Please respect other members. Please do not post links or information about hacking/warez/cheats.
Read the rules of these forums as we rarely warn before banning. Lost or need RSS check the forum map.
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 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 )
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.
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 ) 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
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.
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.
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
((I havn't found the time to edit a lot of this..so here's the rest of it raw ))
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.”
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...
...
“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.
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.
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 
)
))
Linear Mode
