The fifteen year old coughed up blood, pounding her fist into the hardened ground of the training area, eyes glued to the ichor dripping out of her nose and mouth as it pooled on the ground. The crunch of soil beneath heavy plate brought her senses around again, and she looked up to catch the solid instep of the boot solidly in the face. The force of the blow knocked her over onto her side, groaning in pain and exhaustion.
"Are you beaten?" A chiding voice sounded above her, the pain and blood blurring her vision. She looked up at the shadowed figure standing over her body, an axe clutched in its hands,and she whimpered, closing her eyes and resting her head against the ground. A chuckle escaped her tormentor's lips and Shadean shuddered as she heard the sounds of her tutor kneeling next to her.
"You're weak, child. Barely fit to hold a blade and you still want to fight for us?" The Crusader snorted and held out a hand, grabbing the squire sharply by the collar of her bloodstained tabard, pulling the teenager to her feet. Shadean's feet barely held her solidly, she swayed with the tiniest of breezes, but it seemed her tutor was more contented with berating her than helping her stand.
"The Scourge are not enemies for children to fight, Dresner," the Crusader continued, waving gauntleted hands toward the darkened sky. "They do not give quarter, so why should I even give you the chance to stand again?"
Shadean knew enough not to reply, it would cost her a beating and maybe a lashing if she decided to speak. Her body was lined with enough scars provided by her own compatriots for a lifetime. Instead, she looked toward the ground, brown eyes focusing on a maggot writhing out of the ground. She only half listened to her mentor as the little creature squirmed on the training area floor.
They must have brought another one of those things in, she thought, staring at the squirming insect. Her mentor's boot solidly crushed it into the dust and grabbed Shadean's chin sharply. The young paladin instinctively winced and took a half step back as her mentor glared at her and then let go.
"Clean yourself up, and come back to me, I have a small job for you," He said. She nodded and bowed as he strode toward the Cathedral. Watching him go for a while, she turned and limped back toward the armory. It served as baracks for the trainees, and she earned the laughs of a few other crusaders as she hobbled through the sacred halls. Finally finding a basin to wash her wounds in, she cleansed her skin with a rag, daubing at her split lip and casually reaching into her mouth to check for loose teeth. She had lost a few training before, nothing a few healing spells and time couldn't cure, but it was still a menace.
"Got your arse kicked, didn't you Dean?" Came a arrogant voice from another part of the room. Shadean sighed and straightened up, looking over at the man who had stepped into the room. He was a few years older than her, and was quite frankly the bully of the group. She had been the brunt of his aggression since she was brought to the Cathedral.
"It's not like I've ever seen you doing anything but kissing up to him," she retorted, drying her hands on another nearby rag. She carefully emptied the basin as the bully came up behind her, grabbing at her shoulder. "Get out of her, Dirk. I'm busy, I don't have the time to teach you a lesson in manners today." She grumbled and pushed him out of her way.
Despite having beaten him soundly several times, Dirk seemed determined to make a fool of the smaller squire. Shadean was perfectly contented to ignore him at first, until she watched him bully some of the other, younger, trainees. Then she found her fist striking his face and her hands at his throat before she knew what was happening, only stopping when the Crusaders came in to drag her off him. It was this offense, she thought, that caused Dirk's determined aggression toward her, and only her.
"Go on then," he said, waving his arms like a bird. "Get out of here, chicken." A few nearby trainees laughed slightly, but Shadean, trying her hardest to ignore them, stuck her nose in the air and walked down the hall again. Knocking solidly on the door of her mentor's room, she stepped inside and bowed. Immediately she found a scroll being shoved into her hands and straightened up, looking at the parchement in her hand.
"Take this to Vishas," he commanded and pushed her back out the door roughly. She stumbled on the rough masonry and fell backwards, hitting her head hard on the stone. Cursing under her breath, she staggered to her feet and limped off toward the Graveyard. Vishas was a cruel man, and even some of the other crusaders kept away from him. He liked to brand people when they got on his bad side, and tended to do worse if they kept there. It was to him that the undead prisoners were taken and experimented on.
The entrance to the Interrogator's chambers were unpleasant as ever, the smell of burnt flesh unmistakable in the air. The other torturers glared darkly at the trainee from below her hood as she shakily moved inside, the parchment clutched in her hand. She stilled her nerves and walked over to where Vishas was hunched over the body of an undead, speaking in his high, disturbing voice as he pressed his redhot blade to the creature's flesh. He screamed and writhed against his restraints, earning a disturbing little chuckle from his torturer.
"Interrogator," Shadean started, only to be interrupted as he brandished his redhot little dagger at her. His grin spread wider as he grabbed the scroll from the terrified young paladin, stabbing the point of his blade into the wood of the rack and he walked off reading it. Shadean stood, awkwardly next to the prone undead, trying to block out the screams and maddening stench of the place. She had always thought that this was not the place of the Crusade, that this was something that spoke against the nature of her order.
"Child," a voice startled the girl out of her thoughts and she stared wildly at the undead, heaving on the rack. "Come here, girl." He commanded again, his voice gaining a little strength. She hesitantly moved forward, her fist clenched at her side.
"You're not like them," he said simply, gesturing with his rotted chin toward the interrogators gathered around another of his brethren. "Just as I am not like the mindless things that haunt the graveyard nearby." He grinned, his mouth yellowed and half rotten out.
"You're Scourge," Shadean said cautiously. "Or aren't you?"
"Not Scourge, not anymore. We're the Forsaken...you've been fighting us, not the Lich King. We're supposed to be fighting the same menace, but you crusaders don't see us any differently than the mindless slaves," He laughed a little and shook his head, wincing slightly as the motion disturbed the injuries on his rancid flesh.
"You're not stupid, nor are you a slave to their will...listen to me: your order is corrupted. We have proof," He grumbled. "Not that it'll do me a damn bit of good." Vishas laughed nearby, his voice disturbingly high and cruel. Shadean jumped and looked hestiantly over her shoulder.
"Corrupted? But..." she lowered her head and thought about how the Crusade had been changing, how she had joined just a year ago, but already it was becoming something frighteningly different.
"I do not want to die by that rat's hands, girl," The Forsaken prisoner said, breaking Shadean's concentration. She looked at him and shook her head quickly. "I know you can't free me, child. You'd end up on one of these racks dying slowly yourself. I need you...to kill me."
"I cannot...you...you aren't my enemy, are you? I can't just...murder you!" She whispered frantically, leaning in. The Forsaken chuckled and with a horrible grunt of effort, tore his hand out of the shackle, grabbing Shadean's shoulder with his rotten, and now bloody, hand.
"It's mercy, girl, you paladins still believe in that, right?" He chuckled and shook his head. "Things may have changed since I was alive, but-" He paused and looked around the frightened young woman. He cursed in the low, gutteral slang of the Undercity and shook the girl. "I beg you, do it now. Quickly!"
Shadean grasped the hilt of the still glowing dagger, feeling the metal burn into her hand as she raised it. Whispering a prayer, she plunged it deep into the Forsaken's chest. He stiffened, gasped and went still, blackish ichor spilling from the wound. His grotesque hand slipped from the squire's shoulder and she stepped back, her palm burned by the magical blade.
"What did you do!?" Vishas screamed at her, spinning her around and pushing her up against one of the many torturous instruments. She winced and closed her eyes tightly, shaking visibly in her fear. This was it, she thought, this is how I'm going to die.
"He...was escaping, Interrogator. She defended herself," one of the torturers took the loose, limp hand of the forsaken and shook it vigorously in front of Vishas. He smiled, a disturbing grin and patted the paladin on the head with one calused palm.
"Good girl then, run along. Tell Herrod he's on," Vishas giggled and went back to his work, pulling his dagger out of the dead Forsaken's chest and cleaning it on an apron. Shadean shuddered and slid down the empty rack to grasp her knees to her chest and bury her face against them. One thought was on her mind as she listened to the screams and moans of the Forsaken held in the chamber: Escape.