Tales of Shadow, Part one - Seeds of Evil

[Izmae]

Hey all, this is a story I started to write in the roleplay section of my guild forum, which turned into a hell of a long story :grin: I recieved good comments about it so I thought I'd see what the wider warcraft world thought. Happy reading and please tell me what you think, I'm always looking to improve (especially as this is ongoing, hence the part one :tongue: )

This is the prologue, there are currently 8 chapters after this, nearing the end of the first "book" as it were, coinciding with the impending release of the Burning Crusade.

Prologue;

It was dark. A pale, ghostly light crept in through the fluttering veil of curtain at her window. All was silent, not even any stray animals were about to sway her consciousness with the noise of their nocturnal exploits. The city of Stormwind slept, and yet Izmae could not.

As a child she had always had trouble sleeping, she had all but grown up alone. Her mother had been a Priest of the Light, and a very accomplished one at that, and so when Horde invaders threatened to destroy the sanctity of Allied lands they knew she'd felt the call to battle. Soon after this her father disappeared from their home, and all that was left was a small child wandering the streets of a city that engulfed her. She did not know how long it was before she found herself in the orphan house but for weeks her mind was numb. After a while she became convinced this was to be her monotonous existence, living out her years in the shadow of the Cathedral until she became of age, when she would have to choose her own living. She often wandered into the giant structure, in awe of every adventurer that entered its doors. Ironic then that it was in fact one of these adventurers that would change her destiny forever. A dwarf, severely wounded staggered up the steps supported by various comrades, screaming in very obvious agony. He was set down on a pew, very close to the alcove in which she was watching, whilst the others begged with the Priests to help them.

It would appear that the group had been fighting Undead forces somewhere to the North, and this Dwarf had been hit with a peculiar unknown poison from one of the opposing fighters. On finding that no potion they carried could combat such an ailment they hurried to the Priests of Ironforge. Yet this poison was stronger than any the healers had ever seen, and could not be cured by any means they tried. The Stormwind High Priestess seemed to know exactly the problem and explained recent cases of a similar kind, all of which had originated from attacks of the Undead.

"It's a simple poison in essence,” she stated “it merely takes more honed senses to the Undead to locate the source of..." her voice trailed off. The incessant screaming had faltered, replaced instead with deep and heavy breathing. All looked to where the Dwarf still lay, yet beside him now sat Izmae, one hand on the wound and the other mopping his brow. It would seem that talents of the Light do not fluctuate down the bloodline, and so from that day Izmae was quickly trained in its many ways. Upon discovery many times in the armoury, practicing with numerous different weapons it was decided she did not quite have the right temperament for mere spellcasting. So under the tutelage of Duthorian Rall she trained as a Defender of the Light and learnt to sharpen her particularly strong senses towards the Undead.

It was those senses that were keeping her awake now. She dressed and wandered out of the Cathedral, to look around the sleeping city. Eventually she found herself outside Stormwind Keep. Recognizing her, the night guards allowed her to pass, but once inside and very oddly so it was eerily quiet. Yet in her mind she could feel them, almost like a deathly scent, and very close. Her fingers brushed against the sword she had chosen to bring with her, and she moved out towards the Library. There. One of the side doors was ajar, and the outside of it pulsated with dark magics. After some quick spell work she moved inside and down the staircase. At once sound and smell rushed into her head more quickly than a warlock’s curse; tormenting screams, burning flesh and the stench of death so strong it made her stomach turn. At once she knew what it was. Few remnants of Undead of the Scourge remained yet live they did, as much as such vile creatures can be said to exist. They often indulged in torture rituals, of such horrific extent that is customary to their nature. Drawing closer she listened. Four, no more than five voices, mostly acolytes from the sounds of the chanting, but there had to be a necromancer in there somewhere. Feeling the hilt of her blade in her hands she hesitated, she had grown to trust her senses but still, this was a necromancer she was dealing with.

A horrifying scream pierced her ears, and stilled her. Grip on her weapon tightening she said her blessing and stormed in the room. Sword flashing in the dark flames she felled the group of acolytes with quick and efficient ease. Sensing still more she turned, but too late; a bolt of energy hit her squarely in the back and she was thrown into the centre of the room, hitting the central stone alter which was now covered in fresh blood. Vision blurring she groped blindly around for her sword, but instead found herself looking up into the eyes of her assailant. With something stirring in her mind she concentrated harder, forcing the swirled colours to sharpen into more distinguishable images. As the face came into focus she froze with both pained memories and instant horror.

“Hello Izzy” Although more weary and drawn, the face of the necromancer standing over her was clearly that of her missing father. She lost all sensation; from her limbs, from her mind, from the pounding pain that had grown in her head. Whatever he said next was lost in the void that now formed all around her. It was incomprehensible to think that her own father could be capable of leading such evil, yet she knew, she could feel it emanating from him. She learned in those few seconds what it meant to simply exist, without thought, without emotion, without physical capability.

A shout sounded from above, her father tensed and stopped mid-sentence of whatever he was about to say. With one last malicious look in his eyes he reached into his robes and pulled out a long thin dagger and plunged it into her chest. How long she lay there was anybody’s guess, but as blood began to seep across the cold stone floor she heard more voices, louder now, familiar ones. Her head slumped to the side and her vision blurred. A sweet fragrance slipped across her face, one smelling of peacebloom. Her eyes fell into a long dark corridor she had not noticed before, its shadows penetrated only briefly as a bright light gleamed before her eyes, and she slipped out of consciousness.

On waking a few days later in the sanctity of the Cathedral she began to comprehend what she had seen. Images of blood and fire and flesh would not leave her consciousness, and the screams of torture haunted her dreams. For weeks she would not speak, isolated in her room and doing just enough to survive. Yet it was a visit from her old mentor, Duthorian that brought to her the only glimmer of hope she had left to hold on to. Foolhardy though her actions had been in rushing into a torture ritual chamber in the middle of Stormwind Keep filled with dark sorcerers, the leader of whom it appeared was her now missing again, father, there had been survivors. Mostly human, but dwarves, gnomes and elves alike had been liberated from the cells of the dark labyrinth. As finally she left the Cathedral she saw them, resting still in all available rooms. It was odd to see some recognising her, but she hurried on and crossed the city towards her weapons trainer, Woo Ping. For months she poured herself into her training and studies, keeping her mind and body busy, always busy. He even suggested taking up a tradeskill, and for a while she considered training to become a weaponsmith. It was when she discovered paladins were not traditionally trained in ranged weapons such as crossbows or guns that she changed her mind. Woo Ping sent her off into the Dwarvern District where she found her new engineering trainer Sprite Jumpsprocket. Slowly she began to develop her skills in both creating and fixing devices, and most importantly to create small explosives. As yet these were not enough to cause any real damage, but it was enough to ensnare the attention of someone in the same way that an arrow whizzing past their head would, which suited her needs fine.

This even meant she could venture out into Elwynn Forest occasionally, to mine the copper from the surrounding hills. It was always so peaceful there, and there was always the smell of peacebloom on the wind. In just a few weeks both Sprite and her trainer, Lillium Sparkspindle said that Izmae was ready to progress. In order to do this she would need to travel to Ironforge, to meet Springspindle Fizzlegear, an extremely talented engineer, who had agreed to train her. However on her request to the Cathedral for a few days leave to meet her trainer she was denied. Her training was "not sufficient enough yet to be able to leave the city for too long. Training requires devotion, the Second Virtue is tenacity. That means a commitment spanning a lifetime."

She didn't argue with them. She knew she had nothing else but the Light; it had given her a path, a connection with the world that could only be grown here, in the Cathedral. Slowly but surely Duthorian resumed her studies, and soon she was able to live again in the Cathedral District. She always liked to bring peacebloom in to put into her quarters; it calmed her whenever she had the dreams. Duthorian didn't seem to like them much; he always left the room when she brought them in. She caught him holding some once, by the window. His face looked distressed, his eyes full of sorrow as one by one he let them slip through his fingers.

[rottentomato]

i read the beginning and hated the 1st line....sorry :( lemme read the rest and hopefully itll draw me in more than "it was dark"

[rottentomato]

so far.....meh im midly interested in reading more...its an ok story, but not as gripping or enticing as id like

[Izmae]

Thanks for the comments, as I said I love hearing ways to improve. This is the first fiction of this length that I've actually written and was intended to be a simple character background, and so the storyline has evolved as I went along

(what I mean by this is that especially at this point it's very jittery, I'm trying to improve bits as I post them here and hopefully *fingers crossed* the intro to this one has improved ever so slightly...hopefully :grin: ) In any case if you have read it thank you, and please do point out the flaws...be brutal! When the Burning Crusade comes out I'll be starting the next one, so I need to do it better next time :tongue:

Chapter One;

Each footstep was another heartbeat, each one another second she was kept alive. Just keep running, it wasn't far now. The buildings around her burned with a volcanic intensity, seared her face, the fire fuelled by the insanity of Arthas and his men. There were 10 of them left now, they were nearly at the gate, they could escape into the woods. Then they came, just like they always did. Husbands, wives, children...all turned into creatures of insatiable hunger, all cut down by those who had sworn to protect them. They were surrounded now, there was no getting away now. The heat was so unbearable...

Izmae awoke with a start, sweating and shaking. She felt tired, not physically drained but mentally. The dreams were getting worse again, she kept visiting the plaguelands. Her training as a Paladin seemed to last for 48 hours of every day, and her mind spun with all the tedious details she had learnt and now had to remember. She did not regret her situation for it was a much better future than the grim hopes of the teenage orphan she had left behind. Still, she yearned to see the outside of the city again. When she had lived with her family it had been on a farm in the heart of Elwynn Forest. To spend so many long years in the bustling concrete heart of human civilization was suffocating. Little did she know how soon she would get her wish.

It was the end of the week and a day for relaxation, or so she had been told. In real terms it was a day to fit in all the study that had been crowded out of every other day of the week. The remnants of spring had faded into summer, and the pleasant weather was not only making study very difficult, but the eyes very drowsy. A shadow crossed over her page, and within an instant she was awake and alert. Recognising the face she relaxed from her salute a little.

“Hello Duthorian” She smiled at him, but on his increasingly worn and tired face lay an expression stony and official.

“We’ve been placed on assignment. Two companions of Stormwind have been captured and detained by Troll tribes in the heart of Stranglethorn Vale. You are to gather any items you will need and report to the gryphon master in one hour.” With that he marched off, without responding to her questioning calls.

Nonetheless Izmae obeyed her orders and assembled at the time and place specified to meet four others. Without more than a word they were loaded onto gryphons and began the long flight to Booty Bay. It was odd for ‘companions of Stormwind’ as Duthorian so named them to be captured, especially in Stranglethorn. More often than not they were among the most experienced and talented of adventurers, and through their deeds had earned status with the leadership of all four Allied races. Even more bizarre than these two adventurers being captured by the relatively unorganized tribes of Trolls in Stranglethorn was the fact they were still alive. Trolls were a race notorious for the torture and ritual killing of their enemies, and despite the advancement of other races the remnants of the race still living in the jungle relied only on their most primal beliefs.

On landing the group found the most remote corner possible in the hive of goblin pirates in Booty Bay, and Duthorian gathered them close;

“This should be a relatively easy assignment, a simple rescue,“ eyes flickered towards Izmae at those words and she felt a grating annoyance at their resignation to her presence, “but keep on your guard. These are strange circumstances and these trolls are not of those keen on a strategic surrender.” With that the troop walked out of the port and were soon off the path and into the jungle. The heat was beating like a heart upon every inch of her skin, and the endless insects somehow managed to pry their way underneath her armour. The march was becoming relentlessly more difficult when everybody paused. Crouching they saw through the bright, healthy foliage the crumbling stone ruins of Zul’Kunda, the last known location of the two missing adventurers.

What came next seemed to pass in her mind like a flurry of water. As the paladins emerged from the camouflage of the trees their bright steel weapons met with the dark iron used by the three trolls on guard at the entrance of the ruins. Quiet a commotion though it was, it was loud enough still to attract the attention of those camping closest to the opening. In the next instance she knew immediately why paladins had been called; a bolt of energy she knew as derived from shadow hit her side, and she staggered. Looking towards her assailant fear caught an icy grip upon her inside. The bolt of shadow had travelled from a lone attacker but behind him now, poised on the top of the incline stood seven trolls, all robed in purple and all chanting a curse she knew all too well. It was one she had studied recently, the primeval beginnings of shadow magic in the world of Azeroth.

Shouting a warning to Duthorian, his wide eyes showed that he too recognised the threat. Franticly calling for a retreat, a darkness began to seep towards them. All now knew the fatal danger they were in should they be engulfed, all too soon becoming a likely possibility. In desperation Izmae turned and threw her hammer at the chanters, catching one in the chest and throwing him to the ground. The spread of gloom ceased and she stood there, in amazement that her move had worked. Unfortunately it was not as intelligent as she had first considered. Whilst the spread of the curse had been temporarily stopped, Izmae was now surrounded by trolls. A feeling of stupidity also hit her as she realised she had thrown away her only weapon, when any of the branches or stones around her would have done just the same job. A knife jabbed towards her. She managed to block it with her arms, with only a small cut. But of course this was all that was needed. She staggered in a circle, blindly searching for her comrades. All she found was hard blows and coarse laughter as she fell to her knees, and vision faded.

Chapter Two;

Duthorian looked back at his bright young apprentice as the poison slowly coursed through her veins, slipping her slowly but surely into unconsciousness. There was no way they could get her out of there now, there were too many of them. In fact it was not this that was the reason for his continued retreat, but that curse… It was one of the first utterances of darkness in the world, and had been taught worldwide ever since as the basis of many modern day spells. They had no choice. All he could do for her now was prey to the Light they would not uncover it, he should never have let her come on this assignment...

* * *

She was walking this time, just strolling through the scenes of death and destruction. She saw something different with each visit; this time she saw the madness. The look in the eyes of Arthas himself as he cleaved healthy people in front of their families, the look in the eyes of those soldiers who so blindly followed him. The madness that took hold of her as she stepped forward to do her part...

In the darkness Izmae felt a throbbing pain beating on her head, and gradually she opened her eyes. Colours swirled into an ethereal blur all around her, and nausea clenched her stomach with all available strength. Sweat dripped down her face and she felt her whole body shaking with a burning heat. All the same Izmae forced her mind to settle enough to study her surroundings. Her body hung loose, hands chained to a rough stone surface behind her, but it was not a stone structure she was in. Her prison was a crude construction built up against the surface of the crumbling rock. Large tree branches propped up leathery animal skins which completed the small circle in which she was now imprisoned. There was nobody else around her that she could see in the darkness but a livid yellow glow streamed in from the gap at the base of the animal skin wall. That meant it had to be night time, and should have been much cooler. Yet here she was shaking with an indescribable heat, sweat staining her linen clothes. It was at this point she realised she had of course been stripped of her mail and her hammer was nowhere to be seen.

All those months spent wishing to be out fighting for the Light, defending the weak, scouring evil from the world, the illusionary dreams of a young paladin, and here she was; a prisoner of a race so well trained in the art of pain, it came as instinct. Whether through sheer determination, or more likely the distraction of her current health she drove her mind from such thoughts. Instead she focussed solely on passing every deep, rattling breath. Time passed without clear acknowledgement in her mind. She slipped in and out of consciousness, with each visit to the living world renewing her profound thirst and hunger. One troll would visit her occasionally, each time bringing with him a red hot blade. Each time, he branded her skin on different locations, and then exposed her to the sunlight which would stretch and burn her skin, and evaporate any remaining liquid her body managed to release.

When she next awakened it was night. Yet the usual clear darkness was pierced by the blaze of a giant bonfire. Although she could not clearly see at the time, trolls were situated all around it. Some were sitting, some dancing and some chanting with an unnatural rhythm. After so long in such conditions, Izmae could not use her powers of healing to fend off fever any longer, and the burns on her skin began to sting intensely with every breath of wind that passed. Her wrists were released from their shackles and she fell with a dull thud on the soft dirt. Barely conscious, she was dragged across towards the floor and began to feel the heat radiating from the tall flames. Looking around she saw little that made sense to her. Yet just a few metres away she saw two more captives, a dwarf and an elf. Although their clothes were far more worn and dirty, they appeared to be in far better condition than she was. For one thing they appeared to be in control of their own actions, and each held an expression stony and defiant.

A small flask was thrown to her face. Even the leathery smell of it could not conceal the biting scent of the liquid within. To drink such a thing in normal circumstances would have been unthinkable, but thirst had grown beyond desperation. With every drop she consumed her strength grew, until upon finishing it all she felt virtually normal again. Virtually, in the sense that her physical being was now renewed. Her mental state however was about to take a very serious turn. Colours danced around, bizarre and terrifying creatures grew out of flames that licked towards her, and endless laughter sounded deafening in her ears. Through the confusion and fear she heard, no she felt the same chanting again, felt the darkness flowing quickly towards her.

In all she had learnt about the Primeval Shadow, nothing could prepare her for what she saw next. She saw endless scenes of darkness and torture, smelt burning flesh and the sickly, nauseating smell of blood and death. She felt every brand on her skin burn with intense pain, but more so than that, far more so than that she felt collectively the fear of hundreds. In that one instant she wanted more than ever to end her life. The pain, the fear, the death spinning around, engulfing her, crushing her. Struggling, screaming in agony on the floor she clawed for the blade left conveniently beside her, it looked so farmiliar and something inside of her burned to hold it, burned for it to pierce her skin.

[rottentomato]

awww i thought that the 2nd one you wrote was the revised intro...i like that first paragraph of chapter 1 wayy better than the prologue as an intro...think about taking the prologue, and adding it after an intro like that! it was enticing and gripping and made me wonder who this character was that was running in this city in flames. much better for an intro to draw the reader in.

[rottentomato]

the rest of the story from what i read seems to be a little better than the prologue so far, but it seems like it needs a little something...cant quite put my finger on what tho

[Izmae]

((I havn't found the time to edit a lot of this..so here's the rest of it raw :smiley: ))

Chapter Three;

Grinding dirt up in her fingers, she had lost even the energy to scream. Izmae was numb to the horrors circling her head; she had only one goal and that was focussed on the blade but a few centimetres from her outstretched fingers. The guttural cackle of the trolls could be heard all around and she could see the scene all around her reflected in the curved metal, the figures so clear yet so mystifying as if they were enchantments conjured from the hand of a mage.

It could have all ended there, but for one beacon of light in the darkness. She felt a presence beside her, warm and strong, radiating a brilliant white despite the darkness and soiled colour all around. Slowly it dominated her vision in the reflected scene until she was able to draw her eyes away to view it fully, and at last the spirits inside of her were silenced. The laughter had stopped, and the only sound to be heard was a deep rumbling from the large white tiger standing beside her. The trolls had gone silent and were hesitantly observing the giant creature beside her. A scarlet red lined its jaw and looking back she viewed the destructive path of mangled limbs. At last the chieftain barked orders at his underlings and a few edged forward, spears and poison tipped darts in hand. With renewed strength from whatever vile liquid had been in the flask she had consumed she sat up and drew away, but as she did so the creature moved in front of her, defending her from the incoming threat. Three trolls were downed in slashes of claws and teeth in a matter of seconds, and on finishing the tiger paced in front of Izmae, glaring at the chieftain, challenging him. The chieftain looked on, bemused. He turned and nodded to the shadow casters, standing on alters behind him, and they moved forward with grins of sadistic darkness on their faces. Sensing the dark spells about to be unleashed Izmae drew herself up to stand at the creature’s side, wielding the only weapon close at hand; the curved dagger.

As she picked it up from the dust on the floor she could not help but notice the flawless surface once again, yet this time a spot of blue caught her eye. From the small reflection she could not quite discern what it was and so she searched the figures in front of her to find it. There, hanging from the belt of a one of the casters was a large clear flask, filled to the brim with an ethereal blue liquid; a mana potion. Caught off balance the trolls had their attention on the giant white tiger as he lashed out with a primal fire in his crystal blue eyes. A bolt of shadow pummelled his side and his white fur was singed with a wound of black and purple. Moving quickly Izmae wrestled the troll with the potion to the ground, and on slitting his throat the corpse almost seemed to wail with the screams of torture. In a matter of seconds she had gulped down every last drop and felt her mental being renewed. Banishing the last of the shadow from her mind, she picked up a spear with her one free hand and looked around for her beastly saviour. She fought her way to the middle of the fray and healed the wounds on the tiger’s side. Ready to fight once again, she was caught off balance when the trolls backed away. The steady thump of large boots on the dust drew her attention to the reason for the sudden quiet. The chieftain himself had come down to finish them off, and the bemused face he held had turned to a more alarming malice. Clad with thick leather and animal furs his arms and neck were covered in tribal tattoos. As he loomed closer she heard the chinking sound of the various bones and teeth that decorated his neck and arms, and winced at the thin bone sliced through the middle of his hooked nose. Taller and better built than the trolls in the tribe he controlled, the chieftain was able to wield two large axes with disturbing efficiency.

Leaping forward the tiger was mindlessly swept aside with the blade and hilt of one of the axes, and the malevolent troll moved on towards her. With only a crude spear in hand she was no match for him, and he kicked her to the floor. Laughing he drew up one axe and said his final words in thickly accented common tongue; “Puny woman scum”. Closing her eyes tightly she waited that split second for her end, but it didn’t come. Opening them again she found she was surrounded by a bubble of glowing light, sparkling enchantingly. She suddenly realised she had created a divine shield, like those that her tutors had shown her. Used only in the most dire of circumstances they protected the paladin from any weapon blow, bolt of magic, pain, poison or disease that had encompassed them at the time, and she had never before been able to conjure more than a few fizzled sparkles.

With mere seconds before the shield ran out she took advantage of the chieftain’s momentary confusion and kicked out, very accurately into his groin. Eyes watering he clutched at his “dire wound” and fell to the floor. Without effective leadership Izmae had the opportunity to gather herself, once again heal the fallen tiger and begin to search for an exit. Noticing the two other captives for the first time since awakening from her odd stupor, she immediately freed them and pushing at her back, the dwarf urged her forward to a gap in the crumbling walls of the ruined city. The tiger joined the side of the elf, who looked down with an obvious sense of pride. Feeling her invulnerability fade her two companions guided her into the thick of the forest, away from the furious shouts and flying arrows and axes of the trolls behind them.

Neither dwarf nor elf stopped running once until the goblin haven of Booty Bay was in sight. Nor did they say a word until they were safely in a room at an inn. Sitting on the bed she curled herself into a corner, taking everything in, wondering how much time had passed, wondering who the two men were, wondering which smell was wafting in from the kitchens wrenching uncontrollable hunger into her stomach. The dwarf spoke first.

“If ye ever ask me to go hunting for bloody shadow tampering trolls again I’ll slice those long ears of yours off and feed em to Grimfang.”

The elf looked over with the most sarcastic contempt she had ever seen from his race and then to the tiger, Grimfang who was contently occupying himself by chasing his tail round and round by the door.

“I think he’s had enough for one day. Now instead of wittily trying to blame the situation on me, I would have thought your first task would be to fetch some food. A normal dwarf without food or ale for that many days would have gone insane by now, and remember, we have a guest.”

“Aye, aye. OI SKINDLE! STEAK, PIE AND ALE! …Bloody goblins, always wanting the money first… BECAUSE I FLAMING WELL SAID SO! NOW GET US SOME FOOD UP HERE NOW BEFORE I CLEAVE YOUR TINY SIZED…”

“Perhaps I’d better get the food Brakus.”

Muttering the dwarf seated himself on the other bed and the elf left the room, and jumped lightly over the banister to land in the main room below.

“Showoff” he mumbled, and as he did so, Grimfang bound across the room to land on top of him, licking his face intently. Brakus, suddenly enveloped in a mass of fur and feline spittle tried to wrestle with the cat, and failed. Despite herself Izmae smiled, and let out a soft hint of laughter.

“It’s good to see something less noisy than a scream come from your lips” The elf had returned, bringing with him plates of steaming meat and pie, which he placed on the table then began laying the place settings.

“SAIGLOS GET YOUR BLOODY CAT OFF ME!”

“Brakus you’re supposed to be a hunter, therefore taming wild creatures is supposed to be your speciality.”
Saiglos held out a large slab of meat and at once Grimfang jumped to his side, leaped at the meat and landed in a crumpled heap against the wall, steak in jaws. Shaking his head and smiling he indicated to one of the place settings and Izmae seated herself, and began ravenously eating. Minutes passed by in silence and at last the three could only pick at the remains.

“So, you gonna tell us your name then lass? Or are we left guessing it?”

She looked up from her plate; neither was paying particular attention, finished with their food. “Izmae” she finally managed “I’m a Paladin of the Stormwind Cathedral…” She stopped as the room went silent, and looking up both were staring at her. “What?” she questioned.

“Ye mother, was she a priest by chance?” asked the dwarf, attempting to be subtle in his questioning.

“Yes, she left when I was a child to fight the rebelling horde and the scourge threat in Lordaeron. She never came back.”

“What of your father Izmae, where is he now?” asked Saiglos.

A lump rising in her throat she opened and closed her mouth before giving her final answer; “My father left me many years ago. I don’t know nor do I care what he is doing now.” With a clatter she dropped her fork and rose from the table and simply said “I’m tired” before collapsing onto the bed.

* * *

Looking over at the bed the two adventurers sat in silence before the fire. The young paladin was sleeping, but restlessly; she kept muttering and crying, and Brakus began to get restless.

“Couldn’t we wake her? It’s almost cruel to see the lass like this”

“No. She’s been too many days without proper sleep. Whatever her dreams are filled with, to wake her now would be dangerous.”

“Do you think she is Jex’s daughter?”

“I think it’s likely.” It was odd to see the elf so serious and deep in thought. “As for her father, I can’t tell whether her anger for him is based on his leaving her as a child or on darker knowledge that we possess.”

“There was an incident in Stormwind, bastard had been hiding the flaming keep of all places!” He shuddered “He must have some dark powers in him to hide that lot just streets away from the Cathedral. She would have been around then; paladins take years to train.”

“Mmm.”

Following the elf’s eyes he looked over at Izmae, lying in a cold sweat; she was muttering again, and all of a sudden her hands glowed for a second. Keeping his gaze he watched, and soon it happened again.

“What’s she doing?”

Saiglos stared instead into the flickering flames in the hearth. After a long pause he sighed. “She’s trying to heal them.”

[Izmae]

Chapter Four;

“Duthorian”

A light breeze fluttered once more past the veil of curtain at the bedroom window, and light streamed in through the arched windows, marking the dawn with an eerie glow. Archbishop Benedictus moved through the room, eyes settling again on the figure sleeping with his head in one arm, the other hanging loose with fingers slack around the handle of a large mace. With a rattling sigh the old man moved closer, and placed his hand on the shoulder of his sleeping companion. Duthorian Rall roused with a start, and relaxed at the sight of the man in front of him. The archbishop sat down beside him.

“How is she?” He sounded tired. His aged eyes travelled across to where Izmae lay, feverish, in her bed.

“She wakes little. More of her mutterings are comprehensible when she sleeps than when she is conscious.”

“What of Laurena’s examinations?”

“The High Priestess says she is wandering, somewhere between this world and that of the spirits, just endlessly wandering through the ruins of the plaguelands; Stratholme, Darrowshire, Andorhol…”

“The shadow those foul trolls cast is with her still then. Laurena has told me some of the phrases that the girl repeats and frankly it disturbs me.”

“The High Priestess has said she will wake in time, like any fever this will pass with our aid.”

“There is one phrase that intrigues me, I wonder if you know why?”

Duthorian looked at the wizened archbishop in confusion. He seemed wearier than usual, wearier than even before he had taken his trip to the elven city of Darnassus; the very lines across his face appeared deeper and the blue in his eyes had faded to a more timid shade of grey. Even his voice sounded exhausted;

“'Blightcaller… She has her champion; Blightcaller.' Do you understand what significance this holds?”

“I know nothing of this Blightcaller, what of it?”

“If such is the case then I have said too much already, this runs deeper than we realise. I must wake her; Highlord Bolvar will have need of her assistance.”

“Archbishop, she is lying in a fever; she talks gibberish in her sleep and she wanders still with spirits of both innocence and evil!”

He met Duthorian's eyes. “You said yourself she will wake in time.”

“Yes but not to run errands for the Highlord the moment she awakes! I don’t care what kind of political game you’re playing with this Benedictus but she’s still just a child! To be viewing the carnage - “

The archbishop rose up to his full height and in a moment it was clear why he still held such influence in elite circles. His voice was no longer rattling, his body no longer frail, his fists clenched over an increasingly bright glow and his grey eyes flared with an intense blue fire.

“Young man, do not think to assume I care nothing for this girl’s mental and physical state. And do not forget your place; I do not play games of politics and especially not with those from my own cathedral. I summon her not to punish or test, but for reasons that I need not explain to you or anyone else.”

“I…I’m sorry Archbishop, I forget myself.”

Benedictus sighed and sat down again. “Do not allow your emotions to cloud your vision in this Duthorian; I know you think very highly of her. This matter however is more serious than you realise.”

“I should have understood that Archbishop. It is hard to send her into danger again…she’s still so young, it is like sending my own daughter.”

Benedictus nodded gravely “Enough young blood has been spilt in Lordaeron. Neither I nor the Light itself will allow more to be spilt across that plagued land.”

“Very well. You wish to wake her now?”

Nodding, he was led across the room and knelt by Izmae’s side. Placing a hand on her forehead he closed his eyes.

* * *

She was in Darrowshire today. The whole town was smouldering, and whatever was left of the helpless occupants was currently being consumed by creatures of unending hunger and bloodthirst. Izmae walked through the scene in silence now, she had given up trying to do anything; it was always useless. She walked up to the house on the top of the hill, it was Pamela’s house; that little girl was the only company she had in these dreams. As she sat the scene in front of her aged with time, the remainder of the fire crumbled into ash and was blown away with the wind. She felt more than saw Pamela walking towards the crumbling brick she was leaning against.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

Izmae adopted an expression half way between a smile and a grimace. “If you’re here to barter for my soul again Sylvanas you’re wasting your time.”

“I thought I already had it.”

Confused at the male voice she heard Izmae turned and standing beside Pamela was not who she had expected. “Archbishop? What are you doing here?”

“I think I should be asking you that, and more importantly why you were expecting the Banshee Queen.”

“She found me here.” She held a look of the utmost disgust.

The Archbishop held a gaze of alarm, and knelt down beside her. “What did she ask of you?”

“She has no need of me…Blightcaller; she has her champion…Blightcaller.” After a moments silence she looked at the man beside her “Don’t worry Archbishop, I haven’t sold my soul to the Banshee today.”

“Then why do you linger here?”

“I don’t know, I can’t seem to leave them.” Her eyes wandered across to where Pamela was now lying in the dry smouldering grass, careless as a living child. In that image the visions began to come again; she saw husbands, wives, children, grandparents all living happily together, going about their daily business. A tear fell as she thought of the horrors to come, and she simply stared; unable to think, unable to act to help them.

“Come with me.” Izmae did not move; she did not take her eyes off the ghostly people walking around her.

“Izmae you know there is nothing but death here, this happened a long time ago. There is nothing you can do for them.”

“I know.”

“But there is something you can do for others, the ones that still live.”

She peeled her eyes away at last to look at the Archbishop. He held her gaze intently and urged her towards him “You can do nothing here; you are living in a world of nightmares. Come with me; don’t look back.”

He pulled her forwards, away from the sounds of the warning bells and the last cries of “To arms!” that this village would ever hear. He watched as legions of undead surged forward in a tireless wave, and then turned away to lead Izmae back to the waking world.

* * *

Even when fully awake, Izmae felt as though she were still dreaming. The world seemed to rush on past her, unaware of the real troubles of the wider world. When she had eaten and gathered some strength she had been sent straight to Weller’s Arsenal to collect the new plate armour that had been crafted for her on orders from her mentors. On entering she recognised a face sitting in the corner, examining different swords. Woo Ping, her old weapons trainer greeted her with a warm embrace and led her towards the counter.

“Here you go, Lightforge Plate. This is expensive armour; your masters must have a hard fight ahead for you.”

“Don’t they always.” She whispered as she examined the dark gold coloured metal.

“You can change into it now if you like, use the room upstairs. Then when you come down I have another present for you.” He had a boyish grin on his face, and with a smile she carried her equipment upstairs. He always had a habit of doing that; getting her excited about the task when her mind was so obviously on something else. It took her a while to completely outfit herself in her new armour, but when she was finished she looked down in satisfaction; at last she looked like a real fighter. When she came downstairs her eyes fell immediately on the counter where a large spiked mace lay; gleaming dark gold to match her armour, but with an ethereal blue glow on the head. The wisps of icy smoke swirled endlessly around the hammer, and for quite a time she was speechless.

“An adventurer brought it in a few weeks ago, I knew I would find a good home for it and as its you I had the head enchanted with an icy chill. It should slow a few things down, if you don’t impale them first.”

As she looked at him in wonder he held that same grin once more and she couldn’t help but smile. She left the shop in much higher spirits than she had upon entering it, and made her way across the square in the direction of the Stormwind keep; she had been summoned to a meeting chaired by no less than Highlord Bolvar himself. As she did so she noticed the Captain of the Guard, Melris Malagan and the Stormwind Recruiter, Justine Demalier scanning the crowd and debating quietly with each other. It was odd to see them appear so selective with their choices; citizens under the protection of Stormwind were under attack from all sides, and so recently the Guard had been recruiting anyone with two legs and a sword hand.

It seemed someone had caught their eye and out of curiosity she lingered to listen in on the conversation. Demalier was pointing to a fierce looking woman in the crowd.

“That one Malagan, I know her; Dependable, brave and trustworthy. Kahlan is her name.”

“Kahlan…Kahlan…where have I heard that name before?” the Captain scratched his chin. Izmae smiled as she remembered the name all too well.

“She’s a paladin, went on the operation to that ogre place, Dire Maul a while back. Things turned a bit nasty and the group got cornered near the exit. Turns out she’d “acquired” some peculiar liquor called Molasses Firewater from somewhere in the place. She threw it at a guard holding a flame torch; blew him to high heaven! The group all got out ok, but command back home didn’t like her stealing and drinking on assignment.”

“Blazes yes, I remember. Bloody generals had my neck in a vice for weeks after that. Still, the Highlord said he wanted muscle… Oi! Kahlan, Come 'ere. Highlord Bolvar Fordragon has requested that all able bodied heroes o' the alliance meet with him at Stormwind Keep. You just been recruited, mate! Get a move on!”

Izmae moved on, more intrigued about the Highlord’s meeting than before. As she reached the entrance to the keep the royal guard stopped her. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word she heard a voice behind her.

“So which one of you wants to explain to your high arsed commander why there’s nobody attending his meeting because the two dumbass guards he posted at the entrance won’t let anyone in?”

The guards stared in stunned silence. “I…uh, we…”

“Guarding the King of Stormwind and they can’t even string a sentence together! I can see why you idiots aren’t on the front line.” Indicating that Izmae should follow Kahlan pushed her way past the astonished men and began stalking up the long hallway towards the main hall.

“Dumbass” she muttered darkly.

Izmae couldn’t help but smile at the comment; she’d only ever seen Kahlan once before but her trademark insult was notorious in the Cathedral. Noticing her obvious amusement Kahlan turned to her “It’s good to see you up and about at last, Izmae is it? Would’ve been sooner if they’d have listened to me; some of this stuff in your system would have done the job fine…” Looking over she saw her withdraw a flask from her belt. From the indicating marks on the flask she guessed it was taken from the Bloodsail Buccaneers, and so was most likely an extremely volatile rum.

The two women emerged into the main hall and kneeled at the sight of the child King, Anduin Wrynn. Highlord Bolvar Fordragon nodded to them; Lady Katrana Prestor merely gave them a snide glance. Upon rising Izmae looked around the room, and was surprised when she recognised some faces. Saiglos and Brakus leaned casually against the wall, and both smiled to her as she walked towards them. Before they had a chance to exchange greetings the Highlord silenced them all.

“I have little time so I will make this short. Mathias Shaw of SI:7 has been investigating into the disappearance of Nathanos Marris, the first and last of the human ranger lords; a disciple of Sylvanas Windrunner, now the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken.”

Izmae had heard of Nathanos, he was assumed dead five years ago after fighting in Lordaeron, where her mother had been. She had seen him fighting there, in her dreams these past few weeks; she knew he was dead.

“SI:7 have requested that I send operatives of high quality to continue the investigation of this case in light of new information found. Are there any here who will take on this task?”

“We need not all of them, not yet anyway.” A small pinky-reddish-haired gnome emerged from a shadow of the room Izmae had not noticed before. Despite her small stature the sharp daggers at her hips reminded all that this young woman had talents of a questionable but dangerous manner. “Shaw has assigned a small reconnaissance mission to the Eastern Plaguelands, which so far has yielded few results. It would appear we need more…expertise in this particular field.”

“I remind you all that this is not to be taken lightly. Agents have already been killed working on this case; a new threat has risen in these lands…”

Without thinking Izmae spoke “She has her champion; Blightcaller.” With a start she looked around. Everyone was looking at her. The Highlord held her gaze for a moment, and then nodded slowly, in recognition of previous conversations with members of the Cathedral.

“I believe you have your expertise Chimsie.”

“A paladin hmm? Have you ever been to the Plaguelands before?”

“Whether or not she’s been before doesn’t matter, funny enough paladins spend quite a lot of their time studying the Forsaken. What with them being enemies of the Light they have popped up a few times in the past so I would have thought that would be enough for you.” Kahlan had moved to her side and was staring fiercely at the little gnome. “Which means I’m coming too.”

Chimsie opened her mouth to retaliate but decided against it. “Follow me.” She headed towards the exit, and upon leaving Izmae heard the words of the Highlord speaking to Saiglos and Brakus.

“Thank you for coming, I would not dismiss this as a simple missing person…there is more at work here, much more. I will have need of the Night Sentinels before this time is through. I will contact you when I know more. Oh, and give my best to Kaul and Varkas…”

They caught Shaw on his way around the SI:7 buildings, after greeting Chimsie and looking the two paladins over he hurriedly told them the details of the assignment.

“Five of my best field agents were assigned the Marris case. One returned, only to end up dead in his sleep three days later. What little information we did manage to get out of him was incoherent gibberish. We made out two words: ‘Nathanos,’ and ‘Blightcaller.’ The only information we have thus far is that Nathanos Marris may have been slain by this Blightcaller. We assume this is the same fiend that disposed of my agents.

Flint Shadowmore, another SI:7 operative, is stationed at the Alliance encampment of Chillwind Point in the Western Plaguelands. Seek him out; he will debrief you on the current situation in the Plagues and give you an assignment. Dismissed.”

And just like that they were away, flying on gryphons heading north towards Lordaeron. As they flew past the glittering ruins of Dalaran and over the peaks of the Alterac Mountains the landscape grew slowly more sinister. The rich green of the fields darkened to nauseating shades of brown and purple; clear signs of the presence of the Forsaken undead. Studying the ground from such a height was like watching the land itself ebbing towards death.

The gryphons left as soon as their passengers were safely unloaded, and the three women were pointed in the direction of Flint Shadowmore. He did not say much, the same information that Shaw had given them back in Stormwind. They turned to leave, but as they did so he called them back. Swallowing hard his voice came out strained and full of sorrow.

“You should look out for information about our missing operatives. We have to assume that they are dead and if they are dead, they must have a corpse... somewhere…All SI:7 agents carry this insignia, if you find any…”

Chimsie placed her hand on his arm and nodded. Returning the gesture he stood and walked back towards Chillwind Camp. Without a word Chimsie started walking, heading off the path and into the dark forest towards the east. Izmae followed without speaking, still taking in all that she had seen in her dreams. It was an odd feeling to be recognising everything without ever having been there before. Kahlan seemed content to do the same, occasionally taking a swig from the flask at her hip. It was getting darker, if that was at all possible in lands such as these, and Izmae sensed creatures of great evil all around her. She felt their sorrow, their anger and most of all their hunger. After a long while walking Chimsie stopped and looked around.

“So where would you ‘experts’ suggest we start looking, the ruined villages? As Nathanos was said to have died fighting then that would be the logical place to look for his remains, would you agree?”

Kahlan responded “First prize for observation skills! Dumbass…Well the closest place to look would be Darrowshire –“

“It’s this way.” replied Izmae, and she headed off in the opposite direction.

Chimsie was the first to catch up “But there are no settlements this way, only wastelands.”

“You said you wanted my help.”

They questioned her further but she did not answer, and soon they gave up and simply followed. Within half an hour she caught sight of a small house on top of a hill, and her stomach jumped halfway to her throat. She had seen it all happen here. They had fought all across these lands, but this is where it had happened. The first and the last human ranger lord was cut down just like so many others by this very house. She could see barely anything now, the sun had set at last; the only light came from the glow on Izmae's hammer. Small flames highlighted the ruined house; a poignant echo of times past.

“There?” questioned Kahlan.

Izmae nodded, and all three took hold of their weapons to move more cautiously towards the house. Chimsie made no noise as she removed her daggers from their sheathes and stalked silently into the darkness with swift ease. When Izmae and Kahlan caught up they were at the base of the hill, and both jumped slightly when the dark-clad gnome stopped them. In barely a whisper she pulled them close and spoke.

“I found these,” They could just make out three SI:7 insignias in her gloved hands “I haven’t been any closer to the house, but I think we should proceed with – “

Izmae stopped her. She could sense him; Blightcaller. Kahlan felt it too. They looked up at the house and through the branches of a mangled shrub they saw a figure emerge from the house, flanked by two beasts...

[Izmae]

...
“Dogs,” murmured Chimsie “We need to move up-wind, or they will sense us before long.”

She began carefully moving towards the other side of the hill, and Kahlan began to follow, but Izmae did not move.

“Iz, come on!” hissed Kahlan “We have to go!”

The words did not even enter Izmae’s ears, she simply stared up at the man she had seen fighting, the man she had seen dying. The images replayed in her head; she saw him running up the hill, turning, ready to make his final stand…this could not be…it just couldn’t be him.

Chimsie returned to her side to try to force her away, but she was frozen stiff. Sylvanas’s words were in her mind again “I have my champion…Blightcaller”. His head moved around in suspicion, he sensed...something. With a grimace she saw once more the foul creatures of the Scourge tear through his gut, his screams silenced in mere seconds. Chimsie’s face was one of both exasperation and fear “What are you looking at?!”

In one instant all feeling left her body. As the dark chasms of his eyes at last found her own, the putrid flesh around his mouth formed into a smile.

“Blightcaller. Nathanos Blightcaller.”

[Izmae]

Chapter five;

In that instant her mind emptied. For so long she had not been able to clear her head of the things she had seen over the past few years, both her own memories…and those of hundreds of others. She told herself they were just dreams; every time she saw a face she convinced herself it wasn’t real. This was real. The hollow of a man she saw in front of her was the very same that the Queen of the Forsaken, the banshee Sylvanas had taken as her champion. She became suddenly aware that the two hounds that had stood at his side but a second ago were now circling them. A faint green was emanating from their bodies; remnants of the unholy magic from which all undead draw their endless life, their endless hunger.

“The little paladin has returned then.” Blightcaller’s head was inclined to one side, a mocking grin on the remains of his face.

“I’ve never been here before.” She replied, not believing even herself anymore.

“Oh but you have…she had high hopes for you, you know; impressionable little paladin with ages of dark visions in her mind. A perfect nest for the seeds of power.”

“The seeds of power? You waste your words traitor, you will not corrupt me.”

“Ah that’s right, I forgot quite how noble Duthorian’s little maggots turned out. It is a shame; your father will be so disappointed in you.” He sneered at her.

“What are you talking about?” she hissed.

“He worked for years below the city, every intricate detail planned. He was even able to visit the Dark Lady herself, in the Undercity. It’s the first time anything remotely living has been able to enter the city without being consumed since your kind lived there.” He looked down at her with utter disgust.

“Well his plan failed. The people down there were freed.”

Blightcaller’s smile was full of malice “And your father? Wait I know this one…he got away didn’t he? How convenient…”

She turned but the hounds were encircling them still, her and Kahlan…she couldn’t see Chimsie anywhere. “I heard you rushed in and slaughtered everything in sight, what on earth made you stop at your father hmm? He’s got more shadow in his heart than any of those depraved acolytes.”

She heard his laughter as every way was blocked, and she was forced to face him once more. Staring hard he finally spoke.

“I know you feel it. Inside of you…calling. You think your imbecile of a father spent years planning just to have you storm in and destroy it all? That was never his intention you dim-witted cretin!”

Unintentionally her hand had moved to her chest, the very spot that a scar had always tormented her.

“You remember it even without thinking! Why are the living so unbelievably stupid? You block that blade out of your mind so much you didn’t even recognise it!” He laughed again, and it echoed through her as memories resurfaced, memories she had tried so very hard to banish.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why your perception of shadow magic became pronounced?”

She knew why, she knew exactly why. It was so clear; the blade was the same, the one in Stormwind, the one in Stranglethorn.

“…Why even the mighty High Priests of Stormwind couldn’t banish the dreams from you?”

She put her hands on her head and hissed “Stop it”

“…Why those fools at the Cathedral kept you safely within reach all these years?”

“You’re lying” she said in a barely audible whisper.

“Well I’ll tell you; because the very Shadow they pledged themselves to destroy is inside of you. And to think, all it took was a visit from daddy to put it there…”

Kahlan stepped between them “Stop tormenting her.” Her hand was gripped around the handle of her weapon, ready to strike. He knocked her aside and in one swift movement had Izmae by the throat. She felt the Primeval Shadow inside of her stronger than ever; its familiarity, the darkness that had been there ever since her father had first pierced her skin with the cursed blade. It was the part of her that rejected contact with anyone, the part of her that killed the “evil” of the world without thought, and the part of her that relished every second of it.

“Stop resisting. There was another like you; one who would do anything to save his world, one who would do anything for a taste of the power lying dormant within him. Only we can unleash it.”

The words came choked out of her mouth “I won’t help you or your witch fight your battles you bastard, you’ll have to kill me first.” His grip on her neck tightened, she could no longer draw even the slightest breath. She kicked out at his face and he threw her to the ground. Again he was smiling.

“In the words of the scourge scum Arthas; death is only the beginning.”

As he moved toward her it was all she could do to draw air in through her hollowed throat, but she managed to gasp out a few biting words; “I hope he makes you burn in hell.”

In a swift movement Chimsie moved from the shadows behind Blightcaller and thrust her daggers in calculated movements. Before even the hounds could realise what had happened the small gnome gripped her hand and dragged Izmae to her feet, with surprising strength for someone so small. Glancing back at the undead ranger she saw he was staggering mindlessly with one hand on his head and the other on his stomach. Kahlan lashed out at one hound and unbalanced it, the other, realising the escapees, was suddenly alert and began bolting towards them. As the three met they all began running as fast as their legs would carry them, they could already hear the hound approaching fast behind them. As it reached them they were forced to stop and fend off its lacerating attacks. Even as the hound began to weaken they could see Blightcaller in the distance, regaining awareness and searching the landscape for his captives.

“We haven’t got time for this!” Chimsie cried out in exasperation, as the ranger caught sight of them and moved as quick as his decaying body would carry him, at the same time stringing his bow with black tipped arrows.

As they tried to move backwards, away from danger they heard familiar sounds from behind them; that of a horse, and its strong hooves pounding against the hardened earth. Duthorian Rall reigned in his horse beside them and warded the hound away with a long sword that she had not seen before. Looking back again at the house she saw that not only was Blightcaller fast approaching, but his two hounds were rejoining his side for a full frontal attack. Duthorian swung his sword and paced his horse from side to side in front of them.

“Go” he simply said.

“Duthorian we’re not leaving you here!” Izmae cried out to him.

“Go now or I’ll cleave your head from your body myself!” he barked back. Looking at Kahlan he nodded, and she returned it before taking hold of Izmae’s arms and forcing her away. After a few moments resisting she allowed herself to be led. She looked back and saw almost in slow motion as the flurry of undeath beat down upon him from all sides. She had never seen him in battle armour before; it was odd to see it so clean and gleaming, yet still scratched and worn with decades of fighting experience. The hounds had reached him first and were trying in vain to fell his horse. With this distraction Blightcaller had moved past the fight and was searching the darkness for their figures. Fortunately the only light from the three came from the emanating blue glow on Izmae’s hammer; quickly hidden. As they reached a clump of thick shrubs concealing a ditch Chimsie guided them down, where they stopped to catch their breath and observe the scene from a safer position. The small gnome pulled out an odd looking device, and began looking through it towards the house.

“The horse is down.” She said, and a fear gripped Izmae’s still throbbing throat. “Don’t worry just yet, he’s coming.”

“What about Blightcaller?”

“I don’t see him, if we’re lucky the darkness may have saved us.”

They heard heavy breathing, and staggered running in their direction. Izmae strained her eyes through the darkness and through the thick branches of the shrubs saw a figure in light coloured armour almost right next to them. Relieved she was about to call out to him, but in that instant she heard a slight whistle as something flew through the air, and the breathing stopped. With nothing but a pain-felt hiss Duthorian fell at their side, his eyes closed and a dark light emanating from the arrow at his side.

[Izmae]

Chapter six;

Izmae stared at the wall of her stone covered room in the living quarters of Stormwind Cathedral. Duthorian had been ill for days now. She had not seen him since they had returned to the city close to dawn after their encounter with Blightcaller in the Plaguelands. In fact she had spent most of her time inside her room, which was fast beginning to feel like her cell. Kahlan had been to visit her a few times, to bring her meals (and the odd flask of rum). They talked little; Kahlan seemed reluctant to talk about what Blightcaller had said. The Archbishop had visited once; he looked colder towards her than she had ever seen him. She asked him many questions, and in return she received few, cryptic answers.

According to him she had spawned a “corruption” within herself after the incident with her father that the Light had not been able to cleanse. Some, Duthorian among them had supported her continued training with the reasoning that her pronounced skills at detecting shadow would be useful to them. “Others” he said “wished to follow…a different course of action” These words chilled her to the bone and far from answering her questions poured more into her mind. He talked little of anything else, and when she asked when she would be able to leave the Cathedral his response was simply; “The situation has changed. A new threat is now posed…you will remain here until a viable solution can be found” and with that he swept from the room.

Her dreams had been different lately. She still visited the Plaguelands, but each time she went she felt a presence, a familiar one that most certainly should not be there. It was through this that she knew Duthorian was still ill; the dark arrow that had pierced his skin that night had released a shadowy poison into his blood. It was fast and potent, and more worrying than that the shadow in him grew with each day it flowed through his veins. She had to see him. She needed to see if anything could be done. It could not be allowed to corrupt him; if it did he would become one of them, and that would be another of their great defenders succumbed to corruption. She vowed she would not let that happen, he wouldn’t wish that on himself, not ever.

A voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her head to overhear the conversation outside her room.

“Can I help you?” It was the Archbishop.

“Archbishop, I have been sent here to escort the paladin Izmae to the keep; she is summoned to an audience with Highlord Bolvar Fordragon.”

“The one you speak of is not available at the moment; you will relay my personal regrets to the Highlord… Is there something wrong with your ears man?”

“Forgive my impudence Archbishop, but my orders are to retrieve her at once…erm, through any means necessary.”

“Young man if you are planning on wrenching the doors of this Cathedral open to the personal whims of the Highlord by force you had better come back with more than just a sword and shield!”

Her blood reaching boiling point, she opened the door to meet the bitter face of the Archbishop. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Return to your quarters at once!”

“Archbishop I am neither incompetent nor deaf; I’m sure the Highlord would appreciate us indulging his ‘personal whims’ for once.”

She stalked off, trailed by the guard and leaving behind a stare of cold fury. After a short while the young man quickened his pace to catch up with her. “I’m sorry you got caught up with that.” She said to him sheepishly.

“You think that’s bad you should try talking to the nobles; they think there’s some kind of conspiracy against them every time the Highlord calls an audience without all of them there.”

She smiled “Why does that not surprise me?” The smile was brief, and her face soon faded to the familiar expressionless features.

“Well whatever the Archbishop thinks I happen to know the Highlord thinks highly of you; he made it clear you were to be at this meeting, no matter what.”

She opened her mouth but found nothing to say. He glanced over at her, and she could smell a strong earthiness coming from him.

“I don’t believe rumour, especially not that which flows through this city, but I have served under Fordragon long enough to know that he is a good judge of character. I would not doubt him or his word for an instant.”

“You’re sweet, but there’s more to it than that…it’s complicated.”

She looked at him; they were the same age and yet he seemed so youthful, so full of hope and promise; she felt aged in his presence. She sensed in him a great respect for the world. As a trainee she was taught that paladins must always try to further their connection with the universe in all its being. There were those that had a natural devotion and compassion that made their connection strong even without the proper training. She sensed such a connection in him.

“What’s your name?” She asked him.

“Tristus”

“You would make a good paladin Tristus.”

He grinned at her. “Thanks, but I’ve already found my calling.”

She considered this. As they entered the keep and began walking up the long hallway to the central room she noticed that his armour was different to that of the other guards; it was chainmail. She caught the scent of earth again and put the pieces together.

“You’re a scout aren’t you?”

“One of many in employ of the King” He stated proudly.

As they approached the Highlord they both bowed before him and Tristus shot her a quick grin before heading back down the corridor.

“Izmae, I’m glad to see you well.” The Highlord greeted her.

“Thank you Highlord”

She heard a hint of a sneer. Looking up she saw Lady Katrana Prestor looking down at her in detest. The Highlord looked across at her sternly and very politely said “Lady Prestor I believe his Majesty might like a walk in the park today, take him to see the Captain of the Guard to arrange a safe visit.”

She shot him a poisonous glance before leading the young King towards the Captain of the Guard’s station. He took a moment before addressing the room.

“All here know of the situation in the Plaguelands.” He looked around at each of the people present. “Nathanos Marris is no more. He has become an agent of the Forsaken. He has therefore become our enemy. I know many of you have heard of his deeds, and indeed some have been lucky enough to have served with him. That is why he cannot be allowed to survive like this.

As this matter is of a delicate manner I have decided it best to share this information with as few people as possible, to have the abomination Marris has become killed swiftly. The Night Sentinels have served me well throughout the years, I do not doubt the dedication of any in this room. I entrust this task to you Brakus.”

Feeling surprise at the familiar name she looked around at the faces surrounding her. With even more surprise she found she recognised more than one face; Brakus stood beside Saiglos, this time without Grimfang, beside him stood Chimsie who nodded slightly as she noticed Izmae’s glance. Kahlan was also there, and others included two elves, both with white hair and one with a short beard and a human mage with a very noticeably shiny, bald head. Another elf stood beside the mage, clad in thick plate armour. The Highlord’s words brought her attention back to the centre of the room.

“Izmae, I understand Duthorian’s condition has not improved, and I can’t say I understand what you are feeling at the moment but I believe your skills would be useful in this mission. There are many among those here today that agree with me.”

“Sir, I appreciate the diplomacy in your approach but understand just how much Duthorian means to me; if it would solve anything I would go after Blightcaller alone, just to have the pleasure of cracking the bones in his neck myself.”

“I told you she was stubborn.” Came a voice from behind her. Looking back she saw Saiglos with an annoyingly warm grin on his face.

“Aye, aye we figured that one out. I think a good old fashioned raid might do the job though.” Replied Brakus.

The tall elf in heavy armour stepped forward “I think you might be right, he’ll be expecting retaliation. Horde stationed across Lordaeron will be arriving with each hour we spend talking about this.”

“Well you know Varkas” the bald mage piped up “if we’re going after him you’re going to need to find a shield.”

“A SHIELD?? What do I need a stupid SHIELD for? What use is a SHIELD going to be when I’m hacking his head to pieces with this?” He held up his weapon “Kaul you talk some rubbish sometimes… find a shield…stupid mage”

“Well don’t come crying to me when your stupid stick of metal fails to protect your crappy arse, I’m not a healer unless you want a fireball to clear the space in your head for a BRAIN.”

“Hey I don’t need any stupid mage to heal me, that’s-“

“That’s your job!” interrupted Kahlan rather hastily “Well, our job. He can’t beat us if we heal better than they do.”

“You with us lass?” Asked Brakus.

“I’m with you.” She replied.

“Good! Then we need to fly to Light Hope’s Chapel as soon as possible. Gather up anything else you need and collect the rest of the Sentinels. There’s enough of us in the city to get going on this now. Meet in the Plaguelands and we’ll begin the strategy planning once enough of us are there. Dismissed!”

They all began to head towards the exit, Chimsie tripping Brakus on the way out, causing him to stagger, and Kaul and Varkas still arguing about a warrior’s need for a shield. As she thought of heading back to the Cathedral for her armour her mind wandered back to Duthorian, and she felt a surge of great pain and despair. Feeling an emotion of such magnitude and sorrow from across the city brought a tear to her eye. Her mentor was the closest thing to a father she had had for the past number of years; she couldn’t bear to feel his soul tortured.

“You ok?” Saiglos was walking beside her. She paused as they reached the bridge heading towards the Cathedral district.

“Yes. There’s…” She took a deep breath “There’s something I need to do first.”

“I’ll see you in Light’s Hope then.” He smiled encouragingly but she couldn’t bring herself to return it. As another battering of emotion fell upon her she quickened her pace and soon found herself in the Cathedral. Moving quietly she worked her way into Duthorian’s quarters, and dismissed the apprentice priest that was sitting in the room. He was lying on the bed in his nightshirt, tossing and slick with cold sweat. Her hands shaking she sat down beside him and reached over to touch his forehead. He awoke with a start and tightly gripped her wrist. The voice that came from his mouth was ethereal and chillingly familiar.

“I know you’re coming for me little paladin.” He sat up and with his free hand gripped her shoulder. Her hand started to go cold and prickly from lack of blood. “Duthorian please speak to me” She whispered.

“I’m here waiting for you. You think you got away from me that night? I’m going to personally consume the soul of every single person you’ve come into contact with.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks and her head fell against his. “They will all be slaughtered, then I shall raise each one of them as my minions, and they will become exactly like me, exactly like this old man. Exactly like us.”

Her body was shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and his hand slid to her neck. With her free right hand she pulled a small blade from her boot and blessed it.

“Duthorian, I’m so sorry.”

She struck the blade deep into his chest and jumped as the holy energy passed through her. Duthorian’s eyes were wide and pale, he convulsed to noises of painful choking, and for many seconds his grip on her did not loosen. He fell back onto the bed, breathing sporadically and she watched through blurred vision as the crimson stain at his chest spread swiftly.

“Duthorian” she whispered. “Duthorian I’m sorry…I couldn’t take it anymore I just couldn’t…”

The breathing stopped. With blood-drenched hands she reached out and held his face. “What have I done?”

For many minutes she sat with his head in her arms, until her throat was sore and retching. Standing she moved back several paces and then turned. Unaware of the stains she was leaving on the frame, she climbed through a window and moved silently through the backstreets of the city. She washed herself in the canal.

The waves of despair had stopped now. The presence had gone. Stormwind was as noisy as a city in festival time, and yet she heard nothing. All was silent now.

[Izmae]

Chapter Seven;

The wind whipping past her face did nothing to awaken Izmae from her thoughts. The gryphon she was riding beat its strong wings and she had to grip tightly as it rose to the heights of the city walls and over the treetops of Elwynn Forest. She looked back at the hive of people in the city behind her and saw the spires of the Cathedral glisten with beams of light. Swallowing hard she turned her back on a city that she’d hardly ever left; a place that would never again be her home.

The gryphon ride to Light Hope’s Chapel was a long one and so it gave her a lot of time to gather her thoughts. She passed over lands both cracked and burning, then over the wintry peaks surrounding Ironforge. By the time the green hills north of the Wetlands turned to dead and unholy ground she knew she was close. After flying for a while she acclimatised again to the feeling of shadow and undeath, and felt his presence. This time she would kill him; with the help of the Night Sentinels this time he would be destroyed forever. Never again would he claim another soul. She saw the chapel in the distance and took a deep breath. She was not surprised to feel the presence of light around it, but one presence in particular intrigued her. It was strong, very strong, and it seemed almost…familiar. Dusk was fast enveloping the land in darkness and quite suddenly her gryphon had become agitated. Izmae gripped tightly as the creature made a sudden lurch to the side and in a second she knew the motivation behind this; arrows were whistling through the air from beneath them. One of them pierced the gryphon’s wing. Seeing that it was not too embedded too deeply Izmae reached across and carefully pulled it out, and with a grudging fear she recognised the markings even in the growing darkness. The arrow was standard issue to those fighting under the banner of the Horde.

* * *

Jex had landed in Light Hope’s Chapel a few hours ago. Several days ago she had been in Darnassus consulting with the elves when the summons from Stormwind came. Knowing she wouldn’t arrive in time she decided to head straight to the Plaguelands in order to prepare for her guild’s arrival as best she could. The parting words of the Priests of Elune had disturbed her somewhat; they had said she must maintain a strong resolve in the face of sorrow for mourning would bring more death, more loss, more sorrow. She questioned them, but they simply ushered her away telling her simply to remember the words. She has always been suspicious of elven senses; they were acute in a way that it was not possible to describe.

Currently she was sitting with a few of the other officers from the Night Sentinels, some of her oldest and dearest friends. Far from enjoying the usual light-hearted atmosphere of their meetings, this one was filled with tension. Jex listened in silence as she was told of the news from Stormwind; it was all a lot of information to take in, and each one hit her with the strength of a pyroblast. Nathanos was Blightcaller?! She had served with him, long ago and now she would be against him. The death of Duthorian Rall, or as many believed the murder. Her throat caught at this as questions, suspicions and disbelief flooded her head. It was however the last piece of information that shocked her the most.

Archbishop Benedictus, suspecting the girl of murder had turned out Izmae from the church. She had “succumbed to darkness at last, as we all knew she would.” No longer would they train or protect her with the Light, and this meant she was free to see her at last, her daughter, and what’s more she was coming to fight with them. The time had come, she wondered if they would contact her soon…

Chimsie and Kahlan reassured her that she was not a minion of shadow, as the Archbishop would have everyone believe. As Kahlan began to mutter dark insults Jex interrupted her “Benedictus is not an unholy man, he’s merely protective of the faith which for many years we thought would be destroyed. His intentions, however fanatical they may seem are in essence noble.”

With a look of disbelief Kahlan snapped back, to no-one in particular, with the bite of sarcasm in her words “The Scarlet Crusade’s intentions are noble and they go around…”

“Kahlan you never cease to amaze me with your brutal honestly. Even when you’re in the very place where the Argent Dawn are trying to hold negotiations with the Scarlet Crusade…”

“Ok ok, I get the point.”

Smiling at them both Brakus looked down again at the plans on the table between them. “We all clear on our plans for this?”

Kaul replied “I still think you should give Varkas an extra healer, I mean he hasn’t even got a SHIELD…”

“How many times do I need to tell you this before it gets through your thick skull…?”

The argument that was doubtless coming was interrupted by shouts coming from outside. Standing, they were all suddenly very alert as they heard war drums beating across the land with a pounding intensity. Running outside they saw the flurry of people around them hurrying into their formations, and the captain of the Argent Dawn guard was barking orders to get the ambassadors from both the Dawn and the Crusade into the chapel. With the efficiency now natural to them, the Night Sentinels had organised themselves to prepare for the coming onslaught, and the officers had no trouble in finding their commands. Jex looked around to check on her scattered priests, Aphzael, Kharr and Munti were all here; they were always spread around to cover the entire grounds in order to heal wherever it was needed, as were the druids, Samael and Torsyg As she looked around she noted her comrades. Varkas had moved forward to join the other warriors on the front line; Kiril, Norenala, Arod…the paladins were just behind them, issuing quick blessings; Kahlan, Lheoric, Lightsoul…Sagittarius stood with Brakus and Saiglos behind them with the rest of the Hunters, rapidly stringing their bows. The rogues were also dotted around, and although difficult to spot she caught quick glimpses of Chimsie, Mugen and Yoku, all of them spreading poisons on their daggers. Behind were the spell casters, Kaul keeping them in line; she saw little Nimm, and the sibling warlocks Cim and Renmoore with freshly summoned voidwalkers in tow.

The captain now stood beside her, and as Brakus moved forward to address them all she whispered him a quick word “I thought the Dawn didn’t involve itself in matters against the Horde?”

He smiled “Anyone who mounts an assault against this chapel will face the full wrath. Besides, “he replied smiling “it would be an honour to fight by the sides of people who have done what the Sentinels have done for us.”

Returning the smile, they both turned towards Brakus who was now facing an approaching undead soldier. Silence rang out across the battlefield as the warrior spoke “My master Blightcaller wishes to offer you surrender, with the promise that your deaths will be swift.” The creature laughed with seemingly no fear. Brakus said nothing. He looked out across at the Horde in front of him, catching sight of Blightcaller’s smirk with the last threads of light from the disappearing sun. Turning back he let out a cry and with strength that only a dwarf could manage cut the soldier down with his axe. He stood in front of them all, looking back only briefly upon hearing Saiglos’ words “That’ll be a no then…”

Blightcaller was laughing. He motioned to an orc commander standing in the front lines, who nodded and raised his sword. With that the army in front of them screamed out battle cries, all raising their weapons in unison. Brakus raised his axe and shouted “For Night Sentinels!” before moving forward with the rest of the front line. Jex joined the rest of them as they shouted in reply and immediately her eyes were alert to all the people around her; there was no time to think of all she had learnt tonight, people were depending on her…she would mourn Duthorian later. As her eyes flickered from person to person, sensing their health her eyes were drawn up to the sky, as someone riding a gryphon was flying rather haphazardly to the gryphon station behind them. Someone had just been slashed in the leg…Kiril. Carefully avoiding the thick of the erupting fight around her she ran towards where she could sense the injured elf, now staggering slightly. Without fear she let out a psychic scream which sent the ambushing horde running in terror. Knowing she didn’t have long, Jex quickly sent pulses of healing light through the injured leg. Kiril jumped lightly to his feet, and after a quick smile to her was once again hacking Horde soldier after Horde soldier to pieces. Jex looked around again and sensed injured people in all directions, nothing fatal as yet. Whilst searching, the three Horde that she had banished so quickly with her psychic scream had recovered, and were making their way back towards her, weapons at the ready , and a vengeance that only an injury of pride could cause.

[Izmae]

Chapter eight;

The scene below her was rapidly getting closer as Izmae’s gryphon swerved to avoid arrows and spells. The enemy below her were of predominantly Forsaken undead, called by their queen to defend her champion, but she also caught sight of some orcs, and the occasional troll and tauren. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him here, Blightcaller. The gryphon master rapidly took the injured creature to the side once they had landed and Izmae was left to try to decipher the confusion that had unfolded. Mingled with the defenders of Light’s Hope Chapel she could see Night Sentinels, a good number of them too; it was fortunate enough of them had arrived in time. Calling a blessing she charged into the fray, meeting blades with the few bold Horde that had managed to penetrate this far through the Alliance line. Moving deeper and deeper she sensed the strong presence again, it was close. Looking around she finally found the source, it was a female priest, human, and draped in purple vestments of great power. Currently however and unknown to her, the priest had three large and very livid looking orcs approaching; all of them sporting thick armour and powerful weapons. Two voidwalkers swept past her in ghostly movements, heading towards the orcs, but they couldn’t possibly reach them in time. Izmae moved forward to stop them…she didn’t have to kill them by herself after all…she only had to delay them…she’d be ok, of course she would…

* * *

Jex sensed an Argent Dawn soldier nearby that had a head injury; she would need to move quickly. Fortunately the injured soldier was relatively close by. She prepared to channel the Light through to the soldier when instinct called on her soul to form a protective barrier around herself. Just as she did so the blade of a jagged axe sliced through the air and hit the shield with a muted thump, causing ripples in the energy holding it together. Turning she saw the three orcs returned, and grimacing she channelled not light but shadow magic through her fingertips. Within a few seconds she could feel her shield buckling and overwhelmed by the assault she moved backwards, uttering shadow words of pain as she went. It was to her surprise then that the ground below her began to almost breathe with holy power, veins of light appearing over the dry and dying ground and emanating a glow from her feet. Whereas the ethereal smoke was gliding around her with no effect, upon meeting the orcs it blazed with intensity and lashed into their wounds. With more confusion and irritation than actual pain the orcs turned to find the source of the consecrated ground, a paladin trailed closely by two shadowy voidwalkers. She could not see the paladin’s face, but fortunately enough, and quite commonly so in female fighters her superior skills in weapons was making up for her small stature and subsequent lack in strength. Remembering the injured soldier she was relieved when she sensed the elven healing of Aphzael coursing through his veins, renewing his strength with every second. Looking back to assist the paladin Jex found that she had in fact gone. The consecrated ground beneath her had stopped releasing its ethereal smoke and despite this the three orcs were being kept extremely busy. Two were in close combat with a voidwalker each and the third, far from the intimidating titan it had been but seconds ago was lying on the floor and twitching as bolts and curses of shadow coursed agony through his very being. The sound brought a lump to her throat and she quickly turned away. It wasn’t any kind of screaming, it wasn’t that at all. It was the deadening silence that she could feel even in the midst of battle that turned her stomach. She moved quickly, eager to get back to healing her friends, and away from painful memories.

* * *

The familiarity of the priest still nibbled at her mind, even as she fought the orcs alongside Cim and Renmoore. Then Izmae saw the abomination that Nathanos had become moving into the fray. Until now he had been seated behind the lines, lazily observing the conflict in front of him. Obviously unsatisfied that the Alliance line seemed to be pushing forward, he had begun to string his bow with the same dark arrows that she had seen before, and with that all other thoughts were gone. She would not let Duthorian’s death be in vain, she would not allow others to share his fate. Izmae began to run towards him, but he was quite a distance away and she was constantly met by seemingly endless Horde. It was too late, he had found his mark. Carefully he aligned the arrow to his target, and she had a sudden thought. Reaching to her belt she pulled out a small sphere and used the torch of a fallen soldier to light the small string protruding from it. With all the strength her small arms could manage she launched it across to where Blightcaller was standing. Upon landing the little bomb exploded with a bright flash, and the dark arrow was haphazardly shot into the ground. Patting out the small flames and sparks that had caught the rags of his clothing, Blightcaller looked up, enraged, to discover the culprit. Not wanting to become the next victim of his cursed arrows she used the distraction to push forward, in the process using another bomb to clear a path towards him. In the few seconds before their blades met, first their eyes locked; in his the hunger and insatiable fury that only a life of undeath can bring, and for one split second she pitied him, the creature he had become.

Ironically, at this point it began to rain, creating a scene as if from some epic battle forever idolised in ballads and bard’s tales. This was not such a battle. As the darkness and cold mingled with the coming storm it only served to brighten each burst of holy energy which she cast upon him. Around them the battle raged on, but here in this small circle all that mattered was him, killing him both as an act of vengeance and an act of compassion for what he had become. This was revenge, this was mercy, this was a vendetta, both a blessing and a curse. Time moved on with seamless fluidity and with each bite into her flesh that his axes took the skin was healed, the fractures of bone recast and she fought him again. Slowly, and without Izmae even realising a few Night Sentinels joined her, each playing their part as slowly but surely they ground him down. After hours the end came. Exhausted she administered the final blow, decapitating the creature, and at last setting the soul to rest. Looking around she saw with relief that few Horde were left standing, and within the hour it was all over. She sat in stony silence inside one of the makeshift tents the Sentinels had set up around Light Hope’s Chapel and considered all that had happened, or more accurately ran through it over and over in her head. It was still dark, but the dawn was coming soon. The temporary energy that had kept her fighting through the night was wearing off, and every muscle in her body was drained. The priest in purple robes had been watching her for a while, but she barely noticed, too tired to care. She jumped as the priest’s voice sounded next to her.

“You need to get some sleep.”

As this processed in Izmae’s fatigued mind the faint smell of peacebloom floated into her head. She frowned as parts of her subconscious dragged up old memories, old faces and she looked at the woman closely.

“Your questions will be answered, but now…It is time.”

“Time for what?”

“For you to speak with them. They say you are now ready.”

Her frown deepened in response to these cryptic answers, but she didn’t have the energy to resist as Jex gently laid down her head and her eyes started to droop. The campfire beside her blurred but it continued to lick and lash towards the night sky even as she closed her eyes and slipped into deep slumber.

* * *

O’ros was still located in the Seat of the Naaru, in the recently constructed city of Exodar. The little Draenei around the husk of the wing of the giant ship were still busy repairing and constructing. They had been on the planet a while, they’d decided to settle there after concluding the crashed ship could not be repaired. They didn’t know the full reason why this was the planet they’d descended upon, they didn’t need to know; they would learn in time. The human priestess Jex had contacted them recently, O’ros and the other Naaru still in contact. The paladin was ready to learn, ready to have her questions answered. This was fortunate, the time was near. O’ros sensed her, Izmae, she was sleeping. She was ready to be contacted. Concentrating the Naaru focused on the little human, calling on the others they entered her dream.

* * *

Izmae felt a presence, and soon two more joined it. Into her dream came bright light, but not blinding, it was soft to her eyes. She reached forward to touch it but found she no longer had a body, and whatever scene her mind had projected around her was gone. She was a presence basking in light all around her. The voice that came next changed her mind from the brief contented lull she had for a few seconds felt to something far more alert.

“Greetings. We apologise for intruding into your mind, but there is information that must be discussed.”

“Who are you?”

“We are the Naaru,” the being said. After a pause it continued. “We understand your mistrust, but please, allow us to show you.”

“Show me wha-“Izmae was cut off as images poured into her mind. She saw more of these beings, these Naaru; they had no real corporeal form, they were simply…light, in more ways than one. They held the same belief that those of the Church did, in the Light of Creation, and there was more. They wanted to create an army, an Army of the Light. One day, their army would bring down the Burning Legion once and for all. The Legion, led by Kil’Jaeden is a massive army of demons, infernals, and corrupted races who seek to destroy any trace of order in the universe. They have twice invaded Azeroth, and were only beaten back at a terrible cost, most recently by the destruction of the World Tree and subsequent loss of the Night Elves’ immortality. Bent on the genocide of billions, perhaps trillions of lives the Legion must be stopped, the Naaru have devoted themselves to the cause.

“Stop, stop. I need time to think through this…” Izmae said, her mind buzzing.

“O’ros you must remember their minds are small…”

“You are quite right, I forget myself. Do you understand thus far human?” O’ros asked her.

“I…yes I think so. I don’t understand what this has to do with me though. Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

“The time has come; soon the two worlds will once more collide. We need you to tell them, we need you to prepare them.”

“Tell who what?! I don’t understand what you’re asking of me!” More images poured into her mind. This time she saw people, elves, humans, dwarves, gnomes and another race. Their skin was blue and they had an interesting power over magic. Their name was the Draenei. Sargeras, the creator of the Burning Legion had tried to corrupt them, to use them for his own dark purposes, he had succeeded with some; Archimonde, Kil’Jaeden. The Draenei had fled. With the aid of the Naaru they had scaled the cosmos…and eventually, they had landed here.

“Wait, they’re here? Here as in, on our planet here?!”

“That is correct. They are on an island of your world. This is fortunate, you will require their help.”

“Require their help with what?”

O’ros paused in his explanations. “You recall the means by which the orcs first traveled into Azeroth from Draenor?”

“Yes…they were led by the orc warlock Ner’zhul, he was…”

“Tricked into making a blood pact with Kil’Jaeden…”

“Which is what drove the orcs to follow the Legion’s wishes in the first place.”

“Correct. The Legion’s puppet Ner’zhul opened many portals on Draenor, hoping to further their invasions to other worlds.”

“And the energies of these portals began to rip the world apart?”

“That is correct, hence the appearance of the orcs on your world.”

Izmae paused to consider this. “Why are you telling me all this? What significance does it have?”

“Your world is…no longer safe.”

“The portal?”

“It will soon be time. The portal was assumed destroyed, but the gateway through the Twisting Nether cannot be destroyed; the link remains.”

“But…why has there been no invasion through it then? If the link between Azeroth and Draenor still exists?”

“It is not…open, as such.”

“But it will be, won’t it?” There was a long silence as she thought about the implications. She remembered the Second War, she was only a child then but it was clear in her memory, and in the memories of the spirits she had seen in her horrible dreams. The massacres and horrors the world experienced were burned into everyone’s memory, the betrayal of Arthas, the destruction of Archimonde at Mount Hyjal. They had come so very close to complete annihilation, and she had a terrifying feeling that they were facing it again.

“There’s more. There is someone there human, power and imprisonment have driven him to insanity beyond saving. He serves the Legion still; he could rally the forces of Draenor. He must be stopped.”

“What do I need to do?”

“You must contact your world’s leaders, starting with Tyrande Whisperwind. You must gather your friends; you will need their assistance at every turn. You must find the Draenei, they can guide you and you them. You have been tested for this, you have proven yourself and you have developed the unique skills you will need. Your mother will guide you now.”

“Wait, my…” Realization finally struck Izmae like a mace blow to the head. More questions poured from her mouth but the Naaru did not listen.

“You have the information to continue paladin. The rest you must discover for yourself. May the Light be with you.”

One last image burst into her mind as the light around her suddenly flashed and blinded her and with that Izmae awoke with a start. Sitting bolt upright she found that it was broad daylight outside. It took her a while to adjust to reality again, but within seconds Jex had entered the tent.

“What did they tell you?” She asked in a hushed voice.

Izmae looked upon the face of her mother and found herself unable to speak.

“I know Izzy, I’ll explain everything to you soon, but you must tell me what they said.”

“The Dark Portal, it’s nearly time.”

With a morbid understanding Jex did nothing but nod. After a while she spoke “Then they spoke the truth. We need to prepare, we must travel to Nethergarde at once.”

“There’s more. There’s someone waiting, behind the portal in Draenor.”

“Who?”

“He’s taken the broken world as his own; the demons there follow him…so many of them.”

“Izzy, who?!”

Silent tears flowed down her cheeks as she felt the evil of what she had seen burning through her. The name rang clear into the silence;

“Illidan”

[Izmae]

Chapter 9;

The heat seared her skin; her heart pounded to the point of explosion, and everywhere around her people could do nothing but scream. It was different this time. She had the distinct feeling she was not even on Azeroth anymore. The destruction, the evil, the corruption was just as intense; in fact it was worse. This time she did not see wave upon wave of undead flooding through Lordaeron. This time she saw demons; of enchanted rock bursting with unholy fire, led by warlords and warlocks driven by an insatiable thirst for power. She saw orcs; ravenous for the glory of war and the liberation that only bringing death would give them. But in that same moment she also saw the seed that had been planted, years ago; it had festered. It had brought a proud and fiercely strong willed race to their knees before the demon that instilled their minds with the corruption of his blood. That was all it had taken for the Legion to amass their army bent on genocide, that was all that Sargeras had needed; to plant the seeds of evil.

The seed of evil…that brought back the other dream. She was in Stormwind again, the knife pierced her skin and she slipped into darkness. She could smell peacebloom, but it was not her mother, like she had thought. It was something else, something far more powerful. It told her…it was not yet her time…

Izmae awoke with a start. The bunks of the barracks in Nethergarde Keep were shrouded in darkness; it was still the very early hours of the morning. It didn’t bother her anymore; she was used to getting just a few hours of sleep. The past few days had been filled for every second and so it was only now the waiting had begun that the gravity of her situation sunk in. After the battle at Light’s Hope the officers of the Night Sentinels had held a meeting, at which she told them all she remembered of her exchange with the Naaru. The news had struck down any cheeriness that they had managed to accumulate after the victory, but she was surprised at the strength of will each of them displayed. The opening of the portal could happen at any time, so they decided to portal the mages to each of the major cities to dispense warnings. The reaction was likely to be slow; the gnomes still fought for control of Gnomeregan, the dwarves would be able to send some assistance but their real value was equipping an army; dwarvern smiths were undoubtedly the best in Azeroth, it was more an issue persuading them to collaborate their efforts with the other races. Stormwind’s forces were already spread across the continent as it was, amassing any kind of assistance would mean abandoning other fronts and even achieving that would be slowed by the Nobles. It was likely that the elves would be the most immediately helpful; this she had a deep set feeling of. The information that she had gathered from the Naaru was scattered to say the least but she had deciphered one thing for certain; Illidan Stormrage had once been an elf, and more than that he was Tyrande Whisperwind’s brother-in-law. Driven slowly power-hungry Illidan had driven away his beloved Tyrande and she had married his brother, Malfurion Stormrage. Much had happened to destroy their relationship with Illidan, but to say the least the part-demon elf was imprisoned for 10,000 years in a prison below Hyjal, consumed by his magic’s sway over him. In the last war against the Scourge and the Legion Tyrande freed him, in the hopes that he would assist her to defeat them. But it seems he remained unchanged, and he was banished to Outland. There he had been waiting.

Soon his wait would be over.

Izmae walked outside, now fully dressed in her armour, into the cold early morning air. Nethergarde Keep was an outpost of Dalaran; they had established it to watch over the portal, so they were not surprised when she had told them what was approaching, merely steeled to the fight ahead. It seemed the mages of Dalaran had been sensing demonic activity slowly building for some time, the Twisting Nether had felt different to the few warlocks that the mages were in contact with; this explained why. Many of the Night Sentinels had arrived here before her; Kaul had portalled her to Dalaran, Nimm had gone to Ironforge, Enifesoj to Stormwind and after visiting Dalaran they met Jex in Southshore where Izmae had started the long flight to the Blasted Lands, and the other two portalled to Darnassus. She hadn’t wanted to meet with any of the leaders herself; the Light knows she wasn’t welcome in Stormwind, King Magni Bronzebeard was far too formidable a dwarf to have explained to him a situation of this magnitude by her, and she didn’t think she could face High Priestess Tyrande. Her mother had decided to go in her place to Darnassus, she knew the elves well.

That still couldn’t sink in, her mother. They had spoken little, they hadn’t had the time. She was surprised that Jex took the death of Duthorian so badly, and the little time they’d had before they left had revealed even more revelations. It seemed that Duthorian had more reason than she’d thought to watch over her than she’d thought; after her father disappeared Jex and Duthorian had had a relationship. The few answers she got from her mother were not enough to satisfy all the questions in her mind. It seems that there were reasons, ones she couldn’t explain, why she had waited so long to contact her. So Duthorian had been watching over her all these years, even after the incident in the keep. Izmae couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother anything that had happened. Not yet. Besides, there were things her mother was keeping from her still, she could tell.

The ground below her was scorched, as always. The land here had once been bright and green, but the sheer power of the portal had destroyed any life that had once existed here. She had visited the portal once since arriving in Nethergarde; the darkness had indeed begun to shift within its daunting stone frame, but it was so far still dormant. Perhaps it was her close proximity to the portal, but her dreams had been changing of late. Instead of wandering through the battles of Lordaeron over and over again she instead saw the invasions of the Legion. Sometimes she felt the whisper of a presence in her dreams, she wondered if they were trying to teach her still. It was all so confusing. One dream in particular bothered her. The dream about the confrontation in Stormwind years ago, the very same that had been the beginning of all her troubles. Her memories of that time were vague, she remembered little. But the dream showed her more, things that she didn’t remember but were somehow familiar. It challenged all she had known or thought about…everything. It had all been an elaborate scheme, so they would have warning. The Legion was coming, and somehow through the dreams she knew what was coming, when it opened.

The dreams…the Naaru used them, but they had not created them. She had thought that the darkness that her father planted in her had caused her to have the dreams, it had certainly enhanced her senses to shadow and holy magic, but she was wrong. They were more than dreams; she was walking in a plane somewhere between that of life and that of death, she walked among those who had died but couldn’t move on. She knew all their stories, all their pain, she had been learning all about it without even realising. Izmae also knew there was only one way she could be doing that. She had died that day.

The Spirit Guide had appeared to her that day, told her it was not yet her time. Told her that she would learn; what she thought was a curse was in fact a gift, she must listen to them. The three virtues of the paladin would allow her to help them. The first, respect; her connection with the world was already stronger than others; her resurrection would only serve to strengthen it more. It would give her what she needed to sense what was necessary to be done for the greater good. The second, tenacity; this would be the most difficult. She needed devotion to the church, dedication lasting the rest of her life, to follow the Light unswervingly; no matter what challenged her belief of it. The third and final; compassion. This was the virtue that some paladins took a lifetime to master. By aiding someone in need, a follower of the Light increases the happiness and connection of the person with the universe. This allows the paladin in turn to strengthen their connection with the world, and their ability to affect it. However helping where none is needed or wanted is merely a hindrance. The decisions she needed to make would be monumental to the way in which events played out.

And with that she was returned to life, for then not remembering what the Spirit Guide had told her; the memories remaining dormant until it was time. She knew now it was the Light, not the need for revenge or shadowy corruption, which had driven her against Blightcaller. It was the Light that had focussed her throughout her life to the cause of the Naaru, and now they brought allies; the Draenei. She only hoped she had made the right decision with Duthorian.

Within the hour a furious storm broke out, darkening the land and sending thunderous lightning spiking across the land. The noise was loud and ominous but for a storm this size there was no rain; not even a drop. Those who had travelled to the cities returned, with the expected news from each race. The humans of Stormwind were “putting it into consideration” meaning they saw no immediate danger, so they would maintain their borders against the current threats as long as possible. The dwarves had agreed, with persuasion surprisingly from the gnomes to send any forces they could spare when it was feasible, but it was unknown how long this would be. In the meantime the Great Forge would be put to work in creating supplies that would undoubtedly be needed. Tyrande had said she would send forces immediately, but they would be travelling from Darnassus; meaning it would take them some time to traverse the seas without enough mages to portal them across.

“So once again we find ourselves the front line.” Varkas said with a hint of annoyance, and a hint of pride. Izmae sat with Varkas, Sagittarius, Yoku and Mugen. Brakus and Saiglos were close by, feeding their pets in the stables. Jex and Aphzael were tending to the wounds of a few Nethergarde defenders who had been injured by “the wanderers”. They were odd creatures who apparently seemed to be constantly searching for the portal, and they had been acting particularly vicious of late. Kahlan stood barking drill orders at a group of recruits, all of whom seemed too frightened of her to even meet her ferocious glare and watched over by a very amused Kaul, and a hunter she’d not met before called Jameolas.

“Have faith dear friend, nothing has swayed our ranks yet. If nothing else the constant confrontations have bolstered our ranks.” Sagittarius smiled and put his hand on Varkas’ shoulder. As he did so it seemed his eyes caught sight of something in the distance. She was always impressed by the senses of the elves, heightened vision, hearing and smell all deriving from their connection with nature, but this hunter in particular had continued to amaze her. He had white hair, a sign of age even for an elf but he had a spirit as youthful as the younger elves, matching even that of Saiglos. Age did not mean the same to elves as it did to the other races, especially now they were no longer immortal. In the years that Sagittarius had seen brought a wisdom and acute senses that she could never hope to achieve.

[Izmae]

Varkas was searching his pockets confused, “Where’s my coin purse?” Then, realising he was sitting with two very accomplished rogues slapped the most likely culprit round the back of his head. Yoku let out a cry, and then began laughing, tossing the coin purse back to the warrior with amusement.

“Stupid rogues…I would have cleaved off your hand if we didn’t need it…” Varkas mumbled with frustration.

Mugen replied to him “Varkas we could swipe the sword off your back and you still wouldn’t notice.”

“Yeah, bloody lunatic, you’d go after everything in sight with your bare hands…” Yoku chipped in.

Izmae smiled, how could they bring cheer in such a place? Then again, they hadn’t seen what she had. Sagittarius stood to greet an approaching elven hunter, and with a surprise she recognised him. Tristus walked up to the group and greeted them all, grinning just like she remembered. He started to tell them of the state of affairs in Stormwind; the Highlord was trying desperately to free some forces to come to their aid from somewhere, but it was just proving too difficult. She became distracted, thinking of the portal again. The wait was unbearable. A group of warlocks standing nearby caught her eye; Cim and Renmoore stood with Briljana and Windwalker. Oddly enough they too seemed distracted. Then, without thinking, she stood and began walking.

* * *

Jex looked up from the soldiers she was tending. Izmae was smiling; she hadn’t seen her do that since she was a child. Troubles and grief plagued her mind; this is what the elves had warned her of. She must work to control her emotions, concentrate on the task at hand, but it was so hard to forget about Duthorian. There were things her daughter wasn’t telling her, but that was to be expected. There were things she wasn’t telling her daughter. That made her think of Eothe, hopefully safe in Ironforge for now. She looked up again at Izmae; no, she wasn’t ready to know yet, she wasn’t ready to know of her sister. She was staring into the distance, a confused expression on her face. The others looked at her, it would appear that they were talking to her, but she wasn’t responding. Then without warning Izmae stood and began walking. As she followed her path with her eyes she spotted the group of warlocks staring with the same expression on their faces. Then it struck her, she shouted at the others to ready themselves.

It was time.

* * *

As she walked she wasn’t aware of anything. Images from her dreams passed through her mind in flashes, in a certain order. They showed her specific details; details she would need, but she took it all in without thinking, and without pausing in her steps. Time passed and she walked on, the spikes of lightning striking the ground all around and soon she approached the huge stone plinth. The two menacing guardians stood to either side, once lifeless, now pulsing with magic. She stopped in front of it; the snake that twisted itself across the frame seemed to be staring directly into her eyes. The darkness within the portal was restless still and the blue glow around the edges of the doorway weaved itself in intricate and entrancing patterns. She felt more than heard people approaching from behind her and all at once the noises of the storm silenced. The dark clouds overhead swirled with an ethereal obscurity, the gloom illuminating the glow from the portal. As she watched she knew it was time. The blue flared with intensity and then the weaving patterns began to change in colour, from a bright blue to a deep green. Seconds passed and soon the connection through the Twisting Nether was complete. She regained her awareness and felt the shadow force itself through with such strength that she staggered. She felt the demons beyond, and the friends behind her. Drawing her mace she took a few steps backwards and stilled herself, waited.

The Dark Portal was open.