The Maid of the Comet: A Tale from Azeroth

[King Tharassian]

23 Sextus, 25 ADP
A Hidden Place off the North Coast

Once, there was a land bathed in endless starlight. Upon it walked a people fair, and it was good.

Once, we walked among the trees, felt the grass beneath our feet. We called ourselves the Kaldorei, and it was good.

Once, we beheld a lady fair who surpassed us all in every way. The Light of Lights, the Queen of Stars, our beloved Queen Azshara.

And when the ungrateful masses rebelled, that land was shattered, and we were cast into the sea. And we knew only dark.

But we are the people. We are the rulers. Changed, but unbroken. There are always the Naga, always the Ocean.

And there is always our goddess Azshara…

---

Such was the story as it was told, from the Venerable who had lived it to the three generations since. But it was not so simple after the Sundering, and all knew it. Some had been cast farther afield than others, and so there were tribes of Naga who had not awoken in sight of the Empress at the dawning of the Empire of Nazjatar.

Such was the case for the Stormfathom, who had dwelt long ago in the city of Vashj'elan. The city's rulers named themselves the tribe of Vashj'elan, and were served by their lessers until the coming of Nazjatar's explorers. But the distance from Nazjatar made the worship of the Empress somewhat different. They came to view the Light of Lights as one would a distant star or a light on the horizon. Where those who dwelt within Her sight knew Her as Queen and Goddess both, the Stormfathom saw only the divine.

Some of the Sirens whispered that it was the cause of their lessened state.

Charib'dishal, Rajis of the Stormfathom, knew otherwise. It had been the false councils of Nazjatar and their pact with the Faceless One that had claimed leadership of Vashj'elan that had cast her tribe out.

The prayers were as she had been taught: whispered, only loudly enough for the Empress to hear, but never so loud that She would find them vulgar. The altar was forged of coral and the bones gathered from whale carcasses. Sharkskin veiled the altar around the sides, decoration and protection both.

Around her, the Sirens sang, and the sorcerers of the murlocs wove their rituals. As the song reached a crescendo, those present felt a wave of power wash over them, and the prayer was completed with Charib'dishal singing in the dialect of Nazja spoken only by the priests.

As always, she felt whole again; the gnawing of her hunger was lessened, and she would not need to seek out a source of magic for some time. The niceties and babblings of the sycophants did not register as she returned to her dwelling.

Their exile had meant a change in accomodations. Before, they had lived in the city they were born to. Now, they were forced to build new homes as their search and the tides demanded. Her home on this shelf was built of great stones and corals, luminescent crystals and finer things within forged by her own magical might.

The male waiting only stirred as she entered. He was great and wide, all rippling muscle and opaline scale. She admitted to some small satisfaction as he swam to her, profusely kissing her hand and arm.

"My Lady… It is good you have returned."

"Was there ever any doubt, Zolaresh?" She knew he couldn't hear the sarcasm in her voice. He never did.

Zolaresh was first of her warlords, the leaders of her soldiery, but only by virtue of his size and strength. He was a glorified bodyguard, and little else. His status as one of her consorts was one she used to its fullest as a matter of convenience. She raised a brow and the serpents wreathing her face hissed in surprise as he shook his head.

"No, of course not, mistress. There was never doubt. My faith springs eternal." Zolaresh backed away, bowing his head in shame, forked tongue snaking between his lips as he struggled to find some way to make up his supposed insult.

"Then why worry?" She sank into the softer corals that formed her bed, and he shifted behind her to knead her shoulders, his fingers pressing the tendons of her neck, which had been drawn tight by the stresses of prayer and politics. "Is there something of which I am not aware?"

"No, mistress. I am your servant, and I would not hide anything from you." She let out a contented sigh as she felt the muscles of her neck relax. She did not deny that he was good at that. "You are troubled, mistress?"

"And why shouldn't I be, Zolaresh?" He barely reacted to her sharp response. Good. "We are reduced to such meager places as this as we seek out the allies we need. We are exiles, untouchables in our own homeland!" She felt one of her hands curl into a fist and the serpents rising from her head began to writhe agitatedly. "I am left with less than a thousand to my command, and there are whispers that one of the latest clutch might have the markings of a sea-witch!" She crossed her lower two arms across her belly, and began to breathe out slowly.

"Then you fear that there might be dissent, mistress?" Ah, there was the anger; he was ever so protective of her, for all his inadequacies. "If that is so, then I can root it out! Cut out the poison and leave the rest untouched…"

"No." She knew that Zolaresh's idea of subtlety was lacking. If she gave him permission to launch an inquisition, there would be riots against her in days. No, she had another in mind. "I do not fear it, but I sense that it is there. And we must be united in these dark times. The Stormfathom must be one mind in this, and the Saltpool…" She grimaced. "We must make do with the current arrangement."

"Why do we allow them such freedom, mistress?" Zolaresh's inanity left her speechless, even as she felt the stress drain away thanks to his tender ministrations. She allowed a rare smile as he moved on to one of her arms.

"Because we must, warlord. They outnumber us almost two to one, and not all of our people are warriors. Negotiation is a necessary evil; or do you believe that every one of your myrmidons could bring down three murlocs before succumbing?" She was satisfied to hear him hiss in frustration.

"No, mistress, I do not. Not as we are." There was silence for a time, and Charib'dishal sank into the calm that was enveloping her. For what seemed an eternity, she heard naught but the currents and the songs of the tribesfolk. "Rarely do you have such thoughts, mistress." Zolaresh's comment did not even anger her anymore. It was simply disappointing. For all his muscle and skill, he was entirely dependent on his duties to her, even to the point of forgetting any agency he may have had. "Do you wish me to go?" It was a complicated question, though he likely didn't understand that. But she already knew.

"Please, but do not go far. Your den will be far enough." With a quiet hiss, one last kiss to her hand and the shifting of sharkskin, he left her abode. At last she was in peace, and could make use of her far more effective tools.

Drawing three fingers across her lips, she whispered three notes of a song only she and one other knew. It was a summons, and she soon heard the sharkskin across her doorway move again.

"You summoned, Rajis?" The voice was softer, smoother. Opening her eyes again, she propped herself up to see the newcomer. In many ways he was typical of the males; the serpentine face, the spines and frills; but his scales were more blue, and he was more slight than Zolaresh, for all that muscle varied among them.

"Naj'azun." The smile this time was open, and she wasn't afraid to be so informal. "It is good that you have come." Her second warlord, and second of her consorts, bowed low, before rising again.

"I answer when I am called." Where Zolaresh had been a choice of practicality and image, Naj'azun had been chosen for his other talents. While he was still a warlord, and so a warrior, he was the more subtle of the two, and the one she trusted with more delicate work. "I also hear things more acutely. I assume by your ease that Zolaresh's work was pleasing?"

"For all his faults, he has skilled hands." She did not know how to feel about his phrasing. Had he been eavesdropping? If so, she would have to take action. Rivalry among a sea-witch's consorts rarely ended well, if her mother's teachings were to be believed. "But I think you have heard other things too. Breathy words spoken by the sirens, perhaps?" His fangs glinted in the shifting light as he smiled.

"In my efforts and indiscretions, Rajis, I may well have heard some of them before you." Ah. So one or two had said things to him while in the stupor of fondness and affection? How refreshingly direct. She had almost thought that he believed his dalliances were unknown to her. "But the mysterious egg is, I'm sure, your precise meaning." As she nodded, he took a seat in another patch of soft corals, tail coiling underneath him.

"If another witch is hatched and I don't have a part in it, then there will be divisions." Empress help her, was she afraid of an unhatched siren? "We cannot have that." Naj'azun nodded slowly, drawing one of his jaw tendrils between his fingers.

"Any divisions will leave the murlocs thinking of independence, and might split the tribe." He frowned. "And the clutch is already only large enough to recoup our losses and then add a few more. If the same hatch rates from the last continue, we'll still have under nine hundred naga under the Stormfathom banner." He nodded again. "I can see why you worry, my Rajis."

"I would hope that you do. If I am overthrown, you might be slain with me, and Empress knows what would happen to whatever hatchlings may be traced back to you." The displeasure in her voice was evident, and Naj'azun raised a brow.

"You think me so careless, Rajis? I take care to limit such… inconveniences." He waved a clawed hand. "And even if there were any such hatchlings, the chances of any connection are low, given the nature of the spawning pool."

"Even so, I want you to investigate. Find this egg, find if it will even hatch. If it exists, and if it could be a threat, I want you to find whether the clutch-mother is known. If not…" She twirled a finger through the air. "Well, it isn't unheard of for a sea-witch to take in promising hatchlings. I think you know what to do if the mother is known."

"Of course." He paused, obviously thinking. "I also have more to say, Rajis."

"Then speak, warlord. I won't rip out your tongue for it."

"I never dreamed that you would, Rajis. It would be to your detriment in many ways, I do believe." The cheek! He shifted on the corals, rolling a black pearl between his thumb and forefinger; a habit of his that he believed brought luck. "The murloc I sent out returned just a few hours ago. The mountains were difficult for it to cross, but it brought the casket to the newcomer." He looked up towards the den's ceiling. "I still cannot believe that the comet brought a mere human." The salvage from the shipwreck the girl had landed in had been plentiful enough, but the cloth and the book had stood out enough that she had - obviously rightfully - assumed that they belonged to her.

"A mere human with some potential, Naj'azun." Charib'dishal wagged a finger at him, her voice mocking a scolding tone. "Did the messenger convey her reaction?"

"As a matter of fact, it did. Apparently there was surprise and shock, and perhaps some relief. But that is immaterial, if I may dare to say so. I feel her companions are far more interesting." He leaned towards her, his voice falling slightly in volume. "The humans' Crusade seems to have taken her in." She raised a brow.

"Interesting, but not unexpected. They were in the forest when I saw her, after all." And saved her life, she didn't say. "Has she been sent to the Northern coasts? If she is there, we might be able to communicate sooner than my visions implied." The visions never lied, and she had seen the comet coming. They had foretold Light, and fire, and change. Glorious, unbridled change, which would no doubt ripple across the world, no matter how small.

"No, my Rajis." He was annoyed at the lack of results, if his tightening grip on the pearl was any indication. "She seems to be farther inland, where only you might still reach." Ah, the burdens of magic.

"Then we shall have to wait." It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. "We must content ourselves with the matter of this witch-egg, and we will deal with the newcomer when she is in the North." Naj'azun nodded.

"I already have one of my informants gathering rumors for me on it. I feel that I'll have an answer as to the egg's parentage in days, if that." He smiled again. "Even if there is a definite line of descent, I might think of something. These waters are dangerous, after all, especially with the goblins hunting us for hide." He shrugged. "Tragedies happen, and an orphaned egg will not be denied to one in a position of power."

Charib'dishal nodded, her own lips forming a smile again. Yes, it was all coming together. Soon, she felt, they would have a true home. They would have fortunes and power, and they would overthrow the vile usurpers who had claimed to rule in the Empress' name. Nazjatar would be freed, and the false edicts handed down in recent years would be shown for the corruption they represented.

"Good. Very good." She fell back, her eyes closing as she lay in the corals again to rest. "You may go, warlord." She was mildly surprised when, hearing him move, she felt Naj'azun bite her neck ever so lightly; a sign more of affection than aggression. Though it could be taken as the latter for some contexts. The feeling was left behind as she heard him leave.

As she drifted off into her rest, she was left with her musings on how she would keep Zolaresh occupied when she awoke.

 

[King Tharassian]

The Templar is a path derived from far older traditions, reaching back to the very founding of the Church by the Prophetess Mereldar. Since the Light's revelation, there have been stories of warriors wielding it to combat evil in its myriad terrible forms.

While the development of the paladin is by far the most direct descendant of these traditions, and the first example of such warriors being -- by the Church itself, the Templar draws more upon the martial tradition than sheer faith, rooting their Light more in the physical world. This focus on the mortal plane and its troubles enables the Templar to hand down judgment upon foes both unholy and merely unrighteous.

The path of the Templar is not without trial, but those who progress to its greatest heights are often transformed by their dedication. Some Templars are capable of turning blade and hammer aside with a hand, never wearing mail or plate. Some are said to have eyes that glimmer with Light itself. Others have lost the physical imperfections that once marked them, becoming as living statues.

However, while The Templar is a living weapon of righteousness and justice, they must also know more mundane skills, and as such, this first chapter will begin with the humble spell of Healing…

---

It seemed to you that the formulae used to work the spell were deceptively simple. There weren't many steps, but the ways in which you had to shape the Light were more complex than those you had learned to apply in Smite.

You watched the runes spin around your hand, pushing the spell farther in increments as it stabilized. You were about two thirds of the way through your first casting, and tomorrow you expected to be capable of casting it much more quickly. Perhaps you were pushing your luck with trying to complete it in half the time, but you had to try.

You were far enough into the spell that when you heard a knock at your door, it didn't break the weave of the holy energies, much to your relief.

"Yes?"

"Jeanne, it's Thornby. I thought you should know that the village has some visitors." Visitors? You supposed that it had to be the High General and her entourage. "It might be a good idea for you to at least make your tutelage under Sir Morlune apparent. Command takes outsiders very seriously."

"All right. I'll be right there." You carefully unwound the magics of your spell, ensuring that it didn't cause a blinding flash or some sort of explosion. Apparently that was a distressingly common occurrence, and you didn't want to make that kind of impression. Once the energies had dispersed, you attached the sword to your belt, and glanced at the stand holding your armor. Would you really need it?

[] Wear it. You might get some odd looks, but even if it isn't necessary, it will show that your goals are aligned with the Crusade.

[] Leave it. It might be a significant faux-pas to have a Crusader's armor when you aren't technically a member.

You and Thornby walked in relative quiet on the path down from the Abbey, but he became more rigid as you approached the village proper.

"Anxious?" It was to be expected, with perhaps the most respected figure in the Crusade visiting.

"Somewhat." Thornby was honest if nothing else. "It isn't every day that the High General and the High Abbot of Tyr's Hand both visit this far out. This is either very good or very bad. The only thing that would make me truly nervous is if the Grand Inquisitor himself were here."

"Understandable. That wouldn't be a sign of anything good, after all. I take it he's a zealous man?"

"Zeal is putting it lightly." Somehow, despite the armor he wore, you could still see Thornby shudder. "Lord Isillien is infamous, even more so than Inquisitor Whitemane. If he thought that someone in the village was compromised, I wouldn't be surprised if half of the people here were arrested and interrogated." That was quite telling, and not in a good way.

"But he isn't here?" To your somewhat mixed relief, Thornby shook his head.

"No. General Abbendis apparently stopped at Hearthglen, but the Inquisitor isn't among her entourage." As you entered the square, you found a fair crowd standing at the edges. In the center of the space, Father Tobias was speaking with the woman you assumed to be the High General. Slipping into a space near Morlune, you noticed him give you a smile before returning to a professional stoicism. Thornby was to your right, with his squad, and you recognized a few from your journey across Tirisfal.

Turning your attention towards the General, you tried to make out what exactly she looked like. You could tell that her hair was red, as most anyone seemed to know when you asked, but it was only when Father Tobias shifted to one side that you saw her face.

Your breath caught in your throat momentarily as you realized that you had seen her before. When you had been traveling to Vandermar after the battle at the bulwark, you had seen her face in the River Darrow. You couldn't see the color of her eyes, but you knew that it was the same woman who had been glaring up at you from the water. You were broken from your confusion by the sound of Tobias' voice.

"The High General would speak with the commanders of the Hosts! Sir Morlune of Kul Tiras and Sir Karnwield of Gilneas, step forward!" Morlune did so without hesitation, and you saw another knight move from the other side of the square. He was not built as a mountain like Morlune was, but he was somewhat younger, and less swarthy. The commander of the Gilnean Host, and Master of Plagueshield Hold, if you had heard correctly.

There was an eerie silence in your ears as you saw the commanders speak with the General, and you became somewhat distressed at the concern that you saw cross Morlune's face. When he returned, his expression was dark, and there was a fear in his voice as he spoke to you.

"The General wants to speak with you personally, Jeanne. There's been some kind of misunderstanding." He put a hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You were sure that the shock was clear on your face. "She wants to meet you in the cathedral." Glancing back, he whispered: "You'd best go now." Shaken somewhat by the change in his demeanor, you nodded and moved out of the throng, only catching a glimpse of Thornby's confusion at whatever he had heard.

Steeling yourself, you walked to the Cathedral of the Burning Light.

[] Wait outside.

[] Go inside and pray.

 

[King Tharassian]

The cathedral was quiet as you entered, kneeling on one side of the aisle. The dim lighting and dark colors gave the place a somber ambiance, and you found your prayers taking a more melancholy turn thanks to it. As you completed everything you had wanted to say before the altar, you found yourself asking a single question: Why?

Why would the High General have any reason to suspect you? After all, that was the only reason you could think of for both her request and Morlune's grave expression. What could she have heard, and from whom? No doubt, if there had been some other informant who had given her an impression that you were an enemy or threat, they might simply have been misinformed. But then, this was beginning to feel more than a little like the rumors the English had spread.

But no answers came, and you were left kneeling in the vast church, that strange idol sitting impassively in the sanctuary.

"We're here."

Though it was surprising to hear Catherine outside of your own mind, it gave some small comfort that she and the others would be there, if only in spirit.

You were left only enough time to make one last plea to the Lord before you heard footsteps behind you. Standing, you turned to face your new 'acquaintance.'

The High General struck an impressive figure. Clad all in crimson plate-mail, a shield and double-bladed axe in easy reach. Now that you could see her more clearly, you were struck by how hard her eyes seemed. All leaders seemed to become accustomed to hardship and challenge, but she seemed far more so than anyone you had met. You supposed that the nature of the war against the Scourge made it something to be expected, but even that seemed to you to be not quite enough to explain it.

Four of her six compatriots were Crusaders, themselves armed and armored. The fifth, however, was a priest. He appeared to have a tonsure under the mitre he was wearing, and his beard and mustache were closely trimmed. You were somewhat glad to note that Morlune was also there, though he was clearly conflicted about whatever was going on.

The High General herself continued towards you even as her guards stopped, until she was only five feet from you, a quirked eyebrow the only thing betraying an emotion other than cold indifference.

"You are the one I've heard called the Maid?" Her voice was harsher than you expected.

"Some call me that, yes. My name is Jeanne." You gave a small bow in respect. "I've heard a great deal about you, General."

"And I very little of you until recently." You almost flinched at the edge you could hear in those words. But you supposed it was almost a miracle that she had heard about you so quickly. News must have traveled far faster here than in France. "But what I have heard, I find highly suspect."

"What?" That didn't make sense. "Why? Do you think me a threat? Did I do something I should not have? Did you hear that I have done something?"

"I will be asking the questions." One of the Crusaders stepped forward, stopping just behind the General's left shoulder.

"If you so desire milady, I could begin a full interrogation in a proper facility…" Oh no. No, no, no.

"No." You let out a breath you didn't even realize you had held. "This is enough. All we need will be laid bare here, where all the Light can see, and both we and our actions may be judged accordingly." She turned back to you. "Now, I believe that we should begin with your particular tradition. I understand that you follow some variety of the Church based on that codified by Northshire?" She was starting with your belief that there was a singular, all-powerful being ruling over all? Odd…

"Yes. I was taught that God Almighty created the world, and I believe that the Light is His instrument."

"Hm. do you know the tenets of the Church as we know it?"

"I do, though I was unfamiliar with parts of the canon until recently." A and now both her eyebrows were raised. You had a bad feeling about that.

"I see. And Sir Morlune, you are the one who filled in the gaps, so to speak?"

"Yes, General." He visibly inflated again. "My finest student, without a doubt." You would be lying if you didn't feel a little proud when he said that. Abbendis simply nodded before turning back to you.

"So if I may ask, why have you only made contributions to the Crusade now?" Oh, good. She was pacing. That wasn't making it harder for you to keep a straight face at all.

"I only arrived recently." You recalled what you had told Thornby. "I was stranded on the western coast of Tirisfal, below the Whispering Forest. There, I met some soldiers of the Crusade, and they allowed me to accompany them."

"Yes, you were present for a Scourge attack on the Bulwark, I heard." She paused in her movement, arms crossed. "I also understand that you encountered the Argent Dawn there. Tell me, why didn't you join them instead? The Northshire tradition is not as welcome in some circles of the Crusade, and you would no doubt have been openly accepted."

"If I may be blunt, General? There wasn't the same sense of dedication, at least not the same kind." You unconsciously felt the rosary in your pocket. "I have always been deeply motivated by faith, and I don't feel that my mindset aligned properly with theirs. The Crusade felt more right." There wasn't a response for some time.

"I see." Abbendis seemed to be less cold now, for some reason. "Now, to my suspicions." Folding her hands behind her back, she turned to face you fully. "I was informed by a source I deeply trust that you may be compromised, consciously or not, by the magics of the Scourge. I want to know - have you had any contact at all with the Scourge's intelligent members?" You could have heard a pin drop as you gaped.

"No!" When you finally had coherent thought again, your voice was higher than you likely intended. "I mean… Except for when I led a charge to kill several necromancers at the Bulwark, I cannot recall meeting any Scourge agents… Unless the Forsaken count, but I wasn't part of that conversation, and it was mostly taunting the soldiers who welcomed me." Before anything else could come up, you added. "That deathguard is properly dead, as far as I know." Before your eyes, the General's expression became more questioning, her brows furrowing and eyes tracing patterns on the floor.

"What about other such figures? Death Knights? Liches? Nothing?" Now it was your turn to be confused. Behind the other Crusaders, you saw Morlune make a gesture. Was he tracing something? "S?" Why would...?

Oh! Salanar!

Oh, wait. Salanar.

Was it a good idea to bring him up? Morlune and the others knew, and you were fairly sure Phillipus had heard from Thornby, but you didn't know how the General would take it.


[] Bring up Salanar.

[] No. No, no, no.

[] Write-in

 

[King Tharassian]

"There was something, now that I think about it." You took a breath, steeling yourself in case of disaster. "I was contacted not long ago by a… rather eccentric warrior going by the name Salanar."

'The horseman?" Abbendis raised an eyebrow. "And you admit to encountering him freely? I'm not sure whether to think you're brave or simply overconfident."

"I don't exactly feel confident about this at all, to be honest, but I do know that he was specifically attempting to kill me. Of course, he called it 'threat assessment.'"

"Milady, I still believe-" The soldier from before spoke up again. The General merely waved a hand to quiet him, but he persisted: "This is very irregular General! We cannot afford to take any -"

'Go, now, and guard the door, Crusader!" Abbendis glared at the offending soldier, even as he marched to the doors of the cathedral, grumbling all the while. There was a noticeable period of silence, and then she turned back to you. "Allow me to make this clear: you say that you were in direct contact with a known agent of the undead Scourge, actually conversed with him, and came back alive and unscathed. And yet you claim that the circumstances were of a hostile nature? How do you explain the disconnect? Is there something else you haven't mentioned?"

"There is, actually." You were suddenly possessed of an impulse to smirk smugly, but had the foresight to quash that desire before it could cause everything to get out of hand. "I did not, in fact, return unharmed. The horseman managed a lucky hit and cut off a piece of my soul." At her incredulous expression, you added: "It was devoured by creatures native to wherever he summoned me to, so I doubt that he could make any use of it." Abbendis didn't even blink, much to your surprise.

"And is there anyone who can confirm this?" She turned as Morlune cleared his throat.

"I can vouch for the veracity of her story General. So can Priestess Barton, Captain Thornby and Archmage Arcanister." You heard the grumbling from the door rise in volume. "I'm sure that they will happily testify if you so wish."

"I would, Commander. Now, where was I?" At that moment, you decided to bring up a second aspect of your 'vision' that had gone mostly unexamined.

"Not to force this in another direction, but I thought of something just now that you might want to hear." You weren't sure whether her silence immediately following your interruption was out of politeness or shock, but you pressed on anyway. "I also had a vision during my time in… wherever Salanar brought me." You grimaced as you realized the likely responses. "It was of the fall of Lordaeron City." If you could have heard a pin drop before, the silence now was deafening in its own right. You looked at the other people in the Cathedral with you; Abbendis was staring at something in the distance; Morlune's eyes were shifting, measuring the reactions of the Crusaders. The priest, however, was the first to speak up again.

"A harrowing sight, I'm sure." He extended an arm, waving a hand towards you. "But what exactly does that have in terms of relevance?"

"It's not simply the vision itself, High Abbot. My focus is on what i found within." You turned back to Abbendis. "There was a survivor who seemed oddly familiar with the traitor. A noble, likely a few years older than I am. The only name I caught regarding her was 'Ann.'" You were sure that the identity of 'the traitor' was obvious. Abbendis only raised an eyebrow, but you couldn't get more than a glance at the others. You thought you saw Morlune frowning with his brows furrowed, but you couldn't be sure.

"I see." The General looked more confuse than anything else, but she seemed to be forgiving of the sudden change in direction. "But then -" There was a groaning of wood and the sound of the cathedral's doors barring. In front of the wide archway, the errant Crusader standing with his shoulders set and breaths suddenly audible. The doors were bound in… green flame?

"Oh, you just had to taunt me, didn't you? Just had to keep rambling on and being all reasonable and convincing. I had it all planned out. I didn't think I would need any mind tricks or sleep spells or anything. I was sure that you would just be suspicious immediately. WHY?" He started laughing, or perhaps just giggling, in a voice that didn't match the one he was speaking with. "Why did you have to be so utterly useless? And you!" He pointed at you. "I was planning to take your face next, but I think I won't even give you the satisfaction of a quick end. You're just too much trouble when there's an opportunity for a better promotion."

"Crusader, what are you doing? Explain this at once and unbar the doors!"

"I don't think so, General. It's quite unfortunate really." Suddenly, you caught the sickly-sweet aroma of decay emanating from him. "You see, the Maid is about to launch an attack, trying to assassinate you for her Scourge masters. She will kill me, and the Commander, and the High Abbot, and my fellows here. You will survive, and order her imprisoned when she is finally subdued. It will be oh so awful for all involved."

No, no, no, no! You didn't understand what in God's name he was talking about, but you weren't about to be framed and tortured again.

"I'm going to do no such thing! How can you even suggest that?"

"Jeanne, don't go closer." Morlune had drawn his hammer, and he was glaring at the Crusader.

The soldier visibly grinned under his helmet. "Oh, Jeanne. You may say that, but who will believe your word against the General's? Too bad about he plan, though. I really was looking forward to an easy infiltration." He drew his sword. "Even had to let my other body die in front of you just to throw off suspicion. Ah well." He strode forward, sword twirling in his fingers as he swung it lazily.

[] What do you do?​

---

Sorry about the void, everyone. Got a bit distracted on this one.

 

[King Tharassian]

All around you, the Crusaders drew their swords, the General's hand went to her axe, and the High Abbot began to give off the tell-tale gleam of the Light. Your hand went to your own sword, but something came to mind as you drew it.

The soldier (or rather, false soldier) was impatient. He had blown his cover once things looked as if they weren't going his way, rather than improvising in a less flamboyant manner. Not only that, but he had gone into pontificating the moment he was fed up with waiting. If you could get him monologuing, and keep him doing it to the point of distraction, then the situation could turn in your favor as he became focused on you. And though you were somewhat loathe to admit it, you were far better as a center of attention than a frontline combatant at the moment (not to mention that while the undead fell squarely in the "acceptable" part of "Thou shalt not kill," demons (which this creature almost certainly was) were more suspect, even though you were fairly certain that they weren't protected by the Commandments anyway. Better safe than sorry.

"I don't think you even had much of a plan, creature." You wove the Light between your fingers, shaping the threads into a Smite as you spoke. "I don't see how you could. I mean, you say you were planning to take my face, whatever that means, but now that's suddenly impossible? And how will you even make your new idea work if you succeed? I think you're bluffing, trying to intimidate us by giving off the aura of forethought where there was none." The initial answer, much to your chagrin, was a bolt of fel fire that you barely managed to dodge.

"Are you doubting me, girl?" There was a second voice under the original now, one that was deeper and rasping. "It would have been so simple. Get you alone for interrogation, put on a show of showing you were innocent, and then slip into your skin… it would have been glorious, all the changes I could cause." He was grinning under the helmet. "And don't worry, I'll make sure that you're heard. Most of what you say will be drowned out by the blood in your mouth, and I might cut out that insufferable tongue, but plenty will hear your side of the story. But who will take your word when the leaders of the Crusade are speaking against you?"

"And if you fail?" You let the question hang, and the soldier paused.

"I have no reason to believe that I will. I can outlast all of you, and you're locked in here with me." At that moment, you let the Smite fly, and the lower half of his helmet cracked, the left part flying aside along with shards of bone and scattered blood. The soldier's face was twisted now into a hellish parody of a smile, the jaw bone intact even with the cracks spreading through it. "And I don't have to worry about dying."

"I… What?" Abbendis seemed shocked. "An undead? In our ranks? How is that possible?" The rest of you, even the other Crusaders, stared blankly at her.

"You… do not see the magic, General?" The High Abbot sounded concerned.

"Which magic? I saw the man throw a fel bolt, and combined with the bindings there's the indication that he's a warlock." She sneered. "But an undead Warlock? In the Crusade? I don't understand!"

"Oh my." The soldier chuckled. "Is something wrong? Are the facts not lining up?" He was forced to scream by a flash of Light, and the High Abbot frowned drolly at him.

"You do love the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

"Going… to kill you… slowly…." was the only response.

"Not while I live, monster." Morlune charged, bringing his hammer down upon the creature's back, and there was the sound of snapping and the crack of bone. The soldier grunted, and raised his torso on his hands to look up at the paladin.

"I can oblige that, Commander. Just a moment." And then he stood back up, his legs bending at unnatural angles as he swung his sword clumsily. "Just have to make up for fine motor control with raw force. Not a terrible loss." He then swung, and Morlune was forced back several steps as the blade cut a full foot into the floor. Pulling it out with a single motion, the misshapen thing lurched forward again, even as you threw a Smite that should have shattered his shoulder and rendered his shield useless. Instead, it merely gouged a hole in deep enough to see the bone.

"Whatever this thing is, the body is more resistant because of it." you looked to the High Abbot. "Is there anything like this that has been seen before?" He stared at the sight before him, seemingly in shock.

"Never with intelligence. Even those Forsaken will typically be crippled with a broken spine, but this? This isn't mere resistance to damage, but continued manipulation of the body well past its natural breaking point! I've seen men with their backs broken, and they almost invariably never walk again! Perhaps the Scourge could do this, but not with any of their intelligent minions… Death Knights are still bound by the same physical realities as us, but with strength and basic resistance to pain…." He fell into confused mutterings and half-intelligible prayers. You offered up a few of your own in the hopes that you would win this battle. If you didn't…

You didn't want to go back. It had only been weeks now since you remembered falling unconscious on the pyre. The smoke had been a mercy. This beast would offer none.

No. This time, you weren't fighting for a greater cause. This time, you were letting yourself fight out of a selfish desire not to die. If He so willed it, it would be so, but you couldn't bear to go back into the living hell you had endured, let alone the new one this thing would surely conjure up. If you were to die, you prayed to God that He would, in His mercy, make it fast and relatively painless.

But you weren't about to simply let it happen without trying.

You threw another smite at the creature, this time tearing out a portion of its leg. It turned to you, and you could see the grin on the mangled remains of its face.

"I think it's time we thinned the numbers a bit. Don't worry, I have plans for you now, and I want to take my time making you suffer." Then it broke into a sprint, legs wheeling outward as it ran with its sword held high coming towards you.


[] Write in battle plan

 

[King Tharassian]

The monster wearing a Crusader's skin gathered speed as it rushed towards you, its feet slamming against the ground. You tested your balance, putting your weight on one foot, and then the other. If there was one thing you knew would happen that this beast couldn't stop, it was the fact that its current speed would keep it moving.

It came closer and closer, sword high in its hand, and you held your own blade loosely; gripping it white-knuckled wouldn't help your combat ability. You heard its laughter, the sound gargling with blood and phlegm from its damaged throat. It was so sure of itself.

You allowed yourself a small degree of vindictive satisfaction as you leapt aside, watching its eyes widen by a fraction in confusion. It really wasn't prepared. That confusion became howling rage as you threw another smite at its damaged leg. The limb came off with a sickening tear, and the monster was left howling on the floor.

"Not so sure when you have problems even moving, are you demon?" Just had to break it down a little more. The more you could force it into a rage, the easier it would be to kill. And if, by some cruel twist of fate, it escaped, it would be careless about its vengeance.

"When this is over, brat, I'll make sure to leave your pretty little ears intact. I've been told that mutilating the rest and leaving a finger on each hand for eating is a surprisingly effective punishment." It used its sword as a lever, pulling itself forward along the floor by jamming it between the stones. "And you'll get to hear the gasps and cries of those that see your twisted face. Oh, yes…. I'll enjoy watching you react to the lamentations of your oh-so-dear charges."

"Be quiet." You barely even heard the words come out of your mouth, but you lunged as they hissed forth, striking at the left hand while the sword hand was close to its head. It tore the sword out of the floor and swung, but you jumped back in time to see the High General circle around you, axe high. With a roar, she brought the blade down on the monster's head, breaking the spine and severing the neck completely. There was silence for a long moment, and you found yourself breathing harder than you expected. You watched the corpse as the General prodded it with the axe's haft-spike.

"We must take the body somewhere secure, General. If we can determine the magics used in its animation, then -" The High Abbot was the first to speak, but Abbendis waved her hand wearily, cutting him off.

"I know, Landgren. I know." She turned to you, the cold stare from earlier replaced by a clear concern. But you got the feeling it wasn't for you. "The events of today… I can only say that…" She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I can only say that you are, as of now, exonerated. I cannot imagine the Scourge sending a creature such as this to kill one of its own agents, and the way it spoke implied that you were more use to it dead than alive." Her eyes narrowed. "But that leaves me with the question of how my sources were incorrect."

"General?" Morlune spoke, sounding less curious than worried.

"Not now, Commander."

"No, General… The corpse is moving." Your gaze shot back to the body, which was, indeed, shifting. But it wasn't getting up. It was pulsing, as though filled with too much of some bubbling liquid, heaving and creaking as bones were put under extreme pressure and incredible duress.

Suddenly, out of the severed neck flew a cloud of ebon bats, spilling forth like an unholy torrent. You heard a roaring like that of an animal, wild and uncontrolled. The swarm sounded like a fell wind, whistling and deafening and terrible. You held a beacon of light before you, and the cloud of beasts split around you. You could barely see Abbendis, but you heard a scream behind you.

The bats whirled around the cathedral, a torrent that seemed to beat against your resolve like a hammer. Finally, they lessened in number, and then dissipated, and you saw the last few flying out of the open doors.

You looked to your allies. Morlune was surrounded by a spinning sphere of runes. Abbendis was in a similar state. The three Crusaders were standing in a crimson circle that glowed on the floor.

And the High Abbot was a bloody heap some distance away.

"Landgren!" Abbendis rushed over, still surrounded by her runes, a healing spell already in her hand. The Light washed over the priest's still form, and many of the lacerations disappeared. "Damn. Why isn't he waking?"

"Perhaps the injuries were also magical in nature? If this creature was a demon, then it wouldn't be a simple matter to heal wounds caused by its raw power, I imagine. The doom guards summoned by the orcs were deadly even if the wound itself wasn't traditionally fatal, so a demon of greater power might be just as dangerous." Morlune walked over, kneeling next to Abbendis and Landgren.

"Perhaps," the General sighed. "I wasn't expecting the need to pore over tomes of demon-lore in order to determine the nature of my enemy when I arrived." She turned to Morlune. "Are there any such books in your Abbey, Commander?"

"Precious few, if there are." He stood, hammer still in his hand. "I can have the acolytes search for any that we have, but even those might be restricted to what we knew at the time of the Second War."

"Please do." Abbendis stood. "You three! Bring the Abbot to the Abbey! He will need more attention than we can provide here at the moment." The Crusaders nodded, all three apparently deciding that contributing to the conversation wasn't worth the General's ire at this particularly stressful time. Once they were gone, and the unconscious Abbot with them, she turned to you. "Now, I have to say…" She grimaced. "I was wrong. My sources were wrong." Her lips twisted into a growl as she left the implicit apology unsaid.

"I apologize if I failed to provide the information you sought." Better to mollify than to draw unwanted anger. "But you said that your informants believed I am a Scourge agent?"

"They aren't informants. They're sources." She held her chin with her thumb and forefinger, and she sighed again. "What are your plans, Miss Jeanne?"

"I don't understand?" Was she asking what you thought she was asking?

"I mean this: one, how much are you planning to dedicate to our cause? Two, will you be ready when we call upon you?" She was leaning towards you, and you were once again left with the inevitable recoil that came from someone nearly a foot taller standing in front of you. She was looking down at you with an intense expression.

"I have decided to inquire into joining the Crusade, if that's what you mean." You crossed your arms in an attempt to maintain composure. "And any battle against the undead is righteous, and He surely wills it."

"And you will contribute even if called to destroy the darkest hive of evil in this region?"

"General! You can't possibly mean that…" Morlune's exclamation drifted off.

"Young Sir Maddox has given me no set date, but if it comes to that, I expect you," she prodded your arm for emphasis, "to join the battle. You may not be an actual agent of the Lich King, but my sources have told me more than simply that, and I'll be watching you very closely." She stood back, hands on her hips. "So?"


[] What do you do?

 

[King Tharassian]

"So long as there is any chance of success, General, then you may find me ready. I hate the undead as you do, and you can expect me to gladly join in any mission with the intent to destroy them. " You took a breath, already seeing in her expression that she knew a 'but' was coming. "However, I must recommend that you determine why your sources were wrong, if you were informed in such a way. And with the new threat brought to light," you grimaced at the shattered corpse that lay nearby, "then we must be more careful. After all, if a demon could impersonate one of the Crusade's own members, then who is to say that it couldn't find ways to infiltrate whatever network has been informing you, bending what you hear to their own dark purposes?"

There was a long silence, and Abbendis gave you a long, dark glare. But at the same time, she seemed slightly shaken, and her hands were visibly shaking, at least from where you stood. You almost thought you could hear her teeth grinding together with how tightly her jaw was set.

"I will deal with matters that concern me and mine, girl." Her change in tone only made clear just how calmly she had spoken before. "You can deal with matters of your own. If my sources are somehow flawed, I will learn why. But more importantly, you will not be part of it unless your voice is relevant at that table." She took a breath, and the anger was gone. "I hope that when next we meet, you count yourself among our number. And more importantly, I hope that you understand what is your concern." With a curt nod to Morlune, she strode out of the Cathedral, calling out orders to someone outside to 'clean up the mess.' Morlune stared gravely out the door.

"I'm not certain how wise that particular choice of words was, Jeanne." The paladin shook his head. "You could have left it at your promise and nothing would have changed."

"And leave the matter of my framing unaddressed? I cannot do that. I will not be accused of crimes I have not committed and be expected to keep silent. What I said, I meant with no ill will or insult. It was simply my recommendation based upon what I have seen." You crossed your arms, glaring at the body. "And I feel I was completely justified."

"And I would agree. You do have a right to confront when you have been wronged, and the General even acknowledged the mistake. But to directly call into question an authority that she apparently trusts implicitly with no preamble or time to allow for more trust to build? That may well have soured her opinion of you again, and one does not wish to have the ire of one like Abbendis." He sighed. "I suppose you're lucky that she's more diplomatic than her father. He would have launched into a tirade in return rather than simply offering a reprimand." He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, the hammer still weighing down his right, before turning back to the door. He stood, waiting for a time before you began walking out with him.

There was a long silence as the two of you passed through the village towards the path that led to the Abbey.

"If the General dislikes me, then it is nothing I haven't felt before." He raised an eyebrow at your sudden comment.

"You have experience with persons of power and authority disliking you then?"

"More than I'd like." Morlune was looking at you, you were sure, But you kept your eyes looking ahead, following the road.

"Well, if you are indeed planning to join soon, then that should make up for a great deal." You happily accepted the change in subject with your silence as he prepared to speak again. "If you intend to walk the Proven Road, then you can expect me to gladly sponsor you."

"Thank you, Sir Morlune, but I hadn't yet decided which path I intended to take. I asked Phillipus for his opinion, but he was frustratingly vague yesterday."

"Well, it's ultimately your choice. In all likelihood, he just wanted to make sure you realized the possibilities of both Roads." The Abbey was visible now. "But this is my advice. Do not wait. If you feel that you are ready for the Proven Road, take it. The sooner you are one of us, the sooner you will be trusted outside of my Host. You might earn the trust of the Gilneans eventually if you wait, but you shouldn't expect a warm greeting in Hearthglen or the Enclave." As you both walked through the open doors, he halted. "But I don't expect an answer of any kind. You don't owe me one. Just… Be careful, and realize that you may need to fulfill your promise to the General sooner thank you think." He gave you one last nod. "I won't keep you from a deserved rest. Good day, Jeanne."

"Good day, Sir Morlune." You gave a small bow in return before he walked down another hall.

You were left with a jumble of thoughts as you returned to your quarters. Demons wearing human faces weren't too surprising, but the influence that they seemed to have was terrifying. If they could dupe the leader of an organization like the Crusade, then who knew where else they could be active? You would have to be vigilant. If you were caught off-guard there was a very good chance that you wouldn't make it out.

Damn. You should have known that your luck wouldn't last.

Shaking the self-pity out of your mind for now, you focused on what you would do next. Maybe it would be good to ask for someone's advice? Or maybe you should practice again to give yourself time to think? Morlune's mention of rest came back to you, and you had to admit that it was tempting.


[] Seek out guidance
-[] Write in who you ask (any contact or NPC is viable)

[] Practice
-[] Choose subject

[] Rest and recuperate.

---

End of Chapter Five
​

---

Faction Status Change: ???: Hostile
​

---

​

 

[King Tharassian]

Okay. Time for the Interlude!

Character:

[] Nightmares

[] In His Highness' Service

[] Fire and Fury

[] Strangers in a Strange Land

[] Nightmares

Informational:

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

[] [REDACTED]'s Profile of Leaders for Regent Fordragon, ca 25 ADP

[] [REDACTED]'s Report on an Unusual Development

Strange, Silly and Weirdness:

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

OR:

[] None​

 

[King Tharassian]

A Report to Regent Fordragon on a Curious Change of Circumstances Based upon an Unexpected Development, ca. 25 ADP


By [REDACTED] of [REDACTED]


In my previous reports, your humble servant has placed significant focus on the ongoing Crusade for Lordaeron, issued by the Church of Light four years ago after the death of Grand Marshal Othmar Garithos, Lord of Blackwood. Your humble servant has also examined the leadership of the organizations involved, and even attempted to give a closer look at the inner workings of those same organizations.

However, this humble servant must break from their normal pattern of report for an unforeseen change in the situation. As you are surely aware, High General Brigitte Abbendis is the de facto leader of the Scarlet Crusade, and rarely ventures beyond the borders of the so-called "Scarlet Enclave" (formerly the Duchies of Avalon and King's Bay, and the Bishopric of Tyr's Hand) except for specific occasions. However, she recently traveled to the Western Plaguelands for no easily discernable reason.

This humble servant should probably begin with the rumors that now surround the General as of recently. There are some who say that she has been given revelations and visions. Others say that the Light itself speaks to her. Many Scarlets seem content to accept these rumors, despite the lack of clear evidence.

That said, her recent journey West is surrounded overwhelmingly by the belief amongst the common Scarlets that the Light has commanded her to hunt down a dangerous element in the region. This humble servant's informants indicated that there was some difficulty in the General's travel Westward for a few days, and then the situation became much easier for her party after that time. No reasonable explanation has been provided for their initial lack of progress.

Only yesterday, the General entered the town of Hearthglen with her entourage of four Crusaders and the High Abbot of New Avalon and Tyr's Hand. Every indication was that she intended to collect Inquisitor Isillien before moving on, but only an hour later she came out of Mardenholde Keep in a state of fury, staying in the town only a day and leaving with nothing more than her group had arrived with.

Since then, the Inquisitor has apparently been quite irate, screaming at his assistants to complete some vague task he has assigned to them, and a number of couriers left on the General's command for other regions; several traveled into the North Kingdom, and it is this humble servant's opinion that the General is mustering forces for a military engagement of some significance, perhaps the 8th or 14th Lordaeronian Hosts. If this servant's suspicions are correct, then the Crusade might even be planning for an attack on the Bulwark or Andorhal.

Now, the most important question is why the General is making this journey at all, if she merely left the next day. In fact, her choice to take the Western path South indicates that she is moving towards Tirisfal or Vandermar, and this humble servant is sure that she is not making the journey to the Monastery at this time of year. That must mean that she is moving towards the village, but one can only guess at her purpose.

The facts and rumors combined give the following possibility: according to rumors gathered by this humble servant, there is a young recruit in Vandermar who has gained something of a reputation following a skirmish at the Bulwark. It cannot be understood why the Inquisitor would be involved, but if the rumors surrounding the recruit in question - a young peasant woman of unknown origin - are true, then it is understandable why the General might be curious. Even so, it is highly irregular to take such a particular escort for a journey of curiosity, or indeed, for her to deal with it in person at all. This humble servant can only guess at the reasoning, but shall continue with further investigation.

Glory to the Alliance and to Stormwind, and Long Live Prince Anduin!

Your Humble Servant
SI:7

*the following is scribbled somewhat incoherently as an afterthought*
PS: And Light Bless Stormwind's Noble Regents.
PPS: Why does the closing address seem to change so much nowadays? It's much more flowery than a few months ago.
PPPS: I am sorry to hear about the Southern Malady spreading into Duskwood. I pray each day that no more will die in the disease's progress.

 

[King Tharassian]

Your thoughts were clouded by confusion and worry. Absently, you sat down again at your table, your hands going through the motions from earlier in the morning. It was an attempt to capture some semblance of normality again, and something in the depths of your mind told you that simply practicing with this gift you had been given was a wise way to do so.

But even as the healing spell formed between your hands, something struck you, and every worry that had been spawned from the events of the day crashed back with a vengeance. You had thought that you were safe? You thought that this place would be different? You assumed that every thought that had raced through your mind as the General and that… that thing had questioned you would just go away?

No. One wrong step and it would be back into the jails. Back to the mercy of the guards and the whims of your accusers. Behind you, you could suddenly feel a cloying presence, the sound of ragged breathing from a throat tight with rage and rough from screaming. You couldn't look, because to do it would only reinforce that he had power over you.

Be careful, woman. You do not help yourself by refusing to submit to our judgment.

The Bishop's voice in your ear made you go rigid. Then, as his words came back again and again, questions upon questions, the shock became fury. You focused on the Light again, pouring yourself into it, and Cauchon's voice became the timbre of the unnatural beast you had faced. Then it morphed again into the General's voice. The Light became brighter, and the thoughts fled before it.

The runes spun in rings around the gleaming core, and you lost yourself in the golden glow. It flowed around and through you, and aches you hadn't realized were there were soothed, and a calm fell over you, clearing your mind and restoring some of the peace you suddenly wanted.

The Light faded, a soft glow permeating your room for several minutes afterward, and the calmness remained. You were left staring at the space where the spell had been forming, now an empty patch of air. Had you just completed a speel that you had been struggling with for at least an hour earlier while not actually paying attention?

Shaking your head, you set yourself to it again, determined to cast it more quickly. If you could create and direct a healing spell in the midst of battle, everything would change. The very existence of such abilities was forcing you to reevaluate the tactics you were familiar with.

Unfortunately, it seemed that there was not much chance of shortening the casting time for now. The spell continued to form, but it was only marginally faster to coalesce, and the harder you tried, the less impact your efforts seemed to make. As you pushed yourself harder, you felt something cold at the back of your mind. As it crept forward, you heard Michael calling out.

"Jeanne! We need to talk!"

Retreating inward, you found the common room of the mindscape empty, and sounds coming from the 'entrance hall.' Rushing there, you found Michael and Margaret pressing against a door that had not been there previously, and Catherine mending damage to the walls by patches of frost.

"What's going on? How can I help?" Michael glanced at you before grunting with exertion.

"Not much, I'm afraid. Whatever is doing this, it is strong."

"And it feels like that first one that got through!" Margaret looked panicked. "But there's something else out there too, and they sound like they don't get along very well!" Catherine grimaced.

"We've heard something from that light in the storm, as well. I can only guess, but -" She was cut off by an icicle piercing the wall, stretching forward at least three feet. The sounds of some kind of struggle echoed in from outside, and you heard voices behind the deafening storm beyond your little refuge.

Gripping the ice, you tore the spike off of its base, shattering much of it. Once separated from the greater whole, the ice melted away, and then evaporated. The sounds of battle grew louder outside as a gap was made between the wall and the icicle, and the wind began to slip through a gap too small for you to see. More ice began to form as you watched, spikes splitting off of one another from the broken stump of the first, as though trying to dig themselves into your hideaway.


[] Write-in

---

Sorry for the long wait, everyone.