*CHAPTER 34*
/SET LOCATION: TIRISFAL GLADES
Tearle moved her dark hair away from her face, frizzy from the after-rain humidity, and squinted hard at the sky. It was difficult to gauge time in this place. She thought she saw a glow behind a group of clouds in the west an hour ago. Did its disappearance mean dusk or had she imagined it in the first place?
If she could trust herself, that meant she'd spent the whole day searching for any suspicious activity around the old farm and come up empty. There was a small surplus of walking corpses in the area, but not enough to suggest the presence of a necromancer.
Worse still, she hadn't happened upon a single Forsaken to observe—the area was desolate except for the aforementioned mindless dead. She'd worked alone far longer than a day before, and yet she'd never been quite so lonely.
Lost in thought at the great emptiness, Tearle mistakenly dismissed a small rustling behind her as more pathetic zombies until a sharp pain stabbed her in the side of the head. Though excruciating, it was superficial; the hand of reckoning had always reminded Tearle of a childhood incident where a close friend pierced her ear with a hot needle on two instead of three.
She whirled around in search of the paladin, breathing a short whisper that turned into a mysterious, ear-splitting scream for a short distance. Vaschel resisted completely, the spell evaporating into little more than a purple mist against the gold glint of his own magic.
The priestess backed up, seconds away from running when the paladin held out his hands and dropped his axe,allowing the weapon to hang by its chain in surrender.
"Whoa, whoa, stop right there! I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you were with the Argent Dawn from behind. What are you doing so far from the outpost? Woman, you'll get killed out here. I'll walk you back." His tone dripped friendly concern, so much that Tearle was almost more suspicious. She kept her guard up.
"I'm better at Thalassian." The priestess took another tense step backwards.
"Oh yeah? Me too. Mind if I put my axe back on my hip?" Vaschel asked.
Tearle retreated another step, securing enough distance between herself and the blood elf that she almost felt confident she could escape. "Yes! I mind very much!"
Vaschel stared at her for a long, silent moment, speaking only fractions before she was ready to bolt again. "Does that mean that I can put it away or not?"
Another stiff moment passed before Tearle determined he was asking a serious question. "You asked if I would mind. I told you I would. That means no."
"But you said yes."
"I said yes, I mind." Tearle found his confusion more charming than annoying, but did her best to look annoyed regardless. "Are you sure you're better at Thalassian?"
Vaschel laughed, tossing his hair behind his shoulders without the use of his hands. "Okay, smartass, can I put it away now? Should I attack, I think it's clear you'll just outwit me."
"... Yes. I mean, go ahead." She watched intently as the paladin retrieved the haft of his axe secured it to his belt casually. He was clearly unconcerned about her, and it put her more at ease too.
"Why are you so far from the Argent outpost? You're going to get killed out here. Provided he even cared, any ranged class would pick you off well before he got close enough to see your tabard. You really shouldn't wander any Horde territory, but a human this close to the Undercity is completely suicidal."
She crossed her arms, unbothered by his semi-parental tone, but intent on communicating that she could take care of herself too. "A colleague of mine needed a neutral contact to investigate the presence of a powerful necromancer here."
"Why neutral?"
"He is a high elf."
"Ugh!" His face screwed up and he took a staggering step backwards, as if he'd tasted something terrible.
The disproportionate drama brought a smile to Tearle's face. "I think they would react to you the same way. Tearle Veicht." She extended a pale hand.
"Vaschel Dauntlight," his hand nearly swallowed hers and he shook a little too roughly as she boggled at the sheer size of him—it was impossible to truly comprehend until standing in close proximity.
"What are you doing so far from home?" She locked her hands together in front of herself, trying her best to look proper although she was quickly warming up to him. Elves always had that power over her.
"Friends. But I've got a new priority now."
"Oh?"
Vaschel nodded solemnly. "Yes. Escorting you back to the outpost. Sorry, ma'am, but I really can't leave you here. I'll help you look for your necromancer, but after that we need to go."
She frowned. "And if I'm not ready to leave?"
"Look at that pout!" He laughed again, an animated laugh, almost infectious. "You can be grumpy if you want, but I'm not letting you die out here. I'll put you over my shoulder if I have to."
"You think you're even capable?" Her tone was frigid, but he melted her polite irritation effortlessly.
"The truth is, I have a thing for smart women, and I was hoping you wouldn't mind walking with me. I don't think your necromancer has been around here, do you? So if you don't need to hang around..."
"But I have another purpose here. I've studied culture my entire life, and despite all our similarities, if there are any anymore, I know the least about the Forsaken."
Vaschel smirked. "Ah, so there's the truth. You have your own agenda after all. I can introduce you to one if you'll come with me to the Bulwark. Deal?"
No sooner had Negate suggested they turn back before they hit the Scarlet Monastery did the pair realize they were already there, staring at garden of minor Scarlet troops. It appeared that only a single hunter had spotted the friends, so Phasilica made sure to execute him quickly and quietly from a distance.
They then turned, eager to leave the premises, only to find their paths blocked by a familiar red-headed paladin and a blonde mage.
The paladin was the first to notice that she'd run into this particular warlock before. "It's you!" she spat, hate etching itself into her eyebrows. She withdrew her sword and shield, visibly quivering with rage. "You decimated three outposts and had the gall to show up here? You're a dead man, whoreson..."
But Ex caught her arm, squeezing so much that it hurt, and nodded toward the priestess.
Jibreel hesitated as she stared at the priestess, a voice from the past screaming inside her skull. "... Missus Andy? … No, impossible. She'd never... What witchcraft is this?" She rose her sword again, but dropped it immediately as a terrifying screech nearly split her ears open and sent her running instinctively. Ex followed.
With a graceful flick of the wrist and a simultaneous skip she stepped into the air. Snatching a hold of his sleeve, Phasilica pulled Negate up with her, allowing both to escape easily down the side of the cliff; a drop that would have been fatal otherwise. Even after the crusaders recovered, they could not pursue.
At the bottom, the warlock straightened his hair and robes with exaggerated drama, calling attention to every small movement. "Dawnn mentioned those two back in Silvermoon City."
Phasilica smoothed her hair, gazing up the cliff for any signs of mage or paladin. "He has a good memory. His mother volunteered to build that church along with Vaschel and Rachel, and he came along... but Dawnn was five or six at the oldest."
"And what do the redhead and the mage have to do with it?"
"The mage is my cousin. My father's sister married my father's friend's brother... Why anyone would want to marry into the Xanthicis is beyond me. Creepy family, and they give all of their children humbling names like Exxpendable and Abbhorant."
"And the redhead?"
"Jibreel Cisneros. Around the same time that I met Vaschel, the poor girl's parents were murdered. She wandered in the trees for a few days before running into Rachel by chance, and then Rachel carried her to me. I assume she witnessed the slaughter, because in just a few weeks she seemed to have repressed every memory connected to them. After that, she was bounced around a bit between families who had been close to the Cisneroses. She even stayed with me for a while, between the Xanthics and an apprenticeship with my father. She was friends with my sons."
"Sunwell... did they catch the murderer?"
Phasilica smiled darkly up at the sky. They'd spent too much time away, and Vaschel would worry soon. "Sort of. They caught a tool, an angry young puppet my mother had forgotten about. Before she married my father, Jaqlyn joined the Cult of the Damned and became obsessed with developing a powerful monster. She thought she needed the bones of a miserable child, so she started shopping around.
"She certainly made my sister and I miserable, but we were too passive by nature, and rarely inspired to violence. She cuddled up to Mister Xanthic, but he chased her off when he sensed something suspicious, and I married Jacob to keep her claws off of Leland. Saiynt was her only real experiment."
Negate's ears twitched and his pace slowed, fingers drawing back as the tendons in his hands tightened. This was a name he had heard before, and if he didn't like her then, he certainly didn't now. His first urge was to sprint toward Lisys and tell her she wasn't allowed to talk to this woman, or any death knight for that matter, ever again. But reason kicked in: the likelihood that Lisys was in immediate danger from a mysterious death knight who rarely appeared was slim, and he doubted Vaschel would allow it.
"What type of experiment?" The warlock relaxed and glanced over his shoulder, noticing that Phandok the voidwalker had disappeared. Likely stuck on the cliff—demons were famous for an unexplained and unfounded fear of heights.
"Robert was older and more easily swayed than my father and Mister Xanthic. She used magic that drove him insane by degrees; no one even noticed until it was too late. And he took it out on his family—moved them away from the city, nearly completely isolated them, except for the bare minimum required to put up a happy front. But he only had three daughters, and Jaqlyn wanted to torture both sexes. To appease her, Robert raised Saiynt as a boy from the day she was born.
"We all thought that Saiynt was a male child until her arrest. Everyone was clueless, even Robert's previously close friends. Supposedly by chance—but I don't believe it was by chance—she ran into Ariel Dauntlight who, in her own words, made a woman out of her."
Neate shivered. This was a new level of insanity he couldn't imagine himself, and some part of him felt sorry for Lisys's friend, but the rest of him feared her instability. Understandable or not, Saiynt wasn't someone he wanted Lisys to be around.
"How did they fool outsiders into the girl's teens?" Negate asked.
Phasilica placed a hand on her chest, face drawn and sad. The warlock figured she must have taken some personal responsibility here, which did not surprise him even if he could not guess her connection to the ordeal. He'd never met someone quite so guilt-ridden as Phasilica.
"They nearly starved her. Delayed her development. I interviewed Saiynt extensively... not for her sake. Robert was a decorated paladin and Saiynt's fate was sealed when she killed him, but to help Rachel and Cevian hunt Ariel. She wouldn't speak to elves... She told me that she would have died, but Ariel gave her food here and there to keep quiet... and this went on for a year, until she decided she was done. She asked her family for help, and they accused her, so she snapped, and they all died, except Jibreel. That's nearly exactly what she told me."
"Then she was executed?"
"Not immediately. I stalled the proceedings as long as I could... then jailor, Mr. Xanthic, decided she didn't deserve to die," Phasilica scoffed darkly. "He helped her escape and spent a half a decade on the run with her."
"Why that tone?"
"Because I don't buy it. You've seen her sister—once fed properly, Saiynt grew up awfully fast, finishing around the same time Mr. Xanthic developed sympathy. She was confused, promiscuous, easy. Besides, the few who'd seen her still remembered her as a boy. She could have evaded capture until her death, but he was tall, famous, and had giant scar across his neck from an accident that made his voice unmistakeable. So they were both captured five years later and hanged in Stratholme... she was nineteen."
Negate quirked an eyebrow. While he agreed that it was likely a factor, he guessed Phasilica must have a low opinion of men, or this man in particular, to truly believe he'd live as a fugitive for five years for sex. But he doubted that pointing this out to her would be beneficial for either of them. "You blame him for their capture?"
Phasilica turned her body to let a walking corpse by, a pitiful individual on an endless trek between the Bulwark and the Balnir Farmstead, too weak to bother with anyone but the greenest of Forsaken recruits. All the while, she kept her gaze centered on Negate intensely.
"He was tall for a human. My husband was concerned that the standard gallows would be too short, but Mister Xanthic was in the custody of a different prison. I promised I would look into it, as an architect, so I did... and I requested the rope shortened another few inches. His toes could touch the ground and it took him nearly forty minutes to die of asphyxiation." Her voice started with unremarkable determination, but quieted into a slow, sinister whisper until the word asphyxiation was simply read from her lips.
Negate leaned away, unnerved. "And you weren't punished for it?"
"You know the answer to that. My father was rich. I was innocent. It was all a tragic mistake... How did we do it, Negate? Tolerate such a gilded existence... now that it's gone, don't you wonder?"
"Yes, sometimes I—" As they rounded the old farmhouse, Negate stopped suddenly, staring out into the field. From a distance, it looked as if Vaschel and Lisys were chatting with a human, but that simply wasn't possible. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with his fists thoroughly, left them shut for a minute, then looked again.
Phasilica had a similar thought process. "Is that idiot chatting up a human in Forsaken territory?" she snarled, invoking her favorite pet name for Vaschel.
"It would appear so." Together, they approached the fence where they stopped, still leaving a considerable distance between themselves and the other three, debating what to do. "Look at her tabard... Argent Dawn, not Alliance."
"I don't care! Her presence outside the Bulwark is completely thoughtless. I ought to kill her. I still might!" Phasilica could hardly keep her voice down amidst her outrage, and it attracted the human's attention, even clear across the field. Vaschel noticed next, and though he knew he was in trouble, thought it would be best to carry on cheerfully and diffuse the situation.
Lisys, both enthralled by and terrified of the human noticed last, and immediately sprinted toward the more familiar pair, who hopped the fence and met her part-way. She immediately huddled as close to the warlock as possible, rubbing her arms as if she were cold to fight the urge to attach herself to him.
Negate was not pleased with Vaschel before he left, and the secret twenty-year affair he'd just learned of compounded the effect. Dragging Lisys to a human was almost too much.
"What the hell is this!" he demanded, beating Phasilica to the same question.
Even without Tearle's rudimentary understanding of Orcish, it was very clear these new strangers were talking about her... and they weren't happy. The whole situation was uncomfortable, but overpowered by her curiosity. This new Forsakenness's reaction to her was a more powerful learning experience than a polite conversation.
"This is Tearle," Vaschel answered sternly. "She nearly cut ties with the Alliance. She's just here on Argent business. Actually, she's very curious about the Forsaken."
"And she is about to die for it," Phasilica hissed, staring directly at the human instead of Vaschel.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Tearle offered as politely as the tense situation allowed. "Do you speak common? Lisys tells me she doesn't remember it, and can't even recall the pronunciation of certain names or towns—"
Phasica took a heavy step forward, talking through her teeth and rolling up her sleeves. "You ignorant little wretch, we are fighting a war! The old language was outlawed when our supposed families cast us aside. Many of us do not remember it, and we certainly don't appreciate being asked about it."
Tearle took a step back, feeling honestly threatened. Even Vaschel had first approached her calmly before he realized they were essentially on the same side. This woman was in a rage.
"Hey, there's no need to be jealous," Vaschel leaned to the side, wrapping a massive arm around Phasilica's middle and half-lifted, half-pushed her back a step. "I was just talking to her. And she's nice, isn't she, Lisys?"
Lisys curled her fingers in Negate's sleeve, thinking he might attack Tearle while Phasilica was indisposed. She couldn't bring herself to trust a human, either, but saw no cause to kill her with Vaschel around to keep her in check any way. "...She seems nice... She said she likes what you did with my hair." The rogue met Negate's gaze briefly, then turned her face back to the ground.
While Phasilica gave Vaschel the most hateful of stares, debating her next move, Tearle noticed Negate for the first time. The human started, feeling safe enough to forget about the other priestess for the moment.
"Holy light, you look just like my colleague," she continued in Thalassian, assuming it was a safe bet that he spoke it.
Negate didn't need to ask who she was talking about, and felt he was above speaking directly to her. He slid an arm around Lisys's shoulders with a dark laugh. "Well! In my opinion, that alone is enough reason to kill her... but I'll leave it to you two. Lisys and I are done here."
Lisys tossed a glance over her shoulder at her arguing friends and the poor human caught in the middle, then turned her attention back to Negate. With her face turned, her nose nearly touched his cheek. She quickly looked away, but turned back toward him again, cautiously. "I really believe that human was just a scholar. I hope they don't hurt her... she and Phasilica are actually very similar."
"Phasilica wouldn't be stupid enough to wander into Elwynn Forest," Negate scoffed. "Speaking of, I learned something interesting today. You've met Phasilica before, when you were alive."
"She's Missus Andy," Lisys returned, as if this was common knowledge.
Negate released her, to her disappointment, to climb the fence, surprise registering on his face. "Really? You knew? For how long?"
"Ever since I saw her at Silvermoon for the first time... She still wears the same glasses sometimes, and dresses the same... didn't even change her hair style." Lisys hopped the rotting wood in one quick jump. "She didn't say anything though, so... I thought I shouldn't either. Most of us want to forget who we used to be. Mentioning specific life-details to another undead is rarely done... requesting them is reserved for only extremely intimate friends. She stopped going by that name, so... it was very clear to me where she stands on her past life."
"But earlier, you said you wanted to find Missus Andy's grave to let her know her name had been cleared." Negate considered the human, Tearle, dead already, and did not spare one more glance behind him as they hit the path beside the farm.
Lisys walked slowly, and turned more than once. "I said that to let her know, without letting her know that I know. Phasilica was standing right there, she overheard me..."
Negate ran the statement through is head more than once before chuckling. "Ah, I see. You are more clever than I give you credit for."
Behind them, still sanding in the center of the field, Phasilica had calmed. She crossed an arm and chewed on her opposite thumbnail, staring at Tearle intently. "So Cevian sent you, then." She carried on in Thalassian, deciding it was a comfortable enough language for all three present.
"That's right." Tearle stood ready to defend herself, but refused to be intimidated by this woman.
Now Vaschel was annoyed, too. "That was foolish—and selfish—of him to send you into Horde territory. I'm sorry you got caught up in all of this, Miss Veicht."
The human tossed a small smile his way. "I'm not a baroness. Tearle is fine."
"I'm not sorry at all," Phasilica dropped her arms, cracking her fingers audibly. "I believe that Cevian—your colleague—and I are hunting the same necromancer. She's not here any longer, but she certainly has been. You could be useful."
Tearle was beginning to feel mislead. Happening upon someone unrelated hunting the same person hinted at more danger than she'd been warned of. "What's your stake in all this? How do you know Cevian?"
Phasilica opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a rude laugh by Vaschel. She stopped to scowl at him.
"This is Phasilica. Phasilica knows everyone, haha."
Glancing back and forth between the two, Tearle was starting to notice a dynamic that made her feel a bit out of place, except that the elf and the undead obviously hadn't yet realized it themselves. The good ones are always taken or have boyfriends, she thought with some disappointment, but let it go with a sigh and decided she ought to be less playful.
"And how could I help?" she asked very seriously.
Phasilica stepped forward, too close for Tearle's comfort, appearing to study her sincerity. "Well... You could disappear. When he doesn't find your body, he'll know something happened here."
Vaschel was ready to separate them, but the human did not appear threatened. Instead, she stared into Phasilica's eyes, noticing first that they appeared to be empty except for an unsettling yellow light, but she couldn't tell for sure, and next that each eyelash was painted individually—a ritual she herself considered a waste of time. She could draw a hundred conclusions about who this woman is, and who she was, just by staring at her eyes—the Forsaken were more interesting than she thought.
"Or," Phasilica backed away, frowning, "I suppose you could go home and tell him yourself."
"Then that is what I will do." Tearle crossed her arms, tugging at her sleeves unconsciously.
"I appreciate it," the undead said in a way that suggested she didn't appreciate it at all, but rather expected it.
"Fine, whatever, let's go," Vaschel shivered once, rubbing his arms briefly. "It's dropped twenty degrees since we've been standing here."
Phasilica turned, as if expecting something behind them. Suddenly she felt uneasy. "It has? Just now?"
"No, it's been cooling down steadily for a little while now. It is night now, isn't it?" Tearle asked, falling into step behind Vaschel toward the old burnt farmhouse.
"It is. I will accompany you to the Bulwark as well." Phasilica kept pace with Tearle behind the paladin, turning to watch their back so often that she completely missed the presence of another undead until the more observant Tearle stopped suddenly.
Vaschel stopped, too, also completely overlooking the stranger until he moved. He was leaning so quietly against what was left of the burnt-out house's frame that he seemed to belong there as part of the rotting construction. That he could walk right by him was unnerving.
Time stretched. Phasilica knew immediately somewhere in the back of her mind. He was tall, and wide-shouldered for an undead man. Most plague victims had time some to lose body mass to the ground, but the unnatural coloration of his hair told her he'd been buried for much, much longer, and raised from the dead by more potent necromancy after the fall of Lordaeron. His size now told her that he was a colossus in life—but the coincidence was too perfect. It seemed impossible. So she stared.
Parts of his face—namely his eyes—were obscured, but this was not uncommon among Forsaken and he dressed casually. He carried only a large sword, no more than Vaschel would bring for a walk through home territory.
"Miss Veicht..." the stranger spoke without looking up at her.
"Yes?" Tearle took a step forward, driven instinctively to trust someone who knew her name, without thinking that he'd likely picked it up just by listening in.
"Your friend is looking for you. Follow me," he pushed off the wall, and Tearle was prepared to follow him, if only out of curiosity. His voice was low and raspy, but passive and unintimidating in this context.
Phasilica's cold hand seizing her shoulder was more frightening. "Unbelievable..." she hissed, her nails drawing blood from the other priestess. "It's you."
The stranger centered his gaze on Phasilica, stony face unreadable, before drawing his sword and swinging in one fluid motion.
Vaschel reacted first, shouldering both women into the ground with two squeals that melted together, drawing his axe so quickly his belt nearly came with it. The sword met with the haft of his axe, dangerously close to his fingers in a sloppy block. He found almost immediately that he could not compete with the crushing downward pressure, and with his shield still on his back he could not roll away. He fell first on one knee, and to save himself from being cut in half, was forced to place one hand on the back of the one-bit blade.
The paladin managed to shift his opponent's force to the ground beside him instead, standing and drawing his shield just in time to block the second swing, an unprecedented recovery for a man wielding a two-hander Once more the force was phenomenal, and Vaschel staggered two steps back, nearly toppling.
"Holy shit," he breathed, waiting for the undead to draw his sword back again before putting both hands on his shield to ram him in the chest, pushing him back a couple of steps before the assailant recovered and he could muscle him back no further.
"What the hell is your problem!" Glancing downward, Vaschel was astonished to find that they'd fallen into the footprints they'd just left—literally back where they started.
Sihner did not answer, or give any indication that he'd heard Vaschel speak at all, incidentally distracting the paladin with his mysteriousness. Next swing, he sliced open the elf's side, the sword's edge poisoning his blood. His opponent paled for the next few minutes, but returned to health with only a short prayer and forced Sihner back with a heavy-hitting spell.
Vaschel stunned the Scourge warrior there for a few seconds, but he recovered before any serious damage and pushed back into their original positionsonce more.
To avoid being stepped on and likely crushed, Phasilica and Tearle had to roll more than once before they were safe to scramble to their feet again, shaking away mud and dead leaves.
"We can't just watch!" Tearle said while Phasilica was still straightening her robes, but Phasilica's demeanor did not change.
"We don't really have a choice. Forsaken death knights have incredible resistance to shadow magic."
Phasilica appeared confident, and it relaxed Tearle. "Forsaken death knight? … Why would someone go back to the Lich King?"
"You'll have to ask him." Hatred tweaked the corner of Phasilica's lip. "Anyway, you can heal if you like, but you'll only get yourself death gripped."
Sword locked against Vaschel's shield spike, Sihner leaned forward, his own blade touching his chest. His voice never changed. "We are at an impasse, paladin, and I am not here to fight with you."
"So walk away!" Vaschel snarled, staggering the death knight with a hard shove, but he recovered before the next swing. Both men were built to hold their ground—heavy, but not heavy-hitting.
"I'm here for her," he gestured toward Tearle. "She won't be harmed."
The elf chuckled at the absurdity. "Yeah? I don't think she wants to go with you. I got all night."
Several more strikes and dodges ensued without another word. Old, rotten blood from all the lost souls buried beneath the field bubbled up to the surface, forming a hissing acid soon overpowered by Vaschel blessing the same piece of ground.
Sihner had time to think, staring hard at the elf's green eyes. In some ways, he was fighting himself thirty years ago, and he knew Vaschel was telling the truth. It would take hours—maybe even days, of tireless fighting. He could last—but the priestesses would toss in aid here and there, and at best an unrelated Horde ally would appear sooner or later and Sihner would eventually lose.
However, the more he fought with this elf, the more Vaschel started to look familiar. Sihner doubted they had ever met, but he was sure he'd seen the paladin before. The situation warranted a small gamble.
Only a few feet away, the human was staring at Phasilica, a bit frantic.
"Did he say me? What could he want with me? I have never seen this man—!"
Sihner threw all of his weight behind a massive, almost desperate strike, staggering Vaschel back. Before the paladin could regain himself, the death knight dashed between the priestesses, giant sword in one hand, and seized a handful of Phasilica's hair.
Tearle scrambled backwards, attempting a psychic scream that was completely resisted. She immediately tried a similar, more powerful spell to the same end, and for a moment could only stand in awe. Phasilica wasn't exaggerating. She'd fought death knights before—this was different. Shadow spells were nearly useless here.
"I can kill her before you kill me, paladin." Sihner pulled up on the woman's hair demonstratively, causing a sharp cry as she rose to her toes.
Thin fingers clawing at Sihner's wrist, Phasilica turned to Tearle briefly with a wide-eyed stare, mouthing a Common word very clearly, go.
Tearle took a step back, hesitant to leave another priestess to die.
Phasilica turned her head as hard as she could to Vaschel, shouting. "Let him kill me, you can r—"
Sihner released her hair and seized her throat instead, lifting up until her feet left the ground. The sound was horrifying and the human was sickened to see his thumb and middle finger nearly met in the back.
Vaschel's blood pounded so hard in his ears that he nearly missed the death knight speak.
"This is up to you, paladin, not her. Do you want to take your chances with a resurrection?"
Tearle's entire body numbed as she watched Vaschel process the question slowly, then hang his head. She turned, the sound of Phasilica's body hitting the ground behind her inspiring her to sprint harder than possible unless absolutely terrified.
But it wasn't enough. She'd barely made it fifteen yards before a powerful force encircled her torso, compressing the air from her lungs in a gasp. It snapped her backwards with a shriek cut off abruptly by a violent collision with the death knight's chest. Winded, tears spilled out of Tearle's eyes as he hoisted her over his shoulder roughly and opened a death gate without another word to Phasilica or Vaschel. He was gone before either could protest.
Silence rolled over the tiny field—a quiet so powerful it seemed impossible that a conflict of such magnitude had ever taken place there, let alone only seconds ago. Phasilica's voice attempted to erase the void, but was a poor filler.
"Vaschel!" she clawed at the ground, head reeling. "Why! I would have been fine! You've resurrected a hundred times! You've been resurrected! So... so why!"
Vaschel sat down heavily where he stood. He did not say anything, and he did not look up, platinum strands of hair blowing around his face in a gentle breeze before settling again around his shoulders.
Arriving once more in Brill, Negate suggested they stop for the night, but Lisys protested strongly.
"No! No! …" Meeting with Negate's confused stare, she attempted to smooth her overreaction. "We'll never get out of this place with that attitude. And you hate it here, and I would hate for you to spend another minute here."
The warlock quirked an eyebrow. "We're heading through more of old Lordaeron. It will just be more of the same as far as I am concerned."
Unable to think of another excuse, Lisys nodded and lowered her eyes. "... you're right... I guess we should sleep."
The elf continued toward the inn, brushing it off for the moment. "Did that human ever tell you what she was doing here?"
"Mmhm. She was hunting a necromancer," she followed Negate into the inn reluctantly.
"My father would send a naïve human to hunt down a necromancer," Negate scoffed. "I wonder if she's looking for that scary witch we saw in that field a few weeks back."
Lisys shivered hard. "... usually... necromancers don't frequent anywhere in particular... or they would get caught. I assumed that lady would have moved on by now... but if it's worth looking for her here... maybe not."
Negate paused before the stairs, looking over his shoulder at Lisys. She appeared frightened, but this was not unusual. "What do you know about necromancers?"
"Oh, very little I suppose..."
The warlock shrugged and continued up. "Fun fact, Phasilica's mother is a scourge necromancer. I never asked her much more about it, though. Seemed rude."
"I- I sure hope they catch her..." Lisys drew a shuddering breath, unable to imagine sleeping so close to that field.
*END CHAPTER 34*
A/N if I had to guess I'd saaay... 10 – 15 chapters left maybe? But I am not very good at guessing these things. x) It always takes me longer to get through certain points than I think it will, so I am trying to be very generous with my estimate.
I look forward to writing comics and being done with this story, since I know that the comics will have much better stories. Parts of this fic are pretty rough, I am surprised anyone got through it... x)