Chapter Twenty Four
An outstretched hand holds many possibilities; an invitation to a dance, helping someone up from a fall, or a simple embrace between two people that cherish each other. The hand held out to Daellin offered something else- a promise fulfilled.
Daellin did not pause in accepting the hand, nor did he ask any questions as to why now was the time that Rachael fulfilled her promise to help him whenever he needed. The promise was made so many years ago, he could easily count a hundred other times he needed some assistance. From that horrific day in Tyr's Hand during the Second War, until Lordaeron's fall at the hands of the undead Scourge, having another friendly face would have done wonders. But that was in the past. All that mattered now was that she was here in this frigid dungeon falling at the seams.
"Promise me one thing, Daellin," Rachael said as she gently guided him towards the gate. The other prisoners interrupted her as they dragged themselves to the barrier that separated them from salvation. With Daellin in tow, Rachael gently pushed the deranged people away like weightless clouds drifting across the sky. Even though the immediate threat of falling debris had subsided, even the mad could tell that the structural integrity of this cave had been compromised. As they shimmied past the crazed cat-lady, still questioning if her feline pet got her dinner, she looked Daellin dead in the eyes and stated, "You don't stop for one second. You keep going. You stay with me at all times. Got it?"
"Yes," he meekly answered, admiring her conviction. Indeed, this was not the same broken girl from the church, grieving over the loss of her father following the peasant revolt. It appeared that she took her grief and channeled it into strength; both in terms of the fire raging in her eyes, but also in her sheer physicality. Her muscles rivaled knights that dedicated their lives in protecting the realm, or even the drunkards at the bars that spent their free time arm-wrestling for some spare coin. Even if he was at full stock and nourished, he knew she could carry him like a feather.
"Good, because things only get harder from here," she said as they reached the gate. Three sentenced souls clawed at the metallic door, softly banging their withered hands against the steel. Another tried to crawl underneath the door like a bug, but even with his frail frame, he could not slither through the microscopic divide. Rachael gingerly pushed them aside with little protest. With Daellin in one hand and the shoddy lockpick she had hidden in her hair in the other, she went to work.
As Rachael went to work on the lock, listening for the subtle sounds of tumblers turning, Daellin recalled his military training. Even paladins were taught how to crack a lock. He could tell that this one would be challenging, and the thick layer of rust and calcified minerals that caked the apparatus would only complicate matters more. He was about to provide some textbook assistance when the lock opened with a satisfying clink. With a smug grin, Rachael leapt away from the gate, elegantly swinging the door open in the process.
Light.
The light was blinding. The prisoners shielded their eyes as they were drenched in the dim glow of fading candles. Before Daellin could fully recover, Rachael pulled him ahead, as if he was a little boy in trouble. For the first time in weeks, he was out of the dungeon that was to be his frozen casket. He could have relished freedom. He could have basked in the mundane candles that gave the slightest warmth. Instead, he paused.
"Wait," Daellin said.
"No," Rachael strongly protested. "I gave one order and that was to keep moving."
Daellin defiantly retorted, "I need to know if Nolan is alright." He glanced back and saw the opened gate was now brimming with prisoners slowly escaping. Some were able to walk, while others had to crawl to the liberating faint lights. Among the lame masses, Daellin spotted Nolan desperately dragging himself. The former soldier was grimacing and making little headway, drowning in an abyss of bodies moaning for freedom. Before Rachael could stop him, Daellin broke from her grasp and rushed to Nolan's aid.
The poor leper tried to wave Daellin off, urging him to press on without him, but Lightheart refused. Even though he was a shell of his former self, Daellin reached into the darkness, channeling his inner strength, and heaved Nolan into the light. "No man gets left behind," Daellin stated as he lifted Nolan to his chest.
A puff of smoke slipped out of Nolan's lips as he gave the softest chuckle. "After you, commander."
With Nolan's shriveled legs dragging against the concrete, Daellin walked back to Rachael. She stood with her arms across her chest and a frown as powerful as the earthquake that shook the dungeons to its foundations. "If I'm going with you," Daellin grunted, "he's coming with."
Rachael rolled her eyes. "Fine," she relented, "but if you don't follow my instructions again, you're on your own."
Daellin nodded, accepting these terms. While he appreciated what Rachael was doing for him, he had too much pride to leave a fellow soldier behind. He already lost too much, the least he could do was pick up the remaining shattered pieces. As more prisoners slowly trickled out of the hellhole, Daellin readied himself with Nolan in tow. However, something he spotted stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Rachael! Look ou-"
Two Scarlet guards, both clad in red leather and masks, emerged from the shadows, swords ready to find purchase. Rachael beat them to the punch. The first guard that lunged at her found her lockpick lodged in his carotid artery. In a fluid motion, she pulled the lockpick out from its temporary refuge, spewing forth an arching wave of crimson in the process, and effortlessly flung it at the other guard. The impact of the blow sent the second guard sprawling backwards, pinned against the wall with the lockpick lodged in his neck. As the first Scarlet choked on his blood, Rachael pulled her improvised dagger out of the pinned guard. The two Scarlets simultaneously collapsed to the ground, dead, in a gruesome display of unity.
Rachael flicked the lockpick-turned-dagger, cleaning it of any blood, and called back to Daellin, "Let's go! We don't have much time!"
Daellin was too stunned to reply, processing just how quickly and thoroughly Rachael dispatched the two guards. He had a visceral reaction in the pit of his stomach seeing them die. It was like they were little more than bugs to her. However, like a good soldier, he followed orders. He was slowed by dragging Nolan, who was still hanging on by a thread, but he made up for it with a renewed sense of hope- hope that Rachael, even with her quick-to-kill instinct, was his salvation. With Rachael taking the lead, the escapees followed.
This section of the dungeons was unfamiliar to Daellin. Before, he did everything in his power to avoid the Light-forsaken place, so the dark bowels that had consumed him were foreign. The walls and ground were as cavernous and frigid as the frozen hellhole they just escaped, with a few sconces and scattered tables to signify any human presence. But what puzzled Daellin was the distinct lack of Scarlets trying to halt their ascension to freedom. Perhaps even the Scarlets wanted to be as far away from these cave cells as possible? Or did the Scarlets wish to keep the existence of these prisoners a secret, letting only two guards know of the damned that wailed in the deepest corner of the city?
Nevertheless, all Daellin could do was follow Rachael. She wisped from one wall to the next, snapping her attention between Daellin and any potential threat that would round a corner. She looked like how Lightheart pictured the elves of Quel'Thalas looked as they darted from one magical tree to the next, stalking their prey under the moonlight. If it was not for the severity of the situation, Daellin would have thought she was a dancer performing an intricate routine for a captivated audience.
After an eternity of following dimly lit sconces, the cavernous limestone walls gave way to bricks and mortar. Rachael, Daellin, and Nolan had separated themselves from the rest of the pack, but she kept her head on a swivel for any possible danger. As they peered around the next corner, they finally reached the dungeon's main hall, which served as the spine of the entire dungeon complex. Branching off the spine were countless more halls, creating the ribcage of the Crusade's chilling body.
It was painfully apparent where the taxes the Scarlets collected went; the hall was in pristine condition, almost comically so. The floor was glistening marble, as if the inquisitors that called these halls their home wished to see their proud reflection in every step they took. The walls were spotless, no doubt from prisoners forced to clean them daily, sealing their fate with the notorious curse placed upon any who touched the dungeon walls. The centerpiece was a large mural of the Grand Crusader, Saidan Dathrohan, hanging in the rafters, overlooking all that had the misfortune in seeing his piercing eyes.
The most prevalent detail was the Scarlet insignia painted everywhere, as if they wanted every prisoner constantly reminded of the Scarlet Crusade, letting the horror the Scarlets inflict on every prisoner linger until their last breath.
In the center of the main hallway was a sprawling table that the Scarlets lingered about while on duty. However, the table was completely vacant. The lavish chairs that lined the table were pulled away, as though the guards did not have the time to push their chairs back in, and the brilliantly designed candelabras were still lit. Even from a distance, Daellin could see the meals placed on the table were still steaming hot. Dozens of pumpkin pies were only missing one or two slices, mashed potatoes barely touched, and entire baked turkeys -glazed with the finest berry juice and butter- still had carving knives stuck in their flanks. If the Grand Crusader saw this unacceptable mess, he would have chewed out their ears until they bled.
Daellin gawked at the wonderful bounty on display. His mouth salivated from the sight of so much piping-hot food. His recent diet consisted mostly of moldy bread and fruit rinds, so to see this wonderful cornucopia of assorted food was astonishing. "Is it already the Harvest Festival?"
"Looks like they left in a hurry. Probably didn't even have time to say grace," Rachael said as she led them ahead.
As they emerged into the spine of the dungeons, they saw shadows shift. A pained sound echoed throughout the hall, as though a bear was stuck in a trap, helplessly calling out for help. The bright lights that illuminated the Scarlets' pride revealed the source of these pained groans- countless prisoners trapped in the cells. They ranged in age and gender, but they were all unified in the fact that they were imprisoned in the Crusade's reckless quest for complete control. While not the walking corpses from Daellin's dungeon, they were still emaciated and haggard, a few clinging on to their final breaths. As the prisoners emerged from the dark, they called out to the trio from their confines, begging to be released from their tiny enclosures. From the most burly of men to a bespeckled grandmother, they all pleaded their innocence as reasoning for their release.
"Wait, we need to save them, too," Daellin said.
Nolan approved the idea with the faintest of nods. Rachael stopped in her tracks, smudging the crystal-clean floors with her dirty soles. Daellin anticipated a strong refusal. Instead, she smirked. "One step ahead of you, Lightheart. We don't have a lot of time, the red pigs might show up any second."
Rachael resumed her graceful dance, flinging from one cell to the next in a single bound, quickly unlocking and freeing the inmates without a word. She got the most out of her lockpick-dagger as, one by one, the entire spine of the dungeon system was freed. Most thanked their savior for their reduced sentences before dashing away. Some lunged at the glorious meals that had teased them for who knows how long. A few, those with obvious sin oozing out of their eyes, snickered and gave a devilish grin, as if their commuted sentence was a poor decision. They outwardly relished in the idea that the Scarlet Crusade could not contain a petty thief or fraudster. Either admitting guilt or pleading innocence, they all had the same goal- escape from the city's underbelly and rejoin society above ground.
When the last cell was opened, letting a large man with an even larger goatee out, Rachael rejoined Daellin and Nolan and led them ahead. They joined the more cautious prisoners in the march towards freedom, all praising Rachael as an angel that bestowed mercy. By now, those from the frozen cave were beginning to emerge in the hall like spirits haunting a graveyard. Their groans melded with the impassioned cries of the freed prisoners, creating a dissonant cacophony.
As they reached the point where the dungeon's spine became the neck, Rachael made a hard stop. "Quick detour," she told the two men before gliding to a closed door. As opposed to the jail cells made out of iron bars, this one was made out of thick, solid steel. Despite its imposing nature, she unlocked it in a jiffy. "Hey, everybody!" Rachael proudly called out to the prisoners, proudly holding the door open. "The armory's open for business! Come and get whatever you'd like!"
The offering was well received. The able-bodied prisoners rushed to her and flooded into the armory. By the time Daellin and Nolan reached them, the prisoners were streaming out, armed to the teeth with swords, axes, and shields. While a few could barely keep a simple sword above their waist, a few held their weapons with a knight's poise and composure.
"Why arm them? Some can't even swing a sword and," Daellin paused as he saw the goateed man admire his newly acquired battle ax with a look in his eyes that screamed he was itching for a fight, "aren't some of them actually guilty of crimes?"
Rachael, brandishing a set of newly acquired steel daggers, replied, "Is this your first prison riot, Daellin?"
Daellin slowly nodded.
Rachael chuckled as she urged Daellin and Nolan ahead, "The Scarlets make it out that anyone sentenced are hardened criminals that deserve the cruelest punishment. Some 'for the betterment of society' bullshit. Some might be, but most are just as innocent as you. Just nuisances that the pigs wish to get rid of in order to maintain their stranglehold."
"Nuisance? I've been called worse."
The large goateed man jumped next to Rachael with a grand grin to go along with his even grander battle ax. Despite his sudden appearance, Rachael was perfectly comfortable with his presence. Up close, his massive stature was on full display; his linens were stretched to the last stitch because of his muscular frame. His square jaw occupied half of the hallway and his long, ebony hair fell over his shoulders like a foreboding waterfall. Even his recently acquired ax added to the imposing appearance; the ax's body was adorned with spikes and the head was a large skull. A true spectacle of masculinity.
"C'mon, Rachael, tell Lightheart how the Scarlets truly feel about us? How we're heathens, cow-suckers, heretics, incestuous insects, traitors, motherfuckers. Silly little words they say to shield their damn falsehoods while they ruin what's left of Lordaeron," he spat.
Rachael shook her head and tisked, "Now, now, Korfax, Daellin has already seen firsthand how they truly feel. I mean, look at him, the man can barely move a finger without snapping a bone."
The burly man bellowed out a deep laughter that rivaled the earlier earthquake as he stroked his thick goatee, taking in Daellin's frail stature. The juxtaposition between the two was startling. It was like a single raindrop dared to compete against a series of whitewater rapids. Korfax twirled his ax and roared, "That's why the Argent Dawn was made, to save blokes like Lightheart. With that said, it's time for this show to get rolling," Korfax bounded ahead, joyfully swinging his mighty ax with reckless abandon. A few freed prisoners had to duck just to avoid an inopportune decapitation.
The Argent Dawn? That sounds…familiar. Where have I heard that before?
Before Daellin could answer his own question, Rachael nudged him ahead. They pushed their way through the straggling prisoners, letting the more willing inmates to lead the charge ahead. Soon enough, the dungeon's neck opened to its head; a large cell block with two levels, joined by a single staircase, served as the cerebral cortex of the dungeon system. Just as conflicting thoughts fight in one's mind, a battle waged in the dungeon's epicenter as the freed prisoners were locked in combat against several Scarlet guards. While the guards were clearly the lowest on the Crusade's totem pole, they held their own against the mob.
Suddenly, Rachael pushed Daellin aside, nearly pushing him into a prisoner fleeing from a fight. Where he was just standing, the ground was burnt and simmering with smoke, as if a small volcano had erupted. Through the crashing waves of bobbing heads and clashing swords, Daellin spotted a Scarlet, a priestly inquisitor based on his robes and stole, flinging bolts of radiant energy at the rioters from the second level. The Scarlet loudly declared his joy of shooting fish in a barrel. Even from this distance, Lightheart recognized the man clearly. His bald head was just as red as his bloodshot eyes, his gums as rotten as his vile words.
Isillien.
At that moment, their eyes interlocked. Daellin felt Isillien's rage swallow him whole as he instantly remembered all those awful moments he spent with the Grand Inquisitor. As the devoted Scarlet bellowed out an incoherent prayer littered with verbosity, he launched another volley of Holy Light, this time aimed directly at Daellin.
Rachael tackled Daellin at the last second, sending them sprawling to the ground. Nolan fell on top of them, cushioning the blow for the fragile veteran. Rachael instantly snapped to her feet, daggers drawn in her hands and eyes. "Take your friend and go to the exit up the stairs! I'll deal with him personally," Rachael hastily instructed.
Daellin struggled back to his feet while helping Nolan up. "You're letting me out of your sight? I thought-"
Even though Rachael had already turned away from him, Daellin felt her eyes roll back back as she vaulted across the cell block, drawing Isillien's attention to her. The mad inquisitor screamed holy profanities at the woman, as if her existence was an abomination towards the Holy Light. As she zig and zagged, cutting through Scarlets and rolling through crowds of prisoners, she taunted him, pointing out his shortcomings and inability to land a hit. Based on Isillien's fury and Rachael toying with him, it was clear that there was some history between the two.
What history? Daellin did not know. Whatever the case, with the Grand Inquisitor occupied, he had to follow Rachael's order. Daellin draped Nolan's arm over his shoulder and slowly walked to the staircase leading to the second level. The staircase had seen better days; the metal was completely corroded, leaving rusty rods jutting out menacingly in every direction. The staircase lazily swung back and forth from the commotion like a tree caught in a storm. In some places, the steps had completely given out, leaving behind only a daunting gap. One false move and the entire structure, along with the two frail men, would collapse.
Daellin knew there was no way Nolan would be able to scale this imposing mountain with his lame legs, so he hoisted him up on his back. The leper's limbs loosely wrapped around him like tattered threads creating Azeroth's saddest thatched blanket. "Look's like we're charging into battle once more, Lieutenant Nolan."
Nolan brushed his cracked chin against the nape of Daellin's neck and muttered, "On your signal, commander."
During his military training, he had to carry filled knapsacks up perilous mountains in the northernlands as quickly as possible. If it were not for Ahran, he would have been the quickest. Now, Nolan was his knapsack and the staircase was the mountain to climb. However, with his broken frame, it was like moving the entire planet just to lift a foot. His body violently shook with tremors as his muscles struggled to listen to his request. Nolan's weight, even if it was barely more than a feather, did not help. He held onto the rail, making sure to avoid any metal splinters, for some support.
"Light help me," he repeatedly muttered as he attempted the first step up. The pain he felt was like lightning shooting down his spine, but he eventually made it up the first step. He could not help but chuckle as he leaned on the rail even more, proud of his latest victory. His laughter ceased when the rail menacingly bowed, forcing him to reel back. While his heart skipped a beat, he heard Nolan's faint laughter enchanting his ear. Hearing his comrade laugh gave him the confidence to press ahead, braving each step as if the lava pits of Blackrock bubbled underneath.
They were about halfway up the stairs when he started to sneak glances at the top of the stairs, an alluring finale from this terrible ascent. Despite their progress, it felt like the stairs were infinite, with each step growing more futile than the last. It was an endless marathon that teased its glorious ending. However, Nolan's presence gave Daellin the strength to persevere. These arduous steps, previously filling him with dread, now gave him purpose- to climb the tallest mountain to reach salvation.
Then he showed up.
Isillien, face flushed and drenched with sweat, appeared at the top of the staircase, gripping the rail in one hand and his cane in the other. His fingers were blistered and burnt from shooting dozens of Light bolts. Struggling to catch his breath, he snapped his focus around like a squirrel on the lookout for predators, desperately looking for something or someone. The deep gashes across his face and arms made it clear who he was on the lookout for. However, someone else stole his attention away- Daellin.
"Oh, heretical Lightheart! May the Light damn you for eternity for your insufferable ways!" Isillien exclaimed as he pointed a singed finger at Daellin. The finger violently shook as strands of red and white danced around it. Given how exposed he was on the stairs, and lacking the ability to retaliate, Daellin could only ball himself up and shield Nolan from the next Holy Light bolt the inquisitor would lance at him.
Just as the strings of Light around the inquisitor's hand were about to shoot, a large figure suddenly emerged, tackling Isillien out of sight. While the two men were saved from Isillien's attack, they had other issues. The impact of the tackle was so mighty that it caused the stairs to tremble and convulse. A few steps instantly give way, bringing whatever unfortunate soul was standing on top of it with it to the ground below. Soon enough, the entire structure was violently shaking to the point that its collapse was a certainty.
Daellin had only one option.
As the steps continued to break, as though the stairs were being torn asunder by another earthquake, Daellin mustered what little strength he had left and ran for it. Clenching Nolan close to his body, he flew up the final steps like an angel ascending from the nether. He did not know if his weak feet were even making contact with the remaining steps, instead focusing on keeping Nolan from sliding off his back. All that mattered was reaching yet another tumultuous summit in his path.
The next thing he knew, Daellin felt solid ground. He cautiously tapped his feet, making sure that the floor would not give out from underneath him. They made it to the second level in one piece, relatively speaking. Exhaling all of the relief stored in his lungs, he checked if Nolan was still perched on his back. The former lieutenant, while mortified from his latest scrap with danger, still clung to him. "Not as graceful as our cavalry charge in Khaz Modan, right, Nolan?"
Nolan dryly chuckled, "Not at all, sir."
"Hey, no need for the honorifics."
Nolan, with an unamused frown, was about to tell Daellin that was his line, but a shouting match interrupted him.
"Korfax, I swear! Let me kill the fucker and be done with it!"
In all of the chaos, Rachael's anger was easy to pinpoint. Her daggers struck at the open air like a snake trying to inject venom. Isillien laid against a wall opposite from her, his gnarled cane laying on the ground off to his side, as his head swayed from side to side. The Grand Inquisitor, notorious for his endless speeches, was rendered mute only because he was going in and out of consciousness. In between them was Korfax, effortlessly holding her back as he blocked off her prey with his massive body.
"That is not your decision to make, Rachael!" Korfax pleaded. "You can't kill him just because you want to."
"You know what he did to me!" She made another go at her vulnerable target, only striking air. "That bastard! He, he-!"
Korfax took a step towards Rachael and held out an open hand to calm her down. "I can't take what he did to you back, but you'd be no different than a Scarlet if you killed him right now. Let the man face his sins and have the Holy Light decide his fate."
This pissed Rachael off even more. "The Holy Light?! The same thing he preached as he killed my friends? The same scripture bullshit that he rambled nonsensically as he had his way with me?"
She leapt at the wounded inquisitor once more, her dagger aimed squarely at his chest. The blow would have been true, if it were not for Korfax stepping in the way. The dagger glided along his arm before being deflected out of her grasp with a flick of his ax. The cut was harmless enough, but it did draw a trickle of blood. The sight of crimson must have triggered something in Rachael, as she ceased her assault. With her brows as furrowed as they could be, she stormed off, barely giving Daellin a glance.
"A feisty one, isn't she?" Nolan quietly asked, afraid that she would hear him.
"Aye," Daellin agreed. With Nolan still in tow, he made his way to Korfax. The giant was tending to his wound, a wound that for lesser men could have been severe, but he shrugged it off like it was nothing.
"Good work making it up those stairs," Korfax said as if they just accomplished the most mundane thing in the world. It was evident he was distracted, still processing his exchange with Rachael. He pointed his ax at the stairs in a way that obscured Isillien from Daellin's view. "You two narrowly avoided death right there," he half-laughed.
Ignoring the comment, Daellin strained his head to see Isillien. The inquisitor was badly injured with even more cuts and gashes. Given his already frail state, it was impressive he was still in one piece, as though his sheer fanaticism was the last thing keeping him alive. His hands were as black as charcoal, still smoking from the endless volleys of Light energy he had unleashed. Despite his intentions, his raging fire had been reduced to dying embers.
"What was all that about?" Daellin asked.
Korfax sighed, "I'm sorry you had to see that. Rachael, well… Rachael likes to resolve matters quickly. Given what this pig has done, I don't necessarily blame her," he paused as he thought of the reasons why Rachael wanted Isillien dead, but shook the thoughts away. "Even he, the mastermind behind the Crusade's most despicable actions, is a man, and men deserve some level of mercy."
"What of the other Scarlets here?" Daellin asked. "Shouldn't they have been given the same mercy?"
"Haven't exactly been keeping your head on a swivel during this prison riot, have you, Lightheart?" Korfax answered with his own question.
Confused, Daellin looked around, trying to see what Korfax was alluding to. It was quickly apparent. The defeated Scarlets were left alive, either knocked unconscious or tied up. A few continued their defense against the prisoners verbally, calling them all manners of slurs and insults. A few were silent, contemplating every moment that led them to this position. The fact that they were alive was a kind of mercy that the Crusade rarely, if ever, employed themselves. However, these prisoners, those that suffered the most under the Crusade, spared their lives.
That is, not all of the Scarlets were granted such mercy. Daellin recalled the guards that Rachael dispatched with ease. She had every intention in lodging her lockpick-dagger in their bodies, siphoning away their life without much thought. Even now, she wished to murder a defeated, disarmed man. A man that, as he gathered from Korfax's words, Rachael would stop the world to kill.
"Why did you stop Rachael from killing him?" Daellin asked as he glanced at Isillien, still reeling from his fight. He could smell the inquisitor's singed hands. It reminded him of the countless bodies that burned during the Crusade's purges to stem the plague's spread. It was ironic that Isillien, someone who took so much pride in conducting those purges, would smell the same way his victims did.
"Because," Korfax began with a heavy inhale, "it is not the Light's way. They may trample on us, lock us away, and rattle off propaganda for their own agenda, but we can not stray from the Light. The Holy Light makes retribution and vindication clear, that the accused must stand to face their sins before judgment is passed. The only way we can save Lordaeron is to follow the righteous steps the Light laid out before us. The red pigs strayed from that path, dooming many in the process."
Korfax's words rang true in Daellin, but he was still left bewildered by Rachael's prior actions. "But Rachael doesn't walk that path," Daellin said. "I saw her kill without hesitation. She didn't stop to give a trial or hear them out. Does she follow the same path?"
Korfax brought his ax to his chest, leaning his massive frame on the hilt. Miraculously, the ax held its own; the skull that served as the ax's frame laughing at how light its wielder was. "She walks the path," he sighed. "But often her vision gets…clouded. I've tried to help her seek clarity, hell the entire Argent Dawn has tried, but it is difficult to undo years of trauma and distrust. Why wait for systems and institutions when you can do it yourself, she would ask."
In his heart, Daellin knew the genesis of her trauma. He was there that fateful day when her father was slaughtered by soldiers that had vowed to protect them. It would be difficult, if impossible, to regain trust in banners and faith if those sworn to their oaths took away everything you loved. Daellin tensed, wishing he could go back in time and stop the Tyr's Hand revolt from ever happening. Many lives would be saved, trust in authority would remain absolute, and Rachael would have a father to cherish and love.
Korfax continued to speak with Nolan about the holy path he mentioned, but Daellin was lost in Isillien's cold eyes. Since the day he arrived in Tyr's Hand, he never liked him. His twisted views of the Holy Light only got worse as the days dragged on. It got to the point that Isillien's services were no longer for the Holy Light, but for the Scarlet Crusade. Instead of bringing salvation to the hearts of many, they were a breeding ground of zealotry. Isillien was the orchestrator that slowly turned the priesthood into an inquisition hellbent on purging Lordaeron of any possible threat. Only now did Daellin realize how much he truly despised him.
But it went beyond Isillien. He was but a singular man, another cog in the Crusade's machine. The vile words he spewed forth were symptoms of a greater affliction. He was the personification of what this order had done to his religion and nation. Initially, the Crusade was resolute in destroying the Scourge and restoring Lordaeron to its former glory. However, over time, that changed. Isillien would preach the Crusade's absolution in the pews, sewing seeds of terror among the population. Then, with the terrified masses in the palm of their hands, Saidan would serve as their heroic leader, leading them to Light knows where. This was not an order like the Silver Hand that preached to the soul, but rather a monster created out of fear to hold on to any morsel of control. The Scourge plagued Lordaeron, yes, but it was the Scarlet Crusade that plagued the hearts and minds of humanity.
"Shit, there she goes again," Korfax swore. Rachael must have been doing something that alarmed him. Without another word, the ginormous man bolted to whatever trouble he had to attend to, leaving Isillien with Daellin and Nolan. Korfax's powerful stride must have awoken Isillien to his senses, as he stopped swaying and raised his head; his neck muscles strained to hold up such a burden. His scalp was as fiery red as ever, even with a few veins pulsating across his scalp, but his eyes were cold, defeated.
Then, he grinned.
"Lightheart," Isillien lamely muttered. "I am thoroughly impressed and amazed to see your weak self still haunting this world. Why couldn't you have just saved us a lot of trouble and quietly died in a dark hole?"
Daellin dryly chuckled. "You tried, and failed."
Isillien rolled his eyes. "Clearly."
"My faith saved me," Daellin declared. "My faith in the Holy Light protected me when I needed it the most. When those I trusted betrayed me, the Light's salvation gave me the reason to live. The Holy Light truly is powerful, isn't it?"
Now it was Isillien that laughed, except his laugh was filled with unbridled sarcasm. "How is it that, even now, you're still a misguided fool, a complete dunce? The Light is stupendously powerful, yes, but it isn't from faith or salvation. No," he licked his lips, savoring every word that dripped from his mouth, "its power comes from it being used as a tool, a weapon of terrible magnitude. And, what is a weapon that is simply sheathed, never to be used? A useless, pathetic weapon. No, a weapon needs to be utilized." His neck seized three times, forcing him to pause momentarily. However, that gave him the time to pose a question. "How many do you think have died from my hands from the Light's power? Dozens? Hundreds?"
Daellin shivered at Isillien's remarks. The reminder of the Grand Inquisitor's main station in Tyr's Hand was a troublesome one. The day the priests turned in their holy tomes for torture devices was the day that humanity turned its back on the Light. Nolan must have felt Daellin tense, as he placed a comforting hand on Daellin's shoulder blade. The gesture was appreciated, but did not resolve the tension in his body, let alone his soul.
"Saidan Dathrohan has envisioned a new world, a world that he will create with his limitless power. A world that will destroy all those that deviates from humanity's grand destiny of dominance. The governments and orders of yore failed humanity, but he will not. As the Grand Crusader wills it, so it shall be."
Daellin remained mute.
Isillien laughed again, amused by Daellin's silence. "The Crusade will liberate Lordaeron and eradicate the undead, even if it means snuffing out every last soul that resists its Light-given authority. Oh, to be sure, there are plenty of rats that resist. They'll be liquidated, that is for sure. Like your pathetic friends that call for a new dawn," Isillien flicked his tongue over his green gums and added, "Or, like a certain peg-legged bartender."
Without saying a word, Daellin led Nolan away, making sure that the lieutenant-turned-leper's feet did not drag against the floor. After a few meters, Lightheart suddenly stopped and gently sat Nolan down on the ground, making sure to avoid as much discomfort as possible. "Wait here," Daellin whispered. To Nolan's side, lodged in the floor like the pikes that lined the road to Tyr's Hand with the bodies of accused heretics, was Rachael's discarded dagger. Daellin wedged the dagger free from its temporary sheath and slowly walked back to Isillien.
"Daellin, don't!" Nolan pleaded, knowing fully well what Daellin's intentions were.
Daellin did not respond. His eyes were locked on Isillien. He recalled how this pathetic excuse of a man, one that hid behind endless words, led the trial that stripped him of his connection to the Holy Light and sentenced him to death based on lies and deceit. He grasped the dagger as tightly as he could, letting pent up rage course through his fingers. The grip did not feel right, as his hands had grown accustomed to Dawncrier's comforting presence. He wished nothing more than to have his trusted sword at that moment.
In a blink of an eye, Daellin was face-to-face with Isillien. The smell of the mad man's burnt hands ravaged his nose the same way as the incinerated Scourge that burned from Dawncrier's might did. He brought the dagger right up to Isillien's neck, letting the blade gently caress the Scarlet's wrinkly skin. Even with the blade pressed against him, Isillien's eyes were an endless sea of crimson rage and fanaticism, showing not a single iota of fear or remorse.
In fact, those eyes had a look of longing in them, as if this is what he wanted. Not necessarily for Daellin to kill him, but for him to embrace the Scarlets' mantra of ruthlessness. That if Daellin Lightheart could kill his fellow man, regardless of how much he had manipulated his flock and faith, then no one would be immune to the Crusade's corruption.
"Come now, Lightheart," Isillien said, "I know revenge is a dish best served cold. As cold as a dagger's steel. Steel made from the forges of-"
"Shut the hell up," Daellin interrupted the inevitable deluge of pointless information. "Since I had the misfortune of working with you, I wanted nothing more than to rip your throat out." He glided the dagger from Isillien's throat to his lips. Isillien trembled, not out of fear, but from ecstasy. "But, that would make me no better than you."
Daellin, while maintaining eye contact with the broken Grand Inquisitor, rose to his feet. He tossed the dagger aside and, in one last act against Isillien, stomped his cane, shattering it in two. Isillien stammered, for once trying to find the words to express his displeasure. To Daellin's delight, he was rendered mute.
Daellin walked back to Nolan and picked him up. With the truest smile he had in months, he said, "Just had to submit my official resignation letter. C'mon, let's get out of here."
Nolan nodded with a strained smirk of his own. "After you."
With Nolan secured, Lightheart joined in the current of bodies funneling towards the entrance like salmon moving up stream. He quickly realized he was the lamest fish in this stream, but nevertheless he pushed on. They dodged haphazardly swung weapons, either newly acquired Scarlet steel or rusted metal pulled from the dilapidated dungeon cells. As he followed the flow of roaring men and women, he realized walking with Nolan was getting easier, as if his strength was slowly returning. His feet, while extremely calloused and blistered, gained a set of wings, pushing him further ahead through the madness.
"Well done," a voice said behind him. Before he could turn, Rachael glided past him, perfectly composed. "You passed your test." With that, she passed through the crowd like a phantom, impressive given that the area before the main entrance was a congested bottleneck, as though the dungeon's mouth was holding back vomit.
With Nolan still wrapped around his back, Daellin wormed his way through the crowd. As he neared the ever-so-desired exit from this hell, he noticed Rachael directly addressing a few of the prisoners. They were different from the rest of the unruly lot. They stood at attention, dignified and well-mannered, as if they were loyal infantry in Lordaeron's grand army. Korfax was among them, as still as the Alterac Mountains.
"By now, all of Tyr's Hand will be at Wilhelm's explosive distraction at the citadel," Rachael announced to her assembled entourage. "While we anticipate some level of Scarlet activity nearby, they'll be too distracted in maintaining order over the civilian population to see us slip by."
From the assembled line, Korfax spoke up, "And what are we to do with any possible Scarlet interference?"
Rachael playfully twirled her dagger's grip between her fingers and answered, "Are you asking for my answer or the Argent Dawn's?"
Korfax gripped his ax's hilt tighter.
"Ensure casualties are minimal."
Korfax nodded with a slight grin.
"Any other questions?" She gave no time for an actual question before twirling her dagger, the one Daellin momentarily had, and said, "Then let's get this show on the road."
In an unspoken agreement, she and Korfax switched places. The brutish man stood at the ready at the imposing gate, gripping his large ax eagerly. Rachael nodded to each of her apparent subordinates, then sailed to Daellin's side and whispered, "You stay by me at all times. I mean it this time."
Daellin thought about making a quip about how Rachael had given this order before, then breaking it herself at a moment's notice. However, given how fresh the situation with Isillien was, he thought better of it. "I sure hope you know what you're doing," Daellin muttered.
"Of course I do," Rachael smugly replied, flaring her nostrils. "As long as nobody cursed us, we'll be fine."
Daellin glanced at the nearest wall and gulped. He did not have the heart to tell her he already cursed himself before in these dungeons. Perhaps if he said nothing, then they would be fine.
"Alright friends, time to get the hell out of jail!" Korfax proclaimed. With a mighty swing of his ax, he easily cleaved the double-gate in two, severing the last strand that entombed the prisoners. Rays of light, unmatched in intensity, drenched them as Korfax charged ahead, yelling a war cry in a long-forgotten language.
As the world around him moved at a breakneck speed, with people incoherently yelling and pushing, Daellin basked in the sun's blinding light. For the first time in months, he felt true warmth bathing him. It was like being baptized in the sun's graces, welcoming him back to the world he once knew. It was a pleasant sensation, one that he would never take for granted again.
With Nolan draped on his back and Rachael tugging him along, Daellin let his winged feet fly once again. As the freed prisoners rejoined life's beautiful grace, a moment that should have been reserved for joy and catharsis, they were instead met with an even more chaotic scene than the one they just escaped from.
"The Scarlets! They're killing us! Help!"
