((Some of you may be familiar with Ishsah, the Herald of the Legion, on the Alliance side. Ish has been a villain on the ally side for years, almost since the start of the server and has done a great job being the "bad guy" for the Knights of Lordaeron (but not only them). In any case, on Friday night Ish and Alfos had yet another rundown, although this time it was arranged OOC. This is a detailed account of what happened.
Before I leave you to the story itself, I want to explain two things. First, this is my first attempt to write something on a present tense. The idea is to give the whole thing a more immediate and tragic feeling. Second, there are some references in the text that can only make sense if one has read Alfos' story (
link). It's a long read so I don't expect people to read it but it's there for anyone interested)).
Death...
The air is thick and heavy with the stench of it, making breething an effort. The trees, the grass, even the stones of the buildings look rotten, decayed, dead. He looks around, desperetly searching for any kind of life, a simple breath of bright color to give him hope.
He finds none.
Fear suddenly covers his senses and he reaches out with his mind to find Dreamwalker's thoughts, hoping that at least his trusted companion is with him, ready to bring him hope, even if only through waking dreams.
There are no dreams in this place. Only Nightmares.
His heart sinks. Voices in the wind whisper now, taunting him, mocking him.
You are alone they say,
You have failed. Distant mourning can be heard, cries for help from every soul that ever walked on the once green land of Hillsbrad.
You have failed the whispers repeat, again and again until he winces. He walks on, trying to ignore the lack of life around him but his feet are heavy and his heart is low. If only the whispers would stop, he thinks...
"Like what I've done with the place?"
The mocking voice brings back his focus. In his despair he finds enough courage to speak.
"Is..Is this real, Ishsah? Or is it another one of your tricks?"
"It is one of many realities, Alfos". Her voice is filled with arrogance and mock. "One I find rather pleasant. What better place to have you fall than the world you failed to protect?" Her words are dripping with poison.
Hatred spreads inside of him like fire and he raises his eyes, narrowed and filled with anger. She just stands there, leaning on the rotten doorstep of the Order's home, her arms folded on her chest casually but her mechanical eye glitters with taunt. His body trembling with hate, he pictures her dead, her limbs severed and her insides spilled to the floor, her tainted blood covering his face...He almost lunges forward, screaming. But no. If he does that, she wins. He draws a deep breath and lets his hand get steady again.
"Failed?" he says and his voice is clear now, as is his duty. "You said it yourself, Herald. This isn't the real world. Besides..." his hand moves towards the hilt of his sword. It trembles in his hand and a soft growl is heard from the blade. "...I am not dead yet". Lighting cracks from the hilt to the tip of the sword as he whispers a prayer.
A wicked grin covers her face and she takes out her axe, the unholy runes on the blade covered in life-sucking ice.
"Not yet..." she says and brings the axe over her head, ready to strike if he moves closer. She doesn't charge he thinks and then he knows why.
A foul cry echoes in the dead of the world around him, as a corpse sprouts from the ground, dirt and stones falling to the side as the undead creature leaps from its grave straight to him. But he expects a trap. Stepping back, he swipes with his sword, just before the ghoul lands, rotted flesh being torn and scorched from the blade. The ghoul stambles as it lands but does not stop, despite the gap on its side. With a growl it lunches towards him again.
A single word is heard, as his left hand points towards the unholy creature. Golden light lunches forward and strikes the ghoul. The creature stops and its questioning eyes soon receive an answer. Light shines between its rotten flesh and a few seconds later, nothing but ashes and a stench of burned flesh remains. Not giving himself time to congratulate himself, he turns to the Herald.
"Is that it? I expected a trick, Ishsah but if that's all you have prepared..."
Her one normal eye glitters with anger but only for a moment. She smiles ironically and then starts screaming commands in a language that was not supposed to be spoken by mortals, raising her hands in a commanding jesture. The ground beneeth him starts to tremble and he steps back, his sword at the ready and his face frowned and alarmed.
A hand creeps from the ground and starts pushing up, then another one, a few meters away. The ground is pushed aside as a ghoul appears. Then another follows and another and another, the earth in Hillsbrad's courtyard giving up her dead seeds to be riped by the Herald's will until nothing around him remains but the rotten faces of the dead, looking at him with a craving for blood and life.
The Herald extends her hand, palm down. Then makes a fist.
The first line died fast. The Lionheart roared as it slashed and cut all around him, golden lightning cracking as a thunderous roar was heard. The others hesitate but only for a moment. Dying again was a blessing compared to what the Herald had promised to do to their souls if they failed. Hissing and spitting, they charge at him.
He ducks as a clawed hand aimed for his head then, with a spin, he slices at one's legs behind him. Sensing an assault from the left side, he raises his elbow and a pained growl is heard after the cracking of a ghoul's teeth breaking on the strong plate. Feeling covered from that side, at least for a while, he turns to his right and thrusts with both hands, piercing through the neck of another attacker. But it is a mistake. The toothless ghoul behind him grabbs his shoulder plate and pulls it, just enough for another to come and bite his exposed neck. He screams and faulters. More fall on him now, some grabbing his armor and others clawing or biting wherever they find flesh. Pain covers his senses and he can barely feel the warm blood staining his shirt under the armor. He stops struggling and the Herald looks up, a grin lining up on her ivory face. But it is quickly wiped off. A roaring moan is heard, mixed with words of a prayer that make her unholy spirit tremble, even if it is for a moment. She can see light coming from somewhere between the piled bodies and suddenly the ghouls jump back, screaming. Their flesh hisses as it burns and they seem helpless for some seconds. For most of them, it was their last. For the rest, it was almost the last. A few seconds later he stands alone in the field.
"Disappointing..." she says but they both know better. They were never supposed to kill him. Oh, she wouldn't complain if they had. But they served their purpose. He knows it. He has strained his strength too much already and he hadn't even managed a swing against her. He tries hard to persuade himself not to pray for his wounds. He will need his strength if his plan is to work and he needs her to be near him, touch him.
"Any more?" he taunts. Her good eye narrows and the other focuses on him. Without a word, she brings her axe to a ready stance and walks down the stairs. Cautiously, she cycles around him, weighing him. He is nothing she says to herself and he is wounded. My victory will be swift. My Master will be pleased. She tries a swing but the Lionhear parries in reply. He does not try to take the initiative and she is angered. With a cry of hatred, she lunges forward.
Thunder and ice merge as the blades meet, again and again. Axe and sword try to penetrate the other's defences but every time the other parries. Her strikes are swift and accurate but her anger and hatred deprive her of control and the Paladin is always prepared. The more she continues to fail to land a strike, the more she is angered. She channels her rage around her and the ground beneath them becomes red as boiling blood comes out. His plated boots heat up and his feet start to ache. Walking becomes difficult and he is sure he will have to miss a parry if it keeps up. Growling between his teeth for being forced to use more of his power, he whispers a prayer. Veins of golden light are carved to the ground around him and the blood hisses and is consumed.
She curses in her language and a bolt of dark energy covers him. His body weakens and the sword feels heavy, so he barely manages to parry a swing aiming at his head. Moaning with the effort and still pressing against the axe with his right hand, he extends the other and golden fire leeps from it and strikes her in the torso. But she is no ghoul... She grinds her teeth and keeps the pressure on, growling at him with hate. With a cry, he pushes her axe to the side with his sword, and aims a kick with his heavy boots. She falls back, moaning as her head hits the ground.
And, finally, the world around him changes.
Light creeps back and the familiar smell of the Hillsbrad crops fill his nostrils. He breeths in heavily, his eyes feasting on the color of the world as if it was the first time. It is Hillsbrad. It is home.
"Your magic is failing, Herald! Look! We are back on my world, now! No more tricks!" He dares to hope. He thinks about using the rest of his power to heal his wounds and bring strength to his weakened body. Yes... Perhaps here it could work. Perhaps here he could defeat her.
"Perhaps" is not enough. He must protect them and a "perhaps" is not good enough. He -will- protect them and he knows only one way to do that. She looks at her and lowers his weapon until she is back on her feet.
"You are a fool, old-man" she says grinning with arrogance. "I was down. You should not throw what feeble chance you have away".
"If I had striken you, Ishsah" he replies calmly "I would not be me. Killing you isn't worth losing myself".
"Then I hope dying is!" she screams and lunges anew.
He steps back, shocked by the ferocity and speed of the attacks. He barely manages to protect himself. In the backround he can hear voices and cries of the Knights but he doesn't have the luxury of paying attention. She is too fast. She is too strong.
There is nothing special about the last stroke. It's a swing, aiming at his hand, like many before it. But this time, he missed it, it is as simple as that. The axe crashes through his shoulder plate and with a cry he falls to the ground, the Lionheart dropping to the side.
I remember this... he thinks and he knows what comes next. Only this time, the blade won't stop at the torso.
He is on his back, his breath heavy and sharp. He moves for his sword, only to see it kicked away by the demon. A cry leaves his lips. He closes his eyes and, for a moment it looks as if he smiles. It will happen as he had hoped...
"I see now, Ishsah... What you miss... You make nothing and bring forth nothing because you are nothing. A pet. A puppet, with no cause or respect for anything".
She ignores him and raises her axe. It lands with force on his chest, the armor giving in under the blade. He coughs blood but with his last strength he grabs the axe, opens his eyes and looks straight into hers.
"I was always one to share, Ishsah... And now I share this with you. My own Cause, my own Respect. Take that too, as you take my life. Take it and love it, hate it....Fear it!"
Her eyes widen as his close. The last thing he sees is a blue lilly blooming on the countryside of Lordaeron, the smell of cinamon and roses filling his nostrils.
His breath stops with a soft sigh, the smile still engraved on his face in his last moment.