A/N

Not the first time I've done this, adapting the gag quotes of a Heroes of the Storm character into narrative format, this time being Johanna's turn. Though it did turn out darker than I intended. Maybe it comes with the setting.

Call of the Crusade

"Oh Akarat, bless this, thy holy flail, that with it, thou mayest smite thine enemies into tiny, tiny, unfathomably tiny bits, in thy mercy. Let it be so."

"Um, milady? Are you-"

"Click me one more time, and by Akarat, I'll cut off your finger! Or whatever else you use to work that little mouse!"

Lorath withdrew his hand – he was going to put it on Johanna's armoured shoulder. Something that he hoped would be a gesture of friendship and concern. Not something to spark the nephalem off, ranting about removing body parts. And he had no idea what she meant by clicking, or what small rodents had to do with any of this.

"Forgive me," the Horadrim said. "I shall be here if you need me."

"You do that."

Lorath stood in the shadows, watching the crusader prayer in front of the Zakarum trident. It was a small church, situated a fair distance outside the city of Westmarch, and left untouched by Malthael and his minions. A sanctuary, in a world that now offered so little of it.

"I am always ready. The Crusade marches on. And so I go."

And unused, apart from Johanna. But she was just kneeling there, hands on her sword, her flail slung over her shoulder. Whispering to herself – not prayer, he reflected. He knew prayer when he heard it, and this, despite the words she spoke to Akarat, her utterings were most certainly not prayer. If anything, they seemed like ramblings.

After what happened in Pandemonium…

He couldn't speak about that. He'd heard all that Tyrael had told him, and as little as that was, it was enough to make him know that some things were best left unspoken. For his sake, and Johanna's.

"I am ready."

He watched as the crusader got to her feet. Standing there before him, a full head taller, a knight in dark armour that did not shine. He stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

He said nothing. Only minutes ago she'd wanted him to be quiet. Now, that she wanted conversation…

"You have something to say," murmured the crusader. "Out with it."

"Um, it's…well, your armour," Lorath said awkwardly. "It's…um…"

"Yes?"

"Big," he blurted out. "Very big. And black. And…armoury…"

Was that an adjective, or a noun? He'd worked in an armoury once. It was named after what was inside it, not what it wore. But the crusader nonetheless chuckled.

"Armour," Johanna said. "The most important thing about wearing heavy armour is to never think about how much it itches." She let out a groan. "It gets very, very annoying."

Lorath smiled. "I can imagine. My father once said"

"No!" Johanna yelled – she seemed on the verge of lunging forward like an animal. "Do not speak of things you do not understand! I…the whispers…they…"

And then she stopped, and smiled once more. As if nothing had happened.

"A joke," she said. "We need a joke."

We don't. We really don't.

"A crusader, a paladin, and a templar all walk into a tavern, and they have a drink."

Lorath stared at her.

"No?" she asked. "Well, not everyone appreciates crusader humour."

Lorath was sure there was plenty of crusader humour. He was also sure that he wanted to get Johanna outside. The fresh air, Tyrael, anyone or anything. Anything to get her to stop staring at him like she was. To stop whispering like one of the poor souls one saw in a sanitarium.

"No, he didn't get it," she whispered.

To stop whispering herself.

"Well," she said. She strode forward, her armour knocking Lorath out of the way. "Let us partake in the air of morning."

"Evening."

She glanced at him.

"Evening," Lorath repeated. "It's evening."

"It…it is?" she asked. "But I swore-"

"We arrived in the morning," Lorath said. "On our way to Skovos, remember? You said that you needed solace."

"Solace…yes, solace," Johanna said. She smiled. Almost. "How foolish of me."

"Johanna, if you-"

"It matters not!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the church. "I…I will cleanse the Zakarum faith and our crusade will end. After that? Well…there'll be something that needs smiting." She gripped her sword. "Yes. That sounds nice."

"Very nice," Lorath murmured.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't lie to me." She took a step towards him, and Lorath reached for a dagger. A useless weapon against all that armour, but it was all he could do to keep his body in place. And his spirit intact.

"Don't lie," she whispered. "I hear you. They…they tell me about you, Lorath. They…they whisper…they whisper so many things…"

Lorath remained silent. But his mind was racing. Whatever had happened in Pandemonium…it hadn't ended there.

"Don't…I mean…" She put a hand on his shoulder. And squeezed. Hard.

"Don't whisper," she said. "No whispers. No lies. No…I mean…when…" She shook her head.

"Never mind," she said. "Let us partake in the morning."

She strode towards the wooden door. And Lorath watched her.

"You mean…"

He didn't say "evening." He didn't whisper it either. He didn't want her to hear him.

He glanced at the Zakarum trident before following her. A symbol of the Light, a true symbol of the faith, replacing the corrupted cross. A symbol of all that was good, and wholesome in Creation.

Where was the Light now?