Much to Ryndan's chagrin, Terowin was rarely off the mark about something and had never been wrong in assumptions or information to date. And so, when the group of three descended the dank stairwell to the underbelly of Wintergarde Keep, the paladin had prayed that just once the death knight was awry with his theory.
He wasn't.
Exiting the stairwell lead them into a scarily similar dungeon to that of the one beneath Westguard. Swiftly was Ryndan reminded of the foul stench and begotten terror of what had happened in that particular hellhole and his stomach lurched in response. Judging by the minute tension indicated in Commander Ashwood's stance, she felt the same. There was a major difference between the two scenes however. In Westguard there had been a large, solitary Vrykul taking up residence in one of the pitiful cells surrounded by a number of armed soldiers all at the ready. He had been wrapped in chains and shackles to limit mobility and fighting capabilities but in the end, none of his restraints were necessary.
And now, here today in a dire echo of that incident from weeks ago was the Scourge that Terowin had predicted. No small army stood their ground here, however. In their place strode back and forth a tall man. Dressed in the formal robes of someone bearing great importance with a mien to match, he drew up mightily as he regarded the three newcomers. Ryndan was torn between immediate respect and slight abrasion at the pompous vibes deviating from the figure.
"Stay back!" he cried, holding a straight palm towards them and thus halting their entrance any further inwards. Without waiting for a response he continued. "The beast might lash out and harm you," a terse nod towards the Scourge in the cell was seemingly enough to prove the 'beast's' apparent threatening presence.
"Fear not, this soldier has been tasked to see you out, Inquisitor Hallard," Commander Ashwood spoke, indicating for Terowin to step forward. Even though not formally invited on this quest by the High Commander himself, she still took charge concerning those involved.
"What have you brought me- a tome?" The aged man reached for it, taking it from Terowin's grasp. The death knight explained its origins and how it came to be in his possession. During this brief conversation, Ryndan took the time to examine the creature residing within the gaol.
Flesh and rags hung from the body of this once-man. Not unlike most of the Scourge Ryndan had fought off and slain, his physical condition was beyond death and decomposition. Jagged teeth and slobber jutted out from his slanted mouth, hair ragged and unkempt. Pieces of bone were visible here and there where the skin and muscle could no longer stay bound together. His form was hunched as though he possessed a crooked or broken spine and arms dragged heavily at his side as the creature slowly trudged around the filth-ridden cell. Feeling as though he had grown a little immunity to the horror that the Scourge presented visually, Ryndan peered deeper into the visage and was surprised. The Scourge recognised that there were others in the room present and almost seemed to cock his head in an attempt to listen. Terowin was correct- there was a latent intelligence within this being. Through his brief examination, the elf noted that the depths of this Scourge's eyes were not the flat-eyed stare that most of the others possessed. No, these seemed deeper, unfathomable as though if one were to look to long, they may drown in that sea of black- not unlike a certain pair of white eyes, he thought abruptly.
Flinching, Ryndan returned his attention to the rest of his company just in time to hear the Inquisitor hiss violently.
"Scourge text, you are correct. This may hold secrets valuable to our cause." He threw a dirty look towards the prisoner. "You were right to bring this to me. Keep your distance, I will see if I can coerce his aid," Hallard whispered roughly. There was a glint, a gleam in his blue eyes that Ryndan disliked immediately as the man spoke. He seemed almost predatory in his approach to the bars separating the Scourge from them.
"GODFREY! Hear me, fiend!" he called loudly, voice commanding and booming. Ryndan was more surprised that this creature had given the Inquisitor his living name. "Hear me, for I am the Light, here to deliver you from evil!"
To the newcomers' surprise, the creature halted in his weary walking to face Hallard. A very deliberate, deep growl exited the Scourge. The intimations of the noise were very clear- get to hell.
Hallard was unperturbed by this in the slightest. "Good, I have your attention then Godfrey?" Another, more menacing growl was his response. Ryndan placed his hand on the pummel of his sword. A quick side-glance revealed that Commander Ashwood had done similar. Terowin remained unmoved, fixated on the scene unfolding before them.
"We can do this in one of two ways, Godfrey. First, I will simply ask you to tell me what the unholy markings etched upon the pages of this tome mean. What say you?" He could have been goading a child to correct a small lie, for all Ryndan knew with that tone.
Godfrey violently hissed- a grating sound upon Ryndan's ears before he took a heavy step towards the Inquisitor. " Tell you no-thing, preacher. Whaaat can you dooo to meee that Kel'Thuzzzad has nooot? That the Liiich Kiiing will nooot?!" His voice was broken glass. Broken glass in a bed of crumbled slates being crushed by a sandstone grindstone. His slanted jaw made for uneasy speech and for a moment Ryndan envisioned Walden standing on the other side of those bars.
"The book isss your sssalvaaation, yesss…but nothing will you know! NOOOTHING I SSSAY! NOTHING!" Godfrey declared throwing his distorted arms in the air. Ryndan drew a sharp breath but stood his ground. No one was in danger, just reign in the reflexes, he thought. Hallard merely chuckled at the outburst.
"Then it is option two," he spoke quietly. "I say a prayer for you now, lost soul. May the Light take you gracefully. Let the Sermon begin."
Confused, the witnesses watched on as the Inquisitor began a small chant. Within the first few beats it was easily recognisable as a hymn from the Prayer Libram all who walk the path of The Light are taught. Soon its relevance became all too clear.
Godfrey began to hiss, shifting uncomfortably before the man. Unsure if his eyes were playing tricks, Ryndan watched on as Godfrey seemingly started to tremble. The chant grew louder, a faint halo settling around Hallard and growing a tiny bit brighter with each syllable uttered. His voice rose further.
"No!" yelled the Scourge now stumbling backwards, further into his cage, aching to escape the song.
"Do not fight me, fiend! The time of your atonement is now!" Hallard shouted, resuming his chant. His arms rose higher, indicating the point of crescendo nearing.
"Never felt hurt like thisss! Noo!" Ryndan felt the blood drain from his face with the wails.
"May the power of Light compel you!"
"I tell you anything you want!" the screaming grew ever louder and Ryndan stood aghast at the torture unfolding before him. He hadn't moved yet Ashwood lay a hand on his forearm, silently forbidding any interference. Her gaze never left the scene before them.
"The power of the Lich King pales in comparison to the glory of THE LIGHT!"
"I tell you anything you want!"
"BURN IN HOLY FIRE! LIGHT TAKE YOU, BEAST!" A bright illumination flooded their senses as Hallard projected the physical embodiment of his power's build up onto Godfrey. Recoiling in horror, Ryndan shielded his eyes and heard an all too familiar voice.
"The pain! Oh Light it's KILLING ME! IT'S-IN-MY-HEAD!"
For the second that the room lit up in the wake of Hallard unleashing his fury, Ryndan found himself transported deeper into his memories. A vision of a white-haired woman, rolling on the floor in unbearable agony claiming pain unimaginable. The Catacombs had echoed with her screams.
"No more LIGHT! NO MORE! I BEG YOU!" Godfrey's pleas and cries brought Ryndan back to the present. Readjusting his senses and nerves Ryndan located the poor beast on the floor of his cell, reaching forth one decrepit, rotted hand. "No more," he whispered. Swearing in the corner, the paladin caught a glimpse of Terowin with his face buried into his hands, partially crouched with his own torture.
Hallard, breathing heavily and glowing with retribution, crouched down onto the balls of his feet to peer at Godfrey.
"I thought you would see the Light. Now speak quickly, fiend." He reached for the book settled behind him. "What does this tome say?" to anyone peering in now, Hallard would look the ever-peaceful priest, serenity and calm on his face. A scary contrast to the fiery man they had only just witnessed.
"I-it tellsss of the coming apocalypssse. How this world will buuurn and be reborrrn from death," the creature replied without hesitation.
"RUBBISH!" Hallard refuted, his face drawn into a hard scowl. "Godfrey do you take me for a fool? Do not spew your Scourge propaganda at a man of The Light, heathen! Speak now or I will have the peasants craft a holy water bath and dip you into it like a dog with fleas!" he threatened. It worked.
"NOOO! I tell you! I tell you everything!" Godfrey cried, sounding more like child in serious trouble with a parent than a tortured prisoner under harsh interrogation. "Humans…beneath the earth of Wintergarde Village you built a mausssoleum! Why do you think that Naxxramas attacked that ssspot? Thel'zzzan hidesss deep in your own crypt and sends a thousand-thousand corpses at you! Perish you will…"
Silence permeated the room in the wake of this news. Nobody dare to move.
"What?" One word pierced the shock and with it entailed all sorts of anger and injustice. "There is a mausoleum beneath the old village? What fools are we to not have noticed!" He stood suddenly and loomed over the fallen Scourge. "We will find and strike down your master now, Godfrey. We will end this nightmare." The Inquisitor turned to walk away but Godfrey hissed in his direction, a hollow chuckle accompanying the jeer.
"How? Humans truly are stupid, yes? Thel'zzzan the Dussskbringer! Thel'zzzan the Lich! He who is born of human flesssh and bone, sssacrifieced all for power, protected by the Lich King! You cannot ssstop Thel'zzzan! He bears the dark gift, bestowed up on him by the Lich King himssself!" Still on the floor, Godfrey rolled in the filth, laughing gruesomely at the idea.
"You let us worry about how we kill the monster, Godfrey," Hallard replied unconcerned. He turned to the group. "Return to Halford with the information that the good mayor was kind enough to submit. I will finish here and squeeze whatever else this wretch might know about Thel'zane."
"Thank you for your help, Inquisitor Hallard," Ashwood bowed her head in response and accepted a handshake from the greying man.
"My pleasure, Commander. Good day."
Taking his cue from her, Ryndan and Terowin followed Ashwood out of the dungeon and back up into the stairs. Just as they reached the top, Hallard's voice carried on up with them.
"Now I will show you, Godfrey, the rarely seen "option three." Let's you and I have a chat about some things…"
Horrified Ryndan ushered quickly out into the main courtyard with his small party, revelling in the fresh, brisk air that greeted him.
"That was very informative. Well done, Darksworn on your find- this news may be the turning point we need to win against these forsaken creatures," Ashwood said, giving Terowin an appraised look. "Take what you have heard to the High Commander and repeat it word-for-word. I would go myself but the good man tends to talk too much and I need some rest."
"All in a day's work, Ashwood," Terowin grinned twistedly and set off on a jog until he was out of sight.
"Today has been a day for good news! Thank the Light, indeed," she said massaging her temples wearily.
"Agreed, Commander, it was a good find from Terowin. In fact, so much so that-" Ryndan paused, a thought suddenly assaulting him.
"What is it, Firesworn?"
"Commander- why did Hallard refer to Godfrey as 'the good mayor'?"
A scream echoed from the vaults of the cellars and the blood drained once more from Ryndan's face. Moments later, footsteps up the stairs revealed Hallard once more- however this time he was stained with a dark spatter.
"He was the former mayor of Wintergarde, before Naxxramas attacked," the priest said calmly to the Crusaders. Reaching into his pockets he retrieved a blindingly white hankerchief to clean his face with. "There's no difference between him and dirt now," he says. "No loyalty or mercy to us anymore." With a final nod, he walked past the pair and into the keep, not waiting for any response or gooddays.
Ryndan's insides churned for the second time in the space of a half-hour. Hallard had known this man in his life, from when he was a decent respectable man and now he stood beneath their feet torturing the poor bastard for information on Scourge defences? No loyalty or mercy, he had said. And Ryndan could only think that neither of them had been given for the life he once had. On the field it was easy to forget that the Scourge could have been people you once knew.
"Firesworn, I can see it written all over your face. He does what he has to do. Godfrey is no longer the same person he was in Life. I might have thought you should have learned the difference by now," the woman beside him said, a steel in her voice and a cold weight on top of her words.
She's right, why wouldn't I be able to differentiate that? he thought. Though recalling the pale eyes haunting his memories, the answer was highly obvious- because he simply didn't want to. Sometimes there were far more terrifying things to be fearful of than the Lich King's armies- and human nature was at the top of the list.
They attacked just after dawn.
A swarm, a mass, an army moving towards a common target as one. Grievous-looking machines paved their way, leading the charge. Vile concoctions propelled forth from the siege weapons, disintegrating any and all in their path. The survivors were mowed down under the unforgiving wheels bearing these instruments of death. Anything still moving after that was quickly obliterated by the foot soldiers bringing up the rear of this terrible force.
The Horde was utterly glorious in their slaughter.
Warned of the imminent attack, their calls heeded and volunteers gathered now, the residents of Wintergarde were given a warning to remain off the battlefield that used to be their lower town. Standing atop the battlements, climbing onto rooftops and towers, they watched as their newfound allies unleashed hell upon the Scourge of Naxxramas. No cannon fire echoed from these walls, the first time they had rest in nearly three weeks. Silence had crawled its way into the encampment, blanketing everyone and everything under its cloak.
The animals had been still, awake and alert. Gryphons cocked their heads, knowing something was underway. The dogs and wolves of the hunters lay low, ears perked and teeth set. Even the few vultures that had been seen attempting to scavenge the fields had fled their grounds today.
The night shift had been called early, an hour before dawn. The dead were burned and numbers marked. The survivors had wearily returned, anxious for the sunrise and the destruction it was reported to bring. At first light, they were not disappointed.
With baited breath they had stood still, praying, hoping, wishing that help had truly come. Tension was thick and heavy, but not as weighted as the shadow bearing down from on high from the dread citadel coveting their dead. The cold went unnoticed, the blood in everyone's veins hot with anticipation.
A rumble- not unlike that of distant thunder- drew their attention to the south-east. Louder it grew, the rumbling turning into grinding. The sound of spiked metal on rock heralded the first glimpse that was the Might of the Horde.
The Scourge were not prepared.
From the safety of Wintergarde battlements, they watched on as tiny figures, bathed in day's first glow, became alert to the presence of something wrong. Something strong. And coming from them. The Scourge Siegesmiths scuttled and croaked as the Forsaken Catapults cut them down like broken twigs underfoot. Lining up, a rough fifteen-twenty that Ryndan could see from this far, they paused in a long line, overlooking the old entrance into Wintergarde; a wooden bridge that used to grant passage over a long-dried river. And then they opened fire.
Down below, beneath their onslaught lay masses of unfocussed Scourge. No orders had been given to them, and so they lounged in the small valley, positioned perfectly for the plague unleashed on them from overhead.
Ryndan was glad that he was upwind of that particular culling.
Soon enough the Scourge rallied- whether from the order of a master or of their own volition, he did not know. The few remaining scurried and scrambled up the hillside to the passage leading towards Venom Pointe, now in too close a proximity for the catapults to aim for. A small panic arose among the spectators but died just as soon as the true strength of their attack became clear.
Wielding swords, axes, staves and magic, the Horde burst from the passage, their battlecries and charges loud and clear to all who could hear. The Scourge fell with ease, the oncoming storm filtering between the Forsaken Machines and they spilled into Lower Wintergarde, hungry for death and blood by their hands.
Naxxramas had awaken, the Lieutenants and Masters under its reign now alert to the Horde attack. Scourge and Death Knights alike were rallying towards the far back of Wintergarde now, and Ryndan wasn't the only one to notice.
"To arms, men! Let us show our neighbours that they cannot outdo the Might of the ALLIANCE!"
Cheers and shouts echoed High Commander Wyrmbane's sentiments and arms were gathered. Within a half hour, the Alliance Expedition and Argent Crusade were joining their brothers- and sisters-in-arms on the fields of Wintergarde.
Ryndan felt alive- more than he had in his entire time in Northrend. Yes. This was what he joined the Argent Dawn for; this justice, this retribution and equality. Horde and Alliance battled side by side, the recently-joined faction relieved to see their counterparts rushing the field to their aid. Frequently, taking a spare moment, Ryndan would admire the beauty of a mage dealing in arcane power. Twice he had been mesmerised by a troll swinging her fire-imbued weapons, cutting down the monsters in her path. Towards the back, healers deftly and bravely ran into the battlezone to retrieve a fallen soldier- Alliance, Horde or otherwise- for immediate treatment. There was a faint, warm glow hailing from the doctors and medics that day.
Three times he shook hands with his new allies- once for having his own life saved and twice more for being the saviour. Several times he was relieved to spot faces he recognised still standing and fighting, not lying face down on the muddied earth unmoving or breathing. Ashwood danced with that amazing grace of hers, sabres sharp and deadly with their travels. McGreaves, Edrikson, Danila, Jason, Riverwind- even gentle Lorik- were all seen with fire blazing in their eyes with newfound energy. Ryndan allowed himself a small chuckle at the relief of seeing even Darksworn intact this morn.
Twice his heart nearly stopped- the first when he spotted a twirl of white hair following by the slashing of a sword and spurting of blood, only to recognise it as plumage from a top a helm. The second time was when he found himself back-to-back with none other than Baron William Walden.
Acknowledging each other with relief, their reunion was cut short by the appearance of three death knights- and their Scourge companions. Lacking the ease he would have liked, Ryndan harried forth with his attacks, not giving them the chance to back down or charge first. Parrying, dodging and disarming his opponent's attacks, he registered the fall and death of one of them already by Walden's blades behind him. Taking his cue from this, Ryndan raised his own blade high and brought it down heavily, the knight not even knowing that death had been dealt to him.
The third proved to be more challenging. With a disturbing smirk, not unlike their own prat-of-a-death-knight, the Scourge champion held his own against Walden's stabs and slices, unable to grant him any ground. Struggling to find an opening, Ryndan held back, ready to take over should Walden fall or worse. The paladin cautiously walked around them, keeping close for his chance. His Forsaken friend was having trouble and Ryndan decided to attempt something new.
Impressed by the technique even if fairly disgusted, Ryndan recalled the battle against the Wight and the following Forsaken only yesterday. Terowin's methods had been unorthodox but ingenious, and now it was Ryndan's turn to try. Summoning the Light from within himself, allowing a moment of concentration, he closed his eyes and focussed on the earth beneath his feet. Imbuing all the gathered power, he thrust the Light from himself and shot his eyes open at the glowing cracks emerging from the ground. Hissing, both the Death Knight and Walden broke in their fray to escape the Holy burning and the Lieutenant Commander took his opportunity.
Rushing forth, the Knight thrown off his guard, Ryndan swung a calculated blow to his abdomen- only for it to be blocked. Not as slow or stupid as he thought, the Death Knight's smirk twisted into a glower and the frost-infused eyes bore deep into Ryndan's own.
"You dare defy me and my King?! Death to you all!" A sharp movement and Ryndan's right arm was dislocated cleanly. Vulgarly shouting out in pain, Ryndan dropped to one knee, his sword held in the other hand. Blinking through his tears, he spied the gleam of a blade plummeting down upon him. He couldn't even spare a thought as it tore through armour and flesh before ripping out gravely from the wound. Grunting and gasping, he gripped his shoulder trying to staunch the bloodflow. Several feet to the right of him, his attacker fell dead under the blades of Walden and Darksworn. Walking over to him, Ryndan was helped to his feet, muttering his thanks through the pain.
"Not quite the circumstance I envisioned when we next met, but good enough," Walden croaked, a crooked smile on his rotted features. Even in his injured state, Ryndan could tell there was something wrong, something amiss. Despite having been many weeks since their last encounter, he was not hallucinating when he thought that the Forsaken looked ill.
"What's wrong?" the paladin gasped at him through gritted teeth. Startled, Walden merely eyed Ryndan before looking away in silence. Angered by hurt and impatience, he spat the question again, enquiring as to what made the Baron look so harrowed. He loved fights, especially against the Scourge, so why did he look so damned miserable?
"It's Cersae," he started, unable to make eye contact. "She's- she's ventured into Naxxramas."
A/N- If you haven't done the Wintergarde Quests, or it's been a long time since you last did them, I thoroughly recommend working your way through them. I've barely scratched the surface with the quiestline and don't have the time to dedicate to them properly as we are making our way towards our first raid for our dear Cersae was last seen in a dire situation with Lynara, so how did she end up in Naxxramas, we wonder?