Northshore Monastery had long held one of the greatest collections of scholarship and lore within Lordaeron. Sure the Capital had more extensive public libraries, and the dual sites of Alonsus Chapel and the Bastion of the Silver Hand had larger collections of scripture; but they paled in comparison to the hidden gems that lay deep within Northshore. For thousands of years, even under the Amani empire the human Tirisfalen tribes had met in secret in that ancient place, their elders and shamans climbing up the mountains to commune with the primitive gods of nature. The Monastery was first built during the emergence of the Arathi Empire, though it would later be burned down when the Empire split before being rebuilt by the Lordarin kings. The crisis of the Plague of Undeath would have it abandoned, but not for long. The Scarlet Crusade would claim the monastery and its treasure trove of learning. While many of the books were considered heretical by the cult, their status as holy relics in an ancient place would save them from the fire. For a time at least.
As the Forsaken swarmed into the Monastery, crushing the first line of defense with a well executed pincer attack, the mages and scholars of the Crusade began to panic. Beyond just simple research texts and theological books were powerful magical books and holy Librams. Things that, if they fell into the hands of the corrupted undead, could cause a great deal of death and destruction. So filled with fear they were that, even as it hurt their scholarly souls deeply, the caretakers of this ancient center of knowledge began to break down furniture to create roaring fires. If the Crusade could not have the texts here, then the undead monsters would not either!
[70 + 22 (Sylvanas Martial) + 10 (The Blightcaller) = 102 vs 55 = 10 (Fanatical Warriors) + 10 (Monks and Mages)+ 35 = Artical Forsaken Crit!]
[Book Burning Roll Bypassed by Artifical Crit]
Despite their skill at setting fires, the holy men of the library had one flaw that their opponents did not. They had internal divisions. There was a squabble over if the books really needed to be destroyed that gave the Forsaken precious time. Time they used greatly to their advantage. Like a black mass the Forsaken washed over the distracted mages and monks, stopping the pyres before they even began. Eventually the Crusade organized and battled against the Forsaken in the Hall of Treasures, but it was too late. Even the magus Doan, a Arcanist of some renown, was cut down from blow and blade.
"Quickly, secure the books and the key to the Armory." Nathanos barked orders as Sylvanas picked over Doan's body, pulling a gleaming dagger from his corpse.
"Poor fool, at least he died without incident. More than I can say for the idiot with the dogs." She turns to Nathanos. "How goes our hold on the main entryway?"
[98 vs 72 = 62 + 10 (Fanatical Warriors) = Forsaken Success]
"The Captain Hornsby reports that the Crusade launched several vicious strikes against them, but nothing her militia could not beat back. They're badly bloodied however, and she worries that more and more arms and supplies are being moved to that Cathedral."
Sylvanas nods and begins to quickly walk back towards the entry hall. "Then we shall strike there next. With the key we needs not waste any time breaking the door. I wish to see this 'Scarlet Champion' die myself."
Northshore was never supposed to be a center of military might, but the Church of the Light does have some martial aspects to it. The armory had once been a small hall for training the more militantly inclined monks and honoring faithful warriors of the Church. The coming of the Scarlet Crusade had changed all that. Numerous former bedrooms and storerooms had been knocked down and expanded into a new complex of forges, training facilities and weapon stockpiles. Even the statues of former saints and holy men had been torn down and replaced with ones glorifying the Crusade's own heroes. What had once been a place of quiet contemplation was now filled with the sounds and shouts of men training and the clash of steel on steal from the forging of sword and hammer. Every blade that had butchered a Forsaken or cut down a non-human refugee, every man that had stood besides a blazing pyre or watched over Solliden with cold eyes had come from here. Even if the Cathedral was the brain of the Church, the armory was its beating, bloody heart. It was where the Forsaken would face their strongest resistance outside of the Cathedral.
[51 + 22 (Sylvanas Martial) + 10 (The Blightcaller) = 83 vs 78 = 15 (Fanatical Knights) + 5(Scattered Clerics of the Light) + 63 = Close Forsaken Victory]
It would come as no surprise then that the tight halls and wide training arenas would become slick with blood and gore. The battle lines of both sides wavered and clashed again and again, human and undead killing and maiming each other in great quantities. Heads were slammed against walls, limbs littered the ground and great armored forms strode like titans through the melee. While effective in open woods and field, the great masses of militia of the Forsaken were almost a liability in these close quarters. Thankfully the Initiates of the Monastery were of an even worse quality of soldier; but still militiamen both living and dead alike were cut down with ease by men armored in real steel and filled with the glory of the Light in their hearts.
For both sides then, it came down to the regular infantry. The Footmen of the Forsaken clashed again and again with the knights and warriors of the Crusade. Both sides were well trained and armored, and thus the killing there was slow but brutal. It takes a long time for an armored man to die; and when it happens it usually brought about by blood loss and exhaustion. There the Forsaken had the advantage, for blood congealed and dripped like sap from their veins and exhaustion was now a long forgotten feeling to them. But still the Crusaders matched them time and time again, pushing forwards on pure zeal alone. Both lines wavered and nearly broke, only to be held together by their champions.
It is there that the Forsaken won the battle, for while Hornsby, Nathanos and the Banshee Queen herself fought on the side of the Forsaken; only mighty Herod stood against the undead tide. A giant of a man, wielding a great battle ax that cleaved through lesser troops like a hot sword through fat; he was nevertheless out numbered. For not only did the three heroes of the Forsaken come to meet him; but the Dark Rangers and champion warriors of Undercity as well. There, deep within the armory, Herod made his final stand. A Dark Ranger's spine he broke over his knee, and a champion footman he beheaded. But Nathanos sliced his belly open with a well timed slash, and Sylvanas nailed his reeling form twice in the throat. With a single gurgling grunt the former Champion of the Crusade slumped against the wall; guts spilling from his stomach like overripe fruit.
Sylvanas looked over the army of her people. The toll to take the armory had been great. Some places were carpeted in bodies, and even in areas where the fighting had been less fierce A great many corpses and blood could be seen.
"Most of our units are bloodied, Dark Lady, with one militia regiment completely destroyed. Hornsby is pulling back both of her regiments. The humans took the brunt of the fighting and another attack would surely slay them." Nathanos said, eyeing the carnage with a somewhat worried gaze."
"Let them, give the men and hour to refresh and move with limited reinforcements we have in. The Cathedral is in sight. We have Mograine by the balls." The spite Sylvanas found in her words surprised her. The Forsaken felt emotions as if through a fog, with only strong feelings even registering for them. She had been used to anger, yes, but only in its despondent, hopeless form. This rage, this great anger over the death of her subjects, was new and powerful. It cut deep into her like a knife.
She shakes her of those thoughts as she stands to follow Nathanos. There would be time for introspection after Mograine was dealt with. Not now, not when the gauntlet had been thrown and they were so close to their enemies throat.
Finally, the Cathedral. The work of King Alcardius Lordarin, who made a desperate alliance with the Church to try and arrest the steady decay of his families hold over the kingdom. It succeeded for two generations, before Gwain Lordarin died during the Thalassian War and the Troubles began. Alcardius's investments into the rebuilding of the Northshore Monastery outlasted his dynasty and loomed over Tirisfal for hundreds of years. The great cathedral spire is one of the main landmarks of the region and attracted pilgrims and holy men from all over. Several ancient artifacts from the Emperor of Arathor, the shield Aegis of the Light and the mace Hand of Righteousness, were also stored within the Cathedral. It was once one of the holiest places in all of Loraderon, and even when the Bastion of the Scarlet Hand was built more the general populace still held Northshore and its cathedral nearer and dearer to their hearts. Thus, for the undead who now gather to attack it, a mixture of rage and sadness fills their hearts knowing that the holy place has been corrupted by fanatics. For even if one leaves a religion, it is hard to feel good about the destruction and corruption of its sacred sites.
[89 + 22 (Sylvanas Martial) + 10 (The Blightcaller) - 5 (Reduced Forces) = 116 vs 76 = 15 (Zealous Warriors) + 10 (Scarlet Cleris) + 10 (Well Supplied) + 15 (Whitemane Martial) + 20 (Mograine Martial) = 6 Artificial Forsaken Critical]
They are, however, slightly mollified by how well the battle goes for them.
That is not to say that the assault on the Cathedral is an easy walk in the park. The defenders of one of the Crusade's most sacred places sell themselves dearly in order to slow down the tide of armored undead that make their way up the steps. Spell fire and divine magic fall upon the Forsaken like rain and the booming voice of Commander Mograine skillfully moves his troops about. It should have been an utter slog of a fight up multiple terraces of gardens and stairs, with men in the cloisters around the large garden firing down upon them at ease.
Instead, it seems that the fight has gone out of the Crusaders. Their holdings are mostly destroyed and rumors of the utter obliteration of the reinforcing army from the east has reached the men. Instead of inspiring a fight to the death, the news seems to have crushed their spirits.They give up ground when pressed hard enough and the way they fall back if sloppy and lets the perusing Forsaken kill great swathes of them in the retreat. By the time Sylvanas and Nathanos are ascending the steps to the Cathedral proper a small rout has begun. Men flee from the oncoming undead and the doors to the cathedral hang open wide. Within there is indeed a great paucity of defenders, with only those last zealous few standing between Sylvanas and the main altar. And while the strength of men is still great, they are easily swept aside by the Banshee Queen, her Champion and her Dark Rangers.
From the top of pulpit Mograine, bleeding slightly from a head wound he took in the slow pull back up the stairs, glowers at Sylvanas and Nathanos. "If you abominations think that I will flee before you like the cowardly scum," he spits on the ground, "that dared to call themselves Crusaders of the Light, then you are dearly mistaken."
Sylvanas looks around the main hall of the sanctum, which is quickly filling with Forsaken. "You are badly outnumbered, Mograine. I would offer you the chance to surrender, but I fear that the justice my people would demand would involve removing your head from your body."
He lets out a long laugh at that. "Justice? From the undead? I would sooner have a gaggle of orcs or tribe of gnolls try me for a crime than a pack of rotting beasts. You should face justice, Bitch Queen of the Forsaken. You commit crimes against the Light and all of creation with every second you still walk upon the earth." He brings up his great mace and the Aegis of the Light, tainted into bearing the Scarlet emblem by his dire anger.
Nathanos and Sylvanas move forwards with speed only an elf, or one trained by them, can manage. A volley of arrows flies from the Banshee Queen's quiver, which Mograine blocks with a shield thrust. However it was a feint to give Nathanos an opening, which Mograine provides and his them punished for by a sword swipe across the cheek. Sylvanas jumps and flips over the Scarlet Commander's head, lodging several arrows into his back. However she mistimes her jump, and ends up right next to Mograine. A dangerous mistake to make, as he lashes out at her with his mace.
The blow sends Sylvanas tumbling across the floor until she slams into a pillar. While she curls in order to nurse her wounded stomach Mograine takes a few steps forwards. A dangerous mistake, as he had forgotten about Nathanos. Not happy to see his best friend get brutalized, the Blightcaller springs forth and slices both of his Achilles tendons with his blades. Mograine stumbles back, screaming in pain. His screams only grow louder as an arrow pierces his eye. Sylvanas, now up and recovered from the blow, deftlly hops forwards on the balls of her feet and jams a knife into his throat, cutting off Mograine's screams.
Sylvanas stands on unsteady feet over Mograine's cooling corpse, stumbling a few times before she rights herself. "Are you okay?" Nathanos comes over to her. "You looked like you were down for the count for a while there."
She groans but shakes her head. "No, I've taken worse. Fuck me Nathanos, you've seen me take worse." She reaches down to touch her chest and grimaces. "He broke a few ribs though. If I hadn't been moving already when he hit me a few of my organs would be in rather bad shape."
"Well, hes dead. All thats left to do is-" There is a crash from beyond the altar as the wide doors at the end of the hall open. "Oh fuck me, what now." The Blightcaller grouses.
From the open doorway a pretty young woman steps out. With bright white hair and a well formed physique, she would've attracted the eye of many before Lordaeron fell. But if she had been a debaunte, she would've been a controversial one because of one feature. Her face, while traditionally attractive, was marked, and some cowards would say marred, by the clear grasp of insanity. Sylvanas and Nathanos had seen insane zeal in the eyes of many of the Crusaders, but the woman was different. It was all consuming, a kind of fervent belief that few ever actually see. In short this woman, whoever she was, was clearly totally, utterly, bugfuck crazy.
"Mograin has fallen? What treachery is this?" Her voice was high pitched and carried over the whole of the hall. She walks over to Mograine and kneels next to his corpse, tears in her eyes.
Sylvanas and Nathanos shared a look before the latter asked the question they were both thinking. "...Treachery?"
The woman's head whips up and glares at them. "Yes, treachery. All these lands fall under the dominion of the Crusade, thus any attack on it is treason of the highest order!"
"You..Your forces attacked us. Burned our people, tried to hunt us down like animals." Nathanos is almost sputtering with rage. "What 'ruler' does such a thing?"
The woman sighs. "More and more treachery. Attempts by heretics and abominations to avoid destruction is quite treasnous. It goes against all the laws of the Light!"
"Who even are you? Mograine's commander?" Sylvanas stares daggers at the woman."
"I," she flourishes, "am High Inquisitor Sally Whitemane! Protector of Tirisfal, Commander of Northshore and Lightbringer!" She beams widely at the two undead.
"Thats...Very nice. I don't suppose you'll just surrender then?" Sylvanas was starting to feel more than a little bad for the obviously deranged woman. Not enough to avoid killing her if it came to blows, but outright executing someone like this just felt...wrong.
Sally shakes her head with the solemnity of a child. "I'm afraid I can't do that. You've committed treachery against the Light and killed my beloved Mograine. For that you must face the fiery embrace of the Holy Light." She raises up a hand and Sylvanas and Nathanos momentarily have to shield their eyes as Mograine's body is engulfed in a pillar of bright light. When they blink the sudden illumination out the Scarlet Commander is standing again, panting hard as he glares at the Forsaken leadership.
Sylvanas simply turns to Nathanos and nods. One of the Forsaken warrior elites, Eugene something, and a Dark Ranger step forwards besides their commander. "I'll hold down the brute with Eugene. The two of you ladies down the healer before we finish Mograine off."
Mograine was not a stupid man, merely a zealous one. Many tend to conflate the two, but they are not one in the same. The odds, given that he had fallen once before, were not in the favor of the Crusade that day. So he takes a deep breath, readies himself, and turns and grabs Sally Whitemane in a quick run. Sylvanas moves forwards, covering the distance in a few steps, but Renault does not want to be caught. A spark of light in his hands blooms out into a massive, floor to ceiling wall that cuts off his pursuers. Judging by how sweat drips down from his brow that spell was a last resort, but one the Scarlet Commander thought was well worth it. Mograine spares one glance back at Sylvanas and growls. "This is not the last you shall see of us, abominations. We shall return, and our vengeance shall burn tenfold." Then, before the Banshee Queen can even lift her bow, he hurls himself through the stained glass window at the back and out of the Monastery.
Nathanos and Sylvanas spend a few moments just staring at the broken window before they look at each other. "Well, that was their leadership, was it not?" He asks.
"Aye, I believe so."
"So, that means..."
For the first time in a long time Sylvanas breaks out into a big smile. "Yes, Nathan. We won."
The news spreads through the crowd, Forsaken chatting wildly to themselves as their queen turns to face them. "People of Undercity, my friends and subjects, the Forsaken. We have won! Northshore Monastery is ours! Tirisfal is ours!"
With that, the assembled crowd goes absoultely wild.
Rewards: Northshore Monastery taken, A whole litany of magical and holy books secured, Enough good quality armor to outfit two Infantry units acquired, 3000 gold acquired, Scarlet Monastery in Tirisfal destroyed, Tirisfal Glades secured. Sally Whitemane and Renault Mograine go blasting off again. No sign of the Voss's
Butcher's Bill: 1 Undead Militia Destroyed. All other Units at half health.
