Sir Raleigh snarled lightly, the screams were searing his mind. The Wardens hadn't found the source of the anguished cries yet, who strangely enough seemed to come from underneath the Ebon Hold, Acherus. Though the shadow of the hold never reached the chapel itself, its mere presence caught a sinister feeling in Raleigh. The nightsky over Light's Hope was still engulfed in the toxic haze of the plague, it was beginning to fade - yet, it was still a worthy testament of how this land had been for many years. Years of grief. His steed was unshakable, yet soft as they departed the newly constructed gates, as an melting ice sculpture, melting - in fear.
Time was short, he had prepared the potion and he knew he had to use it with perfect timing to get past Browman and the Noxious Glade in time, before he were spotted and eventually caught. Raleigh dismounted from his steed and whistled lightly in order to make it return, turning his head, gazing for a moment through the brush if the shrinked Scourge population still inhabited Browman mill. The old wreck of a mill has stood as a promising Scourge outpost since the definition of Plaguelands was created, why hadn't the Crusade cleared it earlier?
Fadeleaf, the taste clenched to his throat as he poured down the purple liquid. With a bitter grimace he limped through the shadows, time was short - the invisibility potion wouldn't last long. As he passed Browman he could hear the rabid growls from the withering creatures that wandered the mill, shuddering. His walking stick felt heavier. It wasn't much left until he reached the glade, this was just the beginning.
However, a wind of disaster blew past Raleigh as he limped by one of the dreaded ziggurats. As he stumbled, a frightened expression was revealed on his face, filled with adrenalin. He knew he had to fade, and with a flash he entered a transparent state. His ethereal form gained attention of a pair of clumsy ghouls, though they didn't attack due to his shifting transparency. Hopefully this was enough to limp through without getting seen. The ground was treacherous, and it was no way back. Whispers of cloaked men and women of every age could be heard through the thick fog of toxic which Raleigh participated in inhaling with his already withering lungs. The glade yearned to be cleansed, you did not have to be a druid to understand that. The tunnel in front of him was coated in a thick layer of unrecognizable fungus, which were the only type of plant he had seen as healthy, yet. His footsteps trampled the mushrooms like a stampede of kodos on a pumpkin farm. At the tunnel exit his first sight was a abandoned hill camp embraced in the shadow of the necropolis over his head. The Scourge camp was ravaged, and a pile of mummified corpses lied scattered in a pit, recently scavenged. He passed the camp without inspecting further.
After some time walking in the ever-silent Scarlet Enclave, he finally began hearing the shouting again - obviously coming from the graveyard. He put on his Warden colours, preparing himself to encounter the source of the screaming that he had been curious on for several nights. Walking cane heaved, he lets out a small, questioning yell towards the crypt: "Oi, chap! Stop shoutin' or show yerself 'ay! We had enough o' it now!"
Silence embraced him as a shadowy figure revealed itself across the graveyard, along with a emaciated looking steed. Raleigh clings his left hand to his top hat, walking stick lowered, yet ready.
A chilled gust blew across Raleigh's face, the shadow was approaching.-You filth clearly intend to claim Lordaeron for your own. I shall bring any wretched intruder to justice. Including you.-Oi, chap! Do not mov-- what ye doin'? --
The Gilnean fell to the ground as the cloaked man plunged the runed shortsword through his chest, tearing the golden Warden symbol on his tabard with a bloody aftermath, and making him drop his decorated cane to the treacherous, high grass.