"I cannot help but notice that you showed no surprise at the nature of my mount or my guardian," Necri remarked as conversationally to the Dwarf as she could, trying to distract herself from the grinding sensations of her shattered ribs. She nearly stumbled with every step, her torn muscles barely able to support the movement.
The Dwarf shot a sidelong glance at Galarax. "We've seen you Warlocks before. It's all the same t'us anyway. All these 'immortal' beings, whether they're angels, undead, elementals, or demons... they all got their own plots and goals that aren't necessarily good news for us dirt-walkers. You magical types summon 'em and bind 'em down so they follow your orders, but we only have your word that you know what you're doin'."
The Dwarf was agitated now, and he kicked a rock as he walked. "I don't care whether you're a paladin, a mage, or whatever. It's dangerous all the same. But so long as you're helping keep the Scourge down, we'll tolerate you and smile while we're doin' it." The look he gave Necri was actually more of a grimace, but she nodded anyway, thankful for at least that level of acceptance.
Without raising her voice or turning her head, Necri inflected her whisper with a commanding tone. "Galarax, await my orders from the Nether." The demon faded wordlessly from view, and the Dwarves seemed to relax slightly.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, but it didn't take long to reach the tower. It was built of solid, white stone, and stood perhaps forty feet in height. Several tents clustered around its base, and a rusted iron gate hung like a set of fangs over the square doorway leading into its dark interior.
"You'll want t'go see Miss Redpath to get those wounds taken care of." The Dwarf jabbed a finger at the largest of the tents before disappearing into the tower.
Necri made her slow and laborious way over to the tent; a ramshackle canvas affair held up by crooked wooden beams. Hesitating only briefly, she ducked through its narrow doorway. Inside, a middle-aged human woman dressed in white robes tended to a number of wounded soldiers. Such was her focus that it was several minutes before she even noticed Necri's presence.
When she did, her body went rigid, and her eyes widened in fear as she took in the undead's missing skin and torn flesh. Reflexively, she tried to hide the reaction, but the tension in her body and her words betrayed her discomfort. "Well, there's only one reason that -your- kind would show up here," she said stiffly. "Please remove your…" she eyed Necri's damaged wrappings, "…clothing, and lie down on that bench there."
Necri leaned her scythe against one of the tent's support beams, and began pulling the ruined cloth off her body. "You're Miss Redpath?" she asked quietly.
"Well, it's Sister Jessica now, but yes, that's right. I'm….," her voice trailed off . She fidgeted and tried not to look directly at Necri.
Necri had little in the way of empathy, but she could sense the awkwardness building in the tent. If she was to get anything useful from this meeting, she would have to diffuse the situation. She tried the polite approach. "My apologies. I do not wish to make you feel uncomfortable, but I require healing if I am to continue my journey." She continued to peel the ichor-stained shreds of cloth from her skin.
"It's … okay. I'm just… my family…"
"…were killed by the Scourge?" Necri guessed dryly, letting the final bits of her wrappings fall to the ground. "And now the Forsaken remind you of the Scourge's ghouls?" A mute nod was her answer.
"If it makes you feel any better, these wounds came from a Scourge knight's runeblade. It actually thought it could use -me- against the living. That weapon now lies shattered and broken on the bridge."
Jessica's head snapped up, the fear instantly replaced by shock. "You… what!"
Necri nodded in confirmation. "I understand from your Dwarven patrol that the blade once belonged to…"
"Marduk the Black!" The interruption was delivered with tearful vehemence. "The bastard that corrupted and killed my father. If it hadn't been for him, Darrowshire might never have fallen, and my family..." She buried her face in her hands.
"…might still be alive," Necri finished softly.
Another silent nod, with tears leaking between her fingers.
Necri waited patiently while Jessica slowly composed herself with several deep, shaky breaths. "I will help you," the Priestess finally managed. "For what small amount of closure you have brought me, you more than deserve whatever I am able to give."
With that, she reached out to touch Necri's savaged torso, overcoming her obvious revulsion with a determined effort of will. A glow surrounded her fingertips, quickly flaring around her entire hand.
Now it was Necri's turn to steel herself against recoiling. She had not often felt the touch of the Light, and she had been the recipient of its aggression just as often as its restoration.
The Light was a powerful force that answered to the beliefs, morals and willful direction of its user. If the caster thought of you as an evil or unnatural creature in need of 'involuntary purification', the Light could blind you and burn your flesh to ash. But if you were the Light-wielder's friend or ally, then it could heal any wound and cure any disease, no matter how dire or deadly. Either way, you had to believe completely in your purpose, or be unable to call upon its power.
As an undead creature, pinned to the world through magics arcane and demonic, there were many people who considered Necri to be unnatural and in need of purification; the Scarlet Crusade was hardly the only organization throughout history to hold this view. Necri had been on the receiving end of such efforts more than once. The Church of the Holy Sun in Strom had been particularly unforgiving of her choices.
She forced herself to relax as she felt the warmth spread from her side, knitting bone and sinew back together until only a series of black, jagged scars remained.
She caught Jessica's brief frown and touched the scar. "It is the nature of the bargain I made for my life; no wound ever completely heals. Even when subjected to the Light." She had tested that fact during her early days of undeath, hoping that it would have formed an 'exception' to the bargain. After all, no demon had ever been shown to have any power or control over the Light - it seemed to be an ability possessed only by mortals.
At least she was able to move properly again. "Thank you. It is greatly appreciated."
"You'll need new ... clothing, won't you?" Jessica asked quietly, eyeing the shreds of Necri's wrappings.
Necri sighed inwardly, surveying the damaged fabric, and came to the same conclusion. "I don't suppose you would have any merchants here?" She wasn't looking forward to showing up half-naked in Silvermoon City.
An emphatic shake of Jessica's head interrupted Necri's question. "I will give you my spare set. I put it together when I was up in Winterspring, when I was training to become a Priestess of the Light. I had these grand plans of becoming a traveling adventurer and making my fortune. That was before I realized that what I really wanted to do was come back here and help to free Darrowshire from the remains of the Scourge."
Jessica crossed the tent and bent down before a low chest. From around her neck, she pulled a long leather loop, on the end of which dangled a flashing key. Unlocking the chest, she pulled out a mass of neatly-folded, dark green cloth. The material was like wool, but lighter and more finely knit than any wool that Necri had ever known. Metallic glints flickered within it, and Necri could sense its enchantments even without extending her arcane senses.
Jessica shook out the dust and folds, and handed each piece to Necri, all the while explaining in her quiet, wavering voice what had happened to her family, and to the town of Darrowshire.
She had lived in the small town with her parents and younger sister. Her mother had died soon after Pamela's birth, leaving her father, who was captain of the town guard, to look after the two girls. It wasn't an easy or idyllic life by any measurement, and eventually Jessica decided to leave the town and travel across the sea. This choice saved her life.
What happened next, she knew only through the stories of others. The Scourge had swept over the Darrowmere Forest, led from a floating ziggurat in the north by the Lich King's lieutenant, the undead mage Kel'Thuzad. Over the course of mere months, the beautiful forest had been blackened and twisted into the Plaguelands. Darrowshire had been one of the last holdouts, surviving tenaciously even though the militia was completely cut off from the great armies of the Alliance.
Captain Joseph Redpath stood at the head of every defensive line, his sword and shield held high, his exhausted, rag-tag troop bolstered by his strength, his very presence. Every attack of the Scourge, no matter how overwhelming, was turned aside. Entire hills of destroyed skeletons and zombies were put to the torch to prevent them being raised, once again, into the Lich King's service.
It was not until Marduk the Black, one of Arthas' death knights, thundered into the battle and used his terrible runeblade to corrupt Joseph's noble soul, that Darrowshire finally fell to the onslaught. The defeated militia were then resurrected as agents of the Scourge, and used to slaughter the town's residents, including Jessica's sister. Only a very few managed to escape.
Much later, Marduk and his forces were destroyed by a stalwart company of Dwarven warriors who had come to drive back the Scourge. But the damage, from Jessica's point of view, had already been done. The vaunted Alliance had failed to protect Darrowshire, and so on her return, she had joined forces with the Argent Dawn.
The tale ended as Necri stood up, now fully clad in the green clothing. Over the long-sleeved shirt and belted pants was a long tunic, its material and enchantments layered thickly for protection. Tall, leather-soled boots covered her calves and knees, and gloves of similar appearance covered her hands and lower arms. Over all of this, a hooded cloak settled into place, its material laced with further enchantments designed to deflect spells and arrows. While in no way equivalent to a suit of metal armour, the ensemble would provide considerable defense for someone like Necri, who would have been unable to cast spells or perform rituals in anything so heavy as mail or steel plate.
"I hope you find the answers, and the peace, you are looking for," Jessica said, keeping her still-damp eyes downcast.
"I hope the same for you," Necri whispered. "I thank you for this gift."
Again Jessica shook her head. "T'is no gift. You earned it."
With a silent nod of respect and acknowledgment, Necri took up her scythe and stepped out of the tent into the bustle of the tower's grounds. Crossing the courtyard to her Felsteed, she mounted in a smooth motion and rode off at a gallop down the hill, avoiding any further contact with the Argent soldiers. At the bottom of the slope, she turned north, along the road.
Her mood subdued by the Priestess's story, she was nevertheless glad to be once again moving toward her goal. In the cloudy distance rose the craggy Thalassian Mountains. Hidden beyond them lay Quel'thalas, the land of the Blood Elves.