It was a prolonged blink. It felt good to rest his eyes for a moment. But then, suddenly, it’s a rush again as his mind tries to process everything. The sharp and familiar scent of antiseptic that always made his stomach queasy. The distinct mixture how blood and disinfectant smelled when mixed in the air that reminded him of triage areas he had seen throughout his lifetime of warfare and bloodshed. His eyes couldn’t focus. He would blink again, just as lengthy as last time as his consciousness teetered on the very edge of reality. Images of a burning Quel’Thalas, of a Silvermoon with countless corpses left in the wake of the Scourge found themselves climbing to his semi-conscious thought. Incoherent flashes of violence and brutality began swirling in his delirium. More allies screaming in pain as flesh tore and organs flowed like blood out of bodies, diseases ravaging them within Icecrown Citadel, undead monstrosities killing indiscriminately. Vile aberrations created under Neltharion’s will also flooded his mind as he watched old friends become cleaved, smashed or devoured, those whose names escaped his tongue but whose faces he had burned into memory in their last agonizing moments.
His eyes opened again as his breath hastened, becoming sharper and more desperate as if he was being suffocated. His vision shifted rapidly from focused to a wild blur. Another long blink came as his fatigue started to get the best of him. More gruesome images of corpses left into a mound by monstrosities within Wyrmrest Temple filled his mind, grotesque tentacles of the Earth Warder burned and consumed everything it touched from within the Maelstrom. Corruption eating away at him and others as they faced the Sha of Pride, a sin he was certainly guilty of for which others had to suffer. Time after time he narrowly escaped death as others paid the ultimate price. Their voices sang out in a cacophony of screams and ugly moans of desperation and agony demanding answers or shrieking ‘why’. Having to kill former allies within Orgrimmar and then watching even more die as they invaded the Broken Shore only added to the weight. A month more of watching good men die or grow desperate enough to betray him had taken its toll. Images of horrid demons and abominations flashed before him as he opened his eyes, desperate to fight off the enemies.
“Help!” one of the nurses exclaimed as a male attendant attempted to grab Alucieus, who was shouting angry threats and profanity at an invisible enemy, the attendant managed to grab his arm during a swing and did his best to restrain him with the nurse. “He’s going to hurt himself!” the nurse exclaimed as they tried to tied down his splinted and bandaged arm to the bed railing. He swung wildly as he grunted, another two attendants and a doctor entered the room to try to restrain the man, with a guest in tow. An unhinged and wild look was in his eyes as the doctor administered medication. “Again?” the doctor asked. “He’s… he’s doing better from the fel-poisoning but…” a response came.
The doctor sighed. “We need to give him time and keep him sedated.” The makeshift hospital area in Windrunner’s Sanctuary was created to treat a new threat that had not been overcome through healing magics. Bending the light, calling to nature, weaving mists and the elements had always been the preferred method of treatment, but now with the corrosive and corrupting effects of fel-poisoning, herbs and traditional medical treatment to systematically battle symptoms began to become a relevant method again. Medical instruments and medicines proved effective in this war. The nurse frowned, “He seemed very pleasant earlier…”
“If we can keep him stable and the corruption passes without too much ill effect, his condition should be much more manageable with mending magic. For now all we can do is flush his system, keep a steady supply of blood, give him some pain medication and hope for the best. It’s not like we can just amputate his torso. This is all up to him. Luckily he seems to have a lot of fight left in him.”
“Most of our other patients don’t react this way…” the attendant pointed out. “It might not be the poisoning. We can’t say for sure.” the doctor replied with a grim expression. “I have a feeling it might be more…” he tapped his head, “Something outside of my realm of practice. For now we treat who we can. How we can. Keep him restrained until he seems coherent enough.” The doctor looked to Kaevia with sympathetic eyes, “I’m sorry you had to see that, if I knew he wasn’t feeling well I wouldn’t have brought you here… like the nurse said, he was doing just fine earlier.” Alucieus seemed more calmed after a few long moments. His eyes stared ahead for the longest time before they glanced over to Kaevia. He then turned his head away. It hid the burns along the left side of his neck, up his cheek. His exposed chest was riddled with new burn scars along the front and left side of his torso, red blood stained the bandages on his right as if to outline a large laceration. Coupled with the existing scars he had, his body had become a canvas of abstract art, the wounds paint, the sword an art, and the painter was war.
Apologies couldn’t have saved the fact that something had been wrong whether it had been the poisoning or anything that lingered further within his frame but Kaevia stood ever quiet in her own little bubble, staring on even after her father’s gaze drifted away. She had seen him physically wounded many times before and much throughout her childhood but none like this -- this was different and it wasn’t the physical alterations of his newly burned flesh or the vibrancy of his blood but the way he defeated himself and drifted all attention away, a possible void formed far too big within his own heart to have said anything at all. It had to be internal.
“You were missed.” Kaevia offered before really thinking any of it through and slowly she made for the seat beside his bed, “Mother is well and Arden too. I only just sent their way yesterday evening which I can assume that they have received it by now. The last I was able to visit with them Arden was running around with a wooden sword.” there was a pause and she glanced between them to the railing of the bed he had rested upon. Perhaps it was more than fine for her to continue talking and to offer him company without the expectation of a response or full conversation. “Rhistel started her lessons and I think she might have an affinity for Arcane. Oriana and Rowan are growing so quickly and are practically sitting up on their own now.”
And allow these people to help you. They will help you so long as you let them. I seen these types of things happen in the Hospital in Silvermoon city plenty of times but try not to despair, it will take time.”
A deep discontented sigh escaped his lips. He remained silent for a little bit longer but eventually looked over to his daughter who stayed at his side patiently. “It’s.. good to hear your mother and brother are doing well.” he spoke, seemingly more sane at the moment. He also seemed oddly calm after the previous outburst, and fatigued. “And it’s good to see you too, dove..” he continued. He didn’t say much after, leaning his head back against his pillow. A lifetime of warfare was beginning to take its toll.
In his following silence, Kaevia simply brought herself to sit beside him and to rest her elbows along the side of the bed while her fingers intertwined with one another. She looked as if though she had been preparing to pray, “I will send for them to see you in the coming days but I want to ensure your health first.” She spoke against her hands and her eyes darted over him wondering how long he had been like this and how much did they suffer? Upon seeing Ijiro she had noticed his weight had declined since they first touched down upon the Broken Isles and now? -- Alucieus looked just as worse for wear if not worse.
“I’m sorry this happened to you and that help might have come too late. I was in a panic, Rethandus was the only person I knew of that could help us. He was worried for you, you know? For a man whose heart is still -- he is surprising.” she smiled over to him and faintly unsure on what to discuss that wasn’t about to cause upset.
“He’s… one of many decent men. Good or bad, they’re out there fighting for the same reason. It only comes down to who’s lucky enough to go home that week.” he responded.
“Luck has nothing to do with it, I think it is a matter of survival and knowing what you are doing. Those without much of a clue are less likely to survive. I know I wouldn’t have survived much of Highmountain had it not been for that Demon Hunter.” Reaching over she gave her father’s hand a small pat, “I can leave you if you wish to rest. Perhaps come back to check on you in another few hours or tomorrow?”
He tried to reach and grab his daughter’s hand with his uninjured arm but realized again that he had been restrained. He let out a muffled sigh he attempted to hold back. “Be safe. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be walking around soon enough… I think they’ve had enough of me here anyway.” He said with a small albeit forced smirk. Of course there was a knowing little smirk pinched along his daughter’s cheek and with a pat to his arm she rose, “Focus on feeling well, not about walking around.” there was a delivered kiss to his crown, “And for the love of Azeroth, listen to your caregivers, hmm?” There were two pats to his hand once more before she finally released and made her way to the exit.
The day held hope and many tears but the latter often waited for no company.
Alucieus’ men suffered from countless battles and trudged on regardless of how exhausted they were from the endless fighting and tactically retreating time after time with no end in sight. Each fight would be one more man to carry home, one more friend lost along the path. The Burning Legion shadowed their trail for weeks now, forcing them to remain on the move despite their wounded. The Amber Glade ship that carried three months worth of food and supplies never made it near the coast, thanks to the unnamed Demon General that hounded the Oathguard across western Highmountain. They could only get a few hours of rest until the demonic forces were spotted approaching from nearly all sides, and they had no time to properly heal their wounded- which only made their injuries worse. They were on the brink of starvation, and with every passing hour, their will to continue faded.
Ijiro dragged the corpse of a fallen soldier by his cloak, knowing he too would collapse if he carried him on his back; but he refused to leave anyone behind, for the thought of letting felhounds desecrate their corpses was out of the question. Every inch of his body burned and ached, screaming at him for even a minute of rest, but he knew if he stopped to rest, he wouldn’t have the strength to rise back to his feet. He struggled to continue, stumbling every now and then while he fought through his disorienting pain. A part of him regretted leaving the warmth of Syrahn’s bed, but this kind of torture was exactly what he expected when fighting the Burning Legion. I got too fat and lazy in the Amber Glade, spoiled rotten by fine food and relaxation. Ijiro rubbed sweat away from his eye while he focused on not falling flat on his face. Or maybe I’m just getting too old for this shit.
“Lord Sun’rael…” Gonthar weakly spoke, catching the paladin’s attention. “We must find shelter and rest soon… or all of our wounded men will die…”
“If we stop, the Legion will catch up to us.” Alucieus clutched the gash along his side with his bloodstained gauntlet, fighting through the pain each step gave him; he did his best to hide his pain and the overwhelming fatigue that compounded every moment, but even this was becoming too much. “We need to keep moving until we lose them.” He said with a worn, weary glance back at a few injured men and women alongside him before looking forward on their path.
“They must be following our blood scent…” a distant voice coughed behind the veil of Highmountain’s morning fog, dragging a dying ally behind him. “Our dead and injured are leading them right to us…”
“We don’t leave nobody behind!” Ijiro barked through the freezing morning haze, turning to glare over his shoulder in the direction that voice came from; the thought of felhounds defiling the corpses of his allies made the Hunter’s blood boil.
“They are dead weight! Leaving them could give us a chance to escape…!” Ijiro stopped in his tracks to turn completely around, straining to see who that voice belonged to.
“You drop that body, yeah?! You drop that body and I’ll drop you! Nobody gets left behind! NOBODY!” Although the Hunter could barely move, let alone stand, he fully intended to uphold his threat should they decide to call his bluff. His heels felt like they were about to split in half, but he didn’t care; he swore he wouldn’t leave anyone behind, and he would sooner die than leave someone to die at the hands of the Burning Legion.
“To hell with this!” one soldier coughed, staggering a few steps forward before dropping the corpse he was carrying. “I want to live!”
“You swore an oath!” Ijiro’s burning gaze followed the man while he began to run as fast as he could, splitting off from the rest of the group. “You get back here! COWARD!” The Hunter fell to one knee as his exhaustion began to wear him down, but he still had enough strength to raise his rifle to his shoulder. He aimed down the sights and pointed it against the deserter’s back, but before he could squeeze the trigger, a bloodied gauntlet was placed on his shoulder.
“Let them run.” Alucieus’ face was pale from his bloodloss, but he still had that stern glare in his eyes. “We don’t want to bring any unwanted attention.” A few others dropped their allies and gear, deciding to make a break for it now that morale was finally broken. Ijiro grit his teeth while he stared hatefully at them, watching them vanish into the mist one by one.
“Ijiro…” a grievously wounded paladin lay flat on his back in the grass, weakly raising a hand toward the Hunter to get his attention. “I don’t th-think I’m… going to m-make it…” Ijiro struggled to rise to his feet, but the pain was becoming too much to fight through.
“You’re not gonna die out here Varkol. We’re all going to get through this, you hear me?” The paladin closed his eyes, straining to remain conscious as the anguish from the fel burns slowly ate away at his sanity.
“Leave me… to buy you… s-some time…”
“Fuck that.” Ijiro limped over to the paladin and grabbed him by his extended hand. “You’re not dying on my watch.” He studied Varkol closely, noticing the paladin’s eyes were starting to gloss over.
“Look at m-me…” He weakly whispered. “It’s too… too late…”
“Fuck. That.” He pulled the corpse he was carrying onto his shoulders, almost falling flat onto his face; with the little amount of strength he had left, he began to pull the cloak Varkol was laying on in order to continue dragging him along the path. “I… will… NOT… leave… a soldier… BEHIND!”
Alucieus held a grim expression, watching Ijiro use all of his might to carry two men at once. He looked around him to see the others staggering onward, all with looks of desperation and hopelessness afflicting their faces; the few healers that survived the beachhead were manatapped, most of which struggled to walk, let alone stand. Gonthar looked onward in a focused attempt to see through the morning fog, with several corpses sprawled along his shoulders. The pain from Alucieus’ wound brought his gaze down to his trembling hand, and he lifted his bloodstained gauntlet away from his wound to grimace at all of his blood that slowly leaked down his side; with morale quickly crumbling, deep down he knew they wouldn’t last another hour at this rate.
“Gonthar…” Alucieus turned to the Sunwalker, who wearily gazed back over at him. “We can’t continue without food and rest. This is where we make our stand.”
“If the Legion catches up to us…”
“Either we stand and fight, or slowly die off from running.” The paladin stood as straight as he could, but his own wounds were starting to get the better of him. “I’m tired of running.” A few soldiers finally collapsed in the grass beneath their feet, anxious to get even a few moments of rest. But something wasn’t sitting right with Alucieus, as he turned to gaze down the direction from which they came; this land was strangely familiar. They barely faced any demons once they moved further off the coast, but their looming presence was enough to force them on the move. Whenever they turned in a direction, a wall of demons in the distance changed their course. The Burning Legion was toying with them; they were herding them to walk in circles until they all died from exhaustion. “Ijiro.” Alucieus commanded, turning to the Hunter. “I’m counting on you to get us some food. We won’t last the day without it.”
“Alright.” The Hunter slowly dropped the corpse onto the ground beside Varkol. “I’ll need four more to help carry game back to camp. Who’s with me?” Several weary soldiers approached him, exchanging few words before they began to slowly tread off into the mist. Alucieus’ grimace remained constant as he watched them disappear, fearing they would never return.
“Get the wounded up that hill. Gather the dead. We need some semblance of a fortress up by the time Ijiro returns.” Alucieus shouted his command at the rest of his forces, snapping them out of their exhausted stupor. “Let’s move out!”
Rethandus slowly opened his eyes once the searing heat subsided, lowering his arms to look around; most of the corpses they stood on were turned to smouldering skeletons, filling the chamber with black smoke and ashes. The several Death Knights that were standing around him were gone, instantly vaporized by Zerethel’s spellflame. Yet here he was, still standing.
“What…?” Rethandus looked down to see Whitstan clutching his broken hand around the Harbinger’s leg, as the faint anti-magic zone quickly evanesced. “You saved me…? Why…?” He couldn’t make any sense of it. The billowing flames that swept across the pit was far too much for him to handle, and he accepted his death to return to Zion’s arms; yet here he was, saved by the very man who took everything away from him. The same man he spared mere minutes before.
“I don’t know why… asshole. Why didn’t… you… kill me? Because… we’re all fucked up in the head.” he said as he rolled onto his back and started laughing. Rethandus clenched his jaw in reaction to the man as the unholy energies Vesk provided were still clicking his bones painlessly back into place.
“I couldn’t do it.” he admitted, raising his gaze to the Val’kyr as she slowly descended through the smoke. “I’ve wanted you dead for so long… but I just… couldn’t bring myself to end it.” His scowl worsened as he rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of it all; but the distant screams caused his ears to perk, and instantly he knew he was out of time. “It’s because…” Whitstan sounded out “We’re addicted to the pain.” he said with a crooked smile. “Vesk… restore his strength.” the other spoke.
“Are you sure you want that…?” The ghostly woman looked down at Whitstan as her glowing feet gently touched the ‘floor’ they stood on. “He is the enemy, Rethandus…”
“He saved my life. Once he is healed, we are even.” He shot his icy gauntlet out, pulling his remaining runesword out of the smoke to snap into his grasp; his other hand reached out as well, stirring a Death Gate to appear before him. “I have to stop Zerethel from purging Zaldrannar of the living. Alucieus, Covaya, Tyrasam… they’re all in grave danger.”
“As you wish...” Vesk’s sprawling wings stretched out as she floating back up into the sky, drawing upon the innumerable corpses surrounding them and sapping them of their dormant energy. Rethandus vanished through the other side of his Death Gate once the Val’kyr bombarded Whitstan with a flood of raw unholy energy, pumping him with enough power to awaken an undead army.
Bones continued to snap in place as seared flesh was born anew. The blood runes engraved into his arms lit up a bright red as he reached for his sword, replacing it on his back. The unholy runes from his sword began to flash up as well. Both his arms were now functional although his left were littered with blackened veins visible from underneath the new, tender flesh. His strength was renewed but the Val’kyr seemed to care little for healing cosmetic damages. He paused a moment staring at the Val’kyr. “You said I was the enemy.”, his eyes were a bright swirling blue again. “Who is the enemy now? And why do you follow who you do if you’re not with those other Death Knights and the Mage? Is there a right or wrong to all this?”
“Councilor Kash’kaar is the enemy now. Should he succeed, he will turn his attention to Quel’thalas, perhaps reawakening a second Scourge Invasion.” Vesk spoke with indifference, humoring the freshly forged Death Knight as she floated silently in the air. “I am duty bound to follow the one who controls Zaldrannar: The Black Judge. Today it is Lord Sun’rael of the Ashen Verdict, but should Zerethel slay him… I will be forced to do his bidding.”
He paused at the entity’s answer. Contemplating it. He nodded. “And he wants to kill the living. Very well. I will help. Take me to Zerethel.” The Val’kyr pressed her lips together once she drifted toward Whitstan, plucking him off the ground as she quickly rose into the air above. A dark shell appeared around the former Breaker as she released him, letting him float effortlessly in the air while portal magic reverberated around his body. “Good luck, Wilhelm.” she softly whispered, teleporting him into the upper reaches of the accursed necropolis.
The voice in Zerethel’s head was screaming. Blood oozed out of his nose, mouth and eyes as he stormed down the hallway, tossing precaution aside to sear the flesh off Alucieus’ bones. THE TIME HAS COME TO TAKE WHAT IS OURS! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! “Ahh, Councilor Kash’kaar… is something wrong?” A Sunwalker turned to give him a warm smile, but the fury in Zerethel’s eyes prevented his smile from staying for long. The Pyromancer responded with fire, slamming the tauren against the wall as his pyroblast turned his armor into a melted husk of twisted metal and blackened bones. “The screams of the living will echo in these halls for all eternity! Do not relent until every crusader aboard my city is dead! DEAD!”
His Blackguard caught the Ashen Verdict by surprise, descending upon occupied rooms and recreational chambers to bathe the floors and walls with blood. Their vanquished cries drew the attention of others, allowing them to gear up to defend themselves before the Blackguard swept through the upper reaches unchallenged. Death Knights still loyal to the Ashen Verdict reacted accordingly, fending off the several undead yeti that were released from their cages; but the swarm of undead forces were quickly overpowering them, and it wasn’t long until they were breaching the living quarters, ready to cleanse Zaldrannar of any who opposed the Councilor.
“The Councilor is sick. He needs to be restrained to his chambers until we can figure out what to do with him.” Gonthar paused to shoot a weary glance in Tyrasam’s direction, before returning his gaze to Alucieus. “Lord Sun’rael… for a pyromancer of his caliber to hallucinate… that would bring nothing but bad news…”
“Captain Gonthar… you are right.” Alucieus sighed as he ran plated fingers through his hair, stopping to cradle his head. He looked to the towering Tauren Paladin, “This is too much of a liability. I was hoping his health would improve but I cannot allow this-”
“Let me go talk to him.” She kept her arms crossed as her gaze fell to the floor. “Maybe I can convince him to stay in his quarters? We still don’t know what’s wrong wi-” Her sentence was cut short from a thunderous smash against the ironclad doors of the throne room. The three paladins turned to look as something slammed into the door again, causing Tyrasam to jump. “W-what is going on?”
“Tyrasam… go find Lady Sun’rael and find shelter.” The Tauren shot a stern glance at Alucieus, pausing only to reach for his colossal claymore. His ears flapped against his head as he picked up the familiar sounds of Zaldrannar’s undead, hearing the faint roars of an undead yeti several floors beneath his hooves. Alucieus’ upper lip twitched and curled as his usually stoic expression was replaced by one of rage. “Gonthar, prepare yourself.” he said as he laid his blessings on the Tauren for combat. His right arm reached for his sword as his left lifted up and conjured an enormous spear of Light floating above his hand, pointed at the door. He drew back, waiting for the doors to collapse. The Crusaders guarding the door slowly retreated away, drawing their weapons as they turned to see Lord Sun’rael preparing to devastate the undead forces.
“DEATH TO THE SUN’RAELS! DEATH TO THE LIVING!” An undead roared as the doors were ripped off their hinges, flooding into the room in a swarm of undead fury. Without hesitation Lord Sun’rael let loose his spear of light, flinging it into the mob with startling speed; it violently erupted in a shower of holy fire and bodyparts, traveling through the darkened hallway until it buried itself in the wall several hundred yards away.
“To arms, crusaders!” Gonthar rolled his shoulders once his cloak fell to the floor, grinding his hooves against the ground several times before charging forward. “Cut down the traitors and burn their bodies. They deserve no mercy. Protect the living and be wary of the undead knights that still fight on our side.” Alucieus commanded as he followed behind the Tauren’s charge with crusaders that fell into ranks around him. Golden wings sprouted from the Sunwalker’s back once he began to drag his claymore along the ground. He let out a battlecry as he used all of his might and momentum to slash the sword before him, slicing through several mindless undead in a fiery sweep. His hulking fist connected with another foe, instantly crushing its skull as he slammed against the wave of undead. His hoof found the legs of a flailing corpse as he moved forward, crushing it into the floor while he attempted to overpower their forces by himself; but there were too many to count.
Claws and fangs sank into his back and shoulders as they swarmed around Gonthar, forcing him to cry out in a painful rage. He raised his fiery claymore high into the air, summoning an explosion of holy light around him that washed over his attackers in a burning blaze. Although he knew Lord Sun’rael was more than capable of fending for himself, especially being so familiar with fighting the undead, he wanted to lighten his load as much as possible; should he die here, his death would demoralize the crusaders defending Zaldrannar from this uprising, and the necropolis would surely be lost.
“Gonthar, save your energy. Let our crusaders take them. We have larger problems. If the Blackguard have risen against us, I think you know the implications.” he said as he infused Gonthar with a healing light with his free hand. The fortress rattled as dust stirred from the different levels onto them. Explosions were taking place. The last thing he needed to hear to confirm who was behind it all. The one man he chose to stand as his right hand. He kept Zerethel close for a reason.
“If they breach through the Throne Room your wife will be in danger!” Gonthar caught an Abomination’s hook before it buried itself in his shoulder, sending a holy hammer flying off into the creature’s direction. “You must survive, Lord Sun’rael! Go! I will cover you!”
The Paladin shot the Sunwalker a stern glare. “... Covaya will undoubtedly handle any stragglers as Tyrasam protects our child… Very well. Hold this position. I will move forward and ensure you don’t get flanked as I carve a path. Light protect you, Gonthar.” he replied putting his enclosed fist to his chest. Reinforcements appeared from opposing doors to aid in defending the Throne Room, giving the Sunwalker enough time to turn and pound his chest at his commander. “I will see you on the other side.”
Zerethel could barely breathe as rage coursed through his veins. “Wait… wait! Councilor plea-” another crusader erupted in a ball of fire while their corpse was flung off the edge of Zaldrannar to fall into the sea below. It was too late to stop now, for the screams of the dying would no doubt reach Lord Sun’rael. Every bone in his body ached from his damp wheezing, coughing up blood to spill onto the floor before him. His Blackguard escorting him remained silent, stabbing anything they could reach their master made his way toward the Throne Room.
KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! Zerethel’s voice rang in his ears, but he could no longer hear him; only through his bloodshot gaze did he see crusader after crusader, desperately trying to survive his forces’ onslaught. Through crimson teeth he snarled, raising an open palm to let forth another blast of metal-melting flames. As a paladin crawled down the hall, whimpering in agony as his legs were seared straight to the bone, the Pyromancer turned the corner to gaze hatefully down at him. “Weak and frail.” he hissed, as his Blackguard skewered the elf while he let out a terrified screech. His burning gaze slowly rose from the floor once a familiar figure appeared at the other end of the hallway, causing his blood to run cold.
Alucieus forcibly removed his sword from the hip of a Blackguard he had cleaved in half from the shoulder before parrying a flanking strike from another. He grabbed at the other Death Knight’s face with his free hand as light exploded from every orifice in his head resulting in an agonized scream and smoke lingering from its body as it collapsed. He turned to face Pyromancer, narrowing his eyes as he looked over the cripple. He was a bloody mess and clearly too far gone. “I’m disappointed, Zerethel. I never actually thought it’d come to this. How could I missed the signs? The Blackguard, the experiments, what you put Taleyriel through, all of it. I defended you.”
“A means to an end.” A cruel grin spread across Zerethel’s bloodstained lips, but he could not hide the agony in his voice; his lack of blood turned his skin a ghostly pale, and he was shaking far more than he should. “You sat idle on your throne, wasting the gift Mograine gave you… but I will put Zaldrannar to better use.” KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! Flames danced along his fingers while he staggered forward several feet, but at this point he could only see through one of his eyes. “You and the rest of your Verdict will be the first to die. Starfall will be next.”
“Look at what you’ve become… Zerethel…” he said with a modicum of pity in his voice. He shook the blood off of his blade, “I’ll put you to rest, old friend. I hope Tyrasam and Jaeras will forgive me.” Holy light visibly fluctuated from his blade, distorting perception around it as it began singing in a sharp, high pitch of metal vibrating. His gaze locked onto the Mage’s crazed visage. His grin spread from ear to ear as a few of his crimson teeth cracked and shattered under the pressure of his clenched jaw. The flames in his hand turned blue, and the Pyromancer slowly raised his open palm to destroy Lord Sun’rael once and for all.
“Die.” he whispered, sending an explosion of flames to barrel down the hallway; the windows along the path shattered from the sonic boom, spilling flames out of Zaldrannar’s side as he attempted to prevent anyone from even recognizing Alucieus’ remains. The Paladin kept the sword down to his side as his free hand felt immense strain and pressure to keep his Divine Shield conjured before him. The bright flames all around him grew in intensity every second. There was no relent to Zerethel’s channeled assault. Heavy step by burning step, he moved close to the Mage. He could not see the stone walls around him glowing bright red but he felt his own armor heat up and start to singe at his skin. He pushed forward, knowing that one more step, another step and he would be able to end this all. He leaned all his weight to move forward yet he couldn’t see through the wall of blinding flame that turned white. His shield of Light began to crumble and he grew desperate, unable to see where his opponent was. Images of Covaya, and his children to include Taleyriel. Even Areus and that damned Ashelin were there.
Zerethel cackled madly as he poured all of his body and soul into the channeled fury, convinced no living being could survive such an ordeal; but he felt it necessary to get his message across. His single remaining eye flickered while he became deafened by his own roaring flames, assured Zaldrannar was finally his for the taking. His devilish grin quickly vanished once something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, filling his forearm with intense pain as his flames immediately died out. The Councilor screamed as he noticed the bloodied stump that was his last arm, and the greatsword now buried into the melted wall beside him. “I-Impossible…?!” Zerethel collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud, letting his gaze fall upon the smouldering shield of Lord Sun’rael before shooting a glance toward the Death Knight in the distance. “I k-killed you… I killed you…!”
“What is it you told me? Pain is an excellent teacher? Well, I hope you learned something today.” Whitstan spoke with a sinister smile as his spiraling blue eyes looked down on the Pyromancer and then glanced to the Paladin. Alucieus stared at Whitstan for the longest moment, trying to make sense of everything. He shifted his focus back to the Mage. “I’ll let you reap whatever it is you were sowing here. I have people to protect.” A nod to the Death Knight and another pitied look to the Mage was all he had to offer his friend before he turned to walk back down the path he came.
“You…. dare turn your BACK ON ME?!” Zerethel lurched forward as he wheezed, spilling a lot of blood onto his severed hand.
“Don’t do it…” Whitstan echoed. “I don’t want to kill you…”
“I am the strongest pyromancer this pathetic world has ever seen! And I WILL TAKE WHAT IS MINE!” Zerethel turned to glare at Alucieus’ back before he opened his mouth as wide as he could, causing the back of his throat to glow a sinister orange. Whitstan sighed as he narrowed his eyes as he walked over to the oldest and closest friend that he didn’t remember. He placed a hand on his shoulder as his left arm and Zerethel became encased in an anti-magic shell swirling with unholy runes and magic. Molten flame dripped from his mouth before shooting out violently in the Paladin’s direction. The shell would keep his magic spiralling inside his newly formed coffin.
He was too blinded by rage to even notice Whitstan’s approach, unleashing his furious dragon’s breath to sear the flesh off Alucieus’ bones; but the anti-magic shell propelled the flames away from his target, bouncing back onto the Pyromancer. His eyes widened in agony as his flames swirled around him, tearing through his flesh with ease; but he could not stop his spell as it was far too late. KILL HIM! KILL… HIM!.. kill… His body burned in a spectacle of white flame, scorching his bones black as the last of his dying screams echoed down the halls of Zaldrannar.
Whitstan’s blood runes on his blackened arm glowed while it constantly burned and regenerated simultaneously over and over again holding the mage inside his own spell. He let out a sigh of discontent as he released the remains of the mage. He watched as his arm slowly regenerated, his veins still singed and painted black by the flames of his fallen brother. He stared down at what was left of the Pyromancer and couldn’t help but feel a great guilt weighing at his chest. The fighting seemed to settle and the halls grew quiet as the necropolis began to list toward the ground, flames remained ignited across the structure.
“Zereth?!” Tyrasam covered her mouth as she looked around, locking her gaze on the smouldering skeleton at Whitstan’s feet. “ZERETHEL!” Her blood ran cold as she ran to her husband’s remains, stopping only once Gonthar reappeared to hold her back. “ZERETHEL! ZERETHEELLL!”
“Tyrasam…” the Sunwalker spoke, scooping her off the ground to hold her close. “Look away… look away…”
“I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM! I COULD HAVE TALKED TO HIM!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, savagely kicking and punching to wiggle out of the wounded Tauren’s grip. His exhaustion got the better of him as he reluctantly released her, letting her sprint toward the remains to collapse at Zerethel’s side. Her trembling hands reached out to him, instantly recognizing the melted chain that was wrapped around his neck; it once was Jaeras’ gift he gave him a few days ago. The delicate woman broke down into tears, calling out his name over and over again. But the longer she screamed, the more the truth settled in; there was nothing else she could do, for her husband was well beyond reviving.
“Lord Sun’rael…” Gonthar spoke, still exhausted from the previous battle. “The Blackguard are on the retreat. But Zaldrannar is starting to fall toward the sea. We should regroup at the Throne Room to make sense of all this.” Alucieus nodded and said no more, looking to everyone present. He walked off ahead of the group. Whitstan stared at Tyrasam, refusing to turn a blind eye to the pain he caused.
Even a week or so later the babies had not lost their touch or interest upon the family, if anything everyone had been wrapped around their tiny fingers and today of all days, Kaevia allowed this to sink in fully. The trio had been comfortably placed along the bed; Kaevia sitting with both Oriana and Rowan in front of her and both wide awake staring about their surroundings. It was quiet even though the two had been wiggling around and flapping their little arms as if though they were bound to take off and every once in awhile their legs would give jolting little kicks, eyes wide and their tongue exploring over their mouthy and lips as infants often did.
The pair had been far too young for much else aside from gazing around, making little motions with their mouths and tongue and raptor-clawing their fingers here and there with their thumbs tucked -- yet they were still a wonder and exciting. From their strong grips along one’s finger to their hiccups after feeding and the weird little wiggles they offered, the twins were forever awe-inspiring.
The time came to get lost in her thoughts as her wandering hands traveled the twins in touched of affection, inspecting their tiny little hands and often bending forward to give little kissing-nibbles upon their delicate skin.
She remembered her friend’s letter and how broken the woman had sounded both physically and mentally. Perhaps some things had not been in the cards for her but she sounded quite upset with how things had turned out for her in the long run. With a deep exhale the Priestess regarded the handcrafted furniture across from her, there was a time she seen Winter happy but even when she had been with him, she wasn’t sure if her friend was truly happy or just counting the days, something to do in between. The woman rarely spoke of it -- the relationship -- if one were to call it that. She had certain smiles for when she spoke of things and discussion of him countless times over didn’t seem to give off the impression -- sure he was nice and Kaevia had high hopes for them but perhaps something deep down in the Monk, she knew better. No secret smiles graced her features and she never cared to really speak of her life with him -- her friend was now tremendously broken and Kaevia knew she wouldn’t show that either. A harlot she spoke about, did that mean he had been seeing another woman behind the Monk’s back, perhaps enticing the flirtations she mentioned without a care to disregard them?
One could only speculate and the consideration of the mess only made Kaevia’s head spin. She was indifferent and while her previous guardian had been in pain, she had to remain neutral on every front. A lion in sheep’s clothing, even the nicest of people were rotten inside and to the core.
After all, a lot of people only perceived themselves in certain lights to the public eye while keeping their true personas behind closed doors. They showed what they wished while keeping the rest hidden -- isn’t that what liars did? Is it true that once a liar, always a liar?
Did people really change?
In that thought, Kaevia’s eyes regarded the open window and her fingers allowed the twins to clutch to them for dear life as if though she was about to leave the house and find cigarettes and lottery tickets.
Whitstan. He sought change but once more Kaevia wasn’t entirely convinced it was the change he wanted but the wish and whim of another -- Syrahn perhaps or was it her friend? Did it matter? If anything both she and Syrahn were trusted people to help lead the Death Knight down the path for a more favorable outcome. Perhaps Whitstan was better off to be placed under her Father’s watchful eye and less of her own? She didn’t know the first thing about assisting the dead who had this insatiable urge to harm the living. Kaevia didn’t trust Whitstan but thankfully trust was something earned and not directly given upon meeting someone -- it was funny how it worked the same way as respect -- and in that, she did not trust him yet. Alucieus seemed quite disgruntled at the fact that she was bound to make a fool out of herself for bringing a questionable being into the circle of her ranks or…..perhaps he was proud in knowing she was capable of second chances?
Her father was forever an enigma.
“ You two ar--” Her words clipped with the clatter of the trinkets upon the hearth started to shake and dance from their holding, a few smashed to the floor when the entire land beneath the foundation shook. A thunderous clap caused the walls of the large estate to groan in protest and the hinges of the windows began to give way. Her friend’s little one and Silvia’s yells echoed down the hall coupled with Rhistel’s shriek and while the panic seemed to last for but a few seconds, Kaevia leaned over the twins to curl them both under the canopy of her torso, eyes clenched and the only thing she could emit in the moment was a bellowing yell,” Dymere!” She called out at the top of her lungs, panic filled her with what had been happening in the moment of the quake.
Within moments, the spell breaker was crashing through the doorway, sword in hand. He rushed to her side, placing his body between her and the windows, “ What is it?!” her voice boomed and the Priestess looked up, finding her eyes pinned to the front of Dymere and finally the rumbling stopped, the creaking of the entire estate coming to a slow halt and finally…...nothing, complete silence followed until finally Dymere moved away and held the Priestess by the shoulders, concerned gazes sweeping over the children and the Lady herself,” Just a tremor.”
“ I need to check on Rhistel, will you watch the twins for a moment?” dazed and still in quite a bit of shock, Kaevia pulled from the bed and her hands finally relinquished their touch upon the twins, confidant they were in good hands and to set out along her small mission to ensure all within the abode were safe. Later would come the conclusion of what damage might have been made to the structure, most certainly.
The three stood together, surrounding the large table covered in maps and notes of strategy. Commander, Regent, and Ambassador, the pieces that played a large portion to driving the battalion where it needed and when.
In the coming weeks a small group would be sent out to meet the Sunrunner guard, ensuring their alliance even further by lending what little aid they could for good show. Their equipment and materials had slowly but surely been comprised and stored, ready for full on assault when ready.
Attacks from outsiders had been held off, losses were accounted for and damages were soon reconciled to original state.
As the nightly discussion came to an end, the final report given was that of their men and woman and the whereabouts of them all.
"We have reached a total of fourteen dead and six injured. So far, a pleasing number to have, though no number would be best it is expected."
Covaya listed, sighing softly as she placed the parchment with the report down upon the table after reading it out loud to the others.
Elenaris' tilted her head slightly, glancing to her. "And what of the Magistrix?" She asked simply, her interest was light however there.
The Ambassador shook her head. "We have recalled all search parties with no luck after looking for weeks. Presumed dead."
With a sigh, Elenaris shook her head and rested it just within the space between her pointer finger and thumb, closing her eyes. "I had merely wished to keep the members of the Magistry alive, we are so few as is... especially those within my grasp. Perhaps she chose not to come afterall. It was a decision made on a whim and one that made little sense so suddenly. And such a decision has cost us. "
Alucieus placed his plated hands to the table, leaning over it with a huff. It was a waste of time and resources to search for one person to begin with. War is no time for mistakes like she made. You come in prepared or you get left behind and die. Simple. "
Covaya and Elenaris looked to each other with a brief nod in agreement.
"Though we may have failed to locate the Magistrix, we did come across Miss Ashkena... nearly frozen to bits poor thing. She is recovering well and will be ready to join the ranks in the coming weeks I am sure."
Covaya added, breaking away from the previous subject. The Commander had turned his back to them, though listening, he was in thought.
"Mm, it was lucky for her to be reunited with us."
Elenaris spoke before turning to Alucieus to see if there was anything further he needed to add.
"That is all for this evening. Tomorrow we discuss the route for the Sunrunner camp, not many will be taking this journey up so it must be precise."
The two Sin'dorei women nodded to him and then to each other in farewell.
"Shadows keep and Light guide you both." Elenaris offered before slipping from the tent.
Outside, she stood briefly, eyes raised to the sky blurred by the falling snow.
