you know, the Banshee Queen and her allies have grown more active in the Tirisfal Glades in the past weeks. They have wiped us away from most of its eastern moors, beating many of our respected officers. Now, as I told in my last message, the villains were even in the position to attack the Monastery but none of us ever dared to dread its fall to be possible.
But it seems we were wrong all along. Yesterday, a group of Sylvanas’ pawns attacked those sacred halls, slaughtering all our brave heroes. Doan, Herod, Commander Mograine… all of them have fallen under the might of the Forsaken. Only a handful of our comrades managed to flee that battle and they have claimed that we’ll never be able to withstand their might. I beg to disagree with them but the sad truth is that the Crusade’s campaign in Tirisfal has come to an end.
It pains me to bring these news to you as I regret the fact that we couldn’t retake the capital when we had the chance. But now, Grand Crusader Dathrohan, I must ask you form a strategy in an effort to withstand their advance. There have already been reports of the Horde’s presence spreading into both the Western Plaguelands as well as into the old Darrowmere. Needless to say, our future is looking grimmer by the day but I have full confidence that we will fight our way towards victory as our order always has. But until then,
I will wait for further orders.
Highlord Taelan Fordring, Master of Mardenholde Keep.
Osran was left staring at the letter with slight shudders creeping into his hands. So, the worst had indeed come to pass. There had been earlier warnings of an imminent attack at the Scarlet Monastery in the days past but none of them had been taken too seriously. After all, many of the Crusade’s legends were guarding it and only very few had matched the combined might of High Inquisitor Whitemane and Renault Mograine. To think that the Monastery had fallen and all of those heroes fallen under some outsiders’ attack… It was completely unbelievable. Osran couldn’t bring himself to even attempt to consider how very serious blow this was to the Crusade.
This news was a continuation to so many setbacks and defeats for the Crusade that Osran could hardly bring himself to remember all of them. Light’s Hope, Corin’s Crossing, Menethil road, Andorhal and now Tirisfal… all of them were now lost to the Crusade and the order was now confined to a few cities and strongholds all around Lordaeron. Yet, the Monastery had also been one of them and Osran couldn’t help but wonder just how long it’d take for the others to follow it…
However, there was other thought that made him feel even more somber about these news and that was something that was personal to him and that concerned one statue in the Monastery’s revered Hall of the Champions. Or even more accurately, its revelation. Osran looked into the darkness while feeling a small breath enter the room from under the door as he thought of one accident a few months ago concerning Harthal Truesight.
The Crimson Legionary had never thought of the Lord Paladin as anything else than an honored and trustworthy comrade in the many campaigns against the Scourge. Despite his encounter with him concerning Carethas, Osran had still chosen to trust him during the duo’s struggles against the Dawn. But his injuries in the brief battle on the gates of Tyr’s Hand had changed everything. His mind was unbroken but his body never really recovered from the injuries he suffered on that day. But despite that, he fought on with a vigor only few other knights could dream of. He continued to be worthy of his title until… until the Crusade’s attempts to restore some kind of path to Scarlet Bastion.
Osran had stood with him on that day as the two had done so many times before. They and their comrades fought relentlessly for hours but just as victory was nearly theirs, Harthal had disappeared, most likely grabbed by some monstrous gargoyle or burned by some nefarious necromancer’s spell. But regardless of what had happened, the truth was that Harthal was gone and with him, another of the heroes of Lordaeron had gone to their rest. Osran could still remember when he received the invitation to speak at the unveiling ceremony of Harthal’s statue as the Lord paladin most certainly deserved to be honored alongside all the other brave crusaders who had fallen against the Scourge and the Forsaken.
The cloud of melancholy around Osran seemed to deepen by the second as his mind drifted into the past, willing to escape this joyless nightmare which seemed to darken with every day that passed. Even the candle seemed to be nearing its end and the darkness grew more dominant in the room as Osran remembered another of the many respected comrades… even friends who he had been forced to help to begin their way into the next world. Suddenly, the room’s blackness seemed to begin swindling around him as Osran’s mind returned into that day not that long ago…
Osran looked at the covered statue before himself with morbid eyes, listening to the complete silence of the hall. This room of the Monastery was completely packed as the new entry to the Hall of Champions was about to be revealed. He had never wanted to attend this kind of meeting but inside, he felt like it was his duty to his comrade who had stood on his side when the Argent Dawn was born and the Scourge nearly wiped the entire Crusade in Stratholme.
He looked glumly at the previous statues within the room, taking an extra moment to look at the memorials of Arellas Fireleaf, Barean Westwind as well as Orman of Stromgarde. Those were the only ones of these heroes had personally met and it was times like these that truly reminded Osran just how much the Crusade had lost during this war. The famed knights of glory were dwindling quickly, leaving undeserving weaklings like himself behind. The Crimson Legionary looked sadly at Whitemane who led this ceremony as the mater of the Scarlet Monastery. Osran still recoiled at her sight but to her credit, the High Inquisitor seemed genuinely touched by today’s event.
“Honored knights of the Scarlet Crusade, I am happy to see so many of you decided to attend this humble meeting. I wish I could welcome you in a better time than this but sadly, it is my duty and honor to add today another name into the honorable canonic history of our order. As all of you know, Harthal Truesight, our Lord Paladin, has finally fallen in his fight against the Scourge within the city of Stratholme. That cursed place has again brought another tragedy upon us, as if all the bloodbaths we’ve withstood there weren’t enough.
To my regret, I never knew Truesight half as well as I would have wanted to. We very rarely served within the same areas with him and the few times we got a chance to meet each other were brief indeed. It is because of this that I’d like to ask another one here to speak a few words to our fallen champion. Crimson Legionary Lowriver, would you be so kind?” She asked to Osran’s great shock. He had never thought he’d be asked to say anything today. Of all people, he certainly couldn’t be best qualified to speak about Harthal. The two had fought by each other’s side for a long time but certainly there would be someone other than he?
However, he could see no second thoughts within Whitemane’s eyes. The inquisitor seemed far more genuine than he had ever seen her before which made something change within him. Osran looked one by one at the statues around him, looking into their firm, proud faces, feeling as if they were still somehow with the Crusade, by some grace of the Light. That impression was reinforced as Osran looked at the bright rays shone through the windows of the massive hall, illuminating the statue’s heads, making them seem like the defenders of the Light they had always been in life.
With a deep sigh, he stood forward from the row of knights and headed towards the stairs leading to the upper part of the room overlooking the main part of the room. Osran stopped beside Whitemane and took a brief moment to feel the Light’s touch on this mournful day. He looked at the Monastery’s grace, it’s windows, statues and its winding hallways. Indeed, this was a worthy place for any crusader to be honored in the way they deserve. After a few seconds, Osran lowered his gaze back to the other knights and finally started to speak.
“I never expected to be asked to speak here as neither do I consider myself to be qualified to honor him in the way he deserves. However, it is true that I served besides him many times and I was there to witness his high points as well as his downfall. In any case, I must begin by saying that Harthal truly was a worthy champion of the Crusade and that I’m extremely honored to have known him as well as I did.
I first met him when he returned from the disastrous expedition to Northrend. The failure there wasn’t his fault and judging from the many accounts we’ve heard of the events there, I’m more inclined to believe that he was one of those, alongside the High General, who saved the army from total destruction. To my understanding, it is exactly this operation which earned him the title of our Lord Paladin.” Osran said with a sigh, looking at Demetria, younger Abbendis as well as Renault Mograine who were standing among the attendees. He felt additional wave of melancholy as he realized that there was nobody present who meant anything more to him than a respected comrade… Osran waved those thoughts away as he continued.
“However, it was only his service in retaking Darrowmere that I truly saw his worthiness. We fought many battles, the major ones being in Corin’s Crossing, Plaguewood, Stratholme and Light’s Hope. In each of them, Truesight was one of those who marched forward with the Light’s mark, serving as an example to us all. His deeds were of immeasurable worth to our cause and I know the campaign would have been far more difficult without him. In Stratholme, he even prevented me from letting some my own worst instincts out by saving one cadet from my suspicions… even if he turned traitor to us shortly afterwards.
But in the end, I believe his greatest contribution to the Crusade was his quick decisions that put an end to the Dawn’s hopes for a quick victory over us. I was imprisoned by the traitors back then but Harthal saved me and saved our armies from total defeat. In many ways, it is thanks to him the Dawn wasn’t successful in taking Tyr’s Hand for good.” The paladin took a brief moment to gather his thoughts, thinking how much his older comrades would have deserved this kind of moment as well. Most of all Valdemar who despite still being alive who had never truly recovered from Landgren’s spell. However, even if there were others deserving a moment of remembrance, he wouldn’t rob it from Harthal on this day.
“Even when he was gravely wounded in that battle, he continued to fight on. He led the final defense of Corin’s Crossing until the very end, nearly able to save that town from the onslaught of the Scourge. Even later, he tried to secure the Menethil road once again but again, we had no choice but to bow down before the terrible might of the Lich King. The High General gave him the permission for these efforts even if he knew how very difficult it would have been to prevail. I accompanied Truesight on each of this battles even if I saw that his old injuries made it almost impossible for him to fight properly.
And then finally came that day. We knew the Scarlet Bastion couldn’t be allowed to fall so we tried to establish another supply route there under the western wall of the city. We were successful but we still had to fight our way through one street to reach the Bastion. We quickly gained the upper hand but one abomination them attempted to stop us and after a long battle, we were finally successful. Truesight led us in that fight but in the heat of the battle…. we lost him.
Whether the abomination managed to crush him or the other undead got him, I don’t know. All I do know is that that day was the last time any of us ever saw the Lord Paladin. But in the end, I think that sacrificing his life to achieve one final victory was a fitting end to his life of glory and honor. I wish it would have been otherwise but in the end, I must say I was honored to stand by his side through these dark times.” Osran finished, taking another deep breath as he listened to the applauds of his audience. Immediately afterwards, he heard the curtain hiding the new memorial being lifted, followed by an announcement from the High Inquisitor.
“It is my honor on this day to reveal this fitting monument of remembrance to Harthal Truesight of Azeroth, the Lord Paladin of the Scarlet Crusade!” She cried as Osran turned to look at the statue, astonished by the skill in which it had been made. Looking at the memorial, he felt deep pride of being here to speak those words to the fallen paladin, hoping this day would preserve his name for many generations to come.
It took all of Osran’s willpower to prevent himself from crunching the letter into a ball or tearing it apart as he thought that Harthal and the other heroes’ memory was now being trashed by some cursed Light-Forsaken undead and orcs! One of the highest places of learning in all of Lordaeron was most likely irrevocably destroyed in the hands of barbarians and monsters! Into what had the pride of the Crusade and the people been reduced to? Osran’s face turned into a deep frown as he tried to calm down from this sickening shock. But the truth was that that the loss of the Monastery was an unspeakable tragedy, one that the paladin hoped would never have come to pass.
Yet, remembering Harthal also brought other thoughts into his head, some of them making him feel even more miserable. Indeed, Harthal was but the last of his many comrades to be lost in the fields of battle. Still, Osran yearned to hear the firm commands and encouraging banter of Tareth as he had so often done in the days past. Tareth had been his captain, true, but still, Osran had learned to regard him as more than that… even as a friend. It seemed like everything had changed his death and in many ways, Osran still hoped to share his fears and doubts with the one knight with whom he could share all his hesitations.
But Veria’s memory hit Osran even worse. In many ways, he had tried to regard her as his equal and as a trusted comrade or as a companion in their years together and never once had Osran even dreamt of disregarding her company whenever the two were on a mission together. He hadn’t missed her greatly when she was in Andorhal because of his own many tasks during that time. However, after he had learned of her passing, things had changed…
The paladin cringed slightly as he felt a distinct pain emanate from his chest. The more he thought of it, Osran still hoped she’d be here as the two paladins had had so very much in common. In the back of his mind, Osran wondered how things would have been if this war had come to an end while both of them were still alive… Still, Osran shook his head in order to shake those thoughts away. Whether it was true love he felt or not, it didn’t matter anymore. Veria was dead and there was no reason trying to dwell in dreams that could never be realized in this life. With heavy movements, Osran rose back to his feet and headed towards the door and entered the corridor into the Hall of Lights. The Grand Crusader had to know of these news immediately.
Osran cringed slightly as he heard his own footsteps ring through the empty hallways of the Scarlet Bastion, the only other crusaders awake in this hour being a handful of guards guarding the main gate and the roofs of the massive citadel. The ghastly light of the two moons seemed to make the dark hallways dance in hues grey and black, making the paladin feel even more miserable than before. His steps which echoed through the corners of the halls combined with the dancing shadows made the thought of the ghosts of his past still following him ever the more real. Even after all his years of service, Osran felt his sadness turn into fear and knowingly, sped up his pace in order to shed off his loneliness away for a moment.
The Crimson Throne itself was always a captivating sight, one that always made those entering it stop for a moment to look at the beautiful hall in awe. Even Osran decided to savor this moment before delivering his news to the Grand Crusader, even concerned about how Dathrohan would react. Deep inside, the paladin was starting to realize that there was something odd in the way the Grand Crusader was behaving these days but in the conscious level, Osran knew only that serving him was his duty as long as the Crusade lived on. After a few seconds, Osran entered the Crimson Throne, his eyes searching for the mattress the Grand Crusader had brought to his working post to sleep on. However, Osran barely had time to take three steps forward before he heard a low voice ring through the hall.
“What is it, Lowriver? What has happened this time?” Saidan’s voice could be heard in the darkness, something within it bringing chills to Osran’s spine. He was astonished that he had been heard approaching this quickly but then again, he wondered whether the Grand Crusader ever actually slept at all. However, he let none of his worries away as he gave his heartfelt salute and answered the direct question.
“I beg your pardon for arriving here on this hour but I took the liberty to assume a message I just received would be of interest to you. The Scarlet Monastery has fallen and most of our troops out there were completely annihilated.” Osran said honestly, hating the fact that he was forced to deliver these news but he knew that was his duty. He slowly saw Saidan’s form appear from the darkness, a stoic expression on his face. Despite his calm exterior, Osran knew just how much the Grand Crusader hated these kinds of messages. The Crimson Legionary frowned slightly as he heard his superior’s answer.
“Most of them? Commander Mograine and the High Inquisitor as well?” He spoke, the tension in his voice more than apparent to the other knight. Osran merely nodded to affirm that fact, looking as Saidan turned his gaze into the dark corridor before him as if he thought there would be something worth seeing out there. But after a moment, Saidan turned back to Osran and snapped at him in apparent rage.
“That suited those weaklings well! And to think I ever deemed those two worth my trust and favors! Our order will be much better off without those two slowing us down! Who were the attackers? The Forsaken?” He spoke in an enraged voice, staring into Osran’s eyes in hate. The lower-ranked knight narrowed his eyes somewhat but his voice stayed as firm as ever.
“We have all the reason to assume her initiatives were behind this attack but to my knowledge, the attackers were a group of adventurers from the races who are now allied to Sylvanas.” Osran said glumly, knowing just how pitiful it was to lose such a stronghold to a group of nobodies who were most likely in Lordaeron for the first time. For a while, it looked like Saidan was going to attack Osran for this outrage but in the last moment, he gave up that plan and threw his hand into the air as a gesture of resignation.
“Very well. Tell Hearthglen to block Tirisfal completely off from the city’s surroundings and to make sure the Forsaken won’t get one step further east!” He said while looking sternly at the Crimson Legionary whose expression made him ever more frustrated. It was clear that there was still something he wasn’t being told, something which made the demon lord’s rage all the harder to control. Osran frowned slightly before answering.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Grand Crusader. We already know that the agents of the Banshee Queen have crossed the Thondrodil river and only the Light knows where they are by now.” He said, regretting the mere fact that he had to sound even more morbid than what he would have been required but he simply wanted to make the direness of the situation clear to his superior. The master of the Crusade looked even more dumbstruck by these news as he realized just how much his order’s fortunes had turned from bad to worse. However, he didn’t more than a few moments before he spat his answer.
“Then lock all our cities from all who’d want to enter them and once our own ranks have been purged from this new filth, send expeditions outside, find the servants of the Horde and the Alliance and exterminate them one by one and even more urgently, prevent them from creating any outposts to our lands! We already have our hands full with the Dawn and the Scourge and we don’t need another enemy on our gates!” Saidan yelled in anger, slightly annoyed by Osran’s completely calm posture. But even if something in his antics angered the demon lord, he couldn’t help but appreciate Osran’s abilities and his sense of duty which was much more acute than that of his comrades. Again, Osran saluted to his leader and nodded to him in agreement.
“I understand, Grand Crusader. I will make sure this message will be delivered to Highlord Fordring and Crusader Lord Valdemar. May the Light guide our path through these dark times.” He said briefly, waiting for a permission to end this meeting from Valdemar. The latter nodded to Osran briefly before he gave his simple answer.
“May it indeed. But we need even more determination if we ever want to prevail in this struggle. You may leave, Crimson Legionary Lowriver.” Dathrohan said as he turned his back on the other knight, apparently preparing to return to rest for the rest of the knight. Osran looked at him with a slightly glum look before he turned around to fulfill the rest of his duties… only to feel a slight breeze fly past his head right towards the Grand Crusader! However, that seemed to matter little for the powerful paladin as he suddenly turned around and blocked the incoming arrow with his mace before crying with all his might.
“Infiltrators within the Bastion! Crush them all in the name of the Crusade!” He yelled as he darted after the apparent attackers. Osran didn’t waste any time replicating those moves as he knew just as well what this attack would likely implicate. However, before the two had barely taken another step forward, they suddenly saw a massive bear running towards them, followed by another volley of arrows that the two paladins could hardly even dodge. Osran was completely dumbstruck by this development but he was heartened by the sounds of the other knights who were quickly rushing to their leader’s side.
It wasn’t long before the pitiful assassins realized how badly they had miscalculated. Just as the bear-shaped druid attempted to attack the Grand Crusader, he suddenly gathered all his strength into one, powerful blow which crushed the druid’s entire skull into a dozen pieces, sending the contents of his head flying all around the walls of the citadel. However, just as he thought he had won, Saidan suddenly realized that not all was as they were supposed to be. He suddenly gathered his strength to form a divine shield around himself, just in time to prevent an assassin’s blade from sinking between his ribs. The attacker had apparently lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to attack and he
had almost been successful. Osran wasted no time driving his own sword through the cowardly backstabber’s back.
At this point, the attackers’ failure was clear to everyone. The remaining assassins suddenly turned away in order to use their pre-planned escape route to save their puny lives. He suddenly yelled to Dathrohan who looked in rage at those who had so very dishonorably tried to end his reign over his own order.
“They couldn’t have gotten here through the main gate, Grand Crusader! Everyone, try to block their escape to the roof! That’s their only chance!” Osran cried, looking as the halls of the Bastion were slowly getting illuminated by the candles whose flames were being restored after the dark hours of the night. However, it all seemed to happen so very slowly and each second that the blackness ruled the halls of the Scarlet Bastion, the cover for the villains’ escape prevailed. Yet, Osran wasn’t about to let them get away if there was absolutely he could do to prevent it.
The paladin rushed after the escaping attackers into the side corridors of the Bastion, knowing with near certainty which way the enemy was most likely heading towards. He cast a bright judgement into the air, the light confirming his thoughts. He could briefly see the backs of the escaping assassins in the distance before they entered the room where the ladder to the roof could be found. A look of expectation rose to his face as he prepared to take them down while they were climbing the ladder in two in order to cut the cursed weaklings’ flight once and for all.
But when he finally grabbed the door which his foes had shut behind them, he nearly yelped in shock. The entire door had been frozen still by what was clearly frost magic, killing any hopes the paladin had of entering the room completely. However, it wasn’t long before Osran heard something that made his struggles ease at least a bit. Saidan had followed not far after him and he cried to the other paladin loudly as he reached him.
“If that’s all your capable of, then step aside!” He cried as he suddenly pointed his sword towards the door and with great efforts, the demon hid his use of the fel magic as he hit the wall of frost with his unholy power. Osran’s eyes widened as the door as well as the ice wall surrounding it broken into a thousand pieces, flying all over the small room. Without even looking at the room, Saidan cast a mighty barrage of bright Light into the room, willing to cut his enemies’ flight as quickly as only possible. What met his ears soon was a loud cry of pain as the last of the escaping attackers fell into the floor, never rising to his feet again. Osran wasted no time giving the dead Forsaken any heed, heading towards the ladders without any pause.
A warm breath of the night wind met the Crimson Legionary’s face as he reached the roof of the Bastion, the familiar sight of the Crusader Square was below him. Osran breathed heavily as he looked around himself, attempting to locate the escaping undead frantically. His ears were soon greeted by a cry from one of the guards who immediately noticed the newcomers.
“They headed that way, Lowriver! We tried to hold them but…” He began as he pointed towards the direction of the eastern districts of the city, making Osran frown deeply. However, he wasn’t about to waste anytime listening to the other man’s cries before he silenced him with a cry of his own.
“Save it for later! Help us get those bastards before it’s too late!” Osran yelled, happy to notice that the assassins still hadn’t managed to get too far. With any luck, he’d be able to reach them before they’d be able to leave the Bastion’s main building. Yet, it were times like these that made Osran curse his age as he could feel the stiffness settling deeper into his legs every year and the strength in his limbs beginning to die out more and more as the days passed. However, he wouldn’t let his personal issues get in the way of righteousness, especially in a time like this one.
A deep cringe rose to his face as he jumped on a lower level of the Bastion’s roof in order to save time, his knees resonating with agony as his weight dropped on top of them. However, he managed to stay on his feet as he heard Saidan and the others keep up with his pace. He looked in approval as a volley of arrows flew towards the group of escaping Forsaken, smiling as four of them fell under their impact. Only brief yelps could be heard from their mouths as the cursed monsters fell into the ground for the last time.
And either did Osran waste time casting a judgement towards one of his enemies, looking as he fell immediately. There were only two more of the attackers still alive and he could tell that they were growing increasingly fearful of their own probably failure to carry out their queen’s will. Yet, what happened next was something Osran hadn’t expected.
The two suddenly stopped still ear one slightly lower spot of the roof, looking carefully under them. Osran was already hoping them to give up until he saw both of them jump over the edge of the roof into the blackness. Osran looked into the darkness with astonished eyes, waiting for his eyes to get used to the completely black alley below him. He heard only a deep wail of one of the undead as his eyes caught the sight of a pile of hay below him, one of the undead apparently having missed the safe spot by the smallest of margins. Osran’s face darkened as he looked at the sight but he didn’t waver for a second before jumping after the two assassins. The drop seemed to last forever before the paladin finally hit the ground, the pain in his legs only intensifying as he stopped to a swift halt.
His eyes scoured the area around himself, the complete darkness of the street overwhelming his senses for a brief moment. He felt the precious seconds slip by as he tried to look
for any signs of the undead. Yet, it wasn’t many seconds before he heard a forced voice whisper to him from the darkness.
“You… you’re too late, paladin. We already got everything we need.” A voice called to the knight after which Osran immediately moved to his direction. He found a short Forsaken on his knees, his empty eye sockets staring towards the Crimson Legionary with their own haunting way. Osran’s expression, however, didn’t twitch any as he gave his answer.
“Where did your companion go? Tell me, now!” The paladin cried, but to his immense annoyance, the heard silent, dry chuckles emanate from the undead’s lips. He was forced to rely on his hands to avoid completely collapsing into the ground as he answered.
“He went to Sylvanas, of course. Consider yourselves lucky to have escaped our attack but we know how weak your forces are these days. Mark my words, this Bastion will fall in the days to come. We have already spread our forces throughout these cursed lands. The vengeance of the Forsaken is coming for you.” He said, looking at Osran’s merciless eyes. The paladin was preparing to force further details out of the creature when something happened in matter of mere seconds which Osran couldn’t prevent. The undead pulled a weapon out of his pocket and brought it to the left side of his own head and before Osran could do anything about it, the Forsaken pulled the trigger. The paladin was left to look in disgust as the already-rotten brain of the monster flew all across the narrow alley, leaving the undead’s body collapse to the ground lifeless. Osran cursed deeply as the last source of information concerning today’s attacks had managed to escape his grasp and it didn’t help when he heard another, familiar voice speak to him.
“Did you get them, Lowriver? Speak, we don’t have any time to waste!” Saidan cried as he looked at the other knight who spat at the undead’s body before answering.
“One of them got away before I could sent it back to whatever hell it crept away from! And this bastard shot himself before I could begin to properly question him!” He said as he finally turned to look at his superior with vengeful eyes. The Grand Crusader, however, wasted no time giving his next order to the small group of knights who were beginning to gather around the two.
“Secure the nearby streets and don’t leave one stone unturned before you find any trace of that one bastard! We can’t afford even one of them getting away!” He cried as the other paladins spread off, searching for the one attacker who had managed to escape the judgement of the Light. However, Osran wasn’t quite done with the fallen assassin just yet.
“He said his friend already got what they came here for. What in the name of righteousness could he mean?” The knight asked, frowning deeply as he thought of that issue. If they had come to the Bastion in order to steal something, why in earth had they made their presence known by attacking the Grand Crusader himself? Saidan, however, wasn’t nearly willing to spend time thinking about such questions just yet.
“We may discuss that later but we need everyone to cut the escape routes for the Light-forsaken monster! Don’t waste any more time, Lowriver!” He cried while Osran nodded to him briefly. He knew his superior was right of course but today’s attack hardly improved his mood any. He’d do anything in his power to catch the cowardly killer before he’d escape to safety.
Yet, it turned out that such hopes turned out to be a folly. Despite intense searching and many skirmishes with the servants of the Scourge, the Forsaken was never heard of again. Osran’s face turned into a deep frown as he laid his arms on the table before him as he looked at the other knights who had gathered to discuss today’s attack. His comrade’s words only made his mind grow darker as he listened to one rather old paladin’s words.
“There apparently is a tiny crack in the wall not far north from here we hadn’t seen before. It’s just large enough for one bony undead to use but to any living, it would be too narrow. I cannot help but believe the enemy used it to enter the city and infiltrate our Bastion the same way they left it.” She said, crossing her hands as he looked at Saidan who seemed beyond furious at this point. He immediately snapped back at the old woman, not willing to hear such words from one of his own knights, knowing just what it meant if the enemy could attack the Bastion at will. He looked at the other paladin in anger, snapping at her sharply.
“Then why hadn’t we found it earlier? Don’t any of you realize just how dangerous our position has become? We cannot afford to overlook even the smallest of weaknesses in our defenses! We must double the amount of guards safeguarding our sacred headquarters before something like this happens again.” He cried, earning complete silence for a short moment within the room. The next to speak was Galford who was still one of the most trusted servants of the Grand Crusader.
“Pardon me, Grand Crusader, but it wasn’t because of our guards that they got in. I… I hate to say it but the paladins don’t have the answer to everything. These cursed cowards were clearly masters in hiding in the darkness and I’m afraid that no matter how many of our troops are guarding the Bastion, they can still get at least masterful rogue inside our walls. I wish it weren’t so but our knights are trained to fight against the darkness with utmost courage and skill, not to search for some cowardly sneakers who live from theft and deception.” The archivist said with a hapless look on his face, knowing that his words were unlikely to please the Grand Crusader any further. He most often wanted to please his superior in any ways possible but he saw no worth in trying to lie to him. He could see Dathrohan’s displeasure but Osran spoke before he could answer.
“And if there was any truth in the Forsaken’s words, a few rogues infiltrating our halls might be the least of our worries. I think we’ll be fine if we guard only the most important places within the Bastion and look out for each other in case anyone tries to attack us. But even more urgently, the bastard who killed himself before I got my hands on him said that the hand of the Banshee Queen has already spread into our lands and he heavily implied they’ll strike at us again in the coming days. And for some reason, I fear we’ll have to take his words seriously.” The paladin said as he look melancholically at Saidan. The highest-ranked crusader frowned deeply as he looked at his followers, increasingly willing to just blow his cover and simply kill these morons here and now and try some other approach to bring his vengeance to the Lich King but as long as he had some chance to make his original plan work, he’d take it. He took a deep sigh before beginning to talk.
“It is true that our outlook seems worse by the day but we cannot allow our momentary weakness make us look weak or scared. We still have the Bastion and the rest of our heartland and as long as they stand, I am willing to continue the fight. And by the Light, I hope everybody within this room will live and die by the oath each of us gave when we became paladins. We will crush the cursed assassins, we will strike back any potential attackers that will be coming our way and damn right we will destroy Naxxramas one day!
But I have to ask you to retain your courage through these dark days!” Dathrohan said, turning the rest of the knights’ gazes at the table, each of them trying to keep their calm within the presence of the Grand Crusader. To their luck, that tense moment was soon interrupted as another paladin entered the room. Malor the Zealous had returned to the Bastion soon after the demon’s coup as any suspicion towards Isillien had been dropped soon after that momentous day. The paladin’s voice wavered in hate as he started to speak.
“Grand Crusader and my fellow members of the Crimson Legion, we have investigated everything of value that the undead may have stolen from us. We were initially relieved to find that most of the fortress seemed to be untouched but in the end, we found something that are now gone. And they were the countless letters in Galford and Lowriver’s rooms.” He spoke in disgust, causing the two knights’ eyes widen immediately. What in earth was Malor speaking about? Why in earth would they want to attack those places unless… A sickening doubt started to form in Osran’s mind about what he’d soon possibly hear. Saidan wasted no time demanding the answer.
“What? Why in earth would they want to get them?” He said while narrowing his eyes as he looked at the younger man. Galford suddenly cleared his throat as he put an expression which was beyond uncomfortable. He hated to bring these news to his superior but this was something he simply had to know.
“I must beg for your forgiveness already, Grand Crusader, but I believe I know what they were after. After all, it was me and Lowriver who received all the information about our forces’ moves around Lordaeron as well as severe hints about our actual numbers in each of our bastions.” He said with a guilty expression on his face as he looked at Saidan who very slowly brought his hand to his forehead. For a moment it looked like he would completely snap and attack his followers.
The implications were clear to everyone present: if the enemy knew just the strengths and weaknesses of the Crusade, it would be far easier to plan a new strategy against them. And even worse, the surviving Forsaken had seen himself how very weak the crusade had to be in the Bastion if he could simply sneak in and escape with his life. The appearance of strength was the last thing the Crusade had anymore and now that, too, had been lost. This truly spoke volumes about the depth the once-powerful Scarlet Crusade now found itself in. Saidan looked in concern at the gathered knights before speaking in a fearful voice.
“In that case, guard the entrances at all times and let only those couriers you know inside. All we can do now is to prove to the enemy that despite their seemingly powerful armies, the Crusade still stands. As long as even one of us stands firm, our dream will live on. Remember that when the battle finally dawns upon us. May the Light be with you, champions of the Scarlet Crusade.” Dathrohan finished while rising to his feet in order to tell the others that the meeting had ended. Immediately, he moved away from the room, leaving a host of flabbergasted paladins behind him.
Osran didn’t bother looking after his commander as he took a deep sigh and shook his head. He had never seen Saidan that resigned to the obvious before, a fact that bothered Osran without an end. To think that one of the founders of the Silver Hand was beginning to lose hope… A deep look of fear rose to Osran’s face as he thought about the simple fact: he and the rest of the Crusade were surrounded by enemies who were all bent on slaughtering him or worse, he and the rest of the knights gathered in this one room all standing in that place of no escape. In the days to come, the fight would come and most likely, that fight would be his last. Osran felt the fear of his incoming struggle already worry him as he spoke to his last comrades.
“Well, you heard him. Our only option is to stick together and keep all our enemies, the Scourge, the Horde, the Alliance or Sylvanas at bay. I don’t know about you but I will take my stand proudly and only the Light itself knows how this all will end. May Uther watch over us all.” He said as he rose from his chair and headed towards gates to the Scarlet Bastion. He still had the message to pass to the courier to take back to Taelan and delivering it was even more urgent now.
Osran frowned as he moved forward, already dreading what was to come. Even if he couldn’t quite explain it, there seemed to hang some cloud of fear inside the Bastion, mixed with some other… feeling. Osran decided to wave those thoughts off for now, however, and walk his path to the end, no matter what would come his way.
During the time skip, things have gone from bad to worse for the Crusade. Now, all that remains for the order is to put on a valiant defense and hope for a miracle that could save their cause… There will be two more chapters after this one during which I hope I can wrap this story up in a satisfying way. I hope you like these final installments and see you next time.
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Battle on the Crimson Throne
A slight smile rose to Osran’s face as he opened one of the large crates. It wasn’t often that any supplies were successfully brought into the Bastion, especially anything more than mere food. The paladin was beyond happy with the surprisingly steady supply of bread and water from the couriers but now his eyes fell upon something he had waited for for days. The sight of ten new chestplates met his eyes which were worth more than gold to the knights in this situation. His own plates had only been moderately battered but there were some knights whose entire armor had been practically beaten to pieces. He heard another voice from next to him speak to him in a rather excited voice.
“This is just what I needed! With this, those damned undead won’t stand a chance invading these sacred halls for a long, long time!” The man’s face turned into an expectant grin as he took some mechanical gadgets and a handful of black powder from another crate. Osran nodded at him approvingly, knowing just how very much that meant to Cannon Master Willey.
“It’s good that they managed to sneak those in as well. It has been a chore keeping the peace without your help.” He said rather dryly, the larger situation still forcing his mood down, The attacks from the undead seemed to only be growing more and more frequent and one by one, the elite forces of the Grand Crusader fell upon their onslaught. Willey gave a deep snort as he turned to Osran, looking at him in slight annoyance.
“I can see that full well, Lowriver. It was because of your inability to keep the intruders out that I had to spend hours on end trying to fish further information out of another servant of the Lich King. It was far from fun as those cursed death knights don’t seem to feel any real pain! At least, I can now get back to doing what I do best instead of being forced to clean up yours and the others’ failures!” He said half-jokingly, his tone signaling he wasn’t quite as hostile as his words would have implied. Osran nodded at him somewhat wearily, not in the mood for any half-hearted joking at this point. He had hardly slept for days as either his duties or the incoming attacks took most of his time. He waited for a few moments before answering as he put his new armor on him, more than happy to realize that it fit him perfectly. He then turned to the Cannon Master and spoke to him rather silently.
“Then, I hope you’ll finally be of any use yourself! But in all honesty, try to get your cannons all fixed and ready as soon as possible. We must be as ready as possible at all times for the enemy’s attack and you are an integral part of our defense.” He said, feeling anxious knowing that the Bastion’s defenses were far from ideal. Willey knew the truth in his fellow Crimson Legionary’s words, having grown to respect the no-nonsense and extremely dutiful paladin during their days together here at the Bastion. His help and leadership on Dathrohan’s side had been invaluable in keeping the enemy at bay.
“I know, Lowriver. And don’t worry, I’ll soon be ready to save your hides again if need be. Let us just hope that Tyr’s Hand will survive the latest loss. In any case, get the message going as soon as you can and I’ll do my part. See you sometime later.” He said, more than eager to begin fixing his weapons. Osran nodded to him, the latest news from the other city also forming a grip of fear into his heart. The news of Demetria’s death had hit him hard as he knew just how instrumental the so-called Scarlet Oracle had been in foreseeing and countering each and every attack on that massive citadel of the Crusade. He slowly took his already-written letter from his pocket, taking a look at it as he moved to head towards the gates of the Bastion to relay his message to the courier who had managed to deliver all these supplies with massive risk to himself. He would deserve the highest acknowledgments of his bravery in the coming days.
The knight eyed the completely expressionless faces of his comrades as he passed them, the crushing mood of the fortress more than clear to anyone. In many ways, Osran preferred to work on nights these days as at least then, he could avoid encountering this sickening feeling of despair and fear that had fallen upon most of the other crusaders. All of them seemed to know they were fighting a losing battle in the long run and inside, Osran knew himself there was no conceivable way even he would be alive anymore in a few weeks. Nearly every fourth defender of the Bastion had fallen in the past days and more followed them each day.
Still, for some reason, the paladin simply didn’t allow himself join them in their reaction to the inevitable. He didn’t want see this defense as something out of a bad dream or as the end of it all: rather, it was the final chapter of this journey of legend and a fitting message to all who would come after the Crusade. Osran hardly yearned to fall here but if it were to be his fate, then he’d face it like an old friend instead of the inescapable monster his comrades seemed to deem it as. Osran breathed heavily, trying to ignore his worsening aches when he opened one small door leading to a side office, his eyes falling upon a younger man. Osran nodded heavily as he started to speak.
“Here are the orders you have to deliver to Tyr’s Hand, courier. Your bravery was a major relief to all of us as things started to become difficult out here without any supplies. I’m sorry we cannot reward you now but I promise with my honor, the next time you return here, the Grand Crusader will provide you with honors like which you only dreamt before.” Osran said, knowing how important it was to reward good deeds of your comrades whenever they deserved it. The courier frowned somewhat as he looked at Osran, his voice sounding even confrontational.
“Next time? Crimson Legionary Lowriver, you know as well as I do that there may never be “next time”! It was through pure luck I even managed to get these supplies in and what will I get in return? Mere empty promises of a day that may never come!” He said as he raised to a standing position, causing Osran to shook his head slightly. He then walked further towards the other man and lowered his voice noticeably.
“Then, any hopes of riches and honor are even more foolish, don’t you think? Do you think I am here because I want to achieve anything more in my life? If you took even a moment to look around you, you’d realize that none of us expects to leave this place. No, this will almost certainly be our last stand.” He said in a surprisingly consoling voice, not seeing any real reason to silence the messenger even if it was well within his power. The younger man looked at Osran’s bearded, weary face as he answered to him in a much deeper voice, his face communicating his confusion.
“Then why are you here? There is still much more to defend out there! We cannot afford to lose any more men here just because you and the others are too proud to leave!” He said, his earlier thoughts completely gone from his mind. The Crimson Legionary narrowed his eyes as he took a moment to look at a small, struggling candle on a table near him, preparing to give his answer as clearly as he simply could. Then, he finally turned back at the younger man and sat down near him, speaking in an almost fatherly voice.
“Believe me, I would have asked the same question as you once. I used to once believe we stood a real chance to be able to see our beloved kingdom reborn during our lifetimes but you see, we simply don’t have that privilege anymore. We lost the war in this city two years ago after which our fate dawned upon each of us. However, it still isn’t a defeat. Not completely.
The Light still watches over us and we still fight for its glory. If we fulfill our fate here, we will have a chance to become a part of its glory and in that way, we will guide all those who come after us on their way to fulfill the goal we never could. We will live forever within the Light as the living symbols of its love upon all paladins and by extension, to our kingdom. You might still not see it in this Light but inside, I know our sacrifice will not be for nothing.” He said calmly, once again thinking of the grace the Light had provided him with the day he had become a paladin. That was a glory not even death could take away from him.
The courier looked at the paladin with an unmoving face, not really knowing what to say. He had known that the Crusade’s situation was dire but to hear one of the highest-ranked knights surrender this willingly to his death… what was wrong with him? A distinct anger and confusion arose within him as he answered to the other man.
“Except that you don’t have to give that sacrifice, Lowriver! None of you do! You know as well as I do that the Bastion is not the only place the Crusade still has! Your powers are still needed elsewhere!” He cried, causing Osran’s face to finally take a more resolute expression. He was slowly growing impatient with the younger crusader’s antics but he still deserved a proper answer.
“As I said, I believe we will leave a far more precious legacy to our home by defending its house of holiness as long as we simply can. In fact, I trust our deeds will have a chance to draw all of Lordaeron closer to the Light, thus opening a new way for the eventual defeat of the Scourge. I never expected you to understand but I know we’re doing the best thing we can in our situation. We will fall here in order to live forever within the Light.” The Crimson Legionary said, expecting another rebuke from the messenger and for a few moments, it seemed like another one really was coming.
However, after a few seconds his face suddenly softened and he shook his head in clear disapproval but still, he knew inside that he had no way to speak any of the highest-ranking leaders of the order away from their plans. He merely sighed deeply and offered his hand and nodded at Osran’s letter. The paladin locked eyes with the courier and nodded back, as if to affirm a mutual bond of acceptance and respect with the younger man. He then gave the letter in his hand to him without further words. It was then that the courier put the message into his bag and walked towards the door and spoke to the Crimson Legionary.
“Well, in that case, I think all I can do is to hope for all the best to each of you. I will return to Tyr’s Hand and pray the Bastion still stands when I next find a chance to return here.” He said glumly, glancing at Osran wearily. The bearded paladin followed him as he answered, speaking the only words he could at this point.
“So do I. But if it isn’t, please don’t tell the others what I told you. I want that knowledge to be relayed only through the grace of the Light.” He said as the courier mounted his steed which was hidden in another room of the Bastion which had been turned into a temporary stable. The younger man gave a brief sigh as he rode towards the gates which were slowly being opened by the guards who looked at the approaching rider and his armored horse. He stopped briefly at the corridor before turning back to Osran one last time.
“Very well, Lowriver. I’ll do as you say even if I do it against my better judgement. May the Light watch over every one of you.” The courier said as he commanded his steed into a gallop, knowing full well how important it was to leave Stratholme as fast as he simply could. Osran frowned as he looked at the misty day outside, looking as the courier’s form grew dim even before he entered any of the many streets.
The sun was completely blocked by the thick clouds and the day was even surprisingly cold, even in the standards of these plagued lands. In many ways, it was a perfect metaphor to the struggle of the knights when the coldness tried to flush out the relative warmth of the Bastion. Osran savored even this brief moment to watch at the ruined city as opposed to the never-ending gloom that lingered within his comrades. After a few moments, one of the guards spoke firmly to the paladin.
“Get back inside Lowriver. You know very well that we can’t afford to give the Scourge any chance to surprise us.” He said uncompromisingly but at first, Osran showed no signs that he had listened to the command. However, soon he turned around and answered to the guard.
“Indeed. Close the gates and inform us in case anyone wants inside, as always. You know the orders.” He said absentmindedly as he entered the castle again, turning to look at the courier’s slowly disappearing form once more. He was but a distant shadow and Osran was just about to turn his gaze back to the dark corridor before him until something happened that caught his attention completely. Among the mist flashed a bolt of blue, as if it were a shooting star in a clear night. That flash was followed by a loud scream whose source was all too clear to Osran. Yet, the knight knew better than to let that fact prevent him from concentrating his mind to what was happening. He raised his hand and spoke to his comrades.
“Wait for a moment. Don’t move.” He said as the closing of the gates stopped. For a few moments, everything was silent, the only sound reaching the Crimson Legionary’s ears being his own breathing and the cracking of the flames in the houses around him. He was almost preparing to go get others to help him investigate what had happened when his eyes caught the sight of something that made his blood run cold. A group of forms started to form within the mist, among them humans, dwarves and some cursed elves! Osran could immediately tell one of them to be a paladin but the others seemed to be a mage, a hunter… and…
The sight of the next enemy made Osran’s mind turn into a rightful rage like few others that he could remember. Among them walked a massive felguard, identical to those who had ravaged Azeroth during the War! Had the outsiders truly fallen low enough to recruit those crazy servants of evil into their ranks? However, none of that mattered now. He suddenly grabbed his horn and before he blew it, he cried to the guards.
“Close the damned gate and reinforce it with anything you can find! Time is off the essence!” He cried as he blew his horn which rang through the halls like a maddened animal. It was a call whose meaning was known every knight within the Bastion: they were under serious attack. Immediately, the corridors started to get swarmed by knights of the Scarlet Crusade, each of them knowing that one of their comrades wouldn’t call them without an urgent reason. Osran lowered a massive stave to lock the gates further himself, nodding in approval as the guards started to pile whatever they could to delay the enemy’s breakthrough. Already, archers were starting to rain death down on the enemy, buying the Crusade some early relief. Osran smiled slightly as he heard an alarmed call behind him.
“What is it, Lowriver? What in the name of sanity is happening?” Malor cried as he and a dozen other heavily-built knights stopped near the aging paladin. Osran was relieved by the speed of his comrades and he immediately started to give his answer.
“A group of enemies, apparently from the Alliance, are marching upon us! I’m not sure how many there are but…” At this moment, Osran nearly fell as the entire floor was shaken by a gigantic bolt of magic against the gates. Immediately, the Crimson Legionary turned around and looked in astonishment as a gaping whole appeared where the center of the gate had been a few seconds ago. And even worse, he could soon see a massive axe appear from the hole which cut the stave and the locks holding the gate shut into pieces. Osran moved to Malor’s side as the two parts of the structure fell into the floor, opening the way for the enemy in. The latter cried quickly to Osran as he prepared for the battle.
“Demons? What in the name of all that is good is going on here?” Malor cried as he did what every paladin in his place would have done. He concentrated everything in his power to cleanse the foe’s unholy essence with purifying Light, hoping to end its destructive existence here and for all. However, it was then that he felt his spell fail, instead knocking him back slightly. Malor cursed as he realized that he had just been hit by some cowardly counterspell which meant that using any kind of magic just became progressively more difficult. Yet, that mattered little to the knight who hadn’t heard his title for nothing.
Two dozen crusaders stopped on his sides, ready to told the line to their last breath. Each of them moved to block the corridor as a small group of heavily-built fighters rushed into the fortress, not wasting any time before engaging the defenders in a fierce battle. Osran felt like his hand would be torn away from his shoulders as the powerful dwarf hit him with all his power, telling the paladin that even with his mastery of the sword, it was still a difficult struggle to beat this foe. There was no question that this foe was from Dun Morogh as Osran had fought alongside them more times than he cared to remember.
The knight attempted to mount a counterattack on the shorter combatant and for a short moment, he was confident he would be successful. However, just as he was about to hit the dwarf’s chest with his blade, he felt as if his body was being torn to pieces, streams of blood suddenly pouring of his body. He looked in horror as he saw a mage mastering her arcane spells, most likely having hit Osran with one of her spells. The paladin felt life returning to his battered torso as a priest restored his health shortly but it was only after that that the paladin’s worst fears were realized.
Suddenly, there started to rain balls of azure power into the corridor that his the crusaders with sickening power. That, coupled with the floor that was quickly turning into fire caused many members of the Crusade fall into the ground screaming terribly. Malor gritted his teeth as he concentrated his own powers in guarding himself from the brute damage, something that his comrades struggled to do as well. Still, the situation was growing highly desperate which everybody understood perfectly. Apparently, this was to be their final battle they had waited for all this time…
“Get out of the way unless you want to fall with these Light-forsaken fiends! Alright, go!” That cry came as a complete surprise to many of the knights but driven by some instinct, nearly all of them did as they were told. Those few who were too slow-witted to comply would soon meet their sickening fates as their backs and intestines would be crushed to oblivion by incoming cannonballs, a similar fate befalling some of the attacks. Osran frowned as he saw entrails from both the enemies and the crusaders paint the entire hall red, noticeable bits of flesh also landing on his chestplate. He glanced at Willey and his team who had brought the cannons into the corridor while the battle raged, able to launch a surprise a surprise attack on the attackers. However, the immediate after math of that surprising turn of events was followed by a desperate attempt by both sides to recover their positions before they’d lose any more ground to the enemy.
Malor cringed his teeth as he recovered his footing, never too fond of any additional weapons in addition to his faithful sword and his own mastery of the Light. However, right now, he welcomed that intervention wholeheartedly and he was more than ready to continue the struggle wholeheartedly. Yet, soon he felt something that took him completely by surprise. He felt a terrifying shiver creep up his body and his legs no longer seemed to work at all. He looked at them in shock, gasping audibly as he saw that they were completely frozen by a mage’s spell. That realization stunned him for a few precious moments, almost long enough for one of the warriors to crush his body with a swing of a massive axe and only barely, he managed to parry the incoming hit with his own weapon. He then heard the dwarf’s voice speak to him as he prepared for another attack.
“This will be the day ye and yer cursed Crusade are going down, lad! For too long have you defame Lordaeron and the Alliance’s name!” He cried but before he could land his next attack, Malor quickly hit him with a quick judgement that interrupted his foe’s attack before answering.
“Never mention Lordaeron to me again, dwarf! Each of us have given our whole lives to defend it against the likes of your so-called Alliance! To think you’re helping the Scourge like this while also inviting warlocks into your ranks… You are no better than Archimonde and I’ll make sure you’ll meet the same fate!” Malor cried as he kicked his opponent before attempting to finish the fight with a counterattack of his own. However, it was at that moment that the dwarf bowed before his opponent… revealing a bolt of frost that hit the paladin less than a second later.
Malor fell into the ground and before he could do anything more, the dwarf’s axe crushed his armor, sinking deep into his chest, ending that painful struggle once and for all. As the paladin stared at the ceiling with his last moments, the dwarf spoke to him briefly before engaging the others in a fight.
“The Alliance will welcome any who wishes tae fight four our common cause, something which the Crusade forgot a long time ago, lad. But know that we will bring tae Lich King down after we’ve purged this city. I just wished you would have helped us in it.” He said, earning an extremely weak look of anger from Malor before the knight returned to his
original position for the last time, letting out a weak whimper before his life was ended once and for all.
“Take cover!” The cry was heard again and this time, the knights of the Crusade did as they were told faster than the first time but so did the fighters of the Alliance. The barrage caught one knight of the Crusade and one of the attackers and Osran knew it wasn’t enough to win the fight like this. The Crimson Legionary glanced around him, noticing Malor’s death immediately. A look of regret appeared on his face as he realized that one of the strongest paladins in the Bastion had met his end and immediately, he realized it couldn’t go on like this. He immediately cried to those still fighting on, hoping to get them away from this hell as soon as possible.
“Fall back towards the Cannon Master! We have to take new defensive positions!” He cried, thinking of the smaller doorways deeper within the Bastion which were likely manned by the trusted elite guards of the Grand Crusader. Inside, Osran knew it was his duty to protect his lord under the very end with his own life but still, he had hoped that the master of the order would have stood with his knights from the very beginning. At least, that was what the Dathrohan of old would have done.
The knight cringed as he countered another blue, star-like bolt from the druid who had taken the form of some kind of massive walking bird, especially her powers worrying him greatly. During all his years, he had never fought against a druid before but he had heard that their powers were extremely potent and deadly to those who didn’t know what they were capable off. Yet, most of the surviving knights managed to fall back in a rather orderly manner even if it was sickeningly clear to the aging paladin that he and his comrades had no way of ever mounting a counterattack against the attackers. Right now, all he could ever hope for was to believe for a miracle and trust in some way that the tide of the battle could still be reversed.
The retreat of his comrades caused Willey to curse deeply inside and greatly regret Osran’s command. He had hoped that he and his team could take out the attackers one by one but inside, he knew that the other Crimson Legionary’s order was also more than understandable. After all, they couldn’t simply rely on his cannons to fight back this most vicious of enemies. Willey could see that there wasn’t more than two dozen attackers but each of them fought with viciousness and courage he had rarely seen. But considering that this “courage” served only the Lich King, it earned nothing more than disgust and loathing from the Cannon Master. His lips turned into a slight smile as he aimed his cannon towards the warlock, doing something that he knew he would never be forgiven but if this was his last battle, then that mattered little.
He stood still without a muscle in his face twitching as his cannon let out another roar as it launched another of its balls into the fighting crowd. Inside, he lamented as he saw two of his comrades being blown to pieces by his weapon but those thoughts were put aside as he saw it also pierce through the warlock, ending his battle as well. Many eyes turned to him in shock as they realized what had happened but no sign of remorse came from Willey. Rather, he let out a deep sigh as the realized he simply had no time to recharge the cannon anymore as the pace with which the enemies advanced seemed to only grow faster. In order to continue his fight, he slowly drew a massive gun from his belt and loaded it carefully before he raised it against the charging druid and spoke to him in a low, hateful voice.
“Tell my greetings to Arthas when he joins you in hell, bastard!” He said as he pulled the trigger, his entire body pushed back as the launch forced him back. However, as he recovered from the impact, he saw something that made him even more enraged than before. One of the enemy paladins had shielded him from the impact, making a mockery of his self-made gun. The Cannon Master cried to his assistants as he started reloading his favorite weapon.
“Destroy the cannons before helping the others to hold the line! If you get overwhelmed, retreat into the Hall of Lights!” He cried as he lighted the pile of explosives under his own cannon, quickly moving away from it. Now, he’d have to teach these bastards a lesson they wouldn’t forget easily…
The escalating situation awakened something within Osran had seldom experienced lately: disgust. If there was one thing he hadn’t partaken yet, it was killing one’s own comrades. To see Willey shooting his own allies this readily was something which made Osran’s mental anguish even worse but even then, there was nothing he could do about it now. He cursed as he felt a storm of snow fall down upon him, making any movement a struggle. He then glanced at the door leading into the Hall of Lights, the main part of the citadel and noticed that another line of defense was being prepared there. The archers had been brought down from the roof of the Bastion to protect it from these invaders.
After Osran saw his blade sink into the elf’s abdomen, he was about to declare himself victorious in his fight against his opponent. However, he was seriously taken aback when he saw that it had caused no real damage to his foe. He immediately pulled his blade back and even quicker than his eye could see, he hit the elf again, this time hoping to cause a long, gaping wound that would bleed him dry. However, yet again, that would didn’t seem to make a dent upon the dark-blue colored male which made Osran even more alarmed than before? What was going on? It was as if the wounds were healed before they were even dealt but such a thing was impossible…
Suddenly, he caught the sight of something that made him twitch noticeable. Behind the first attackers stood a robed figure, who Osran knew could be no other than a priest. But… no priest was strong enough to heal that quickly and effectively! He had witnessed the training and actions of dozens if not hundreds of them and none could cast that effective healing! What in the name of the Grand Crusader were these intruders? The paladin’s eyes widened in ever-growing fear as he called to his comrades in an alarmed voice.
“Fall back into the Hall of Lights, everyone! Only there will we able to beat these bastards back!” He cried, praying in his mind that there was even a flicker of truth in his own words. However, he was soon interrupted by another voice that made him frown deeply.
“Don’t listen to this coward, the chosen ones of the Grand Crusader! Take your stand here proudly and face whatever comes with your honor intact!” Willey cried as he launched his massive gun again, taking another one of the enemies out with his firm aim. The song of battle and of honorable death radiated from him as he prepared for his final melee. The cannon master had already resigned to his fate and he would enjoy every one of these seconds in giving his everything to take as many of these bastards with him as he simply could. Even if his title reflected his true specialty perfectly, it certainly didn’t mean he was a weak paladin either and he knew he’d be more than a match even against those who had finally ended Malor’s war once and for all.
The other officer’s command made Osran hesitate deeply about what he should do in his situation. Not many of the ordinary knights seemed to be willing to follow him but he knew that continuing the fight in this corridor was complete madness. Inside, he knew he absolutely couldn’t abandon his comrades, no matter what happened. Willey was already fighting against four of the invaders at once, his face communicating nothing but determination and will to put every last bit of his skill into play one last time. Even Osran was astonished when he saw the balding man’s mastery of his two tiny axes which left their horrifying marks on the enemy. Even more surprisingly, he seemed to be able to even get close to attacking the two healers of the small but fierce attacking group.
Willey himself was nearly completely consumed by his instincts and his desire cut these bastards down. Soon, they’d take everything from him and he’d make sure to take as much as he simply could from them in return. A hit after hit landed upon the fighters of the Alliance, the Cannon Master’s agility making it nearly impossible for them to mount a counterattack against him. A look of fear rose to the human priest’s face as he saw the crazed look in the Scarlet officer’s face and none of his comrades seemed to be able to stop him… until the druid to his left finally decided to put an end to this charade.
The paladin grinned as he pulled his right axe away from a hunter’s throat, looking as she fell into the ground, lifeless. He then turned towards the priest, immediately trying to swing his small but vicious weapons towards him. Suddenly, he noticed that he was apparently being targeted by some massive bolt of what seemed like fire coming from the moon itself. However, when he attempted to shield himself from the attack, he felt the same feeling fall upon him that had already made Malor’s fight that much more difficult. He suddenly felt that his request for the Light’s protection had failed for some unknown reason and on the same moment, he realized that his slight oversight had cost him everything.
Shivers crept down Osran’s spine as he saw the massive bolt of deep blue engulf Willey, his cries filling the entire corridor as his flesh turned into mere ash, the Cannon Master’s form soon collapsing into the ground under the druid’s magic. That sight left Osran stunned for a few seconds but even then, this wasn’t a time to reflect on that horrible sight.
“Now, follow me! You saw what happened to him! Fall back now if you want to live!” He cried to his comrades and this time, hardly nobody hesitated to follow his command. Osran looked with a content look as he turned around to form the next line of defense deeper within the Bastion. However, it was at this very moment that something happened that he
hadn’t expected at all.
The elven mage among the attackers knew this was the perfect moment to cut the Crusade’s retreat short. He knew more than well that their morale had been depleted by the loss of their commanders and now, all they wanted was to get away from this as soon as they only could and that opened a very interesting opportunity for him to cast a small spell…
A slight look of hope appeared to Osran’s face as he saw another group of knights block the central part of the Hall of Lights. Maybe, they could finish the surviving attackers and save the Bastion even after the loss of Malor and Willey. He was ready to help his comrades escape from that hellish fight… until something happened nobody had expected, even less wanted to expect. It seemed like the entire area around the doorway deeper into the citadel suddenly exploded into a massive field of fire which seemed to swallow dozens of crusaders inside it.
Immediately, unspeakable cries seemed to fill the entire hall as Osran looked in horror at his doomed comrades who still tried to expect for nothing. One man managed to escape the sickening inferno and Osran was left looking at horror as he collapsed into the ground, his struggles ending as the flames destroyed the last vestiges of his body. That scene was one from anyone’s worst nightmare and inside, Osran could only say his brief but heartfelt prayers to those whose lives would be ended in this most sickening of ways. He was just about to turn around and head towards his comrades… until another spell hit him through the flames before he could even twitch his body.
Something seemed to be exploding inside Osran and without further wondering, he knew it could be nothing else but some kind of blast of arcane, the area of magic that was the very antithesis of all life. He hardly noticed as he hit the stone wall of the Hall of Lights, the hit only causing more blood to leave his battered body. He didn’t even want to look at his chest as he could only imagine what kind of sight would then meet his eyes. Instead, the Crimson Legionary closed his eyes and with all his concentration, started to cast a brief spell of healing in his mind, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time before the flames would extinguish and the attackers would end his struggles once and for all.
Nearly all of the paladin’s senses were numb and he saw nothing coherent as he forced his body back to a standing position and started to walk towards his comrades. The paladin had absolutely no idea how long it would be until he’d reach his comrades. All that mattered was to go on and on… trying to do all he could for the Crusade before head finally fall in the name of the Light. After a time which felt like an eternity, he finally heard a friendly voice even if it took herculean efforts for him to make sense of the words.
“Crimson Legionary Lowriver, thank the Light you made it! Take him behind the lines and try to heal the worst of his wounds! Now, he doesn’t have much time!” If the aging paladin had been in any better condition, he would have noticed the awe in the other man’s voice at his ability to even move his finger in his condition. He frowned as he saw Osran’s armor nearly completely painted red and his face covered with deep, horrifying wounds but managed to dismiss them from his mind as it was barely the first time he saw such injuries. He took a sigh as he pulled his sword, looking as the enemy appeared from the opposing door, the flames hardly extinguished at that point. The Crusade’s second line of defense was ready to face the enemy, led by Archivist Galford who knew that this was the time to put all his knowledge and leadership into good use.
None of that, however, was important to Osran who was quickly carried to the last corridor before the heart of the citadel, the famed Crimson Throne. He cried as every part of his body ached with terrible pain, that sensation growing dimmer and dimmer by the second. Through it all, he heard a faint voice that even now registered in his mind surprisingly easily.
“Stay still, Lowriver! I don’t have much time before I’ll have to help the others! Regardless of your position, we will go help the others unless you calm down and give us the chance to help you! The old woman snarled, knowing that there would be dozens more lives on the line in less than a minute. She respected Osran’s efforts in defending the Bastion as much as anyone else but she also had to remember her charge in helping all of those who needed her help and if someone made that impossible, it was their loss, not hers.
Hearing those words, Osran knew just what was actually on the line here. He took the deepest of sighs and he gritted his teeth together so tightly their hurt, deciding he was strong enough to go through these sickening moments. Apart from his forced, pained breaths, he was completely still as he felt the familiar, sweet feeling flow into each one of his limbs. Second after second, his sight returned and the all-encompassing agony started to wear away. It wasn’t long before the priest’s spell started to wear off, causing Osran to quickly rise to a sitting position. He gasped deeply as he glanced at the priest and spoke to her in a revering voice.
“Thank you for your help. I’ll join the others and…” He started before he heard the crying of his comrades who at that same moment engaged the charging enemy. He and the priest exchanged quick glances before the healer headed off into the fields of battle. Osran looked at the escalating scene in concern, dreading the thought of how this all would end. He panted in still-lingering pain as he rose to his feet, his sides aching with each slight movement he took. He put his hand on his chest as he raised his eyes at his friends who, to the paladin’s horror, were already being pushed back. The paladin quickly touched his broken armor and looked at the dried blood that now covered his entire armor, conflicting thoughts rising to his mind.
What in earth was happening? The aging paladin had heard many times of the Banshee Queen’s Alliance with the Horde and of the Alliance’s expeditions into the old lands of Lordaeron. That wasn’t what bothered him but to witness his enemies’ merciless attack… His comrades seemed to be nothing compared to these mysterious members of the Alliance which was something the Crimson Legionary could hardly begin to understand. He had been surprised by the news from the Monastery and Tyr’s Hand but this… this was something he couldn’t even begin to expect. He was starting to pant as he drew his word again, preparing to join his comrades in battle once more before he heard Galford’s voice
from among the fighters.
“Head towards the Throne, Lowriver! The Grand Crusader himself demanded your presence there!” The archivist cried as he received another blow to his left hand. Osran frowned deeply before he cried back to his comrade, not in the least amused by his words.
“I won’t, Galford! My place is here to guard…” He started but before he could even finish his sentence, the balding man cried back to him with all his might.
“You received your answers, now follow them like a knight of your position should! The Grand Crusader’s word is absolute as it has…” He started but before he could continue, his opponent found the perfect opening and the head of the finest archivist and scholar in all of Lordaeron dropped into the floor of the Hall of Lights, leaving Osran to witness the gruesome sight. The man’s lifeless eyes stopped to stare at the paladin, causing rising horror to rise within Osran. Now, all of the leading members of the Legion had fallen under the attackers’ attack and their onslaught didn’t show even signs of slowing down.
Second after second, wider cracks started to form within the defenders’ ranks as their foes pushed their backs against the walls. Even if Osran didn’t want to admit it, he knew already that those men were already as good as dead. The vigor with which the enemy was advancing… It all felt so very unreal to the paladin that there was barely one conscious thought within his mind as he finally turned around, completely shocked by the violence of the onslaught. But right now, he’d do as Galford told him with his last seconds even if the thoughts of surviving through this day had all but died within the paladin’s mind.
A deep sigh left the Grand Crusader’s chest as he looked towards the door into his sanctum, full well knowing what was transpiring. Yet, there was not one thought of understanding and sympathy for any of those pitiful weaklings who had failed him and hastened the destruction of his order, his creation! Dying in this battle suited them perfectly as was as Balnazzar was concerned. He would get another chance to take the fight to the Lich King but to the demon’s regret, he knew it would take many, many years to assume control of another organization as powerful as the Scarlet Crusade had once been.
Not one word was heard from his closest bodyguards either. There was nothing to be said: each of those valiant men knew that all of their comrades were meeting their ends out there and that they’d soon follow them, slain by a pityingly small group of outsiders. That thought made each of the paladins more than morbid but even then, they were ready to serve the Grand Crusader faithfully until their last breaths. That eternity of oppressing silence and preparing for the inevitable was suddenly brought to an end as another voice called from the nearby corridor.
“I am here as you requested, Grand Crusader! Eve… everyone else has fallen out there. We are all that’s left.” Osran said as he quickly joined the Crusade’s master’s bodyguard but his words didn’t earn any immediate reaction from Dathrohan. He waited for a few seconds before answering, his voice heavy as he spoke.
“I’m aware of that, Lowriver. And it is up to us to make a valiant last stand here, in the Crimson Throne itself. That is why I requested your presence. I know the full extent of your powers and I hope that we’ll make a fight that will be spoken of for years! The elite of the Crimson Legion, the most exalted champions of the Crusade! Today, we face an enemy like which we’ve never fought before and it’s very possible we will not make it. However, our order deserves that we will do our all to fight of these bastards from our Bastion. Whether we win or fall today, make sure that you are all worthy of the love the Light has shown towards all of us during these blessed years!” He cried, earning final salutes from those around him, each of them honored by being able to share this moment with their leader.
Even Osran couldn’t be able to completely put aside the pride of this moment. To think he’d fall beside one of the founders of the Silver Hand and the knight who he had followed all these fearful months… yes, there would no greater glory, no greater honor than this to be earned. He took a sigh and drew his sword from its sheath as he saw movement within the corridor leading towards the Throne and on that moment, he knew what would come next. He listened as the Grand Crusader’s thundering voice echoed through the massive hall.
“So you have fought your way here, adventurers. You have fought your way here by slaughtering all those who had fought so hard to prevent the shadow of undeath from ever falling upon this holy place. Who ordered you to commit this atrocity? I know that king Wrynn is a man of honor and he’d never order this kind of abomination.” Saidan said, his voice trembling with hate. It wasn’t apparent whether he even expected an answer as he was always preparing for the coming fight. However, the tension was relieved for a short moment when the night elf raised his hand to order his comrades to stop for a few moments. His voice was surprisingly calm as he answered the paladin’s question.
“The Alliance’s interest in your Crusade has been meager at best, Dathrohan. We have all come here to end your reign of terror over the civilians of Lordaeron and to pave way for the Dawn as they have proven more than capable of one day ending the Scourge. You and your defiled order, on the other hand, have proven yourselves capable of only murdering and torturing innocents in the name of the Light! For this, we decided to put your twisted Crusade to its final rest!” He spoke in a loud voice, causing Osran to tighten his grip of his sword. He knew the night elf’s explanation would hardly be believable but this… this was something he simply couldn’t tolerate.
“Spoken like a true mindless pawn of the Dawn, I see. Come here and I will take full pleasure in showing that the Crusade is still more than capable of defending the truth and the Light against the likes of you!” He said, knowing there was nothing more to say in this situation. To hear that some self-righteous fools would actually claim such outrageous things… these souls were obviously past redemption. However, his moment was soon interrupted as Saidan quickly snapped at him.
“Stay silent, Lowriver! As for you, I give you one final chance to lay down your arms and plead for the Light’s forgiveness in this place of grace and hope. Fail to do this and I promise you, you won’t leave this place ever again.” He said, knowing that his command wouldn’t be followed but that mattered little. The dwarven hunter suddenly spat at the floor in front of himself, raising his bow towards Saidan and crying in a loud voice.
“Tae’s enough jabbering, murderer! I’ll show ye just how we treat traitors like ye in ol’ good, Kharanos!” He cried as he launched his arrow right at the Grand Crusader but that didn’t even seem to make the slightest of impressions on him. He merely parried the arrow with his sword and cried back to the attackers loudly.
“Today you have unmade what took me years to create! For this you shall all die by my hand!” The bellowing outrage was apparent to everyone present as he cast a spell that none of his comrades had seen from him before. A small cover of darkness appeared around him as he locked eyes with the hunter and almost immediately afterwards, the dwarf started to cry terribly and he dropped his bow into the ground as he pulled both of his hand to hold his head as he collapsed into the ground. He continued screaming as if his entire head was about to explode even if there was not one wound to be seen it.
That sight surprised Osran greatly and he frowned deeply at it. He had seen it before but usually it was used by priest’s who had specialized in darker forms of magic, ones that weren’t associated with anything even resembling the Light. Rather those kinds of priests were almost as despised as the demon-summoning warlocks and the fact that the Grand Crusader was adept in such magics disturbed the paladin greatly. He’d have to investigate this later if he got the chance but for now, he couldn’t question the spell’s effectiveness. And even then, there was no time to wonder about such things as Osran saw the attacking warriors begin their charge towards the paladins.
The defenders didn’t waste time gathering their lines and starting their own offensive. All of them fought as one as they engaged the enemy in this decisive melee. Blows were exchanged and spells were cast towards the hated enemies and this time, the Crusade’s highest elite managed to stand their ground unlike their lower-ranked comrades earlier. Osran glanced at his opponent, a strongly-built human who attempted to break his opponent’s defense with brute power. However, Osran managed to infuse his weapon with enough Light to make up for his opponent’s advantage in pure strength.
Second after second, the paladin tried to build on a small advantage against his opponent and with great efforts, he managed to wrest the battle from his opponent and put him on the defensive. Osran panted deeply, knowing that his opponent’s youth made his efforts even more difficult but that was a thing he had been forced to face many times before already. But inside, the paladin felt the song of the battle sing as strong as it had in years past. Quickly, the Crimson Legionary cast a quick bolt of Light against his opponent, catching him off-guard. His eyes widened with triumph as he managed to sink his blade into the other man’s chest, his eyes dimming into the mist of death.
Looks of fear rose to many of the other attackers’ faces as they saw their comrade fall into the ground, their numbers getting extremely concerning. Osran was about to turn around to help his comrades but before he could quite see what was happening around him, the paladin felt a stinging pain in his shoulder. The aging knight cursed as he turned to face the other attacker, knowing he couldn’t take much more injuries after his earlier, near-fatal wounds. The fight was on but Osran knew he’d have to mind his own surroundings better if he wanted to fight on as long as he could.
Even then, one crusader after another started to fall under the adventurers’ brutal onslaught. Each of them stood proudly in the face of defeat but still, the enemy was unbelievably powerful and their powers beyond terrifying. Inside, even Balnazzar knew this and for the first time, even the demon couldn’t bring himself to blame his minions for their failure. Even the Legion would have struggled in the face of these heroes but still, the dreadlord wasn’t anywhere close to being ready to give up. He dominated the entire battlefield, supporting those around him while forcing the enemy back whenever possible. He was the one who held the line together, his determined and powerful leadership forging the last vestiges of trust in his comrades they needed.
The Grand Crusader’s eyes turned into an expectant smile as he gathered all of his strength into one, mighty attack as he faced a fearful dwarf before him. The latter knew full well who he was facing and that bothered him without an end. Even if the rest of the Crusade had fallen before him and his comrades, he could still see that Dathrohan was every bit as powerful as the rumors had told him. Here was a knight who wouldn’t without the most bitter of fights. Still, he knew he didn’t have any choice at this point but fight on and try to beat his opponent. However, it wasn’t long before he’d realize the depth of his folly.
Quickly, Dathrohan released the strength he had gathered in his weapon and before an eye could react, he lowered it towards the dwarf. His eyes widened as he saw the massive sword fall down upon him, trying to block it with his own axe. However, the dwarf’s weapon was cut to pieces as if it had been made of glass and the dwarf’s armor didn’t offer even the least of protection before the Light-infused sword of the Grand Crusader. His head was cut to two and before anyone could react, the lord of the Scarlet Crusade moved towards his next victim. This fight could still be won.
However, the last two remaining warriors understood the danger of their situation as well. Soon, their casters would be exposed and at that moment, their offensive would be over. They had to prevent that at any cost and each of them knew just what they’d have to do to prevent it. The two suddenly leaped further away from the enemy and started to spin around, throwing any of the Crusaders into the ground and forcing the others back. This moment was quickly utilized by the magic-wielders as they started to cast massive snowstorm and lighting that battered the defenders without even a flicker of mercy.
At first, it seemed that the defenders could still retain their ground against this sudden attack but soon, some of them started to fall beneath the constant bombardment, even their strength not enough to withstand the forces that they were now facing. Osran looked around himself in shock, seeing as his most trusted comrades died all around him. The warriors’ endless assault and the casters’ spells seemed to be too much for him even if he didn’t realize it at first. Even if the breeze slowed his limbs tremendously, he still managed to overpower his next opponent but just as he prepared to take him out, he felt another flicker of pain emanate from his back, this was much worse than his previous
wound.
A silent curse escaped from the paladin’s mouth as he prepared to turn around to take his next opponent out but it was at this very moment that the aging paladin realized something that made his blood run cold. All of the knights who had only a minute earlier fought by his side lay now dead in the ground, each of them crushed by the enemy’s untold strength. And even worse, he was quickly being surrounded by the enemies, the only crusaders still standing beside him being Dathrohan and two of his closest aides.
That moment seemed to stretch forever within the Crimson Legionary’s mind. So, it was true. The Crusade had fallen and his comrades had already been slain by the enemy.
Whatever hope there had been left earlier was now gone, swallowed by the sickening inevitability of his own death. He stood no chance against these enemies and they knew it as well. However, his earlier sentiments hadn’t left Osran even now. He’d do his everything before the end and if he wanted to get anything done anymore, he’d have to at least begin by slaughtering the enemy’s healers before he could even start planning anything else. Osran quickly cast a judgement against the hunter seemingly guarding the priest and cried to them in loud voice.
“In the name of the Lightbringer and our king, you will see what being a paladin really means!” He cried as he sliced the stunned hunter’s throat open, charging against the now-exposed priest with all his might. The former attempted his very best to stop the attacker’s rush but to his growing horror, nothing he did seemed to have any impact on the enraged paladin. He tried to turn around and flee before his adversary but in a way he hadn’t felt in ages, Osran fought as one with the force he was wielding. Any coherent thoughts were now gone, replaced by the mere hope of doing whatever he still could in this life.
With a quick gesture, he hit his opponent with hammer of righteous fire which fell him to the ground. He gritted his teeth as he sank his sword into the cleric’s back before finishing the job by turning his sinned flesh into pure ash. However, then came what Osran had feared all along. He felt a burning hit on his side which immediately threw him into the ground. The paladin cried before he extinguished his flaming body but he was surrounded before he could regain his footing. The initial hit pained the paladin without an end but he knew the worst was still to come. He attempted to defend himself from the enemies but before he could react, he saw his sword being thrown into the corner of the room by a massive hit from his enemies. Osran didn’t move his gaze when he heard the voice of one of his attackers speak to him.
“Ye put up a great fight, lad. But now it’s all over for ye.” He said, causing Osran to look at the Grand Crusader who was equally being overpowered by mere numbers. Inside, one last idea rose to Osran’s mind. He could still let himself place the Light firmly in his command as he had done in Light’s Hope. He had heard of the terrifying power he had wielded back then even if he couldn’t quite remember it. Maybe that way he could put a new fight against the enemy, just maybe…
Yet, it was immediately afterwards that the paladin remembered the other side of that idea. The only thing he remembered of that day was his horrifying, temporary disconnect with the Light itself. It was more than clear that what he had done that day had infuriated the Light greatly as the paladin knew more than well that some few knights had lost its command forever. He had been blessed with another chance to regain his favor with it and inside, the aging man understood that he had only one choice. He would not shame himself in the name of all the good in this world by letting in to his inner rage. He would fall as the paladin he was, not as some empty husk of a man who had once been one of the leaders of the Scarlet Crusade. As a man of the Light, not as one who had thrown its grace away because of his own hubris. He snorted briefly as he finally spoke to his foes.
“Maybe that’s what you think. But you’ll see, I will leave a far greater legacy to Azeroth than any of you bastards ever will. Do whatever you want but know that even if I have more regrets than I’d ever dare to remember, my stand here today is not one of them. I hope you will all burn in whatever hell you will find yourselves one day.” The paladin said bitterly as he prepared for the warrior before him to finish his struggles but the first hit came from behind him.
“Shut your mouth, monster! We’ll see who’ll find themselves in hell today!” A night elf’s voice called as he kicked Osran before penetrating his back with his sword. The aging paladin twitched greatly at the impact before he collapsed into the ground heavily, staying still. The violence of the hit was terrible and Osran felt his blood flowing from his mouth as he fought to retain his consciousness. Still, the wound itself was sickening enough that the gathered adventurers around the paladin regarded the paladin as already dead.
The Grand Crusader spat before him as he saw his last comrades falling around him. Now, he was completely alone and as far as he wanted to disregard it, he had no choice but to accept that he was losing this struggle. His possessed body was bleeding heavily and he could already feel his fighting grow more forced by the minute. Inside, Balnazzar realized he wouldn’t win the battle like this. Luckily, none of his followers were here anymore to see what he was going to do. At the very least, he’d have his revenge on these cursed cowards… The demon suddenly disengaged from the fight and started to speak as shadowy, black power started to dance around him. His voice changed from the strong, noble tone of Dathrohan into a seething, even rumbling menace as he spoke.
“You fools think you can defeat me so easily? Face the true might of the Nathrezim!”
Even if he was terribly battered, Osran could still hear that shocking change in the Grand Crusader’s voice. In his weakening mind awakened a new horror and fear and even in his current condition, he started to force and tear his body to turn towards the scene of the battle. Every part of his body ached terribly but with herculean efforts he finally felt his injured body turn towards the scene of the battle. The sight that met his eyes would have made him cry in shock had he been able to in his situation.
Dathrohan’s form was being engulfed by thick darkness, which for a moment seemed to swallow the legendary paladin’s body but even then, what happened next was still more than apparent to those around him. The Crimson Legionary’s eyes widened as he saw the Grand Crusader start to grow, his height getting larger by the second. Saidan’s human body started to get twisted terribly, his skin growing paler and sick-looking while his armor turned into a darker, heavier one. Two wings pushed out of his back and at that point, Osran recognized the being before him.
It was a dreadlord, one of the most despicable of creatures in the entire world. The paladin would never forget Mal’Ganis, the creature who had led the Scourge initially, the being who had turned Arthas into his pawn. He still remembered Tichondrius, another of these nathrezim who had guided the fallen prince after his fateful decision. Osran didn’t know there were more but apparently, he had been wrong. However, it were the implications that truly hurt the wounded paladin.
Had he truly followed a demon lord all these years? No, it couldn’t possibly be true… All the noble deeds of Dathrohan simply couldn’t be done by an incarnation of evil itself. But at what point had the real Dathrohan turned into this abomination? Osran cursed as he coughed blood. He had given his all to serve the Lordaeron… and for what? To serve that monstrous creature? The only thing that saved Osran from the worst of mental anguish was his fading sight and thoughts. The sight of the demon engaging the attackers seemed like a scene from another life, from another time… A simple sigh escaped from Osran’s mind as his consciousness failed him.
The massive demon wasted no time unleashing his full power. Immediately, he released a screeching cry into the air, installing growing fear into his enemies’ hearts. A few of the attackers even tried to run away from the dreadlord, a mistake Balnazzar immediately utilized to his own advantage. He cast a bolt of shadow after those poor fools, immediately burning their entire bodies into ash. The rest of the attackers looked in shock at their opponent, none of them expecting such a monstrous turn of events. None of them had a high opinion of the Crusade’s leader but none of them had wanted to expect this… The human priest cried at the demon with a loud voice, even his voice dipping with outrage and despair.
“You will pay for this, monster! It was you who turned the Crusade into that twisted nightmare and for that, you must die!” He cried, casting a purging spell at the winged creature. However, Balnazzar didn’t say a word in response, instead focusing on blocking the bright bolt of Light. He looked at it tiredly before raising his hand and without any noticeable effort, the spell vanished into thin air. Immediately afterwards, Balnazzar pulled his palm into a fist before raising his hand a bit higher. Looks of fear started to rise around Balnazzar as shadow started to appear around the priest.
“Wh… what is happening? Stop whatever you’re… arrgh!” He cried but not a muscle twisted in the demon’s face at those threats. Instead, he merely continued his spell and shortly, the clerics cried died down. Finally, a smile rose to the dreadlord’s face as the human turned at his companions, casting more bolts at all of them while starting to heal the demon’s injuries. The others looked at him in shock when the night elf cried to his comrades in fear.
“Try to keep him incapacitated while we take this unholy creature down! Quickly, don’t waste any time!” He cried while the mage cast a quick freezing spell at the mind controlled cleric. Balnazzar turned at them tiredly, knowing any delay worked to his advantage.
“This battle is as good as over, weaklings. Say your last prayers to our lord Kil’Jaeden!” He cried as he raised shadowy fires from the floor in order to try to block his opponents from striking distance. For a short moment, he was somewhat successful but the enemy mages managed to purge his own spells away. The demon quickly ran closer to his opponents, willing to end this charade. First, it seemed like he might be successful in getting another of the remaining foes away from this battle but the warrior managed to resist the demon’s attacks with his great strength. It was at this point that Balnazzar realized his first mistake. The mage and the druid cast their strongest spells to the reckless dreadlord who yelled in pain at his failed initiative. Even more, the fighter before him was far from unable to continue the fight and as the demon reeled from the hits, the warrior hit him into his abdomen, severing several pieces of his armor.
However, that wasn’t the end of Balnazzar’s setbacks. The priest he had controlled was snapped awake from the villain’s grasp and without further doubts, released a massive wave of Light towards the deadlord which burned horrifying marks into his flesh. Balnazzar cursed deeply as he tried to disengage from the fight which quickly had become so threatening to him but he soon realized it was already too late. A hit after hit added to his wounds and the incoming spells only made his situation worse. The demon was in a deadlock, not able to escape while all attempts at counterattack were futile. He looked in shock and growing fears as the druid in front of him spoke to him in a voice that was beyond threatening and hateful.
“Consider this as a payment for all you’ve done to the Crusade and the rest of Lordaeron. We’ll make sure to purge your corruption from this land forever, fiend.” He said as he raised his hands, releasing a massive ball of deep blue toward Balnazzar, a look of disbelief mirrored in his eyes. A scream escaped the nathrezim’s mouth as his body twitched under the impact of the destructive spell. The demon started to break apart before them, one cry escaping his lips before life escaped his monstrous form.
“Damn you mortals! All my plans of revenge, all my hate... all burned to ash...” Were Balnazzar’s last words before he disappeared in front of the brave adventurers. It was all over. The true master of the Scarlet Crusade, the malicious being that had done so much to twist Dathrohan and Mograine’s dream to the abomination it had become was dead.. After the adventurers’ departure, silence fell upon the Crimson Throne and for nearly an hour, not a voice could be heard in the former stronghold of the great order. The last champions of the Crusade were only waiting until their flesh would start to become one with the earth, their souls already long departed… all but one.
After a long time which felt like an eternity, one of the corpses on the ground started to twitch weakly, his breaths suddenly growing audible again.
Osran was still alive.
And thus fell the greatest stronghold of the Scarlet Crusade, the order’s leadership all but obliterated… all except one. How will Osran use his chance to rise from this abyss or will this ordeal end up being his end as well? Yep, this might have been a rather dark chapter but then again, none of us ever thought about the stories we ended while being too busy defeating bosses and collecting loot, now were we? In any case, the next chapter will be this story’s last. So if you have any comments, now’s one of the last chances to share them! But until that, have a great week everyone!
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Leaving the Lost Dreams Behind
The silence was deafening. The knight couldn’t hear or see anything through the foggy mist that covered his entire sight, his only sensations being the aching that seemed so very distant even now. That agony seemed to be growing all the worse by the second and each breath Osran took was earned with great efforts even if they slowly seemed to grow easier. Still, the paladin’s condition didn’t get easier as quickly and he was trapped in the borderland between life and death. Minutes passed with the proud knight’s world being nothing but pain.
Inside, Osran’s flickering, returning mind had little idea of where he was now, all sense of time all but devoid of the aging man in this moment. And right now, it didn’t matter any. All that mattered was being able to draw another breath and not allow his life get extinguished like this. Even as he fought to keep his foothold in this world, he suddenly heard a distant, even haunting voice in his head.
“You are stronger than this, Osran. You wouldn’t let these green brutes best you after all you’ve done, now would you?” That voice made the knight unconsciously frown, raising deep memories within him. It was so very familiar but… who did it belong to again? He couldn’t quite remember…
“Remember all that we’ve fought through together, Lowriver. All that we’ve achieved in our campaign against the orcs… I know you’re destined for greatness as well, old friend.”
The voice spoke again, causing the paladin’s hand to twitch weakly. What was happening? Who was the voice and what did it want of him. What in earth…
“I’m not sure if you can hear me but know that there are many that will want to meet you again. I do and of all the comrades I’ve met in my life, you are one of the wisest and most honorable. Tyr’s Hand still needs your guidance.” V… Valdemar? Was it him? It all sounded just like him but… was he truly in the city again? Osran felt growing familiarity rise within him as he prepared to rise for another day in his home, ready to guide his old friend for another day with leading the mighty city of Tyr’s Hand, expecting to see his familiar, wooden ceiling above him, the light of dawn illuminating his small but beloved room with its brightness. However, as the knight expectantly opened his eyes, a very different sight met his eyes.
Light did illuminate the room, yes, but it was the usual sickly hue of the Plaguelands that shone through the decaying windows of the Scarlet Bastion. It hardly even broke the near-complete darkness of the room but it was just enough for him to recognize some forms around him. Yet, even before that, he was met with the slowly strengthening smell of rotting flesh around him which nearly made him vomit immediately. His mind was still more hazy but… he slowly started to return into reality, something which hardly made him feel any better after his brief moment of dreams about his old days in Tyr’s Hand.
Slowly, Osran rose into a sitting position, cringing as he nearly fainted at that struggle. He waited for a few seconds before looking around himself, each of the corpses around him bringing more of his memories back to him. So, it had all happened. Everything he had wanted to shrug off as some bad dream had truly happened. Only his physical pain managed to prevent the knight succumb to that realization immediately. All the sights of these crusaders’ last stand, of Galford, Willey and Malor, it all came back to him. And if that had been true, then… then…
Suddenly, Osran turned quickly towards the spot he had last seen the Grand Crusader fight, praying that at least that had been some trick of his fading mind. But what met his eyes only made him gasp in disbelief and hopelessness. On that very spot lied the massive demonic chesplate which, as was well known, was the only thing a nathrezim left behind upon its death. Yet, as the first shock died down, Osran was left sitting alone and lost, for the first time being forced to face whatever would have to come to pass now.
The knight’s face was devoid of any hope but on the other hand, it was also calm in a way it hadn’t been in ages. So, he had allowed himself to be manipulated by a servant of the Burning Legion and even worse, he had been prepared to give his very last breath for that gaze. To think of it all… a single tear fell from Osran’s glassed eyes as he looked at the mists floating in the sky from the skylights. Had either one of the Abbendises known? Had anyone, really? Even now, that thought was a horrifying one and… no, not even the younger Abbendis would have deserted the Light like that but…
Suddenly, Fairbanks’ story rose to the paladin’s mind. He had claimed it had been the Grand Crusader who had ordered Renault to murder Alexandros. Could… could it actually have been true? Could he have actually told the truth? However, that realization didn’t disturb Osran nearly as much as he would have expected. As he thought about the Argent Dawn, only their betrayal and readiness to rise against their old comrades rose to his mind. They were right in listening to Fairbanks but to cause that level of fighting inside the order? In the back of his mind lingered the paladin’s own part in also rousing the fighting but he had done only as he saw best. The Dawn could still burn in hell, as far as he was concerned.
Silent whimpers escaped from Osran’s mind as he slowly rose to his feet, nearly falling into the ground many times. He slowly moved towards the wall in order to get some help in finding his balance again. The aging paladin panted, slowly starting to mend the worst of his wounds. Slowly, the weight of the reality started to set within him and the pain of his earlier hopes of getting another chance to help his old friend returned to Osran’s mind. That momentary feeling in his unconscious mind only reminded him of how very much he had lost… only to buy himself the chance to reach this very moment. The man’s face turned into a mask of hate as he looked at Balnazzar’s remains.
Tareth, Veria, Harthal… the last three of them had fallen in the same battles as he had, leaving him face the weight of this war all alone. He had even been complicit in Valdemar’s true demise, a memory which would never leave him. He had disowned his own nephew to prove his faithfulness to the dreadlord. He had strayed off from the path of the Light in order to be able to rise into the Crimson Legion… and for what? Let himself be deceived by a demon like a total fool? A pained cry echoed in the Crimson Throne as Osran hit the wall next to him with all his might. He had ruined everything he once had, all because of his pride and blind trust in others.
Further tears fell from the knight’s eyes as he leaned against the wall, his mind demanding him to decide what to do now. And in all honesty, he didn’t know. He wouldn’t in a thousand years join the Dawn and they wouldn’t forgive him either, not after it had been him who had killed their first leader in battle. Without Alexandros and Saidan, the Crusade was also as good as gone: Tyr’s Hand might still stand but without its leadership, the order would lose the city in a matter of days. What a complete fool had he been to out his hopes into a glorious death alongside the Grand Crusader! He had ruined absolutely everything and no matter what, Osran knew he had no place to go nor did he have anyone even hoping for his survival.
In this bleak moment, Osran tried to draw his faithful sword from its sheath, ready to end it all but to his shock, his hand found nothing in the spot where his blade had usually rested. He quickly turned to look at it to see that his weapon was gone, apparently taken by the minions of the hated Alliance. Many curses left the paladin’s mouth again as he turned to look at the dead corpses around him, knowing full well that at least one of them were bound to have their swords left. And it wasn’t long until he found that he had indeed been right.
A silent breath escaped Osran’s mouth as he put the weapon pointing against his chest, closing his eyes in preparation for what he was going to do. His survival had only been a sick mockery of the Light, his fate having been a clean death before he even had the chance to learn the sickening truth about himself and the Crusade. Yet… second after second passed but Osran didn’t feel the sting in his stomach. Instead, his hands felt like they were wood, not moving to any direction even if he thought he tried to tell them to stab him. But it wasn’t soon that new thoughts started to flow to him from the very back of his mind.
Once again, he was breaking against the orders of his betters. It had been Gavinrad’s command so very, very long ago that a paladin, no matter dire his situation, was allowed to end his own life. “A suicide was a coward’s way to escape his troubles” had been one of his favorite quotes and even now, Osran couldn’t bring himself to question his wisdom. Not after all the trust Veria had put on him. The aging knight shuddered terribly as he thought about her, she being one of the losses that made him feel the most miserable. What he wouldn’t give if she only were now here with him… The memories of their times together made Osran weep inconsolably, happy that there was no one here to witness his breakdown. His own sobbing voice reached his ears as he looked at the wet drops that were slowly dropping into the floor.
“What can I do? If only Veria, Valdemar or anyone were here…but… but they’re all dead…” He said, only worsening his own situation. The fact that Valdemar still practically lived didn’t make him any easier but as minutes after minutes passed, the old man’s shudders finally started to die down. He shook his head in utter loss as he turned to look at the gaping corridor that led back towards the Hall of Lights. He still couldn’t name one reason to go on but in the end, simply taking his own life went everything that remained of his honor as a paladin which he had thrown away for so very little. Again, the knight sighed in an attempt to calm down as he rose to his feet in order to face the only way out of this magnificent hall and the only path he had left if he wanted to leave this place alive.
The knight nearly fell at his first step, his wounds still making him extremely weak but Osran could still maintain his balance. He panted as he struggled to retain his footing but after a few steps, he found an easier pace which he realized he could preserve. He still healed himself but the limits of even his powers were quickly approaching. For better or worse, he’d have to accept his condition for now.
In addition to his weakness, the corpses that dotted the floor of the citadel made his advance extremely difficult. Even the last of the torches had died down and the pale light of the day did very little to illuminate the massive halls of the Scarlet Bastion. AS he forced his way forward, a new hope rose to his mind. Regardless of whether the attackers had succeeded in taking out the Scourge, they were bound to at least cut down the number of the undead around the Crusader’s Square and that could open him a chance to reach the same hole in the wall that the former rogues had used to enter the Bastion.
The sight of the still-broken gate of the citadel made Osran frown deeply, realizing that his earlier assumption was likely to be true. In a normal situation, the undead would have swarmed these halls by not but they were nowhere to be seen. The rays of weak light shone into the main corridor, illuminating a sight that made Osran twitch noticeably. The lifeless face of Malor stuck out of the sea of corpses, a look of shock and rage forever freezing on his face. Even in this moment of danger, the paladin wanted so give his final respects to a comrade who had been through this sickening madness.
Osran knelt beside the fallen paladin and slowly closed the other man’s eyes, looking at his expression which would forever carry the fury of his last battle. The Crimson Legionary lowered his head and spoke briefly to Malor, saying the only words he could find at this point.
“Rest well, brother. I regret that you didn’t live to see our madness but at least you died fighting for what you believe in. Farewell.” He said merely, accepting there was nothing more for him here. Knowing full well that he’d never again return to this place, he moved to the gates and to his relief, noticed that there were no undead to be seen anymore. That fact brought no real joy to him but at least made his escape that much easier. He drew out his sword, knowing even now he’d have to mind his surroundings in case he’d meet hostile forces out here.
However, to his relief, none were to be seen anywhere. There were some unmoving remains of ghouls but he could see easily that they posed no threat to him. Inside, the man started to wonder whether the adventurers had truly succeeded in storming the districts held by the Scourge but in the end, that mattered little right now. Minute after minute passed but the knight didn’t meet any undead on his way and even the weather seemed to grow brighter as the afternoon slowly aged. A look of hope rose to the old man’s face as he saw the tiny hole in the city’s walls he had been looking for and he wasted no time leaving this accursed city for good. The wall was surprisingly wide and Osran cringed at his aching as he crawled through the tight tunnel towards the light on the other side of it… only to forget something vital. The simple fact where most of Stratholme’s southern walls ended: in the lake that surrounded the mighty city.
A loud splash could be heard as the Crimson Legionary dropped into the cold waters of the lake, his armor posing an obvious and immediate danger to the knight. The knight nearly swallowed a mouthful of water in his first shock but managed to avoid that with the last possible moment. Yet, a clear panic was starting to rise into his mind as he felt his armor pull him towards the depths. Immediately, the paladin put his blade into one of the gaping holes in his damaged armor and turned the sword in in it with all his might, more than conscious of the growing pressure within lungs. He could already feel his world starting to darken when he finally felt the chestplate break in two completely, sinking into the depths immediately. The knight waste no time forcing his body upward, praying that he’d reach the surface before it were too late…
The paladin took a grateful breath as he felt his head rise out of the lake that he had already thought would be his grave. The man looked in relief at himself, realizing how much easier moving around it was now, especially with his injuries. This way, it would even be less likely he’d be recognized as a member of the Crusade which would only make it easier for him to leave these lands undetected. He forced himself to the shores of the small lake, never expecting to see himself this happy to reach the heart of the Plaguewood. However, as he panted on the shore, trying to catch his breath, he suddenly felt cold steel touch his cheek, a male voice speaking to him in a threatening voice.
“Osran Lowriver. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” The newcomer asked, Osran’s eyes widening as he saw who the other man was. He could recognize his youthful features and his light hair anywhere and seeing him hardly made Osran feel any easier. Still, the older paladin wasn’t one to let himself be humbled or humiliated by others and he rose to his feet before he answered but he didn’t even try to touch his weapon or cast any spell at his counterpart.
“Save me from that, Carethas. Too much has happened already today. But tell me, what is a traitor like you doing here?” He said tiredly, completely at a loss on how to act at this point. He was full aware that he wasn’t strong enough to beat even a paladin as inexperienced as Carethas in his current state and he certainly wouldn’t beg for mercy from any pawn of the Dawn. The younger knight frowned as pointed his sword against Osran’s throat.
“I can see that you haven’t changed to at least a better direction, Lowriver. One could only expect as much from any cursed Scarlet scum. As for why I’m here, I guess you know more than well that the Dawn cannot leave this place unguarded either and even a deaf moron would have heard your pitiful splashing.” He said, disgust apparent in his eyes. Osran sighed at those words, knowing full well everything that the other man had said. It had been long an important aim of the Crusade to attempt to force the Dawn out of these lands but they had been more resilient than the order had ever anticipated. Yet, all that was left for Osran to do was to ask the inevitable.
“Well, now that you have me, what are you going to do to your old master?” The older paladin asked, a joyless smile on his face. Those words hit Carethas more than he would have guessed as he again remembered the first time he had met Osran. Back then, Osran had seemed at least two decades younger, the past years having aged the once-proud paladin into something almost unrecognizable. When Carethas looked at his worn clothes and his exhausted and pained face, a brief thought of pity rose to his face.
This was the man who had given his all to defend his old home village even if the bearded knight had no ties to it whatsoever. This was the man who had so vigorously strived to teach him the basics of the Light and helped him embark on the path to becoming a paladin. The man whom he had looked as the very embodiment of courage and heroism in this age of darkness… but also the one who had attempted to kill him with crazed look in his eyes at Stratholme, the one who had spread the Grand Crusader’s thrall among his comrades and the one who had killed Lord George, the founder of the Dawn. Those last thoughts wiped away the young man’s earlier doubts and he spat into the ground before Osran before speaking to him in hate.
“I will do the only thing you deserve. I will take you to our masters and let them decide what kind of punishment is righteous for you. But considering your crimes, I’m sure you won’t live until the…”
“Where are you Carethas? Did you find something?” A new voice called, one that made Osran’s heart skip a beat. Certainly it couldn’t be… but he’d know that voice anywhere. Eneath’s voice was completely unchanged in these last two years but that mattered little to the Crimson Legionary. Two long years had passed since he had last met his nephew, two years of hate and bitterness. And Osran knew more than well that this reunion wouldn’t be a happy one. Carethas frowned as he heard that voice and suddenly, he tried back at the speaker.
“Stay away, Eneath! There’s nothing for you here!” He shouted, praying that his comrade would listen this one time. However, he could hear his footsteps growing ever closer and the paladin knew his order had fallen on deaf ears. He soon heard another call from his comrade.
“What are you talking about, Carethas? What could possibly…” The younger Lowriver’s sentence was cut in half as he saw the other form near his comrade and his friend. His eyes widened greatly as his eyes fell upon his old uncle, not expecting to meet him here. The sight of his aged face disturbed Eneath greatly as did his many injuries and his completely wet clothes. He immediately attempted to stutter some kind of answer but Osran spoke first.
“Hello there, my nephew. Rest assured, any joy there might be in this meeting is completely yours.” He said, his face a mask of hidden disgust. The mere sight of Eneath made him grit his teeth together in a force that nearly made them break in two. His plain insult didn’t seem to have any effect on the younger man who struggled to form any kinds of coherent words.
“Osran… how? Why are you here?” He asked, his own anger returning only after his wave of surprise had dissipated. He absolutely despised what his uncle had become but at least initially, his older, fonder memories of the Crimson Legionary dominated his mind. Hearing that question, the bearded man let out a bitter if restrained laugh as he thought about his answer, not seeing any reason to lie.
“The Bastion has fallen, all of my comrades slaughtered. And the Grand Crusader… Well, he was a demon.” Osran said while shaking his head in utter regret. His word earned audible gasps from those around him. Immediately, Carethas put his sword more tightly against the Crimson Legionary’s throat, the latter’s seeming disregard for whatever he was doing infuriating him without an end. His voice was beyond sharp as he demanded an answer.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Lowriver! We don’t have to listen to your lies!” He said simply, not willing to accept such an answer from the other knight. He hated Dathrohan with his entire soul but there was simply no way Osran’s claim to be true. The brown-bearded knight, however, only looked at him wearily, realizing how very little will he had left to even defend himself. Whether his former apprentice listened him or not, none of that mattered. Startled by the other young paladin’s aggressive approach, Eneath gave his comrade an annoyed look but Osran answered as if nothing had happened at all.
“Isn’t that what you wanted to believe from the very beginning? If I remember correct, your distrust of him was the only reason all of you rose up to murder your own comrades, your friends like they were nothing more than ghoul scum. I saw it all with my own eyes, boy. Whether or not you believe me or not, I couldn’t care less.” He said coldly, each word dipping with loathing for the man who he had once regarded as a promising, courageous cadet with all his soul. Carethas’ expression darkened again but Eneath again intervened, speaking directly to Osran.
“What happened, uncle? Tell us everything you saw and don’t even try to deceive us. You may be Osran but don’t forget that your choices will have their consequences.” The young Lowriver said, his voice distraught with annoyance and torn loyalties. One part of him wanted to simply forget everything that had happened and invite his uncle into the Dawn and together fight against the Scourge. But the other part of him knew that wasn’t possible and tat part only saw a cold-blooded murderer before him. The higher-ranked knight took a sad smile as he turned away from his nephew, looking at one of the monstrous mushrooms dotting the land. He then spoke absentmindedly to his nephew, his emotions a complete fuss right now.
“That is a lesson we all have to learn in the end, Eneath. As for what happened, I’m afraid I don’t have the time to tell the whole story but our folly deserves to be heard. It all started when we arrived to help the Grand Crusader secure the Bastion two months ago…” There was hardly one moment during his tale when the paladin even glanced at either of his listeners, his mind escaping into its shell in order to let his heart ease at least a tiny bit. He didn’t know if he had wasted this time relaying this story to the traitors of the Dawn as most of all, he spoke to himself, trying to make sense of it all.
As he prepared to finish his story, he finally turned to look at the two with an exhausted look, reliving those painful memories again this soon taking even more of his strength than he had anticipated. He then took a brief sigh as he gathered his thoughts into one, final sentence.
“And that’s everything that happened within the Bastion. I’ll never be able to atone myself for my failures out there but in the end, only Light will judge my actions in this world.” He said absentmindedly, having nearly forgotten the other paladins as his mind wandered those paths of horror and regret again. He couldn’t care less what the Dawn would think of any of this as everything he had cared about was already gone. Carethas frowned at that story, a slight smile even rising to his face as he tried to think of all the ways these news would help the Dawn. This was far better than he could ever have hoped for and the complete hopelessness within Osran’s eyes only confirmed everything that he had told. His voice was almost smug as he spoke again to Osran.
“As you said yourself, our actions have consequences, Lowriver, yours even more than many others’. And because of that, we cannot let you escape. You will come with us and let yourself be judg…” He started but Osran’s sharpening gaze ordered him to silence immediately. The older paladin’s voice turned into a threatening one immediately as he started to speak.
“I will gladly accept death at your hands but know that I will never accept getting involved into your cursed order’s twisted, unholy trials. That would be against everything I have ever fought for. I may not be able to best the two of you in my current condition but I am still more than capable of preventing myself from becoming your prisoner.” He said, his tone confirming that he meant every one of his words. Carethas likewise took a more threatening stance as he prepared for an escalation of this meeting.
“You dare threaten us after everything you and your comrades have done? That won’t succeed, not after all…” He started, preparing for battle but Eneath was beyond torn in this moment, knowing that his duty to the Dawn was ultimate. However, he simply couldn’t help seeing his uncle for what he was in this solemn moment: a tired, beaten old man who had just witnessed everything he loved burn before his eyes. The honesty he had shown in his answers and his entire being in this moment showed that there was no return into the past for him. Something within Eneath told him he simply couldn’t let this happen. He quickly drew his own sword and lowered it in front of Carethas and spoke to him quickly.
“Step back, Carethas. There is nothing for us to be gained from starting a fight here.” He said, seeing as his comrade’s eyes widened while turning to look at the younger Lowriver. His surprise soon turned into disbelief as he struggled to find something to say.
“What is the meaning of this, Eneath? This man killed Lord George and betrayed all of us by listening to the dreadlord’s lies! We have to get him dead or alive and you know it!” He cried, his hands yearning to end or capture the paladin who had caused so very much harm to him and those he cared for. Eneath’s expression darkened as well as he heard those words, knowing everything he had said to be true. However, something deep within him told that he simply couldn’t allow this to happen. He didn’t lower his sword any as he answered.
“As you heard, the Crusade is in many ways no more and when you look at Osran, do you think he will bring us harm ever again? Answer me honestly, Carethas.” He said, seeing well that his uncle’s will to fight had been broken once and for all. Even if he was allowed to leave this place, he wouldn’t even want to seek out the Crusade’s remains. Not anymore. However, his comrade’s expression was unchanged as he gave his answer.
“What he will do from now on is irrelevant and you know it as well! He will never be able to atone for what he has done and for his terrible deeds, he simply has to pay! I’d be damned if I let a mass murderer like him escape when I could have brought him to justice!” The younger man cried as he looked at Eneath. The latter man knew his case was a weak one but still wanted to see Osran facing any other face than to be executed before the eyes of the Dawn. His face turned into a more concerned one as he turned at Osran, asking him carefully.
“Uncle, are you willing to admit that your decision to stay with the Scarlet Crusade was a horrible mistake? That siding with Tyrosus and George would have been the right choice?” He asked, hoping that that question would start to soften Carethas’ views about this issue. Osran smiled internally at that question, having absolutely no will to give nothing but the honest, complete answer to this question. His voice was a distant one as he gave his answer.
“No. I would never have turned my back on any of my comrades even if it had meant my own death. I don’t regret anything I ever did except my inability to see when the real Dathrohan fell. But before you ask any more questions, I have no regrets at all for sticking with the Crusade. Saidan and Alexandros left a legacy that I’d gladly give my life for any day even now. As for the Dawn, you will only leave behind a legacy of dishonor and treachery to anyone who will learn of these days in the future.” He said, knowing that his words would do little to advance his cause but under the eyes of all those who had fallen in the name of the Scarlet Banner, he would do as he conscience told him. Carethas suddenly stepped forward and kicked Osran into his knee with all his strength sending the aging crusader falling to his knees. He then cried to Osran with all his might.
“What in the name of all that is pure in this world is wrong with you? You just told yourself what happened and yet you still defend those who would send all of Azeroth into eternal darkness? I once saw you as the embodiment of Light itself and time and time again, you showed your worth but now, I cannot recognize you anymore. It is far easier for all of us if I simply cut you down and send you where your master…” He began as he prepared to cut Osran’s head from his shoulders but just before that came to pass, Eneath blocked his hit with his own blade, speaking to his comrade urgently.
“Don’t even try that, Carethas! He may be our enemy but even now, I see he has only done what he thought was right and… I still owe him too much to simply want to kill him here. We must let him go.” He said, not truly believing his own words as he spoke. He understood the full implications of his own words but inside, he knew he was ready to back them up. He wouldn’t take the life of his old, confused uncle who had saved him so many times in the past. He deserved this one, last favor. Carethas cursed under his breath as he spoke.
“You cannot be serious, Eneath! You heard him! He would kill us whenever he only gets a chance to do so! Even if I agreed to let this killer escape, we’d only be delivering the Crusade’s remains one of their highest-ranking leaders! Can’t you see that, Eneath?” He yelled but it served only to make the younger Lowriver’s resolve in getting his point through.
“He has already implied that won’t happen! Please, I ask you, see this as a just repayment to my uncle for saving your family in Barrowhome! Surely, that is worth more to you than your hopes for vengeance!” He cried, those words at first appearing only to earn another outburst from Carethas but after a moment, he realized the depth of how much his friend’s words touched him. Even if he hoped it were not true, his wide and three children still lived only because Osran had withheld the line in his village on that day so very, very long ago. As he looked at Eneath in the eyes, he realized that his own sentiments were far more divided than he had realized. He cursed as he realized that but in the end, he had to admit Eneath’s point was valid. Even if Osran had betrayed that legacy, his older deeds still lingered and yes, it was true that he held an endless gratitude to the old knight. He gritted his teeth in anguish before he finally tore his blade away from its lockdown with Eneath’s and snapped at Osran in anger.
“Swear to me in the name of the Light that you will never again serve the Crusade and that none of us will ever again have to see your sorry face as long as we live! Now!” He cried, beyond angered that it was his own weakness that had in the end prevented him from doing what he had to. Osran looked at him with a look that resonated with irony, only admiring the younger man’s vigor in his cause. If only he could still be that way again… In any case, the crusader suddenly sharpened his gaze from his seemingly endless apathy as he answered to Carethas.
“My ties to the Crusade have been broken for good, Highfield, but not for the reasons you want to believe. I would still rejoin them gladly but the sad fact is, I know they’d never accept the truth. They would never accept my tale and they’d never forgive my words if I told them the truth and I won’t serve there while pretending to hold respect for that cursed spawn of darkness! So in a way, Carethas, it matters very little whether I give you my oath or not. The Crusade is lost and I have absolutely no intention of ever rejoining it.” He said, the images of how he would react to such a tale himself if he hadn’t witnessed the dreadlord’s fall himself.
No, he would receive a similar welcome to the one Fairbanks’, a thought that hardly seemed like a feasible one to him. Carethas gritted his teeth, knowing that as long as Eneath kept his uncle’s side, there was very little he could do to advance his case further. He merely cursed deeply as he turned around, signaling Eneath to take control of the discussion. The latter frowned at his comrade’s reaction but he knew full well how much was at stake with this decision. He took a deep breath as he looked at his uncle and started to speak.
“Osran Lowriver, I hope you understand I’m doing this against my orders and my better judgement but because of your past services to Lordaeron and because I know you are an honorable man, I’m willing to let you leave with your life. All this despite the fact that you are one of the most hated and disgraced men in the eyes of my order. If my decision will be revealed to the others, I will have to be happy if I simply will be expelled from the Dawn I hope you know what this all means to me.” The younger man said, taking a softer
look to his face.
At first, Osran wanted to simply attack his disgraced nephew again but deep, deep inside, he was humbled by the amount of caring there still was within Eneath to his old uncle. He had never expected Eneath to take such a risk and when the truth was in the open, the old crusader felt a guilty sting deep within him. Even after these two years of bitterness… he was still touched by this gesture and because of it, he would respect Eneath’s offer. He spoke to his nephew in a respecting, even friendly voice.
“I do, Eneath. No matter what happens, I won’t let anyone know we ever met here. That is one secret I’ll take into my grave with me when it is that time. In any case, I bid you my deepest gratitude for this small sign of grace you’ve shown to your old uncle. I will swear with my life to be worthy of it.” Osran said as he again regained his footing, his wrinkled face on a brink of something resembling a smile. He would never forgive his nephew for what he had done but for now, he couldn’t help but reflect with pride on the younger paladin’s decision. Eneath net out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding as he raised his gaze back towards Osran. He then put his own sword back to its sheath and whistled towards the infested forest. It wasn’t long before a light-colored steed ran towards the two paladins and Eneath started to speak to the older knight.
“Then I wish you all the best, uncle, wherever you will go. But I warn you, if you will ever again be seen in this lands, there won’t be mercy for you. I hope you will find your redemption, regardless of the path you will now choose to follow.” He said mournfully, overwhelmed by his own decision and by the ramifications of this meeting. He, to, had held deep animosity towards Osran and to be able to part from him on these terms…. This was a moment he had hoped he’d never have to witness in his life. Osran frowned as he rose to the steed, pulling himself on its back. The steed obeyed his commands perfectly and he then spoke to his nephew, attempting to sound somewhere close to thankful. He hated to accept even help from a member of the Dawn but right now, he knew that was his only chance to survive.
“Likewise, I’m sure you’ll find it in yourself to cast away your wicked ways one day, Eneath. I will pray for the Light for that every day of my life. As for me, I guess I have no choice but to bid my farewell to Lordaeron once and for all. I will search for a ship at Southshore so this is the last time we will meet, nephew. May the Light watch over us all.” He said surprisingly coldly, commanding his steed to a full gallop, willing to shake this haunting place behind him once and for all. Eneath suddenly stretched his hand after his departing uncle, trying to thank him of everything he had taught him in years past… but he soon realized his voice could no longer reach him.
The young man suddenly felt a wave of melancholy wash over him as he realized that Osran was gone for good. He had missed him these years, his wisdom and his never-ending vigor in making things around him right again. And the thought that he had let one of the Crusade’s leaders away… Carethas’ enraged look near him told him that if something went wrong, he could suddenly find himself be forced to pay the ultimate price for his choice. But even then, he would forever keep the memory of the old Osran in his mind and carry the name of house Lowriver with pride to a new dawn in the Eastern Plaguelands.
The sun fell and rose three times as Osran rode through the fields and mountains, through the Plaguelands which slowly moved into the green rolling landscapes that had once encompassed all of the fallen kingdom. More than once, the knight couldn’t help but smile at the fact that the Scourge hadn’t yet managed to destroy all of his homeland but that day might still come to pass. None of the people in the mountains of Alterac or in the lands of Hillsbrad seemed to have an inkling about the horrors that still lingered not so far to their north and that might one day start moving south with terrifying speed and on that day, it would be all over for these poor fools. Still, for now, Osran couldn’t help but pray that they could live their lives in peace and that these lands would never face the same fate as Darrowmere forest had.
And all the while, the pain that he had to leave his homeland behind travelled with him. He had given his all for Lordaeron but his comrades and the other forces in the Plaguelands had again and again let him down. This was the moment when he no longer had the will to fight forward, The others could fight on if they so very badly wanted to! Osran cringed in hate as he looked at another hamlet that appeared before him. They had taken everything from him and because of it, they could end up paying a higher price for this war than they ever imagined.
Yet, that didn’t change the inevitable: he had to leave Lordaeron for good. Even if he didn’t have to honor his promise to Eneath, he didn’t want to witness Lordaeron’s final downfall anymore. Sooner or later, Kel’Thuzad would recover Stratholme and then, all would fall, aided by those that should have stood with the Crusade. Many memories flowed through Osran’s mind about the lands he had heard of but one of them seemed to call to him like no other.
Ever since the Second War, Kul Tiras had taken its distance from the Alliance and the naval stronghold of humanity vigorously fought against any forces that would want to compromise its safety and security. Yes, that would be the perfect place to spend the rest of his days in peace and away from those fools who would rather destroy the last hopes of ending the Scourge than to swallow their own pride. Inside, Osran almost hoped the Dawn and the Alliance would all fall but he let a flicker of hope that both of them would find their redemption linger deep within him.
It was late evening when Osran saw a growing group of distant lights appear in the horizon, behind them lingering the dark sea. This could be nothing other than the city of Southshore, the second most important of the old port cities of Lordaeron after Tyr’s Hand. Exhaustion had already started to take its toll on the paladin as he finally dismounted his steed at the central square of the small town. The knight could feel a feeling of ease rise within him as he smelled at the sweet, fresh air blowing from the sea, a heavenly change from the never-ending musty air of the Plaguelands. He tried to push away the thought of this town’s residents spending a peaceful life while he and his comrades had given their all to the horrors of war. But even then, he wouldn’t linger any longer here than he needed to: he had to find out when the next ship would leave for Kul Tiras.
Indeed, there was an office nearby that was designed to help travelers in all of these issues and the paladin wasted no time entering it. He looked at the rather dirty and decayed room in disappointment but at least there was a man there in this hour. He immediately noticed Osran’s worn clothes and his many wounds but he didn’t have the time to answer before the older man took control of the conversation.
“When will the next ship leave for Boralus? I have to get away from this cursed land as soon as possible.” He said, gritting his teeth. Each second he spent here seemed to only remind him of all his failures and he hated the idea of being forced to leave his homeland like this. The clerk glanced at him with a slight frown but he wasted no time giving his answer.
“You’re in a luck. It is due to leave in another hour but before I let you board it, may I see your permission?” He asked, causing a deep frown appear to Osran’s face. The latter frowned at him slightly, immediately snapping back at him.
“What permission are you talking about? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Osran asked, not approving in the least of what he was hearing. The clerk sighed slightly as he rose from his chair to answer the question.
“As you may guess, we cannot simply let anyone leave Lordaeron as this place would collapse if all just left. We have to ask Southshore’s masters to have a written permission to embark on one of our ships and that takes at least a week. If you really want to go to Kul Tiras, I’d advise you to go ask them first.” He said cordially but Osran was far from satisfied with his answer. He immediately walked towards the other man and spoke to him silently but firmly.
“Trust me, I have more than earned my right to go. I have fought years without an end and I must ask you to reconsider your words. You have no right to deny me after all that
has happened.” The knight said looking at the black-colored in his eyes. The latter nearly told him to drop his ridiculous demand but as he looked at the paladin’s weary but clear eyes, something told him that there was more to this knight than met the eye. He saw the regret, sadness and courage deep within him and he simply couldn’t do anything else but take a deep breath and turn to his desk and start to write hastily. After a moment, he looked back at Osran and gave him a small piece of paper and spoke to him silently.
“Here you go. I wish you a good journey but please don’t tell them I broke my orders. He said with slight regret but Osran didn’t hesitate any before giving his answer. He nearly smiled as he spoke.
“Don’t worry, good man. I will not.”
It hardly even took the promised hour before Osran found himself looking towards the distant horizon, taking a sip of water from a small cup. The wind blew straight for the west which meant that the voyage wouldn’t be a long one. However, it wasn’t the horizon he was looking at but the shore behind him that drew slowly further from him. The paladin felt a mic of melancholy and relief as he watched those scenes, regretting it wasn’t up to him to witness the rebirth of Lordaeron. It wasn’t up to him to see his lifelong dreams fulfilled but if there was even a chance that his efforts would even earn a small mention of honor within the memory of his people, he would be happy.
His thoughts were briefly interrupted as a high wave hit the ship, causing it to jolt noticeably. Yes, he would forever regret the things he couldn’t see through and for his own people who had been to blame for the Scourge’s triumph. No matter what, he’d never want to hear from that home of madness anymore and to do that, the paladin knew he’d take his place in the reaches of Drustvar, more than happy in his modest lot in life. But even then, he’d never forget his comrades and friends who had fallen in this battle, leaving him behind to carry on their memory.
The paladin took another sip as he looked at the moon above him and the slight mist that was gathering around the ship. Yes, this was a perfect day to put that sickening past behind him and face whatever still waited him in the land of Kul Tiras. The paladin slowly turned around and headed to sleep, smiling internally at his unfulfilled dreams and the honor he had still managed to preserve through this madness.
And with this chapter, we have reached the conclusion of Under the Scarlet Banner. I’m not going to lie, this story has been a major disappointment for me and for several reasons, it didn’t turn out the way I had hoped for and I fear my lack of enthusiasm can be seen in the last few chapters. In fact, there were many points when I seriously considered cancelling the whole fic but I hate leaving stuff unfinished and… well, here you go (in fact, I cut many chapters simply to be able to finish this). Because of these reasons and overall lack of interest in this story and Treachery, I will not be making more WoW fics and at least until I finish Separate Ways, I’m not starting more major stories. Then again, if you enjoyed this story until the end, my thanks to you for sticking around this long and all the best to all of you!