As Herod and I walked the halls I noticed the Scarlet Crusaders begin to grow uneasy. Midnight was approaching; we didn't have much time until the monster awoke again. We stopped in the main hall to wait for the High Inquisitor to finish her prayers, supping on bread and wine in the meantime. I was thankful for a chance to eat, although Herod looked at me with disdain as I helped myself to nearly half a bottle. It didn't matter, if anything I fought better drunk than sober and god knew I'd need the alcohol it to take the edge off the coming pain. Neither of these Crusaders looked like they'd be qualified to tank a Death Knight.
As I finished a long draw from the wine bottle, High Inquisitor Whitemane appeared from the hallway leading to the Cathedral. I caught her devil eye as she turned the corner and some alcohol splashed from my mouth. Her pursed lips told me all that needed to be said but I wasn't here to impress these heretics. Letting the half-drunk bottle hit the counter, I stood up and hefted Morgraine's Might over my shoulder.
"My lady, are you prepared?" Herod asked solemnly.
"If Sir Abrams is finished inebriating himself, we may proceed," she replied.
I gave her a look but didn't say anything. For all their talk they knew better than to put a knife in my back, at least before the job was done. The Scarlet Crusade didn't send a message to every paladin Order asking for help just to off some random knight, though after the fact could be a different matter.
Herod saluted and began moving towards the far end of the chamber. I followed, the High Inquisitor behind me, glaring the entire way. "I take it members of the other Orders won't be joining us?" I said as we started down a long, candle-lit stairway.
"No, it seems the Silver Hand was the only one willing to respond to our pleas," the High Inquisitor stated. There was a tone of remorse in her voice I hadn't heard before.
"Doesn't it strike you odd that the others would abandon us, Sir Abrams?" Herod added, as though accusing me.
"No, but it's odd they would allow their villages to burn without investigating at all," I replied. "And my name is Jack Radical."
"Hmph," he sneered, "It seems even the Silver Hand has chosen to insult us with your presence. Truly the world has corrupted those we once called our brothers."
"Beggars can't be choos…ers," as we left the stairway the conversation paused. Torture racks lined the walls and bloody implements lay strewn about on wooden tables or hanging on pegs, each one coated in days old gone and entrails. Some looked fresh enough to have been used that very morning. I turned to Whitemane, disgust painted on my face, "What in the name of the Light is all this?"
"Our confessional," she replied simply.
I looked around once more and noticed the High Inquisitor giving me a particularly nasty look of satisfaction. This was, by all accounts, one of the most macabre places I'd been. Even with the lit candles the smell was almost overwhelming.
"They don't use the old ways of repentance in the Cathedral anymore, do they, Sir Abrams?" Herod asked, grabbing at a barbed chain hanging from the ceiling as he passed. "Our 'friends' in the Argent Dawn have grown soft."
"No, they don't…" I replied, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. The chains easily rose thirty feet in the air, yet even at the top bits of dried blood could be seen flaking from the tarnished metal. As the fear and death washed over me I was shaken back to my senses, a powerful odor that was all too familiar now raking my constitution, "What foul manner of atonement is this?!"
"The only kind our enemies understand," Whitemane replied.
"This isn't justice, it's sadism."
"As I said." She smirked as I gave her what I thought was a withering glare. "Oh Sir Abrams, don't get all self-righteous, not in these halls."
I stopped by the door to the next hallway, "You cannot seriously expect me to help you when you brazenly admit to torturing your captives. I knew your Crusade was corrupt, but this!?"
The High Inquisitor slammed her staff into the ground, the metal clunk reverberating around us with unnatural volume. Herod turned to watch as Whitemane adjusted her hat. The burning stare all Inquisitors are known for dug into my skull, "How dare you judge us! Your Order abandoned us to the Scourge, to rot in the remains of Lordaeron while your paladins traipsed off to Stormwind, leaving our people to die!" She pulled a barbed whip off a nearby table, the ends of it saturated with Scourge flesh, and waved it in my face. The scent of undeath wafted in my nose, mixing with the already vile stench of sweat and blood.
"We alone stayed to fight," she continued. "We alone were left to watch those we cared about turn. You cannot understand how that feels."
The look on her face, while terrifying, was familiar. Thinking back to Northrend, I recalled Fyodora's fate, the incident in the cave still sharp in my memory. Sadly I could understand how the High Inquisitor felt all too well.
"And in what way does that justify any of this?" I said, gesturing around me.
"Just as in days past, we make the Scourge fear us. Even now the wretched Forsaken refuse to come near these hallowed halls." She grinned, lashing the whip against the wooden table, "They know all too well what fate awaits them."
It sickened me to know these Crusaders couldn't tell the difference between a fiendish Scourge and the Forsaken of Undercity. Or perhaps they could and simply didn't care. Either way, I knew there was no convincing them. The hatred in Whitemane's eyes was rooted as deep and strong as her distorted faith. I turned around, Herod was watching with enthusiasm. Under his helmet I caught a glimpse of a wide smile, as though he was drinking in my fear.
"May we proceed?" he asked kindly. "The witching hour approaches and I would hate to miss our quarry."
I glanced back at the High Inquisitor. Although she only came up to my shoulder, somehow she was looking down on me, urging me forward with the condemning faith the Scarlet Crusade was known for. I saw no other option, I couldn't abandon my mission now, too many innocents would be harmed if the Headless Horseman escaped tonight. The retribution for their crimes would have to come another day.
I followed Herod down another corridor and into the open air. A sprawling graveyard lay before us. Once meticulously maintained, it seemed this area had become a breeding ground for the Scourge. Risen zombies and spectres roamed aimless about the rows of headstones, a stark contrast to the holy Monastery. Whitemane and Herod proceeded forwards while I hung back, confused.
"What is the matter, Sir Abrams? Afraid of a few undead?" Herod shot at me as he walked by a decrepit corpse.
I hefted the enormous mace over my shoulder, "This… explain yourselves."
"The Scourge are relentless in these lands," Whitemane said, gesturing to the ghosts nearby. "This graveyard is a testament to that."
"You expect me to battle a Death Knight when you can't even clear the undead from your own Monastery?"
"Can't? We most certainly could." Whitemane threw a holy spell at a nearby zombie, incinerating it with merely a gesture. "These undead are corralled, mindless, and pacified by our presence here. They make fine training for our more junior members."
Herod groaned, "Though it is not as much fun as capturing live samples. Their desperation to escape adds so much to the fight."
I stepped forward, the undead paying me no attention as they continued to mill about aimlessly. Whitemane walked as though she were strolling through a garden, her ruby robes wafting in the night air. Herod however kept a more serious demeanor with both hands clenching his massive axe. We approached the mausoleum, where the Scourge seemed to congregate the most. It wasn't much of a tomb, about fitting for a lower ranking knight, but the dirt beneath its marble walls was clearly disturbed.
"How much time to we have?" I asked.
Herod peered through the clouds, the storm just breaking overhead, "Not long."
The High Inquisitor watched anxiously as the Scourge near us grew more and more restless. Occasionally Herod would strike one down with his axe, the blade cleaving their rotten bodies in two like he was slicing paper. Harmless though they seemed, he wasn't taking any chances. I kept busy the same way, lashing out at any ghouls that came too close. The overwhelming weight of the mace I held made combat awkward but the blows were impossibly strong. It felt more than anything like a Tauren weapon.
Then, all at once, the Scourge retreated back to the recesses of the graveyard. The moon shined brightly down upon us as though we were standing under a spotlight. A gentle breeze flicked around us, whispering something in my ears.
Fallen paladins who bring men fear,
Though I cannot die a death you know,
Sowers of terror, your end is near,
My victory nigh, your end so close!
A metallic laugh filled the cemetery, ringing off every headstone and barricaded wall with a noise like weapons clashing. Down from the sky came a stampeding death charger, its fiery hooves leaving blackened smoke in its wake. Green flames billowed from its nostrils as it flew by us like a phantom, crashing right into the grave before us in an eruption of dirt and soot. We shielded our eyes and a shriek of laughter rolled over us as we strained to see through the darkness. Out from the cloud of smoke and dust stepped a fully armored Death Knight, his helmet skewed into a crooked smile of metal and flame. Blackened armor covered his body and in his hand the glowing Horseman's Blade was wreathed in fire.
"At last, the fiend appears," Herod said, his axe at the ready. I looked over at the High Inquisitor, she held her staff before her like a shield, determination on her face. I readied my own weapon, still unsure of its effectiveness in combat.
The Horseman trotted forward, his steed beneath him blowing hot ash,
"Such childish soldiers,
So lost to their hate,
I must put you down,
The bringer of fate!"
A strand of white chains shot from Whitemane's staff, wrapping the Horseman in holy shackles. He merely shrugged them off, the links bursting into sparks as he raced forward, his charger throwing us to the ground with its unearthly speed. I quickly got to my feet as he started to come around again, his steed leaving small burning hoofprints in the muddy grass. With the mace at the ready I waited until he drew close then lunged forward. Morgraine's Might was so awkward in my hands that I nearly toppled over myself, missing the agile Horseman by a mile.
Herod's axe wasn't nearly so unwieldy though and he managed to get a clean slice on the galloping creature as it ran by. For his effort he received a nasty cut from the Horseman's passing blade. The undead mount seemed unimpeded by the gash left by his axe, a wound that to any living horse would have meant death. The Horseman circled again, fire blazing in his free hand as he held his sword high in the air. Lashing at Herod once more, he flung his spell in the direction of the priest.
The High Inquisitor cried out her power word, wrapping herself in a holy shield just as the conflagration struck. Although she was unharmed it seemed to require great effort to maintain the spell. I channeled the Light myself, holding an exorcism at the ready as he came around for a third strike. The Horseman drew nearer and I flung it straight at his steed, causing it to rear up in pain and anger. This surprise sent the Horseman toppling to the ground, his detached head rolling off behind a gravestone. The death charger threw its front hooves at me in desperation, in a full fury now that it was deprived its rider.
I hefted the cumbersome weapon high in the air and brought it straight down, striking the charger right in the shoulder. Holy magic reverberated through the weapon as it hit, almost as though the weapon knew it struck undead flesh. Even as hard as I swung it wouldn't have been enough to take down a full grown steed, but the horse was blasted clear off its hooves and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Herod came up from behind me, axe in both hands, and cleaved the prone creature's head clean off.
"It seems you have a little more in common with your charger, Death Knight!" he cried.
The Horseman grabbed his head and placed it firmly back on his shoulders,
"Go ahead and have your laugh,
For I'll make it your epitaph!"
Author's Note: Apologies for the late update, I've been sick for most of the week and haven't gotten much of anything done. Also some rhymes may or may not be stolen from metal lyrics.
