~*~ Chapter 44 ~*~

~ West Gate ~

Kayas had discovered two simple truths in her short existence as a Scarlet. The first was that the Plague caused the person infected, be they dead or alive, to regenerate on their own. The Plague, as the Dark Lady had said pulled them back up and knitted flesh to bone and rather quickly.

This was the only thing that saved her during the initial rush by the Scourge. Their blows maimed and stunned but did not otherwise kill prey their master wanted alive. That was how they handled her at least.

The second lesson is that a Warrior needs their armor. Her escort was Plague tainted but did not have the skills to turn rage into healing energy. The first few waves met with resistance, being knocked back by both she and the Warrior. The first time a parry failed to keep a sward from coming away bloody the warrior jumped back cursing, forearm turning red.

Shifting quickly the druid sending green leaves of healing energy into his arm and was back in the fight in so many split seconds. For his part the warrior was thrown toward the gate and ordered him to stay while she did work.

He openly sulked.

Shifting back into the bear she rushed again, mauling and swiping along the way, rending and tearing, thrashing and mangling threw the Scourge. With no healer every blow took the rage she channeled and healed them as quickly as they could cut. Threw natural talents she could keep the rage-into-healing spell rolling full time where others could only sustain it for a mere moment. The thickened hide of the bear form took a beating from sharpest blades and hardest blunts. Bluntness there was to be had for she was grateful then that these Scourge did not have a weapon amongst them that would pass for "sharp".

The power of Cenarius pulled strength from the ground and firmed her thick hide even more, taking on a skin of iron tree bark. The memory of the ancient who had taught this specific spell made her long for home all over again. This hesitation of sorrow cost one missed thrash at the leg of an enemy and a sword blow to the back of an exposed skull.

What the minions lacked in strength they had in sheer numbers.

The smell of blood trickled threw the air mingling with corpse rot and smoke. How bad the damage was she cared not. The furry of the fight, the smells and sights of being in battle, of fixing so many wrongs born on the legs of these Scourged enemies made it worth whatever price they took in turn. Under the weight of so many desiccated hands the gift of dulled nerves was a bonus. The plague seems to have made her bear form stronger… else the Scourge were trying not to damage her too much.

I wonder what the Dark Lady would say if she knew this undead Human prince wants me alive.

She roared, smashing a great square head into as many of them as possible, rocking back and forth, smashing over and over again. Soon they lost hold, skeletal hands coming away with bloody clumps of fur and settled for attempting to beat the howling thing into submission. Good luck with that.

A non-coherent battle cry followed by a soft shink that sounded distinctively like arrows being fired. The shout sounded strangely like someone mistranslated Gutterspeak to some kind of shanty Thelassian.

The immediate effect was the undead stopping their assault and turning to face the new threat. Unable to see threw ragged armor or the multitude of legs – at least the ones who still had them – the Druid endeavored to use the distraction to cause devastating damage from behind.

Slicing and crunching noises meant Nekov had rejoined the fight. The scythe slashed and swirled threw the air like something personified, taking off heads as neatly as one might pluck the leaves from a radish. Unfortunately for him the Scourge soon realize the new threat was not as eminent as the old one and turned to finish up what they started on the armorless Warrior. The Druid wasn't tall enough to take off the head, but the man with the scythe certainly was!

"Bloody. Painted. Farm tool!" he was cursing over and over again like some strange battle cry.

They surged all at once, more than he could defend against and drug the weapon from his hands. Only when his hands were empty did the Scourge laugh and poise for the killing blow. They were a sadistic lot, enjoying tormenting their foe even in the heat of battle.

He vanished in a cloud of translucent smoke.

The Druid stared at the spot he had been in, blinking as if the blood in her eyes made it so she couldn't see it. Before they could turn back to her a volley of arrows came raining down out of the sky, pinning cloaks and feet, knocking some to the ground (1).

"Come, hurry!" It was the Scout in dark green Quel'dorie styled hunting leather. The rather impressive bow he wielded glowed with blue energy, though if the glow had a purpose or was just decorative was unknown. It was blue and gold in the High Elf style with wings flaring out at the ends and a large red jewel in the center that also served as a scope. The string was a line of blue energy running the length of the bow. There were no arrows on the scouts back but when he drew the string back to fire again a blazing black arrow shot off with the release of tension in the curve.

Another volley of arrows rained down to cover her escape, dazing everyone it touched. Shifting into her feline form she ignored his attempts not to stare and fell in step beside him as they fled. It wasn't until several minutes latter did they realize the pursuit had broken off and the Scourge had gone back.

They wanted inside the compound more than they wanted to chase a Druid down on foot.

~* Outside Cathedral Square *~

Salira

Salira Porter's sides heaved as she, the Commander and the survivors from the Main Gate neared the gate that separated Cathedral Square from the rest of the compound. Inside was a confusion of activity. All the civilians were inside, the gates locked and barred. The Archbishop stood on the steps of the Cathedral giving reassurance that all the danger and commotion would be over soon.

The orphan children and their Matron were steered to the center of the group and surrounded by those of the civilians who carried weapons. No other fighters save the man who had brought them were present.

The Commander sounded for the gate to be opened but the gatehouse was empty and the crowed was too far away to be heard over the din of the storm and it's wild winds. "I say, open the gate! The Scourge are attacking! Open the gate!"

All around them cries of battle and the sound of screaming women and men could be heard. The Priest had attacked in unison, as if given some massive signal that it was time to begin the assault. The shadow magic that ripped lose from one end of the compound to the other sent arcs of purple energy shooting so high in the air it could be seen clear cross the enclave. Hundreds of bolts of lighting traveling upward into the sky, each one carrying with it the life of a Warrior or a Mage or an archer. Only the civilians were safe from the attacks…

… locked inside Cathedra. Square with the Archbishop.

"Damn you all to fel, open this gate!" The Commander roared. Surely they would be able to hear him?

Salira had taken down two Priests on their way threw the compound and another once they got their. They had been caught off guard, unaware that they had come across those who knew how they were betraying the Scarlet Campaign. One of the archers was not so lucky; he had felled another Priest who attacked them from atop a tower, calling down an enormous fiend made of sizzling shadow magic, but the beast had ended him the same time his arrow ended the Priest.

Salira watched the man fall, recalling his name in her mind. Payton. Payton Marlow from Silverpine. His family had been driven out by Worgens and he had joined the Campaign because they were promised Silverpine would be freed form the Worgen as soon as Lordaeron was freed from the Scourge. Salira had taken dinner with him once, his boyish flirting making her smile. But as suddenly as it had come his attention had diverted and he found another female to entertain: this one as willing to share his other interests as well as his table.

Was it wickedness you saw in her? The willingness to betray her people? Was it my virtue that made you put me aside? My loyalty to the cause? I hope you rot in zombie hell, you bastard.

A whinny broke threw the cracks of thunder and the crackle of foul dark magic. They turned from the gate to see the Banshee Queen astride a reanimated red-clad warhorse. Behind her came an army of her Forsaken followed, each bound in gray and red armor and robes. Over armor and cloth was fitted the blue and black tabard bearing her insignia. It matched the rain and fire and the lightning tragically.

One red glowing sword was out as she pointed to various parts of the compound and gave sharp instructions in Gutterspeak, the language of her brand of Scourge. Each time she finished talking a man or woman also mounted on bony steeds rushed off and were followed by foot soldiers. Each company had one of her Shadow Priests with it as well as another caster in black and red robes. Fire-specialized Mages. Six companies total, one for each major section of the enclave.

"What the hell are you doing in my compound?!" The Commander yelled hefting is great axe as if to slice the lone Queen down where she sat.

"Cleaning up. Something you lack the ability to do at the time." Then she noticed the locked gate. "Is that where your civilians are?" Behind her the fire lit up the sky, outlining her like some sinister Warrior Queen, glowing red eyes included. Oh what she must have looked like astride her steed in life, the lone force between Quel'thalas and the renegade prince of Loarderon. This time it was not her people she sought to protect, but people she looked to acquire.

"I'll not be letting the likes of you anywhere near those I've-"

"Save it!" she snapped at him with such a tone as to make them all jump, "I've no time for games. You know as well as I do that there is a difference in the Scourge and the Forsaken. Better your dead raise and find me waiting for them than Arthas, yes?"

The Commander went red faced, single eye dilating in hatred, "What difference there be I care not; all of you foul creatures are abominations to the Light-"

"I'll take that as denial." She signed, studding the gate. "Rogue!" The summons was met with the elven man from earlier stepping out of the shadows to kneel by her horse.

"Majesty?"

"Open the gate. Pick the lock or whatever it is your kind does." It was apparent she though very little of his ilk, helpful as he obviously was going to be at a time like this. From the rooftop nearby a random archer fired a shot in the general direction of the queen and was blasted off the roof by a hidden Royal Guard. The arrow went wide and pinged off the gate, not even sending a spark into the misery and storm.

The Rogue strode over to the command box, the engineering mechanism that normally opened the gate if there was no way to manually open it. The code had long since been lost as the Gnomes who built the gates had been forced out of the enclave when the Scarlets thanked them for their 'help' and shoved them outside to meet the Scourge on their own.

A quick few movements of his fingers over the gears and knobs and the gate was slowly lifting.

The Commander took the opportunity to attack the Banshee Queen. She saw it coming where she sat watching with a delighted smile. The first blow was met with her horse's teeth snatching the axe from his hands and then turning to butt him with its head. He stumbled back and stared at his open hands a moment.

"She likes me." The Scourged woman smiled down at the Commander, "Don't you Pilipa? Such a loyal companion, even after I felled her." She reached over and stroked the straggling bits of mane that still clung to the chucks of re-hydrating flesh at the neck.