The Burning

Chapter Twelve

Many miles away from the Scarlet Monastery, as well as a couple hours earlier in the evening, the sun was sinking in the sky, and the town of Southshore in the Hillsbrad Foothills was experiencing one of those rare days of peace, when there were no reports of someone being mauled by a bear, or attacked by the Undead, or having to rush to the aid of Hillsbrad when some group of young Orcs decided to explode the Hillsbrad Proclamation for fun and profit. Even rarer, they had reason to celebrate, and enjoy themselves. The occasion? The marriage of Anthort Hughes, a knight of Stormwind, to Southshore's very own Loryn Paler. The young Priestess had caught the knight's eye while he was passing through one time, and he had found reason to return to the town over and over, and moved on to making excuses not to leave at all. As the reasons for his remaining in town became less and less plausible, word of Loryn and Anthort spending much time together spread, until it was common knowledge that the two were romantically entangled.

It had been only a few months ago that Sir Hughes had proposed to Priestess Paler, and in that time invitations had been sent out, and now people from all over, not just the citizens of Southshore, were here in town for the wedding. It was a lavish affair, or as lavish as Southshore could afford, as they expected great things to come about as a result of a union between the distant Stormwind and the coastal town that had before now been greatly isolated from much of the Alliance's holdings, due to their proximity to the Horde's territory. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Everyone except a short purple-robed figure who purposefully entered the town, and was for some reason not noticed by any of the guards, despite the fact that they were more than twice their usual number, due to the escorts of important wedding guests augmenting Southshore's protectors, and also despite the fact that these same guards were being hyper-vigilant, doing everything within their power to ensure that there were no problems, and that any attacks were stopped cold, long before they could upset the guests. No one wanted this wedding ruined.

And yet, even with the heightened security and watchfulness, the most difficulty the robed figure had moving about town was navigating the forest of legs, as people crowded together, making travel for such a diminuitive individual quite challenging. Eventually, however, the stranger reached the chapel where marriage ceremonies were usually held. There were far too many guests for them all to fit inside the building, and thus the wedding would take place outdoors, but there were still a few people inside the religious structure, including the town's head priest, who was busily making sure he had his words memorized, since he would be performing the marriage itself. He was somewhat nervous, as he had never taken part in a marriage of this import before, and did not want to stumble of his lines, or do something to mar this occasion. Thus, he scarcely noticed as the short individual stepped through the chapel entrance, the wooden doors closing behind it.

A few people watched with idle curiosity, and tried to recall if any Dwarves had been invited to the wedding, or if this was some child pretending at being a mysterious, hooded traveller of some kind. The priest was in the middle of saying, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to--No, that's the opening a funeral. Friends, countrymen, lend me your ears--Wait. No. That's the wrong thing entirely. How did it go again?" The somewhat middle-aged man reached over to pick up the book with the words in it off the thick, rectangular, stone altar behind him, and only then noticed the purple-robed stranger standing as it stepped up onto the platform with him. He blinked a bit, as the hooded figure starting speaking. However, the child-voice that emerged was not directed at him.
"Ramon, please wake up," the child-voice requested politely, as what the priest assumed now to be someone's kid stood there, apparently talking to the altar. The child was quiet for a few seconds and then spoke again. "Ramon?" Another pause. "Ramon!" Another pause. "Ramon Courser Malden, you wake up this instant!" A longer pause. "Do not dare ignore me! I know you are in there!" The priest wasn't sure whether to be amused or disturbed by this young one. On the one hand, they clearly had a rather vivid imagination and the child was probably just playing as best as they knew how, since all the adults were busy talking and such. On the other hand, the child had spoken a name that the priest had not heard in a very long time, and was certain was somehow connected to a person long dead, and forgotten by most. So where had this child heard the name "Malden" and why did they choose that specific name to use in their game? The priest tried to remember if there were any gravestones in Southshore's graveyard bearing the name of Ramon Courser Malden, but couldn't recall having ever seen one in all the years he had lived here. Putting aside the matter for now, he decided that enough was enough.
"Run along now, little one. Go play your games elsewhere. There is much I must do before the wedding, and--" The priest stopped speaking as another voice interrupted him.
Alright, alright, I'm awake. Who the hell is it? Came a cold, growling voice. The priest looked around but could not identify the source. Then he slowly glanced down at the altar.
"It is me, Ramon." The child-voice answered. There was a long silence, during which the priest decided he must have just imagined that other voice. But then he heard it again.
...Oh, gods, not you again. The voice was coming from inside the altar. The solid stone altar that had been a gift from the cathedral in Stormwind to replace the one destroyed when the Scourge took over Lordaeron. It has been here for a little less than five years. There was no way anyone could have been trapped inside of it and still be alive. The voice sent chills up and down the priest's spine, for reasons he didn't fully understand, but as he looked around the chapel, he saw that the other scattered people in the room merely watched the child with bemused expressions on their faces, or had stopped paying attention entirely. They did not seem to hear the voice. Well, what do you want now? Came that cold, harsh, discomforting voice once again.
"Please extricate yourself from your current situation. We have work to do." The child-voice answered. The priest refused to believe that only he and this kid could hear that voice, or that there was indeed a voice coming from inside the altar, and he quickly turned around, and leaned over the altar, for a moment imagining maybe someone had snuck behind the stone slab somehow and was talking from there. No one was behind the altar.
Oh, we do, do we? I'm retired. I don't have to work anymore.
"Do not so quickly dismiss me before you know what must be done." The robed-figure responded calmly. The holy man was at that point walking in a circle around the altar, checking every side, and bending down to see if there was some opening at the altar's base through which someone could have slipped. There was nothing.
Look, I don't care about what's going on out there, alright? I did my part years ago, and I'm through with doing your dirty work. Find someone else to be your hatchet man, and leave me alone.
"Ramon, come out of there right now!" The child-voice ordered hotly. The priest knew he was making a spectacle of himself as he kneeled on the ground and felt over the altar all over, looking for a secret panel, or hidden switch, or something to explain the seeming impossibility of this whole situation, but he didn't care. He'd explain himself later.
No. The cold voice answered.
"Malden, you. Are. Trying. My. Patience!" There was a noticeable edge present in the young voice now, as the robed figured tensed, shoulders hunched slightly, sleeve-covered hands clenched at its sides. Meanwhile, the head priest stood up and chided himself for his foolishness. Secret panels? Hidden switches? What was wrong with him? The answer was so incredibly obvious! There was a wine cellar beneath the chapel. The voice must be coming from there! As the increasingly confused onlookers watched, the priest ran off towards the a concealed door that led downstairs, to the cellar.
Look, what's so important about this job of yours, anyway?
"If I tell you, will you come out of there?" The child-voice asked.
Probably not. The other voice growled out. At about that time, the priest finished his quick search of the cellar, and discovered no sign of anyone hiding down there, even when he was standing directly beneath where the altar was. Emerging from the previously hidden doorway, looking extremely befuddled, and more than a little bit frustrated, the priest closed the door behind him and marched back over to the altar.
"Malden, I swear to you, that you are closer than you realize to experiencing things I know you would highly prefer to leave out of those things you can claim to have suffered." The child-voice hissed out venomously.
Hah! What are you going to do to me that I haven't already had done to me? You gonna' kill me for good? You'd be doing me a favor.
"You would be surprised what you can live through." The stranger threatened quietly. The priest felt like he was about to lose his mind. Then he considered the possibility that perhaps he already had. Yes, that would make sense. This was all a hallucination conjured up by his own mind, as a result of the stress he was under due to the wedding and such. That had to be it! Though why his hallucination had to be so bizarre, he didn't know. He wished it involved more pretty young Priestesses in uniforms which more closesly resembled undergarments than holy garb. He decided that this was HIS hallucination, and if he wanted scantily-clad Priestesses, or his own cathedral, or to be the leader of the Holy Order itself, then in the name of the Light, he would have all those things! He closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could, trying to will such things into existence.
You know what? The cold voice asked angrily. I'm done with this conversation. It's over.
"Ramon..." The child-voice whispered warningly.
I'm ignoring you now! The other voice announced, before starting to hum a disjointed tune. The priest was not having any luck with his attempts to conjure forth even a single Priestess, and the talking of those two other hallucinations was quite distracting and annoying. He opened his eyes just in time to see a shaft of wood shoot out of one of the stranger's sleeves. He recognized it as a magic wand of the sort used by those who wrought spells with the power of the Arcane. He didn't know much more about them than that, and had only seen them a couple times. The purple-robed figure backed away from altar, and levelled the wand at the stone slab, as it began shouting, "RAMON COURSER MALDEN, YOU WILL OBEY ME OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!" However, the other voice was being just as loud in return.
I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LAH LAH LAH, LAH LAH, LAH LAAAAAH! The cold voice yelled back in a horrible sing-song that sounded like someone was torturing cats. The priest watched as the tip of the wand began to glow, and motes of darkness gathered to it. The others in the chapel made noises of surprise at this display of magic following the whole insane one-sided conversation, and the strange actions of their head priest. The priest himself might have been more concerned if he hadn't known this was a hallucination, but since he did know, he merely watched impassively from the side.
"I NEED YOUR HELP TO ASSAULT THE SCARLET MONASTERY, AND YOU WILL EITHER GET OUT OF THAT CHUNK OF MARBLE RIGHT NOW, OR I SWEAR I WILL BLOW IT TO PIECES AND DRAG YOU OUT!" The child-voice screamed.
LAH LAH LAH, LAH LAH, LAH LAAA-- The sing-songing of the voice abruptly stopped, and there was silence for a time, as the people on the pews looked back and forth at eachother, completely unsure what to do about all this. Eventually, as the robed figure got its breath back after that yelling match, the other voice asked catiously, What was that first, again? The stranger didn't lower the wand, though the energy disappated.
"I said I need your help to assault the Scarlet Monastery, in Tirisfal Glades." After this there was another long silence, before the stranger asked, "I thought that might appeal to your unique interests. Now will you please come out of there, or do I have to make good on my promise to blow it up?"
...Yeah, alright. The voice agreed after a short pause. It still sounded reluctant, but was at least being agreeable now. The priest was very tired of this madness, and decided that perhaps that wand in the stranger's hand represented the key to controlling the hallucinations, and stepped forward, trying to wrest it from the sleeve-covered hand of the short figure. However, the purple-robed figure jerked its hand away from his grasp.
"Excuse me! Keep your hands off of my wand, would you please!" The child-voice exclaimed indignantly.
What? Who else is out there? The altar-voice asked.
"Oh, just some priest." The child-voice responded towards the altar, though the hooded head turned in the priest's direction for a moment as though to glare at him, even with its eyes not visible. There was a snort of disgust from the altar.
Ugh. Priests. What is he doing?
"He WAS just standing there, but now he is being very rude. He tried to take my wand from me."
I agree completely, that IS rude.
"Extremely."
What did he try to do that for, anyway?
"Perhaps they simply do not teach manners or common courtesy to the men of the cloth anymore." The child-voice suggested.
I wouldn't be surprised from the way they've treated me in the past. In fact, I don't think they've EVER taught those holier-than-thou bastards how to treat other sentient beings respectfully. The other voice said bitterly.
"You're probably right. At any rate, please come out of there now. We have a schedule to keep."
Sure thing. One second.

The people in the church had begun to get up out of there seats and approach the child from behind, convinced that they were suffering from some form of mental illness, or perhaps a curse of some kind, perhaps brought upon the poor thing by that wand they were carrying. But they froze in their advance as there was a loud, deep sound as of something striking something else. The noise came again after a few seconds, as the people looked nervously between each other, even louder, and was accompanied by the sound of stone breaking, as the surface of the altar ruptured, cracking and the fragments pushing upwards, as though something inside the altar was trying to break out of it. A few tense seconds passed, and then a third, even louder, impact noise made the people in the small church wince shortly before they gasped in shock at the sight before them.

The marble of the altar's surface had been broken, and a pale, decayed, psuedo-skeletal fist was now protruding from a hole in the stone. The fist quickly darted out of sight, back into the altar, and a split second later, the loudest noise of all filled the chapel, as the entire lid of the stone slab exploded violently, sending thick chunks of marble flying every which way, smashing into things, and barely missing people as they fled the holy sanctuary, screaming their heads off in a panic. The priest's eyes were bugged out, looking as big as saucers, as it occurred to him that maybe this wasn't a hallucination after all, else why would the other people in the chapel react to it?

Then two rotting hands shot up out of the hollow interior of the ruined altar, gripping the jagged sides, and an Undead man slowly sat up out of the place he had lain for almost five years, cracking his joints noisily, including ones that ought not to crack, as well as some that weren't joints. He had pale white skin covering most of his body, though there was plenty of exposed bone as well. Lots of blue vein tracing visibly lay beneath the surface of that skin, so thin it was almost transparent. He wore a thick, black, leather jacket, with a black shirt covering his boney ribs, and black leather pants on his legs. Black combat boots, chains hanging about him at various points, and black gloves with metal studs on the back of each knuckle completed his outfit. His head was smooth and bald, except for a few long spikes of green hair that trailed backwards from a point near his forehead, and retreated down the rear of his skull. His pure black eyeballs lit up with two intense circles of light, marking where his gaze was directed, as Ramon Courser Malden, Undead Warrior, saw something other than darkness for the first time in a long while.

Ramon looked around the chapel, at the marble chunks strewn about, the broken pews from where the heavy stone had damaged the wood, a few of the altar pieces planted in the walls, and then noticed the priest standing by the side of the altar his feet were at. He decided to try to be polite, and waved a gloved hand at the holy man, smiling in a friendly manner, and exposing a few sharp teeth, which still clung stubbornly to black, rotted gums. "Hi there! Sorry about your little worship shack here. Didn't mean to make such a mess."

This was too much for the priest, and his eyes rolled up into his head, as he fell forward, and hit the floor, lying on his face, unconcious. Ramon and the purple-robed figure both watched the priest fall, and then stared at the man as he lay there. Across the room, one of the chunks of marble fell out of the wall, and hit the floor with a loud thud. Ramon turned his head, and the blue lights of his eyes on the stranger, standing a few feet away, jerked a thumb in the priest's direction, and asked, "What's with him?"

----------------------------------------------------

A few moments before that, the fathers of Anthort and Loryn were busily engaged in a discussion of the merits this union of their offspring would bring. They paused momentarily to sip at their wine, and Anthort's father said idly, "What a pleasant gathering this is. I certainly do hope that nothing comes along and ruins it. It would be very bothersome." Then Loryn's father nodded in agreement as he said, "Quite." Then they both took a mouthful of wine, and there was a loud noise from within the chapel, and the doors were flung open as a dozen or so people came running out of the building, screaming unintelligibly about something that was clearly very upsetting. The two men stared at this display, forgetting for the moment the wine in their mouths, and slowly two dim shapes emerged from the relatively darker interior of the chapel, and stood in the doorway.

The short purple-robed figure of the stranger stood next to the black-leather garbed Ramon. Ramon looked around at all the guests as they gaped in shock and disbelief. And tried to smile in as friendly a manner as he could manage. This provoked the exact opposite reaction he had been hoping for, as Anthort's father was so shocked he spat out his wine, and Loryn's father was so surprised, he inhaled his own wine, and went into a coughing fit as he choked on the liquid. "W-WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES IS AN UNDEAD DOING COMING OUT OF THE CHURCH!?" Anthort's father cried, dismayed.
"Uhh... Well, we're here selling these fine leather jackets..." Ramon began, gripping the lapels of his leather jacket and tugging on them as if to demonstrate his wares. Of the two fathers, Anthort's father recovered from his amazement first, and began bellowing out, "GUARDS! GUARDS! THERE IS A FOUL UNDEAD STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF TOWN!" At this cry, the citizenry and guests scattered in a panic, yelling out as the fifty or sixty guards here for the wedding began charging towards the source of the disturbance. Ramon observed this and eloquently summed up his feelings on all this in two words.
"Well, shit."
"Do not be too concerned," the child-voice spoke up over the sound of screams and the clanking of armor. "I have the situation under control." This prompted a loud groan from Ramon as he slapped a gloved hand to his face.
"I really hate when you say that."
"Why is that?"
"Don't you remember that time you said that, and then Deathwing--?" Ramon started, but was interrupted by the stranger.
"I prefer not to remember it. And that only happened due to a slight miscalculation on my part." The robed-figure answered in an annoyed voice. Ramon was not amused.
"HA! Yeah, right! Your slight miscalculation resulted in--"
"Look, shut up. We have to get out of here."

Just then, they noticed they were surrounded by very angry, very dangerous looking men and women with a variety of unpleasant-looking implements with which to inflict pain and badness on the two of them. Sighing, Ramon said, "Alright. I suppose you'll want me to cut our way out of here. Hand me my sword, and I'll get to work." He held out his hand, palm up, in the stranger's direction. The purple-garbed child glanced briefly at the hand, before turning its attention back on the guards closing in on them.
"I do not have your sword." The child-voice said. Ramon's hand remained held out for a few more seconds, before the fingers curled inwards, turning his hand into a fist, which took its place at his side.
"You don't have my sword." He stated blandly.
"I do not have your sword." The child repeated.
"Why. In. All. Of. The. Blazing blue hells. Did you pull me out of there, WITHOUT MY DAMN SWORD!" Ramon demanded furiously, blue eyes flickering over the gleaming blades pointed in his direction.
"There wasn't time to get it beforehand, and I was already in the area. Look, do not concern yourself overmuch. We will pick it up long before we reach the Scarlet Monastery."
"We had better," Ramon Malden growled. "Or else I won't be much help against those filthy, fucking, blood-thirsty lunatics." And just as he finished that sentence, the guards charged, yelling out their battle readiness. Ramon didn't just stand there and wait for them though. Instead he ran to meet the oncoming attackers, and moments before meeting the deadly wall of sharp weaponry, he leapt into the air, did a somersault, and kicked one of the guards with his booted foot hard enough to break the man's nose, and knock out several teeth, and then while still upside-down in the air, he yanked the unfortunate fighter's blade from his hand, completed his acrobatic maneuver, and began laying about him furiously with the stolen sword.

The guards quickly fell back as they found the Undead Warrior in their midst, ducking and weaving between them, darting in with quick thrusts, back-handed slashes, and a mix of hand-to-hand combat moves that quickly thinned the numbers of Southshore's defenders, as blood was spilled liberally upon the ground. The purple-robed stranger hurried after Ramon, as he made them room where there was none, slowly laying down a road composed of corpses, one enemy at a time. Eventually he had brought them close enough to the edge of town, that he wrapped one arm around the short stranger, muttered, "Hold on tight." And then leaped about fifteen feet in the air, before landing a fair distance behind the backs of Southshore's warriors. The moment his booted feet hit the ground, he was on the move, running as fast as his legs would carry both himself and his burden, until they were out of sight of the town, and all signs of pursuit had vanished.

Even then, Ramon kept running, until they were approaching the edge of Silverpine Forest, at which point the child-voice said, "You can stop running now." Ramon slowed down and came to a halt, looking back in the direction he had come from. It was night at that point, and any followers would probably have been carrying torches to aid them. Yet there was no sign of any light sources coming from the east. "You can also put me down." The child-voice spoke again. Ramon looked down, remembering he was carrying the small individual, and then shrugged before putting it on its feet on the ground.
"So what's next? My sword, right?"
"No," the stranger said, and Ramon scowled at the answer. "Not yet, at least. I know where it is kept, but we must pick up someone else on the way there."
"Oh? Who else is going to tag along with us?" Ramon asked idly.
"Art, of course. You are the First, he is the Second." In response to that, Ramon grinned broadly, exposing his black gums and few teeth again.
"Excellent! We're getting the old team back together again, aren't we?"
"That's the idea." The child confirmed. Ramon chortled for a bit at the thought, until the child-voice said, "You should rest though. Find someone or something to eat. You did not escape that battle unscathed." Ramon looked at the robed-figure and then glanced down at himself in surprise. There were holes in his clothing, and many stab wounds all over that were leaking green fluid.
"Huh. You're right. Hadn't noticed at the time. If I'd had MY sword, it would have been different." Ramon scowled. "This shoddy little butter knife isn't fit for a real Warrior!" He glared at the blood-coated broadsword in his hand, and then spat off to the side.
"I assure you, we will acquire your weapon as soon as is feasible. For now, we must attend to the needs of our bodies, as we travel to Pyrewood Village." With that, the two set out down the road, heading north.

As all the chaos outside the chapel raged on, the priest lay on the floor, still unconcious. He was smiling in his sleep, for he dreamed of Priestesses in interestingly modified holy garb.

---------------End Chapter Twelve---------------