OOC (OOS?): Hello everyone. I want to keep these segments where I am posting as short as possible so as to not distract from the main story. Firstly, while as of this posting, I have only four reviews, of which three have given very good advise. I am taking the constructive criticism to heart, I assume you, and plan to use it when I start to write again. However, the story that you are reading now was made a while ago on a different site. I have chosen to keep the original story intact as much as possible, bad grammar included, out of respect for the original. The next segment (after this one) should be the last of the original story, however, and hopefully as I work to expand it beyond the original scope, I will be able to show that I respect the advise and am trying to follow it.
Secondly, I am not intending to end this story soon. I am currently planning to drastically increase the length of the original story beyond the original five-section piece it originally was (I combined 2 and 3 last chapter due to 3 being too short as it only dealt with Whitemane and the High Crusader). I have much respect for the public who choose to read stories and have personally been highly aggravated in the past with stories that have been suddenly dropped with no warning and do not plan to do the same with this. Even if I miss a week, I promise I will give the story a proper ending marked clearly for all to see. With that, enjoy!
One year had passed since the day Whitemane had left the confines of her prison cell. One year since she had joined the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade as the young and powerful apprentice of High Inquisitor Fairbanks. Now nineteen years of age, Whitemane was a different woman from the raw recruit of only a year ago. Gone were the simple robes and garb of a fresh, innocent, soul, replaced by the Crimson red body suit and tabard of a higher ranked priestess of the Crusade. Woven into the front of her tabard in thread of gold by the finest of the tailors within the crusade, stitched together with needle so fine that it could not be controlled by hand and, instead, had to be carefully guided through it's loops by the spells of a magician, was golden wings and form of the divine beings of heaven. An angel, who's light shone down the tabard to its very hem, as if shining upon the dirt under her foot.
It was a huge step up from the simple white and red garb of the common soldier and priest. A sign of superiority and power. Something that commanded the attention of those same soldiers who wore only the common robes who flanked either side of the young priestess now. They were kneeling before her, their hands clasped together in whispered prayer as Whitemane stood at their front, standing tall.
Gone was the hallowed halls of the monastery where she had spent the past year training and learning under the tutelage of High Inquisitor Fairbanks. Gone was the massive stone walls and cathedral pillars that towered high overhead, overwhelming and filling the very soul of the priestess to the point of overflowing with the power of their majesty.
Now, in its place, a simple tent of cloth with the scarlet emblem of the Crusade painted upon the canvas siding served as the spiritual center of the Crusade. The once hallowed halls had been emptied, nearly evacuated with every man, woman, and child that could lift a sword having been brought along. At long last, the Crusade had its chance to oust the undead from Lordaeron, and they did not intend to fail.
When the Scourge had first appeared upon the lands of Azeroth, several cities had quickly and quietly fallen into the plague of undeath. It had moved quietly throughout the lands, carried by shipments of infested grains that were spread among the towns and cities of the North until, at last, they had accumulated within the city of Stratholme. Despite the best efforts of those few whom knew of the infested grains, the city had fallen almost overnight to the plague of the undead. Now, it served as one of the two centers of the undead within Azeroth. The once proud city, as mighty as the pure white bastions of Stormwind far to the south whom now served as the sole center for humanity within the eastern lands, was now over-run with the undead monsters. To take it back, it would be the single greatest blow possible to the Scourge.
As of now, the Crusade had mobilized in its entirety to smash into the city and reclaim it. Now, the force of zealots stood encamped outside of a small chapel nestled just outside of the undead city that had been dubbed 'Light's Hope'. The sole remaining member of the cloth within the chapel, a young woman named Jessica Chambers, had refused to allow the Crusade use of the building. Normally, the Crusade would have simply smashed its was inside the building and taken it over, killing Chambers in the process if she resisted. However, the High Crusader had struck a deal with the woman. The Crusade would be allowed to use the chapel, but only for the leaders to discuss strategy. The rest of the crusade, however would be prohibited from entering. Any member seeking to commune with the light for prayer before the battle had come to a special tent for such purposes. A purpose that Whitemane intended to ensure was fulfilled.
Whitemane strode down the center isle of the chapel tent, her hands spread out to each side and softly touching the heads of each member of the Crusades head as she repeated, from memory, prayers that Fairbanks had taught her.
"The Light is my guardian, I shall desire no more. It shall lead me unto the unplauged lands, and it shall guide me to the clear-flowing waters. It shall restore my soul from the darkness and guide me down the path of vengeance in the holy name of the Light. Even though I stride through the land infested with undeath, I shall not fear them, for the light is with me. The sword and the healing of the light shall be my sanctuary. Our tables will be filled with the blessings of the holy, even though monsters rage around us. We have been chosen for the light, and we will follow its call as it blesses us. Holiness and Justice will follow us upon our path, and the Light shall reign over Azeroth for ever."
Her words were well practiced, carrying with them the tone of confidence within her faith. The faith she believed would carry her, along with the rest of the Crusade, to drive the undead menace from her homeland once and for all. She passed down the aisle twice more, reciting prayers in earnest to guide the men upon the path of the Light.
The service was over but a few moments later as the men filed out of the tent. As soon as the last one had left, Sally took a deep breath… and left it out in a sloppy sigh as she collapsed to the ground, her legs and arms spread out wide in exhaustion.
"Sally? Sally Whitemane?" a older male voice came from outside the tent. The calm and fatherly tone told the priestess instantly whom it was. She took a deep breath before she sat upright.
"Yes Father Fairbanks?" she asked, answering in a respectful tone. The older man entered into the tent. Just as when she had first seen the man a year ago, on the day she had joined the crusade, the man was garbed in the red and golden robes of a High Inquisitor. His black hair, still cut in the style of a proper monk, had remained unchanged as had almost every manner of his body. Fairbanks smiled softly and walked over to the young priestess, offering her his hand.
"Just stopping by to see how my little apprentice is doing." He said, rubbing her hair softly with his free hand as Whitemane grabbed his other hand and pulled herself into a standing position.
"I'm doing just fine father." She said with a soft sigh. A moment later, a soft kiss came down upon the very top of her head. Whitemane looked up at the holy father, a confused look on her face. She enjoyed the company of the man indeed, but had always viewed him as a father or teacher. Not something she would associate a kiss with.
"Father, what was that?" she started, confused. The elder man laughed slightly as he rubbed her shoulders softly and in a friendly manner.
"Sally. You've grown strong in the light, my dear. So very strong." Said the elder calmly. After a moment, he sighed softly and stepped outside of the chapel tent, Whitemane following right behind him. Outside of the tent, hundreds upon hundreds of tents lay splayed out in perfect rank and file. Weapon racks lined the passages between the tents, their wares visible for all to see. Many of the soldiers were busy, readying themselves for battle.
"The battle won't be long now." Said Fairbanks. "We only need the marching order from the High Crusader and we march. Sally. The Light has been strange. For three years now, almost three years, it has been distant from me. I've been able to ignore it so far, to find the guidance I need within its radiance, but it's fading. Now, as I look out over this camp, I can't help but sense that a shadow has fallen upon our order."
"No." said Whitemane. "Don't say such things! We're a strong order! The light favors us! We have driven back the undead time and time again! We've smashed through their holds and barriers time and time again. Where once there was only death, we've sown life!"
"Of course. That's not what I meant. I have no doubt that the light will prevail. It always has in the past, and will once again. But Sally… The Crusade has grown dim to me. Sally, my time is coming soon. I know it. It might even come before this battle is over."
Whitemane looked at her master, her eyes wide in shock and horror. "Don't say such things! The light is our power! Our bastion! Those strong in the light will never fall into the shadows! You are stronger then me! Far stronger! The Light hums and sings within you. You cannot fall to this… undeath!"
The High Inquisitor looked at his young charge, shaking his head in a sad manner. It was clear he did not agree with what his young charge said just now. "Oh Sally. All this time and effort. Have you really learned nothing? You still do not understand. Maybe you never will. I would have thought the books that I had given you enough to figure it out. Ah well. That isn't why I came to you; to give you another boring lecture. I came to you… To tell you that you are to succeed me as the High Inquisitor when I am gone."
Whitemane nodded her head dutifully. "As you wish, master. I will try my har-"
! The bellow of a rams horn shook the air over the camp with its mighty tone. The two priests instantly snapped upright, both slightly startled, and in anticipation. It was the call for battle. Whitemane and Fairbanks looked at each other regretfully. Their conversation would have to wait. The two quickly returned to their tents, each grabbing any last items they needed for battle, such as Whitemane's staff, and rushed to the meeting grounds to join up with the rest of the Crusade.
The army was arrayed for battle by the time the two joined with the massive army. Soldiers armed with swords and crimson shields, fighting alongside mounted horsemen whom had the side banners of their steeds painted with the same crimson hue to form a ocean of red. An ocean of blood. At the front of the army rode the Grand Crusader, mounted on a dashing white stallion, bread for battle.
He rode past the ranks of soldiers, a proud look in his eye. It was a moment of triumph for him! He spoke as he rode past the gathered legion of crusaders.
"MEN!" he bellowed out, his massive voice passing over the cloud like a might wave of power. As he spoke, Whitemane's breast swelled with pride! It was finally going to happen! At long last, the undead were to be driven from her homeland. Her world. It was the culmination of her dreams, the very reason she had joined the Crusade. "We all have lost something to the undead; lost out lands, our homes, our loved ones! We have given up whatever hope we have for living in peace, because we know that rolling over and letting the Scourge have its way with us is no better then being in a living death. We will not let our homes, our lands, our very world suffer at the hands of this menace! And today, we are strong enough at last to hold true to our vows as crusaders! There are two strongholds of undead within Azeroth. The foul lair of the Forsaken whom make their home in the sewers of what was once our kingdom, and this place that lies before us now. We will charge into Stratholme. We will smash through their barriers and their defenses. We will ride them underfoot, their skulls shattered by our might. For Lordaeron! For the Crusade!" he yelled out as loudly as he could, a steel blade raised high over his head.
"FOR LORDAERON! FOR THE CRUSADE!" bellowed back the gathered army as they raised their own swords and shields high into the air, clambering them loudly in response. Whitemane herself yelled and cheered, swept up in the moment. As she cheered, faint wisps of shadow and darkness flowed softly around her eyes as a faint voice whispered softly in her heart, encouraging her ever so softly to cheer along.
Beside Whitemane, Fairbanks stood. Unlike his companion, he did not cheer or yell out. Instead, he only softly looked at the ground, a tear running down his cheek. No shadow crossed his face or whisper commanded him to cheer. Only grim acceptance that this was the fate of the Crusade.
After a moment, the Grand Crusader lowered his sword to point towards the ruined gates of Stratholme as his voice bellowed out. "For Lordaeron! For the King! For Justice!" he yelled as he kicked his steed into a full-charged gallop. Behind him, all those who had been gathered to fight surged forwards as a mighty power behind their leader.
The Crusade charged forwards, surging past the twisted and rent iron bars that had once been the gates to the mighty walled city, passing into the interior without so much as a hint of resistance. However, once inside, it was a different matter all together.
A row of abomination stood ready, their three thick and massive arms of putrid flesh grasping axes laced with green bile. Their hulking forms cluttered the ruined streets, blocking off and further progression as, behind them, several lichs and armies of ghouls and skeletons stood ready to charge forwards. With a powerful lions-roar, the Grand Crusader lowered the point of his sword to face the mass wall of undead that stood, blocking the roads. With a mighty clash of axe upon shield and sword upon rotten flesh, the battle was joined.
The howl and screech of the undead ghouls as they wove in and around the massive abominations and the howl of frozen lances of ice shooting by overhead mixed with the shout and yells of the Crusade soldiers and the whinnying of horses as they pounded against the forces of the Scourge with the soft and divine sound of the holy light pouring out from their priests onto the battlefield below, both in healing and smiting.
As soon as the battle was joined, from the ruined and rotten houses that lines the streets poured out scores upon scores of undead, falling in among the priests. With a roar of slobber and mindless rage, three of the ghouls leapt at Whitemane as she focused on healing several other soldiers, her lips slowly and softly moving in a divine hymn to bring ease to their warring bodies. The trio fell upon the priestess, knocking her to the ground and forcing the hymn to become interrupted. The ghouls raised their claws overhead, trying to smash down upon the priestess only to be halted as Whitemane spoke a word of power, causing the light to form into a shield around her body, protecting her from their harm.
"Foul beings of lecherous life! You are naught but a mockery of the truth! A perversion of that which is divine! We will smash your forces underfoot and grind your bones into the very dust under the disembodied heads of those whom you worship!" she hissed back as her hands glowed with the soft light of holiness. A wave of light erupted outwards from Whitemane, driving the undead back as the holy energy washed over them, painfully destroying their bodies with its power. The monsters fell to the ground, writhing and hissing in their unholy pain and suffering as Whitemane got up and calmly strode over to them.
"You are beings unholy. Stand before the power of the divine and be judged!" she said firmly as she raised her staff high into the air, aglow with the divine wroth of her fury. Overhead, heavenly fire poured down from the sky. It washed over the ghouls as it's golden fury poured down, burning and charring the very stone under their bodies. The ghouls gave a final scream of pain before they too became little more then charred markings upon the streets.
"The light has spoken. You are unworthy." She said simply as she turned back to the main battle. The Abominations were already faltering against the sheer might and force of the Crusaders fury, and it was not long before a mighty cheer arose from the gathered forces as the last of the horrid monsters faltered, allowing the forces of the Scarlet Crusade to blast through and progress to the town square.
"Whitemane! Fairbanks!" the voice of the High Crusader carried well over the din of battle. "You two! Let us head to the town hall and purge it from the grasp of this undead menace!"
"What? But we have-"
"It will be fine Whitemane. He is the Grand Crusader. He knows what he's doing. Follow him."
"As you command!" she replied, her voice and tone changing ever so softly as the dark fires rose around her eyes. Fairbanks thought the order suspicious as well. He knew his power and he knew Whitemane's power as well. They could handle odd groups of ghouls, but not whole masses as would undoubtedly be found within the confines of the city hall. Never the less, the pair hurried over to the Crusader, following his orders as they headed towards the town hall.
No undead could be seen in the streets as the pair walked. Whitemane would have liked to think it because the Crusade had wiped them off, but the forces had not yet reached these streets and rows. Off through the smashed doors of houses, she could see the yellowed glint of undead eyes, watching from their hidden places. Too afraid to attack the trio as they progressed.
The town hall itself was in a similar state of decay and rot when the trio arrived. Once proud and well-crafted timbers were now little more then rotten and worm-eaten pillars as, inside, the stench of death filled the air even heavier then the city surrounding it.
"High Crusader." Said Fairbanks. "If we head inside that place, we won't walk out alive. It's a deathtrap! A place so filled with undead that we cannot hope to succeed."
The Grand Crusaders turned his mount about to face the High Inquisitor.
"Why, my dear Fairbanks. That's exactly the point. Ever since that day when I took over this corpse of a man and became your leader, you and those whom have refused to bend to my will have stood in my way. Blocking my armies. My dream!" he said. Gone was the voice of the High Crusader and in its place was the voice low and guttural. The voice of a demon.
"Few of your kind still exist within the Crusade. Few of you so strong within the light that I cannot subjugate you to my cause. Fairbanks, Fordring, Abbendis both father and daughter. I have had no choice to put up with your preachy mannerisms and divine cause. But no longer! Your replacement is here, your time has come Fairbanks."
"Fiend! You are the scum of the earth!" replied Fairbanks, his hands already glowing softly with the light. "You are a demon and a shame! You have done naught but prey upon the desires of man to further your own personal need! You deserve to be utterly destroyed!"
The Grand Crusader laughed softly.
"What do you think of this, Sally?"
Fares of shadowed magic and dark power flared from Whitemane's eyes as she stood behind the man who was once her mentor. Her own staff lowered to point at Fairbanks.
"I am the sicion of light, and the Crusade is the harbinger of justice against the undead. To stand against the Grand Crusader is to stand against the Light. To stand against the light is to stand against the Crusade and justice. To stand against those, is to be undead. All Undead must be judged by the divine wrath of the heavens! You are undead Fairbanks, and thusly you must be judged by the divine!"
"No… Sally… I taught you better then this…" said Fairbanks, his voice full of regret. "But if you will willingly side with a being whom subjugates others to his will for the betterment of his own desires, I have no choice but to stand against you. Come, let us see which of us is the true High Inquisitor of the Crusade."
Under his breath, he whispered in a faint voice. "I'm so sorry Sally."
The demon laughed, his powerful voice echoing through the jaws of the body of the Crusader. "Fight! Fight! Yes!"
Whitemane wasted no time. The air in front of her split open as a smite spell rent the very air where Fairbanks stood. A single word of power escaped from Fairbanks mouth, calling upon that same power that Whitemane so enjoyed using to form the familiar shield of the light between him and her. The Smite spell flared as the shield glowed as the two spells collided. In the end, however, Fairbanks's shield was far too powerful to be rent with just one attack from Whitemane.
Fairbanks's hands glowed with the light once again as he clapped his hands together, causing a nova of the holy and divine energy to erupt outwards. Whitemane copied her mentor in perfect fashion and called upon the power of the light to form a protective barrier around her body. The nova flared around her form, the shield cutting a wake through the divine energy like a rock in a stream.
Fairbanks did not wait to give the woman a chance, and started casting his next spell almost instantly. Whitemane screamed out in pain as he finished the casting of the spell. He was burning her mana off of her body before she could use it, and it felt as if her very soul was on fire! She screamed and writhed in pain, falling to the ground on one knee as Fairbanks darted over to one of the rundown houses, severing one of the timbers with two well-placed smites. He picked up the part that had been severed and turned to face his apprentice. With the shaft of lumber in hand, he charged forwards at her, muttering a spell under his breath to cause the shield to disperse. Whitemane, still in the throws of pain from the burn, was unable to speak or attempt to stop the spell as her shield suddenly ceased to exist, leaving her wide open for Fairbanks's charge.
He brought the massive shaft of lumber about in a wide, sweeping arc. Whitemane's eyes shot wide open in terror as she desperately tried to raise her barrier again. The shaft of lumber smashed into her side, shattering at least two of her ribs with the massive blow and sending Whitemane toppling backwards. She screamed in pain, but as Fairbanks charged in again to hit her, she gritted her teeth and muttered a spell as fast as she could as a heal spell surrounded her body, mending the ribs and bruised flesh as she quickly rolled to the side as Fairbanks brought the timber down again on the ground where she had been standing.
As soon as she was up, Whitemane's own hands glowed once again as she rent the air where Fairbanks stood, causing him to stumble. Fairbanks muttered his own spell of healing, mending what flesh had been hurt before he came at Whitemane again. Whitemane tried to step backwards, but her heel slid into the grating of a sewer, trapping her in place as Fairbanks descended on her again with the lumber shaft. Whitemane called forth on the power of the light once again, forming the shield around her body to protect her from Fairbanks's assault. The shaft of lumber smashed into the shield, sliding down to the side as Fairbanks stepped over the priestess, trying to force her to the ground.
Sally cast her next spell, calling upon the divine flames of the heavens. The holy fires poured down from the heavens, flowing around the pair and melting the grating underneath the pair, causing them to drop down into the sewers below.
Whitemane splashed into the putrid and infested waters as Fairbanks fell a short distance away, any damage dealt by the holy flames extinguished upon contact with the water. Fairbanks rose up from the sickening waters. He raised his foot above the surface of the sewers and called upon the power of the light. He stood upright, his feet hovering just above the surface of the water. Whitemane stood up as well, but unlike her master, she had not learned that spell as of yet, leaving the woman low and wet.
The dark magic that lined Whitemane's eyes flared and grew larger, bolstered by the ambient shadow around her as well as the desperation for victory that she so desperately desired. She raised her hand to point at her mentor, and called for the first time of her life upon the shadows.
"Mind Blast." She said simply. A blast of pure mental energy blasted forwards towards her mentor. It surged into his mind, and started to perform its simple task. Blasting as much of the mans mind as it could. Fairbanks screamed again, losing his balance as he hovered above the water and toppling into the sewer as his mind felt as if it was erupting in pain. Whitemane strode forwards, her legs cutting through the infested waters.
"All who stand against the Crusade are undead, Fairbanks." She said as she grabbed the scruff of the mans neck. "Undead. Undead. Undead! Undead! UNDEAD!" she screamed again and again as she thrust the mans head under the water, smashing it against the bottom of the sewer as the man struggling, trying to find the lumber that he had held in his hand before falling.
"UNDEEEEEAAAAAAADDDDD!"
She screamed as loud as she could as she held Fairbank's head under, her fingers biting into the man's neck as the darkness that surrounded her eyes flared and grew greater and greater until, at last, she felt the muscles in Fairbanks's neck go limp as his body ceased its struggles. She let go at last, and watched the corpse drift slowly down the sewer and out of sight.
She clambered up a nearby ladder, returning to the surface world, the darkness still flaring in her eyes.
"Well done Whitemane!" bellowed the demon Crusaders. "With his death, the last of the priest order whom have refused to bow to me has been cleansed. Our hour draws nigh. The undead have been driven back from this part of the city and Fairbanks is dead. All goes according to plan. Now… Sleep my minion. Rest… And forget about all that has happened."
"Unnnnnn…" Moaned Whitemane as she toppled over on her side, the darkness vanishing from her eyes, replaced by the gentle soft comfort of sleep. The Grand Crusader strode over to her body, picking her up and placing her on his steed.
"MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC!" he called out as he rode back to the forces of the Scarlet Crusade, his puppet nestled firmly in front of him, sleeping softly and blissfully unaware of her mentor's death.