Dimpley and I were arguing the morality of demonology, when a human death knight in simple armor entered our tent. He was wearing a messenger's tabard.
"DeadPhoenix," he began, "By the order of Lord Mograine, you are requested at the breach front for an assignment. This request goes into effect immediately." he read from a fresh parchment, and when finished, tucked it away in his satchel. Without a bow, or salutation, he exited the tent.
Dimpley looked at me and shrugged. "Better go see what Mograine wants."
Dimpley stood by his cot, holding his rune weapon. Mine was a sword, but Dimpley had a mace. It was a dark iron hammer with double square heads. On the heads were elementum spikes.
"I think I'll go and spar," he said. "It might be… fun."
I wasn't sure how to say "see you later" to Dimpley. I didn't particularly like him. But, it was all I had. So I didn't say anything. I strode out of the tent- it was still late at night, or early in the day. I couldn't tell.
The messenger said that I'm requested at the breach front. I assumed that where I arrived through the portal was the back of the camp. Given that assumption, I followed the path of heavily treaded grass between the tents until there was a clearing. An elaborately decorated tent sat at the edge of a cliff, beyond the cliff was a farm town.
I made my way toward the tent. A burly human in bolted plate armor walked out with a handful of papers, he was smoking a cigar. He took notice of me, and removed the cigar from his teeth.
"You must be DeadPhoenix."
"Yes sir. Are you Lord Mograine?"
"I am." He looked at me up and down, "You're skinnier than I expected."
It was a common misconception. As a Warrior of Peace in my natural life, I was always depicted as being strong willed. I guess strong willed people are expected to be buff.
"Sorry, I'm just lean." was my usual response when somebody questioned my physique.
"I like your attitude." He took a puff from his cigar, and eyed the papers in his hand, "Wanna get some work done?"
"Sounds good, sir."
"Good. Follow me." His words were skewed by the cigar that was almost uncomfortably pressed in the corner of his cheek. The end of the cigar glowed in the early darkness of the morning.
I followed Mograine to the edge of Death's Breach. A battalion of Death Knights with bows lined up in a formation, looking out at the town of Havenshire shrouded in fog.
"Havenshire is a nuisance. It's the only thing between the Scourge Machine, and New Avalon; our real target. And it's not just their absurd human cult that's the problem. Their abbots and sorcerers are becoming dangerously powerful."
I looked out beyond the fog that shielded Havenshire, there was a white fortress wall, 5 stories high maybe. Beyond that, red rooftops peaked above the fog. The steeple of the Scarlet Church was the highest.
Mograine removed his cigar. "Especially in Necromancy."
It took a minute for the words to sink in. Necromancy is troublesome as it is, a dangerous magic.
"You know what that means for us, don't you, DeadPhoenix?"
Us… we, as death knights. We're undead. If we're not careful, those Necromancers could try to control us, or worse. They could try and succeed.
"Isn't the Lich powerful enough to keep that from happening?"
"Oh, the Lich doesn't directly control us. He speaks to us, yes. But this is what really gives us Knighthood." Mograine grips his belt. There was a broadsword at his hip, "Knighthood was a gift passed down in my family. Then Arthas recruited me. Now we're stronger than ever."
A series of strange thoughts ran through my mind. What does that mean? I could be a death knight, and not have to follow the biddings of the Lich King? Then- my thoughts were silenced, like the fading chord of a violin, at the end of its sonata.
"But… Lose your purpose… reconnect… hero." A voice called inside me, and made me forget.
"Don't you see? Apart we are weak, but together we rise, and take hold of this world." Mograine's eyes were closed, as if he had been reminiscing. When he opened his eyes, he cleared his throat, and pivoted his attention to the edge of Death's Breach.
The archers were preparing their weapons, and their Leading archer held his fist in the air.
"The fog is nearly cleared enough!" A muffled shout came from the cliff's edge. "Once we can see the tops of the thatched roofs, then we'll bring the rain of terror." The lead archer laughed, and though I couldn't see his face, his breath bellowed out of his helm, and dissolved into the air.
"And when that happens, you'll go in DeadPhoenix." Mograine was chewing on his cigar again.
"Sir?"
"There are some elite scarlet horsemen that usually patrol the fields of Havenshire. Take them out. The confusion and panic of the archers should make it an easy task. But don't disappoint me."
I let out a deep breath, and bow. "Consider it done, my lord."
"Excellent." Mograine looked into my eyes one more time, then retreated to his tent with his curious stack of papers, and a cigar in his teeth.
I looked out to the fog that shrouded Havenshire. The archers didn't seem prepared just yet. I made my way back to the stables to see if Von Steyr was ready.
"Y-You there!"
I turn back to find the crooked voice that beckoned to me. An Anubian priest in Necromancer's garb waved his claw at me from another tent nearby.
"Y-You are going to HavenSsshire?"
"I am." I move closer to him, standing outside his tent, to keep a safe distance.
"T-Take thisss." He holds out a curious wand.
"What is it for?"
"I am Gothik the Harvester. I harvest the weakest souls for ghoul reanimation. Take this wand with you. On your way to Havenshire is a mine. Miners make for excellent ghouls. All b-brawn and no b-brain, don't you know?"
"Sure, How many?" I take the wand, and tuck it in my belt.
"Take as many as there are miners that give you trouble."
"How does it work? I'm no spellcaster." I began debating the rationality of Gothik's request.
"The wand will know what to do. No need to waste energy attacking the humansss. Return the harvestees to me." Gothik hissed in pleasure.
"Sounds good."
As the conversation came to a close, the lead archer blew a warhorn, and the archers began to launch flaming, and cursed arrows into the sky. Their paths were varied, some short, some far. All disappeared when the fog engulfed them.
Now's my cue. There won't be time to get Von Steyr this time around. I'll probably be stealthier without him.
I broke out into a run toward the cliff, and feet-first, slid down a meter or so, then leaped off, into the fog. Once on firm ground, I surveyed the area. The mine was to the north, and much less impressive than I imagined. I decided to harvest the ghouls after slaying the scarlet horsemen.
A branch snapped to my right. I drenched myself in shadow, my racial ability. Sure enough, a horseman appeared through the clouds. He seemed out of breath, and wounded. A saronite arrow was protruding from his left shoulder.
I rushed toward him, sparing the horse, I pulling him off and slammed him into the ground. He screamed, "No! NO!"
I plunged my sword into his gut, boiling his blood. Silence.
The horse was spooked, I slapped its rear, and it fled into the fog. The horses will probably be reaped by Doctor Bilge later anyways. But it's not my place to end their lives.
Screams began to crack the dense air from Havenshire. I could see a faint fiery glow, and a smoke cloud rising above the fog. Chaos is my cover. Reshiething my sword, I ran to Havenshire. The fog was beginning to clear, the heat of the fires was evaporating the low clouds. I took moderate cover behind the rear of a barn.
Suddenly a human peasant rushed around the far side of the barn, and scrambled to get into a locked supply cabinet. He panted heavily, until he saw me. His brow began to sweat, and his hands trembled. "Sp-spare me!"
I shook my head slowly, stalking him in plain sight. He was petrified with fear. I stood tall before him; I wasn't really going to strike, until a voice taunted me inside.
"Death…to…all."
I obeyed, and I fiercely gripped his neck, dark magic radiated from my knuckles. As the human gasped for air, I crushed his throat.
"Death…to…all."
That was unnecessary. It's not as if these petty farmers actually pose a threat. The real enemy is the Crusade, just as Mograine said.
"Death…to…all."
Yes. Death to all. I gazed blankly at the human's corpse at my feet. I stepped over him, and walked around the barn, into a field. The humans hadn't yet planted their winter crop. The soil was tilled and damp.
Saronite arrows whizzed by my shoulders. I could now see the archers upon the Death's Breach edge clearly. I followed the path of a few arrows; many of which missed their targets.
When I was a warrior of peace, it was a requirement that arrows be recycled. After or during a battle, warriors would carry an empty quiver for collecting arrows on the battlefield to send back to the archers, when supplies were low. I reached down and pulled an arrow from the earth. Having nowhere to put it, I unsheathed my sword, and used the large sheath as a quiver. I collected a dozen or so arrows as I ran through the field.
I sought intersection with a charging scarlet horseman from my right. Tucking one more arrow away, I leaped up, sword-first, and drilled the horseman off his steed, impaling him into the ground. I had impaled him so hard; my sword went into the earth- I had to push my boot off of his chest to yank it out. Disgusting.
I look back up and check my surroundings. Another knight rode by me, and toward a human home nearby. There's work to be done. There shouldn't be any survivors here if we are going to get anything accomplished.
The earth thumped around me, and a voice yelled, "You damnable monster!"
Another scarlet horseman was charging at me on his steed, aiming his pike like a javelin. So I played chicken.
I waited.
One.
"You'll rot in hell for what you've done!"
Two.
Clomp-clomp.
Three.
Clomp-clomp.
Dodge. He missed my face. I hopped backward, and grabbed his pike, causing him to fall off his horse. He yelped, but only tumbled off, springing to his feet quickly. He gripped his pike, steadily holding it at my chest.
"Pray the light is forgiving upon your soul, abomination!"
Before the scarlet rider could continue with his speech, he was decapitated. Blood spat and then streamed from his severed neck as his body crumpled to the earth.
Curious. I thought.
As his body fell, Illithan's form came into view. "You were doing so well up 'till now." He smiled.
"Who says I'm still not doing well?"
Illithan chuckled, "Oh, nobody I suppose." he took notice of the quiver I had strapped to my back. "What are you doing with those?"
"I figured they could be re-used. No sense in letting them go to waste." I slid an arrow out to examine it. Not even a chipped tip, "Especially with the accuracy of those fools! They need all the arrows they can get just to make one decent shot!"
Illithan laughed, and his voice echoed in his throat.
After triumph over Havenshire, Illithan and I returned to Death's Breach. I handed my quiver of retrieved arrows to the lead archer, who took them spitefully. Oh well. No "good deed" goes unpunished.
Thank you all who are following and reading! I really enjoy writing this story, any and all feedback is welcome.
