Together

I don’t know how much time I have left, as I sit here writing this journal with a quill and ink stolen from the safehouse, in my scarcely legible handwriting. I’ve hastily written the last two journal entries from here, trying to cram everything in as fast as I can before I’m too weak to hold my quill.

I’m stranded in some god forsaken wheat field out in Westfall, Ida’s motionless form beside me. She’s alive, I can see her breathing but she’s not in any condition to conjure us a portal back to Stormwind.

I’m too weak to walk, too weak to even muster up any of my holy magic, as if that would even help with what that stuck up Defias bitch did to Ida and I. I can’t even talk, much less yell for help, even if that would do anything besides get us found faster.

All I can do is stay hidden and recount what happened to us, make sure that if anyone ever finds this journal, they know that I – we tried.

Right then, I’m getting ahead of myself now. I’ve got to focus, write faster.

We were at the part with the golem …

I  recall awaking with a terrible, sharp feeling shooting through me after I collapsed. I remember the waves of discomfort, the pangs of pain resonating within me as my senses returned. My hearing came back first, the gentle roar of a small, crackling fire  reaching me at the same time Ida’s voice did.

She didn’t actually say anything, the only sound reaching my ears distorted, incoherent mumbling, as if her words had caught in her throat.

As I opened my eyes, blinking a few times to adjust my renewed vision, I began to sit up. I was tackled back to the ground in a moment. My first reaction was to panic as I had the wind knocked out of me, but something about the way I was forced back to the ground told me I wasn’t in any danger.

When you fight long enough, get knocked around a few times, you can start to tell the difference between when someone is attacking you, and when someone is just affectionately rough.

Ida was the latter.

She wrapped me in a tight embrace that, in all truthfulness, hurt like hell, serving only to intensify the shooting pain coursing through me, a killer headache beginning to set in as my head smashed against the floor. Despite all the pain, I was still able to enjoy the abrupt hug, for what it was worth.

The diminutive dwarf quickly withdrew herself without a word, offering me a hand to help me to my feet.

It’s sometimes very easy to forget that even though I’m double Ida’s size, she’s still stronger than me, (dwarves are strange) and so when I took her hand, I wasn’t expecting to get practically yanked upright.

I grimaced a bit as another wave of aching pain coursed through me. All paladins were trained in pain management techniques, but something about this pain was different. It was deep and splitting, as if it were a part of me, and truth be told, I now realize that it was, and still is.

Avenging Wrath – the physical and magical manifestation of a paladin’s righteous anger. It’s not a spell that can be summoned on command, but rather one that simply happens when it is most needed.

It turns the paladin in question into a streaking star of winged, light-forged destruction for as long as it holds, but it is a taxing and harmful spell that feeds off of both the physical and magical reserves of the user, hence why attempting to heal the terrible pain that comes afterwards with your own holy magic would do little more than drain and exhaust you further.

I had only been able to maintain it long enough for one good charge.

As I glanced over my shoulder at the smoldering wreckage of the still alight golem, I silently remarked that I was glad that one charge was all I had needed.

Ida continued to say nothing as I turned back to face her, fighting through the pain and putting on my best victory face. Still, she gave me a weak smile as she handed me my sword.

“W-What in the name of the Light was that thing?” I asked through labored breathing, gesturing over my shoulder to the twisted husk of metal and wood while sheathing my blade.

“It’s an insurance plan, in case anyone ever wanted to steal me grandpappy’s stuff. It’s a Foe-Reaper 6,000,” Ida responded flatly.

“If you knew about it, why didn’t you warn me? If you had the key to this place, surely you must know how to deactivate that thing.”

“Me grandpappy and I didn’t know eachother very well. I knew that there was something down her guarding the place, I just didn’t know what until we came down here. My first time here too. I uh, I stole this key from his … his grave, a few years back.” she said, looking at the ground. In the darkness of the room I couldn’t make out the look on her face, but she sounded pretty ashamed.

“Oh …” was all I could muster up. In hindsight, asking exactly why she had stolen it probably would have been the prudent thing to do, but at the time, I was just barely able to keep on my feet through the aching pain, much less able to think entirely coherently.

“Let’s uh … let’s just, get the evidence, and y’know …” she half mumbled, still looking down at the floor.

“Yeah.”

She turned and started down the hall without saying another word, stepping over the burning remains of the bisected golem, and disappearing into the darkness.

Fighting through my pain, I gathered what was left of my strength, and began trudging down the corridor after her, grimacing in defiance the entire way. I refused to let my petty discomforts stop me now.

It was obvious something was wrong with Ida, and I knew it to be true by the way she was acting about everything; nervous on the lift down, normal once the fighting started, and then right back to nervous and bashful when I asked her about this place.

Even though my body was telling me to give up and die as I dragged myself through the pitch black hall, I had to be strong, if not for myself, then for Ida; she couldn’t have been much better off with the way she was acting.

We’d come this far together, we were going to finish it together.