Straydog Saga

Flea 7: The King of Pain

Elsewhere in The Barrens, a tiny fire burned. A small portable cooking pot hung over a hastily built fire. Within half an hour the two camp dwellers had a meal of cured beef and barley soup. While one struggled to keep his bowl from slipping out of his lap, the other slowly savored every bite. Hanariel looked to the warlock with a slightly worried look.

"I-Is my soup not to your liking?" He softly asked. Keesha dipped her spoon in the warm meal and stirred it slowly.

"No, it's great. It's just been a while since I've had it that's all. A human couldn't have made it any better." She spoke with clouds in her voice. She may not have accepted the meal had the elf's eyes been a burning shade of green. But the blue eyes that occasionally looked to her was a bold statement of dedication in Keesha's mind and a sign of loyalty to those brave souls that died fighting the Horde and those who would join them. Her eyes stared at the base of the fire, images from another time playing in her mind. The smell of the soup brought images of a young woman cutting vegetables, while her mother showed her the proper way to do so. The texture reminded her of mealtimes, when a loving father did his best to be home on time every evening. The taste reminded her of the evening meal that would never come again. The sound of a bowl clanging against a spoon jarred her from her thoughts. Keesha tilted her head to see a red faced Hanariel with the contents of his bowl adorning his legs and the ground. His pale blue eyes trembled a little as he took a deep breath and reached for a dry cloth.

"Are you alright?" Keesha asked, moving a little closer to the injured priest. He shook his head, eyes never meeting hers.

"Yes, it's been a long time but s-still not used to it." He motioned to the empty space where his right arm once was. "I'm right handed; w-well I was right handed. I-It happens." He spoke, voice trembling with embarrassment. Keesha moved and winced a little as her head began to throb from the after effects of the poison. But she managed to help unbutton the top of his bag and began dabbing the dry cloth on the stained parts of his robe. "Thank you…you're very kind for s-someone of the dark cloth." His words made her snort.

"Trust me, had you not helped me, I wouldn't have anything to do with you. Why did you help me any way?" Keesha asked as she turned to wring out the semi-soiled cloth.

"B-Because you could have died."

"So, what's that to you? One less sinner in the world makes it a better place right?" She smirked. The expression faded slightly as he finally turned to view her with a haunted expression. For a priest of the holy light, Lockeesha felt nothing but despair and desolation behind his gaze before he mercifully turned his vision back to the ground.

"If you deserve to die then so do I. D-Despite my wickedness, the light finds me worthy of life and that is why I continue to serve. You may find it s-stupid but I believe the light guides my steps and my steps came to you." He spoke with as steady a tone as he was able to muster. Lockeesha nodded slowly before following the towel and placing it beside his knapsack.

"Honey, I kill people for money and enslave demons to do it. What could you have done that was so terrible?" she snorted. She could visibly see him shrink into his cloak as sounds and memories of his darkest moment began spilling into his vision and dripping from his lips.

His fellow priests warned him to prepare for the battle, but their words fell on ears too filled with hubris to take in any more sagely advice. Instead he spent the morning in idle prayer, words empty and mind wandering. Hanariel Dawnblade and his brothers had fought the Cult of the Damned many times before and though they were forced to retreat more often than not, they always culled more than they lost. His brothers were great warriors of the Silver Covenant, paladins in their own right though never formally ordained by the human church. While they donned the plated armor of holy knights, the willow-bodied Hanariel stayed behind in the stuffy libraries and chapels of the priesthood. He rode with the Alliance to the heart of Icecrown, where the souls of fallen heroes mingled with the undead slavers that forced their very beings into bondage. Memories of that fateful day seemed to run like an unraveling thread in their minds, when the Sunwell shattered under the dread will of the Lich King. Abominations, ghouls, and still loyal death knights met their vision with their cultist compatriots at the rear. They continually summoned horrific beasts of rotten flesh and bone, ready to claw and bite the noble army into nothing. Despite their father's urging the quintet made their way to the front.

"How many today?" Newly appointed Captain Venlyn Dawnblade smiled as he looked to his brothers for an answer. The twins, Engel and Aslyn, chimed in unison: "No less than 20!" Narlyn boasted that he would destroy 50 of the monstrosities, which made his eldest brother smile wider. Hanariel said nothing as his eyes scanned holy words from the bible that never left his right hand. At once the onslaught was upon them. Their father, a well respected general, gave the order for archers to begin their barrage. At Larion Dawnblade's command, a shower of Quel'Dorei and human made arrows bathed the scourge with a piercing rain. But no matter how horrific the injury the unfeeling beasts shambled forward, many arrows missing their intended targets. The cultists were not deterred, even as some fell to the few arrows that managed to land. They managed to raise ghoul after ghoul, sending their twisted children into the battle.

"For Quel'Thalas! For Lorderon!" Venlyn shouted and reared his armored steed. He charged forward, the rest of the warriors following his brash example. His father cursed, guiding the archers to aimed further back as not to hit his own men. Hanariel's steed hesitated but he managed to coax her forward into a light gallop. The battle quickly escalated as limbs both fresh and putrid began falling to the ground. Venlyn was on his 15th kill when Hanariel finally made it into casting range. His eldest brother had a bloody lip but seemed otherwise capable of leading the charge. He gave a light prayer and blessed his brother, healing the small injury and allowing Venlyn to smite his enemies with more speed. Things quickly moved from a one to one battle to one soldier per three scourge. While his brothers were quickly meeting their quotas, Hanariel felt his shoulders begin to ache. Soon, the sound of soldiers falling under the growling might became too much for the priest and his fellow healers to handle. Time seemed to slow down when the first of his brothers fell. One of the twins, the impish Engel, was struck in the neck by a death knight's dark hammer. Engel's neck snapped back with a crunch and the elf was dead before he hit the ground. Hanariel ran to his brother's side, earnest prayers springing from his lips. But Engel's eyes were blank and lips that once flung the most hilarious jokes no longer drew breath. The death knight grinned, raising his hammer only to be struck down by Narlyn's stinging blade. His intense blue eyes froze for a moment at the sigh as he let out a rage filled roar. Narlyn hacked at the death knight's face and throat, severing the head completely.

"Get up!" Narlyn growled, turning to cut through the body of an attacking ghoul. "The living needs you." Hanariel nodded, sickness pooling in his gut. His shaking legs barely held him as the reality of their situation became more apparent as each noble defender fell. The next of his brothers to fall was Engel's twin Aslyn. The ghouls overtook him and devoured his flesh while he still breathed. His screams echoed in the frozen valley and burned into the warriors' resolve. Soon the call was made to fall back but the brothers at the very front were the slowest to receive the order. Blood covered their once pristine armor. Carnage surrounded them as the lingering soldiers fought to stay alive. Hanariel could hear the sound of breathing in his ears. His lungs seemed to burn as dry lips struggled to speak the healing prayers needed to ensure their escape. He could barely hear Narlyn's anguished cries as Venlyn succumbed to a horrific injury to his chest. Blood gushed from between clinched teeth as limbs went limp. Hanariel shuttered at the expression of hate in Narlyn's tear-filled eyes as the brave youngest soldier charged the scourge, cutting through their bodies as if they were made of snow. He and those bravely following in his wake managed to get to the rear of the thinning scourge and hacked apart the cultists that managed to survive the barrage of arrows until they were unrecognizable as being human. With the cult's reinforcements destroyed the remaining warriors made their final push to drive back the scourge and win the day. But the remaining undead would not go down quietly and Narlyn's burst of rage-driven fervor began to wane. A geist gripped his ankle and pulled him to the ground. He managed to slay the creature but not without suffering grave injury to his knees and ankles. On the ground, bleeding, and muscles exhausted, it appeared as if Narlyn would join the ranks of the departed. Hanariel lost sight of his youngest brother as a shadow loomed from behind. Hanariel quickly turned to find a hulking abomination grinning at him with jagged teeth.

"Pretty toy!" It slurred with a crudely sewn tongue as it raised one of its three arms. Gripping the cleaver tightly with crooked fingers, the abomination brought the cleaver down on Hanariel and a pain so sharp destroyed all thought. He felt the aura of the light fade from his mind as the holy book he carried hit the ground, still gripped in his unfeeling hand. He sank to his knees, the smell of acrid blood threatened to make him vomit. As he felt his body grow cold the world around him seemed to fade into the darkness.

"…w-when they found me, I was barely alive. The light p-preserved me long enough for my father's aide to find me after the battle." Keesha placed a hand on Hanariel's trembling shoulder. He hid his face beneath a pale blue hood as the fire's embers began to smolder.

"That doesn't sound like your fault at all. I fought the scourge too, seen a lot of things and none of them pretty. Shit happens, you know? I'm sure your brothers wouldn't blame you…" Her words seemed to cause the fragile elf to stifle a small sob. Her eyebrows furrowed and her blood colored lips formed a frown. "Did your fellow lighty whiteys TELL you it was your fault?" she could feel her teeth start to grind against one another as Hanariel looked at her for a moment and nodded.

"I-I did not take the battle seriously enough. I didn't p-prepare properly. Their assessment is correct."

"Typical lighty whitey bullshit." She crossed her arms and turned her gaze to the starlit sky. The little dots twinkled capriciously in her sight as clouds threatened to block the full moon. "So that's why you're going to this tree or whatever?"

"S-Sort of. Mydrassil is said to have strange powers. I've heard rumors that those who touch its roots are transformed, healed. Ghosts walk its roots as if they're alive. Maybe the tree caught their souls too, kept them safe." Hanariel nodded, shifting a little where he sat. The warlock cast him one last snide look before moving to change into her sleeping clothes. Though her act held no shame, he averted his eyes with a slight blush.

"You saved my life and you sure as hell can't make it all the way to the Bay of Storms like that. Not with all those nasty little goblins infesting Az'shara. I'll make sure you get there in once piece err—safely." Keesha smiled when a small but relaxed laugh was his reply.

"I welcome your company, Lady Hazzad." He bowed his head slightly which made her laugh and roll her eyes.

"Call me Keesha."

Deep in the twisted annals of the Tangled Canals, Archmage Seth Nightgaze kept watch. Dark hands scrolled the surface of a great gem. Within its carefully cut core played the scene of a priest and a warlock preparing to leave their makeshift campsite just before dawn. Lord Nightgaze's snarling indigo lips formed into a sinister looking smile.

"You've come swiftly." He spoke as he turned to see a young looking human mage, no more than 18. Trenton's dark hair fell slightly forward as he closed his deep brown eyes with a bow.

"You know I can not delay when it is you calling, sir." He stood straight as Lord Nightgaze banished the image within the gem and gave his servant his full attention. "What is it you want of me?"

"I have a small task for you; something well within your abilities." He nodded and took a step closer to the young man who did not flinch or move from his attention stance. His eyes, however, moved for Lord Nightgaze to continue. "See to it that Han Dawnblade and Keesha Hazzad get to Mydrassil safely. They will be traveling from The Barrens and are currently headed to the Ashenvale highways." The young man's eyes went wide in surprise. The action made Lord Nightgaze chuckle.

"S-Sir?"

"You were perhaps expecting a kill job? Your time is more valuable than that. No, those two are worth far more to us, far more to ME alive. But…" Lord Nightgaze paused and pulled two drawings from one of the bags he kept on his belt. He handed the images to Trenton who scanned them intently. They were of a night elf warrior and a blood elf rogue. "If you encounter either of those two, kill them on sight. They work for Bodyl and could pose future threats to our operations here. They will be traveling with a troll…or gnome named Imajin. She may pose a threat but she is not to be harmed. I'd never hear the end of it." He sighed, thinking of how much of a headache it would be to have Ima's mentor, Romulus Redmane, barking in his ears if his prized pupil was hurt in any way.

Trenton smiled and bowed again.

"If it is your will, sir it shall be done."

"Good. Once things settle, we shall talk about your request. I have not forgotten." Lord Nightgaze nodded trying to keep his surly expression despite the growing glow coming form his subordinate. "Hopefully these two will prove better than the previous failures."

"That too, is my hope sir."

"You just worry about delivering them here. The Lady and I will take care of the rest. Now go, we have little time to waste here." The moment the archmage finished speaking Trenton vanished.

The skies over Darkshore never seemed to shine. The grey clouds rolling in from the south reminded Digger of home. Reaching the dark forest had been tricky since the great port of Auberdeen had been destroyed. Though another village had been quickly built in its place, the Night elves were still clearing it of its dangers, and civilian travel was greatly restricted. Her ship sailed further north to the imposing word tree, Teldrassil. From there she was able to purchase a ride on one of the proud looking hippogriffs to the small provincial town of Astranaar. As the pair flew over the canopy, Digger felt the wind start to shift. Her grip on the worn-leather reins tightened. She knew they were headed to Ratchet, but that had been weeks ago. The northwestern part of Ashenvale held their prize. If her old bones and thin self-control would allow it, Digger would shift into her worgen form and run as fast as her legs could carry her. She gave a small prayer in hope that the young warrior would not end up a prize herself.

The clanging sound of sword on sword caught their attention. Though their mounts would easily carry them away from the fray, Keesha insisted that they investigate. The dread mount she summoned, a horse with burning eyes and hooves like great embers, seemed too eager to investigate as blood on the wind drove it forward. They were in a desecrated area of southern Ashenvale known as the Warsong Gulch. What was once lush forest was rendered a barren field of severed stumps by crude green hands. The area was a hotbed of horde activity and any chance to slay the beasts made the warlock grin.

"We should stay away!" Called Han, who was trotting behind the murder-gazed Keesha. Keesha's mind was quick and the words flew from her mouth before she even had time to think about them.

"Allies might be hurt or killed. You get a chance to stop that." She hissed, the venom clearly piercing Han's weak resolve. When they came to the source of the noise the sight of three blood bathed orcs and a lone human came into vision. The human was covered in gruesome cuts and slashes, but managed to stay standing beneath his steady sword. The orcs suffered from deep burns but the three armored warriors were only a few moments away from claiming another kill until a dark bolt of shadow struck one of them in the chest. The act was enough to send the orc to his back, and the give the other two pause. They snarled and spoke some ghastly language at the newcomers who wasted no time in their assault. Curses flew from Keesha's lips onto her enemies, causing their skin to burn, crawl, and prickle. Her dread steed reared, kicking one of them in the face with searing hooves. The orcs howled, flying into adrenaline-fueled rages as they charged towards them, leaving the fallen orc to be haphazardly stabbed in the throat by the lone human. Han dismounted and gave his unarmored mount a hard slap, sending the steed towards the tree line before lowering his head in prayer. As it always did, the light filled his chest and flew from his outstretched fingers. A golden halo drenched the warlock, allowing no harm to come to her so long as it held. It gave her just enough time to dismount and hiss a summoning spell. Keep two creatures from the neater in tow always strained Keesha's reserves. She banished her steed and just as the holy spell gave way, another joined the fight. Keesha could hear an audible grunt from Han who sank to his knees. It was as if a Tauren had come along and struck him in the stomach with a tree trunk.

"What happened to your friend?" A sinister voice innocently spoke. The gnarled face of the felguard formed into a mocking smile. Keesha glared at the newcomer, uttering a spell of dominance. At once, the demon bowed its armored head and used his mighty fel axe to help dispatch the persevering orcs. Just as it seemed Keesha and Han's work was over, three large fireballs came flying at them. With no time to recover from the felguard's treachery or cast another holy protection spell, Han closed his eyes and braced for impact. But the spells blurred past his ears, heat scalding as they passed. The sound of shrieks rung out in the dusty air when the spells connected with their intended targets. While the pair fought to keep the human alive, other members of the horde had closed in from behind. Another powerful spell flew overhead, striking a troll hunter square in the face.

"M-Move!" The human grunted, spitting out a little of the blood that had been pooling in his mouth. Though his words were slow, the pain each spell delivered seemed to be three times what the normal mage of his young age could produce. When the last of the horde attackers met the ground, the three victors quickly moved towards the sheltering forest. They felt their breath start to slow when there appeared to be no one following. Keesha banished her treacherous felguard, guilt-filled eyes seeking any injury the beast might have caused her tremble-prone companion.

"I-I'm fine—let me tend to him." Han spoke with a slightly steadier voice. The wounds on the young sorcerer were enough to make even the most skilled doctor call the victim's cleric of choice. Dirty blades bit deep into his shoulder and arm while other gashes covered his chest and face. Though the heaves in his chest were shallow, they still came. "Hold still." Han spoke with a voice that felt like a cool breeze. The light surrounded him, funneling into his left palm. He blessed the wounds and they slowly began to close. The damage that went far beyond the skin was cleased and made as if they didn't happen But what two hands could have healed completely, one hand could only mend. Scars were all that was left behind, but the sight of the twisted flesh made the priest look away. "I-I'm sorry I…"

"No, are you kidding?" The young mage looked at the new marks with a spark in his eyes. "Oh man, these are sick!" He chuckled with renewed energy in his expression. He poked through the holes in his raven colored robes with a childish smile as lustful eyes turned to take in the sight of the scantily clad Keesha. "Chicks dig scars, don't they miss?"

"Keesha Hazzad-Miss Hazzad to you." Keesha spoke with a confident tilting of her head. The action brought a bright smile to his face.

"Well Miss Hazzad, perhaps your lovely friend might be able to confirm?" He spoke, charming expression turning to Hanariel. Keesha stifled a snigger while Han's face turned bright red.

"I-I'm not a woman!" He stammered, delicate voice causing a flash of doubt to come across the young mage's face. He shook his head.

"Sorry, man. But you really aren't helping yourself with hair that long you know. Anyway what brings you two this way?" Trenton asked, with a charming smile. Keesha resisted the urg to roll her eyes at the look he was giving her.

"We're headed to Ma-dassil…Mid-drassil. The big ass tree in the middle of the ocean that way." Keesha huffed, pointing in the direction of the eastern oceans. The young mage seemed to perk up at her words.

"You're headed to Mydrassil too? What a fortunate meeting! I was on my way there from Astranaar when I got lost and those horrible orcs jumped me. You're pilgrims I take it?"

"He is, I'm just his insurance policy. How about you err, what's your name?" Keesha said with a nod to Hanariel who still didn't bring his eyes to meet the mage's.

"Oh I'm sorry, I'm Trenton Crowise. And I'm headed there to start an apprenticeship under the great Archmage Nightgaze. Perhaps you've heard of him?" Trenton looked between the two, expressions varying from confusion to having heard the name whispered from those who had been to Draenor and back. "He was among the heroes who vanquished Illidan Stormrage on his perch in the Black Temple." Trenton smugly smiled. Hanariel's eyebrow rose.

"My brother's fiancée fought alongside the s-slayers of Ilidan. She often spoke of her comrades. I've never heard of the name 'Nightgaze'." Hanariel's back straightened a little as Trenton's smile cracked ever so slightly.

"Oh he was there alright and he has much to offer any ambitious student of the arcane arts. Actually, you may have a thing or two to learn from him miss Hazzad. I hear he was able to bend an entire squadron of demons to his will just by looking at them. He might even be able to fine tune that shadow bolt of yours…" Trenton nodded. Keesha began forming s small fire-laden curse in the palm of her hand, which was carefully tucked behind her cloak. A soft hand on her shoulder banished the action. She looked to Hanariel who shook his head with a smell, coy smile.

"It s-sounds like an exciting time for you, young man: meeting an idol and getting the chance to s-study from him and all. But you must be more cautious when traveling alone. P-Perhaps we can help. We're going there anyway, you should travel with us." Hanariel suggested, ignoring the grunts and scolding glances from Keesha. Trenton stood, dusted off his torn robes and smiled.

"It'd be my pleasure."