Post by faroth on Jan 14, 2009 20:23:53 GMT -5
Redemption Before the Fall
Faroth prepared his things as the night's cool breeze whispered it was time to go. In the sky, Elune shined her candlelight beams down over the suffering lands of Lordaeron. The hunter strapped his weapons to his hips and picked up his cloak as he headed outside.
“You are sure of your course?” A high elf approached the taller hunter outside the lodge.
“I don't have much choice, Letholan. I've been summoned for a meeting with someone it's best not to ignore.”
“I'm not used to hearing you sound worried about another's sway. He must have quite a reputation, Sentinel.” Faroth winced at the title, one he felt he no longer deserved to bear.
“I do not fear him, but if he is seeking me out, I would very much like to know why.”
“Who is he? Ravenwing, you are walking into the Ghostlands to answer this summons, not the kingdom of Quel'thalas. The Scourge are everywhere and as you near Silvermoon City, Kael'thas' Blood Elves will see you. They are not going to remember your past deeds. Their allegiance to the Horde is solid. They believe it is their best chance to reach Kael'thas in Outland.” Faroth looked questioningly at the high elf. “They believe he can give them an endless source of magic, like the Sunwell.”
“Illidan...” Faroth's mind flickered to the one Kaldorei no night elf could forget. The one known as The Betrayer had escaped to Outland, according to Tyrande and Malfurion, after some sort of meeting with the High Elves. Could there be a connection?
“Let us send some rangers with you.”
“I'll be fine and able to move easier alone,” Faroth responded.
“Very well, night elf. You tell that cat of yours to keep you safe.”
Faroth chuckled as he began down the road. “She always does.”
The hunter set out north into the land once belonging to the tribes of forest trolls, then to the high elves known as Sin'dorei, but more recently the undead armies of the Scourge. The prince of Lordaeron had gone mad, leading the march on Silvermoon that caused the death of the lands Faroth now entered.
As Faroth made his way into the undead lands, he could feel a pair of eyes on him. He grinned to himself, knowing Aratiel, the black furred nightsaber bound to him, was shadowing his movements and watching for danger he might miss. He took deep breaths of the night air, though it was putrid with the plague of undeath that permeated even the trees and earth under his boots. Though he had grown accustomed to being active during daylight, he still felt more alert and refreshed under the watch of Elune.
The elf kept moving, putting as much ground between himself and the city now known as Deatholme as he could as quickly as possible. He had to circle back and veer off his intended course to avoid Scourge repeatedly, but he had been trained as a Sentinel of the Kaldorei and as a ranger, if briefly, by the ranger general of Quel'thalas. Avoiding the undead was easy enough for him.
The moon was halfway through its descent when the hunter spotted the towers of Silvermoon that still stood. Faroth came to a ledge that offered a better view and stood silently, his cloak gently blowing in the breeze. Silently, Aratiel padded up next to him and sat, looking over the land before them. Faroth's mind drifted back to the past.
“It's been quite some time since we've given much though to Kalimdor, but I know what you are.” The voice sounded clearly through the years. “Who are you and why are you in our lands?”
“I'm only here for answers, my lady. My name is Faroth Ravenwing.”
The woman smiled to him, her pinkened skin still radiant to his silver eyes. The woman's features were sharp, with long hair shining in the sun's rays. Her figure was slim, but athletic and the way she stood exuded confidence in her skill with the bow trained on him. Slowly, she lowered her weapon, while her brows raised. “Questions, hm? I am Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner of Quel'thalas. What questions do you bring, Faroth Ravenwing?”
His time in the eastern kingdoms had quickly turned dangerous as reports came of an army marching towards Silvermoon. Faroth and Sylvannas had parted ways while he went to scout the coming assault and Windrunner to gather her forces. Despite his best efforts, Faroth was unable to get back to lend any aid to the Sin'dorei forces, though doing so would only have resulted in his own death. From a distance, he saw the fall of the outer walls and the result of Arthas' assault. The hunter was forced to flee, praying Elune would keep watch over his only friend from these lands. However, he had never seen Sylvanas again.
Now, he once again viewed the city from a distance, knowing he still would be unable to walk within it. He took a deep breath and began to continue his way towards the city none the less.
“If this goes bad, Aratiel, don't stay. Get help.” The feline growled in protest at his words, but Faroth knew she would follow them.
The elf paused about forty yards from the front gardens of the city. Two guards stood armed and ready to sound alarm and defend from any who might again attack its walls. The night elf watched for any sign of the one he was supposed to be meeting. Instincts warned him just in time and he leapt aside, rolling over and coming to his feet with blades drawn. Metal clashed as the hunter's swords blocked a pair of daggers.
The face staring at him was blue skinned opposite his own purple-gray. Both had long ears, but the attacker wore white face paint that gave him a skull-like appearance. To further the difference, the dagger-wielder had tusks protruding from his mouth. That mouth revealed more teeth as the troll grinned, jumping back to stand in a defensive stance. The rogue wore leather breeches with flared knee-high boots. A pair of hardened bracers adorned his wrists, but his torso was left bare.
“Faroth Ravenwing of Astranaar, Sentinel of the East, Kaldorei ranger, and ally of the Flights. Your skills are as honed as they say. I'm sure Aratiel is nearby?” The troll's listing of titles sent chills up the night elf's spine.
“You clearly know enough about me. Who are you?”
“You know who I am, hunter.”
“Ah, Jinbu, I presume.”
“Correct.” The troll bowed low, sheathing his daggers as he stood.
“Dindle delivered your message, and here I am. So then, what can I do for you?” The hunter didn't trust the troll, keeping his hands near the hilts of his weapons after sheathing them.
“Ironically, she was the messenger of the messenger. I'm not the one searching for you.” The troll reached into a pouch and handed the elf a necklace. “I'm told to show you this, but I must ask for it back once you examine it.”
Faroth looked at the necklace, recognizing it as a high elven craft, but when he turned it over, he felt his blood go cold. Inscribed on the back was a message: To Sylvanas. Love, Alleria. The night elf looked to Jinbu, clenching the necklace. “Where did you find this?”
“To the south, but I took it to the Undercity beneath the remains of Lordaeron first. To give it to Lady Sylvanas.”
“What?”
The troll grinned, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “You heard me. The ranger is alive...in a sense. She is the leader of the Forsaken.”
“You lie!” Faroth gripped his swords again, intent on attacking the troll for his insolence.
“I have no reason to. You knew she battled Arthas, causing quite a few problems for him. As such, he didn't grant her rest, but rather undeath as a punishment. She became a banshee, but managed to repossess her own body.”
Faroth stood stunned at the revelation, his mind reeling. All this time, the Forsaken were led by Sylvanas? But why had she sent them on their assaults? Why take Tarren Mill and assault South Shore? It didn't make sense.
“And what would she want from me now?” It was difficult to restrain the emotion from his voice as memory rushed to reality.
“She wants you to search for her sister in Outland.”
“Alleria? Why me?”
Jinbu looked almost insulted at the question, as though the answer were obvious. “Alleria is a hero of the Alliance. With news of Trollbane being alive, her sister could be as well. You would be better suited to search their fortifications. I don't have a network set up out there yet, and I doubt even Dindle would be extending that far already.”
Faroth looked to the necklace in his hand, then handed it back to Jinbu. He pondered the revelations as well as the request as a voice whispered from the past. “There seems to be much we can learn from one another, Faroth.” The hunter's resolve was set as he nodded.
“Very well, but tell her I wish to see her before I set out on this search.” The hunter said nothing more as he turned and made his way south once more, not even looking back towards Jinbu. He meant what he said, intending to what he could to help the Dark Lady in this task. Perhaps, even, to help her more than just this once.
The air felt wrong around Feneril, just like everything in the kingdom of Lordaeron now known as the Plaguelands. The paladin had aided the small group gathered at Chillwind Camp, attempting to cleanse the ruins of Andorhal to gain a foothold to reclaim the lost kingdom. His work had led him west once more into Tirisfal, the woods that had been claimed by the Forsaken, along with the capital of the once great kingdom.
The paladin walked through the ever-gloomy forests with his sword sheathed upon his back. The strength in his powerful limbs allowed him to move smoothly with the weight of the weapon, and his armor, on him. His journey was intended to have gauged the defenses the Forsaken had entrenched at the Bulwark leading into the heart of their territory.
His companions on the mission had been a gnome mage and a dwarf warrior, but the two had turned back while Feneril pushed onward. The Bulwark had been oddly light in its forces and the paladin had to know what had caused the weakening of the Forsaken defenses. If it proved the undead had spread themselves thin, it could prove beneficial. The man's heart quickened at the thought of finding Lordaeron City weak enough to reclaim. Perhaps the undead leaders had sent too many of their forces to Outland. If so, the Alliance could muster its forces, and...
“One thing at a time, Fen...”
The hours passed as the knight moved further towards his destination with no hindrances from the undead he expected to find. Only a few bats and plagued animals came across his path. Soon, he came to a hill and saw ahead the village of Brill. Above, a goblin zeppelin hovered before slowly moving off, reminding him that it was possible other members of the Horde would be present.
Steeling his resolve, he set forward to get a closer look. The town still showed activity, but of course it was the uneven and sometimes shambling movements of the raised corpses Arthas' minions had slaughtered. The thought of attacking the undead appealed to him, but he knew it was likely he would join them if he did so.
Instead, he turned southward, his travel more careful now as he watched for sentries or scouts, making his way towards the fallen city once again. It took almost three hours before he was close enough to see the detail of the stones that made up the city walls, many of them now broken. A chill ran up his spine as he recalled the fall of Lordaeron when Prince Arthas assassinated his father. He started to move on towards the city, but stopped in his tracks and ducked behind a tree and boulder.
Coming from the main gates of the city was a quartet of undead horrors that walked out, or rather lumbered out. The paladin winced at the sight, though he had seen them before. Each stood around eight to nine feet tall with broad brows. Their bodes were large, but grotesquely so, and wore no clothing. Most disturbing, though, was the criss cross of stitches and metal bindings barely holding their bodies together. Despite this, their entrails spilled out, hanging from a gash that had ripped along their stomachs. One had a third arm from its back and another's flesh seemed stained green from oozing pus. The forces of the Alliance referred to them as “Abominations.”
But within their protective guard stood a smaller figure. More surprisingly, he spotted another standing at the base of the stairs that he knew hadn't been there a moment before. The figure at the base of the stairs was tall, perhaps seven feet. It wore an orange-ish cloak shrouding its form, but Feneril was fairly sure it was a male, or at least had once been. He could also see weapons resting at the being's hip sand a bow upon its back.
The abominations halted and stood their ground, the slender figure emerging from within their defensive flank. Feneril's eyes widened at the sight of a female high elf walking down the stairs. He gazed on as the she-elf stopped before the other, his eyes narrowing as he watched, memorizing every detail.
The female raised a hand, placing it on the other's chest before easing the cloak back to unveil his figure. Standing before one another, Feneril knew they were not both elves. Perhaps the figure was a demon. It would make sense as the blood elves had joined the Horde and taken to consorting with demonic magics. The female then reached up and pushed back the hood, revealing the stark white hair, long ears, and dark skin of a night elf! Feneril stared in shock as the two spoke, recognizing the male.
His eyes widened as he realized the Kalforei was none other than Faroth Ravenwing, a former guildmate from the Hand of the Faith. The paladin stared in confusion as he began to remember things of Faroth's past, of a journey to Lordaeron once before, and a meeting with an elf. And rumor held that the Forsaken were led by that same elf...Sylvanas Windrunner. There was no reason to believe it true, but...with Faroth meeting her. Could it be true then?
The ranger general of Quel'thalas had been killed by Arthas when he tore his way through the elven kingdom to reach the Sunwell. Nobody survived to tell of the ranger's face, but whispers named her as the Banshee Queen that led the undead now occupying the once great city. And Faroth was meeting with her...
“Traitor,” he growled. He looked towards the abominations and felt his anger surge through him. Growling, he stood and reached behind him to draw the sword from his back. As he charged forward, the sword, Soulfire, burst into flames.
The elves looked to him as he roared a battle cry and came rushing on. Sylvanas reached for her bow, but Faroth held her arm. The abominations were slow to react, but still managed to meet the attacking paladin before he reached the elves.
“You're about to lose four guards,” Faroth said, his disgust for the undead monstrosities clear. Sylvanas shrugged, having no real concern for the hunter's claim.
Feneril seemed mostly annoyed by the four opponents. The first swung a heavy cleave at him, but even in full plate, he easily avoided the attack. Growling, he side-stepped the lumbering creature's next attack and brought his blade down hard, slicing through the thick flesh of the thing's arm before lodging halfway through the bone. Feneril growled as he pulled on the weapon. The undead raised its other armo, seemingly unaware of the damage as it felt no pain. Before it struck, Feneril released one hand's grip on Soulfire and directed his will in the Light through it. A blast of holy magic smashed the abomination, sending it back with the force of an ogre's strongest punch. The arm holding Soulfire was torn as the bone snapped and flesh ripped free. The man yelped as his arms was yanked, though, feeling almost as if it was pulled from the socket. He managed to keep his grip and even ducked as two of the abominations attacked, successfully crashing into each other.
The paladin rolled away as the two regained their footing, but narrowly blocked the third's assault. Feneril pushed the attack aside and countered with a slash that further ripped the stitches from the monster's stomach. The stench of rot and bile spilled from the wound, entrails falling to the ground. Fighting hard to ignore the stench, Feneril managed to drive his blade through the undead's thick neck, severing the spine. A vicious slash tore the neck and throat open and the creature fell over dead.
The final two were on him too quickly to form any real defense and the knight backpeddled. He caught sight of Faroth and the undead queen watching and snarled. As the lumbering beasts neared, Feneril fell to one knee, his blade piercing the earth beneath him.
“Light, bless this land and cleanse it of its taint. Let all who step upon this consecrated ground be purged of all evil!”
Beneath him, the land seemed to surge with energy as he rose to his feet. The grass seemed to turn of sickly green from its dead brown as the undeath was stricken from the land. As the abominations stepped into the sanctified area, the skin of their feet began to blister and crack, both roaring in the only pain that could afflict the undead. The holy magic ripped through them to their core, but they pressed on. Feneril struck one again with the power bestowed upon him by the Light. Combined with the holy magic of the consecration and exorcism spell, the abomination simply collasped.
“Spare him, my lady. As payment of my task.” Faroth looked to Sylvanas, locking eyes with hers. The banshee stared back before smiling and stowing her weapons.
“Only half your payment, Faroth, in good faith. Succeed in your task and I shall offer you something you've long yearned for.” Faroth looked down to the woman, perplexed, his hearth thundering in his ears as she nimbly ascended the stairs.
“What do you mean?” The undead elf looked back over her shoulder with a disarming smile.
“Come back successful to find out.”
Faroth frowned, but his attention turned to the battle as the final abomination fell and the paladin came rushing at him. The hunter didn't have time to draw his bow, instead flashing his swords free of their scabbards and crossing to meet the flaming Soulfire.
“Traitor!” Feneril snarled again. Faroth pushed as hard as he could, then suddenly moved, turning his body and lowering the swords to let Soulfire slash by harmlessly.
“You don't know what's at stake here, Feneril. I am no traitor.”
The two circled one another, weapons at ready in defensive stances. “You come to these lands, you walk safely among the damned, and you consort with their very leader!” The paladin attacked again, flames licking at the air as Faroth slapped aside the blade, twisting to avoid the paladin's counter. The elf struck forward with his left blade, scratching harmless across the knight's pauldron. “Loyalty lies with your heart, elf! Does Lapheer know of this betrayal?”
The hunter's eyes narrowed, pause offering the knight an opening. His sword unable to strike quick enough, he threw his arm back, catching Faroth across the jaw with plated gauntlet. The Kalforei spat blood and glared at Feneril. The two former guildmates held one another's eyes for a moment before Faroth struck suddenly. Both blades came at the paladin, who was forced to bring Soulfire up to lift the hunter's weapons. Faroth responded with a kick to the stomach. As Feneril regained his footing, the elf was in close, striking with his blade turned upward under the knight's arm. Faroth withdrew his attack and spun before the paladin's counter reached mid-swing, doing little more than cutting a slash in the hunter's cloak.
Faroth rolled forward and came to his feet quickly, his sword cutting his burning cloak free. Resuming his offensive, the knight lifted his weapon, but felt his pauldron shift, putting his weight off balance. Faroth was already in motion as Feneril realized the attack under his arm had sliced the leather strap of his shoulder guard. He grunted as a sword struck hard, if harmless, against his stomach. He turned his head to see the white hair trail past before his knees were struck hard from behind. Soulfire fell from his grip as they buckled and he fell to the ground. He gasped at the sharp bite of metal in his ribs as Faroth drove the end of his sword through the human's flesh at a break in his armor. The other sword slid across the back of his neck, warm blood trickling down his back.
“She has nothing to know about here, and you've nothing to tell her! You call me traitor, but fail to see, fail to listen. I do not betray the Alliance by coming here. I seek redemption.”
“Re..redemption?”
“Yes. Mine, the Alliance's, Lordaeron if you want to present it as such. But most, hers.”
“You can't...redeem the undead, Faroth. It is madness.”
“Madness?” Faroth twisted his sword and pushed the paladin forward, leaving him bleeding on the ground. “The wounds I've left are meager for your skills, Feneril, son of Galary. When you are healed, go north to the grand cathedral and view yourself in others. There, you will find madness.”
The night elf turned and walked away, leaving Feneril on the tainted ground.
The paladin stood, quickly gathering his sword and looking around to find no further threat pressing on him. He quickly cast a healing spell to relieve himself of the wounds Faroth had left, then ran as fast as he could back towards the Plaguelands.
As he neared the Bulwark again, he slowed his pace, mind racing with what the hunter had said. Redemption for himself, for Lordaeron, for the Alliance itself...by working with the Forsaken? It didn't make sense. The paladin looked to the north and slowly reached for an amulet around his neck.
“Dani...Dani, can you hear me?”
“Feneril? Feneril, is that you?! Where are ye, are ye alright?” The dwarven priestess came back to his mind through the amulet.
“I'm fine. My companions have already returned to Chillwind Point with our report, but you must deliver a message to the Order of the White Tower. It's about one of their own...”
Faroth prepared his things as the night's cool breeze whispered it was time to go. In the sky, Elune shined her candlelight beams down over the suffering lands of Lordaeron. The hunter strapped his weapons to his hips and picked up his cloak as he headed outside.
“You are sure of your course?” A high elf approached the taller hunter outside the lodge.
“I don't have much choice, Letholan. I've been summoned for a meeting with someone it's best not to ignore.”
“I'm not used to hearing you sound worried about another's sway. He must have quite a reputation, Sentinel.” Faroth winced at the title, one he felt he no longer deserved to bear.
“I do not fear him, but if he is seeking me out, I would very much like to know why.”
“Who is he? Ravenwing, you are walking into the Ghostlands to answer this summons, not the kingdom of Quel'thalas. The Scourge are everywhere and as you near Silvermoon City, Kael'thas' Blood Elves will see you. They are not going to remember your past deeds. Their allegiance to the Horde is solid. They believe it is their best chance to reach Kael'thas in Outland.” Faroth looked questioningly at the high elf. “They believe he can give them an endless source of magic, like the Sunwell.”
“Illidan...” Faroth's mind flickered to the one Kaldorei no night elf could forget. The one known as The Betrayer had escaped to Outland, according to Tyrande and Malfurion, after some sort of meeting with the High Elves. Could there be a connection?
“Let us send some rangers with you.”
“I'll be fine and able to move easier alone,” Faroth responded.
“Very well, night elf. You tell that cat of yours to keep you safe.”
Faroth chuckled as he began down the road. “She always does.”
The hunter set out north into the land once belonging to the tribes of forest trolls, then to the high elves known as Sin'dorei, but more recently the undead armies of the Scourge. The prince of Lordaeron had gone mad, leading the march on Silvermoon that caused the death of the lands Faroth now entered.
As Faroth made his way into the undead lands, he could feel a pair of eyes on him. He grinned to himself, knowing Aratiel, the black furred nightsaber bound to him, was shadowing his movements and watching for danger he might miss. He took deep breaths of the night air, though it was putrid with the plague of undeath that permeated even the trees and earth under his boots. Though he had grown accustomed to being active during daylight, he still felt more alert and refreshed under the watch of Elune.
The elf kept moving, putting as much ground between himself and the city now known as Deatholme as he could as quickly as possible. He had to circle back and veer off his intended course to avoid Scourge repeatedly, but he had been trained as a Sentinel of the Kaldorei and as a ranger, if briefly, by the ranger general of Quel'thalas. Avoiding the undead was easy enough for him.
The moon was halfway through its descent when the hunter spotted the towers of Silvermoon that still stood. Faroth came to a ledge that offered a better view and stood silently, his cloak gently blowing in the breeze. Silently, Aratiel padded up next to him and sat, looking over the land before them. Faroth's mind drifted back to the past.
“It's been quite some time since we've given much though to Kalimdor, but I know what you are.” The voice sounded clearly through the years. “Who are you and why are you in our lands?”
“I'm only here for answers, my lady. My name is Faroth Ravenwing.”
The woman smiled to him, her pinkened skin still radiant to his silver eyes. The woman's features were sharp, with long hair shining in the sun's rays. Her figure was slim, but athletic and the way she stood exuded confidence in her skill with the bow trained on him. Slowly, she lowered her weapon, while her brows raised. “Questions, hm? I am Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner of Quel'thalas. What questions do you bring, Faroth Ravenwing?”
His time in the eastern kingdoms had quickly turned dangerous as reports came of an army marching towards Silvermoon. Faroth and Sylvannas had parted ways while he went to scout the coming assault and Windrunner to gather her forces. Despite his best efforts, Faroth was unable to get back to lend any aid to the Sin'dorei forces, though doing so would only have resulted in his own death. From a distance, he saw the fall of the outer walls and the result of Arthas' assault. The hunter was forced to flee, praying Elune would keep watch over his only friend from these lands. However, he had never seen Sylvanas again.
Now, he once again viewed the city from a distance, knowing he still would be unable to walk within it. He took a deep breath and began to continue his way towards the city none the less.
“If this goes bad, Aratiel, don't stay. Get help.” The feline growled in protest at his words, but Faroth knew she would follow them.
The elf paused about forty yards from the front gardens of the city. Two guards stood armed and ready to sound alarm and defend from any who might again attack its walls. The night elf watched for any sign of the one he was supposed to be meeting. Instincts warned him just in time and he leapt aside, rolling over and coming to his feet with blades drawn. Metal clashed as the hunter's swords blocked a pair of daggers.
The face staring at him was blue skinned opposite his own purple-gray. Both had long ears, but the attacker wore white face paint that gave him a skull-like appearance. To further the difference, the dagger-wielder had tusks protruding from his mouth. That mouth revealed more teeth as the troll grinned, jumping back to stand in a defensive stance. The rogue wore leather breeches with flared knee-high boots. A pair of hardened bracers adorned his wrists, but his torso was left bare.
“Faroth Ravenwing of Astranaar, Sentinel of the East, Kaldorei ranger, and ally of the Flights. Your skills are as honed as they say. I'm sure Aratiel is nearby?” The troll's listing of titles sent chills up the night elf's spine.
“You clearly know enough about me. Who are you?”
“You know who I am, hunter.”
“Ah, Jinbu, I presume.”
“Correct.” The troll bowed low, sheathing his daggers as he stood.
“Dindle delivered your message, and here I am. So then, what can I do for you?” The hunter didn't trust the troll, keeping his hands near the hilts of his weapons after sheathing them.
“Ironically, she was the messenger of the messenger. I'm not the one searching for you.” The troll reached into a pouch and handed the elf a necklace. “I'm told to show you this, but I must ask for it back once you examine it.”
Faroth looked at the necklace, recognizing it as a high elven craft, but when he turned it over, he felt his blood go cold. Inscribed on the back was a message: To Sylvanas. Love, Alleria. The night elf looked to Jinbu, clenching the necklace. “Where did you find this?”
“To the south, but I took it to the Undercity beneath the remains of Lordaeron first. To give it to Lady Sylvanas.”
“What?”
The troll grinned, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “You heard me. The ranger is alive...in a sense. She is the leader of the Forsaken.”
“You lie!” Faroth gripped his swords again, intent on attacking the troll for his insolence.
“I have no reason to. You knew she battled Arthas, causing quite a few problems for him. As such, he didn't grant her rest, but rather undeath as a punishment. She became a banshee, but managed to repossess her own body.”
Faroth stood stunned at the revelation, his mind reeling. All this time, the Forsaken were led by Sylvanas? But why had she sent them on their assaults? Why take Tarren Mill and assault South Shore? It didn't make sense.
“And what would she want from me now?” It was difficult to restrain the emotion from his voice as memory rushed to reality.
“She wants you to search for her sister in Outland.”
“Alleria? Why me?”
Jinbu looked almost insulted at the question, as though the answer were obvious. “Alleria is a hero of the Alliance. With news of Trollbane being alive, her sister could be as well. You would be better suited to search their fortifications. I don't have a network set up out there yet, and I doubt even Dindle would be extending that far already.”
Faroth looked to the necklace in his hand, then handed it back to Jinbu. He pondered the revelations as well as the request as a voice whispered from the past. “There seems to be much we can learn from one another, Faroth.” The hunter's resolve was set as he nodded.
“Very well, but tell her I wish to see her before I set out on this search.” The hunter said nothing more as he turned and made his way south once more, not even looking back towards Jinbu. He meant what he said, intending to what he could to help the Dark Lady in this task. Perhaps, even, to help her more than just this once.
The air felt wrong around Feneril, just like everything in the kingdom of Lordaeron now known as the Plaguelands. The paladin had aided the small group gathered at Chillwind Camp, attempting to cleanse the ruins of Andorhal to gain a foothold to reclaim the lost kingdom. His work had led him west once more into Tirisfal, the woods that had been claimed by the Forsaken, along with the capital of the once great kingdom.
The paladin walked through the ever-gloomy forests with his sword sheathed upon his back. The strength in his powerful limbs allowed him to move smoothly with the weight of the weapon, and his armor, on him. His journey was intended to have gauged the defenses the Forsaken had entrenched at the Bulwark leading into the heart of their territory.
His companions on the mission had been a gnome mage and a dwarf warrior, but the two had turned back while Feneril pushed onward. The Bulwark had been oddly light in its forces and the paladin had to know what had caused the weakening of the Forsaken defenses. If it proved the undead had spread themselves thin, it could prove beneficial. The man's heart quickened at the thought of finding Lordaeron City weak enough to reclaim. Perhaps the undead leaders had sent too many of their forces to Outland. If so, the Alliance could muster its forces, and...
“One thing at a time, Fen...”
The hours passed as the knight moved further towards his destination with no hindrances from the undead he expected to find. Only a few bats and plagued animals came across his path. Soon, he came to a hill and saw ahead the village of Brill. Above, a goblin zeppelin hovered before slowly moving off, reminding him that it was possible other members of the Horde would be present.
Steeling his resolve, he set forward to get a closer look. The town still showed activity, but of course it was the uneven and sometimes shambling movements of the raised corpses Arthas' minions had slaughtered. The thought of attacking the undead appealed to him, but he knew it was likely he would join them if he did so.
Instead, he turned southward, his travel more careful now as he watched for sentries or scouts, making his way towards the fallen city once again. It took almost three hours before he was close enough to see the detail of the stones that made up the city walls, many of them now broken. A chill ran up his spine as he recalled the fall of Lordaeron when Prince Arthas assassinated his father. He started to move on towards the city, but stopped in his tracks and ducked behind a tree and boulder.
Coming from the main gates of the city was a quartet of undead horrors that walked out, or rather lumbered out. The paladin winced at the sight, though he had seen them before. Each stood around eight to nine feet tall with broad brows. Their bodes were large, but grotesquely so, and wore no clothing. Most disturbing, though, was the criss cross of stitches and metal bindings barely holding their bodies together. Despite this, their entrails spilled out, hanging from a gash that had ripped along their stomachs. One had a third arm from its back and another's flesh seemed stained green from oozing pus. The forces of the Alliance referred to them as “Abominations.”
But within their protective guard stood a smaller figure. More surprisingly, he spotted another standing at the base of the stairs that he knew hadn't been there a moment before. The figure at the base of the stairs was tall, perhaps seven feet. It wore an orange-ish cloak shrouding its form, but Feneril was fairly sure it was a male, or at least had once been. He could also see weapons resting at the being's hip sand a bow upon its back.
The abominations halted and stood their ground, the slender figure emerging from within their defensive flank. Feneril's eyes widened at the sight of a female high elf walking down the stairs. He gazed on as the she-elf stopped before the other, his eyes narrowing as he watched, memorizing every detail.
The female raised a hand, placing it on the other's chest before easing the cloak back to unveil his figure. Standing before one another, Feneril knew they were not both elves. Perhaps the figure was a demon. It would make sense as the blood elves had joined the Horde and taken to consorting with demonic magics. The female then reached up and pushed back the hood, revealing the stark white hair, long ears, and dark skin of a night elf! Feneril stared in shock as the two spoke, recognizing the male.
His eyes widened as he realized the Kalforei was none other than Faroth Ravenwing, a former guildmate from the Hand of the Faith. The paladin stared in confusion as he began to remember things of Faroth's past, of a journey to Lordaeron once before, and a meeting with an elf. And rumor held that the Forsaken were led by that same elf...Sylvanas Windrunner. There was no reason to believe it true, but...with Faroth meeting her. Could it be true then?
The ranger general of Quel'thalas had been killed by Arthas when he tore his way through the elven kingdom to reach the Sunwell. Nobody survived to tell of the ranger's face, but whispers named her as the Banshee Queen that led the undead now occupying the once great city. And Faroth was meeting with her...
“Traitor,” he growled. He looked towards the abominations and felt his anger surge through him. Growling, he stood and reached behind him to draw the sword from his back. As he charged forward, the sword, Soulfire, burst into flames.
The elves looked to him as he roared a battle cry and came rushing on. Sylvanas reached for her bow, but Faroth held her arm. The abominations were slow to react, but still managed to meet the attacking paladin before he reached the elves.
“You're about to lose four guards,” Faroth said, his disgust for the undead monstrosities clear. Sylvanas shrugged, having no real concern for the hunter's claim.
Feneril seemed mostly annoyed by the four opponents. The first swung a heavy cleave at him, but even in full plate, he easily avoided the attack. Growling, he side-stepped the lumbering creature's next attack and brought his blade down hard, slicing through the thick flesh of the thing's arm before lodging halfway through the bone. Feneril growled as he pulled on the weapon. The undead raised its other armo, seemingly unaware of the damage as it felt no pain. Before it struck, Feneril released one hand's grip on Soulfire and directed his will in the Light through it. A blast of holy magic smashed the abomination, sending it back with the force of an ogre's strongest punch. The arm holding Soulfire was torn as the bone snapped and flesh ripped free. The man yelped as his arms was yanked, though, feeling almost as if it was pulled from the socket. He managed to keep his grip and even ducked as two of the abominations attacked, successfully crashing into each other.
The paladin rolled away as the two regained their footing, but narrowly blocked the third's assault. Feneril pushed the attack aside and countered with a slash that further ripped the stitches from the monster's stomach. The stench of rot and bile spilled from the wound, entrails falling to the ground. Fighting hard to ignore the stench, Feneril managed to drive his blade through the undead's thick neck, severing the spine. A vicious slash tore the neck and throat open and the creature fell over dead.
The final two were on him too quickly to form any real defense and the knight backpeddled. He caught sight of Faroth and the undead queen watching and snarled. As the lumbering beasts neared, Feneril fell to one knee, his blade piercing the earth beneath him.
“Light, bless this land and cleanse it of its taint. Let all who step upon this consecrated ground be purged of all evil!”
Beneath him, the land seemed to surge with energy as he rose to his feet. The grass seemed to turn of sickly green from its dead brown as the undeath was stricken from the land. As the abominations stepped into the sanctified area, the skin of their feet began to blister and crack, both roaring in the only pain that could afflict the undead. The holy magic ripped through them to their core, but they pressed on. Feneril struck one again with the power bestowed upon him by the Light. Combined with the holy magic of the consecration and exorcism spell, the abomination simply collasped.
“Spare him, my lady. As payment of my task.” Faroth looked to Sylvanas, locking eyes with hers. The banshee stared back before smiling and stowing her weapons.
“Only half your payment, Faroth, in good faith. Succeed in your task and I shall offer you something you've long yearned for.” Faroth looked down to the woman, perplexed, his hearth thundering in his ears as she nimbly ascended the stairs.
“What do you mean?” The undead elf looked back over her shoulder with a disarming smile.
“Come back successful to find out.”
Faroth frowned, but his attention turned to the battle as the final abomination fell and the paladin came rushing at him. The hunter didn't have time to draw his bow, instead flashing his swords free of their scabbards and crossing to meet the flaming Soulfire.
“Traitor!” Feneril snarled again. Faroth pushed as hard as he could, then suddenly moved, turning his body and lowering the swords to let Soulfire slash by harmlessly.
“You don't know what's at stake here, Feneril. I am no traitor.”
The two circled one another, weapons at ready in defensive stances. “You come to these lands, you walk safely among the damned, and you consort with their very leader!” The paladin attacked again, flames licking at the air as Faroth slapped aside the blade, twisting to avoid the paladin's counter. The elf struck forward with his left blade, scratching harmless across the knight's pauldron. “Loyalty lies with your heart, elf! Does Lapheer know of this betrayal?”
The hunter's eyes narrowed, pause offering the knight an opening. His sword unable to strike quick enough, he threw his arm back, catching Faroth across the jaw with plated gauntlet. The Kalforei spat blood and glared at Feneril. The two former guildmates held one another's eyes for a moment before Faroth struck suddenly. Both blades came at the paladin, who was forced to bring Soulfire up to lift the hunter's weapons. Faroth responded with a kick to the stomach. As Feneril regained his footing, the elf was in close, striking with his blade turned upward under the knight's arm. Faroth withdrew his attack and spun before the paladin's counter reached mid-swing, doing little more than cutting a slash in the hunter's cloak.
Faroth rolled forward and came to his feet quickly, his sword cutting his burning cloak free. Resuming his offensive, the knight lifted his weapon, but felt his pauldron shift, putting his weight off balance. Faroth was already in motion as Feneril realized the attack under his arm had sliced the leather strap of his shoulder guard. He grunted as a sword struck hard, if harmless, against his stomach. He turned his head to see the white hair trail past before his knees were struck hard from behind. Soulfire fell from his grip as they buckled and he fell to the ground. He gasped at the sharp bite of metal in his ribs as Faroth drove the end of his sword through the human's flesh at a break in his armor. The other sword slid across the back of his neck, warm blood trickling down his back.
“She has nothing to know about here, and you've nothing to tell her! You call me traitor, but fail to see, fail to listen. I do not betray the Alliance by coming here. I seek redemption.”
“Re..redemption?”
“Yes. Mine, the Alliance's, Lordaeron if you want to present it as such. But most, hers.”
“You can't...redeem the undead, Faroth. It is madness.”
“Madness?” Faroth twisted his sword and pushed the paladin forward, leaving him bleeding on the ground. “The wounds I've left are meager for your skills, Feneril, son of Galary. When you are healed, go north to the grand cathedral and view yourself in others. There, you will find madness.”
The night elf turned and walked away, leaving Feneril on the tainted ground.
The paladin stood, quickly gathering his sword and looking around to find no further threat pressing on him. He quickly cast a healing spell to relieve himself of the wounds Faroth had left, then ran as fast as he could back towards the Plaguelands.
As he neared the Bulwark again, he slowed his pace, mind racing with what the hunter had said. Redemption for himself, for Lordaeron, for the Alliance itself...by working with the Forsaken? It didn't make sense. The paladin looked to the north and slowly reached for an amulet around his neck.
“Dani...Dani, can you hear me?”
“Feneril? Feneril, is that you?! Where are ye, are ye alright?” The dwarven priestess came back to his mind through the amulet.
“I'm fine. My companions have already returned to Chillwind Point with our report, but you must deliver a message to the Order of the White Tower. It's about one of their own...”