The rolling fields of Lordaeron were now called the Plaguelands. A viscous brown haze hovered over rotting vegetation, polluted the rivers choked with bodies, and masked the monstrous creatures that now called it home. Huge maggots crawled across the countryside, feasting on rotting remains. Former towns seethed with Scourge forces, mindlessly patrolling for their master.
Beneath the tangles of the dead bushes, Hilde crouched, her eyes scanning the road. Her felhound gave a soft whimper next to her. The young warlock was nearly skeletal-thin, her hair tangled and matted, her clothing tattered. Since that long-ago night when she'd fled Stormwind, she'd haunted the Plaguelands, slaughtering Scourge wherever she found them. The few uninfected adventurers to cross her path were butchered for their supplies.
A howl echoed from the road. Hilde shifted her sword, gripping the hilt. An orc appeared, his wolf mount staggering in exhaustion. Two abominations swam out of the murk, giving chase. She watched impassively as their hooks swung out, dragging the orc off his mount. The wolf's rattling cry rang out. The orc swung desperately, his axe beheading one behemoth. The second gurgled and hacked. The orc fell, crying loudly.
Hilde bolted upright, dashing to the road. Her felhound launched upwards, biting at the abomination's face. Her lips moved, summoning fire. The abomination roared, the flames eating into its stitched flesh. Hilde spun, her blade slicing the corrupted form into pieces.
The orc stared at her. Hilde flicked the blade, her eyes measuring the downed form. Her felhound growled softly. She tilted her head, taking in the full packs on the mount. Taking a firmer grip on her sword, she hacked off the orc's head.
Hilde worked quickly, stripping the body of food and water, tucking the supplies in her own bags before setting fire to the corpses. It did not pay to linger around the fallen in this land of death. Snapping her fingers, she melted back into the underbrush, her demon frisking around her.
There was no thought in this land, only killing and the sharp scent of rotten flesh exploding beneath the blade. Nothing mattered. She'd even managed to get into the ruins of her old school, and had slain all who remained. Vaguely, she knew several had even recognized her before her shadow bolts had brought them down.
Hilde stopped against the bole of a rotten tree, panting slightly. She slipped her fingers to the bandage on her left arm, unwinding the soaked cloth. The edges of the gash were green, the flesh beneath swollen and bleeding. She twisted the cap off the stolen water bottle, spilling some of the precious liquid over the burning wound. It cooled slightly, enough to be able to re-wrap it tightly out of sight.
She staggered on in the endless empty twilight, approaching the outskirts of Corin's Crossing. At the first few flickers in the gloom, she licked her burning lips, tightening her hand on her sword. A motion, and her felhound bounded out. His rasping growl brought a bleak smile to her lips, as she charged forward, sending curses flying. The small knot of ghouls scattered a moment too slowly. With her felhound to keep them from calling help, she burned them all to cinders.
Trembling, she forced herself to skirt the town and lake for the relative safety of the nearby hills. Once clear of the main Scourge paths, Hilde sank down, leaning hard against a jutting outcropping. Since her injury nearly a month ago, she'd been getting weaker and weaker. She tried shoving some of the orc's food in her mouth, managing to chew and swallow a few bites before gagging. Her felhound gave a soft growl and wormed beneath her arm, its tentacles gently patting her arm below the bandage.
"I won't fall to them," she panted. She stared upwards, towards where the sun should be shining far to the south. Desperate tears slid from her eyes. "I will make you proud of me."
The soft rustle of the leave were her only warning. Hilde threw herself sideways, shoving her felhound off to the side. A swarm of ghouls raced through the brush, their gore-coated nails slashing at her face. She rolled, heart racing, feeling the demon blood burn and focus her concentration. Her clawed hands met theirs, rending their flesh. Panting and growling, she smashed and ripped, her only focus the destruction of the forms before her.
When the last rotted body fell, Hilde fell to her knees, her body heaving vainly. Every time the demonic rush left her, she was weaker then before. She pressed her face against the tepid ground, gashing her skin against the sharp rocks. The pain allowed her to focus, enough to drag herself once more to her feet and stumble into the brush.
A slight dimming of the haze told her night was approaching. Hilde shivered despite the fetid warmth, her left arm hanging useless at her side. She could just make out a few weathered buildings looming in the haze ahead, and forms flitting between them. Her right hand squeezed the hilt of her naked sword. Her felhound looked up with a soft urrr.
"We will keep killing as long as we can," she whispered, feeling a last push boiling inside her. "If it looks like I am about to fall, kill me Jh'doom."
She broke out of the trees, a desperate howl bursting from her chest. The forms scattered around her. The surroundings whirled as she slashed with the sword, the strangely unmarked bodies dancing away from her blade. She finally focused on a large figure off to the side, lunging forward towards it with a cry.
The world spun as a massive golden flash sent her flying. Hilde crashed to the ground, her entire body screaming with pain. She thrashed weakly, trying to find her feet, as the dark shapes surrounded her.
"Sleep," a voice whispered. Hilde gasped, her eyes shutting against her will, her consciousness fleeing into the void.
The first sensation was of coolness on her face. Hilde kept her eyes closed, savoring the rare sensation. Slowly, she became aware of a scratchy fabric tickling her chin, and soft linens underneath her fingers. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Weathered and scratched timbers met her view. She was staring at a vaulted ceiling, dappled with colors from a stained glass window somewhere to the left. Torches flickered on the walls. She rolled her head, finally gazing at the figure seated next to the bed. It was a large man, fully armored, with graying hair and a full beard. His eyes reminded her vaguely of Christof's, so long ago next to Darrowmere Lake.
"Welcome back to the Light, little sister," he said. Hilde chuckled weakly, turning her eyes back to the ceiling.
"Another paladin. Just my luck." She sighed. "Just where am I?"
"You are at Light's Hope Chapel, the headquarters of the Argent Crusade. I am Tirion Fordring. I am the leader here."
"I tried to kill you, didn't I? Sorry about that, I thought you were Scourge."
"Obviously," he said dryly. "You've been in the Plaguelands a long time. That wound you had was infected. Our healers managed to purge the infection, or you would have died."
"You may as well have let the infection finish the job."
"I think you know what happens when that particular infection runs its course," Fordring said softly. "And I don't think your felhound would have been able to end your undeath as you may have hoped." He tilted his head. "You seem awfully young to be chasing death."
"The world is a cruel place. Does it matter why anyone does anything?"
"Why don't you tell me about why you decided to take up residence in the Plaguelands. Not very successfully either, I may add."
Hilde snorted. "I've slain my share of Scourge, and cleaned out a cultist nest in Scholomance. That's successful enough."
"Such successes never last very long. Not while the traitor Prince lives. His minions spring up endlessly. All our efforts here are simple stopgap measures to stay his advance."
"Fine," Hilde sighed. She leaned back on the pallet, letting the words flow. Only the flickering torches marked the passage of time. As she finally trailed off, Fordring gave a soft whistle.
"You are like many of those in the Crusade, little sister. We are those who have lost everything to the Scourge. All we have is our honor, and our determination to end this war. We serve the Light in the hope that our sacrifice will bring peace to the fallen."
Hilde chuckled. "I am about as far away from the Light as you can get. I am part demon, after all. I've killed people and enjoyed it." She turned her head, staring at the wall. "I shamed the one person who showed me kindness in my entire life."
"I doubt that," Fordring said. "If anything, paladin Christof instilled quite a sense of honor in you. In the end, that is all we have. Our honor and our integrity, beyond anything else, shapes who we are. We have other warlocks here in the service of the Crusade. We have priests who are cold-blooded killers, and rogues who cry every time they have to end someone's suffering. Your sense of honor drove you to uphold your sense of justice on one who wronged you. And for that one act, you have amply atoned. How long will you torture yourself needlessly?"
"I don't know what to do," Hilde whispered.
"You have a long recovery ahead of you, little sister, but the Crusade can be home. We need fighters like you to champion the cause. Think about it." Fordring stood, patting Hilde's shoulder. "As long as Arthas stands, we will fight, for all those who have suffered and died needlessly."
