The Necromancer Makes His MoveOsran 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! 
