Chapter Eighteen
The sky was clear, but Daellin's heart was not. While there was not a single cloud blocking the welcoming sunlight, his soul was overcast with emotion. As the last of Abbendis's battalions charged out the towering front gate, his heart swelled. In the half hour since the Scarlets were alerted by the assembling Scourge forces in the west, his confidence dwindled. This sinking sensation was only compounded with each legionnaire of the Thirty-Second and Fifty-First arriving. As he absentmindedly watched these soldiers prepare their journey to Corin's Crossing to take on the encroaching Scourge assault, a cold shiver ran down his spine. As the series of daggers stabbed at his backside, Dawncrier grew ice-cold within its sheath.
"You can't fail me now, old friend," Daellin muttered as he tapped the leather sheath. The sword remained mute and icy. The paladin was disappointed in his sword's cold demeanor. As Saidan had already departed for Hearthglen, employing the magi's system of teleportation to swiftly reach his destination, he was without an ally to comfort him. That is, except one.
"Good citizens of Tyr's Hand! We ask that you return to your homes! The Scarlet Crusade, with the Light's blessing, is embarking on a holy task to ensure your safety!"
Demetria, adorned in her simple white robe with golden inlays, elegantly instructed the growing crowd of locals away from the front square. While her pleas were impassioned, her body remained calm; her ashen hair refusing to dislodge in the slightest. The same could not be said about the growing crowd. Many were visibly concerned that the might of the Scarlet Crusade were briskly assembled without any sign of danger. Anxious cries demanding to be informed on the current situation and their well-being catapulted at Demetria. She returned the constant volleys with rounds of prayer and pleasant reassurances. Only some of the locals were convinced. Living in a hellscape of outlandish proportions had a way in sundering the locals' faith.
Instead of supervising his soldiers, Daellin went for Demetria's side. Even more onlookers had gathered now, including a group of schoolchildren running through legs to see what all of the commotion was about. Just as Demetria was about to ask the citizens to head for their homes once again, Daellin took a deep breath and declared, "Good people of Tyr's! Rest assured, you are in safe hands with the Crusade's protection. As Lady Silverstrand has asked, we request that you all return to your homes for the time being." His voice strongly resonated, in a stark contrast to the abyss swelling within his heart.
A few of the locals nodded approvingly. Perhaps the sight of the pious Lightheart was enough to convince them to leave. Still, many of the citizens did not budge. In fact, for those that stayed, their eyebrows raised at the notion that the Crusade had them in their safe hands. A part of Daellin could not disagree with their apprehension.
In response to Daellin's presence, a soft smile grew across Demetria's face. "Thanks for the assist," she whispered.
Daellin shrugged and replied, "It was nothing. Hell, it seemed more natural instructing the citizens than soldiers." His eyes dragged from Demetria's green eyes back to the crowd. Spotting the children in between the legs of the adults, Daellin called out, "Might wanna get back home before I tell your parents you weren't at school!"
With the threat of their parents being alerted to their school absence, the children giggled and disappeared into the sea of onlookers. Just like the kids, Demetria giggled, "If only the rest of them listened like those mischievous kids."
With a childish chuckle of his own, Daellin agreed, "It would make our lives so much easier. Alas, with age comes stubbornness."
"And with stubbornness comes the inability to listen to authority," Demetria sighed. Without any warning, the priestess snapped to Daellin, getting as close as possible to the paladin. With her cheeks puffed out into a small pout, she remarked, "Weren't you supposed to be snapping your legionnaires into shape right now? Grand Crusader Dathrohan gave both of us jobs to do."
Before Daellin could retort, Demetria placed her pale hands on his chest armor and tried in vain to push him back towards the assembling Scarlets. It was like a small child tried to push down the towering walls of Tyr's Hand. As dust kicked up around the priestess's feet, Daellin nodded. With a hint of sorrow, he said, "Right, I will be on my way."
"You helped me with the crowd, let me at least see you to the gate." Before Daellin could reply, Demetria slipped her arm around one of Daellin's biceps and led the way. As if she was a raging fireplace in the middle of winter, her essence radiated throughout his entire body. Where there were steely daggers ravaging his spine moments ago, now his body was engulfed in waves of comforting warmth. Even his confidence, just moments ago deep in the pits of his stomach, rose.
With the citizens of Tyr's Hand gawking from a distance and the assembled soldiers mounted on their steeds patiently waiting in orderly lines, the two stopped in the middle of the square. His assigned horse for the operation, a black stallion adorned with lightweight chainmail armor and protective blinders, welcomed the pair with a snort. To Daellin, it felt like the whole world was watching them. However, despite the eyes of Azeroth on them, he felt content. In fact, with the cloudless, baby blue sky above and the pleasant late summer air, he would even venture to say it was a lovely moment.
"Listen, Daellin," Demetria began as her eyes locked with Daellin's, "you go out there and let the Light guide your actions. You are a good leader and an even better man. You've destroyed countless undead Scourge before, and you will only add to your legacy today." She then gestured to the towering walls that protected the city and continued, "Remember our conversation up there?" Daellin nodded. "Take command and render righteous might upon the damned so that the devout can live another day."
"Thank you for the reassurances," Daellin muttered. "Thanks for shoving a spine up my ass," he added with a smile.
Demetria rolled her eyes as she closed the distance between the two, letting their chests touch. "Always with the humor and playing up to your name, Lightheart. Just think, with each undead destroyed, the closer we are to a return to paradise. The closer all of this will be over."
Daellin nodded and replied, "I am looking forward to that day very much so, Demetria." With that, he turned to his horse and latched his sheathed Dawncrier onto a side pouch. As he did so, the chilling chime of the city's grand bell rang throughout the city, alerting every soul of the grave nature of this mission. With the chime still echoing throughout the city, momentarily distracting Daellin from preparing his horse, a hand grasped his wrist and spun him around. Before he could even react, Demetria pulled him in and pressed her soft lips against his grizzled cheek.
As quickly as it happened, she pulled away, leaving a grin in her wake. "Some extra motivation for you, Sir Lightheart," she slyly remarked. "You better come back in one piece."
Blushing as red as his armor, Daellin replied, "Much appreciated, Lady Silverstrand."
This was once home, but it was no longer so. The wilds of Lordaeron, the most vibrant and beautiful of all of the Eastern Kingdoms, were now rotten and vile. The vegetation, what little that remained, was withered and devoid of any color. The trees that made up the famed forests no longer held whispers for eons, now little more than pikes that littered the hazardous wasteland. Instead of leaves lazily swaying in the light breeze, these tree husks were adorned with impaled corpses- some Scourge, some man.
Daellin had seen these horrific markers many times before. There was an open rumor that many of the corpses were victims of the Scarlet Inquisitors following a purge. That was not the most dreadful part of the rumor; following the execution of a heretic, their spouses would throw themselves on the pikes to stay with their beloved. The Inquisitors would routinely claim that the Scourge were the culprits for these terrible executions. If there was any consolation for the general public, it was that these pikes, adorned with the dead, were a few miles away from Tyr's Hand- out of sight, out of mind.
The Scarlets were too concerned with their mission to give any mind to these gruesome displays. Instead, they pressed their horses as much as they could to reach their destination. In a previous life, Corin's Crossing was a trading hub, located in the crossroads between Andorhal, Stratholme, and Tyr's Hand. The Corin family, a wealthy household that had called the area their home for generations, had the capital and regal backing to ensure that their settlement would be well off for decades. Grain and produce would filter in from Andorhal and then be dispersed to the eastern regions of Lordaeron, after a healthy tax, of course.
But now, Corin's was a shell of its former self. The settlement was one of the first to fall during the Scourge's rampage across the nation. No amount of gold could protect the Corins from their inevitable demise at the claws of the damned. Since then, the Scarlet Crusade had routinely attempted to purge the town of the undead, given its close proximity to Tyr's Hand. With it being only an hour's ride from the protective walls of Tyr's, it would be advantageous for them to claim it as their own. However, despite numerous attempts, Corin's Crossing remained riddled with Scourge.
"Magi and archers! Keep your eyes peeled for any undead! Corin's will be up ahead in a few minutes!"
Daellin, staying at the front point of the formation, was doing his best to relay orders to the Scarlets. Just as he said, the Scarlet magi and archers kept scanning the horizon as they held down the perimeter of the formation. A few of the Scarlet mages had orbs of flame flicker around their hands and shoulders, readying their arcane magic for any intruder. Meanwhile, the archers kept their compound bows notched, serving as the first line of defense against any possible undead attack. The two legions assigned to Daellin numbered roughly fifty in total, far fewer than any other detachment previously sent to Corin's. It would have to do. With most of Tyr's Hand's military sent to the west to protect Hearthglen and the Monastery, this bulwark under Lightheart's direction would have to defeat the reported Scourge threat in the area.
Light, I pray to you, protect these men from the clutches of the damned as we press forward into the unknown. With tremendous righteousness, may we smite our foes with your almighty power. May each victory, no matter how big or small, bring us closer to returning Lordaeron to its pristine state. As the Light wills it.
Daellin, despite his heartfelt prayers, felt a torrent of emotions pulsating throughout his body. From the pit of his stomach, anxiety rose with as much heat as Dawncrier. He fought these waves with prayer and reciting Demetria's kind and true words. In the face of adversity, these proved to be good company to have. Nevertheless, the sensation of dread closing in on him grew. This was far from the first time he would be heading into combat with the Scourge outside of the safe confines of Tyr's Hand, but the gravity of the situation pressed on him like mountains.
"Render righteous might upon the damned so that the devout can live another day." Her words were so succinct, yet so powerful. Yes, he would destroy the damned so that the living can survive. He would enact holy judgment upon the Scourge to ensure his flock's safety.
He would protect Demetria.
"Excuse me, Sir Lightheart?"
The voice startled him so that his heart skipped a beat and, if it could, launched itself off his horse. Daellin turned his attention away from the grave horizon and saw a Scarlet knight riding by his side; the knight's horse easily keeping pace with Daellin's steed. Even though the knight had his visor down, Daellin recognized the voice well.
"Percy? I can't say I was expecting you in this detachment," Daellin called out, making sure his voice traveled over the loud clapping of the horses' hooves.
"Yeah, I-I get that," Percy replied with a slight bow of his head. The last time the two had seen each other, the lad was balled up into the fetal position at Daellin's feet, crying his eyes out from sheer terror of a Scourge attack. To see him riding towards the enemy was quite the sight. "But I-I volunteered so that I-I can fight by your side!" The former farmhand saluted to his superior, showcasing his courage, genuine or not.
His impassioned words startled the venerated paladin, but not like the startle he had a moment ago. Rather, his heart felt a ping of pride. "I am honored, Percy. May the Light guide us towards victory this day!"
Before Percy could respond, another Scarlet rode up between the two, but to call him a man would be an insult. He was a large brute, riding on a horse that could have been sired from a raging bull, with a long, crimson red plume flowing through the air on top of his bulky helmet. "Oy! Look alive, you! Corin's is just up ahead!"
"Ye-yes, Lieutenant Vivick," Percy meekly said. With shame bursting from behind his visor, he pulled on the reins of his horse and disappeared into the mass of Scarlets.
The beast upon the hulking horse, content in his latest conquest, cracked his neck as he peered into the distance. After coughing up a nasty loogie, Vivick growled, "This ain't my first rodeo in Corin's, Lightheart. It'll be best to ride into the town's main crossroads and set up a defensive position." His words were like stones pelting the side of a building, weighted and a nuisance.
"Of course, Lieutenant Vivick," Daellin acquiesced. The exact size of the reported Scourge encroachment at Corin's Crossing was not specified, but making sure the Scarlets were as fortified and protected as possible would be beneficial. And if there was someone that would know the layout of the scourged town, it was Vivick. The brash knight, somehow bigger in stature than the mountain that was Saidan, had led three prior attacks upon Corin's. Each time he would return with fewer soldiers.
While still pushing his beastly horse as much as he could, Vivick turned around in his saddle and addressed the entire Scarlet detachment. "Soldiers of the Light! Today we annihilate the damned! With the Holy Light at our disposal, we will conquer the undead!" With each word, as strong as the beast that supported his immense weight, the bulky man pounded his chest, giving no mind to his heavy plated armor.
The Scarlets replied with a chorus of prideful hoots and hollers, some even mimicking Vivick's imposing gesture by letting go of their reins and pounding their chest without any semblance of rhythm.
Daellin sighed as he kept his eyes ahead. "Well, if the undead don't hear us first, we might have a chance."
It was another ten minutes of hard riding before the first buildings popped up on the horizon. They were little more than relics from a bygone era when coin flowed like the Thondroril River. Where there were opulent buildings with extravagant colors and architectural designs before, now only hollow shells remained. Surely, skeletons and ghouls would be prowling about these skeletal buildings like maggots on a rotting corpse. The main road, paved with the bones of the fallen, was shielded by an arch that was littered with empty holes where luxurious gems once shined. The arch had seen better days, as its apex had long since collapsed, revealing the cheap mortar used to construct the flamboyant structure.
The Scarlet detachment pressed forward, urging their horses to gallop through mud and skeletal remains alike. Somehow, what remained of the arch held fast, despite the dozens of Scarlet horses dashing under, shaking the frail foundations to its limits. The moment they crossed under the arch, the warm summer air turned chilly and as stagnant as the lifeless buildings around them. As the rundown and dilapidated structures passed them, and the threat of the Scourge attacking at any given moment grew, Daellin prepared himself by unsheathing Dawncrier. The sword was as cold as the surrounding air.
Within moments, the Scarlets arrived at the center crossroads of Corin's. Instantly, they all dismounted, weapons at the ready. Knights gripped their weapons tightly, archers stared down their bow, and the magi molded fire with their bare hands for the inevitable undead onslaught.
Except, there were no undead.
A dreary silence fell upon the Scarlets, waiting. Vivick, armed with a gigantic sword that rivaled the size of some houses, paced back and forth at the front of the formation, snarling. "Where are you!?" he yelled. "C'mon! I know you're 're!" Frustrated, the giant knight kicked at an innocent skull, sending it flying in the air like a ball. Not content with the skull, he swung his broadsword against the ground, shattering what remained of the scattered cobblestone and a few bones. Daellin, despite being appointed as the commanding officer for this detachment by Dathrohan himself, allowed Vivick to shout and vent his frustration. He was sure Vivick had no issue with this.
With no impending threat and Vivick on his little rampage, the Scarlets grew restless. Some investigated the dozens of abandoned carts and carriages that lined the sides of the roads. Once, these carts contained desirable goods like ores, now held nothing but dirt and cobwebs. The carriages, many of which designed and handcrafted by Lordaeron's finest craftsmen, were empty, save for a few still bones. Confused murmurs bounced from one soldier to the next. Daellin, as confused as the rest, continually scanned each road, looking for the reported Scourge.
Was the information wrong? Did the damned go somewhere else? Are they already at Tyr's?
Without warning, Daellin sensed a presence closing in on him. He tensed his grasp around Dawncrier and swung his body to whomever, or whatever, was coming.
"S-sorry for the s-scare, Sir Lightheart."
Daellin relented as Percy walked up to his side. The lanky lad was gripping a mace as tightly as a snake wraps around its prey. "My fault, friend," Daellin apologized. "Always need your wits about you in a situation like this."
Percy nodded, his small frame shuddered at the slight movement. "S-some of the archers and magi went down one of the roads to look for any undead," he said with confidence that was clearly feigned as he pointed down the westward road.
"Good, good," Daellin muttered as he relaxed his grasp on Dawncrier. "I will alert Lieutenant Vivick. I'll have a few squads check the other roads and the buildings."
"What the hell!?" Vivick roared as he lumbered up to Daellin, interrupting the calm discussion being held. "Corin's is brimming with hellspawn! Where the hell are they!?" His anger was directed at both the Scourge and Daellin. The brute lowered his gaze until he met Lightheart's eyes. "Was our intel off!?"
Undisturbed by his ally's demeanor and attitude, Daellin replied, "We cannot rule out the possibility that the undead have moved elsewhere, so we must act quickly. We did not encounter any Scourge on the eastward road on our way in, so let us split the legions north and south."
Vivick scoffed. "Splitting an already undersized unit? That will only bring ruin."
"Well, what do you suggest? You've been here several times already, yet the town remains scourged. You must be an expert," Daellin quickly retorted.
Vivick's already massive eyes grew larger, almost encompassing his entire face. If it were not for his helmet's visor, those raging orbs of frustration could have overflowed. "You-"
A noise interrupted the thought. Every living soul tensed, raising their weapons and defenses once again. The horses that were escorted to the side of the road and lassoed to some hitching posts whinnied, adding to the unexpected sounds that surrounded them. It was slow and light at first, like the gentle tapping on a window. Then, it grew in intensity.
A light sprinkle of rain fell from the cloudless sky. Daellin searched for any cloud that could have been the culprit for the rain, but did not see any. The droplets of rain gently caressed his cheeks and were warm to the touch. It was like any other rain that he had felt across his lifetime. If anything, it was a welcomed addition, as it dispersed the tension within his bones. After a few moments of letting the soft rain touch their armor, the Scarlets relented once again, basking in the soft mist that grew around them like an early morning fog.
"Very peculiar," Daellin muttered, still perplexed by the sudden drizzle on this cloudless day.
The rain must have cleansed Vivick's mindset as a calm demeanor fell over the giant. "Very well. I will take a few men up the north road for a quick look. We will rejoin at the crossroads within ten minutes."
Startled by Vivick's sudden clarity, Daellin nodded. "Light guide you."
Without another word, Vivick lumbered northward, bringing with him two dozen soldiers to protect his large flanks. The moment the lieutenant and his soldiers were out of sight from the main group, the remaining Scarlets found the nearest wall to lean against. They began to chat with one another about the most mundane things; the topic of the undead or the nature of their mission was the last thing on their minds. Two knights, both on the younger side, hopped in the driver's seat of a broken down carriage and pantomimed driving it through the busy streets of whatever city they imagined. Daellin, with his eyebrows furrowed and his nose crinkled, was perturbed by this display of indifference. It was like these men, soldiers assigned to his charge, did not respect their leadership or his leadership, but rather only respected Vivick's presence.
If Uther was here, they would not dare let their guard down. These yellow bellied fools would've been whipped into shape long before being sent out into the field. Light almighty, how the Silver Hand was far more prepared for these sorts of things than these naïve lads. As Daellin mulled over this, he noticed that Percy, the most inexperienced of them all, had taken position in the center of the southward road, waiting for further orders. Days ago when Percy Wheathand was curled up into a ball of tears at his feet, Daellin feared that the young man would not last long in this hellish world. Now, he admired how the lad was seemingly the only one seeking to carry out their mission.
Seeing Percy standing at attention motivated Daellin to execute his role as leading officer. "Attention, Scarlet Crusade!" he roared, "Fall into line, now! As the Light as our witness, we will fulfill our oath as protectors of the realm!"
The Scarlets all heard Daellin's impassioned order. They all stopped their nonchalant conversations, a few groaned and dragged their feet towards where Percy stood at attention. One knight made his displeasure with the command known as he spat on the dull road in Daellin's vicinity. After a few seconds, the Scarlets made two lazy lines, awaiting further directions.
Not all obeyed his order.
"Oy, Lightheart! What's the point in searchin'? Clearly there ain't any undead 'round 're!" one of the knights pretending to be a carriage driver called out. "Our asses are rough from the ride, let's have a rest 'til Lieutenant Vivick returns!"
"Yeah," the other driver added, "anyway, what authority does a pastor have over us?! Vivick has never let his men down!"
The thought of mentioning Vivick's three prior failed operations in Corin's Crossing crossed his mind, but Daellin held his tongue. The time for such juvenile banter was best saved for the bar, not on the field. Straightening his back, Daellin retorted, "On Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan's behalf, I am in charge here! Now, get your asses in line now!"
Both of the disobedient knights rolled their eyes. By now, the rest of the Scarlets had fallen into formation, leaving the two imaginary drivers of the broken carriage as the only holdouts. Seeing the rest of their comrades obeying Lightheart's command, the two knights gave each other a look. A devilish grin grew on each of their plump faces as they leaned back in the seat, plopping their feet up.
Growing furious, Daellin took a few steps towards the carriage, making sure to have Dawncrier brandished as much as possible. The gentle drizzle created a few shallow puddles that graced Dawncrier's steel like a knife through butter. The two unruly soldiers loudly snickered at Daellin's display of authority and fury. As the paladin drew closer, the pair's laughter grew, cascading into an ugly screeching duet.
The screeching stopped when each soldier felt a cold embrace on their fat cheeks. Before they could even react, their heads were slammed together with so much force that brain matter escaped from their mouths. Their two bodies, now conjoined where their heads once were, slowly drooped down. In their place, a pair of tattered, ghastly arms protruded from the carriage's body, waving about madly.
Daellin only had time to raise Dawncrier slightly before the owner of the tattered arms leapt out from the carriage, using the headless corpses as a springboard, aiming its sharp talons at the paladin. The beast's sharp claws, as shiny as any handcrafted dwarven blade, locked around Dawncrier. Daellin's whole body was pushed back from the tremendous weight pressing against his sword. As he strained, he glanced at the creature that tried its best to rip his sword away. It was an unholy combination of a man and a bat; it had a humanoid torso and a pair of scrawny legs, but its four arms were webbed to create two sets of veiny wings, all of which were clenched around his sword. Its eyes, so many that a spider would be proud, wrapped around a long snout in a cylindrical pattern, then tracked up to its wolf-like ears. In the midst of the struggle, Daellin had to dodge away from the creature snapping at his face with its terribly sharp teeth.
Daellin, grunting and trying to maintain his posture, strained his muscles to their limits. "Light, you are ugly!" he growled as he called upon his faith to grant him strength. He felt his legs grow more firm, as if they were planted into the earth, giving him the leverage he needed. He swung Dawncrier with all of his might, sending the creature sprawling away. The winged beast twitched and snapped its head in every direction, stunned that this mortal could launch it such a distance.
Immediately, Daellin launched a volley of Holy Light energy at the creature. The beast was a fraction of a second faster, leaping away from each bolt like a panicked frog. Every time the creature dodged, the impact from the Holy Light caused a radiant crater to erupt from the ground, consecrating the diseased and dead ground. If only he could land his mark, the creature would no longer be a nuisance.
After dodging the last bolt of radiant energy, the beast gave a shrill cry that sounded like a cross between a newborn baby and a cackling hyena. Suddenly, it flapped its webbed wings like a hatchling trying to fly for the first time. Within an instant, thanks to its chaotic flapping, it was ten feet in the air and dive bombing right at Daellin. "For fuck's sake!" Daellin swore as he instinctively pointed Dawncrier at the incoming creature. Simultaneously, a golden orb erupted from the blade, creating a divine shield.
With its many eyes, the beast saw the blade aimed squarely at its head. However, its momentum proved to be its own undoing. With an even greater impact than before, the flying beast impaled itself on Dawncrier, shrieking and sending rotten organs splattering all over. Thankfully, the divine shield protected Daellin from the guts and viscera. As Daellin lowered his sword, the bat-like creature slid off it, slower than molasses, then landed on the road with a wet plop.
Panting from the sudden engagement, Daellin stood over the creature with morbid curiosity. He admired his handiwork, but at the same time thanked the Light for reacting quickly. Otherwise, his face may have imploded just like the obnoxious soldiers that prioritized their imaginary carriage ride over orders. From behind, he heard a few slow claps joining the constant sound of rain.
"Great work, Lightheart!" Percy cried out as he jumped like a boy hearing that school was canceled. While not to Wheathand's level of excitement, many other Scarlets displayed their approval of Daellin dispatching the creature. Only a few, mostly the uptight magi, showed coldness.
As the applause died out, leaving only the sound of rain tapping on the cobbled road, Daellin caught his breath. "Right," Daellin began as he flicked Dawncrier, riding it of any vile blood, "as I was saying-"
Daellin's ears twitched. He felt a tug at his essence, as if the Holy Light itself was pulling him somewhere. He strained his hearing, listening for something, anything. He pushed away the rhythmic rain, trying to find what the Light was trying to show him.
There.
It sounded similar to the tapping of the rain, but it was heavier. There, another one. And still, more.
Daellin's face grew grave. "Brace yourselves!"
The Scarlets had but a moment to ready their weapons before dozens of undead jumped out from the alleyways. Their guttural screeches were met with terrified gasps. In the initial attack, a handful of Scarlets were already pinned down against the damp ground, ripped to bloody shreds. The majority, thankfully, reacted just in time to deflect any claw, talon, blunted blade, or sharp tool. As the magi and archers launched volleys of fireballs and arrows to defend themselves from the sudden onslaught, Daellin ducked his head and ran towards the Scarlets, slashing at any undead monstrosity that dared to challenge him.
"Defensive formation!" Daellin called out as he ran Dawncrier through the side of a ghoul, slaying it instantly. "Form up now!"
His voice was drowned out by the undeads' growls and shrieks like a message in a bottle lost at sea. The Scarlets, not receiving Lightheart's order, continued to struggle against the damned. One soldier, an older man with a beard poking out from his helm, was pushed against the wall of a building by a horde of pygmy ghouls. Crawling on all fours and only measuring up to the man's shins, the ghouls snapped at his ankles. The toddler-sized ghouls must have terrorized the soldier so much that the man lost grip of his sword, giving the ghouls an opening. Within a moment, he was swallowed under a mound of tiny predators.
Sensing the situation getting out of hand, Daellin had to think quickly. With the latest slain ghoul's ichor still dripping from his blade, he rushed forwards into the fray, roaring, leaving most of his detachment behind. Ahead of him, the Scourge glared at him with their dead eyes- at least, those with eyes still attached. As if they were stunned by Daellin's sudden decision to charge forward, they stood still, chomping with their broken jaws. But only for a moment.
Five skeletons lumbered to take Daellin head on. They were not holding any weapons to challenge the paladin; instead, their skeletal arms were finely sharpened to the point that they rivaled the Crusade's own blades. With the distance between the two opposing forces rapidly closing, Daellin took the first move. Using the slick ground to his advantage, Daellin ducked and slid underneath the first volley of skeletal blades. In an effortless motion, he slashed across the skeletons' exposed legs. Three instantly were struck down, as if whatever necromantic energy that kept their bones together was severed, while two remained. They quickly jabbed at Daellin, still on his knees, only for the experienced paladin to roll away from the attacks. As he got back up to his feet, he noticed the loose set of skeletal bones at his feet. Without giving his undead adversaries a moment, he bent down and flicked one of the sharpened bones at the remaining skeletons, aiming at their heads.
Two skeletons, one bone.
Daellin only had time to summon a brief smirk to celebrate his improvised victory as more undead were quickly closing in on him. As they shambled towards him, contorting their horrifically broken bodies in every way imaginable, Daellin prepared for the next encounter in this seemingly endless battle. "For Light's sake!" he shouted as he gripped Dawncrier. The sword agreed with its master as it roared in intense heat. However, he was not alone to face the endless waves of undead.
"For the Crusade!"
From behind Lightheart, waves of Scarlets charged forward, swords and maces held high, with Lieutenant Vivick at the forefront. Reinforcements! From what Daellin could tell, Vivick's soldiers were able to destroy the initial wave of undead that had caught them by surprise. With relief in his heart that the full Scarlet force was reunited and willing to take on these vile creatures, Daellin found the resolve to join his allies in their forward charge.
Vivick, being the large brute as he was, served as a battering ram through the Scourge. He swung his arms, the size of uncut logs, haphazardly, destroying any undead that had the misfortune in encountering the lieutenant. No doubt, Vivick demolishing the undead like a boulder rolling down a mountain inspired the rest of the Scarlets. Steel, fire, and Light flew up and down the street, finding their marks.
With the Scarlets in full swing, Daellin found it easier to destroy the undead. A ghoul, more man than undead in appearance, met Dawncrier's fiery tip, bisecting the undead without any resistance. As the singed undead collapsed to the ground, Daellin turned to Vivick and called out, "Thank the Light for your timeliness, Vivick!"
"Hah!" Vivick laughed as he punched the rotten visage of an undead that had the displeasure of being close to the raging bull, beheading the undead in an instant. "I couldn't miss the chance ta' kill these bastards!" The Scarlet lieutenant demonstrated the validity of his statement when he pitched the beheaded undead's corroded head at a nearby skeleton, dismantling the Scourge. Vivick proudly shouted to the heavens, marveling in his own variation of a ball game children would play in courtyards.
The few dozen undead that had ambushed the Scarlets were eventually disposed of, leaving only ash and bones in their wake. As the embers of battle settled and cooled, Daellin stood on top a small mound of slain Scourge, their wicked bodies still smoldering from Dawncrier's radiant energy. The light rain tried its best to extinguish the blade's handiwork, but failed. Daellin took this lull in battle to catch his breath. It had been a while since he had fought this many Scourge outside the protective walls of Tyr's Hand, so his chest was rapidly rising and falling. Yet, despite his mortal body with decades of years on it saying otherwise, he felt content.
"W-well done, Sir Lightheart! Well d-done!"
Percy, shaking to his core, sheepishly walked up to Daellin's small mountain of slain undead. The young man's armor was far more clean than the rest of the Scarlet soldiers, with only a few traces of ichor and black blood splattered across his chestplate. "Your quick thinking saved us!"
Daellin feigned a smile and softly nodded. "I thank you, Sir Wheathand. We all did well." His words were devoid of confidence, as if the battle had sucked out any energy he had. Instead, his blade made up for it as a wave of golden and crimson flames flickered around the tip. Percy's eyes, once locked onto Daellin, were now entranced by the sword, letting the flames speak their truth.
"A questionable observation," Vivick's gravelly voice echoed throughout the ruined street. "With our separated units, the damned had the upper hand on you and your men. We could've had fewer casualties if we had stayed together." The rotund lieutenant walked up to Daellin, their eyes at the same level, even though Daellin was standing on a pile of undead. Dawncrier responded first with a sharp flick of flame.
With narrowed eyes, Daellin replied, "Weren't you in agreement to separate the unit to locate the Scourge? Seems hypocritical to say otherwise."
Vivick swiped away the remark with his pudgy hand. "And to that, we still haven't found the reported Scourge unit. This," he gestured to the slain undead, "was nothing if the information from the Grand Crusader is to be believed." He then turned to Percy, shaking even more-so in his boots. "I've fought the damned more times than I can count. What we faced here was nothing in scale to the report."
Percy gulped and took a timid step back, letting the two commanding officers go at it. "Then we will continue looking for them, Lieutenant," Daellin flatly stated, not backing down from Vivick's glare.
Vivick's bulgy throat rumbled as his veins tightened. The large Scarlet looked Daellin up and down, taking in every detail in the paladin's appearance. "Look at you, standing tall like you're Mograine or Uther, so high and mighty."
Daellin snapped, "Ten minutes of rest, lieutenant, then we finish our mission." Dawncrier was even more firm as a small flame flickered up the blade.
"Aye," Vivick leered, then lumbered away. Once the bull was in the midst of the remaining Crusaders, he hollered, "Scarlet Crusade! Five minutes, then we continue our reconnaissance!"
With Vivick out of his presence, Daellin finally walked off the mound of undead he built with his sword. "That bastard," he muttered, still heated from not only the battle against the damned, but also against the lieutenant. Dawncrier, too, was still burning with rage, making every droplet of rain around it instantly turn to steam.
Percy emerged from the hole he dug himself in to avoid Vivick and stuttered, "I-I-I do see a little Uther in you, sir. In a-a good way, of course. S-so much p-power, s-so much faith."
Daellin smirked and even let a frail laugh escape his lips. "You're too kind, Percy."
The mention of his mentor sent Daellin's heart writhing. It felt as hot as Dawncrier as it tossed and turned in his chest. Is this what you would have done, master? Am I the same bastion of righteousness, delivering the Light's justice with the utmost conviction, as you were? Every mortal man, regardless of banner, would follow your every word, and yet, here I am…
Daellin's breathing grew as erratic as his heart. The light rain around him turned into a fog of haze, the sounds of the Scarlets turned mute. Two beads of sweat pooled around his hairline, then cascaded down the bridge of his nose. With each passing moment, his body grew hotter, matching Dawncrier's intensity. Overcome and his muscles failing him, the paladin fell to one knee, using Dawncrier as a crutch to keep him upright. He gleaned around his surroundings, trying to find something, anything, that looked familiar. However, the fringes of his vision swirled with blues, whites, and reds, creating a colorful vortex that swallowed his eyes.
But he did feel something around him. Through his blurry vision, he could make out the vague outline of a small, frail man. "Percy," he muttered, his words soft as a patriarchal grandfather on his deathbed. He could see the outline trying to comfort him and frantically saying something. However, the only thing Daellin could hear was a distant chiming. "Fight it…fight it…" he grumbled as he gritted his teeth.
Embrace it.
"Never!"
The declaration of defiance cleared his vision for a moment, as if pulling loose threads away from his eyes. The vortex of colors dissipated, leaving only the slight haze of rain in its wake. He traced Percy's body, finding the young man's panicked eyes looking back. The young man said something, but Lightheart did not register what. Instead, his eyes wandered away from Percy's pale face, as if they were being tugged a certain way. In the distance, down the southward road, he could make out the vague outline of a figure. It was a ways away, and his eyes were still drowned in sweat, so it was difficult to identify who, or what, it was.
A moment passed and more figures appeared on the road. After another moment, there were countless of varying sizes. Soon enough, the entire road was flooded with shambling bodies and guttural groans. Even in his current state, Daellin could tell what was transpiring. As if choking on blood, he shouted, "Scourge!"