The Burning

Chapter Nineteen

Anthort Hughes, knight of Stormwind, had been riding all day long. He was dressed in full plate armor, and sat astride his battle charger, a strong and healthy equine with a light-brown coat, and armor of his own. He bore Anthort's weight readily, seemed to be full of energy and enthusiasm, as if sensing the importance of this quest. The knight was accompanied by several other Stormwind soldiers, as well as a pair of travelling adventurers, and they all had their own mounts. After the chaos and insanity in Southshore quieted down, and everyone was accounted for, there had been much unhappiness. Wedding guests had departed as swiftly as possible, and the citizenry of Southshore had gathered up what food and drink there was and prepared it for storage, so that it did not spoil. Anthort was a strong, healthy young man -- one had to be, when one was a knight -- but he did not tower over others in height, and was not muscular beyond the necessities. He had brown eyes, and though he often maintained a thin moustache, for the wedding he had been clean-shaven. He ordinarily wore his medium-length orange hair loosely when not in a formal situation, and combed it back over his head when he was attending anything in which he had to look tidy and respectable. Only when he was prepared for battle did Anthort gather together the strands of his hair in one hand, and tie them off with a black ribbon, so that he had a sort of ponytail. Some took jabs at him about this, as not many men wore ribbons in their hair, but more experienced soldiers knew why he did it, and took it completely seriously. Anthort bound his hair so that it did not obscure his vision in battle, and he used a black ribbon to signify that he was not just a knight of Stormwind at that moment -- he was an agent of Death.

Anthort had been in one of the houses of Southshore, being cleaned up and prepared for the wedding by his attendants, and hadn't known anything was wrong until he heard the screams from outside. Though he had rushed out to see what was going on, the press of people trying to escape, combined with his lack of a weapon, and his only protective gear consisting of a formal suit, and soft-leather shoes, resulted in him being unable to assist when the fighting was going on. He hadn't even really known what was happening, beyond panicked screams indicating there were Undead of some kind in town. He didn't know how many there were, where they were coming from, or how they had gotten past the guards. There had been nothing he could do. And yet, somehow, after it was all over, he had felt guilty. Especially after he had found out the casualty numbers. There had been twenty people who had injuries, but most of those had been due to trampling, or falling on the ground and hitting their head, and so forth. Only six qualified as wounded, meaning they had been injured in battle. That had been something of a relief, but what little good news that represented was overshadowed by the number of dead.

Seven. There had been seven brave fighters, all of them strong and skilled, with sturdy protective gear, and keen blades, who were even now being prepared for burial, and notification letters for their families and next of kin were being written. Anthort had stood there and looked at the bodies for awhile. Some were strangers to him, either due to being the personal guards of wedding guests, or just not being soldiers he had associated with. Three had been men he had fought with often, in various battles. One had been a woman, and that bothered him greatly, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being she resembled a fellow knight, by the name of Serene Legarde, who Anthort had fancied. It wasn't Serene, but the similarity in appearance was close enough that the guilt he felt became even worse. And then his father had stepped in and made him even more miserable. The marriage was cancelled, and Anthort's father had forbade him from marrying Loryn, due to some argument he had with Loryn's father. Apparently, the father of the groom had made accusations against the father of the bride, and demanded to know why Southshore kept altars with Undead in them within their churches. Loryn's father had then informed Anthort's father that the altar had been made in Stormwind, and come directly from Stormwind, and had remained unaltered the entire time it had been in Southshore, so it was Stormwind's fault. There had been much shouting, and insulting, and now the wedding was off, even though it wasn't either father who had proposed.

It wasn't their decision. They couldn't do this. If necessary, Anthort and Loryn would marry without their parents' consent, he decided. Then he found Loryn. She was using her powers as a Priestess on the wounded, trying to save those who were in the worst condition. She was still in her wedding dress, with red lipstick on, and her light-red hair all neatly pulled up into a bun on her head. Her eyes were reddened, and her cheeks wet, revealing she had been crying. Anthort discovered she had been unable to save two of the fighters wounded. He had been enraged that all this had happened, and all because of those stinking Undead. His wedding was ruined, people had died, and Loryn was blaming herself for not being able to save people from death. He made a decision and went around, finding out how many Undead had attacked, and where they had gone. He learned there had only been one. Just one of those monsters had done this. That had angered him further, so he changed into his armor, grabbed his sword, and rounded up some men to help him find the one responsible. While they were making preparations, a pair of Dwarves, one a Hunter and the other a Warrior, passed by, and upon discovering what had happened and what the soldiers were doing, they offered to help. Just before they left, Loryn, looking pale and weak, had stumbled up to the astonished Anthort, and handed him some prayer beads that seemed to glow from within. She told him that she had put all the energy she had into blessing the beads, to give him a weapon against the Undead. She had woven all her love for him, and all her faith in the Light into the blessing, and Anthort imagined he could feel the power in it, even without any magic of his own. Loryn assured the knight that regardless of if this Undead was Scourge, or Forsaken, the prayer beads would be effective. He had kissed her and thanked her, and told her to rest, and then he had departed.

This was the day after that night, and Anthort Hughes and his companions were closing in on their prey. He could feel it. The Hunter had told them awhile back that the tracks had lead off the road, for awhile, and then returned with another set of prints, so they knew there were three beings they were after. The Hunter had expressed some confusion over one set of tracks, though. He said he couldn't identify them, and didn't know what exactly they belonged to. They were small, like a child's, but so very, very light that he had almost overlooked them completely, like whatever made them barely weighed anything at all. Anthort took this information in, but though not knowing who one's enemy is can be dangerous, he wasn't going to turn back now, just because of some strange tracks. That walking corpse wasn't going to get away with what it had done.

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The three were preparing to leave Malden's Orchard, when Art had looked at the orchard itself, and noticed the evergreen trees had lots of ripe fruit hanging from their branches. He had thought, 'What a waste it would be to just leave these here! Besides, I'm hungry.' and thus the tall gray-haired man had picked up a basket lying on the ground, and begun picking fruit from the trees. Ramon had noticed what he was doing after a few seconds, and demanded, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing picking my fruit?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Art had said, turning to look at the Undead man apologetically. "Is it alright to pick these? They were just sitting here, and it seemed like an awful waste to just leave them, so..." Ramon had just looked at Art oddly, and the muscular man had shrugged.
"...Yeah, sure. Go ahead."
"Thanks!" Art had said happily and resumed picking the fruit. Ramon hesitated a few moments, and then picked up a basket of his own and joined his friend in harvesting the red, juicy, plump ripe produce. A few moments later, the purple-robed stranger came back from wherever it had gone off to.
"What are you two doing?" It had inquired. Art turned with a smile towards the stranger.
"We're picking fruit!"
"Yes, I can see that. But why are you stopping to pick fruit? We must continue our journey."
"It'll just be a few more minutes, alright?" Ramon had said with a frown. The stranger was silent for several seconds, before responding.
"As you wish," it said, and then disappeared again, somewhere off into the fog. Ramon was just moving deeper into the orchard, and reaching for one of the fruits higher up, when his trained reflexes told him something was wrong an instant before he heard the warning growl. He didn't turn his head, or move, aside from darting a glance off in the direction the growl had come from. Standing about five feet to his left there was a large wolf-like creature, with thick black fur, and slightly luminescent eyes. Its teeth were bared, and it let out another growl as one paw raised and came back down, the Worg moving closer. Ramon was about to try hurling the fruit basket at the Worg as a distraction and leaping backwards as far as he could to give him some space to maneuver, but then Art had stepped out from between a couple trees, and the Worg had turned its head towards him.
"Hey, what's going on over here?--Oh! Hello, there!" Art had said in a friendly tone to the vicious Worg, whose saliva had been pouring from its mouth, showing how hungry it was to consider Ramon appetizing. And yet when greeted, the canine had closed its mouth, perked up its ears, and then started panting, tongue lolling from its mouth as it trotted over to Art, tail swishing back and forth. "Oh, geez, you're really hungry, huh?" Art had said in surprise, as though the Worg had spoken to him. The beast had whined plaintively, as Art leaned down to pat it on the head, and scratch through its shaggy fur. Ramon had just watched this exchange, and moved back a bit, incase the Worg decided to ignore Art and come after him. "Don't worry, I'll see if I can find some nice meat for you. Come on, let's take a look around and we can--" The Worg had turned its head suddenly towards the south, looking beyond Ramon, and almost simultaneously, Art did the same thing, whipping his head around to look over his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Ramon asked, after setting down the half-filled basket of fruit, and turning to see if he could make anything out. It was just fog, though.
"We have company coming," Art had said tensely.
"How many?"
"Sounds like..." Art concentrated for a moment. "Nine? No, ten. Yeah, about ten."
"Can you tell anything about who they might be?" Ramon had asked, looking towards Art.
"Well, they're all on horse back, and I can hear metal clanking around, like armor or something. Could be knights," Art answered, with a frown.
"What color are the horses?" Ramon inquired.
"Brow--" Art then stopped and scowled at Ramon as he snapped, "How would I know that!?" Ramon just shrugged, and then Art muttered and looked back in the direction of the people on horseback.
"Well, chances are they're not on our side--"
"Yeah, I can definitely smell humans now. And maybe Dwarves too."
"Alright. I guess we should get rid of them, then, before they get rid of us. Care to do the honors, Art?" Ramon asked mildly. Art grinned a tight, wolfish grin.
"With pleasure," he growled out, as his teeth suddenly seemed much longer and sharper than they had been before.

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Sir Hughes and his team were just starting to get close to Valgan's Field, which lay off to their right, when suddenly the Dwarven Hunter had paused, climbing off of his pony, and looking around the area, as though he had detected something out of place. "What's wrong, Kelson? Did ye hear somethin'?" The Dwarven Warrior, near the back of the group, asked. The horses of the footmen and even Anthort's own mount all seemed to be irritated by something, snorting and moving around, as the Stormwind soldiers tried to control their steeds.
"Alright, everyone dismount for now. I'm not advancing further on horseback if there's something out here that can scare a battle-charger." Everyone moved to follow the orders, as Kelson responded.
"Aye. Thar's most certainly somethin' out here, Thompson. I kin smell a very strong wolf odor, and I kanna' hear a single bird, or anythin' else fer that matter."
"Wolf, ye say? Any idear how close 'tis?" Thompson asked.
"Oh, if I had t' guess," Kelson began, as at the back of the group there was a sudden whoosh of air, accompanied by a muffled yelp. "I'd say 'twas very, very close indeed. Best git yer axe out, Thompson." There was a pause as Kelson unstrapped a rifle from his back, and held it in his hands. "Oh, and did ye say somethin', back there, Thompson?" Kelson scanned the road ahead for a few seconds before turning around. "Thompson?" The place at the back of the group where Thompson had been was empty of both Dwarf and pony. "Thompson! Where ah ye!?" There was no answer. Suddenly, the horses all whinnied and broke into a run, charging down the road, and abandoning their riders. There were cries of dismay at first, but the horses quickly vanished into the fog, and there was little chance of retrieving them in the soupy mist.
"Alright, everyone keep an eye out. Ready yourselves for trouble, and don't let your guard down for an instant," Anthort ordered, as he and the footmen all drew their swords, with the soldiers also removing shields from their backs, and starting to look around for any sign of either the Dwarven Warrior, or, if he had been unlucky, what had made off with him. It was only seconds before there was a yelp from one of the footmen, which was cut off almost as soon as it was made. Everyone whirled to see that their party was down another member. There was no sign of what had just happened, aside from the fog swirling around, as someone or something had clearly just disturbed the gray vapors. When the men moved closer to where the footman had vanished, there was a flash of motion off to the side, and one of the men who had gotten a bit too close to the side of the road let out a yell as something grabbed hold of one of his legs, and pulled it out from under him, causing him to fall to the road on his side with a loud noise of metal on stone. He rolled onto his back for a moment, as he tried to catch his breath, and he made a few noises as he looked into the fog near his foot. His eyes bugged out and he rolled onto his stomach, and started yelling.
"HELP ME! HELP ME! IT'S GOT MY LEG! IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHT, SOMEONE HELP ME!" He yelled out as he scrabbled at the cobblestone road with his gauntled hands, trying to pull himself to safety. One of the other footmen managed to reach him, and grab hold of one hand, just as the man on the ground suddenly started being dragged backwards, towards the side of the road. Though the soldier helping the first man pulled with all his might, the footman with his leg held by some unidentified entity continued to be drawn further and further off the road. There was a crunching noise suddenly, like tortured metal and splintering bone combined, and the man on the road stopped screaming for help, and just started screaming. He kept screaming even as the man helping him lost his grip, and fell back on the ground, and the terrified soldier's fingers dragged furrows in the dirt slope at the side of the road for a few seconds before he vanished into the fog completely, leaving behind only a swirl in the mist to mark his passing. He managed to scream twice more in pain and mortal terror, and start a third before no more noises came out of the thick fog.
"Wh-what the hell IS that thing!?" One of the soldiers asked, horrified.
"I don't know, but I'm getting out of here!" One of the footmen said as he panicked, and turned, beginning to run south, down the road.
"No! Stop! Stand and fight!" Anthort called out after the man, but just as he was saying, 'fight' a large, gray, indistinct shape flew out of the fog on the side of the road, intercepting the soldier running south, and tackling him right off of it, and into the fog on the other side of the road, there was barely a sound from the soldier, and no sound at all from the shape. "By the Light!" Anthort let out, surprised despite his combat experience. He tried to think of how that knight he had know, Serene Legarde, would handle this situation. Thinking of her brought his mind clarity, and he steeled himself, calling out orders to the frightened men. "Everyone move together! Stay away from the sides of the road, and keep your backs to eachother! Whatever it is can't take us by surprise if it can't sneak up on us!"
"Right!"
"Yes, sir!"

The footmen seemed to calm, somewhat, by having someone give them direction, and followed Anthort's orders, as he too obeyed them. Then Kelson, the Hunter, who had been standing there the whole time, looking around, shouted out, "Ah see you, ye great shaggy demon! Ye'll pay fer what ye did to Thompson!" Then he charged into the fog, firing his rifle at something the others couldn't see even a hint of.
"No! Come back, you fool!" Anthort yelled to the Dwarf, but he either didn't hear, or chose to ignore the knight. The loud noise of rifle shots echoed through the forest, and a few moments later, other noises were audible as well. Growls, and yelps, and barks, but at a volume and depth of tone that indicated they were being made by a rather large animal. The two noises continued for a few seconds, before the rifle stopped, to be replaced by noises of effort from Kelson, and the sound of some weapon being swung, until finally it found its mark with a dull thunk, and there was a sharp whine of pain, before all sounds of battle ceased.
"Do you think he got him, sir?" One of the footmen asked.
"Hard to say," Sir Hughes responded. "He may have, but I'm not going to stay here and wait to find out. He's a Hunter. He can track us and catch up with us. We have to find that foul Undead before he gets away!" The other soldiers nodded, and then they all charged north, up the road, a few functional lamp posts lining the path providing markers to show where to go. What appeared to be an orchard and a small wooden shack were just coming into visual range, when suddenly something flew out of nowhere and struck one of the soldiers in the face. He let out a yell and began cursing and trying to scrape whatever it was out of the opening of his helmet, but then another one of the mystery objects flew out of the fog as well, and hit another soldier in the side of his head, creating a loud metallic thunk. While the soldiers were still trying to figure out what it was that was hitting them, and where it was coming from, one of them saw the object that had hit his comrade on the ground.
"What the... It's some sort of fruit!" The moment the man said that, there was suddenly a hail of the fruits as they pelted the soldiers, causing them to try to protect their faces with one hand, until they remembered their shields, and started using those. And then while their view was obstructed by their own shields, Ramon Malden jumped down from a branch high up in a tree, landed right in front of Anthort, stood up, and before the knight could do anything, the Undead shoved the empty fruit basket he had been holding into Sir Hughes' hands, and then when Anthort looked down to see what he'd just been given, purely by reflex, Ramon had pulled back one arm, fist clenched, and thrown it forward the moment Anthort looked up again. The fist struck the knight in the face, and there was a cry of pain and a spray of blood as something broke. Ramon didn't stop there, and spun around, sending a round-house kick into the side of Anthort's head, knocking him to the ground. The soldiers lowered their shields and saw the Undead Warrior, and started to charge forward to engage him. Ramon caught one of the swords as it swung down at his face, between the palms of both hands, yanked it from the soldier's grip with such force it flew into the air, and then as it was rotating there, Ramon grabbed it once the blade was pointed away from him, and brought it down on its former wielder, right through the man's throat.

Ramon yanked the blade free of the soldier's throat, and blood gushed out of both the front and back of the human's neck, since the sword had gone out the other side, as he fell to his knees. Then, as another soldier got within range, and thrusted his sword at Ramon, the Warrior had turned to the side and deflected the thrust, before swinging up his other arm and elbowing his attacker in the side of the head, so that his helmet actually spun around backwards, blinding the man. While he was denied his sense of sight, he suddenly found his head lopped off by the black-clad fighter, and Ramon continued his motion, spinning forward to stab a third soldier in the shoulder, pulled his stolen sword out, and stab through the other shoulder, effectively crippling the footman's ability to wield anything at all. Ramon kicked the soldier in the chest so hard, he actually flew through the air a few feet, before crashing to the stone path on his back. The last footman hesitated to move within melee range of Ramon. He was still hesitating when Ramon stabbed his sword in the road, pried up a stone, kicked it up into the air, and then back-kicked the stone with enough force that it shot forward and struck the footman in the forehead, knocking his helmet off, and leaving a lasceration on the soldier's head that dripped blood liberally. The soldier was distracted by the pain long enough that when he looked up again, Ramon was bringing his longsword down in an overhead swing, and clove the man's head in half, right down the middle. All of this had taken less than thirty seconds, and not one hit had been landed on the Undead Warrior.

Ramon turned around, to deal with the knight, only to suddenly be struck by a wave of searing golden light that hurled him a dozen feet down the road, hitting the stone, and skidding on his back for another few feet before coming to a halt. Smoke trailed from Ramon Malden's body and clothing, as he started to get back up, while trying to figure out where that attack had come from. His black eyes, with glowing blue circles to mark his gaze, alighted upon Anthort, who was striding towards Ramon, one arm extended, and what appeared to be glowing beads in his grip. The beads flashed brightly, and Ramon tried to dodge, but the holy light struck him again anyway, knocking him up against a thick tree trunk, and shattering the bark on it from the impact. Ramon slumped slightly, but shook his head, and brought his gaze back up. "You scum!" Anthort had exclaimed angrily. "You murdering scum! Do you know what you did in Southshore, you filthy monster? You murdered seven people, and you ruined my wedding!" The beads flashed again, and this time Ramon managed to leap out of the way, by going straight up, and then kicking off the tree he had been slammed up against. The blast of golden energy struck the tree a second later, and the tall pine tree practically exploded, the top half shooting into the air like a rocket, arcing into the air, and coming down in the lake several seconds later with a large splash. By then, Ramon had tried to send a flying kick at Anthort, but the knight had acted quickly, changing his aim and blasting Ramon again, zapping him right out of the air, and sending him hurtling to the hard ground. The Undead hit the stone road, bounced off its surface as it shattered where he struck, and then rolled off the side, and lay still on the dirt, as the gray fog started to creep over him. "And now you've killed four more people! Well, do you know what's going to happen now?" Anthort had snarled out angrily, as he advanced on the unmoving shape barely visible in the fog. "Your murder spree, and your damned existence, both end here."

The knight raised the beads again, aiming them at Ramon. The beads began to glow brightly, preparing to unleash their power, just as the Undead started to get back onto his feet. But before Anthort Hughes could unleash his attack, the fog suddenly swirled outwards just behind Ramon, spiraling away from a central point, as the biggest wolf that Anthort had ever seen leapt out of the mist, enormous mouth open, jaws full of numerous long, sharp, gleaming teeth... And clamped those powerful jaws down on his torso, and carried him a good distance backwards before the giant wolf's momentum was depleted enough for it to stop moving. Then it bit down, and its fangs punched holes in the plate-mail, the chain-mail shirt underneath, and his flesh. He cried out in pain, but as the pressure on his body steadily increased, crushing him inside of his own armor, he quickly found himself without enough air to keep yelling. He gasped desperately, trying to free himself from the wolf's jaws, but there was no escape. The pain grew and grew, as ribs broke, and blood gushed out of the holes in his armor, and when it couldn't escape through those holes, it was forced into other parts of his body, so that his head felt like it would burst from the pounding in his skull. His vision shaded over red, as he could no longer breathe at all, both due to the pressure, and because his broken ribs had impaled his lungs. As the pain started to fade, or at least his awareness of it, and things became darker to his weakening sight, his last thoughts were not of Loryn, the woman he had been prepared to marry, but of Serene Legarde, the female knight he had known. They had parted on poor terms, but even so, as his brain stopped working, he illogically expected Serene to show up and save him. Any moment now, she would charge out of nowhere, and cut down this beast, and then he'd be saved. Then everything would be alright. Everything would be alright really soon. As soon as she showed up... As soon as... She showed... Up... Everything... Would... Be...

...Alright...

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The knight had stopped moving in the jaws of the giant, gray-furred wolf, and it struggled to open its mouth, as its teeth had become a bit stuck in the armor. It took a few moments, but eventually, the canine was able to release the crushed corpse, and let it fall to the damaged stone pathway. Licking its lips slightly, both because its gums hurt, and to get the traces of blood that remained there, the wolf turned away from the dead man, and faced a different dead man. "Are you alright?" The wolf asked in an odd, dual-voice, as though two people were talking at once. It didn't move its mouth when it spoke. Ramon looked up at the wolf, and brushed himself off.
"Just peachy. What about you, Art?" Ramon asked.
"I'm okay. That Dwarf tagged me with his axe, but I'm already mostly healed. The wound should be gone completely in a couple hours," Wolf-Art answered. His voice was deeper than usual, more 'growly'. "Are you sure you're okay? That magic the guy was doing looked like it packed a punch."
"Yeah, but that was all it was packing. It hit hard, but it was probably supposed to hurt the Scourge-type Undead. I'm not one of them."
"Ahhh, yeah, now I remember. You were around way before the Scourge." Art nodded his shaggy head, as he sat on his haunches, and panted a little bit.
"Did you get all of 'em?" Ramon asked as he looked down at the mangled knight.
"I think so. I didn't smell anyone else. I lost the Dwarf in the fog somewhere, but I doubt he's going to come back for us with all his buddies dead--"
"Think again, ye great stinking, slobber-mongrel!" Kelson shouted as he suddenly stepped out of the fog, with his rifle aimed at the side of Art's canine head. "Thar's no animal, an' I mean, NO ANIMAL, who gets th' better of Kelson Dragonforge!" Art growled at the Dwarf, but even though the mighty wolf was easily large enough to eat the Hunter in one bite, Kelson seemed not the least bit intimidated. He cocked his rifle, took aim, and said, "This one's fer Thompson!" Then he pulled the trigger, with his gun at point-blank range.

The round struck something unseen, and seemed to cause the air to ripple outwards, as though it were water and not air. Then the air rippled again a few inches off to the right, and the same bullet flew out of the middle of those ripples, and slammed into Kelson's chest. The Dwarf stumbled back, raising one hand to press against the rapidly expanding blood spot on his vest. Even as he stared, not comprehending what just happened, a bolt of pitch-black energy flew past Ramon and Art, from the wand of the stranger, and engulfed the Dwarf, seeming to consume his body entirely. He dissolved like the dark energy was some sort of black acid, and soon the Hunter was gone.
"It sure took you long enough," Ramon growled, as he turned on the short being behind him. "Decided to let us do most of the work, huh?"
"There was a matter that required my attention. I apologize for not helping sooner, but it seemed prudent to keep anyone from becoming aware of our presence, and there was someone scanning the area mentally." The stranger then turned to Wolf-Art. "You may wish to change back to your humanoid form before we enter Tirisfal Glades. It would be wise to not tip off any other hostiles as to our true capabilities."
"Awww... Okay. I guess I just haven't transformed in so long, I kind of missed it..." Art muttered as he lowered his head and slunk off to the north, his outline warping and shrinking as he did so.
"We have dallied here too long. Let us depart," the child-voice said to Ramon, who was checking to see if the knight's sword was better than the one he'd taken from the footman.
"Alright, then. Let's get out of here. I don't want to leave MY sword in a place full of those Scourge idiots any longer than I have to," Ramon Malden replied. Then the three strange beings headed north, and across the border of Silverpine Forest. They had finally arrived in Tirisfal.

Unknown to the three, Anthort Hughes and his men had not been the only ones who were following them.

--------------End Chapter Nineteen--------------