The Book of Twyla

She was exhausted from the battle at Hearthglen. It wasn’t merely because the fight had been long, but it was also because it had seemed so impossible, the odds so far against their favor that it was disheartening. Soldiers and villagers who had eaten the plagued grain turning on their comrades in the midst of combat, turned into mindless servants of the scourge army. Then there was the disheartening fact that every time one of their number fell in combat, they would rise again within minutes. Twyla had been forced to slay several of her comrades after they rose as undead, men she had known or served with for years.



Had it not been for Lord Uther and the knights who served under him, it was very likely they all would have been lost. As it was, they had barely arrived in time to aid them.



After the battle had ended, she nearly collapsed on a bench by a cottage doorway while Prince Arthas and Lord Uther spoke, practically argued. She listened with only half an ear, until Arthas announced his intentions to go on to Stratholme, to confront and stop the one the necromancer had named as Mal’Ganis, to prevent him from spreading his plague of undeath any further.



At the mention of Stratholme, Twyla felt a chill run down her spine and new strength fill her. Stratholme was where she had been raised, where her family still lived. Her father and mother, her two older brothers and their families. And the one who was controlling the scourge and masterminding the plague of undeath was there. Plagued grain from Andorhal was being shipped there.



As Arthas stalked away from Uther, she stood, moving after her Prince, sensing Lord Uther’s disapproval. Several other soldiers, also exhausted near to the point of collapse, followed as well. They were the ones who always followed their prince. Arthas may not have had a full regiment at his back as Uther did, but there was always a small, core group of knights who followed him, headed by Captain Luc Valonforth. Twyla was one of the knights, following Arthas and obeying orders without question as she had since the day she had been classed as a paladin and inducted to the Order of the Silver hand. This day, however, he had more than just the few knights. The high elf mage-priests sent from Quel’Thalas to investigate the plague of undeath were following as well, just as equally bent on stopping the grain from being distributed and preventing the further spread of the plague.



Arthas sent a courier ahead on a fast horse to bear orders that the children of the orphanage be evacuated from the city, and that the soldiers and people were to be on the lookout for suspicious grain. The courier, not encumbered by heavy plate armor and weaponry, his horse better suited for speed and endurance, would reach the city long before they would. Hopefully, it would be enough of a warning to prevent disaster from occurring.



They rode hard along the King’s Road towards Stratholme, only stopping once when an old man hailed them, trying to convince Arthas that Lordaeron was already lost, and that if Arthas truly wanted to save his people, he would lead them West, across the ocean. Arthas dismissed the man, who turned into a crow, flying off, but before they could move on, Lady Jaina Proudmoore appeared, trying to convince Arthas to listen as well.



Twyla clenched her jaw, wanting to tell Lady Proudmoore that there was no time for words; they had to hurry to make it to Stratholme in time to prevent disaster from striking. At the same time, however, she couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable in Lady Jaina’s presence. Looking at the powerful mage was almost like looking in a mirror; it was no wonder that Captain Valonforth had mistaken Lady Jaina for Twyla the first time he had seen her, and it helped serve to explain why Prince Arthas would occasionally send Twyla almost puzzled looks.



Finally, they reached Stratholme, and Twyla breathed a soft sigh of relief to see that it looked as how it always did, a bustling city, true, but from the road it appeared almost peaceful, as if no disaster such as the scourge could ever penetrate or mar the surface of its walls.



“Thank the Light.” She breathed as they slowed their horses to a canter, “It looks as if we’re in time to stop the grain from being distributed.”



“A blessing to be sure.” Captain Valonforth said, also looking relieved. Twyla knew that he had family in Stratholme as well; he had only recently been telling her how one of his sisters had married and moved there with her husband to start their family.



“Wait… What is that, by the gate?” Twyla asked, squinting her eyes to help see the distant object as there came the sound of pounding hoof beats coming up the road. The prince looked back, dismounting.



“Glad you could make it, Uther.” He drawled, a trifle bitterly as Uther and his knights approached.



“Oh no…” Twyla breathed, suddenly recognizing the item she was looking at. It was a grain crate, with the familiar symbol of Andorhal on it.



“By the Light, no…” Valonforth looked horrified, “We came too late after all.”



Twyla turned a pained look on their Prince, who had also come to the realization what the crate meant.



“This entire city must be purged.”



Twyla shared a horrified, stricken look with Valonforth.



“We have to.” She finally managed to say, paying no attention to Arthas’ argument with Uther, “It’s the only way to prevent them from becoming members of the scourge.”



“I know,” Valonforth said grimly, “That does not make me dread it any less.” He took a breath, “But if someone must end my sister’s life, it will be me, and she will know I do it out of love for her.”



“As I will see to my own family.” Twyla managed, feeling a lump form in her throat and tears welling up in her eyes. She quickly blinked them back; she would not cry, not now. There would be time for tears later, after this grim task was seen to.



She dismounted, starting to follow Arthas towards the city, when Lord Uther called to her.



“Twyla, you need not follow him in this.”



“Come with us,” Jaina urged her, standing by Uther’s side.



Twyla looked to them, a pained expression marring her pretty features, “I cannot.” She finally sighed, “I swore and oath to follow him-”



“You swore an oath to follow the Light.” Uther corrected, trying to steer her from the course she was following.



“I also swore to follow Prince Arthas Menethil. And…” She looked away from them, into the city. “My family is in this city somewhere. I must see to them.”



Jaina nearly recoiled in horror, while Uther looked ill. “Twyla, surely you cannot mean…” He trailed off when she looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes.



“I would rather it be by my hand if it must be done at all.” She said quietly, her voice firm all the same, “I know they would wish the same. I am sorry I cannot follow you, Lord Uther.” She turned away then, hearing Jaina call her name one more time as she hurried through the gates.



She moved swiftly, the others who followed Arthas already setting about their grisly work. She moved past them all, taking the King’s Square gate to festival lane, to the house where her family lived. As she approached the door she noticed with no small measure of trepidation that the door was hanging half off its hinges. She drew her war hammer from the sling on her back, holding it at the ready as she slowly stepped into the house. She could hear growling and snarling coming from the direction of the dining room, and she made her cautious way there, freezing in horror and feeling nausea almost overtake her at what she found.



Her father was crouched over the body of her mother. She knew it was her father, more ghoul than human now, but still recognizable… If only barely. Hardly able to see for the tears in her eyes, Twyla hefted her war hammer, swinging hard as he turned his attention from the body of the one who had once been his wife to attack his only daughter.



When it was done, and she was certain he would not rise again and nor would her mother, Twyla slowly made her way to the kitchen, having heard a faint scrabbling sound coming from inside. Once there, she saw nothing, but, wary still, she moved to check the obvious hiding place, flipping open the pantry door to reveal her older brother. He had studied to be a mage, and, in Twyla’s opinion, should have been fighting, defending everyone instead of cowering in the pantry.



“Roland.” She said softly, quickly running her gaze over him, not seeing any signs of the plague taking him, but she knew it could be tricky. There would be no sign until it was far too late.



“Twyla!” Her brother breathed a sigh of relief, “Father-”



“I know.” She said quietly, holding up a hand to stop him. “Roland, this is very important. Did anyone eat the grain brought in from Andorhal?” She already knew her father had, but did not think mentioning as much to Roland was the best idea at the moment.



“Mother and father did, so did Arthur, Nessa, the boys and I.” His expression was one of growing concern, and of confusion. Arthur was Roland and Twyla’s older brother, Nessa his wife. Roland’s wife had died in childbirth only a few months before, and the surviving infant was lovingly cared for by her grandmother and aunt while her father served the Kirin Tor wherever he was needed, though more often than not, lately, he was assigned to missions that would keep him close to Stratholme and his daughter. “I conjured cinnamon rolls for the boys, but Nessa insisted they eat their dinner first.”



“So they had some of the grain as well?” Twyla asked, feeling as if she would be ill. “What about Marilee?” Marilee was Arthur and Nessa’s oldest child, an impish girl who was always getting in to trouble.



“Everyone had some of the grain, except for Marilee. She was sent up to bed without any supper for…” He paled, trailing off as Twyla drew her dagger, looking at him seriously. “What are you-?”



“In a few minutes I’m going to give you a choice, Roland.” She said quietly, her blue eyes meeting his, revealing the turmoil she felt, though her expression was impassive, “… I know how to make it painless. Or, you can do it yourself.”



“Why in the name of the Light would I want to kill myself?” He thundered, “What is going on, Twyla? Have you gone mad? Does this have to do with what happened to father?”



“The grain was somehow infected with the plague of undeath.” She whispered, “It’s why father…” She shook her head. “It probably only worked so quickly on him because he had some of the grain before anyone else, in a purer form.” It was quite likely, with how their father was always stealing pinches of bread dough while their mother kneaded the loaves, despite her constant scolding. The two of them had made a sort of game out of it, amusing their children, and the loving scolding and banter that had always ensued keeping their love fresh. “Everyone who ate the grain will die and become one of the scourge very soon, unless-”



“-Unless you kill us first.” Roland finished, the realization dawning, a sad expression crossing his features. He would never see his daughter take her first steps or hear her first words. He could only pray to the Light that somehow Twyla would see to it the girls survived, or that the end was swift so they would not suffer at the hands of the undead who would soon fill the streets unless the spread of the plague was checked. “Make it as painless as possible, for all of us, but especially the children.”



“I will.” She promised, “But you need to be last, Roland. I need you to be strong while I… While I see to the others.”



He was bewildered by this wondering if she intended to enlist his help in murdering the rest of their family. Though it would be more like euthanasia, he tried to argue with himself. Not murder at all. “Why do I need to be last? I would think you would want to see me dealt with first in case I-”



“Marilee and Elora didn’t have any of the grain.” Twyla said grimly, “You’re going to cast a portal to take them to Stormwind. Vinwald’s family will take them in until I can go to them.”



He gave Twyla a grateful smile. His little girl would have a chance after all. “… You’re the youngest. We should be looking out for you, but you’re always looking out for us.” He whispered.



“Of course I am.” She managed to attempt a smile, despite the tears that she could no longer suppress, “I’m a paladin. Where are Arthur, Nessa, and the boys?”



“Likely hiding in the parlor.” Roland sighed. “When father… When he turned and attacked mother, we all scattered. Arthur was herding Nessa and the boys through the door in that direction while I tried to distract father to give them a little more time. I wound up locking myself in the kitchen to get away from him in the end.” He sighed, “… I couldn’t hurt him, even though he had become a monster.”



“I know.” She said quietly. He was their father; they weren’t supposed to hurt him, but instead to love and revere him as the head of their family. Twyla shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts, before starting towards the house to the parlor, ordering Roland to remain close. When she reached the parlor door she pushed on it experimentally, finding that it was blocked. She heard Nessa give a choked out scream as she used her body to slam in the door to open it, finding once she was through the door that the barricade had been a book case. When she saw it was Twyla and Roland stepping through the door, however, Nessa’s screams turned into a sob of relief.



“Twyla!”



“Auntie Twyla!” The boys cried eagerly, hurrying towards her, relieved smiles on their faces, though she could still see they were white with the fear and strain they had been under, tears dried in tracks on their cheeks. Twyla managed to give them all a sad smile, before swallowing hard.



“I’m going to bless everyone.” She said quietly, trying to calm the boys, “And then you’re going to leave here for a better place. It isn’t safe in Stratholme any longer. What tried to hurt your grandfather is going to try to hurt everyone here.” Everyone except me, she thought grimly. They had found by accident that it seemed the plague did not affect Paladins. No one else had the same immunity, however.



“Twyla, what happened with father?” Arthur demanded, standing and looking at his sister with concern. Arthur had been the only one of the three to go against their fathers wishes as to being classed, and instead had followed the life of a merchant, making a prosperous go of it.



“There is no time to explain right now.” Twyla had to work to keep her voice low and soothing, “I need you all to kneel on the carpet in a line, close your eyes, and pray for protection.”



“But-” Nessa started, and Twyla fixed her with her sternest gaze.



“Now.” She ordered her family, letting a mithril edge creep into her tone, “There is no time for argument.”



Quickly, Arthur, Nessa, and the three boys knelt on the run on the parlor floor, all of them closing their eyes and bowing their heads. Twyla went to her brother first, tilting his head back and drawing the razor sharp blade of the dagger across his throat. “I love you, Arthur.” She whispered to him as his eyes opened in horror as the blade touched his flesh. Before he could make a noise she had skillfully used the blade on him, cleanly and just above the vocal chords so there would be no sound from him. She then eased his body to the floor, not wanting to alarm the others with the sound of the body hitting the floor. Likely they would open their eyes if that happened, and then panic. She gave Nessa the same treatment, whispering words of familial love in her sister-in-love’s ear, before moving on to her three nephews.



“You’re such a good boy, Garret.” She said to the oldest, placing a hand on his head, “You look after your brothers where you’re going.” She told him, before doing the same to him as she had his parents. Roland had already turned his back on the grisly scene, looking as if he would be quite violently ill very soon. She moved to the second boy, the middle child. “The Light embrace you, Gavin.” She whispered, before finally, moving on to the youngest, a lad of four who was squirming impatiently. Twyla had always known that it wasn’t fair to her nieces and nephews to have a favorite, but this little one had always had a special place in his aunt’s heart, making her wish he was her own and long for the day when she and Vinwald would wed and have children.



“I love you, Gareth.” She whispered, moving to kiss his forehead. He gave a grin, opening his large, warm brown eyes and seeing only her.



“I love you, Auntie Twyla!” He announced, “Going to be safe now?”



“Hush, my little love. Close your eyes.” She ordered softly, watching as the boy obediently did as he was told. “You’re going to be save now, my little one. For now and for always. May the Light protect you.” She managed to say to him, tears rolling freely down her cheeks, before she slit his little throat. She eased his lifeless body to the floor with a sob, placing a tender hand against his cheek, before standing.



“How?” Roland asked her hoarsely, and she saw his stricken, horrified expression, “How can you do this?”



“Because I know that if I don’t, someone else will.” She managed, “Someone who wouldn’t be so kind or merciful. And I know that now, instead of becoming members of the scourge, they are in the Light’s embrace. They are at peace.”



“I could never have even a portion of the faith you possess.” Roland shook his head. “… I’m starting to feel ill, and not merely from all this. We should hurry.”



Twyla gave a nod, before following her brother upstairs, not looking back at the massacre they left behind them in the parlor.



Upstairs they found Marilee, looking quite frightened, locked in a bedroom with the baby.



“Aunt Twyla!” The little girl of eleven (nearly twelve, she would point out with a proud, impish grin) practically threw herself at the woman in blood spattered plate armor. “I heard noises, and Mother was screaming, and I was so scared, but I didn’t want to open the door because I didn’t know why she was screaming and I didn’t want it to hurt me or the baby-”



“Shhh.” Twyla said soothingly, kneeling to embrace the girl tightly. “Mare, this is very important. Have you had bread, or anything made from grain in the past day or so? I know you weren’t allowed dinner tonight, but did the boys sneak you anything?”



Marilee shook her head, blue eyes wide. “No. Gavin was going to, but Mother caught him and gave him a spanking. And Mother was mad at me because I didn’t want any of the dark bread she and Grandma were making so I ate half of the apples she was going to have for pies, and-”



“Praise the Light.” Twyla gave a sigh, before hugging Marilee tightly. “I need you to be brave, Mare. Uncle Roland is going to make a portal. You need to go through it with the baby, alone.”



“Can’t you or Uncle Roland go with us?” Marilee asked, confused and frightened.



“No. We need to stay here a while longer, but it isn’t safe for Little girls.”



“What about Mother and Father and the boys?” Tears were beginning to roll down the girl’s cheeks, and Twyla gave her another hug, holding her a few moments to help calm her down.



“Your mother and father and the boys have had to go somewhere else for a while. Roland said, working on conjuring up a bag of cinnamon rolls for her. “Here, now, you take this… And this.” He pulled his weighty coin purse from his belt, the rune that the bankers had given him to access his particular bank vault threaded on a strong silken cord tied to the side of the purse. “You take care of your cousin, do you understand?”



Marilee gave an uncertain nod, clutching the two bags tightly.



“When you arrive in Stormwind, you’re going to be in the mage tower.” Twyla spoke quietly, standing and moving around the room, stuffing a few things for Marilee and Elora into a pack, “Ask one of the mages to take you to Old Town. Your Uncle Vinwald’s family lives there. His mother is Dame Amarante; she has her own tailoring shop in the canal district and will take good care of your. Tell her that something bad happened in Stratholme. I will come for you as soon as I can, but…” She pulled her own weighty coin purse with her rune sewn onto it from her belt and handed it to Marilee. “Hold that was well. Put the coin purses in the bag of cinnamon rolls, and do not lose them. That should help take care of you two, and, Light forbid, should anything happen to me, it should be enough with what is in our bank vaults to pay for you and Elora to be classed when you’re older.” She then attached the now bulging pack onto Marilee’s back, before picking the baby up from the crib and kissing her forehead. Roland was busy casting the spell that would create the portal, and he sent a longing look towards his little girl.



“May I?” He asked Twyla as she placed the infant into Marilee’s small arms. Twyla gave him a pained look, shaking her head.



“No. We don’t know how it is spread yet, only that we Paladins seem immune and do not spread it ourselves.”



Roland let out a pained sound, before looking to the baby once more, “I love you, little rose.” He murmured, before looking to Marilee, “And I love you as well. Be good, and take care of your cousin for me. I fear I won’t be able to for… For some time.”



“But-” Marilee started, only to be cut short by Twyla.



“There is no time! Now hurry, and get through the portal!” Twyla ordered. The little girl gave her aunt and uncle a bewildered look, before stepping through the shimmering oval of magic that would take her to Stormwind.



“Now, Twyla.” Roland said quietly, “I can feel it working inside me, now that I know what it is. Please… I don’t have much longer.”



Twyla drew her dagger from its sheathe once more. “I love you, Roland.”



“And I you, little sister.”



“Ma the Light protect and embrace you.”



“And you too.” He whispered, before her dagger once more did its gruesome job, ending his life as swiftly and painlessly as she could manage.



She then made her way downstairs and stumbled from the house, feeling twenty years older and wishing for nothing more than a bracing breath of clean, fresh air, only to be denied when she found that the city was half in flames, the stench of death everywhere.



And Arthas was striding towards her with a look of cold rage on his face.



“And what was so important in this house that you disobeyed orders, ran past us, and came here?” He demanded.



“This is my family home, my lord.” She whispered hoarsely.



“So you came to warn them-?”



“No, my lord prince.” She looked up at him, and there was no hiding her tears, the emotional agony she was in showing clearly on her face. “I couldn’t let anyone else... I mean… I had to…”



He placed a hand on her shoulder. “The Light has them now.” He said firmly, “Dry your tears, paladin. Know that because of your efforts, they will not rise again as scourge. Now come, there are many more to cleanse.”



“Yes, my lord prince.” She managed, following after as she hefted her two handed mace once more, praying all the while that Marilee and Elora were safe.