Adrias had to say that he knew his brother even less than he thought he had. When the other two had been so bent on continuing their search, if only to the Farstrider outpost, Wren had looked to Adrias for support in going back. Had he expected his brother to be a voice of reason for the two delusional fools?
When Adrias had sided with Gryst'lyn and Prynn, saying that it wouldn't make much of a difference to him to go another day or so, Wren had unexpectedly caved, though he'd been in a horrible mood since.
And he'd pushed them. They hadn't slept in over two days by the time the outpost was sighted—a direct route to the outpost would have taken a week, at most, but the roads were off limits, with corpses marching up them toward the north, and so they'd had to skirt around to the coast and then south.
Like the rest of the southern establishments, it had been abandoned in a hurry, and the smells of rotting food added to the unnatural silence of the place.
As Adrias realized that he couldn't hear any birds or other creatures—not that he was great at distinguishing them, but he could at least tell the generic, annoying chirp of a bird from the croak of a frog—his brother tapped his shoulder, and he jumped. When did Wren learn to move so quietly?
The Farstrider glanced around the area, uneasily. He'd picked up on the same wrongness of the area that Adrias had. By the nether, he probably felt it more so than Adrias could ever comprehend. "Would you gather the other two? I'd like to know if I'm going back to Silvermoon by myself or not."
On a normal day, Adrias would have scoffed at the thought of doing anything his brother wanted. This time, however, he merely walked away, looking for the others. He checked around the gate, thinking perhaps they had wandered out toward the woods to try to find the location where the report had said Miss Amaeria had disappeared. He paused when he thought he saw something move in the woods, near the ground.
He hesitated and narrowed his eyes as he tried to see into the spindly underbrush. Nothing was there. With an uneasy breath, he took a step back. As he turned to head back to the base, deciding that perhaps they were up on the second floor of the building, he froze as he came face to face with a translucent woman.
She was elven, or so he thought, and her tattered robes and long, dark hair billowed about her as though coerced by a non-existent breeze. Red, glowing eyes stared into his as he stumbled back. Her brow knit together for a moment before she opened her mouth and let out a heartbreaking wail.
~"~
"You know, when we were training to be priests, Amae was always quicker to pick up spells. I thought for sure she'd leave me behind in our training, and that our little trio would be broken apart forever," Prynn offered as she stared out into the sea of dead trees. She sat with Gryst'lyn, staring off toward the west, with their legs dangling over the sloping, curving walkway to the lookout post on top of the building. She shivered, the wind unusually cold. She'd said she was growing used to it since they'd entered into the tainted part of Eversong, but Gryst'lyn didn't think anyone could get used to this. "You wouldn't think that it would matter so much, but training takes place at different times, depending on how strong you are. She always held herself back for me. Me and Jaserisk, anyway. If she'd moved up, she wouldn't have seen much of either of us." Her voice wavered and she looked down at her hands, smiling faintly. "She likely would have never met you, either, seeing as she wouldn't have been running errands for me."
Gryst'lyn nodded slowly, staring off into space. His hands ached for Amaeria. To be able to touch her...to brush her hair from her face, to cup her chin and bring her lips to his. To pull her body to him and surround her with his arms. Had he really thought coming out here would bring her back to him?
He shuddered against the thought and frowned. He'd know if she was dead...wouldn't he?
The notion abruptly seemed so stupid. How would he know? Because they'd fallen in love? They'd been together a few months before this had happened. Already, he couldn't remember her smell. The feel of her skin was a vague memory, and it would be gone soon, too.
Too much time was passing.
It hurt.
Before her, he'd never believed in soul mates, and even though it had been a spell that had brought them together initially, he'd still felt an odd attachment to her that he'd never felt toward anyone—anything before in his life. Until her, he'd never really understood the way men would look at him when they learned that he'd bedded their fiancé or wife. Now, he could only imagine how it would hurt to know that another man had touched Amaeria...had been with her.
And the thought that someone might have hurt her, living or not, made him want to make them suffer.
He didn't want to think that Amaeria could be dead...or at a point beyond saving, but with everyone's wavering faith, he too was beginning to doubt. Her smile didn't seem as bright in his memories, and he desperately craved to see her, so that she could banish his darkness. After living without the light—as short a time as it was—it seemed cruel that the universe could show him what he'd been missing, just so that it could steal it back.
He wouldn't let her go without a fight.
Prynn was crying as she spoke, talking about how she and Amaeria had studied together, how they'd snuck into the restricted section of the library in the cathedral and found ancient tomes that still told of the light of a moon goddess, how they'd always promised they would be together forever.
She choked back a sob. "When she found you... I was so afraid you'd destroy her. That you'd be the dirt bag everyone said you were and that you'd break her heart and her hope…" She offered Gryst'lyn a little smile. "I was really happy when you weren't."
Gryst'lyn felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He looked over at Prynn to offer her whatever consolation he could, when he saw Wren a few feet away, bow drawn as he stormed up toward them. Even as Gryst'lyn tried to ask what in the Light the Farstrider was thinking, Wren notched and arrow and fired it.
It flew just over Gryst'lyn's shoulder, barely missing his ear. Prynn's face twisted into a look of terror, and she screamed and stumbled backwards to her feet. Gryst'lyn heard a strange gurgling screech and turned to see a spider-like beast shuddering, half on the walkway, half hanging off from where it had been climbing up, Wren's arrow through its forehead. As it focused its dozens of eyes at them, Gryst'lyn jerked to his feet and drew his blade. His heart nearly stopped when he heard more skittering noises from under the walkway they were on.
Wren looked over the two as he lightly took Prynn by her trembling shoulders and began to guide her back toward the first floor. "Where's Adrias?"
~"~
As Adrias finally managed to engulf the spectral woman in flames and shadows, the other three came tearing out of the building, heading toward the stables. Gryst'lyn called for him and he took off running to them, stumbling over the cobblestones and praying to whatever might be listening that the hellish banshee had been alone.
Wren reached the stables first, and he quickly grabbed Prynn's hawkstrider by the reigns and tried to drag it out into the courtyard. The bird struggled against him, however, and snapped its reins as it jerked its head away from him, desperately trying to stay in the safety of its stall. As Wren cursed and looked over to see that Gryst'lyn was having problems with his own mount, his gaze happened toward the courtyard, and he paled as Adrias ran in to join them.
The cobblestones were beginning to tremble and shake.
He dropped the reins to the hawkstrider as a few of the worn stones burst into the air and a mangled hand reached up from the earth. The action repeated dozens of times and soon just as many rotting creatures were dragging themselves up from the ground. The flooring of the stables was made of the same cobblestones as the courtyard and as he felt the ones beneath his feet begin to shudder, he leapt up onto the door of the nearest stall. He called out for the others to get off the ground as the first of the creatures outside shook off a layer of dirt and turned a glassy gaze toward the sound of his voice.
For a brief moment, it looked human enough. Like the shell of a man who had spent years in a field and had died from overwork. However, as it saw him, it unhinged its lower jaw and let out a hellish screech, spittle and coagulated blood dripping down over his broken teeth. The creature started to run toward them, its limbs moving with quick, jerky motions. How was it so damn fast?
Before it could reach them, another ghoul rose to its feet in their midst, cocking its head a bit too far to the side as it looked over Adrias. The warlock didn't wait for the creature to decide it wanted a snack before he set it ablaze with a quick curse.
The creature wailed and flung itself toward him anyway, even as it was burned away to nothing.
Gryst'lyn cried out as the one that had first seen them reached them and lunged into the building. He moved quickly, catching it across its chest with his blade and flinging the broken body back out into the square. Rather than a victory, however, it merely shuddered and began to rise back to its feet as its deflection drew the attention of more of the creatures.
As they fought off their attackers, Gryst'lyn shoved Wren back as the Farstrider severed the head of one of the creatures with a small blade. The ghouls were thinning out, but none of them wanted to wait to see what sort of reinforcements might be coming.
"Can you get the hawkstriders ready? Maybe we can make a break for it—"
His voice cut off as one of the creatures' hands shot up through the cobblestones and caught his leg. He cursed and stabbed his sword down through the dirt beside the arm, though it only seemed to anger his attacker, which burst up from the ground with uncanny speed, flinging him back to the ground and tackling him as it snapped at his face.
As the creature attacking Gryst'lyn burst into flames, Wren darted back toward their mounts in time to see one of them let out a sharp cry as something gripped its legs and dragged it underground. The creature's wails as it was suffocated by earth and torn apart by whatever lay beneath made the Farstrider pale, though he quickly turned to the other mounts tried to calm them enough to lead out.
As he managed to get one out into the hall, another of the spider creatures that had attacked them earlier burst up from where the first hawkstrider had been dragged down and lunged at him. He barely managed to dart away from the mount before the spider tore into it. It screeched and looked at its master pleadingly as the spider bit down on its throat.
Too close to draw his bow, Wren took his blade and jumped onto the monster, cutting its neck as it flailed and flung him into a wall. Wood splintered into his side, and he let out a small gasp as he staggered to his feet.
The remaining ghouls surged toward the stables, smelling the fresh blood.
~"~
They weren't sure how they'd managed, but their attackers were all burned away or cut to pieces at their feet, leaving them panting and barely standing, yet victorious. Adrias staggered up to his hawkstrider as Gryst'lyn led Prynn's into the open and leaned into the terrified bird's feathers, feeling a fleeting sense of accomplishment. He closed his eyes and breathed the smell of his bird into his nostrils, happy to have something other than decay overwhelming his senses. With a sigh, he pulled back and shook his head slowly.
"I have to say, if Miss Amaeria is nearly as good a healer as Miss Prynn, I'm starting to see how she could still be alive."
Prynn beamed, despite looking as though she wanted to collapse and nodded with mitigated enthusiasm. "Amae's better. She—"
The priest's voice cut off as a blade slammed into the side of her neck. Her expression blanked, and the glow in her eyes flickered out as the owner of the blade slung her to the side. Her body hit the ground with a dull thud. Adrias and the others looked past where she had been standing at the skeletal warrior who stood in her place, its sword still dripping with her blood.
The creature seemed to take a moment to relish the looks of horror on their faces as more of the skeletal creatures began to march out of the woods and toward the outpost.
Gryst'lyn sliced the monster's head off, and its bones crumpled to the ground. He darted over to Prynn and felt for a pulse before choking back a cry and looking back at Adrias. "A soul stone..."
The pale warlock nodded slowly and began to cast. Before he could get halfway through the spell, an arrow slammed into his shoulder and sent him spiraling to the ground. Cursing under his breath, Gryst'lyn sprinted away from Prynn's corpse and grabbed Adrias. The warlock was unconscious, but the arrow hadn't pierced anything vital.
Wren had already mounted his steed, and Gryst'lyn helped him pull Adrias up onto his mount and then turned to his. "Go, go!" Wren didn't need the prodding, as the skeletal warriors and archers started to run toward them.
As Gryst'lyn reached his own mount and grabbed its reins, the ground burst beneath it. Both he and the hawkstrider were flung through the air. The spider that had come up landed squarely on his mount, and the creature let out a gurgled wail. Gryst'lyn speared the spider with his sword and kicked its corpse away from his faithful bird. Looking over the pitiful hawkstrider, he could see that it had been gutted, and he brought his sword down upon its head to silence its pained cries.
Gryst'lyn looked after Wren to see that the Farstrider had stopped on the far side of the outpost and seemed ready to come back for him. He considered running after him, hoping to the Light that they could somehow make it out of there together, but stopped before he could take a full step. He smiled more to himself than Wren and turned his back to his fellow elf, to face the coming tide of monsters.
It was better some of them live than none at all.
And if this hell was any indication, he'd be back with Amaeria soon enough.
~"~
Half of Thalach's face hung loosely from his skull as he stepped over the cobblestones, staring at the ridiculous number of charred skeletons that littered the area. The courtyard looked like an inferno had opened up within it, as though the elemental of fire himself had unleashed his fury within the area.
The elves were going to put up a good fight, after all.
When he'd seen the foolish little party head into the outpost, he hadn't expected them to be worth more than a few ghouls. Then, when their healer had proven capable, he'd thought they would fall easily after she was gone.
And yet…
He hadn't expected a warlock to be in their midst.
The elven warrior who had stayed behind had fought valiantly, but he wouldn't have been able to take on the wave of ghouls surging at him by himself. Even as he'd taken a hit to his arm, making him unable to wield his two-hander well, flames had erupted all around him.
Yet somehow, they hadn't—so far as Thalach could see—so much as singed a hair on his body.
The two retreating… he should have been watching them.
The injured one had used a soulstone on the warrior, and had unleashed an infernal and a voidwalker, all while making the sky rain fire.
Thalach almost felt like he was back in Draenor as he'd watched the scene play out.
While his undead minions had torn apart the demons, the elves had made their escape.
Thalach wasn't overly worried about it. After all, even if they could fend off the undead for now, this wasn't even a fraction of what was already marching through their lands. They were just retreating to their deaths.
He paused as his foot hit against a body that still had most of its flesh. Despite all those flames, one other thing had been untouched through that chaos.
Their healer.
Leaning down, Thalach hoisted the thin body up and over his shoulder, turning to head back. Perhaps she'd make a useful ghoul. Before he could make it out of the courtyard, however, he stopped himself. His master's whispers were quiet, allowing something else to whisper to him, a soft reminder that if he'd had a choice, he wouldn't have been dragged into this life.
Dropping the elf's corpse back onto the cobblestones, he picked up his pace as he left. The Scourge was already big enough. No need to add to it unnecessarily.