The Maid of the Comet: A Tale from Azeroth

[King Tharassian]

Vote is closed. Now for the Interlude.

Character:

[] Stormfathom, Exiled from the Light of Lights

[] Her Mirror's Image

[] In His Highness' Service

[] Fire and Fury

[] Strangers in a Strange Land

Informational:

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

[] [REDACTED]'s Profile of Leaders for Regent Fordragon, 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

Strange, Silly and Weirdness:

[] The Adventures of Lieutenant Alverold and Crew: Too Quiet for Quillboars

OR:

[] None​

 

[King Tharassian]

I hope I did the character justice!

---

Tyr's Hand, 25 ADP

"You are troubled."

Brigitte Abbendis was not easily shaken. She had survived the Scourging, the 'reign' of the traitorous 'King,' and the years since with nothing but faith and steel. Such dark days had a tendency to harden one's will and numb their fear.

It had not prepared her for this most recent miracle.

"Would you not be, in my position? I did not expect you, let alone what you have revealed to me."

"Alas, dear Brigitte, I can not understand, having never been human."

"Mortal." Brigitte whispered, not daring to speak any louder to correct the voice. "You have never been mortal." As much as the Grand Crusader's… New proposals made sense, she was still hesitant. The dwarves were the best smiths they had access to, and the elves were enchanters and mages without peer, as well as excellent scouts. Could they afford to alienate even more of their already-thinning list of allies?

"Ah, yes. Of course. I was not aware that the Crusade held the other races in respect."

"Aside from…" Brigitte hesitated at the memory. Ever since the Grand Crusader had drawn into isolation within the Scarlet Bastion, most reports came to her. Renee Lauer's activities and death in Tirisfal had been among them. "Aside from a select few exceptions, there remains a mutual agreement between the races of Lordaeron that the Scourge are a greater foe." The voice hummed. The feeling in her mind sent warmth through her entire being, like a fire after a winter storm.

"An unspoken agreement. I can see the parts you leave out, remember." Brigitte stared out from the ramparts into the Enclave, the walls of New Avalon rising in the distance. "Speak. I would hear what you wish to say." She frowned.

"Is it-" Her breath caught in her throat. "Is it true? Is all of this for nothing?" There was a long silence as the voice pondered. "Is the Crusade doomed?" Silence again.

"Within the next two years, yes." Her fists clenched and her teeth gritted together. She was fighting back the rage even as the voice continued. "I am loathe to admit it, but your efforts, though admirable, have been for naught. The Crusade will fail, and Lordaeron's reclamation will fall to others." The rage came back tenfold.

"And who will take it up? The Brotherhood, with their politics and compromises? The Alliance? The Argent Dawn, that legion of deserters and apologists?" The memories came back, the one moment that could instill such rampant, uncontrolled expression flooding back to the front of her mind. "None of them could do it. They aren't willing to do what we are doing. They don't have the will, the steel, the numbers…"

"Or the late Lord Abbendis?" She was left to fester in impotent anger as the voice's presence pored through everything. "That's what you were thinking. You quite admired him."

"Who wouldn't have? He was everything that the Crusade needed a leader to be: confident to a fault, great beyond all expectation, and a better tactician than almost anyone before or since. They still talk about the days when he led the armies among the old guard." A sad smile came to her face. "I suppose it could never have lasted, in hindsight."

"The great do seem to have a shocking tendency to fall from grace or die young." The voice held a morbid amusement as it spoke. "I hope to avoid that with you, Brigitte. You need not share your father's fate." She took control of her body again, flexing her hands and breathing long and deep. When she felt able, she began the walk towards the basilica, strides stiff and heavy.

"So what can be done?" Her mind turned slowly back to metal and wheels, gears clicking in harmony to devise the perfect strategy, trained by five years of leadership. "The only way I can devise would be to move all portable assets to another location from which to more easily continue the mission, but that would take months of preparation. Of course, I would prefer if you were to tell me whether or not there is a way to hold back the tide."

"There may be. Explain your current strategy."

"Resettlement would require a vast region of undeveloped land that is either unclaimed or contested in such a way as to allow our own claim to it." She was in her element again; the race against herself to create a plan that would solve the problem efficiently and effectively, while still leaving room for other concerns. "I can think of three such regions that would allow for such a move. One: Kalimdor. The new continent has significant tracts of arable land that could be easily claimed with no contest. The problems are the neighbors: the Horde to the North, savages on all sides. The comparative size of the barren savannah makes things difficult, but there are areas that could be viable with enough resources imported with an expeditionary fleet." She mentally made a note to write all of this down later. "Two: Northeron. The wildlands are currently divided, but they have a number of benefits, including a far more accessible recruiting base, since Stormwind and Ironforge are much closer. The problems: first, the elves. We would lose most if not all contact with Quel'Thalas, and so recruiting mages and scouts would be more difficult. Second, the neighbors, again. The Wildhammers are notoriously independent, and the Dragonmaw clan is still at large in the region. And the third area…" She paused, considering the sanity of the idea. "Northrend. It's the heart of the Scourge, but there are apparently vast regions of unclaimed land with no inhabitants save for nomads. Problems: the weather, which is always below freezing; the distance, which would make importing supplies such as foodstuffs costly, and the neighbors: the Scourge in particular." She bit her lip in concentration. "I would prefer the first two, but the last would make combating the Scourge itself a more direct affair."

"All good plans." The voice made a sound that seemed to indicate applause. "I particularly like the last one. However, those should be last resorts." It waited for her to have entered the basilica proper before speaking again. "There is another way." Her eyes narrowed, and she recalled what it had told her since its appearance. Nothing it had said indicated ambiguity.

"And what would that be?"

"It seems that the Scourge, villains that they are, have inserted a new pawn into Lordaeron. This puppet has already begun the work of undermining the Crusade's efforts in the West, earning the trust of local leaders to build a reputation with which to destroy all the progress that has been made."

"And they do this willingly? That's-"

"No. She is convinced that she hears the Light speak to her." Brigitte nearly tripped over herself, recollecting her composure before any of the acolytes or priests in the grand basilica could notice.

"That's impossible. No one could possibly impersonate the Light. No one could impersonate-"

"I know very well what could achieve such things, Brigitte. Impersonating Us is no small feat, but there are powers in the world capable of such perfidy."

"But... that isn't…" She knew it was, in some way, but it was terrifying nonetheless. The possibility of Scourge infiltrators impersonating the best of paladins… She couldn't bear that kind of fear. The Crusade couldn't handle it. She would address that more directly once the current crisis had been averted. She shook her head, clearing her mind. "How can I halt the progress of this blasphemous scheme?" The voice hummed in her mind again.

"There are two ways I can propose: one, to simply reveal the error of her thinking, and bring her into the fold. The second, obviously…"

"Is to silence her permanently." She needed more information. There was no time to waste. "Can you show me?"

"Go to one of the reflecting basins. I can show you there." Righteous fervor burning again in her heart, she strode to one of the basins set into the walls, staring in. Without a word, the voice shaped an image in the still waters.

Before her eyes was a mere girl, no more than twenty years of age, if not younger. Sun-tanned skin told a story of peasant birth and work in the fields, but her face bore an expression of experience; confidence, even. Short, dark hair framed large, even darker eyes possessed of a grave expression. There was a sword at her belt, and if she was as strong as common-borns tended to be, would have no difficulty using it.

A girl nearly fifteen years her junior would doom the Crusade? It seemed ridiculous. But she knew otherwise. None had expected the Prince's betrayal, for he so loved his people. None had foreseen the destruction of Stormwind by the orcs, for all their savagery and disunity.

"Have you made your choice?" The voice held no accusation, no indication of bias. It simply asked, and Brigitte knew her answer.

"I know what I must do. What is her name?"

"Her trueborn name is lost to me, for she possesses protections given by her dark masters, unwitting though she may be." It did not sound disappointed so much as inconvenienced, as though someone had walked before it during a journey, slowing progress by a few seconds. "But she does go by a particular title. The soldiers with whom she has fought have begun calling her 'the Maid.'" There was a pause. "Good luck, Brigitte. I must go. I hope that we may halt the coming doom." Even after the voice left, and Brigitte felt the Light fade in intensity, the image remained. She stared at the hollow image for a time, searching for any malice in the girl's face. She found none, and it troubled her. One so convinced of her own rightness would have been a valuable ally, and could have been a true hero.

How cruel that the Scourge would take that all away. She watched as the figure seemed to come to life, and saw the shock on her face as she seemed to see Abbendis back. Brigitte swept a finger across the water, sending ripples through the basin and shattering the image.

She would find this "Maid," wherever she was. She would determine the extent of her corruption. If she was able, she would free the girl. But it was a slim chance.

Brigitte's hand gripped a phantom of her axe. If the girl was ensorcelled to the point of hopelessness, she would strike her down, as was right and just. The Crusade was vital. It was necessary, and any step was justified, no matter how painful or terrible.

Such was the oath she had sworn.​

 

[King Tharassian]

Sorry about the wait, everybody. The update is short, but life is... life. Ugh.

---

You did not need much time to come to a decision. The Crusade's soldiers had made a good impression, and they were respectful of you. As noble as the Argent Dawn seemed to be, they did not appear to have the same kind of dedication or cause as the Scarlets. So you joined the train of soldiers in red, traveling southeast along the River Darrow.

The waters were startlingly clear, and seemed to contrast with the dead, corrupted feeling you got from the rest of the Plaguelands. As you walked along the path next to the river, you saw items that were identified by a soldier nearby as totems, carved into the shape of serpents. Apparently they had been placed by the sea-priests to provide the village with a steady supply of uninfected water. You didn't fully understand it, but it seemed as though the totems generated a complex magical pattern that purified the water as it flowed down into the lowlands towards Darrowmere Lake.

The journey took another two days, and you became increasingly convinced that the farther East you traveled, the worse the Plague's effects would get. The earth remained barren, the fields fallow too long. You passed ruins of villages and farms that had long been burnt, and occasionally found hasty graves that had opened from the inside.

The closest word you could find to describe this realm's state of affairs was 'nightmare.' Disaster and catastrophe had been passed when the dead had risen. Of course, there were stories back home, but here there was tangible evidence, and people had brought this fate down willingly upon the kingdom.

To the North, you saw vast pillars of acrid smoke rising into the sky - the product of the vile plague cauldrons the Scourge's Cult of the Damned had placed across the land.

As you progressed farther South, you found more signs that the devastation was not as bad: hardy yellow grasses rose along the banks, and rather than empty waste, you found the skeletons of some ancient forest, reduced to blackened husks by the blight that gripped the land. The soldiers continued, seemingly unaware of the destruction around them. They were used to it. You supposed that eventually, you would be as well, if you stayed.

But the journey was not entirely peaceful. One evening, as you washed your face, you looked into the river and saw another lookign back. The woman had red hair and blue eyes, and bore an expression that mixed scorn and pity in equal measure. It was almost like - damn, why did she have to be wearing red?

The woman, who disappeared almost as quickly as you had seen her, was clearly a member of the Crusade, but you decided that you would ask about it in the morning. That was overturned quickly when you saw the burned out husks of a town, and a sign that said "Vandermar."
​

---

They rose like macabre trees from on the horizon as you drew nearer, the remains of houses and towers sitting along the north bank of the river.

"This is Vandermar?" You had expected more. You supposed that the ruins could be obscuring the rebuilt town, but this was surprising. After all, you wouldn't have wanted to see this just beyond the village limits every day. Phillipus nodded.

"The old town. The South was rebuilt because that's the area that has the Cathedral. We're just lucky that the Scourge didn't decide to ransack the place beyond the two foretowers, and that stone isn't flammable." He gestured to the river. "Besides, it's more defensible than the North ever was. Though that isn't saying much." As he spoke, you saw a bridge come into view, leading to a palisade gate flying the flags of the Crusade, Kul Tiras and Gilneas. Soldiers on the wooden towers saluted as Sir Morlune approached, and the gates opened for the host to enter. With each step, the Crusaders around you grew more relaxed, normal steps replacing strict marching. Conversations started again, as they had every day when the march was not enforced. The formation held, but the soldiers had already taken off their armor for all intents and purposes.

The town itself opened up as you passed under the wooden archway. The houses were an eclectic mix of similar architectural styles, all built around pointed roofs and wooden scaffolds. Some were more severe, with darker hues, while others were decorated with oceanic motifs and designed after sailing vessels. Over the roofs, you could see the spire of a cathedral rising into the sky, the windows all lit and bells ringing. To one side of the square, there was a billboard covered in papers and posters. You knew you wouldn't understand anything that was written on the papers, and so you instead made your way to the cathedral.

As you wandered down the leftmost path, you saw a large forge belching smoke, and down the main road an orchard that somehow grew despite the blight. As you finally approached the church, you were struck by how similar it was to cathedrals in your homeland, like in Reims. But it was also quite different; the two spires that decorated most cathedrals were indeed missing, and square gardens had been built on either side, within what were surely the old foundations.

Walking in, you found everything built of dark wood and white plaster, ornate only in the patterns of the wood and the runes engraved on the pillars that held up the structure. There were no pews, and you supposed that mass in this faith was received standing. If not for the idol upon the altar, it could have been seen as a particularly magnificent church in some wealthy town.

The idol itself was surprisingly similar to a cross, but had the horizontal bar missing, and so was left with only the vertical and a partial halo. It was the most opulent oblect in the cathedral, being made of silver and three jewels: one red, one green, and one black.

Settling down to pray, you made a note of what you'd not had time for yet, and spent some time in silent meditation before returning to the rest of the world. It was time that you started to truly find your place in this new land.

Choose two:

[] Seek out Sir Morlune.

[] Seek out the mages, and Dunhelming.

[] Seek out the priests. One of them healed you during the journey.

[] Visit the forge.

[] Look for ways to earn your keep.

[] Seek out the town's inn.

[] Write in​

---

Status Update: Wrist healed

Potential Contacts: Sir Morlune the MIghty, Lucius Dunhelming, ???, ???, ???

 

[King Tharassian]

After leaving the Cathedral, you went to the large, fortified structure near the gate of the town. Apparently called "Plagueshield Hold" if the snippets of conversation you caught were any indication, it seemed to serve as a barracks and defensive point. A short conversation with one of the patrolling footmen led you to a path leading into the hills South of the village.

The path, little more than dirt hardened by the passage of numerous people over several years, was bordered on both sides by the healthiest flora you had seen in this wasteland. The grass was slightly greener, and small flowers appeared in irregular patterns. The greenery only became more verdant as you progressed further up the slope, with some small trees rising along the ridge. At the peak of the ridge, nestled against the Upland Peaks, you found Vandermar Abbey.

The building, a set of halls two stories high built around a central tower at least three stories tall, had a bizarre combination of the architecture you had seen throughout the town and that used in the construction of the Hold: stone walls were framed by exposed timbers, and tall, pointed roofs created an illusion of strange proportions. Heavy oaken doors with curling, twisting metalwork barred the arching entrance. Walking up, you rapped the iron knocker against the door.

After a minute or so, one of the doors slid open with a low groan, and a brown-haired woman looked out at you.

"Oh! Hello again, miss!" You had to admit that the greeting was unexpected. Racking your memory, you eventually recognized her as the one that had healed your wrist, and earlier than that the one who had been speaking with Dunhelming. "How can I help?"

"I am here to speak with Sir Morlune, priestess." You hesitated. "That is, if I may." She just kept smiling, and nodded.

"I'm sure he won't mind. It's almost time for his meditation as it is. I doubt that he'll insist on continuing the clerical work to avoid meeting you." Opening the door further, she let you inside the abbey before closing it again. "This way." As you walked through the halls, you observed that clergy here had far more leeway and luxury than those in your homeland, at least at first glance. Turning to the priestess, you decided that knowing one more person would not be a bad thing.

"I don't believe I caught your name." She palmed her forehead, laughing.

"Of course, I forgot… I'm Alizabeth. Alizabeth Barton." She was still smiling. Was that ever going to hurt her facial muscles? "A pleasure to actually meet you properly, miss Jeanne!" You weren't even going to ask where she heard your name. It was going to be a long list of men who knew a man who knew a man, you just knew it.

"How did you come to be a priestess, then? I can't imagine it was a simple decision." She slowed somewhat, and her smile took on a slightly more somber feeling.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't originally want to join the clergy proper." The smile became a grin. "I wanted to be a paladin, of all things." She shrugged, and you tried to imagine the somewhat waifish woman in plate armor and wielding a hammer like Morlune's, or even a mace. It didn't exactly work. "My brothers and I lived in Brill-Under-Alterac when Prince Arthas came through. He and Lady Proudmoore even spoke to our father briefly, and seemed to believe that he'd found a fountain of healing waters, unlike half the village."

She shook her head. "The Prince looked like a hero at the time. I wanted to be capable of such great things. But after the Scourging? No." The smile was gone now. "No, I chose to serve the Light in a way that would not require that I bear arms. Others can do so if they wish, but the thought was soured for me with what happened to many of the people I knew." Finally, you came to a door, and she smiled again. "I'm sorry about that. I tend to ramble a bit. This is the library wing. Sir Morlune should be inside." She bowed her head briefly. "Have a good day miss!" Then, without another word, she strode away and around a corner.

Opening the door, you found what was perhaps the largest collection of books you had seen. Shelves stood in neat rows, each and every one filled with tomes and scrolls of all kinds. Naturally, you could not read any of the titles. Scholars milled about here and there, all working in near silence save for the scratch of quills on paper and the turning of pages. Like a statue, you saw Sir Morlune standing at a lectern, brows furrowed. As you approached, you saw him look over, as he clearly heard you coming. He turned to you, and that grandfatherly expression came back.

Seriously, was everyone here cheerful like this? How did they handle the aching facial muscles?

"I had heard that you had joined us on the march, but I am glad to see you here, miss Jeanne." He closed the book he had been reading, and walked over to a table. "Please, sit. I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding me here." The last part was said with a well-hidden grin.

"Thank you. And no, I had no trouble. Priestess Barton helped me." A strange silence followed, and you weren't entirely sure why. "I was hoping to discuss exactly what I'll be doing here. Not to mention the matter of what you said at the Bulwark." He nodded, and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. Without his armor, you realized, he was no much less of a giant than he was while in it.

"I would think that your path would be your own choice. I can make suggestions or recommandations, but the ultimate decision is up to you."

"Well, what is needed?" Every army needed people to do certain things more than others. Crusades were no different. "And what would you recommend then, given what you believe about… I believe you called it 'potential?'"

"Well." He leaned back again, and interlaced his fingers in a gesture you recognized very well from certain chaplains. "Those are somewhat overlapping, as you can surely guess. Paladins and priests of all kinds are constantly needed to support the Crusade's efforts. Warriors are needed, scouts are needed…" he made a rolling gesture with one hand, indicating that the list was quite a bit longer than that. "But my personal opinion? That's different. With power like what I saw at the Bulwark, you could be a powerful conduit for the Light. How powerful compared to some of our finest, only time could tell. But there are numerous ways it could be harnessed." He gestured to the book he had been reading. "There are priests, paladins, templars, auradins… at least a dozen different methods of wielding the Light, all of which are valuable." You supposed that it made sense, from such a perspective. Of course, being a paladin himself, he was likely less than objective. But then, at least one Englishman had called you a zealot witch, for what little the wretch's opinion had been worth.

"And what about more mundane tasks in the meantime? If I do choose to walk that path, I will still need to aid in other ways."

"That's fair enough.' He nodded, running a hand through his beard. "Though I'm not certain why you didn't simply look at the bounty board. Missions are put there all the time, and we even have a few there that are fairly urgent, but don't have the regular manpower to dedicate." He grimaced. "As much as it embarasses me to admit that our numbers are stretched thin defending against raids from Andorhal, we don't even have the spare forces to fight off those rogue adventurers on Lantern Lane, or the ones at Barton Stead." He looked back at you, shrugging. "The force I took to the Bulwark was a frivolity according to some in our order. But," he dragged out the word, "I suppose that you could look there if you wanted to find something in particular." You were left in an awkward silence, and he noticed, much to your chagrin. "Something is wrong?"

"Somewhat." Leaning forward, you decided that this was the best time to get it out of the way. "I can't read." The silence dragged on as Morlune's eyebrows raised almost past his hair.

"Really?" At your nod, he tilted his head. "I never suspected, to be honest. Granted, we've only met twice, but I'm still surprised. But I suppose it wasn't something that has come up often." You didn't mention that your translator, who also happened to be a Saint who spent a fair portion of her time inside your skull, was only able to communicate with you in the wake of your Light's use, when bells rang or when you were dreaming. You didn't know whether it would be well-received. "Do you want to learn? I know someone who could help with that."

"Well, to be perfectly honest…"

Choose one of each:

[] "Yes. I want to learn, and it's about time. And..."

[] "No, not yet. There are times for such things. And..."

Path:

[] "... I would like to train, if you could help me." (class chosen in another update, missions later.)

[] "I think that I should begin contributing immediately." (class decided later, missions now.)

[] Write in.

 

[King Tharassian]

"To be perfectly honest… yes." It wasn't even a question. It was a necessity, a certainty. Literacy was present throughout this land, as far as you had seen, and that made it even more important that you have some degree of proficiency. "I was learning before I arrived, but that was…" You hesitated only for a moment, still debating the necessity of hiding your origin. "That was another matter." Morlune nodded, as though understanding what you meant.

"I'll talk with Nilas. I'm sure he'll enjoy having another pupil, especially since, well… since the Isles, I suppose." He worked one of the small braids in his beard as he looked over at the large book again. "And with regards to training, I assume you've come to a similar decision, if your expression is anything to go by." You nodded.

"Indeed. I thank you for your offer, Sir Morlune, and am going to take you up on it." You gestured to the tome. "I'm going to need to contribute more to this effort than a swordarm and an occasional burst of holy energy. Training, I assume, is the best way to accomplish that." Morlune nodded, smiling.

"I'm glad to hear it. In that case, I think you could look into the paths open to you today; I have a moment to spare." At your nod, he went on to explain…

Pick up to two to test yourself with:

[] Priest: The clergy and healers, who while not necessarily combatants, would wade onward through the mud and blood to heal and soothe the aching and woeful.

[] Paladin: Holy warriors, only created in the Second War almost twenty years ago. Their might comes in equal measure from faith and steel, and they are the first line of defense against the hordes of the unholy.

[] Templar: Warriors, like the paladin, but capable of casting their righteous wrath against more than demons and undead, training to wield the Light's power against evil in all forms.

[] Inquisitor: This Path has no description beyond the words "Hatred for the foe incarnate."

[] Exemplar: Men and women who join the field not as mere warriors, but as signallers and directors of battle, using banners to give orders and rally the armies. (May become a subclass)

[] Auradin: As the Paladins wield steel, the auradins wield Light. Where Paladins are pillars of individual might, the Auradins are foci from which strength reaches their allies, bolstering their resilience and giving their blows greater force.

[] Crusader: The Crusade's warriors are, to a man and woman, Crusaders of the Light. These warriors are trained specially to destroy the undead, detecting, destroying and containing them in equal measure. (May become a subclass)

[] Look into other paths…

The explanations took almost a half-hour, between your lack of ability to read the strange letters and the normal questions that always arose from such concepts. Finally, Morlune closed the book, and turned to you.

"Those are the ones I recommend, at least." He shrugged.

"No, they are entirely sensible." You only wished you could read them yourself. You were undoubtedly missing some of the nuances that you could otherwise have gleaned thanks to your soon-to-be-solved difficulty. "I'll probably go over my choices the next time we talk." He nodded.

"Things are still somewhat hectic, so I can probably talk with you again after that... Let's say tomorrow?" You both stood up, and you shook his hand, feeling a smile on your face for the first time in too long.

"Gladly. I look forward to it." You started your farewells, but felt a slight heat in your face as you remembered something. "Uh, would there be any place in particular I could stay? I don't want to be a burden on anyone." Morlune chuckled.

"Absolutely. If you want, you can stay in one of the dormitories in the Abbey, at least until you have somewhere to go." He clapped you on the shoulder, and you were suddenly keenly aware of the difference in height between the two of you. "You could even stay as long as you like, to be honest. There's always room for one more at the tables of the Order." That glaring optimism that you had detected in almost everyone so far was back, but it felt right this time, and you were glad for the welcome.

After polite farewells, he returned to his duties, leaving you to find a dormitory. After a short search and asking one of the acolytes, you were directed to a vacant space. Of course, their definition of 'vacant space' was apparently much larger than yours, considering it had its own door.

Inside was what you would have considered luxurious by clerical standards. A single bed and a chest of drawers containing simple clothing, a small mirror, a small table and chair, and two candelabras were already there, not to mention the closet containing a small shrine to the Light. The idol's similarity to a ("slightly" deformed) cross only provided you with further conviction that the Light was in some way an extension of His will.

You hadn't expected your own chamber, and you weren't sure what to think now that you had one. One that wasn't - no, you weren't going to go there. Not now. Not yet.

The next several hours were spent familiarizing yourself eith the Abbey's layout for the future, particularly regarding important places that could be used for navigation. As you finished your wanderings, you found many of the inhabitants retiring to their chambers for the night, most dedicated to a period of meditation and prayer before sleep. As there was little else you thought you could do today, you returned to your own chamber, and made your own prayers. You had been remiss the last few days, with little time between helping the caravan and sleeping. But now, they came back in force: the Pater Noster, the Ave Maria, the Symbolum Apolostorum and the Gloria Patri came out in prayers spoken for the first time in a long while. Too long had it been since you had said those words in full voice, rather than a parched whisper. The rosary that had been kept with your copy of the Good Book was a welcome remembrance, a token of times now seemingly long past.

When your prayers were finished, many for those who had fallen during your journey, you felt fatigue come over you. During your campaign, a week with little rest would have been nothing. But now you were tired, and the rest of the evening was a siren song you could not deny. Only barely registering the fact that it was the softest bed you had ever experienced (to say nothing of the welcome warmth of the covers), you slipped off into the darkness, deeper than you had known in months.

---

You were grasping at the bars again. The iron was sturdy and thick, set into the wood deeply enough to deter potential escape. There was a window, but you were leery of the distance, despite your faith that God in his wisdom would save you if He willed it.

It almost made you sigh to think that you would leave. Wandomme had been courteous enough in his asking for your surrender, and Luxembourg's wife was good to you. But Charles needed you. Your army needed you. France needed you. You could not stay in Beaurevoir.

Another test of the door confirmed again that it was not a viable route. The Burgundians, lying traitorous bastards to a man though they were, had competent architects and woodworkers at the very least, to say nothing of their smiths. The window seemed to emit a gleam that beckoned invitingly, but you thought for a moment longer.

It was obvious that Luxembourg himself had no intention of ransoming you back to the King, oh no. You had been waiting months for that, and it had not happened yet. More distressingly, one of the guards had informed you that another had been chosen by God in your place: a mere boy named William, who rode sidesaddle and bore the stigmata of the Savior on his skin. It was obvious that someone in the court had set this up; many of them had openly disapproved of you, and so they had set up a more agreeable savior of France. Where you were a woman, he was a man; where you were willful, he was demure; where you seized your reins and served God for His own sake, he was led by others and existed solely to remove you as a necessity. Michael wouldn't have lied about that, and he had been furious.

So you were left to your own devices. The window seemed more and more approachable, and you leaned out to look down; at least sixty feet lay between you and freedom. For anyone, it would be considered a suicide attempt. But you had to have faith. Climbing into the window and crouching on the sill, you took a deep breath and said a prayer.

And then, with your soul girded by trust in God, you leapt, and the air whistled in your ears as you began to realize you would make it -

When you landed, you lost consciousness, and you were moved to a new prison in Arras shortly after.

---

My̷,͖̙͙̮̤͉̯ ̰̼͈̖̫w̸h̗a̧̠̱̝̫̰͖̮ṭ̴̳̳̰ a͏̺̜̝͈̝ ͖̱͕̣t̬͇a͓l̳͕̬͖͓̣ͅe̵͙̭̖̮̞̰͍ ̱͉̥̜͘y̥̼o̰͕u̼̤͙̜̱r̮̯ ̦͔̻̲l̤̲͓̼̥̳͢ͅi͍̤̕f̧͖̣̖͚̯e̻͞ ̡hͅa͙̗͇̠̜̫̯s̭̕ ̧̞̮b̳̪̬̦̯̜͔e̡̟ḙ̷͕n̨͔͇̥/̷̦͖̤͇̖
t͉̭h̘͔̺̻̘̺a̟̣t̠͎͈̬̫ ̠͉͜y̵̱̩o͔̰̪̘̝͝u͇̗ ̳̭̳̙̤̫͘ͅa̲ŗ̫̱̹̩̯͔ȩ̘ m̷̗̭̼̦̪̝a̹͈͜d̘̝͕̠̭̣̣e҉͕̜͉͓̭ ͖̣t̛͈̣͈͙͉͕͉o̩͚̟̯ ̳̹̖s̩͡e̦̳̟̭͝t͠ ̣̫̺t̳̹̣̠͚̖h̴͖͕͍̳i̟͇̠s ̟̗s̡̬͈̤c̝͞e͕̭̭n̙̮̬̺̭̤e͇͍̫̮̻.͎͓̱͖̳̯/҉̜͔
͓̘͍̱̼͝I̮͕͉̹͍̤ ͔̳͕͚̪͚̀l͈̝̪o҉͍̖o͕̘͙̲̺̥̱k̛͔͙̯̩̬̟ ̴f̴͚̤͉̠̬o̶̖r̰̱̞̘̥͈ẉ̖̗͇a͉̞̩̜r̮͖̰̖͉̯͢ͅd̩̪̰͜ ̶͙̩t͈̩̼̤̳o̙ ̧̯̼͖̞ou͖͟r̩͕͉̤̙͞ ̝m̘͙̫̦͉̮ͅe̲̭̯̻͠ȩ͉͖͚t̡i̬̲̰͜ͅn͖̻̜͖͜g͓̪̜ ͇d̳͕͚̣̱a̗̲͚͖̹͕͟y̦̩̗̼̙͉̱͠/̫͡
͖͞w̞̘̺̭̤͓i̫͕̞̰͔͔̝t͕͘h ̖̘̫̗t̢͎h̥̣͓̖͈o̧͎̪͎̗u͔͈͎g̺̲̭͓̮̺h̛̘͕ţ̣̹̪͕̲s̴͇ ͕̜̹͕̩͉͈s̘͕̪̝̼̲͍͜o͕ ͍͔̘̙̗̺ͅv҉͉͈ͅe̟̳ͅͅr̘͚̻̖͉̲y̡̬͍̥̥ ̩k͈̻̝͔̠̜͖͠e͖̼͇͍̺͍ḙ̘̠̺͚n̢͖̬̠̺̼͚.͚̼́ͅ..̬̺͈͇̗͉̳

---

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of activity, but to voices in your mind. One spoke in riddles that you could not remember. The other… You didn't recall at all. But it was cold; far colder than you had expected, even with the havoc the Plague had wreaked on the lands once called the Eastweald. Opening your eyes, you saw why: This was not the Abbey. The sky was a dark blue, with streaks of white, and all around you were whispers of something old and alien. A figure sat on a nearby pile of stones - a cairn, you dimly remembered - with his face covered by strange armor.

"Oh, you're here now? Took your time, didn't you?" He waved his hand dismissively. " Don't bother, I don't exactly care at the moment. Find me and I might consider you more than fodder. I don't even want to be here, but three of my superiors all demanded it, so here I am. Catch me if you can, I guess." He faded into a cloud of grey smoke, scattering in all directions and leaving you alone. A cursory check found you in your traveling clothes, the sword once again at your belt. Looking around, you saw farming fields all around you. To the East (if the blot of white on the sky was equivalent to the sun) lay an ocean. To the West, mountains. To the North lay a high ridge and a blurry shape, roughly like one of those triangular models the alchemists were fond of (pyramids, those were the things!). And South of you stood walls in the distance, proud and sturdy, bearing the seal of Lordaeron on banners hanging from the towers.

[] Go North.

[] Go South.

[] Go East.

[] Go West.

[] Try to fall asleep and leave faster (this is actually beginning to disturb you).

[] Write-in

Class vote format:

[] (Class)(Desc. optional)(Primary)
[] (Class)(Desc.)(Secondary)

 

[King Tharassian]

You had a sinking feeling in your stomach as you looked towards the walls. The land around you was strangely proportioned, with the trees farther away not simply looking smaller, but actually being so. The ocean to the East was far closer than it should have been, and the Mountains were almost identical to those you had seen behind you when you had begun the first day of traveling in this land.

Breathing in and offering another prayer, you stepped forward slowly. Each stride made your surroundings larger, the great places farther away, until you were once again among the trees of Tirisfal.

North of you, you saw the ruins of Brill-In-Tirisfal, recognizing them from your journey. But here, the whispers were the only sound, barring the ghostly wind that drifted past like the moaning of some fell spirit. Lights flashed in the dark places, and occasional wisps of white mist floated by on an unseen current, carried in any direction with little care for the destination.

As you walked, you saw the walls again. The trees now behind you, the great fortress -no, the city - rose like a mass of spires and pinnacles from a vast hill or plateau. Banners of Lordaeron - both the stylised 'L' and the double-headed eagle - hung on either side of the cobblestone road. Unlike the sky and the wind, they seemed frozen in time, as though they had been put into a stasis as they flew proudly in some unseen gale.

The gates of the city were open, some motto written on the archway. Within the gatehouse, you saw flickering images of men and women, all in armor and wearing the double-headed eagle. All standing were in battle stances, with the rest being in varying stages of falling and injury. They were still as stone, and did not react to your passing.

The city itself was dominated by a great, domed palace at the end of a long concourse, a great bridge crossing a river halfway through. On either side, countless roads branched off a perfect angles, and you almost thought it was more magnificent than Paris. Almost. This place obviously had better architects and planners.

But there were more of the shapes all around. Countless people in armor and not, all fleeing some unseen force. There were images of children that should have been carried in the arms of another, but instead hung in midair, in an eerie pantomime of life. There were soldiers who were pushing someone away from an invisible threat, but the one being pushed was not there. Some were gathered in clusters. Others were alone. All were frozen in fear as they ran from a foe you could not see.

The farther into the city you went, the worse it became. Great thorned vines grew out of the structures, died, decayed and regrew apontaneously. Carrion worms seemed to phase in and out of existence. When those stopped appearing altogether, you saw more images appear as you came closer to the palace.

Finally, you came to a grand courtyard, dominated by a statue of some old hero facing the palace. A drawbridge crossed a second branch of the river (almost certainly flowing into the lake to the south) to allow crossing to the other half of the area. On either side stood great collonaded buildings, and at the end was a small sub-structure of the palace itself. But the strangest part lay not within the palace, but just before it.

A woman, wrapped in white cloth that seemed to float around her hovered above the ground, seemingly kept afloat by the wings sprouting from her back. To her, a thousand threads all led, each one linked to one of the images. Her head was down, an aura of contemplation surrounding her. Then, two of the cords snapped.

She shot towards one of the images like lightning, her wings propelling her forward almost faster than you could see. Grasping the hand of the woman there, who you now noticed seemed to be waking as if from a slumber, she called out in a language you did not know, and her target disappeared in a flash of light. She immediately flew in another direction.

Looking in the general area where she seemed to be going, you felt your jaw fall agape as you saw something waiting there.

A vast black hole had opened up at an impossible angle, a vicious, gnashing maw filled with knife-like teeth emerging from the inky dark. Appendages resembling tentacles like those on the creatures of the deep sea reaching out and entangling another ghostly image. The man was more awake, and desperately tried to escape, his struggles increasing as he saw the angelic figure rushing to save him. But it was for naught. The maw pulled him in, and it was gone with a rumbling sound that you soon realized was a laugh. With clenched fists, the angel began hovering back to her vigil, head lowered.

You were left with the lingering dread of trying to determine what you had seen.

What was this place?

"So you see, my dear, this is my home." Whirling around, you saw the masked man again, sitting on a nearby decorative wall. "These are my Shadowlands, the endless halls of the dead, and they are the site of an unending battle. You just saw the dear girl try to save that wretch? Well, that's only half of it." You could feel the cruel smile, despite the distance between you and the cloth that hid his face.

"And why am I here?" You decided to test his willingness to talk. "You said that your superiors wanted you to deal with me? Well why haven't you yet?" You drew the sword at your belt, the weight in your left hand a comfort in this alien place. "I feel that I could stand against you quite well. So why not duel me?" When in doubt, count on the hubris and pride of a man with too much ego and not enough foresight. He seemed the kind to be drawn into such petty honor-contests. There was silence, and then he burst out into a rasping laugh. It sounded dry, as though the voice's owner had not drunk water in years.

"Oh, you're just a treat, aren't you? I can see whay he's interested. Though admittedly, you are the exception to the rule, since my observations indicated that he prefers blondes…" He chuckled again. "Ah well. Hidden depths and all that, I guess. Well, you made me laugh, so I'll give you a bit of an answer. I was sent to fetch you by my masters. None of them know that the others sent me. Well…" He tapped his helm with a finger. "The Corrupter might, but he's not telling me if that's the case. But still, I was ordered to see exactly what they're dealing with. So far, I like the odds." He leaned back. "You want more? FInd me again." He fall backwards, and a burst of smoke marked his disappearance from the area.

Tightening your grip on the sword, you pondered what to do next.

Pick One:

[] Speak with the angel.

[] Look in the collonnade.
-[] Left.
-[] Right.

[] Proceed into the palace.

[] Go back.

---

Ugh. I need to stop looking at the old alpha stuff for WC3 and WoW. I don't need more ideas....

And congrats! You just saw something existentially terrifying!

 

[King Tharassian]

You did not know what you had just seen, or even where you were. That masked man would surely return to taunt you again, but he seemed to want you to do something first. It was a simple decision for you to focus solely on finding a way out of this bizarre place.

The angel had returned to her place before the palace gates. The cords were still as she watched them, and silence reigned again, with a sense of mourning that you had not noticed before. She seemed to look at you as you approached, but did not speak. This quiet went on as you waited for some response other than her looking at you.

"Hello?" This was not exactly easy for you; apparently your mind had managed to separate Michael from his status enough that you weren't prepared to address an angel. "I am Jeanne. May I ask you where I am, or how I could leave?" Her features remained impassive as she finally spoke, and you realized her lips had been moving the whole time. Her voice seemed to fade into existence, filling a hole where once there was a void.

"You should not be here." She sounded mournful. "This is a place of the dead."

"Yes, but I am here, aren't I?" Was this how people felt when you became cryptic? It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "That masked man seems to have summoned me here for something, and I can't begin to guess what his final intentions are! Can't you help me?"

"The Horseman." She remained quiet and sorrowful. "How far he has fallen, to bring those here who do not belong, and shall not for a long while." Her head tilted, as if she was listening for something. "I can help, but only in words, and in some small guidance. I cannot go far." She drifted towards the gate, which opened without her even touching it.

Within was a long corridor, the sky above you and statues on either side. The marble slabs of the walkway were covered by some sort of flower petal, and you thought that you could hear the sound of cheering and bells. A second gate barred the way, but opened before your spectral guide.

Stepping through, you found a vast circular chamber. The floor was tiled and decorated with complex runes and geometries, and there were small balconies laid into the walls high above. Opposite the entryway, there was a finely-crafted throne, carved from stone and flanked by two more arches.

"If I may," you weighed your choices of what to ask. "You said that the one who brought me here was a horseman? Is he a knight?" Her expression soured. It seemed that he was a sore subject.

"Salanar the Gullible. Salanar the Bound. Salanar the Slave. A shard of the greater whole, broken away from this realm and bound into the flesh he now wears, as it was with all of his dark riders. He revels in his evil work, heeding three masters but holding loyalty to none."

"And those masters? Who are they?"

"Intruders and villains. The King of the North, the Death with Many Maws, and the Corrupter of the Deep." She waved a hand, and the next door opened. "All of them are defilers and thieves, taking those who belong and trapping them as you saw before. Vile and unholy creatures one and all." Turning, she looked down at you. "Make your way through the city to the old gardens. The echoes there are what he wishes you to see. See them, and if you can see their significance, he might allow you to go from this place." She gave a slight bow. "Do you wish to know anything else?"

Pick One:

[] Ask more questions
-[] Specify what questions are desired

[] Thank her and go.


Pick One:

[] Go through the door

[] There's a voice calling out in the halls. Find it.

[] Explore the palace

---

Sorry, everyone. Testing sucks and I decided padding this one was an unnecessary measure.

I wonder....

 

[King Tharassian]

"If I may, I do have more questions." This was an opportunity. You were too used to taking advantage of such times to give up on it now. The angel nodded. "I mean no offense, but… who are you? And what?"

"I am Kylisa, sister to Koiter, who dwells across the sea at the grave of a warrior." She bowed her head. "I am a healer of spirits, dedicated to the preservation of the fallen until they may move on."

"So this is purgatory?" It was obvious, now that you thought about it. She cocked her head.

"Purgatory?"

"The place between the true afterlife and mortality. A place of waiting and judging." She didn't know? Nodding slowly, she looked around slowly.

"I suppose. What else do you wish to know?" Ah. Of course. There was a timetable, you now realized that.

"You said that Salanar has fallen, and that he was a piece of a greater whole? What does that mean?" Any information on that man would be useful, you were sure.

"He was part of this place, as much a part of it as any drop of water or time-worn stone in your plane. But a piece was broken away, torn from these Shadowlands by the God of Death. He tore that shard into many pieces, and enrobed them in flesh, as is his wont." She now had a bitter frown, the expression alien in comparison to her earlier serenity. "He made a bargain with the Deep One, and was enslaved as one of the living dead. Where one had used him to harvest the fallen, now another used him to forge warriors and steeds, and another made him into eyes and ears and a treasonous tongue." She returned to calmness. "He revels in his gory work, taking pride in the deathchargers he creates from the essence of stallions. Thus, he is become the Horseman."

That… was a lot to take in.

"One last question, if I may…" She nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help? I cannot help but feel that I should do something… anything…" You trailed off as she shook her head.

"Nothing that may happen here. Simply survive, and escape, and then you may help." She gestured down the hall. "You have seen my charges. thousands strong, where once there were far more. They are bound, while the rest are not. Free them, and with each new soul, their numbers shall dwindle. Some…" She shook her head again. "Some are not ready, not willing. But even if you cannot free them, free those who remain mindless. They do not deserve this."

You thought you understood. If she meant what it sounded like. "I will try." Bowing, you watched as she turned away. "Thank you." She gave you one last nod, and then faded away as she returned to her post. You turned to go through the door-

"-eeding y-"

Something echoed in your ear, barely audible. It was coming from the hallway you had come down.

You shouldn't.

You knew that you shouldn't have. If there was one thing that voices in such situations always meant, it was 'nothing good.' But it was so tempting…

Damn it all… You had to.

Walking back down the hall, you began to hear the voices more clearly.

"-ing, my s-"

Your steps gained reach as you approached the newly-closed door. The voices became clearer with each step, and you hear a single phrase now. If you could just hear it a little more clearly…

"-cceeding-"

"Succe-"

"Succeeding you-"

As the door swung open, the whole palace came into focus, and you were nearly blinded by the sudden return of color. Two men in red robes wielded spears towards armored men with crested helms. Courtiers and dignitaries stood around in shock at the edges of the wide throne room. On the throne sat an old man, his hair grey but his face strong. Royal regalia sat around his shoulders and a horned crown sat upon his brow. Before him…

Before him was death incarnate. A monstrous figure in the shape of a man, clad in dark steel covered in memento mori. A thick, black cloak wreathed him in shadows, and his hair was bone-white. He was whispering to the old man, who you knew was a king.

"What is this? What are you doing, my son?"

Oh. Oh-

"Succeeding you, father."

With a sickening crack and the scratching of metal on bone, the sword was thrust through the old king, and the murderer kicked the limp body off of the blade. The crown went rolling off to the floor, and the two warriors in red went to the ugly work of cutting down the guards and courtiers.

"This kingdom shall fall." The voice that came from the kingslayer's lips was a clarion call, more fit for a hero than the monster before you. "And from the ashes shall arise a new order that will shake the very foundations of the world!"

The screams and the weeping and the bells all came at you at once in a wave of force not unlike some terrible tide. And then, another sound came through the constant noise. You could not look. Death was no stranger, but this was not noble, and it was not necessary. It was slaughter, plain and simple. So you listened. And from the vast cacaphony came the sound of crying, and the footsteps of silken shoes running on marble.

Focusing, you could see one door open, the archway flanking the throne's other side. The body of the king lay on the dais, forgotten as the butcher strode outside into the sunlight.

There had to be a reason you were seeing this. There had to be. You just had to find it. And you could only assume that the footsteps had something to do with it. You ran across the room, expecting to push open the heavy doors, only for your hand to pass through it as though it wasn't there.

This was a memory. A terrible nightmare retelling a story burned into the minds of those who survived it. You realized now that you had no say in this. You knew it before, but this rendered any intervention impossible.

Ahead of you was a slip of a girl in a red court dress. She was crying and gasping as she ran, finally crawling into an alcove once the screams and fighting had dulled to an echo. Looking closer, she was not much younger than you were; a year or two at most. She was a noble. That much was obvious from the clothing and… cosmetics? Painted lips were allowed here?

Ugh. Just one more thing to add to the list of immoralities you'd confront the Church of Light with, if you ever found reason to.

"Milady?" A servant rounded the corner, kneeling to look the girl in the eye. "Miss Ann, you can't stay here." She was brave. You would give the woman that much. Her voice wasn't even wavering.

"I saw him. I saw him and I didn't notice and now-"

"You couldn't have done anything, milady." The older woman gently pulled the girl's hand. "We need to get you out of here." The girl's weeping became more feverish.

"If I- If I can get to him- If I can talk to him I might-"

"Don't you think about it, milady! No one could stop him now!" The servant stood, and pulled the girl to her feet. "Come with me. We'll get you somewhere safe." The servant almost dragged the weeping girl out of the alcove and through the halls. Several times they paused as the young noble broke down again, and you eventually found the wherewithal to look outside through one of the windows.

You wished you hadn't. You could recognize the scene immediately. The people were the same as the images you had passed in the main concourse. There were some of the soldiers, pushing the civilians back as they fought off ghouls. Most were overwhelmed in seconds. There were parents, trying to carry their children to safety. You couldn't look as the undead caught up to them.

You had caught a glance of the city through the throne room gate. This was a hellish parody. The sky was choked with black smoke, and fires climbed into the sky like beacons for some demonic host. The bells kept ringing, though you suspected that it was a late attempt to sound the alarm rather than any ignorance on the ringers' part.

This was the city of Lordaeron, which had stood since the days of an empire long dead. And you were watching it burn.

You left the window, following the servant and her charge through the halls as more guards and servants frantically tried to mount some form of effective defense. Their resolve was commendable - they continued the effort even as they heard the previous line of defense failing, a chorus of screams and shrieks.

And yet you pressed on, following the noble and her servant. Finally, they, and you, came to a lone tapestry.

"Here we are, miss Ann." The older woman was smiling in an attempt to reassure her young charge, you were sure of it. "Now it's time for you to go."

"But -"

"None of that, miss. You need to get out. I only -" The servant sighed. "I only wish you didn't have to." She looked up. "You!" A young soldier stood nearby, having been running to join his comrades.

"I... Yes?" He was confused. You didn't blame him.

"You are going to protect this woman as she gets out of the city. Then you'll keep her safe into the Northern Kingdom, or Hearthglen, or the Monastery of Light for all I care. But you will keep her safe. Understand?" The soldier spluttered.

"I'm a soldier of Lordaeron -"

"And I'm the senior maid of the household! Do you understand?" The soldier squinted at her, then at the noble girl, and his eyes widened in some form of recognition.

"I - I'm sorry, ma'am! I'll obey those orders with my life! I'm sorry, ma'am…" He looked at the tapestry. "Through here?" At the maid's nod, he pulled the cloth aside to reveal a narrow passage. "I'll go ahead." He went in sideways, struggling not to cause a racket in his armor.

"Now," the maid said, "It's time you were on your way."

"But Milicent -" The maid cut her off with a gesture, quickly embracing her before pushing the weeping girl through the dark tunnel.

As you watched her leave, you saw the colorlessness returning at the ends of the hallway. Milicent faded into nothing as she strode down the corridor. Looking to the tapestry, you nodded to yourself.

"Let's see what happened next." The cloth faded past you just as the door had. The tunnel was dark and cramped, and clearly under-maintained. It was an emergency measure none had expected to need. Finally, you emerged into the light again, and saw the noble and her protector fleeing into the brush of a garden.

All around you were trees and flower bushes and hedges. As you watched, the color faded, and all was as before: grey and silent. The bells and the screams had faded away, and the whispers returned.

"Took a detour, did you?" You didn't even flich at the voice this time. Next to you, Salanar leaned against a haedge wall. "Didn't expect you to hear a memory. Then again, you're a bit of a surprise yourself, so I should've seen the possibility."

"You mean that wasn't your intent?" You had a hard time believing that. "I just happened to stumble upon it at the right moment?" He shrugged.

"Damned if I know. I never really paid attention to the details before, and this," he gestured to his body, "is a recent change. Not wholly unenjoyed, but recent." He stretched. "Lets me know what works on you when I can test it. But enough of that." he gestured to you, and walked to the tile path. "Walk with me. I have a few things to say."

Pick one:

[] Agree (Players may add terms and stipulations)

[] Refuse (Players may add reactions)

[] Write in

---

Thanks to san for advice on this chapter.

I hope you all enjoy it. Or "enjoy" it. Whichever.

 

[King Tharassian]

Well. The dark horseman who made deals with at least two devils wanted to talk. That was unexpected. But if you could get some information from him, then…

"All right. I'm willing to talk." A risk? Of course. But the possible gains were more than worth it. Salanar might have been grinning under his mask.

"This way, then." He swept his hand outward, and one of the obscure paths was revealed. "There are a few things to discuss." bowing slightly, he motioned for you to go ahead. He followed close behind. As you walked, the path opened, and you found yourself on the shores of a vast, scenic river. A bridge crossed some ways down, at a narrower point, and behind you were carefully tended trees.

"Is there something special about this particular place?"

"Would I have stopped here if there wasn't?" Salanar chuckled. It sounded like glass scraping against slate. "Look around. What do you see?"

"A river, a forest, a bridge and a path. I see the sky and the wind." What was he trying to say?

"And what else?" At your suspicious expression, he sighed. "Look harder, as though something is obscured by mist. Try pulling your sight over yourself like a sheet, and focus less on what you can see as a mortal than what you might see when sleeping."

Huffing, you accommodated him, but something was different. You felt a clouding fall at your feet, rising up and climbing over your head. Your eyes were closed in focus, and you didn't know if you wanted to open them and see what might have appeared. But you had to know, and your eyes opened, expecting nothing due to your experiences. Expectations were there to be broken.

All around you were figures. Some were human, many wearing common clothing and fleeing the shades of another force behind them. Others were only outlines, giving the vague impression of tall, pointed ears. The force giving chase, you recognized. There, in stark clarity, was the butcher you had seen in the memory. Next to him stood an enormous skeleton, hands wreathed in magic. To his other side stood a woman in perhaps the least protective leather armor you had ever seen, also bearing the tall ears.

Among the humans, you saw three paladins and a mage riding a horse.

"I assume by your wonderment that you see them?"

"Yes." You saw everything, right down to the fact that the undead were running down the ghostly images like some macabre hunt. "I can only assume that these are more images of what was? That's what I saw before."

"What was, and what should have been." Salanar gestured to the empty outlines. "The images that you can see are those that have already passed through this place, and are still here in some way, leaving an echo of themselves to mark their passing. Those that are not filled will never be, for they have gone beyond the paths laid down for them." His voice gave the impression of a smile. "They've been thorns in our side ever since." He sounded far too happy to say that.

"And what's the significance of that?" He had some reason for this, you were sure.

"Nothing really." What. "It was a fun distraction, and you might actually have some new ideas thanks to it, but I was stalling to prepare for the real reason you're here."

"And what," You could hear your teeth grit together, "is that?"

"Threat assessment!" He waved cheekily at you, and with a scream of rage only rivaled by the one you gave at Compiegne, you fell into the sky.

---

The fall was far longer than you had anticipated, even with the knowledge that you were somehow falling up. After a while, the rage subsided and was replaced by a familiar sense of calm. It was contemplative, even serene. You felt as though you were nearing some great truth…

And then you were broken out of it again by the landing.

You found yourself in the midst of a vast, dark forest. The sky above was pitch-black, broken only by the ragged, bare branches of the towering trees. The earth was bare and uneven, and there was no wind or other sound.

"Damned demon-servants, always using tricks and shadows…" You coughed, but something wet and hot and dark came up. That was not good.

"Demon-servant?" Salanar's voice echoed down from somewhere above you. "Hardly a fair epithet, miss! I strongly dislike demons of all kinds. Proud, insufferable creatures, I assure you!" There was the sound of clapping, and a sudden rush of pressure. "But enough of that. Let the games begin!"

In an instant, lights appeared in the dark of the forest. Gleaming eyes and glowing mouths, lurching forward as though on all fours. Drawing your sword, you spat out the thick, iron-tasting fluid coming up your throat and waited for one to come near.

They were utterly silent as they approached. The closer they came, the more clearly you could see their shapes, hunched and distended as they crawled closer with a sense of slow, deliberate purpose. One came into range, and you swung your sword.

It passed right through, but the creature did not falter. Rather, dark mist that had been dislodged by your swing simply returned to the creature, filling in the space that had been left by the blade's passing. Desperately, you swung again. And again.

Your throat burned and your breath was wet with the liquid that you were now certain was blood. Prayers were a subconscious action to you by nature, but it seemed of late that your truest prayers came in the midst of battle and peril. You would probably have to offer a few extra tonight. That was a good idea on principle.

Reaching for the Light, you felt the burning subside, and the blood did not come as quickly. Around you, the creatures halted, staring in their gaping, unblinking way.

Why did they stop now? The thought plagued you as your mind came to countless conclusions, each more horrible than the last. You intensified the Light that flowed through you (thanking God for giving you a piece of His power would be good too, come to think of it), trying to quicken the healing. As the holy power grew in brightness, the creatures backed away.

They were afraid of the Light? Experimentally, you intensified the Light further, opening the metaphorical floodgates even more. Those creatures nearest you scrambled away, and the rest shifted uneasily. Now, there was a space of about ten feet all around you that was devoid of the monsters.

"Oh, you clever little girl," Salanar's voice came from the shadows, sickly-sweet despite the rasp behind it, "that was a lovely show. Simply splendid! Too bad then," he was smiling again, and you could hear it, "that it only means things will get - hm?" There was a moment of silence. "Oh, I don't hear you very often? How go things in that little shack you call a consciousness?" Another moment. "Stop the sarcasm? But without the sarcasm I would be boring!" Another pause. "Oh? That is interesting…. All right. But don't gloat. I don't want this blown yet."

The creatures scrambled aside to your right, and Salanar fell to the ground feet-first, with barely a flinch at the impact. A burst of blue light formed in the forest, and he drew a cruel-looking axe.

"Change of plans, Jeanne." He rolled his shoulders, testing the heft of the weapon a few times. "I just got some orders from upstairs, and this little test is going up a notch." He pointed at the light. "That is a portal that will take you back to the Great Dark, back to wakening and what you call reality. All you need to do is reach it, going through me or the dear little soul-eaters all around you."

"And the catch?" You were nearly healed now. "There always seems to be one with you." He shrugged.

"None. If you fall to the soul-eaters, your body's a husk with no consciousness. If you fail against me, I lay claim to whatever's left and maybe get to make a new Rider. I get the feeling you'd look good in dark iron." He ran a finger along the axe's edge. "Your choice, and your move."

Well. No pressure.

Pick one:

[] Go through the soul-eaters. With Salanar here, they might have been braver, but they were still likely weaker individually. (Players can specify plans)

[] Go through Salanar. The soul-eaters were small pickings as long as the light remained to repel them, and you wanted to give him a few hits for good measure. (Players can specify plans)

[] Rush for the portal. There was no reason for you to waste time here by fighting either. You just wanted to leave this place. This was your chance.

[] Write-in

---

Jeanne Status: Cracked ribs, healing lung, major bruising

---

And here you go! I hope you all like it!

 

[King Tharassian]

"So if I get to the portal, I go free." Please, please, please… "No questions asked, and no catches that I could not already expect."

"Absolutely!" Salanar huffed. "No faith whatsoever. If you fail here, it will be entirely in fair contest!" You doubted that, somehow, but nodded anyway, and waited a short time as you made a plan.

You could have attacked Salanar, but it was almost certain that he was stronger then you, and likely faster. The light was holding back the soul-eaters, so attacking them was not strictly necessary. But at the same time, if you simply tried to rush past all of them, you were leaving yourself more vulnerable. Even so, you were injured, and likely not able to access the full strength of the Light here.

Salanar was pacing, swinging the axe indiscriminately. Occasionally, he hit one of the soul-eaters, and it would burst apart into smoke, only for another to take its place. You waited, and waited, and then….

When his back was turned, you took off, running faster than you ever had, you were certain. The creatures scattered before you, and you heard Salanar laughing behind you. The portal glimmered behind the trees, and you leapt over roots that rose out of the earth as you heard ironclad footfalls growing louder at your back.

"Pretty smart, aren't you, Jeanne?" You didn't bother answering. It would be a waste of breath. "Well, you see, you appear to have forgotten something important! You see, I heard the questions you asked dear Kylisa earlier, and you appear to have forgotten one detail from our previous meetings." With dawning horror, you saw smoke coalesce into the shape of the Horseman before you.

You fought to bring yourself to a halt, but momentum brought you within striking range. His arm flashed, and you were thrown off your feet, spinning past him as the force of your run translated into that much more distance.

You were woozy and incoherent, and you couldn't feel your right arm. Looking at your shoulder, you found only black mist. In your dizzy state, you saw something shaped like your limb just at the edge of your Light, which had only slightly dimmed.

"Ah, sorry about that. Meant to hit the sternum, finish things quickly. Well, I can always-" He was cut off by several of the soul-eaters rushing over. You heard a sound similar to that produced by wind, and when they dispersed, the shape was gone. "Hm. Well, souls grow back. I think so anyway. Well, even if they don't I can just graft something on. It's not like the soul is visible most of the time." He walked over and nodded to you in what seemed a gesture of respect. "I'll try and keep most of you intact. The ones with personality are always so much better."

You had to do something. In some corner of your mind you could feel the impulse to resist, to escape, to do anything that would let you survive. Following that instinct, you reached back inward, looking for that gleaming, flickering core that served as the heart of your Light. Time slowed, and you wandered your mindscape, infinity stretching in all directions. Finally, the spark appeared before you, and you reached out, nearly delirious.

There was a split-second flash, and Salanar growled.

"Spots! Ugh, I hate spots! Wait, hello? I can't hear me. Damn Light-users, being the opposite form of magic, so inconvenient…" His grumbling faded away as you struggled back onto your feet. Cradling your shoulder, you stumbled towards the light of the portal. It seemed visibly closer with each step.

Finally, it stood only a foot from you.

"Okay, I'm all right! Turns out that burned out my eyes, but I've recovered! Now where- how did you get over there?" You wouldn't turn. You were leaving. One last step… And then Salanar started laughing, and you heard him telling a 'boy king' to eat something of his. You didn't hear what as you crossed into the portal, and you felt that it was probably for the best.

---

"-eanne, wh-"

"-not breathing! We ne-"

"-t! She's warming again! Just a li-"

---

When you came back to your senses, you were someplace warm, and there was light coming from somewhere nearby.

"Jeanne. Are you awake?" You smiled as you returned to your mindscape.

"Michael." This was almost as much of a relief as when they had spoken to you again in Rouen. "It's good to see you again." As you appeared in front of him, he gave perhaps the most sincere smile back you had ever seen on his face. Behind you, you felt something slam into you.

"Jeanne! We thought you had died! The big, cold one was back and he was trying to get in and everything just stopped making sense! Where were you? What happened?" It was sometimes hard to remember that Margaret was not quite as mature as her fellow Saints. Martyrdom at the age of fifteen would do that, to be honest.

"I'm fine Margaret. I'll explain as soon as I've had some time to-"

"If you're fine, then what happened to your arm?" Catherine was there, and she scrutinized your injury. "I don't believe that sudden amputation is a healthy event." Margaret backed away slightly, gulping at the sight of your missing limb, and Michael's relief gave way to grave concern.

"I-"

"No excuses, Jeanne. If you do not tell us, we cannot help you." Catherine sounded so much like your mother in that moment. She always did that when she wanted to keep you honest. It was the guilt, mostly.

Sighing, you relented, and told them everything. From the moment you awoke in the Shadowlands to the last moments in the dark forest. You simplified a few things, but nothing that was of vital importance was left out. When you were done, Michael was frowning, Catherine was grimacing, and Margaret stared at you wide-eyed.

"So that's why we couldn't talk to you…" Catherine tapped her chin in thought. "So this Salanar was amused when you escaped?" At your nod, her brow furrowed. "Then we'll have to be careful. He sounds like the type to latch onto those he considers worthy opponents."

"Even if he comes back, we can be better prepared." Michael was holding a replica of his burning sword. "And we might just be able to take information from him."

"As long as I don't have to help…" Margaret leaned away from Michael. As they fell back into squabbling, you sighed.

"It always ends the same way with them."

"'Tis to be expected, given their differences." Catherine stood next to you, watching as Margaret manipulated shards of the mindscape to create walls and platforms to remain out of Michael's reach. "Time for you to go, Jeanne. Someonne is coming to check on you."

"I'll be back when I can."

"No need to hurry." Catherine smiled, waving as she walked towards the quarrelling duo.

---

"Wait, she's waking up." The voice sounded familiar.

"Oh, good. Let me closer." The second, however, was older and wizened, rasping with age.

"What are you-"

"Oh, it's typical for such cases. Hardly a problem." You were blinded in one eye as it was pulled open, and something was shone into it. "Dilation appears normal. Muscle reflexes can wait, I think."

"I'd prefer if you left matters of healing to those qualified in the matter, Master Nilas." A third voice, again familiar.

"And I will gladly do so, Priestess Barton, but this is important. It is vital in the wake of such unusual symptoms to be sure that there are no unwanted side effects; lack of emotion, demonic possession, death, undeath…"

"You're not making the priestess any happier, Nilas. She's hyperventilating now." And another familiar voice.

"Morlune, if I was dedicated to making people feel better about the world, I would not try to understand it as I do. Now, we know you're awake, Miss Jeanne. It's time to wake up." Opening one eye, you looked up towards the voice. An elderly man with a short-cropped beard and a skullcap was leaning over you, the high collar of a robe visible about his neck.

"Nilas Arcanister, I assume?" Was your voice scratching? How long had you been asleep? He smiled.

"Quite. And with vocal response, we can officially rule out undeath. They do tend to display certain vocal traits, don't you know." He stood straight, forcing you to realize that he was as tall as Sir Morlune, if not taller. "I thought that it would be polite to make sure that you were mostly whole before starting your lessons."

"Lessons?"

"Have you forgotten? Morlune asked me to help you with your literacy!" Oh. He had mentioned something like that. Was the mage truly so insistent?

"No, I remember that. I just have had an unusual night. I'm afraid I'll have to explain the arm…" Morlune stepped into view, as did Alizabeth.

"Your arm?" Morlune's brow furrowed. "What about it?" What?

"It's-" You reached for your right shoulder, and found it intact, but devoid of sensation. "I don't…"

"Jeanne," Morlune sat down next to the bed you occupied, "we will need to talk about this." Alizabeth stepped closer, running a hand filled with Light over your arm.

"The arm is intact, but the soul…" She looked worried. "It is rent. Everything below the shoulder is just missing, as though it was torn away. This shouldn't be possible…" She looked back at you, pointing a finger in what she surely meant as a gesture of authority. "You are going to stay in bed for at least a week, do you understand? Priest's orders!"

"A week?" That sounded arbitrary. "How do you know how long I should stay? And why should I, anyway?" Lying down and doing nothing sounded unappealing. You needed to do something…

"One: you just spent three days with no signs of life except for your breath. No pulse, no heat, nothing!" Alizabeth had practiced that tone of voice. You could tell. " And two, that's how long it will probably take at least that long for you to regain some use of your arm. Until some basic soul-structures are formed, you'll be stuck with an unresponsive lump of flesh and bone." she grimaced, picking up the limp hand. "I don't even want to know if this will adversely affect the healing I gave you."

"So, what am I supposed to do? Just lie here idly as there are things I should be doing out there? That isn't exactly my mission, Priestess."

"She knows, miss." On the other side, you heard Thornby. "I told her after all." Alizabeth huffed.

"Hello, Captain." You nodded towards him. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, miss. I'm glad you made it here, well, mostly safely." It was only now that you realized his helm was off. He was scarred many times over, and like his countrymen, his hair was tied back. Alizabeth cleared her throat audibly.

"Yes, Carvell told me. Apparently you gave something of a spectacle in the Whispering Forest." She leaned in, looking you in the eye. "But divine mission or no, you will stay here and look after your own safety for once, is that clear?"

"I…" It was no use. You were sure of that now. "Fine. But what should I do then? I don't want to be idle."

"Well, there are your studies…" Nilas stroked his beard. Why did almost every scholar you had ever met do that? And in the exact same way? "Though you'll have to decide if you want to focus on anything in particular."

"But before that, there is something more important." Morlune leaned forward. "Just what happened, Jeanne?"

It was a valid question, and one you would have to answer eventually. But what did you wnat to say? And how to say it…

Ultimately, you did come to a decision.

Pick One:

[] Tell Everything. No need for secrecy here.

[] A partial truth (the sequel). You explained some of the events, but not everything. (Players must specify what they want to explain as subvotes)

[] Deflect the question. You weren't sure what their responses would be.

Education - Pick One:

[] Focus on Literacy. Sir Morlune was needed on the front. Nilas offered to tutor you as you recovered.

[] Focus on Light. Nilas was needed in his research, so Morlune stayed with you during the days, teaching you what he could.

---

End of Chapter Three​

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Factions Met: ???, ???, ???

Reputation Change: Curiosity in ???, Amusing Curiosity in ???, Dangerous Curiosity in ???

Jeanne Status: Mostly-healed right wrist, rent soul and unresponsive left arm

---

And there you go!