The Maid of the Comet: A Tale from Azeroth

King Tharassian · Feb 19, 2018

I hope I did the battle justice.

There was barely a moment to hesitate - before the undead could see you, you moved into the trees. Not even seconds passed before the deathguards and the crusaders met in battle, and you heard the telltale groan of crossbows from behind the deathguards' line. At this rate, the crusaders would easily be overwhelmed, if you were correct.

So you ran through the trees, rushing to get into a flanking position.

You weren't about to turn your back on them, but you had no armor. Your only equipment was a cracked shield and a sword that, while well-made, wouldn't fulfil the same purpose as full plate.

But you'd faced daunting odds before. Orleans had not been wholly in your favor, and you'd won the day then. But you didn't do it through force alone (though the cannons were a nice help). You won by planning for eventualities, and endeavoring to fight less with raw strength and more through -

"Hey, boys! We've got a live one in the trees!"

More through that not happening. Your cover was blown, and you would have to improvise.

Turning, you charged at the nearest deathguard, shield first. The creature let out a gurgling cackle - the most it could manage considering the missing bottom jaw - as it raised its cleaver to strike.

In its zeal, it left itself open, and you struck the arm off at the shoulder before removing the creature's skull. You hazarded a glance at the battle. The two groups were evenly matched, it seemed. The main line had barely moved, the wave of deathguard breaking repeatedly against the shields of the crusaders. You occasionally heard the sound of cannon - undoubtedly produced by the "rifles" you had seen earlier - and the crossbows were firing from somewhere nearby.

You turned to charge the ranged troops, catching the glint of rusting steel among the boughs. One fell immediately, shrieking as it took a sword to the sternum and directly through the spine. The next didn't see you coming as you removed its head from its shoulders. But that was as far as you got before eight more loosed a volley at you.

Had you been more aware of their intent, you might have been able to avoid what came next.

Another deathguard - likely a crossbowman you missed - charged out of the trees, axe raised high. You barely had time to raise your shield before he swung downward.

There was a sickening crack, and you could tell you were screaming, even if you were deafened by virtue of extreme pain. Your wrist felt heavy, and your right arm was limp.

Fighting through the pain, you made a few desperate attacks at the one that had attacked you. Most of the strikes flew wide thanks to your adrenaline, but a few managed to hit, and those were enough to destroy the abomination.

As you fought to stay on your feet, the pain confused you. It was not the time, but questions came forward anyway. Why did the pain debilitate you so? You had been shot in the leg by a crossbowman once, and the fall from your horse when you were captured was far from comfortable. And the fires…

Another lance of pain shot through you as your wrist struck limply against a nearby tree, pulling you from your musings. There was no time. Those soldiers were counting on the crossbows being silenced.

You jogged through the trees, searching for the now-relocated undead. But you were no tracker. They were gone.

At least, they were for a while.

Mere moments later, you heard one of the undead screaming, and saw it fly past, its head colliding with a tree with a dry crackle. Turning to look again, you gaped as you saw what had done the deed.

There - holding one of the creatures by the neck and using it as a club - was a massive shape, vaguely based on the upper body of a human, formed entirely from green seawater and many-colored corals. The eyes that shone near the peak of its bulk shone with a fierce intelligence as it regarded you, before it went back to beating the undead to death with their own comrade.

Behind it, the three sea-priests returned, throwing ice from their fingertips and calling forth lightning from their palms. The rifles emerged from the trees, and began firing rapidly.

Then things went wrong. The deathguard you had been chasing caught the - you supposed they would be called riflemen - nearly off-guard, and two more crusaders were cut down before they could scream.

The crusaders formed a tiny circle, rifles and swords aiming out in all directions as the undead pressed in. The water-beast thrashed around, each strike sending another deathguard flying, but for every one that died, two more were able to get back up. The sea-priests were casting as quickly as they could, but they were clearly drained from, well, doing whatever they'd done to summon the water-beast. The battle had turned again. One near-invincible beast could not turn the tide when the defenders were already wounded and fatigued.

So you attacked again, prayers flying past your lips as you called for aid in this crisis. Something, anything, to turn back the tide and break the deathguards' assault. All you recived in return was a low hum at the back of your mind as the Saints tried to break through the fog clouding your mind. You continued your prayer, the words leaving your mouth almost faster than you could say them.

"Anything."

You would not fail. Not so soon. Not when these people could have been saved. The prayers ceased, and you focused on all the times you had pulled forth a miracle. All of the victories against the odds, all of the times you had seen the brightest of lights, all the way back to a cold spring morning, years ago, when a child heard the voice of an angel tell her that she was meant for more.

And you felt the world fade as time slowed, and a spark fluttered and flickered before you, so familiar in its feeling and yet so alien in its form. You knew it well, for it was the light that filled your eyes at the sound of the church bells. It was the light that had shielded you in your arrival here. It was the light that you had harnessed, born of faith and devotion to a cause greater than yourself, waiting for you to accept it wholly.

You reached out, and you were filled with fire.

In an instant, the pain disappeared. The residual soreness of your landing melted away. Your wrist did not feel so heavy, and light filled the clearing once more. The undead all recoiled reflexively, only a few turning to see you bathed in holy might.

You barely registered the strange letters on your sword, which shone with the same light as filled you body and soul. You barely realized that you had shocked even the Tirasians, who had already seen the brilliance of the Almighty's grace. All that mattered was this battle, the first of many, between righteousness and evil; purity and vileness; life and death.

As you walked, your Light mended the wounds of the Tirasians. It burned the flesh of the deathguards, who were half-stunned and half-terrified by the sight of the unexpected paladin before them. They hesitated.

A crucial mistake, as it turned out. The water-beast seized the initative, augmenting its shattered maul with a second as it grabbed another deathguard by the legs. The strength of the beast's strikes, combined with the newfound resolve and energy of the crusaders and your own Light, ended the battle quickly.

The undead were broken, and soon thirty dead deathguards lay around the glade as a strange, very large reptilian bird with moth-like antennae chirped down at you.

"Milady?"

You turned, and found Thornby. His armor was dented and torn in places, but his injuries were gone.

"You should rest, miss Jeanne. If I understand, then you aren't trained, and that was a great deal of effort." He was concerned? He didn't need to be. You had the Light. You had the Almighty. You had the Saints in your ear. This silly weight on your eyelids meant nothing. Not when there was so much to do…

"I think it's time she rests."

"She sounds like that time she didn't sleep for two days. I don't want to see that again. Especially the time she tried to stay awake for three."

"Don't worry Margaret. I can do this."

As Michael's voice faded, you found yourself asleep again.

When your eyes opened again, the sky was not blocked by trees. There was no buzzing in the back of your mind. The weird bird-dragon-moth was not chirping at you.

In exchange, everything was deathly quiet except for the sound of a fire.

Attempting to move your right arm reminded you that it was currently unusable. The pain was significantly less debilitating, but it seemed that the Light could not reset bones in the heat of combat, and would not mend them when the mending would not help the patient. There were a pair of sticks bound with cloth around your hand, and you felt as though you should have known what they were.

"Ah! You're awake, milady." One of the sea-priests was looking down upon you. "It's good to see you are up so soon. I admit that we expected a much longer period of unconsciousness, considering the degree of energy you used, both to fight the undead and…" He coughed. "Our attempts to reset the bones of your wrist."

"Where are we?" You were grateful of course, but right now you had no patience for the musings of a helpful heathen. "And how long has passed, if you expected longer?"

"Oh!" The priest smiled. "We are in Tirisfal, not far West of the ruins of Brill. You were asleep for…" He looked at the sky, measuring the progress of the moon. "About the better part of half a day. It is very early morning now."

"That long?" You had to admit, you felt much better, but to think that you had essentially been dead weight for that length of time…

"Indeed. We - my colleagues and I, that is - felt it better that you have time to recover than to wake you immediately. Rest is known to help reduce stress and accelerate the healing of wounds."

"And why, then," you asked, somewhat impatiently, "did you not try to heal my wrist more?" At this, he looked sheepish.

"Well, milady, I -" He cut himself off. "My order does not specialize in healing as the Church of Light does. We can mend cuts and lacerations, yes, but broken bones are another matter." He shrugged. "Setting your wrist properly was the best we could do. And it seems that your innate Light aided in preventing it from getting worse afterwards, so the regrettable lack of means with which to hold it in place was less keenly felt. That splint was deemed to be enough for now." Oh. So that was what that thing was on your hand. You did know that, somewhere. You briefly considered cursing sleep for its clouding of one's mental faculties before deciding that it was pointless anyway.

"And the rest?" His expression grew somber.

"The deathguard were toying with us. We only lost two more, but that would not have been the case were it not for you, milady." His lips were drawn into a thin line. "The elemental was dispelled by that faerie dragon you were so fascinated by, so we had no help from it on the way here. As for those left…" He nodded Eastward. "Captain Thornby has taken two of the remaining riflemen and gone forward to report to Vandermar Village. He gave us orders to heed your wishes with regards to your destination, but recommended going to Vandermar as quickly as possible."

"And the destinations he recommended?" You knew nothing of this place, and needed information. You talked with the priest -whose name was apparently Phillipus Hydraxes - and learned of three places:

[] The Scarlet Monastery. The sole center of power held by the Crusade in Tirisfal, it was overseen by one High Inquisitor Whitemane and her friend (why did Phillipus seem to say "friend" sarcastically?) Scarlet Commander Mograine. It had once been home to an order of monks, before the Scourging, and now acted as the center of the Crusade's operations in the Western Theatre.

[] Hearthglen. The second great city of the Crusade, behind the legendary citadel of Tyr's Hand. It was ruled by two officers: Scarlet High Commander Pureblood, who was the official head of operations in the Western Plaguelands and Northern Lordaeron, and Highlord Fordring, a younger man who oversaw the region itself in terms of defense and reconstruction.

[] Vandermar Village. A settlement built on the ruins of the original Vandermar, the Village apparently had been intended as little more than a glorified listening post. Under the leadership of the head of the Tirasians, a paladin named Morlune the Mighty, the settlement had become a boomtown on the southern bank of the River Darrow. Captain Thornby was to report to his commanders there, and you could progress there directly if you so wished.

Having made your decision, you took command of the ten soldiers and three sea-priests left with you, and set out with first light. The time had come for you to find your path, and where your mission would lead you.

End of Chapter One

Inventory Change: Lost Cracked Buckler

Trait Gained: Lightbearer - You carry the power of the Light within you, and have the potential to walk one of its many paths. Some say that your particular strength is rivalled by few, and exceeded by even fewer.

And there you have it.

King Tharassian · Feb 21, 2018

Vote closed. Chapter 2 will start in your journey to Vandermar Village.

Now for the interlude:

Character:

[] Stormfathom, Exiled from the Light of Lights

[] Her Mirror's Image

[] A Flame Not His Own

[] Fire and Fury

[] Strangers in a Strange Land

Informational:

[] Magister Sunheart's Annotated Guide to Azeroth, Chapter 5: Adventuring

[] [REDACTED]'s Report to Regent Fordragon on the Major Factions of the Eastern Kingdoms, ca 25 ADP

[] Analysis of Settlements Both Reclaimed and Occupied for the Consideration of the Crusade in the Plaguelands, by Archmage Nilas Arcanister, 1st Tirasian Host

OR:

[] None

Adhoc vote count started by King Tharassian on Feb 21, 2018 at 2:10 PM, finished with 277 posts and 5 votes.

4 people have voted
[X] [REDACTED]'s Report to Regent Fordragon on the Major Factions of the Eastern Kingdoms, ca 25 ADP

Adhoc vote count started by King Tharassian on Feb 21, 2018 at 3:03 PM, finished with 279 posts and 7 votes.

4 people have voted
[X] [REDACTED]'s Report to Regent Fordragon on the Major Factions of the Eastern Kingdoms, ca 25 ADP
1 people have voted
[X] Her Mirror's Image
- King Arthur
1 people have voted
[X] Strangers in a Strange Land
- xtra_ore

King Tharassian · Feb 22, 2018

A Report to Regent Fordragon on the Major Extant Factions of the Eastern Kingdoms, ca. 25 ADP

By [REDACTED] of [REDACTED]

In the wake of the Third War and the Scourging of Lordaeron, this humble servant was deployed into a journey across the Eastern Kingdoms, that they might better prepare the Kingdom in case of conflict.

The Horde:

This humble servant encountered the Horde in three main locations across the Eastern Kingdoms: Near Blackrock Mountain (Unknown leadership), In Stranglethorn Jungle (Joint Orc-Troll efforts), and in Lordaeron, where they seem to have a truce with the local Forsaken, and have been pushing into the Arathi Highlands and Hillsbrad, as well as taking part in the Northern Conflict. Apparently, they are led by a number of warlords deployed from the continent of Kalimdor, across the Great Sea, and owe their allegiance to one Warchief Thrall.

The Forsaken:

This humble servant, in their loyalty and dedication to the cause, took the risk of infiltrating Tirisfal itself to determine the current state of the free-willed undead. This humble servant regrets to say that they have only grown more entrenched since our first encounter with them. Their Banshee Queen, the former Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner, seems to have developed a cult of personality among the more fanatical warriors in her ranks. They have laid claim to the towns of Brill and Oldenvale, renaming the latter "Deathknell." In addition, they have apparently organized a disciplined military, referred to as "deathguards," to defend their "sovereignty." Diplomacy between the undead and the Horde seems somewhat cordial, as they apparently signed a pact of non-aggression in favor of conquering other territories, particularly in Hillsbrad and Arathor. There are also rumors of some deviants surrounding the houses of the last few living humans in the region and singing about wanting to eat their brains, but these rumors have neither been confirmed nor denied.

The Alliance:

This humble servant will not lie, Your Grace. The Alliance has suffered as the Horde has grown strong in their lands across the sea. Significant progress has been made in reclaiming the old environs of the Kingdom of Stormwind, but our allies are in significantly more dire straits. The League of Arathor suffers attacks near-daily by barbarians, the Horde, and ever-more aggressive beasts. Gnomeregan remains in the hands of the troggs and leper gnomes. The dwarves remain secure, but their outlying settlements come under attack by Frostmane trolls and Dark Iron dwarves regularly. The states of Dalaran, Kul Tiras, and Gilneas remain silent, and Lordaeron's state of affairs is obvious.

Gilneas:

Little can be said about the Wolf's Kingdom, sire. This humble servant was unable to find a single breach in the Greymane Wall. However, several outlying villages remain, though many are abandoned. Pyrewood Village in particular seems to have emptied fairly recently, and your servant's explorations have posited that this might coincide with the appearance of folk-tales concerning "wolf-men" in Silverpine.

Kul Tiras:

Kul Tiras seems to have recovered quite admirably from the recent conflicts and the disappearance of Grand Admiral Proudmoore. The trading companies remain functional, and the Armada continues to impress. However, there appears to be a significant political debate among the Great Families on whether to concern themselves with the Eastern Kingdoms again, and if so, whether to rejoin the Alliance. Unfortunately, as much as most feel intervention is necessary (veterans of the Second War from Legion II, for the most part), a great many feel that the Alliance is not the path they must take. This humble servant was run out of town by a team of local celebrities (Legion II artillerists who fought at the Dark Portal) when the matter was broached to them.

Zul'Gurub:

Disturbingly, this humble servant observed significant movements of the jungle trolls in the Stranglethorn Jungle, seemingly towards a common purpose. Your servant can only assume that this is a sign of increasing centralization and unity among the Gurubashi tribes, and that it bears observation, if not outright intervention.

The Crusade for Lordaeron:

The battle to reclaim Lordaeron continues much as in the last report your humble servant prepared. Observations indicate some success in reclaiming land in the Western Plaguelands and King's Bay, but most of the Eastweald remains controlled by the Scourge. Disturbingly, this humble servant noted a greater degree of factionalism among the warriors on crusade, split mainly into three groups:
-The Scarlet Crusade: By far the largest faction among the three, the Scarlet Crusade is predominantly made up of native Lordaeronians, though some displaced Tirasians and Gilneans were also observed among their ranks, as well as the occasional high elf and dwarf. They are - how to express this servant's sentiments - zealous. Their rhetoric focuses less on reclaiming Lordaeron for its people and more on driving back the unholy abominations which dwell in those lands in the name of the Light. Major sites that have been reclaimed include the Monastery of Light in Tirisfal, Hearthglen and Vandermar in the Western Plaguelands, and Tyr's Hand, New Avalon, and King's Bay on the Eastern coast.
-The Argent Dawn: The second-largest faction of crusaders in Lordaeron, the Argent Dawn is made up mostly of Stormwindians, dwarves, gnomes, and a minority of Lordaeronians. This humble servant also observed members who were orcs, elves, and even some Forsaken. Their approach is far less radical-conservative than that of the Scarlet Crusade, but still relies heavily on religious rhetoric when not focusing on the threat of the Scourge or the plight of the people who lost their homeland. This group appears to have a rather extreme rivalry with their more numerous Scarlet cohorts.
-The Brotherhood of the Light: A third faction, mostly made up of religious individuals and peacemakers, that attempts to maintain order during the crusade for Lordaeron. This humble servant could not learn much about them, and they seem somewhat secretive with regards to outsiders.

Quel'Thalas: As with the last report, Quel'Thalas remains secretive and aloof. There appears to be a greater military presence outside the Greenwood Pass, and this humble servant observed a number of Farstriders patrolling the Plaguelands, but they remain separate from most of the conflict in the South. This humble servant was, fortunately, caught observing and taken for questioning by a Ranger-Captain, whose name appeared to be 'Jennalla Deemspring.' During this questioning, this humble servant was able to overhear a few scant details thanks to their grasp of Thalassian combat dialects. Quel'Thalas is currently led by a Regent Lord known as Theron, who is ruling in the stead of Grand Prince Sunstrider until his return from "the New Kingdom." They are divided between two factions: a radical majority who flout many of the traditions of old in favor of their new identity, and a more conservative minority who attempt to maintain some semblance of the old order. In addition, the Amani trolls seem to have made a resurgence, if the observed dialogue was any indication. Finally, a few rumors were mentioned in which several night elf adventurers joined their estranged cousins in fighting the Scourge. Whether this, and the rumors of such adventurers joining the Horde, are true is debatable, but there is precedent in the form of some night elves who have signed on to join Legions III, VII, and XIV.

This humble servant may have further news as well, regarding the Northern Conflict and its belligerents.

The Conflict is not unknown in Stormwind, certainly, but your servant has found more pertinent information that may alter our operations in that theatre. The current belligerents in Northern Lordaeron are as follows: the Forsaken and Horde, the Scourge, Thalassian rangers, the Scarlet Crusade, the lordship of Dawnstrider Harbor, and your own Legion V. The Scourge, surprisingly, is trapped in a constant state of defense in this region, as they are targeted by every other faction to some degree. The Thalassians appear to have occupied the Banewood Lighthouse and the High Road. The Scarlet Crusade controls the Hearthglen Harbor, and is persistently attacking Scourge-controlled watchtowers. The Horde and Forsaken rarely venture beyond the Voidheart Estate, and seem to be waiting to pick off survivors when the conflict reaches its end. Our own forces occupy the old Prestor Estate, and have enabled several night elven druids access to the Thondroril headwaters in the highland South of the coast. When taken as a whole, along with the recent outbreaks of Seeping Plague and the plague rat outbreaks, the Conflict appears destined to continue for the foreseeable future.

Glory to the Alliance!

Your Humble Servant
SI:7

*the following is scribbled somewhat incoherently as an afterthought*
PS: Long live Prince Anduin.

King Tharassian · Feb 26, 2018

The journey Eastward began in earnest at first light, your time among the soldiers of the King returning with a vengeance as you roused the Tirasians to move. You weren't the one actually guiding your group, since you had no grasp of local geography or landmarks, but Phillipus happily took over the job of navigator, leading you through the deathly wilderness known as the Glades.

If there was one word to describe your surroundings, it was quiet. If you were permitted two, the second would be defiled. The ground was packed hard, but the moment you tried to sift it through your fingers it had the consistency of ash. Some hardy grasses still grew, but this wasn't the black soil you had worked with your parents as a child. The trees rotted where they stood even as their leaves remained rooted to their branches. Bushes and vines were bare, thorny affairs, with dark blues and greys where there should have been green. The Scourging, as the Tirasians had said, had truly damaged the land.

And it was apparently even worse to the East.

The more you heard their intermittent stories, the more you began to realize just how desperate the situation was. The Scourging - apparently some form of sorcerous plague concocted by evil wizards - had swept across the kingdom five years ago, destroying entire villages and raising the inhabitants into undeath. The situation had worsened after a series of events that no one had fully agreed upon, and the Prince, Arthas Menethil, went northward, to a frozen wasteland where the plague's creators had made their stronghold.

Then, the stories became even worse. The prince returned in triumph, his captains Falric and Marwyn by his side. He was given a hero's welcome by the people, congratulations by the army, and was brought before his father, King Terenas, who proceeded to congratulate him and tell of the honor he had earned and the salvation he had won for their people. And the prince strode up to his father and killed him.

The city fell in hours. The kingdom fell in weeks. And the prince, now a knight of the undead Scourge, spearheaded it all: the gathering of cultists in Vandermar Village, the site of the new town you were approaching; the destruction of Andorhal and the death of the paladin Uther; the invasion of the kingdom of the Elves in the North (apparently Elves were not only mortal here, but had more than once allied with humans, and were actually somewhat similar instead of invisible bringers of disease. What a strange place this world was) and the destruction of their magical wellspring, and finally the summoning of an army of demons into the world.

And yet here they were: the Scarlet Crusade and their allies, fighting the undead for faith and fatherland. You could see why the Almighty's power was so much more obvious here: they needed it in far greater measure. In your homeland, the enemies were beasts or men. Here, demons and the living dead walked freely, and holy might was the best weapon that could be brought to bear against them.

Each new discovery only strengthened your resolve: you were here for a reason. Your mission had changed, but it remained incomplete. Now, you had only but to learn what was asked of you.

The journey to the pass known as the Bulwark was apparently going to take about a week. The Tirasians were careful to avoid roads that seemed well-traveled, as they were likely used by the Forsaken, a group of free-willed undead who has claimed Tirisfal for their own after escaping the Scourge's control.

Your party traveled to the North of the village of Brill, moving Eastward all the while as the next day passed.

"...and once we get to the Bulwark, we have our own way into the Plaguelands." Phillipus was happily explaining how, exactly, they were going to get past a small fortress of Forsaken deathguards unnoticed. "You see, the mountains to the south are the source of the River Darrow, and include a small pass carved out by the water's passage. That's our way through."

"And the Forsaken do not know of it?" Your inner tactician was leaking out again. "What if they know about it very well, and are simply waiting for the right moment to deny you passage?" Phillipus frowned.

"We've always been careful not to be seen entering the Darrow Road, miss."

"If you say so." You weren't entirely convinced. "So, where are we right now?" He brightened somewhat.

"Well, we should be nearing Brightwater Lake. There we can camp for the night before moving back South. If we had planned to go to the Monastery, we would have continued East, towards the Venomweb Vale." He rolled his shoulders slightly. "This is our standard route for travel in the region, going out to Solliden Farmstead. 'Course, that madwoman Lauer used to move further South, right in spitting distance of the capital. Her Host disappeared, and no one's tried moving that far South since."

"Sounds like she was more bold than mad."

"No, she was mad. Attacked any undead she saw, and even a few who weren't undead at all. Elves got the worst of it. She didn't have a problem with dwarves, though." He nodded as he spoke. "And here we are."

You weren't sure if the lake had earned its name before or after the Scourging, but you were fairly certain that even the Seine was clearer. The waters were brown, though it couldn't have been silt creating that color, since the lake was nearly still. Occasionally, you saw a malnourished fish swim just beneath the surface, and you thought you saw something burning out on the island in the distance, a pinprick of light amidst the desolation all around you. There was barely a sound for several minutes.

"Ho-old." The voice was high pitched and gurgling, and you started when it spoke. Looking to your side, you saw a strange creature about ten feet away. Its skin was covered in fine scales, all brightly colored and shining with moisture. Huge eyes stared out of a fish-like face, and two rows of long blue spines rose from its back. It seemed to walk on two legs, and its hands and feet were webbed. "Ho-old," it said again.

"What is that thing?" Oh. There was Michael. They had been strangely silent for some time.

"Welcome back," you muttered with a little too much indignation.

"Oh, don't get like that. We had good reasons for not talking to you."

"And those were?

"For another time." Michael got like this quite often when something confused him. "But again, what is that thing?"

"I think it's kind of cute." Margaret was whispering.

"An odd choice of words, Margaret." Catherine sounded just as confused as Michael. "I thought you weren't partial to fish."

"I'm not," Margaret conceded, "but just look at it! And it talks!"

As the two of them continued their back and forth, you turned back to the creature.

[] Heed it. It seems to want to talk. But why to you? And why here?

[] Ignore it. You don't recognize it. It could easily be leading you to a trap.

[] Attack!

[] Call Phillipus over. He might know what it is. (Can be chosen with any other option)

Contacts Acquired: Philippus Hydraxes, The 1st Tirasian Host (Eighth Squad)

Injury Status: Broken right wrist, minor bruising

This is a short update, but only because I decided not to decide too much for you all.

King Tharassian · Mar 2, 2018

You weren't one to simply trust strange fish-people without a second opinion. Though you were sure that there could be nice fish-people. Hm… Truth be told, you had never considered the possibility of fish-people, let alone whether they could be good. If you ever found a proper priest, and not one of these - admittedly friendly - water-revering heathens, you would have to learn the local take on the subject.

You still weren't sure how Margaret thought it was cute.

"Phillipus!" Ah, the irony of your thoughts, how you kept needing to rely on the "heathens" in some way… "I found something!" He clearly heard, but was somewhat slow to answer, since they apparently still weren't used to you shouting. Your normal state - to be quiet and only speak when it was constructive or necessary - had set up the expectation that you were always such. Oh, if only they'd heard you screaming bloody murder at Orleans.

"Yes, miss? What have you oh my Light, a murloc." He seemed… Was that surprise or shock? "What's a murloc doing this far inland?" Surprise, then.

"It said 'hold.' I think it wants to talk."

"Talk?" Phillipus raised an eyebrow. "While I admit that the general perception of the creatures as animalistic is quite false, I have yet to encounter one that actively tried to talk with one of the civilized races. Oh..." He nodded, his eyes lighting up. "Maybe it wants to share a secret treasure hoard with oh, wait that's nonsense." He sighed. "Well, one murloc shouldn't be much of a threat against two of us, so I don't see a reason not to listen, at least." The two of you looked at the creature, who looked back impassively. It tilted its head, before noticing that neither of you had spoken for a while.

"Fol-low. Hyu fol-low." It started walking down the beach, and Phillipus shrugged.

Thus did you follow a fish-person down a beach in the middle of a wasteland inhabited by the dead. There's a story.

The murloc, as it was apparently called, led you down the strand for several minutes.

"You said it was strange to see one of those here?" You decided to spend the time questioning Phillipus about the thing. He nodded.

"At least it's rare nowadays. Before the Scourging, you could find murloc villages across Lordaeron, some hostile and others not. But that," he pointed at your guide, "is not a local murloc. It's larger, and more brightly colored. Murlocs are almost always colorful, but this far North the colors were usually more diluted. That one's bright enough to be from the Baradin Bay, or even farther South." He rubbed his jaw. "But then how did it come here? And more importantly, why?"

"Ho-old." The sudden speech from the creature forced you to notice it had stopped. It was looking at you with an expression that you distinctly felt was patience. "Whet here. For hyu." Without another word, it walked into the waters and swam into the brown depths. You shared a look with Phillipus, and shrugged.

"I guess we wait?"

"I suppose so." He sat on a nearby rock. "It would be somewhat ironic if it was luring us into an ambush, wouldn't it?" He chuckled. "After what I said about one murloc not being a threat and all…" Your glare caused the air to remain silent and still when he noticed it, right up until he gulped nervously. "Not that it would be good of course, and not that this is an ambush…. I hope." Silence remained as your eyes narrowed further, your inner tactician screaming in rage at this not-insignificant oversight.

This uncomfortable state continued for about five minutes, by the end of which Phillipus was shifting back and forth with a worried expression on his face. Luckily for him, the murloc chose that moment to emerge from the water, carrying a colorful object. As it set the item down, you were able to examine it more closely.

It was a rectangular item made from a collection of corals and shells, arranged expertly to create what you had to admit was a work of art.

"For hyu. O-pin. Hyurs in-side. Ree-ter-neng." The murloc nodded to you, and then walked back into the water, its spines marking its passage across the massive lake. Only when it had truly disappeared into the distance did Phillipus speak.

"Well, that was odd. All of this for a coral casket?"

"This is a box?" You couldn't really tell what it was supposed to be, though you supposed that it could be a small chest of some kind, given the rectangular shape.

"Oh, yes." Phillipus was looking distinctly happier than he had been a moment ago. "And this is lacquered coral! Oh, this is a treat!" He lay prone on the sand, staring at it while muttering to himself. "Murlocs don't usually just give things like this to outsiders. I've heard of some tribes in Kul Tiras giving items of their own making to traders if a particularly good deal is struck, but never just like that for no reason!" He looked at you quizzically. "Have you ever offered help to a man who could only say 'mrrglgrrrgllmrgmglrrgrlrmlrmgr?'" You were rooted to your place, trying simply to understand how someone could pronouce that series of syllables.

"I… Do not think so." If he thought one had shapeshifted and you had helped it, he was probably wrong. That sounded like a leper that had lost his tongue. And you usually stayed far away from lepers.

"Hm. Curious." He stood up. "Well, aside from what appears to be an enchantment to improve durability, I can't see anything magical. Though that is advanced magic for murlocs. Their sorcerer must be quite powerful." He grinned. "Well, are you going to open it?"

"What?"

"It was delivered to you, miss Jeanne. I wouldn't dare take what is clearly meant for you to have."

[] Open it. Best to see what is inside, and if there is some danger, it's far enough from the camp that there shouldn't be any wounded.

[] Don't. You just got the thing from a fish-person. Who knows what they might be up to? (What do you do with it?)

King Tharassian · Mar 4, 2018

The small chest, made from the jewels of the sea, sat at your feet as the last ripples in the water of the lake faded, leaving no sign of the murloc's passage. Ultimately, there was no choice in the matter. The murloc had indicated that something was being returned, if you understood its garbled speech.

Kneeling in the sand, you gently lifted the lid.

-

"This is a suboptimal decision, Jeanne." Michael was tapping his foot.

"Well, unfortunately, you haven't given me much reason to hear such opinions out, Sir Michael. Or, for that matter, much advice at all since our arrival." Michael scowled.

"You know perfectly well that this is far more than we could do before. Or do you not recall that you could only hear us when church bells rang?" Catherine raised an eyebrow, ceasing her spinning for a moment.

"I doubt that. If I were the one who was blinded by white light and heard voices whenever a bell was ringing, I would remember it somewhat vividly. And to be perfectly frank, Michael, you have been quite vague. After all," she trailed off briefly, "you did mention something about 'impossibility,' did you not?" There was silence as Michael's face reddened, and then slackened, suddenly appearing very tired.

"It's only a theory." He sat on an invisible - or perhaps imaginary - chair and steepled his fingers. "I would need to see this 'Light' again, and more objectively than before. Since the last time we encountered it was when you," he looked back to you, nodding, "channeled it for the first time, it was difficult to get a solid idea of what exactly was happening. Combined with residuals left from the intrusion by, well, whatever that thing was, that difficulty multiplied itself tenfold." He frowned again. "Oh, you all changed the subject on me again."

"You kind of do it to yourself." Margaret happily chirped from behind a wall that was and was not there. She proceeded to flash an innocent grin at the archangel when he glared at her.

"Regardless, we still do not know what is in this casket. I most emphatically recommend-"

"Returning." Catherine spoke up again, having returned to her wheel.

"What?"

"The creature said it was 'returning.' I feel that the risk of a trap is negligible." She didn't even look up as Michael fumed.

"And what do you know of such things?"

"On traps? Nothing." She then turned, giving Michael a glare equal to his own. "Betrayals, however? A great deal more." Nothing more was said until she spoke again. "Do what you wish, Jeanne. It is your choice and yours alone."

You nearly let the lid fall closed. But only nearly. It was your choice, and you had made your decision. You lifted the many-colored casket, and looked inside.

There were three items: two bags and a piece of parchment, already opened due to lack of a seal.

"I…"

"I'll do it." Catherine took over. "It reads:

Greetings and Good Fortune to You.

I am sure you are questioning why my servant brought this to you. I am also sure that you have many more questions. Alas, I cannot answer them at this time.

I must apologize for not meeting with you in person, as well. There are certain limitations that I must abide, though it brings me no pleasure. Truth be told, I would much prefer to present my case in conversation. However, I have my own duties, and you - as I learned in the Forest of Whispers - have yours.

Thus, I present these items, which are surely yours if their proximity to your site of arrival is any truthful indication. I cannot begin to guess why you left them, but it is not for me to speculate.

Rest assured, there is no price on this. Think of this as what it is: the return of property to its rightful owner. Though I do hope to discuss the future in greater detail one day soon. And be sure that I will have my own way of communicating moments when such meetings might be possible.

May the Light Beneath grant you radiance and perfection.

- A friend"

You weren't sure exactly how to respond, but foremost in your mind was confusion. You could not think of any moment when you had been observed, let alone where you had been observed declaring a duty of some kind.

Rolling the parchment again, you opened the bags. The breath caught in your throat, and you were left dazed as you realized what was there.

Inside was….

Pick Two:

[] A piece of colored cloth, carefully rolled for ease of transport. The royal blue color was unmarred by fading, and you could see golden thread marking a design. It was a banner. The banner.

[] A rolled parchment, sealed with red wax. You felt simultaneous pride and anger when you saw it, remembering that even it had not saved you; the one thing you had been given in return for your service, when you had asked for nothing.

[] A book, bound in leather and marked with the cross, and a string of beads. It had always been more of a talisman for you, given your inability to understand its contents, but it had always brought a measure of comfort when you felt it was there.

[] A pair of rings, one brass, one dull silver. A pair of rings for two loyalties, two memories left in a faraway place. Two simple rings that had been taken, and you had never seen again.

None of the Tirasians commented on your absence as you walked back to the camp. Phillipus was holding on to the casket for study, but you vaguely heard him say that if you ever wanted it back, he would gladly give it.

You barely slept through the night, trying to determine what this meant. These things from your old life, suddenly yours again? A mysterious "friend?" You were not used to good fortune, given the kind of hell on earth (though Hell was likely far worse) that had been the last year of your life. This "friend" would likely ask something of you. Or at least, you expected that. If they didn't you would be pleasantly surprised.

You woke at first light, barely four hours of sleep under your belt. The soldiers, apparently getting used to your routine, were up minutes later, and the camp was packed in record time. As you set off across Tirisfal again, you felt a weight at your belt, where your "gifts" remained until you could bear to see them again.

As you passed through the plagued, half-living forests of the Glades, you were drawn inevitably back to memories both good and bad. They came in bursts, and no matter how much you focused on something, anything else, they always forced themselves back to the forefront of your mind.

A weight, trying to drag you back to times you would love to revisit, and to times you would gladly forget.

And along with votes, I need some rollz. (Ugh. Note to self: never try Xtreme letterz again.)

1d20 for Bulwark
1d20 for Scourge
1d20 for Crusaders
1d6 for Detection
1d6 for Patrols

King Tharassian · Mar 9, 2018

Krypta priestess voice: "At last...."

The last few days of the journey passed uneventfully, your passage across Tirisfal becoming less cautious as your group moved farther East. As you moved farther away from the ruined capital and the Undercity of the Forsaken, the Tirasians seemed far less dour than before, even joking at times to lighten the mood when it became to oppressive. You still remained somewhat separate, however, since you still weren't wholly ready to count yourself among these people. (A decision Michael lauded)

But there also came a change to the landscape. The ground, previously black and quite ashen in the heartland of Tirisfal, grew harder, denser and more moist with infrequent rain. The soil itself grew pale, and the sky became increasingly overcast by oily-looking clouds that moved almost viscously across the sky. The Plague had struck harder in the East, and it was very clear.

What struck you most, however, was how used the roads seemed. The cobblestone paths seemed well-maintained given the surroundings, and there were lanterns at regular points along them. You hadn't expected a horde of undead monstrosities and abominations against nature - or as the Argent Dawn called them, allies, according to the Tirasians - to use roads at all, let alone keep the existing ones in such good condition. You had to give them credit for their grasp of supply lines.

You took the opportunity to consider the single greatest obstacle to your entry into the Plaguelands: the Bulwark. A joint effort by the Forsaken and the Argent Dawn to prevent Scourge incursions further West, it also technically formed the border of all Scarlet operations according to the Silver Concord between the Crusade for Lordaeron and the Undercity. Under the rules placed in the treaty, the Scarlet Monastery was a violation of the Forsakens' sovereignty, and was exempt from any privilege of reinforcement or resupply. Thus, the presence of the Crusaders in Tirisfal was technically breaking those terms. But they, and you to an extent, considered any "sovereignty" held by walking corpses to be suspect at best.

The Bulwark would be heavily guarded, though it was little more than a palisade spanning the West King's Road, between two ranges of tall hills. If your group was found trying to circumvent it, it would likely lead to a breakdown of the treaty, and more immediately the destruction of all found in violation, likely including yourself. You didn't hold your life to be more important than those of your compatriots; far from it. However, dying was quite uncomfortable, and once was quite enough death for a very long time in your humble opinion. Unless the Almighty planned for it, anyway, given that all things were as He willed them. That would take it out of your hands. But you doubted that He would plan for you to die here so soon.

If only the Saints were able to speak more often. Since your arrival, they had been able to contact you more frequently and directly, but only slightly so. Now, they no longer needed you to be in hearing distance of church bells, which was convenient (you still regretted that time you had experimented with the idea that the closer you were to the bell, the longer you could speak with them. You had been functionally deaf for hours afterward), but they needed to devote most of thir newfound potency to preventing incursions like the one you had experienced in the forest.

You only broke from your reverie when one of the soldiers came over, and said that Phillipus wanted to speak with you on the next ridge.

"-rge are assaulting the place in these numbers? This is irregular, at best. They must know something we don't. That's the only explanation." Phillipus was standing atop the hill, looking down at something in the vale below. A cursory glance revealed that this… camp, was the Bulwark. How the meager defenses had held for this long was a mystery now that you could see them properly. The sharpened logs were rotting from exposure, and there seemed to be only a minimum garrison on duty.

"What is it, Phillipus?" He started slightly at your voice, but calmed admirably quickly.

"There's been a complication. In the last hour, there have been four attacks by the Scourge against the Bulwark." He gestured down to the collection of tents below. "The last occurred only ten minutes ago." Looking closer, you could see piles of grey corpses being burned off to one side.

"I assume this is unusual in some way?" In response, Phillipus nodded vigorously.

"Indeed, but it isn't the attacks themselves. It's the sheer volume of each wave." He leaned against a nearby tree. "There are always reports of Scourge attacks on the Forsaken. It comes with the Plaguelands. However, those attacks are about a third as strong as these at most!" He swept his arm toward the pass. "And so many attacks in such a short time… I can't imagine what pushed them to such lengths."

What, indeed. From what little you had gathered about patterns in Scourge movements (rare as they were), it was that they acted much like a living army, but with no care for losses or damage. The dead had the advantage of being completely immune to pain and fear, and the living were adept enough in dark magic to not need to be present at the front. Often, the only way to break the horde was to kill the necromancer, but they were often placed where only rifles or bows could strike. But at their core, their commanders had goals, and used the army to carry them out. For such an effort to be aimed solely at breaking the Bulwark was disturbing, especially in light of what you had just heard.

"You think we should still take your side route?" You were watching the camp more closely now. It seemed undermanned for such an important position, particularly with its reputation.

"With the Scourge now present in the picture?" Phillipus scoffed. "No question. In fact, we may want to be even more cautious." He looked down at the Bulwark again, and his eyes widened. Pulling out a spyglass, he stared slackjawed at something below. "By the Light, what are they doing?" Well, that sounded ominous. Seizing the spyglass from the limp hand of your compatriot, you looked down. You immediately understood his reaction.

A number of soldiers in the colors of the Scarlet Crusade were in the midst of the latest skirmish, dealing blows to both Scourge and Forsaken. One in particular, a mountain of a man with grey hair and a hammer taller than you were, was casting Light about himself in auras and incantations of healing. Others threw rings of crimson light out like discs, trapping some and repelling others.

This couldn't possibly be allowed under the Concord.

"One of those 'paladins' I've heard about?" It was uncanny. The same Light you had displayed, focused and magnified into something far greater than its base form. And this was the power of an average paladin? It didn't seem possible. And yet there it was, plain as day. It was engrossing.

So much so that you almost didn't see them. Coming over the ridge just to the South, a party of deathguards about twenty strong was rushing towards the Bulwark.

One was only a few feet away.

Suddenly thankful for the tall grass that had sprung up on the hill, you bit back a short litany of curses that surely would have cost you a few extra prayers. Phillipus seemed to be playing dead and just lay there like a slug. One of the deathguards stopped briefly and nudged the sea-preist, but shrugged it off and continued on his way a moment later. Two more patrols passed in short order, the total reinforcement numbering almost fifty soldiers.

"We need to do something." Phillipus was almost hissing. "I don't care what happens with the Bulwark, and the rest will probably agree. But we need to help our fellows out of there!"

"And what makes this group so important?" Something was up. He sighed.

"That's Sir Morlune, miss." He only looked more determined. "Those are my countrymen down there." Well then. That explained it.

Thus, you gathered the Tirasians, and planned to….

[] Attack from the ridge. There was no time for maneuvers or sneak attacks. The Forsaken and Scourge outnumbered your would-be comrades, and you weren't about to fail yet. (Write-in plan specifics optional)

[] Circled around, and reinforced Morlune and his Crusaders from the East. Their prowess and strength in the Light would likely hold long enough for you to sneak past the Bulwark. (Write-in plan specifics optional)

[] Do nothing.

[] Write in

You: Jeanne d'Arc, 8 footmen, two riflemen, three Sea-priests

Scarlet Crusade: Morlune the Mighty, 100 remaining

Forsaken Garrison: ???, 80 remaining, 50 incoming

Undead Scourge: ???, 250 remaining, reinforcements unknown

Sorry about the wait, everybody. Things got hectic for a while.

King Tharassian · Mar 13, 2018

"We attack. Now!" The Tirasians, gathered up by Phillipus, gave you a collective stare.

One raised her hand.

"Yes?"

"Uh, Miss, no disrespect intended, but…" She pointed down at the battle. "That's the Bulwark." You had to blink.

"Yes, I know."

"The one garrisoned by the Forsaken."

"Right."

"You want us to go down right now from this side towards the Bulwark." What was she - oh, that was what she meant.

"I think the Concord will overlook the situation when we aid in repelling a Scourge attack." You gave her your best expression of self-assurance, at least as much as you could when she was taller than you. "Rifles, focus on the Scourge's skeleton mages. The rest of you, we'll cut a path to Sir Morlune and the others. Avoid conflict with the Forsaken if you can." You spun on your heel before further objections could be raised. There was no time for further talk. You knew they would follow you. They always did in the end. Gilles would -

Wait. No. Gilles wouldn't be doing anything anymore. The realization struck with the force of a jouster's lance. They might follow you, but only because you were blessed. They did not know you with any great familiarity. A week of you staying mostly outside interaction had seen to that. Even a week where you had made yourself more familiar might not have changed anything, for all you knew.

You shook those thoughts out of your mind. There was a time for such ponderings. It wasn't now. Drawing the sword at your belt, you made a mental note to avoid using your right hand at all, and began jogging down the hill.

The jog became a run, and that became a charge. The crack of the twin rifles behind you heralded the death of two summoned undead, and you slammed sword-first into a walking corpse just as it broke through the Forsaken line.

As you entered the wild melee, you realized something odd: the Forsaken weren't attacking you. One had even nodded at you as you cut down another ghoul! This was…. Alien.

The battle was, simply put, a struggle. When one ghoul fell, another filled its place. The mindless dead clambered over each other in their rush to slaughter their enemies, some simply forgotten and trampled into shards of bone and scraps of flesh as the assault continued unabated. You could see Sir Morlune and his crusaders on the other side of the battle, but they seemed just as far away now as when you had first seen them from the ridge.

It was only when you realized you had moved ten feet in as many minutes that your faith in the idea of cutting a path began to waver. And astoundingly, you simultaneously lost a little faith in the combat abilities of all three sides. The Crusaders had suffered minimal casualties and no fatalities, but were trapped on the defensive against waves of undead, only able to strike back on rare occasions. The Forsaken were just fighting a battle of equal odds, neither losing nor destroying many. It was like a set of rocks all pressing against each other, changing places but never gaining ground.

After thirty minutes had passed, you were near-covered in cuts and bruises. Your arm was burning from exertion, and you barely registered as your swing met no resistance. The Scourge had been pushed back by a combined line of Forsaken and Crusaders in one part of the field, and you had just broken into the space behind them. The wounded were tended to by Forsaken apothecaries or Scarlet priests. There were a few soldiers in dark tabards with silver suns, one of whom was arguing with Sir Morlune.

Now that you were closer, he was even more impressive: at least six feet tall, clad in armor to make the grandest of knights jealous, and wearing a full beard and hair tied back in what the Tirasians called a sailor's knot, a mane of silver flecked with evidence that it had been black some years ago. The hammer that had seemed impressive before was now awe-inspiring: forged wholly of some silver metal, a great bronze shield inlaid on the side and carved with innumerable sigils that you had surmised formed this land's alphabet.

The other was far less astounding. She was still taller than you, which was irritating, but she was much younger - or at least appeared so - than Morlune. Her blonde hair did not so much frame her face as intrude on it, straying too close to the corners of her eyes as she and the larger man traded barbs. You couldn't exactly make out what they were saying, but your focus was more on some of the larger cuts anyway, so that was understandable. A couple of them were bleeding worryingly much. Luckily, you had something to draw upon.

Coaxing the Light back to the surface was more instinctual than anything else, and you felt a soothing numbness as it filled you again. Admittedly you should have tried to use it more against the undead, but it would be a while before you were used to having such power at your call. You had a distinct feeling that your eyes were glowing, but you were not terribly concerned. Even as a shadow stood over you.

"You must be the one Thornby mentioned." The one who spoke was young, and male. Looking up, you found another Tirasian - they were swarthy almost universally, and so easily told apart - wearing green robes and the tabard of the Crusade. You could easily tell he wasn't a sea-priest, but he was covered in water motifs. Nearby, a similar creature to the water-beast - which was apparently called an 'elemental' - utilized the same strategy as its absent kin, and the ghoul acting as its club would, if possible, have surely been quite displeased with the situation. "Though I suppose I expected someone taller." Your frown must have been truly something, as he was grinning like a maniac.

"I believe you have the advantage of me, sir."

"Ah, of course," he flung a spike of ice at a nearby ghoul as he spoke, "where are my manners? Lucius Dunhelming, chief hydromancer of the Host, at your service. The good Captain had quite a bit to say on your behalf." He turned toward the elemental, frowning as he cast a cyclone of water and ice shards at a nearby group of skeletons. "Not quite as efficient with the bindings as I had hoped. It still isn't maximizing its damage output compared to the obvious frustration it feels about…" You began to tune out his inane ramblings as he descended into mathematical gibberish, clearly too engrossed in whatever research he was using the battle for to notice your leaving.

Getting back up, you strode back to the battle, noting that many of those soldiers in black had joined the lines. The Bulwark was now fully behind the unified front, and the Scourge were driven to a standstill. Occasional reinforcements trickled in from the East, but they were barely worth noting, and at the rate they were advancing, it was likely that the necromancers would cut their losses or lose interest. They were now visible on a hill some ways beyond the battle, one of them pacing back and forth and making wild gestures in some flavor of frustration. At least, that's what you thought those specks were. There was some distance between you and them, so it was difficult to tell.

You could easily see one point in the Scourge assault that was weakening. It was made up almost entirely of skeletons, apparently summoned by the necromancers to fill in the gap. A good strike would possibly break the line, and force the Scourge to defend against the combined soldiers of the Crusade and Tirisfal.

Farther down the line, you saw what appeared to be a ghostly woman, screaming at an inhuman pitch and directing the largest part of the attacking force.

As you moved to join the lines, your squadron caught up.

"Milady?" Phillipus was apparently too concerned with the battle to bother with typical chains of command at the moment. "What are your orders?"

[] Attack the weak point. Break the line, and the assault would fail. (write in specifics optional)

[] Strike at the ghost. If the forward commander was destroyed, it would become much easier to repel the attack. (write in specifics optional)

[] Go for the necromancers. If you could kill them, you would deny the Scourge their abilities in the future. They were only a few out of many, but it would be something. (write in specifics optional)

[] Write in

You: Jeanne d'Arc, 8 footmen, two riflemen, three Sea-priests

Scarlet Crusade: Morlune the Mighty, 100 remaining, 10 injured (minor)

???: ???, 30 remaining

Forsaken Garrison: ???, 110 remaining, ??? injured

Undead Scourge: ???, ~270 remaining, reinforcements unknown

King Tharassian · Mar 19, 2018

The line was holding, and the battle had turned in your favor. The arrival of the soldiers in black had helped even the odds, and that meant a great deal when your enemy's tactics could be accurately summed up as "drown them in bodies." After all, it would be hard to drown ten people with only ten cups of water. Though that comparison was somewhat suspect, and you added that to the mental list of prayers and apologies you would make tonight.

"The necromancers are the greatest assets the Scourge have on the field." Several soldiers of the Crusade, many also Tirasian, had walked over to listen in on the plan.

"But we would have to circle around." Phillipus was rubbing his jaw again. He did that a lot, didn't he?

"Perhaps." You had considered it, certainly. "But all undead are vulnerable to the Light. We do not need to strike in a flanking maneuver when we have divine radiance on our side." The Crusaders nodded, even Phillipus agreeing with the sentiment. "We will shatter their line and cut off the head of the snake in a single blow. Any who wish to join may do so." You looked up, seeing that your band had grown yet more. You read their faces as you had so many in the past, judging their willingness to join you. None stepped away.

"May the grace of the LORD be with us all, and may He protect and guide us in this work." They did not understand the blessing, but they knew its meaning, and your war-party marched, bolstered by almost twenty more soldiers.

A short prayer under your breath brought the Light forward again, and the same golden glow filled the air, seemingly purifying the noxious mist that crept across the dying earth. Your host pressed into the line, a bulwark of steel against the horde of bones. Another laborious battle might have ensued…

But you had the Almighty on your side.

The Light shattered the first few skeletons in seconds, bone ash falling to the ground in clouds. Your sword flashed golden and green as it clove a skull in two, and you saw One of Dunhelming's elementals throw a boulder at another clump of enemies.

You were a spearhead, piercing the line of the enemy and turning the tide. Your allies? They were a sledgehammer. The skeletons broke under the assault, many simply trampled underfoot as your Crusaders pressed forward in a zealous fervor. In an instant, the defenders gained the advantage, the Scourge split into two separate forces that were far more easily contained. But you pressed on.

More skeletons came, of course. The necromancers were able to keep their nerve that well, at least. But they also didn't retreat. Whether it was overconfidence or fear of reproach you were not certain, but they did not run. Instead, they doubled their summoning, the carts of corpses draining ever faster as you marched towards the hill. Hordes of bleached bones in the shapes of men charged down, only to be shattered by maces, cloven by swords, or burned by holy fire.

You continued, the ashes and dust cracking underfoot as you came closer. And they stopped. Instead, they channeled more energy, a larger spell that would have a larger result. Rushing forward, you managed to cut down one of the five before he could complete his vile magics. But it was not enough. From the remaining cart rose a misshapen monstrosity, formed from bones and blood and scraps of flesh.

Gurgling and shrieking, it dragged itself out of the cart, its sheer mass allowing it to move more quickly than you thought possible. A dozen hands in various states of decay sat at the end of its many-jointed arm, and the other limb ended in a mass of hardened bone. A single swing sent three of your Crusaders flying, and one of the necromancers was crushed by its club-like appendage with an errant swing. And then it screamed.

The sound was like a thousand shards of glass scraping together, trying to break into your skull. You almost thought that you could hear laughter, but you were not certain.

The club-like arm swung, and you were sent flying, a burning pain blossoming in your ribs. Your Light intensified in compensation, the pain numbing again until you landed, which only aggravated it again. The constant shifting between pain and numbing that had absorbed the last few seconds was not going to be easily dealt with later. The Light could do many things, but it seemed mending bones that were out of place was not one of them, and you felt as though you had cracked or broken a rib.

"Beast, summoned from the pits of Hell…" You were gasping for breath even as you tried to level your finest glare and righteous lambasting at the thing. Predictably, it ignored you. But that was a good thing. You could get closer that way.

You went into a singleminded attack, each strike aimed at a joint, every moment dedicated to the destruction of the beast. The Light scorched it even as you cut away at it, your allies casting spells to heal and harm, and some vaguely visible in the corner of your vision, cutting down the necromancers in a fury.

After what felt an eternity, the battle slowed, and the thing was left to pitifully drag itself towards you, shattered and broken even as it crackled in defiance. There was no feeling of jubilation as it finally ended, Light and steel destroying what was left; only satisfaction that it was done. By the time you reached the lines again, the battle had passed, and the soldiers remaining were licking their wounds. You recognized the scene, as you had seen it many times before. Some things, it seemed, were universal.

"And that is enough." Michael intruded on your thoughts again.

"What?" You didn't understand for a moment. "Oh, right. That impossibility, correct?" He nodded.

"Yes. The Light is strangely similar to the aura of the Almighty, but not precisely so. That burst you used allowed me to get a proper look at it. On the surface, it appears identical. However…"

"However?" You didn't like where this was going. "There should be no 'however' about it. None can impersonate God, and none could come so close to His glory."

"Well, this isn't the same!" Michael was almost yelling. Was he worried? "The basic concepts are right, but the underlying fabric is different. It's like if you… If you tried to copy a tapestry by looking at the front and not examining the exact nature of the weave. It appears identical, but the path to that point is different just enough to tell the two apart."

"And what could possibly make such things in the image of His work? Only He could create something like himself, and you remember very well how that ended, Michael." Perhaps it was too much, but the thought was too frightening. No. The Light was His work, and you would not accept the alternative. Michael was still staring as if struck, but Margaret was hiding, and Catherine…

"And if Michael is correct, Jeanne? What then?" She spoke up, her wheel spinning the threads ever-finer. "Will you rage against the heavens and wage war on these people too? Regardless of their being heathens, they have clearly never heard the Word, Jeanne. And though I doubt the likelihood of Michael's theory," she threw a glance at the sulking archangel as she mentioned him, "even if it is true, the Light seems benevolent. Think on that."

And thus you were unceremoniously thrown out of your own mindscape. They were becoming more palpable. That… Was strange. They had never been quite so powerful as to cast you from the vastness of their place in your mind. Then again, they had rarely had as much power to even speak to you as they did now. You shook the thought away, trying to clear your head.

Walking back to the joint lines, you considered what you would do next.

Pick Two, and specify what you want for each:

[] You spoke to Sir Morlune. It was time that you met one of these Paladins.

[] You sought out that Hydromancer, Dunhelming, and found him speaking with a young woman in... priestly robes. That's… odd.

[] You found the woman in the black tabard, and decided that learning who she was, and what faction she served, was beneficial.

[] You swallowed your distaste and spoke to one of the Forsaken. One of the leaders, you assumed.

[] You decided to be on your own again. You needed to think.

[] Write in

Battle Complete!

Losses:

Scarlet Crusade: 6
???: None
Forsaken Garrison: 23
The Undead Scourge: ~220, five necromancers

Status: Minor bruising, Left wrist in accelerated state of healing

san gained: One (1) +10 Beta Bonus

King Tharassian · Mar 22, 2018

You wandered for a while, never exactly focusing on one part of the camp until you found an area bearing the silver sun. The soldiers in black were milling about, and some were working at a breakneck pace under the guidance of the woman you had seen earlier.

You briefly considered just leaving. They were busy, and most likely planning to move soon. But you didn't know who they were, and that was unconscionable. You needed to know as much as possible. Thus, you strode up with all the authority you could muster.

Which was promptly undermined as she turned to face you, and you found her actively looking down to actually look you in the eye. This was beginning to get tired.

"Ah, so you must be the one that nearly blinded the army earlier." You couldn't help your eyes widening at the concept, but you managed to regain control of your eyelids fast enough that she probably didn't see it.

"I doubt that it was quite that bright. I wouldn't have been able to see at all, myself." You took the opportunity to redirect the conversation. "And my name is Jeanne."

"Officer Pureheart." She extended her hand, which you shook as she continued. "Head of the Chillwind outpost of the Argent Dawn."

"You're one of the Dawn?" That made too much sense now that you thought about it. In fact, it should have been obvious. A silver sun? Curse your lack of context! On second thought, you should have probably reined in the time you spent talking with Phillipus. His melodrama was rubbing off on your thoughts. Recovering your senses, you said the first thing that came to mind. "I've heard a great deal about your order." Pureheart snorted.

"I'm sure you have, traveling with Scarlets. We don't exactly get along, after all." You had gathered that. You'd had to intervene personally when the crude jokes using the order's title had become intolerable.

"I don't understand why there is such animosity, though." You took a seat on a log bench opposite Pureheart. "You're fighting the same battle. I'll admit that I do not entirely approve of working with the undead, but-"

"The Forsaken aren't the Scourge, Miss Jeanne." She was defensive. Why? "They have their free will, and they have their personalities. Yes, they were changed when they were raised, but you try to imagine the trauma of dying and rising again with your mind completely intact."

"And everything else I've heard?" Your opposition was more out of habit forged by war room debate than anything else. "The slavery? The vivisections?" You hadn't even known that word existed before you had arrived, and now you wished that you had never learned it at all. "Do their circumstances justify their actions?" Pureheart was drawing her hand across her face, clearly tired of similar sentiments.

"The Forsaken are… Complicated." She looked over at her soldiers. "They have a natural tendency towards negative emotion: anger, hatred, and the like. The ones who gravitate towards organizations like the Dawn are the ones who rise above that, and can interact with the world in a way that actually resembles a living person. The ones who join the Apothecary Society are typically those who feel even less than usual." She shrugged, a grimace on her face. "But the Undercity is strong enough that we can't afford a battle with them at the same time as with the Scourge. Windrunner may be less heroic than she was, but she's a damn good administrator, if the results are any indication."

"And… What about the Light? I've heard some things said about your order's interpretations, and none of those were particularly flattering." Your newest point simply made Pureheart sigh.

"We're far less extreme in our practices than the Scarlet Crusade." She leaned back, before remembering that there was nothing behind her. "There are the three virtues at the core of our faith: respect, tenacity,, and compassion. The willingness to forgo hate, the willingness to persist against the odds, ad the willingness to love and understand those different from us. We in the Argent Dawn try to observe all three. The Crusade? I've attended one of their masses, and I have only one thing to say." She frowned. "I've never heard compassion and respect so blatantly overshadowed by tenacity before or since. The priests who fight under the sign of the flame are almost universally dedicated to victory at any cost."

"But against a foe like the Scourge, isn't that somewhat necessary?" It seemed so to you, anyway.

"Not if the zeal of the victors leaves nothing behind to reclaim." She stood. "I apologize, but I must be attending to my unit. Good day to you, Miss Jeanne."

"And to you." That had been enlightening. Fresh questions in your mind, you decided to find another individual. It was time you met Sir Morlune, as far as you were concerned.

It took some time, and more than a little pestering Phillipus, but you eventually found Sir Morlune saying prayers over a small graveyard just South of the Bulwark. You could understand some of his words, but the prayer itself was unfamiliar, scattered with words in another, older language that sounded like Latin if it was spoken by a German and then an Englishman with neither fully remembering what they had heard. As you tried to match some of the words to ones you knew, he finished the prayer and turned to face you.

"I'm surprised that you didn't speak up." He did not seem at all opposed to your patience, instead sounding more like Gilles did whenever he had proven you wrong on something (a rare occurrence).

"I did not wish to interrupt. I understand respect for the peaceful dead." The specific form of dead was necessary, given the circumstances. Morlune chuckled, and you could have sworn he looked more like a doting grandfather in that moment than a knight on crusade.

"A young woman who understands faith. I can appreciate that." He picked up the massive hammer, resting it on his shoulder. "Walk with me, if you would." You did so, trying to find the words for what you had to ask. "You have questions. Don't be afraid to ask them." At your expression, he laughed. "The young have a particular look whenever they are curious, I've found. It's no particular transparency on your part."

"I just…" This felt like discussing faith with your town's priest again. "I spoke with Officer Pureheart. She said a few things that I wanted another perspective upon." Morlune, surprisingly, did not react with any derision. Only a raised eyebrow betrayed his own feelings.

"Such as?"

"Well, she said that your two orders have quite different interpretations of the Light, for one thing. She claimed that two of the virtues your church holds dear are pushed aside in favor of the third." He nodded, appearing to chew on his mustache as he thought.

"In a way, she is correct." His bluntness was unexpected. "We have no illusions about the nature of our order, nor about our focus. But we allow ourselves to see what the Argent Dawn do not: that this crusade is a matter of faith as much as it is territory; vengeance as much as Justice. When Arthas betrayed his father, he didn't just destroy a kingdom; he broke its people. The Grand Crusader, General Abbendis, the Grand Inquisitor and even humble Miss Barton all lived through the Scourging. Commander Pureblood and Highlord Fordring are natives as well, and even Highlord Mograine, Light keep him, was a member of the Silver Hand before its dissolution, and saw the Kingdom fall apart." He rolled one shoulder with a grimace. "The Argent Dawn have good intentions, but they're too soft, too forgiving. They don't understand the situation in Tirisfal was we do, and have no presence in the East that we did not make possible. They believe that compassion is something we can afford. We disagree. When the foe is mindless, heartless and without number, there is no place for such kindness. They are dead, and destroying them frees their souls from their torment." He swept his arm outward, pointing back at the graveyard. "Those stones are among the only ones still marking bodies in the whole of the Plaguelands. The rest are either emptied by the works of necromancers or mark only urns filled with ashes. Both of our orders fight to prevent any more suffering, any more undead being left to wander the realm as mindless pawns. But they fight for 'peace in our time.' We fight for Lordaeron."

It was a great deal to take in. The Dawn, as far as you could tell, was made up of pragmatists who didn't care what happened with the land after the Scourge was destroyed. The Crusade was focused far more on reclaiming it; all of it, from Tirisfal to the East. One order made compromises to ease the burden of the effort. The other made no such efforts.

"And the Forsaken?" You looked up to gauge his reaction. "What is the Crusade's stance on them?" Morlune ran his hand through his beard, working out a knot you couldn't see.

"They are something different from the Scourge. That is the basic idea." He sighed. "But not much better. In the early days, I've heard that there was some negotiation, but things have become hostile since then. The Grand Crusader has declared that we're to tolerate them only if there is no other choice." He turned to look at you. "Your experience with them should be indicative, if the good Captain was being truthful." Nodding, you let him continue. "The Dawn uses individual exceptions as proof that the whole can be redeemed. I don't believe it. One of our finest, a James Vishas by name, has studied them extensively. Their souls are bound imperfectly to their bodies, preventing them from experiencing the world as we do."

"Pureheart mentioned their leaning towards the darker emotions, but why wouldn't individuals be accepted?"

"Because of the very fact that their souls are so bound. It is wrong and unrighteous to allow such suffering. Why do you think so many refuse to turn away from Sylvanas and her cronies? They are, each and every one, deeply traumatized and scarred on a level that we simply cannot treat. If we could rehabilitate them, I would absolutely advocate such. But it is a part of their being, and it is far more merciful to free them than to leave them in a state where the Light is their antithesis." The two of you walked in silence for a while, as you made sense of the different arguments in your mind. This only broke when he began again. "I noticed a novice wielding a great deal of Light during the battle. Was that you?"

"I suppose it was." You shrugged. "Pureheart claimed that I blinded the army, but I cannot see how."

"Ah, but to those versed in viewing the magics of the world, your display must have been visible from Andorhal, miss!" Morlune was smiling, and you once again saw that grandfatherly expression. "Thornby wasn't exaggerating. I can see that now."

"Oh?" Now that was interesting. "And what did he say? He only told me that my Light was 'potent,' whatever that may mean." Morlune grinned even wider.

"He said that you may even come close to Whitemane. Of course, Thornby has only met the woman once, and that was a mass that I didn't attend due to other concerns, so I'm not certain that it's actually true. But you have potential beyond even some of those I taught in the old days." He looked back toward the Bulwark, the fortifications drawing nearer as you walked. "Are you coming to Vandermar?"

"That was the original plan." You had new perspective after all. "I might accompany your party back there, if I may. I'd like to see how you've managed to rebuild, given what I've seen of the circumstances and," you swept your arm out at the landscape, "the environment." Morlune nodded.

"If you do, I think I'd like to speak with you further. There are a few who have a feeling of.. I suppose it is potential around them. I've met the young Highlord Fordring; he has it. Sir Uther had it, and Tirion as well, for the short time I knew the both of them. I daresay you do as well." He turned to you again, standing at the edge of the Bulwark. "Such potential is rare, and easily turned to dark purposes or unworthy causes. I would like to discuss the possibility of bringing it to fruition in the best way possible." You raised an eyebrow.

"Such as being a paladin, Sir Morlune? I cannot say I know much about such things." He turned back toward the other Crusaders.

"We all began as novices miss. There is no shame in where you start; only in where you find yourself, should you have taken a wrong turn." He nodded to you, that smile still there under his beard, though somewhat more somber than before. "I hope to see you among our number when we go." He turned and walked away, leaving you to your thoughts, and your decision.

Choose One:

[] You went with the Crusaders to Vandermar. They were harsh, but justifiably so, and you preferred to be among people who would know you than start over a second time. It was selfish as far as you were concerned, but you felt as though it would be forgiven this once.

[] You went with the Argent Dawn to Chillwind Camp. They were naive, but well-intentioned, and you found just as much righteousness in them as in the Crusade.

[] Write In

End of Chapter Two

Faction Met: The Argent Dawn

And there you have it. I hope I did them both justice. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask.

Adhoc vote count started by King Tharassian on Mar 22, 2018 at 2:51 PM, finished with 537 posts and 8 votes.

5 people have voted
[X] You went with the Crusaders to Vandermar. They were harsh, but justifiably so, and you preferred to be among people who would know you than start over a second time. It was selfish as far as you were concerned, but you felt as though it would be forgiven this once.
1 people have voted
[X] You went with the Crusaders to Vandermar. They were harsh, but justifiably so, and you preferred to be among people who would know you than start over a second time. It was selfish as far as you were concerned, but you felt as though it would be forgiven this once.
- Brainwasher
1 people have voted
[X] You went with the Argent Dawn to Chillwind Camp. They were naive, but well-intentioned, and you found just as much righteousness in them as in the Crusade.
- Zaealix

Adhoc vote count started by King Tharassian on Mar 22, 2018 at 3:45 PM, finished with 26 posts and 15 votes.

9 people have voted
[X] You went with the Crusaders to Vandermar. They were harsh, but justifiably so, and you preferred to be among people who would know you than start over a second time. It was selfish as far as you were concerned, but you felt as though it would be forgiven this once.
3 people have voted
[X] You went with the Argent Dawn to Chillwind Camp. They were naive, but well-intentioned, and you found just as much righteousness in them as in the Crusade.
1 people have voted
[X] You went with the Crusaders to Vandermar. They were harsh, but justifiably so, and you preferred to be among people who would know you than start over a second time. It was selfish as far as you were concerned, but you felt as though it would be forgiven this once.
- Brainwasher
1 people have voted
[X] You went with the Argent Dawn to Chillwind Camp. They were naive, but well-intentioned, and you found just as much righteousness in them as in the Crusade.
- Zaealix

The Maid of the Comet: A Tale from Azeroth

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