Requiem For A Paladin

I fear this may be my final entry. I can no longer feel anything, even the pain having given way to this insufferable, icy numbness. I do not have long. I must finish my journal; where were we?

Ah yes, the lift …

When I reached the surface, and the elevator lurched to a stop jarringly, I was forced to take notice. My eyes jolted open and I readied myself for the arduous journey ahead. Without Ida’s portal, it would take me nearly a day to limp all the way back to Stormwind, and that was provided I didn’t get caught by the Defias in which case, I was finished. I had no strength left to fight.

As the metal doors in front of me creaked open, slowly pulling themselves aside, I struggled to my feet, my overspent muscles begging me to sit back down and rest. I considered their offer, but declined with a grunt of pain and acknowledgement; I had to make it back to Stormwind, no matter the cost.

I braced myself, steeling my nerves as I stood up. The blinding, radiant light of the sun flooded into the elevator, forcing me to hold a hand over my eyes, such was its intensity. The whiskers of golden light emanating from the sun refused to be stopped by my hand though, slivers of luminsescence bleeding past my arm, and even my eyelids when I shut my eyes in an attempt to drown out the sun’s glow.

Legs trembling, I stumbled forward, blinded by the sun, attempting to keep my balance. One step flowed into another, and in a few moments I was a good few paces away from the safehouse lift behind me, the sun’s blinding ray’s receding enough for me to squint and be able to see.

The lift shut behind me with a metallic grind, and I silently shuddered at the thought of being trapped down there, like Bolgrim was. I didn’t have time to linger on such thoughts though, so I simply pushed them aside in favor of more useful, optimistic ones.

I looked up into the air, closing my eyes and taking a deep, lasting breath, confident that I could do this.

My breath suddenly caught in my lungs though, my whole body tensing up and screaming out in anguish as I suddenly felt a jarring, sharp pain radiating out from my chest, forcing me backwards. I felt weak, so terribly weak, as if the life itself was draining from me. I stumbled backwards, legs threatening to give out, my eyes shooting open in shock. I looked down at my chestplate, weakly reaching up with both of my arms in disbelief as I realized what had happened.

I had been stabbed.

The short, stout dagger now lodged firmly in my breast had punctured my armor without pause. The hilt of it crackled faintly with dark, black streaks of electricity.

Anti-Magic.

It was no surprise to me then, that it cared little for my armor, made of the magical metal truesilver. I took short, shallow breaths, trying not to disturb the blade, to make it as still as possible. Blood seeped out of my armor, past the edges of the dagger, and trickled down onto my breastplate, the vivid red contrasting sharply against the gleaming silver.

I hit the ground hard as I fell, unable to stand, and suddenly, I was staring up at the sun again, shrill ringing in my ears, able to hear my own labored heartbeat. I tried to move, but found myself unable to. I just lay there, gazing up at the sun, helpless.

The shuffling of feet, frantic and excited, echoed in my head, and all of a sudden I could see sets of leather boots out of the corner of my vision – two on each side of me. One knelt down next to me, and as soon as I caught the flash of red out of the corner of my eye, I knew exactly what had happened; I had been too slow.

I willed myself to look at him as he examined me, his face not more than a few inches from mine. His complexion was fair, but he was covered in dirt, grimy and unwashed. He looked at me, and I looked back. We stared at eachother for a moment, my weak, fading eyes clashing with his. They were hard and dangerous, the look of an outlaw about him.

But I knew what he truly was, for it wasn’t his eyes that disturbed me, no, I had known many dangerous men in my life; it was the red, cloth mask he wore ’round his face, tied like a desperado’s, concealing his mouth.

” Should we tell the overseer?” one of them mumbled to another.

“The overseer? Thissere’s one’a them paladins. We gotsa ta tell Vanessa herself,” another replied, his words reaching me, but in my weak, sapped state, I did not fully comprehend them.

“Aight, then. Finish him, and then let’s git movi-” one began, before being cut off mid sentence.

A terrible, shrill hiss cut through the air, overtaking all other sounds as one of the pairs of boots off to my left vanished in an explosion of vivid green light, a trail of smoke wafting over me as I heard a loud crash to my right. Frantic shouting, hasty commands yelled in desperation took over as I shifted my gaze, forcing myself to look to my left, where the hissing sound had come from.

Another hissing shriek split the air, and another pair of boots was violently thrown from the ground, leaving only a smoking crater where they had once been. The crater smoldered with green fire, and acrid, foul smelling smoke drifted off of it, reaching out to my nostrils. I smelled sulfur in the smoke.

“Daggers out boys! Hit her! Hit her!!” I managed to decipher one of the men saying, a desperate urgency in his voice. The sound of metal being unsheathed reached me, shortly followed by the low whine of something streaking through the air at high speed, ripping the air asunder to reach its target. More shrill shrieking, more fiery, green explosions rocked the ground around me. More sulfurous smoke.

More chaos bolts.

I heard someone gasp and gutter in pain, and shortly after one final explosion rocked the ground. A body flew like lighting across my field of vision, landing squarely across my stomach, piled across me, knocking the wind out of me. Jolt of aching sharp pain resonated throughout me as I attempted to recover, catching my breath and attempting to sit up, to shove the limp body off of me. I weakly reached over to the body’s hand, attempting to push it away, but something caught my eye.

There, emblazoned across it’s palm, was a single, black cog. He was, or had been, part of the Defias Brotherhood, as I had suspected. He and the others, were the ones that had gotten me right in the chest with that throwing dagger. They were the patrol Ida had warned me about, and in my deteriorating state, I had been to slow to avoid them, having taken far too long to limp back to the elevator.

But in that moment, as everything came together, as I shoved the body off of me, I heard a familiar voice echo in my mind.

“Git up, we gotta move!”

Was that … no, that was impossible, but again, the voice called out, this time closer and more urgent.

“Get off yer arse, we’ve got a city to save!”

I turned to my left as  sat up, the sun nearly blinding me as I did so, but through my squinted eyes, I could see a single, stout, silhouetted figure.

It came closer, its gait awkward and labored, one of its arms clutching it’s stomach, the other outstretched, offering me a hand. As it came closer, the silhouette fading, features coming into clarity, my vision adjusted, and my eyes widened as I realized who it was.

The traces of green hellfire still lingered about the fingertips of her outstretched hand, streaks of arcing green energy crackling faintly as they faded.

“Well, you just gonna lay there and bleed out, or are we gonna finish this?” Ida said, looking down at me with her usual emerald green eyes.

I was dumbfounded, simply staring at her in disbelief through my muddled senses.

She … came back for me? 

But she left me to die, left me to Bolgrim. What in the name of the Light did she want with me now? To kill me, finish the job herself? Was that it?

I should’ve lashed out, should’ve used the last of my strength to strangle her. But I didn’t, the gleam of metal catching my eye, forcing me to look at her stomach. There was no blood, but there, stuck in her gut, was a dagger, it’s hilt crackling with dark energy.

I looked up at her, meeting her gaze. She was trembling, her hand wobbling uneasily as I gazed into her green eyes. We spoke no words, but I think we both understood what the other was saying, both understood the gravity of our situation

Her eyes flickered, and icy, misty blue poked through for a split second. Her disguising spell was failing, the anti-magic dagger lodged in her negating and nullifying the magic flowing through her little by little. Even if she yanked it out, anti-magic was like a virus – once it had you affected, it wasn’t leaving you alone for a good long while. Only very powerful priests knew how to counterspell anti-magic.

We lingered there for a good moment, looking at each other, both of us looking at the daggers stuck in us. I knew, and I think she did too, that this was it.

As an undead, the only thing keeping Ida alive, was powerful, necromantic magic. That short length of enchanted metal lodged in her gut had sealed her fate.

But despite everything – my rage, my feeling of betrayal, my trepidation, deep down, I knew we wouldn’t get far, even if I did take her up on her offer. In that moment, both of us realizing our mortality, I decided to die a happy death, one without regret or hatred in my heart.

I reached up taking her hand with my own, and together, we hobbled off down the same, dusty road we’d come in on.

I was right though, we didn’t make it all that far before Ida succumbed to her wounds, despite having taken the dagger out. We reached the spot where her portal had been, but it had vanished, and she didn’t have the strength to summon up another one. After Ida was stabbed her demonic portal back to Stormwind collapsed – anti-magic really did nullify all forms of magic.

We stumbled off into one of the fields of wheat together, and that is exactly where we are now, still waiting for the reaper to collect. I tried to heal her after she took the dagger out, but between the anti-magic afflicting both me and her, I don’t think it did much.

I’ve still got Bolgrim’s journal, and Ida is still carrying the Defias scrolls, the plans, so if anyone does end up finding this, please – get everything back to Stormwind, tell Varian, the king. He’ll take care of it.

…

To my mentor, Tirion Fordring, I have only this to say: I tried, I gave it my all, but I just wasn’t ready, I just wasn’t strong enough.

Tirion, please know that I regret nothing, and that everything I’ve done was of my own accord. You were the greatest master, the most wise mentor I could’ve ever asked for.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to live up to your expectations.

And to Ida … I forgive you. I know you were scared, but I know you’re so much more than just some evil, heartless undead. After all, you did come back for me, for what it’s worth. Thank you.

…

Off in the distance, I’m able to see a lone rider, his horse galloping towards me, the sun silhouetting him. Whether his intent is to help or harm us, I do not know, or care. Either way, he won’t be accomplishing much. Perhaps the rider is of my own imagining, Death coming to collect.

Even now I feel my muscles tensing, my lungs refusing to inhale another breath. I am numb, icy, and cold.

This is it. I am not afraid anymore, and I do not regret my choices. As I close my eyes, I have only one last thing to say.

Truth is powerful. Truth is sacred. Have the courage to seek it, as I did.

 

Alive

I was able to get my legs to function, for what little it was worth. They still ached and burned with every step, but at the very least I was able to walk back down the corridor, though not at all easily. My every step echoed in my throbbing head, my migraine reaching debilitating heights as I trudged back to the lift.

Bolgrim’s far off, impotent bellows of rage occasionally shook the tunnel, reminding me why it was so imperative that I continued on, despite the pain. I had survived him; I could bear a little pain.

It took me a good long while to drag myself out of that tunnel, and it felt like an eternity to me, peering into the endless darkness, telling myself I would reach the lift sooner or later.

Eventually, a dim red haze became visible off in the distance, and it was at that sight that my spirits soared. The elevator was within reach, the red emergency lights outside the lift casting a dim glow on the crumpled, now extinguished corpse of the mechanical golem that had greeted us on the way in. I increased the pace of my hobble, despite my body’s protests. Waves of shooting pain coursed through me, but I didn’t care anymore.

All I could think of was getting home, back to Stormwind, back to my dorm. I had wanted all of this, and even now I don’t regret my choice to dig deeper, to follow Ida to the bunker, but in that moment, all I wanted to do was collapse onto my bed in exhaustion.

To say I was a broken man, was an understatement.

I trudged past the smoldering wreck of the mechanical sentry, smashing my gauntleted fist into the side of the elevator, where the button was. The thin metal housing the recall button crumpled inwards instantly, and it began to spark and sputter as I withdrew my fist. Gears and weights whirred and pistoned, the elevator beginning its descent.

It didn’t take long for it to reach me, in truth, but seeing as I was barely keeping myself on my feet, it felt agonizingly slow. When the doors to the cramped lift finally pried themselves apart, I practically collapsed forward into a heap, slouching against the back of the metal box.

I reached up weakly, lightly tapping the topmost of two buttons, and within a few moments the lift was moving upwards. My hand dragged down towards the floor. I was too weak to even bother moving anymore, and the thought of having to limp all the way back to Stormwind made me shudder.

For the time being, I chose to focus on the relative bliss of being able to sit, safely, listening to the hum and whir of the elevator as I ascended. My eyes drifted shut for a moment as I breathed in the sweet, musty air. Even through it all, the pain, the betrayal, the battle, I was just glad to be alive, to have air flowing through my lungs.

Even  now, as I sit here in this hidden field, recounting my experiences for posterity’s sake in the few, blank back pages of Bolgrim’s Journal, I cannot dismiss just how good it feels to breathe fresh air, despite the pain, the weakness slowly taking me. Now, just as back then, in the lift, I am so very happy to taste fresh air.

Still, I can feel the life ebbing me from me, my vision darkening, my senses dulling, and yet, I am no longer afraid, as I was down in the safehouse, with Bolgrim. I’m over the worst of it now; I do not fear death, it’s the dying part that really scares me, and seeing as I’m nearly done with that, I consider myself lucky, in a sick, twisted way.

I’ve got an anti-magic dagger stuck in my chest, but we’ll get to that in a moment. Trying to remove it means I bleed to death faster; leaving it in means I can’t heal myself, even if I had the strength to. At least this way, I buy myself a little more time to finish my entries. Reaper be damned, I promised my mentor Tirion I would keep a journal recounting my time in Stormwind, and by the Light, I’m going to keep that promise. There’s not much else I can do …

… I know it’s over. I can barely move my hand enough to write this, much less hobble all the way back to Stormwind with a blade lodged in me.

Every so often, I look up from the page, glancing over to Ida’s motionless form a few paces from where I sit propped up against a tree, entirely unable to move. I can hear her shallow, ragged breathing, but I know she doesn’t have very long. I should be angry at her – furious and foaming at the mouth with rage for what she did.

But I’m not. Life is too short to harbor feelings of hate, too fleeting to let vengeance control your actions. I can’t bring myself to kill her.

In a way, I almost pity her, not because she’s undead, not because she died before her time, but because she’s just like me. She wasn’t strong enough to believe me , to take my word that things would be alright, that she didn’t have to kill me to cover her tracks, and in the same way, I wasn’t, and still am not strong enough to bring things to a close, to get the Defias plans back to Stormwind myself.

After everything we’ve been through, everything she put me through, I can’t help but feel like this is a somewhat fitting end – dying side by side, neither one able to do anything about the inevitable.

What was that word I used to describe her when I first met her? I think it fits rather nicely here, in regards to the specifics of our deaths. Ah yes …

Perfect.

Stand Against Darkness

Green whips of crackling hellfire crashed against my truesilver armor, scorching and marring it with a terrible hiss as I looked up, finally coming to terms that this was actually happening. I was going to fight an Infernal.

Bolgrim brought his fiery fist down on where I stood and I forced myself to roll out of the way just in time as the chunk of animated stone pounded into the ground with a violent explosion. I clumsily skittered across the floor, just barely managing to bolt back to my feet with some amount of grace. Even armor made of truesilver wasn’t light, and the nagging exhaustion in my limbs didn’t let me forget that fact.

But this was do or die, and exhaustion meant little to me in that moment, my aching body refusing to give in. I lifted my sword in one hand, rearing back with the other, a sphere of swirling, golden energy beginning to spark and coalesce in my open palm.

I quickly ran my open palm along the length of my on-fire blade, the holy flames swaying and bending around my hand as the metal of the sword itself began to glow radiantly, intensifying to the point where it looked as if it was made of pure light, surrounded in a halo of fire. I finished casting a Blessing Of Might, and quickly refocused my efforts on strengthening my defenses, a barrier of pulsating, unstable light energy encasing me in a protective bubble. Shielding magic was a priest’s specialty, but paladins could make do when needed.

Another massive fist crashed into the floor beside me, forcing my attention back to Bolgrim as I scrambled out of the way, tendrils of green flame charring the destroyed ground. He looked at me with his fiery, sparking eyes as he wrenched his fist out of the ground, and even through my shield, I shuddered in fear.

There was no time to waste though, and with a vigorous shake of my head, I refocused myself, gripping my sword with both hands and steeling myself. I took a deep breath, sizing up Bolgrim, trying to decide where best to attack as he finally pried his hand out of the crushed floor, rising to his full height once more. He was nearly thrice as tall as I, and as wide as a giant. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Pushing aside my doubts and fears, I let my instincts carry me as I pushed forward, surging into the crackling inferno of hellfire without hesitation. The frenetic thud of my metal boots against the floor resounded in my head, only to be drowned out by the terrible sound of stone crashing against stone as Bolgrim attempted another heavy handed strike, the lumbering Infernal’s blow ripping apart the floor where I had been a mere split second earlier.

I couldn’t help but let loose a defiant cry of anger as I finally reached the end of my charge, bringing my blazing blade down for a horizontal, sweeping strike on the slab of igneous rock that composed the Infernal’s left leg. My sword bit into Bolgrim’s leg with a hissing screech, even the empowered, radiant blade struggling to muscle through several feet of igneous stone.

Still, after a brief moment of concentrated effort, my sparking, ignited blade slipped out the other side of his leg, a jet of concentrated green flames pouring out shortly after, almost like blood.

I swiveled around, readjusting my stance as Bolgrim began to recover with a groaning rumble, lifting his heavy fist from where he had missed me as I had surged past him, only to find his footing giving out. He attempted to reposition his left leg, the stump of what was left of it lifting away awkwardly, leaving the motionless, severed portion of it behind.

Hands gripping, muscles tensing, I lunged back at the confused Bolgrim with zealous fury burning within me, devotion and the will to survive carrying me into the air as I left the ground. I aimed my jump well enough, managing to strike at Bolgrim’s chest, plunging the entire length of my blade into his chest with a searing slice. I hung onto my blade for dear life as I slammed into him, gravity beginning to pull me down as I tightened my grip.

Down and down I went, dragging my blade through Bolgrim’s stout chest with all my might, hissing and roaring flames trailing my descent as they poured out of the massive, deep gash.

I felt so confident in that moment, so proud and alive. Everything I’d trained for had culminated in this moment – I was doing a paladin’s work. For a second, I even felt like I might end it right then and there with that single, decisive blow.

I was dead wrong.

As I came to the end of my descent, my blade popping out of Bolgrim’s chest with a fiery crackle, I felt myself falling for a fraction of a second, the unmistakeable sensation of weightlessness overtaking me as I plummeted to the floor from Bolgrim’s hulking form.

That sensation shattered into a thousand glass shards that pressed into my bare flesh, as I suddenly smashed into something with a clatter, an iron, unmoving grip settling around me in an instant. It crushed my arms inwards with a sickly crunch, forcing me to release my grip on my sword, even as I attempted to hold on. It clattered to the ground, the blade itself returning to normal metal, while the flames encasing it flickered, and died. The air was forced from my lungs as I realized what was happening through my blurry vision.

Bolgrim had caught me as I fell.

I writhed and thrashed violently in his grip, grunting in impotent rage at what was happening, tendrils of slinking, animate hellfire writhing towards me from the cracks in Bolgrim’s stone carapace. Their heat was unnatural and immediate, washing over me and suffocating me with their sulfurous stench.

I ceased thrashing for a split second, just long enough to make out Bolgrim wobbling uneasily on one leg, green fire gushing from his chest where I had dragged my blade through. My sight was blurry, and his crushing grip on me was disallowing me from breathing. Black spots peppered the edges of my vision, but even through the haze of pain and oxygen deprivation beginning to wash over me, I could feel the world around me tilting.

My eyes closed, my lungs burned, and my body ached as I felt myself falling, Bolgrim’s vicelike grip receding just as instantly as it had set upon me. I connected with the ground sharply, so hard that I’m fairly certain I broke my shoulder, and shattered my arm. The ensuing pangs of crippling, debilitating pain seemed to agree.

All of a sudden I was aware again as that pain swept through me, forcing me to take notice of what was happening once more, forcing me to breathe and blink rapidly as air flooded back into my lungs. The black spots marring my vision receded and I was instantly able to see the scene unfolding before me.

Bolgrim, unable to support himself on a single leg had toppled over into a heap of writhing fire and brimstone, and I had been thrown from his grasp as he faltered. I lay only a few shallow paces away from the stump of his severed leg, and he no doubt knew I was still within reach.

I rolled to my right doggedly, pain wracking me, both deterring me from pushing on, and encouraging me that this was worth it. It made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile, made me feel alive. It can be easy to forget just how motivating and refreshing a bit of real, genuine pain can be when you can just heal your injuries with holy magic.

I hated, and loved every second of it.

A massive stone fist crashed into the ground where I had been not a mere moment earlier.  I scuttled away, kicking and thrashing while clutching my arm in pain. Tears began to form at the edges of my eyes as I began to chuckle under my breath. There wasn’t really anything funny to laugh at, but in moments like these, when things seem impossible and the world is against you, sometimes the only thing to do is laugh at the abdusrdity of your misfortune.

Gritting my teeth in pain and exertion, I willed holy magic through my armor, and into my shattered arm, grunting and laughing out of sheer pain as the bones mended themselves, damaged flesh reforming and healing itself rapidly. I snapped my dislocated shoulder back into place with a sickly pop and a jolt of pain that really woke me up.

Another fist crashed into the ground  mere inches from my feet, and I immediately picked myself up off the ground, realizing just how close Bolgrim was. He was lying on the ground, stomach and chest pressed to the floor while he worked his massive stone arms, dragging himself towards me, attempting to smash me with every movement.

I backpedaled, letting the swirling aura of golden healing magic coalescing in my palm mend my injuries as I searched for my sword, being careful to stay out of the Infernal’s reach.

Bolgrim was beginning to get visibly angry, and that was quite the feat for a person who was literally on fire. The divet carved into his flaming  rock skull that passed for a mouth ignited with verdant flames as a sound unlike any other rippled through the room, shaking the floor. It was like listening to the wind itself battle against fire, an impotent bellow of rage cutting through the crackle of his flames.

Tendrils of hellfire slinked outwards from the cracks in Bolgrim’s carapace, slashing and scorching the earth around me as each one attempted to strike me. I dodged desperately, rolling and dashing out of the way as nimbly as I could, but there was no escaping their reach for long.

The first strike that made contact smashed into my back, biting through my unstable bubble of protective light without pause, breaking it apart like glass into rapidly disintegrating shards of useless holy magic. The blow forced me to the ground, my truesilver armor struggling to stay solid, the intense heat having reducing a small section of it to molten slag.

The pain was unlike anything else – completely debilitating, absolutely malevolent in it’s intensity. The smell of cauterized flesh, liquefied metal, and sulfur flooded my nostrils as I attempted to lift myself off the ground, dragging myself away from Bolgrim. I glanced over my shoulder, watching in terror as he stared back at me with those verdant, fiery eyes of his. If there was anything besides fury and anger behind those veiled orbs, I didn’t see it.

I stared for a moment, letting my eyes wander to the ground right in front of him, where he was dragging himself, the glint of metal catching my eye. It was my sword.

Another lashing length of flame came down on me, snapping me back into action as I dragged myself away, deeming my weapon a lost cause, and attempting to get to my feet. Bolgrim refused to let me stand, the force of the strike sending me floundering back to the floor in pain as I attempted to heal myself.

Everything seemed to slow down in that moment, as I took stock of my situation. Bolgrim’s weighty fist crashed into the ground behind me, crushing my sword and shattering it into shards of useless metal, the blow sending up chunks of broken stone in a terrible explosion of force, and it was at that moment that I realized, I wasn’t going to win. I wasn’t going to be able to defeat Bolgrim.

I wasn’t strong enough.

And suddenly, I was scared. I didn’t feel confident anymore, didn’t feel like this was what I was meant to do. I’m a paladin, but I’m also human, and in that moment, I was more human than paladin. I felt real, true fear.

My movements became erratic and hyper, undisciplined and frantic. I skittered away, dragging myself as fast as I could towards the entrance to the room, towards the hallway. It was too small for Bolgrim to fit through, even lying on his torso like he was. I didn’t care about winning anymore, didn’t care about my creed as a paladin, didn’t care about this damned Infernal.

I wanted to live.

I wanted it more than anything else, and it drove me onwards, through anguish and terror. Bolgrim’s tendrils of animate fire crackled and snapped  behind me, smashing into me over and over without mercy, whips of fiery judgement tearing through my armor, biting into my flesh with a sickly hiss as I was seared alive.

Second after second, agonizing moment after agonizing moment, I continued on, my legs and back bearing the worst of the assault as my truesilver armor was scorched and liquefied in several places, chunks of cauterized, smoking flesh poking through where my armor had broken.

We continued like this, Bolgrim trying in vain to smash me with his fists, me dragging myself just out of reach as his whips of outstretched fire battered and burned me, punishing me for my cowardice, until finally, I reached the threshold of the door.

I gripped the side of the doorway, heaving myself through with the last of my strength, the light of the room behind me giving way to darkness as I reentered the endless hallway. The pain was so great, so debilitating and all encompassing, as if every fiber of my being was crying out, pleading to be put out of its misery.

But I couldn’t stop just yet. I felt my hands trembling, my scorched legs not responding to me, even as I tried to stand. The pain was too great, and so I was relegated to simply dragging myself along desperately, every rough motion intensifying the anguish washing over me.

Just one more push I told myself, one last gasp, and I would be there, out of Bolgrim’s reach.

I glanced over my shoulder, watching, as expected, as Bolgrim jabbed one of his arms through the doorway, thrashing and smashing in impotent rage as I pulled myself out of reach, even his lashing whips of green fire unable to touch me. Another rumbling bellow rang out from behind me as I dragged myself a little further away, Bolgrim’s jammed arm wriggling about violently, searching and smashing around for me, but all to no avail.

I was in the clear.

My body gave out instantly the moment I saw that I was relatively safe. My arms wobbled and refused to carry me any further, my legs were numb with pain, and my hands trembled in agony. I reached up, lifting my helmet from my head, unfastening the clasps, and letting it tumble to the ground beside me with a metallic clank as it rolled away. Sweat rolled down my forehead in thick rivulets, my skin glistening with perspiration. I shuddered for a moment, chuckling in disbelief and pain at my situation.

There, in the darkness of the hallway, I took a deep, fresh breath of air, gasping in relief and awe. I held the breath for a good long while, basking in just how good it felt to be alive, to have air in my lungs, even though the pain coursing through me begged to differ.

I exhaled, and began to concentrate, putting all of my evaporated effort and strength into mending my legs, at least enough so that I could walk.

I didn’t win, but I had survived.

Paladin’s Creed

“Ida, it doesn’t have to end like this! Death Knights have been free ever since the Lich King was slain; you’re not evil, I know it!” I shouted from across the room, my voice beginning to get lost in the terrible crackle of green hellfire. Shifting stone and unholy magic coalesced mere feet in front of me, an Infernal taking shape.

Ida simply stood there, looking at me from behind the misty panes of her icy blue eyes, indifferent.

And then it happened.

As I backpedaled, stepping away from the forming Infernal before me, I watched Ida flinch, her posture and expression faltering for a moment. She was shaking.

“Death Knights aren’t what they used to be Ida, Tirion Fordring pardoned all of the remaining undead when he slew the Lich King, when they were released from his thrall. Death Knights aren’t ridiculed, killed on sight, or even mistrusted like they used to be. In the years since Arthas’ downfall, they’ve proven themselves as valiant, honorable heroes who have fought besides the likes of paladins. Imagine that! Death Knights and Paladins, standing together against even greater evils!” I shouted, redoubling my efforts as I continued to move away from the Infernal. It was beginning to stand up, it’s flame encased rock skull igniting with twin sparks of fiery life.

It stared at me, and I stared back. It took every ounce of my willpower to wrench my gaze away from it, turning my attention back to Ida.

“You’ve been hiding, faking it all this time, when the truth is, you don’t have to! Death Knights, and undead, are no longer defined by what they are, but by who they choose to be!” I shouted, pouring my heart out as the fiery construct before me lurched to it’s steady feet, getting its bearings. I was running out of time.

I peered past the hellish golem, desperately trying to get Ida to listen.

“So go ahead Ida! Who do you want to be? What Kel’Thuzad forced you to be, or who you want to be!?” I yelled ecstatically across the room.

I was forced to turn my attention back to more immediate matters as the Infernal in front of me took an earth shattering step forward, it’s wild tendrils of green hellfire licking the floor, scorching stone with every motion. It’s twin orbs of coalesced magic that passed for eyes glared at me with intention. It spoke no words, but I knew there was a person, or the vestiges of what once was, within this abomination of magic.

I could feel Bolgrim judging me, sizing me up as I stood there.

“Choose!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I reached for my sword.

My voice echoed through the chamber, bouncing around inside the Defias library as Bolgrim stomped towards me, destroying the floor beneath him with every step, leaving only cracked earth and smoldering craters in his wake.

I felt my back hit a wall hard, and a few books dropped to the floor beside me, shaken loose. I had nowhere to go. I craned my head to try and see around the side of Bolgrim, just barely able to make out Ida watching the scene unfold from her spot at the entrance. She was visibly trembling, and she hung her head, but she did nothing to stop Bolgrim.

Without a word, she lifted her head, shaking it ever so slightly, turned, and went. She vanished down the endless, dark corridor in an instant, the Defias plans still held close.

My heart sank as I began to feel the intense, searing heat radiating off of Bolgrim through my armor. I forced myself to face him as I drew my sword, the length of the blade igniting with holy fire.

Like it or not, this was how it was going to be. This was where I made my stand.

I swallowed hard, my emotions raging within me, absolutely furious with Ida. She didn’t even have the guts to kill me herself.

Coward.

Bolgrim raised one of his massive, flame encased fists into the air, holding it over me as I pushed my feelings aside, muttering a single, revered phrase under my breath. I gripped my sword with both hands, taking what little strength I had left to heart as I repeated part of the Paladin’s Creed one last time.

“In the Light, we are one …”

Bolgrim Stonesong: Eternal Infernal

I took a step back, my eyes still glued to the skeleton key. Everything suddenly made sense as I managed to wrangle my thoughts, every little piece of the puzzle beginning to snap into place.

“So David is … who is he?” I stuttered out, a mixture of feigned disbelief mixing with genuine confusion.

“Me nephew. Bolgrim’s great grandson,” Ida replied, the skeleton key in her hand beginning to shift and morph into another form.

It made sense too – if Ida had been 33 when Kel’Thuzad killed and reanimated her, it meant she was now 63, 30 years later. David was 28. Ida had been killed during the first rise of the Defias Brotherhood 28 years earlier, just two years after its formation, meaning Bolgrim Stonesong couldn’t have been her great grandfather.

Bolgrim really was her brother, and David really was her nephew.

“You know, Northrend Boy, for being as clever as you think you are, you sure aren’t very observant, or maybe David is just getting better at masking and disguise magic. But, since this is what it come to, might as well satisfy you. I can see the curiosity in your eyes,” she cooed, pacing around in a circle. The skeleton key had fully shifted back into her skull shaped brooch pin. It’s metallic, silvery surface glistened in the light.

“When I set off into the inferno the day of the attack on the trade district, I wasn’t afraid of the flames – I was afraid o’ the priests. If even one o’ them attempted to heal me, thinking I was an injured survivor, I woulda been found out. Holy magic and undead don’t mix, as I’m sure you know; speaking of which, I’m confident that you remember what happened in my quarters.”

I nodded slowly, remembering the incident with the rogue in her dorm, my casting of Consecration, the dead spy, the City Guard, everything.

“I threw up a shield around myself to stop your spell from killing me,” she said matter of factly.

By the Light …

I had seen it! I had seen the green flicker of energy around herself as Consecration had rippled outwards, I saw her shield herself and yet, in the heat of the moment, with the dead rogue, I had completely failed to question or dig any deeper into it. I had completely ignored it!

“And then, when we came down into the bunker and I was sweatin’ bullets, it wasn’t because I was nervous, it was because the entrance to it is protected by a null magic field – the magic disguising me was startin’ to fail. And  when we were brought in for interrogation, only to be released right after? That was David’s doing. Priests are awfully good at mind control.”

I just stood there dumbstruck by the flood of information, a mix of rage and confusion welling up inside of me as I continued to mentally berate myself for being so blind. There was no way in hell the Stormwind Guard would have released even a paladin, much less a warlock, on good faith alone after a murder incident. I had been so foolishly optimistic about it all …

I took a step back, hesitating as we both just stood there, looking across the room at eachother, Ida’s icy, glowing blue eyes cutting deeply into my mental defenses. The gaze of a death knight wasn’t an easy thing to match.

“So … w-what happens now? Where do we go from here?” I stammered out, attempting to steel myself against the rising tide of my own emotions.

“Well, I can’t let you leave, now that you know.”

I froze in place, disbelief and anger boiling over as I just barely managed to restrain myself, my logical mind asserting itself and reassuring me that this wasn’t her fault.

It was mine.

“So … you gonna kill me then?” I said flatly, saying the words but not quite grasping what I was saying. I was too preoccupied with the notion that because of who I was, because of the creed of paladins, their promise to always search for the truth no matter the cost.

I don’t believe in destiny, but as I stood there, awaiting her response, I knew in my heart of hearts that this was bound to happen sooner or later. What she had said had been true; I would never stop looking, never give up searching for the truth even in the face of her opposition to it. This moment was unavoidable – that it was happening now and not later meant little in the long run.

“You remember, how I said I required something more to continue my practice of warlock magic?” she said, a somewhat sad expression washing over her as she twirled the brooch pin in her hand, sparks of green fire beginning to ignite around it.

I couldn’t even nod, my mind too enthralled with the arduous task of piecing together every little piece of info, trying to make everything make sense.

“Infernals aren’t easy to conjure, even harder to maintain and control. Only the most skilled of warlocks can ever hope to wrest control of one for themselves, and even then, infernals are always short lived … but I’m not just a warlock.”

She looked at me, straight in the eyes without flinching. I couldn’t gather anything about her emotions behind those icy, cold blue orbs that glowed like stars. It was like staring into the void, unable to look away.

I wrenched my eyes away from hers as she held out her hand, turning over her now flaming skull brooch pin, showing the other side of it to me.

My heart skipped a beat.

There, embedded into the pin was a single, glinting rune.

“Death knights have a knack for runic enchantments, wouldn’t ya say?” she said, a twinge of inexplicable regret in her voice.

Runes were an unholy, twisted form of magic invented by necromancers and adopted by the Lich King’s death knights. With a rune, you could imbue anything with artificial, undead life, and in combination with sufficient warlock magic … that life became real.

Ida reared back, tossing the pin across the room, the ensorcelled piece of metal skittering to a stop at my feet, green flames arcing off it with increasing intensity as the very air around it crackled with energy.

I backpedaled, stumbling away from it as the floor itself was ripped up by the runic trinket, huge chunks of black stone swirling around the now roaring inferno of green flames. It rippled and cracked with power, sections of stone magically arranging themselves into a vaguely humanoid shape, held together by massive, overlapping tendrils of fluctuating green flame.

“I’m not going to kill you; Bolgrim is.”

 

Legacy Of The Stonesongs

I attempted to speak, but no words came out. All I could do was stand there, taken aback by her statement, and the way she wore a smile as she’d said it, like she truly meant it. But she couldn’t possibly mean it, there was no way.

“Yeah, thirty three. I still remember it too – no one ever forgets how they died. I used to live further up north, in Lordaeron,”

A stark realization crept over me as she continued, my limbs going numb. I knew what she was going to say as she flashed her eyes at me.

“Kel’Thuzad, yes, that was him, back when he was still a man and not a lich. Hit me dead center, right in the chest with a frostbolt,” she continued, motioning to her chest as she paced slowly around the entrance, still holding the skeleton key in her hand.

“Ida, please … please tell me you’re lying,” I said desperately, not wanting to believe the situation unfolding before me.

“What’s tha matter Northrend boy? You wanted the truth, so ‘ere it is,”

“Ida -” I attempted to cut in, and failed.

“I’m undead,”she said coldly as she stared into my eyes. Hers began to cloud over, her sharp, green emerald irises giving way to a cloudy, icy blue that glowed softly. Soon enough her entire eye was the same frosty light blue; white, iris, and pupil, all gone. It was like watching a mist fall over the land, shrouding everything it touched. Trails of wispy arcane magic whipped off of her luminous eyes like smoke, the trails dissipating into nothingness a few inches from where they drifted off.

I had seen her kind before, in Northrend. She was the very reason paladins even existed, why I existed. I knew exactly what she was.

“You’re a death knight,” I said whilst raising one hand to point at her accusingly.

She smirked and chuckled under her breath before responding.

“Not entirely. I was, and still am a warlock. I practiced way back when, ‘fore Kel’Thuzad got to me. I went to live in Lordaeron because me family never accepted, or forgave me for choosing the path of the warlock – we’ve already been over the fact that I come from a long line of priests. So I set out to follow my own destiny, and unfortunately, that destiny led me to cross paths with the famous necromancer that felled me …” she explained, shifting and pacing at the other end of the room.

My blood burned, and yet, the chill of fear had gripped me, refusing to let me breathe as I watched Ida walk in circles.

“When I woke up as, this, I wasn’t me anymore, couldn’t control myself or my magic. I was under the complete control of Kel’Thuzad and the Lich King,” she said, taking a step in my direction.

“Arthas Menethil …” I muttered to myself, remembering the dark times of the Lich King in Northrend. Hordes of undead, armies of the atrocities known as death knights, raised from the slain heroes of Azeroth to serve as unholy soldiers.

“When Tirion killed the Lich King, I was freed from his grasp, but I remained a death knight. I resumed my study of warlock magic, but found my skills … lacking. Warlock magic is fickle. It requires sacrifice and life to work, and since I was no longer living, I had to find alternative means to continue advancing,” she said, twirling the skeleton key in her hand idly.

“Ida, are you …” I blurted out, a gnawing thought beginning to surface in my mind, my eyes drifting over and locking on to it with intention. I had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

“In hindsight, I prolly shoulda listened to me brother,” she said, her words inviting me to respond.

“David?” I sputtered out.

She only laughed and smiled, baring her teeth.

“No, me real brother; Bolgrim.”

Thirty Three

I felt a shiver course through me, as I stood there, trying to celebrate. We’d done it; we’d infiltrated the bunker, evaded the Defias, destroyed their sentry, and struck at the heart of their operation. We had everything we needed to put a stop to any further Defias incursions, and an antidote to the poison was within reach. I should have been excited, ecstatic and vibrant.

But I wasn’t.

Even the pain that had been my companion since I’d woken gave way to a creeping, chilling sensation. I could feel my skin tingling, my thoughts gnawing at me as I gazed down at the bundle of scrolls Ida was holding.

A single, resonant thought floated across my mindscape as everything else fell away, allowing this singular notion to paralyze me instantly as I realized its implications.

How did she know where to look?

I took a step back, inching away from her as I cleared my throat, attempting to speak.

“I-Ida , h-how did you know that the plans, the journal, would in that exact spot, in that chest?” I  rasped out, my voice still hoarse.

Her nervous smile faded. She looked at me, shifting anxiously in place. Her grip on the scrolls tightened.

“W-We should focus on gettin’ outta ‘ere. We need to get these plans back to Stormwind on the double. With these, the City Guard will have time to prepare, be ready for the next attack. The alchemists are no doubt desperate for a cure to the toxin and now that we-” she rambled, sputtering out the words quickly as she strode past me, attempting to ignore my question. She stopped midsentence as I grabbed her by the shoulder as she passed.

“There’s got to be thousands of scrolls here, hundreds of books. You said it yourself, you’ve never been down here before, you just knew it was here. So then, how in the name of the Light did you know to start at that exact chest?” I interrogated her, forcing her to follow my gaze as I pointed to the still ajar trunk at the end of the room by the small desk. She lingered before me, eyes glued to where I was gesturing.

“Ida, what aren’t you telling me?”

Her gaze slowly drifted downwards until she was staring at her feet, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’ve told ya everythin’ I know lad. I just, I guessed and I got lucky, that was all. The chest was sittin’ there, and it looked more … I dunno, enticing than the rest of the room. Looked like it was important,” she attempted to defend herself, refusing to look at me.

I just shook my head, taking my hand away from her shoulder as I took a step back.

“Don’t you dare lie to me. I’ve been nothing but truthful with you. I gave you a chance, and I expect you to do the same for me. So tell me, why does this place bother you, what are you hiding?” I continued to pry, my voice beginning to increase in volume. My veins, which had been iced over the entire time suddenly burst back to life as a deep anger began to smolder.

How dare she lie to me.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to convince you, I’m not lying!” she retorted angrily, looking up from the floor and stamping her foot aggressively as we locked eyes.

“Enough! I want the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth! Now you can either accept that and move on, or sit here and whine, but I’m heading back to Stormwind, with or without you,” she fired back, clearly frustrated with the situation, before storming off past me towards the hall. I just stood there, and watch her plod on until she reached the entrance, before I even moved.

“Ida!”

She stopped cold and glanced over her shoulder. I refused to let this go.

“You may not tell me today, or tomorrow, or even the day after, but I want you to know, that one way or another, I will have the truth.”

She just stared at me from across the room for a good long while, both of us locked onto one another, neither acquiescing to defeat. Ida’s long, drawn out sigh filled the room with its exasperation and sense of exhaustion as she slumped up against the entranceway.

“You’ll never stop, will you?” she asked flatly.

I shook my head emphatically. The truth was the most important thing I, and everyone else had. It mattered little whether or not the truth was easy to swallow, or even harmful. It was right to seek it. It was simply the way of the paladin to seek truth and justice above all else. It was why we had come here in the first place.

I would make no exceptions, even for my friends.

“I supposed it doesn’t matter then, if I tell you now, or later.”

“Right,” was all I could think to say as I took a step forward, silently triumphant in the fact that I was correct about her lying to me. I was both excited and furious all the same.

“First, tell me; how old do you think I am?” she asked coldly, looking up at me and piercing me with her steely gaze.

I hesitated for a moment, sweeping over her form a few times. It was usually improper to ask anyone, much less someone of the fairer gender their age, but since she had asked me, I figured I had no reason to respond. There were bigger issues at hand than trivial social conventions.

“Thirty two, or thereabouts.”

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. She fastened Bolgrim’s journal to her belt and reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out the very same skeleton key that the safehouse had eaten earlier. She turned it over in her hand several times, examining it with intent. My eyes widened in disbelief, wondering how it was possible, how she had gotten he key back, and when.

Ida looked back up at me, and smiled warmly, something different about her demeanor. A chill swept over me, quelling the fires of my anger momentarily.

“Close. I was thirty three when I died.”

Master Plan

My arm came up to shield my closed eyes as I forced myself to lurch forward, closer and closer to the luminescent doorway. I had looked back over my shoulder several moments before, peering into the darkness. It was at that moment that I had made up my mind – there was no going back. My body refused to retrace my steps, even if I was interpreting the whole situation correctly. I just didn’t have the strength left to fight the need to continue into the light. I could only carry myself so much farther before I collapsed.

I knew what lay behind me, but whatever lay in the next room, through the door ahead of me, was unknown.

For better or worse, for myself and for Ida, I had to keep going.

With another agonizing lurch, I stumbled forwards, beams of radiant white light beginning to overtake me, wrapping me in a blanket of scintillation. But it held no warmth, no comfort or reassurance like the Light which I’ve devoted my life to.

It was simply, there.

As I trudged forwards, my legs beginning to falter beneath me, I reached out for the sides of the doorway, using the stone arch to support myself. I grimaced in exhaustion and pain, gritting my teeth underneath my helmet as I forced my legs to function for just a while longer.

I just needed one more step, one more push. I was stronger than this, I knew I was.

With a final burst of strength, I awkwardly stumbled forwards, pushing myself off the stone doorway, forcing myself through the blind veil of light with a single motion, losing my footing as I did so.

I tumbled to the ground, tripping over myself, spurred on by my own weakness as I clattered to the ground in a heap. The blinding sphere of light encompassing me gradually faded, the illumination seeping through my eyelids fading into a softer glow.

Weakness coursed through me, threatening to sweep me once more into unconsciousness, but I refused. With a groan of defiant frustration, I firmly planted my hands on the ground and pushed myself up, beating my weakened body into submission as I ordered my legs to move and support me as I bolted upright, just barely managing to stand.

My eyes slowly creaked open, adjusting to the pristine, but now gentle white light that surrounded me. I found myself surrounded on all sides by bookcases, shelves and shelves of books neatly arranged. I took an unsteady step forward, the massive circular room surrounding me lined on all sides by bookcases that stretched on into darkness.

I looked up, attempting to find the ceiling, finding only a massive void of darkness spanning upwards into infinity. The bookshelves disappeared into this inky blackness. The radiant white light that had convinced me of my demise came from hundreds of small lanterns, hooked on to fasteners attached to the wall of bookcases.

There must have been thousands of texts and scrolls neatly stuffed into these shelves.

I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind as my gaze fell back down to the dark granite floor, my eyes darting around, searching, before centering on Ida, who was at the far end of the room, hunched over a small desk with a wooden trunk beside it. The lid to the trunk was thrown open and she was rummaging through it, unfurling scrolls and briefly skimming them before tossing them aside haphazardly.

It was clear she was in a hurry to be out of this place.

I attempted to call out to her, but my voice had left me long ago, lost itself in the darkness of the expansive hall behind me. With no other choice, I proceeded forward on legs long past their breaking point, held together only through sheer force of will. I wouldn’t last much longer like this, we had to get out, now.

I limped over to Ida as quickly as I could, grunting and groaning with every step, the stiffness beginning to overtake me forcing my gait into an awkward waddle that was made all the harder by my armor.

As I neared, I watched Ida pull out a handful of scrolls accompanied by a small tome, a diary from the looks of it. Its cover was black leather, emblazoned with a white cog motif. Ida slowly rose from her spot hunched over the chest, the wrapped up scrolls all bearing the same,  cog shaped, red wax seal.

I stopped dead in my tracks, mostly because I was reaching my limits and the pain plaguing me was becoming difficult to fight. I looked on in a mix of curiosity and anguish, watching intently as Ida swiveled around to face me, the bundle of scrolls still clutched firmly under one of her arms.

The leather journal was flipped open to the first page.

Ida’s expression was a strange mix of nervousness and relief. She was tense, looked as if she was waiting for the shadows to grab her, maul her to a bloody pulp.

“I-I found w-what we need,” she stuttered out, her voice quavering with uncertainty and … was that remorse? At the time, I wasn’t entirely sure, too focused on keeping myself standing to really notice, but now I know it truly was, and I know exactly why.

She swallowed hard, striding over to me with a feverish energy that startled me. She quickly held the journal up for me to see, my weakened eyes adjusting to red the small, handwritten text scrawled across the page in low common.

“Ida … i-is your … your last name its …” I managed to croak out in a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah … yeah it is …”

I shuddered and celebrated all at once as I read the words over and over.

Personal Journal and Log of Official Overseer Of Westfall Operations and Planning, Bolgrim Stonesong

“I know enough about the Defias to know that their officers, they all kept journals detailing their involvement in past, current, and future Defias operations, which means …” Ida managed to calm herself long enough to explain to me.

” … there must be something in here about the trade district attack, about the infiltrated rogues in Stormwind. The Defias are nothing if not meticulous planners, anticipating everything and drafting up plans for future attacks years in advance. They make sure every little thing is taken care of but … the scrolls?” I groaned out, my speech barely decipherable. Ida had managed to make it out well enough to respond though, retracting the journal and motioning to the scrolls she was carrying.

“The plans themselves, marked with the signature red seal of Defias engineers – schematics and drafts for the magically compatible poison used in the fire. This is everything we need, everything to stop the Defias from causing any more damage. The Alliance is is going to have a field day with this, Stormwind will finally be safe … We  …” Ida said, her voice trailing off as she suddenly found herself breathless, shaking her head slightly in disbelief.

I couldn’t believe it either, and I wasn’t even sure she was right. We hadn’t had time to break open each and every scroll to check, but in that moment I was sure of it. Sure we had hit the jackpot.

“We’d found it …” Ida muttered to herself to reassure us. I managed to croak out three words, the words I knew were on both of our minds.

“The Master Plan.”

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Just a little farther. One more step. One more.

One more …

This was the only thought running through my pain addled mind as I trudged down an even, downwards sloping hallway. It went on for what felt like miles, the lightless expanse seemingly stretching into infinity, each agonizing step forward feeling more like a hundred. I squinted into the darkness, unable to see Ida who was just a few paces ahead of me. Neither of us bothered to conjure artificial light with our magic, the corridor having narrowed as we descended so that we could reach out and touch the sides from the center of the hall. I was simply too exhausted to muster up any kind of magic.

In hindsight, it was probably incredibly foolish, walking down an unexplored Defias bunker hall, completely unable to see. At the same time, there was something … comforting about the darkness, about not being able to see. I still don’t fully understand it but, walking down that hall, I felt safe. It was as if the darkness was wrapping around me, like a protective blanket. It was an indescribable feeling, not wanting there to be any light with which to see.

I just wanted to float there, in the endless stretch of void, tirelessly trudging after Ida, her plodding footsteps beckoning me forward.

My limbs ached, my body cramped up with shooting pain, but still, I pressed on into the narrow, limitless blankness before me.

I was on autopilot, my eyes open, seeing nothing. Perhaps part of the reason I enjoyed the darkness, was precisely because I was so tired. My exhausted, depleted eyes didn’t want to see anything.

Even so, I was eventually forced to return to the land of the light, a tiny speck of far off brightness perforating the veil of blackness before me. Ida was moving towards it, and so was I. Before long, I could make out Ida’s dark silhouette, the intensity and size of the light growing and morphing with every step until I managed to make out that it was a stone doorway, overflowing with illumination.

‘Go into the light.’

That was the only thought on my mind as I proceeded to do as my thoughts instructed me. The whole experience was surreal, the blind light ahead of me beginning to overtake Ida’s silhouette, tendrils of streaking luminescence wrapping around her.

Step after step, minute after minute, we drew closer, Ida’s form a clashing mass of dark and light, fading into heaven’s door until finally, she disappeared beyond the stone doorway, vanishing into the blinding threshold.

I stopped dead in my tracks as she vanished, suddenly realizing what my situation seemed like, felt like to me.

I was dead.

Glancing over my shoulder, everything seemed to suddenly click into place all at once. I’d never woken up from my feverish, Avenging Wrath induced coma. That sentry golem had set upon me, sliced me to ribbons before Ida could do anything, and she in turn, had fallen as well.

That’s why I was here, in a darkened, expansive, seemingly featureless tunnel. I was here to end my foolish, failed journey; to walk towards the light.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

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.