'Of Demons and Demi-Gods' ***Updated 03/09***

((I started this as a conclusion to the buisiness with Karaptis and Malvolio from the other night but got kinda carried away. It's not 100% finished so if you notice mistakes and inconsitencies ignore them. Also the final chapters have been yet to played out properly. Hope you all enjoy.))


Vaknor leant back in the hard chair grimacing. His body was not what it used to be and the hour was very late. Looking to the beautifully wrought dwarven time piece that adorned his sanctums wall he noticed that it was almost sunrise. It had been a night of reflection and study. After the confrontation with the vile beast Karaptis and his jester-pet Malvolio he was drained of all resolve and had retired to his sanctum to sleep. Sleep had evaded him. As he lay there in his small cot bed he mulled over the evenings events...

What had Karaptis wanted? It was clear the beast had a plan for the order; did he seek to corrupt us, to destroy us? If so why not unleash the power at his disposal? Vaknor had left his bed to rifle through his book shelves. He had found what he had been looking for, ‘Of demons and demi-gods’ the book was old, older than Vaknor even. He flicked through the pages lazily his eye-lids feeling heavier by the moment. As he was about to fall into beautiful unconsciousness his eyes caught a word. He sat up straight.
‘Malvolio.’ He read out loud quickly trying to absorb the information into his tired brain; “Trickster demon, a child like imp who takes it upon himself to sow mistrust and dread amongst the ‘lesser’ species.” Vaknor balked at what was yet to come. “Malvolio is little threat in and of himself but is thought to have caused the start of no less than seventeen wars and tribal conflicts. He sows his mistrust as a prelude to his master’s arrival.”
Vaknor dropped the book to the table. The next page was ripped out. Gone.

“Light damn you!” Vaknor screamed as he hurled the book across the room into the wall. He had been trying to find any hint of Karaptis’ plans, if he only knew what Malvolio was the herald of, he could make sense of all this. He must gather the shadow-bane inquisitors there was no other choice. He stalked out into the dark halls of the monastery and found a night guard.
“You boy?!” Vaknor limped over to the young initiate and poked a boney finger into his chest,
“Y...Yes brother Chaplain?” The boy began to shake under Vaknor’s gaze. He was not a figure of great might or majesty; he was small and worn with the passing of time. His mantle of hair grey and he wore a monocle over his bad eye. However the initiates feared him for his out bursts of anger and fanaticism. Many had been the time that a young man had been late for morning services only to have a copy of Uther’s most sacred teachings hurled at him by the crotchety old man.
“I need you to send word to the griffon riders. Have them contact brother Cartheron and brother Azeem.” With that Vaknor turned to leave. The boy spoke up.
“But how shall the griffon riders find them?” Vaknor rounded on the boy and clapped him across the back of the head.
“You insolent boy, you think that is my concern?! You will have them found and summoned or you will find yourself on a crusade of penance!”
Vaknor turned and thundered out towards the cathedral arches. He walked as quickly as his old knees would allow him towards the stables. He must ride for the highlands of Arathi, to the home of the lodge, the crypts. Yes, he must bring together the shadow bane. He rode through the gates of Stormwind without a backward glance.


***
The sun set lazily over the ruins of Stormgarde keep. Off in the distance Vaknor could hear the alliance forces engaging the barbarian horde. If he had more of a heart to, he would make his way down to the lines and bless the brave men fighting. He had higher priorities this eve. Vaknor made his way down into the crypts beneath the old keep. Winding down into the earth, Vaknor reflected how his meetings always seemed to take place in the heart of the earth, away from the light of the sun. He greeted watcher Armanthas with a curt bow, he expected little conversation from the mute watcher. The servants forsook speech when they took their oaths of allegiance to the shadow bane. These servants stood guard over the shadow bane’s vault of forbidden texts. Books of Demon-lore, Witchery and Xeno-filth were nestled in the heart of the catacombs, Vaknor hated this place. It reminded him of all that was foul with the world, but he as the entire shadow bane did viewed it as a necessary evil.

He walked into the central chamber; a low triangular altar was situated in the middle of the room, the letter I embossed in the stone. Vaknor took his place and bowed before the simple stone plinth. His back ached as he forced himself to the floor, his dark robes gathering dust and filth. He waited. His brothers should be arriving soon; it had been too long since he had seen Azeem the Samaritan knight or Cartheron ‘Hates edge’. They were two of his closest brothers; they shared his fundamental philosophy on fighting the dark of the world. We would be considered radicals and heretics by our brother paladins were they to know the truth. Hence the need for such a clandestine meeting, they like him viewed the knowledge of demons and other filth as a weapon to be used. They studied books not burned them; they were wise where their brothers were brash. Vaknor hated the necessity of it all; he hated the ceremony and tradition. He hated going behind the backs of his brothers. Mostly he hated himself for not being strong enough to do without the knowledge of the tainted,

He waited for three hours knelt before the alter. His back ached and he needed to move. Just as he went to raise himself he heard scuffling behind him.
“Welcome brothers.” He said without turning to greet them.
“Wrong Old-man.” Vaknor turned to see his young confidant Merrideath. Over her shoulder she carried a sack; she hauled it to the floor with a heavy clang. What Vaknor saw broke his heart.
“Vak’ I... I did what you asked... I was tracking your brothers Cartheron and Azeem… Through the lands of lorderon... All the way to the steps of Naxxramas I followed the stories of a pair of paladins one dark of skin the other full of hate.”
Vaknor fell to his knees to clutch at the bag... Already some of the items had spilled out. Battered and torn Azeem’s helmet had rolled out onto the hard stone floor. Vaknor picked it up turned it over in his hands. Tears openly flowed down his cheeks as he saw the blood and brain matter that caked it. He reverently placed each piece of armor on the alter.
“Continue my child.” Vaknor said his voice broken. Merrideath looked awkward.
“I found their armor assembled neatly at the base of the steps to the dread-citadel… I recovered them and bought them here to you as quickly as I could.” She sighed, “I am sorry Chaplain they are gone.”

Vaknor stood. Shaking with rage, overwhelmed with sorrow, he removed his cowl and dropped to his knees before the alter of the shadow-bane.

“Uther. Guide me. I have been too long in the shadow, skulking in study. Give me a sign. Anything.” The dark was silent. The old man hung his head and sobbed hard. He had loved both his brothers dearly, more than any of the order and they would be missed. What had tempted them to single handedly march on the dread-citadel of the scourge…
The inner lodge was shattered, his brothers scattered to the winds. Vaknor stood alone,
once a member of the shadow-bane brotherhood a group that guarded the order from heresy. They were Cartheron of the school of retribution, Azeem shield brethren and himself a Chaplain of the holy light. Now he was alone. He was nothing.

The darkness whispered around him. The watchers had formed a circle around their master and with one voice they spoke.
“Hear me Vaknor.” They chanted in unison, their eyes dark as coal. “I am the un-doing of your brothers; I will be the undoing of your entire little order.” Vaknor drew his ceremonial blade from its sheath across his back. Tiny skulls whirled around the blades tip betraying the origin of the blade. It was a demon-weapon, potent and lethal one of the many weapons employed by the shadow bane. He roared with fury,
“Show yourself Karaptis! I know this to be your doing! How dare you defile this most scared of place?!” Merrideath trembled as she looked at the eyes of the servants.
“Vak’ we should go, I don’t like this.” Vaknor bolstered.
“Quiet girl.” The darkness peeled with laughter.
“Listen to the girl old man, she knows what I am.”
“And what is that Karaptis?” Vaknor spat back.
“I am he who is fear himself.” The light of the chamber cast by one hundred candles was snuffed out, the only glow emanating from the skulls at the tip of Vaknor’s blade.

Merri’ yelped as she heard a whistle of steel fly inches by her head. She ducked and rolled out of the closing circle of the shadow-bane watchers. She couldn’t see a thing and stumbled for the entrance. As she fled she heard behind her Vaknor’s cry.
“Run girl! Run and keep running!” She ran, up out of the crypt into the light of the night sky. Too terrified to even help the old man she crashed to the floor tears streaming down her face. She gibbered incoherently “He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming.” She scratched at something beneath her skin that she knew could not be there. She scratched until she drew blood digging for the demon in her veins. A Stormgarde captain stumbled upon the girl sat crying, screaming and clawing at her own skin. He called for men to take her to the clerics.
“Now what was all that about the captain mused to himself?”

Vaknor surmised that his armor would never join that of his brothers on the alter. With the watchers possessed it was only a matter of time before he joined them in the twisting nether. But who would be left to pray for him and tend his body? He blindly parried a slowly swinging blade with nothing but luck. More blades swung slowly in, the watchers moving clumsily under the mind control techniques of the foul demon being Karaptis. Vaknor felt a blade gash into his leg, then his shoulder, another grazed his brow drawing blood.

“Give up you old fool, the darkness will always conquer the light.” The watchers whispered to him.
“Never.” Vaknor’s voice was tiny a whisper.
“What was that old man? I barely heard you... Speak up like a good little being!” The darkness boomed with laughter.
“NEVER!” Vaknor spoke the litanies of the Light bearer the words flowed from his lips like liquid gold. His wounds knitted themselves shut and the light of the candles blazed like a thousand suns. The Watchers temporarily blinded shielded their eyes. Vaknor set about each, a single touch of his demon blade turning them to naught but a steaming pile of entrails. He roared in holy triumph as angel wings spread from his back feathers of gold cascading to the floor and cleansing the ground of dust and dirt.

“Karaptis! Show yourself!” The old man was rejuvenated. Light seeped from his very being. The darkness was silent. “Karaptis?! Why do you hide?!” The watchers dead and his cries for battle unanswered Vaknor collapsed to the floor wheezing. His golden wings dimmed and were exterminated. He dropped his blade and lay on the cool of the stone chamber.
The candles faded and one word echoed around the stone vault in Karaptis’ dark tongue.
“Soon.”

***

Vaknor managed to pull himself to his feet. The vaults were no longer safe and needed to be sealed. He took the embossed cloak clasps from both brother Azeem and Cartheron’s armored pauldrons and removed his. He held the three badges of honor in his hands. The entrails of the watchers had dissolved and the inner sanctum of the shadow-bane looked as if nothing had happened. Vaknor clenched his fist and placed it against his heart. He turned to his brother’s armor.
“Sleep well brothers, we will meet again.”

With that Vaknor limped up out of the crypt sealing the door using the three seals. Without the watchers it was not safe to leave the crypt open. Too much powerful knowledge was held here. Only once the lodge was reformed would he risk opening it once again, only once a new batch of watchers could be chosen. Vaknor said the words of cleansing and watched as the stone door became nothing but a stone wall. It had been a hard night, he had lost his brothers, his lodge, his watchers, and he had lost Merri’. Where was the girl? He thought to himself as he wheezed and coughed his way up out of the depths of the earth.

Vaknor eventually found his way back into the open air and cornered the nearest soldier he could find demanding to see his officer. The soldier balked at the old man stained in dust and blood, the man drew his sword and pointed it at Vaknor.
“’Ey up ol’ man what business be you havin’ with the cap’n?” The man’s think northern accent ground from his lips like nails on a chalk board. Vaknor winced as his language was murdered.
“I will only ask you once more young man, fetch me your captain or face the consequences.” Vaknor grimaced at the idea of more physical violence, he had taken quite the beating already today and his old bones weren’t ready for another round.
“I ‘spose I best take you ‘long to the cap’n I ‘spose.” The soldier whipped his nose on his sleeve and proceeded to take the Chaplain into the defended area of the castle.

They walked for five minutes past wounded soldiers, men cavorting with women, children chasing dogs. It seemed even in the midst of a siege like this humankind found time for recreation. They stopped before the command tent.

“Ah’ll go get ‘im for ya.” The soldier mumbled and stepped inside the tent. Moments later a tall plate clad captain of the Stormgarde elite stepped out. Faced with what he assumed was some muddy peasant he put on a snarl and marched up to brother Vaknor.
“What do you want you filthy old bastard?” He grinned wickedly at his own cruelty.
“I want you to treat an old man with a bit of respect you upstart.” Vaknor trailed away keeping his toned hushed. The Captain balked.
“You dare to speak to a captain of the elites like that?! I could have your head. In fact I will. Guards drag this vagabond to the dungeons we’ll execute him at dawn.”
As the guards approached Vaknor broke out in unrestrained laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to suck in air between laughs.
“Oh and what’s so amusing?” The captain jeered at him.
“Oh…Oh... Nothing.” He said trying to stifle his laughter. “I was wondering if there was anybody who wasn’t trying to kill me this evening. Look captain I am Brother Chaplain Vaknor of the Order of illumination. I believe you know the crusades work? We have a mission here in the keep.” The captain’s face turned sheet white and he started to babble incoherently.
“Oh shut up man, where’s all that gusto gone? That passion and fire? Vaknor patted the captain on the shoulder. “I will be having words with the priests of this fine keep it seems they need to teach you all some goodwill to your fellow man.”
The captain remained quiet choosing not to anger the old man.
“Look Captain my need is simple; I am looking for a friend of mine. She is my traveling partner and I seem to have lost her. Could you tell me if any of your men have come across a girl with dark hair and pale skin?” The captain finally responded.
“Follow me.”


Merrideath lay bound to the bed she was writhing in agony, she thrashed against her bindings. Back and forth, her eyes rolled back in her head. She was covered in blood, her own blood. Bandages covered both her fore arms and neck. Vaknor walked over to the bed, he sat at her side and she made no attempt to attack him.
“My poor girl, what has he done to you?” Vaknor placed his hand on Merri’s forehead and felt the incredible heat, she was sweating through her clothes and her pallid face was covered in a thin sheen. She spoke.
“Vaknor, Vaknor, Vaknor, Vaknor?” She repeated the old man’s name as she writhed.
“What is it my child?” Vaknor replied as he held her face in his hands.


“He’s coming.” She screamed.


She let out a scream that cut right through the old man, it was the scream of the violated, those taken against their will. Vaknor shouted for everyone to leave. The Elite guards were more than happy to comply pushing past each other on their way out the door. Vaknor was worn thin his energies torn out of him during the battle in the crypts. He looked at Merri, her face twisted in agony, her scream flowing continuously from her lips as she fought to claw out her own veins. A hand slipped its bond and she reach up to her bandages pulling them away to show her devastated flesh. Her neck was a mess of blood and nail marks. She started to tear at herself again.
“Gods.” Vaknor whispered. He reached inside his robe and produced a small vial. The vial was marked with a golden halo; he pushed her arm into the bed with one free hand and forced the concoction into her mouth. She dropped into violent unconsciousness. She didn’t writhe anymore but her face twitched with pain.
“I am sorry my child.” Vaknor shook his head and left the girl on the bed.


***

Vaknor’s carriage drew up to the gates of Stormwind, the guard raised the gates as he saw him approach. He wore the grimmest expression the guard had ever witnessed.
“Evening Chaplain we’ve missed your sermons of late.” Vaknor made no display of acknowledging the man he simply spurred the carriage onwards to its final destination.
He passed under the cathedral arches Merri bound in cloth in his arms. She was still sweating profusely and he worried she would die of dehydration before he could complete the ceremony. She still slept her uneasy sleep. Balamir approached him as he stepped into the cathedrals main entrance.
“Balamir?! Where’s Macloren!?” The young man looked confused,
“He is due back from the front this eve; I was waiting on his arrival. Why? What’s wrong with the girl? By Torm?! Is… Is that Merrideath?” Balamir babbled the information out quickly.
“Never mind boy. Gather all the brothers here, all the initiates, any one that isn’t on crusade and meet me in the mausoleum.”
“Of course brother, I obey.” Balamir ran off into the cloisters as Vaknor headed down through Macloren’s private sanctum and into the mausoleum. It was dark and Vaknor had difficulty carrying the girl, keeping himself upright and carrying a torch but he was spurred on by desperation.

He was met in the basement by ten of the order, all young initiates apart from brother Balamir.
“Listen my brothers; this girl is very dear to me. She is like a daughter and she is very, very ill. What I do now may seem odd but what happens here is between us alone. You will tell none of the things you see. Do you understand?” They all nodded.
“Balamir get the lid off that empty tomb.” Balamir and two others moved the heavy stone slab aside. “Good. Now form a circle around the tomb and repeat after me.”
Vaknor placed Merrideath in the shallow tomb and stood above her. He twisted his tongue around the words of forbidden texts, the chamber became colder and colder. The brothers dutifully repeated his words. He could tell Balamir knew this was somehow wrong but he did his duty. The words flowed into Vaknor’s mind until bursting point, he clutched at his throat as the brothers around the circle continued to chant. Water started to pour from his eyes, ears, mouth and nose. The water flowed crystal clear into the basin of the tomb until Merrideath was submerged. Vaknor gasped he placed his hand on the water and watched as it turned to ice. He collapsed.


The initiates utterly confused dragged the old man to the main hall and sat him on the altar stairs. They all stood in silence waiting for their Chaplain to regain consciousness. Balamir moved to his side and gently shook him. Vaknor awoke with a gasp and a wheezing cough. He coughed until he could speak.

“It is done?” Vaknor said to his assembled brothers.
“Is what done?” The voice came from the entrance to the great cathedral, its grave tone carried across the main hall by the high ceilings and acoustics. Macloren at the head of fifty knights marched into the cathedral.
“I am sorry Lord there was nothing else I could do.” Vaknor looked to his lord with nothing but grief etched in his features. Macloren was confused he looked at the assembly of young knights around the old chaplain who looked thinner and more worn than he had seen him in years. He looked to Balamir to make sense of it all and saw his eyes notion towards the entrance to the Mausoleum. He dropped his mace and ran to the door alone. Down into the heart of the earth, he saw the lid of the tomb rest on the floor and walked up to the frost caked ice. He removed a gauntlet as quickly as he could and whipped the frost away. There he saw the face of his beloved. Merrideath. His howl of rage could be heard in the main hall of the cathedral, the brothers assembled all turned to the door to the mausoleum.

The fist of rage thundered out of the door straight towards Vaknor. His first punch folded the old man in half dropping him to the floor. He leapt upon his brother and laid blow after blow into the old mans face with his non-gauntleted fist. Vaknor lay on the floor making no effort to defend himself, taking his brothers rage upon himself as if he were the shoreline and his brother the angered tides. It took five brothers to restrain Macloren. They dragged him off of the old man and held him in place as he tried to free himself to strike at Vaknor again.

“What have you done you old fool?!” Macloren roared.
“I could do nothing else brother she was dying. I traveled from Arathi seeking all aid I could along the way. The priests of Ironforge said if I were to revive her she would kill herself. If she was left under the potions of sleep she would die of exhaustion. I had to put her into a sleep so deep she would be outside of our time! I did it so she might live brother!”

Macloren spat on the floor.

“She lives?! She is a chunk of ice you light-damned fool! What kind of a life is that?! Change her back. We will fix this!”

Vaknor whispered;
“I can’t.”
Macloren broke free of his brothers, grabbing Vaknor and pressing him against a column. Vaknor saw only rage in his one eye.
“You can’t?! YOU CAN’T?!”
“I don’t know the spell of reversal. We will have to work on a cure for her affliction and wait brother.” Macloren was still fuming but he was starting to calm.
“How long?” Macloren pressed his brother would not reply.
“How long you addled brained fool?!”
“Twenty cycles.” Macloren threw his brother onto the stairs. The order was too enthralled by the scene to do anything. Macloren stood above his brother and rained his mailed fist into the stone beside his head again and again until his hand bled.
“Get up old man.” Macloren whispered in rage. Vaknor stood unsteadily.
“You fix this. You fix this or I will kill you myself!”


***
With that the Lord militant of the Order of Illumination stormed from the Cathedral into the night.
***
The brothers of illumination eyed their old chaplain suspiciously.
***
And deep in the earth, alone in the dark, Merrideath screamed in silence bound within a slab of ice, bound with a demon implanted in her veins that whispered in her mind.

**There will be a brief intermission please feel free to purchase snacks from the lobby**

((One thing, Azeem and Cartheron are not necessarily dead I just wanted a plot device that explained where they went and borrowed the whole Leman russes armor found outside the khornate temple idea. They could be alive/ dead/ twisted what ever. I don't want to kill off characters in the order but thought I'd try and explain their absence.))

PILLAR UNHOLY: SANCTUM FLIGHT APPROACHES

I actualy feel bad for beating on you Vak. but then... I am a ticking timebomb of fury!!!

Brothers moved to Vaknor’s aid. He shook them away; he didn’t deserve the help of his brothers. He had failed. The assembled Knights looked upon their bruised and bloody Chaplain with a mixture of curiosity and pity. Brother Evangelist stepped forward speaking to the assembled knights.

“Leave us.”

Evangelist offered his hand to the old man who coughed and wheezed on the cathedral floor. Vaknor was a mess, his lip split and his nose broken in several places. He dribbled blood onto his chin as he spoke.
“I don’t deserve your hand brother.” Tears rolled down his face. “I failed my lord. I deserve nothing.” Vaknor placed his head in his hands as he lay folded on the hard stone of the cathedral floor. Evangelist looked deep into the man, beneath skin and flesh, deep into his spirit.

“What ever it was you did you did it out of love brother, that much is plain to see. Come take my hand.”

Evangelist lent forward and took the broken old man around the waist and dragged him to his feet. Vaknor winced in pain from the blows Macloren had inflicted on his old frame. His brother supported him and carried the old man back to his sanctum. At the door Vaknor leant hard against the wooden frame and almost fell inside, he stumbled forward and crashed onto the bed. Evangelist sighed and shook his head.
“We shall speak of this tomorrow when you are rested.” The angel faced paladin shut the door and left to search for his lord.

Vaknor raised his hand to speak the words of healing… He paused.
“No.” He spoke to the darkness. “I deserve this pain.” He lay on his cot bed and stared into the darkness around him. The blows he had taken had made him woozy and he soon fell into unconsciousness.

The night whispered to him, “Vaknor.” A maiden called to him from far away across his dream-scape. The maiden appeared far off stood on the edge of a cliff facing out towards the setting sun, “Vaknor.” The voice spoke again carried on the winds of his dream to his waiting ears. “I’m coming my child.” He replied to the far off figure, he set off his dream-self moving at a speed he had not in years. Unencumbered by his old and worn joints he ran to the girl on the cliff edge. He stopped a short way from her and spoke.
“I’m here my child. I’m here.” The figure turned and the face that he saw shook him to his very core.
“Vaknor,” The girl moaned through rotting lips. Black eyes stared out from lidless sockets and tears of blood streaked her worn pallid skin.
“Merri’?” Vaknor croaked. He ran to reach her, to place his healing hands upon her.

“He’s coming.” She whispered as she threw herself from the cliff edge. Vaknor watched as she sailed through the air onto the jagged rocks below. He watched as she split apart like a ripe melon and from her broken and twisted frame blood boiled in mocking laughter. He watched. He roared. He awoke.

It was late. Vaknor sat up grimacing in pain as sweat poured from his body. He gasped in a huge lungful of air as he took in his surroundings. The sun was not yet on the horizon. It was still late morning. Vaknor dragged himself to his feet still wearing his robes from the previous day and stepped over to his apothecary table. He reached inside a drawer pulling out a mixture of herbs and salves. The first was ground Arthas tears and the second a white lily and some bone dust. He mixed the slaves carefully keeping them separate. They mixed to a thick paste and he dutifully filled two small jars with the salves and carried them out of his sanctum and into the corridors of the cathedral.

He made his way to the orders’ bath house and placed the two salves on the rim of a sink bowl. The mirror faced him and he frowned at his age lined features caked with blood. He carefully dabbed away dried blood and washed his grime covered face. He placed two fingers into the black salve and dutifully smeared it upon his brow and cheeks until it covered his entire face. The second salve he took more time and care over as he used his fingers to draw the templar cross on his face in white. When he was done he washed his hands and stepped from the bath house his face a mask of black and white. He stalked slowly through the corridors of the cathedral to the armory.

Vaknor mumbled prayers under his breath as he slowly adorned his armor. Lacquering each piece with a black paint before he placed it in position and sprinkling it with blessed water. Once he had placed the final piece he stood and tested the straps ensuring it was all correctly adorned. He stood fully plated in black steel and left the cathedrals armory.

Kneeling before the alter he prayed for the souls of his family to guard him in battle and finally strapped the foul Fel-steel demon blade to his back and stalked out of the grand halls of the cathedral into the early morning air of Stormwind. He knew where he would find Macloren. He knew how he would set this right. He made his way into Stormwind’s old town and to the ‘Pig and Whistle’ tavern. The bouncer moved to stop the old man as he went to walk into the bar but had second thoughts as the Old man stared out through his black and white crusaders mask. Vaknor pushed into the old tavern which was quiet at this time of the morning. He saw Macloren sprawled unconscious across a table littered with drained steins.

“My lord.” Vaknor stood to attention then painfully dropped to one knee before his commander. Macloren snored loudly but did not stir. Vaknor raised his volume;
“My lord.” Vaknor slammed his plated fist into the table jolting Macloren to life. The shaven headed man spluttered and blinked his one eye hard at the man before him.
“Vak…Vaknor… Is that you? What are you doing here you old fool. Leave me.”
Macloren rolled his head away and tried to regain his state of drunken slumber.
“Yes my lord. I have something to say which requires your attention. I would not have dared show my face to you otherwise.” Macloren not moving spoke;
“Oh do leave me be brother. I cannot stand to look at you at this hour in this state of sobriety. Can it not wait for morning?”
“No. I am here to inform you I have taken it upon myself to declare a penance crusade.”
Macloren stirred sitting upright. He looked at him properly for the first time focusing his one eye on the man knelt before him.
“You cannot!” Macloren bellowed and rose to his feet.
“I think you will find it is within the Order chaplain’s remand to task a brother of the order with a crusade of penance should he see fit. It is my duty to punish the wayward and that is what I shall do. I inform you lord because that is also my duty.” Macloren gazed upon his brother wearing the mask of the penitent and his blackened armor and shook his head sorrowfully.
“Vaknor… What happened with Merrideath was not your fault. I unleashed my anger on you when it should have been bound for the demon that put her in her current state. For that I am sorry.” Macloren truly was sorry he looked on the old man and knew this may be the last time he saw him alive.

Macloren stood woozily to attention before the knelt knight.
“You know as well as I brother once the mask of the penitent has been applied it can only be removed once the crusade set has been complete or the wearer has passed into the beyond. As is my duty as Lord militant tell me of your quest so that I may record it in the annals of the orders history to be marked by your brothers if you fall.”

Vaknor swallowed hard.
“I shall strike at the Demon-prince Karaptis violator of the pure and cast him into damnation.”
Macloren’s jaw dropped. He could not believe what his brother had said but he kept to the ritual even in the surrounding of the tavern he could not break ritual, it was his duty.
“I hear and remember your words. Leave us in sin and return to us cleansed.” Macloren clenched his fist and placed it over his heart.
“For illumination,” Macloren said and with that as ceremony dictated Macloren turned his back on his fallen brother.


“For illumination” Vaknor whispered as he rose to his feet and marched from the tavern.



****To be continued****

Chaplain Vaknor,

May the Light go with you and I pray your sin is clensed.

Azeem

Amazing mate really liked the feelings here. some times when i read a book and i see charactors i often find that other people find some thing very diffrent but here you captured every one in the story really well actually combining some of the charactor and some of the player,

i think i will be replaying this as i do my job today .

[[I have been reading it again and again ((using dictionary in every single line))

youre a damn novelist vak:)

this really is brilliant]]

Gilliad stared out over the top of his mug of dark ale; whipping the froth from his moustache he surveyed the small crowded tavern. Honour hold had been his home for to long now. He hated the place. The recruiters in Theremore had bid him join the defense of Outlands promising glory and honour both in abundance. Neither were here, only fire, ash and death. The door to the tavern burst open and three armored guards walked in wearing the outpost’s colours, they marched deliberately up to Gilliad and the first lifted his helmets visor.

“Gilliad Steelshard, you are under arrest.”
Gilliad stood awkwardly and glared at the leading guard.
“Prove it!” He slurred drunkenly. His legs felt heavy and his head light, the blurry image of his arresting officer coming in and out of focus.
“Gilliad stand down.” The mustachioed corporal replied… Corporal Schwarzhelm… What a bastard, Gilliad despised him. He’d had enough. With all his drunken strength Gilliad balled his fist and swung at the Corporal. His swing missed by a clear foot and the man went crashing head first into the legs of a chair knocking himself unconscious…

“Take him away.” Schwarzhelm; spat in disgust.


Infernal light crept in through the window of the piss stained cell. Gilliad’s eyes opened slowly and he groaned with the effort of waking. His mouth tasted of old socks, how he knew the taste of socks he could not recall but it was the only analogy he could draw.

“Where am I?” He croaked as he tried to take in his surroundings. The stone walls were covered with scratches tallying up something Gilliad didn’t care much about. He peered through the bars of his cell and hoarsely called out.

“Mcghallager?! You there you; Arathi son of a highlander?”
Gilliad’s head was throbbing with pain, this had to be the worst hangover he’d ever had, he reached up to touch his sore head and felt a giant lump.
“Well that’s new.” He sucked in air through his teeth as he jabbed at the painful lump.

“Oh; you’ve gone and done it now Gilliad.” The giant form of Jailor Mcghallager appeared at the bars, he was always an unwelcome sight first thing in the morning.
“You’re up shite creek now me lad.” Gilliad had often woke up in the cells after a hard night drinking but Mcghallager had always given him a slap on the wrist and let him go without getting anyone else involved.

“Stop being such a bastard and let me out.” Gilliad really was worse for wear, his ribs felt bruised and his nose was bleeding.
“Cannae do it lad.”
“Well you’ve done it every other time. What’s so different about this one?”
Gilliad couldn’t remember the night before his head was throbbing and he really wanted to get out of here and go back to the barracks.
“Assaulting a senior officer; deserting your post and drinking on duty.”
“No?” Gilliad groaned
“Yes lad, seems like you’re up for the gallows.”
“What?!” Despite his drunken state Gilliad sprang to his feet almost falling.
“Sorry lad seems you got your wish. You’ll be outta this hell hole soon enough.” Mcghallager shook his head and walked away down the row of cells. As he went he muttered two words.
“Stupid bastard.”


Gilliad sprawled on the piss stained floor of his cell the straw covering up fecal matter and vomit it truly smelt disgusting. This whole Light forsaken place wasn’t much better. He undid his uniform shirt and let his stomach hang out, what had happened to him? He’d been a fit young man when he’d left Theremore, he’d believed in helping the war-effort in Outlands. But years of the same old shit had made him sour, he’d gained weight, he drank excessively and he was going prematurely bald.

“Maybe I deserve this.” He sobbed; he turned to the small window and looked out into the twisted sky of Hellfire peninsula. He rose to his knees and placed his hands together in prayer.
“It has been to long since I last gave homage to the Light.” He said sobbing with each word, “But please, I am begging you. Deliver me from this.”
***
The vast gates of Honour hold ground open and a solitary figure adorned in a dark grey robe rode a midnight black steed up the winding path that led to the keep.
***



A guard approached him.
“Halt stranger, stand and be recognized.” The steed drew to a stop; the stranger did not move a muscle.
“Remove your cowl.” The guard demanded.
The figure reached up and pulled back his cowl to reveal the face of an old man stained in black and white paint. His hair was lank and greasy pulled forward in two ash-grey braids.
“What is your name and business my good man?” The guard asked becoming more suspicious of the old man.
“Name? For now I have no name my son. I am merely the Penitent, and my business… My business is retribution.”

The guard drew his sword on the old man who made no motion to defend himself.
“I’m taking you to Commander Trollbane, dismount and follow me. You can explain yourself to him.”



“Brother…. Vaknor? Is that you?” The commander stared in disbelief at the paint smeared knight. “It has been many moons since you last graced us with your presence.”
Vaknor looked at the commander with dead eyes, and spoke.
“My presence is not a grace this day old friend.” The commander placed his arm on the old mans shoulder.
“I can see that.” The commander motioned at his face, “So you’re on a penance crusade?” Vaknor nodded, “And I take it you won’t tell me why?”
“You would be correct. This is my sin to carry no one else should have to bear knowledge of it.” The commander sighed and shook his head;
“Then how can I help you old man?” Vaknor stared out over the keeps walls to the night sky of Hellfire; it was hard to tell when it was night in the Peninsula regions the same infernal fire would always be blazing across the vast wasteland illuminating the sky with a dark red glow the color of blood.

“I am traveling to the Valley of Shadow moon. I need a guide who has walked the roads there as it has been many years and the old ways are lost to my memory.”
The commander sighed,
“Most of the men that have been sent to reinforce Gryphonhammer stronghold have never returned my friend… I know of one man who made the journey to escort a relief convoy but he is a less than… Shall we say a dependable character?”
Vaknor stared at the commander with the same dead eyes that he’d regarded all of creation with since he had applied the mask.
“He will do. Bring him to me.”


Gilliad breathed heavily, they had come for him in the night. Guards had shackled his limbs and blindfolded him. It looked as if he wouldn’t even get a last meal. He softly cried into his blindfold making it itchy and uncomfortable. He was forced to march, where he had no idea but he walked for five minutes before he stopped. He heard a heavy door open and he was thrown through it. He landed on his knees with a jarring crash and cried out in pain.

The blindfold was lifted. In front of him he saw an alter, upon which stood the image of Uther the Light bringer.
“So this is my last confession?” He spoke to the darkness. Before he could turn around he felt a hand grab him by what remained of his hair and the cold steel of a knife slipped against his throat.
“Of sorts my child,” His assailant whispered from behind him. Gilliad remained unmoving, staring into the image of the Light bringer, he tried to see his attacker in its reflection but all he saw was shadow.
“So I’m not even worthy of the gallows; a quick knife to the throat is to be my fate? So be it.”
“Gilliad Steelshard, are you a man of the light?” The voice in the shadow asked. Gilliad was shaking trying to fend off tears.
“I try to be… I try! I’ve just gotten lost in all the darkness around me.” He sobbed
“To get lost is not a sin my child, but to want to stay lost is the most dreadful of things. Do you wish to stay lost?” Gilliad felt his heart become warm, the tears stopped and a sense of calm washed over him.
“No.” He replied
“Good then it is time.” Gilliad drew in a deep breath preparing for the knife to slide into the flesh of his throat. The blade scraped across the surface of the skin drawing blood. The stranger in the shadow pulled the blade away and let go of him, Gilliad dropped to the floor gasping in air and clutching at the superficial cut on his thoat. He turned to see the face of an old man adorned with the cross of the templar.
“You are now bound to me Gilliad Steelshard. I saved you the gallows to bring you Illumination and in return you will become a watcher. Do you comprehend?”
Gilliad was in shock, what was the crazy old bastard talking about.
“I… I am your servant?” Gilliad spluttered; Vaknor frowned.
“You are my brother and my watcher. We have a long journey ahead of us. I will explain on the way. Pack your things. You can read and write yes?”
“Yes sir I trained to be a poet before I joined the services.” The old man grinned.
“A poet; well fancy that? Bring a pen and a journal you will need them.”

Gilliad breathed in the free air, as he sat astride his steed that trotted alongside Vaknor’s.
It turned out the old man needed to get to Shadow-moon valley, a dangerous place at the best of times. Gilliad had been there once thirteen months before; he had escaped the Fel-orc ambush and managed to retrace his path back to Honour hold. It seemed fate would have him return, so be it.

“So, why are we traveling to the Light forsaken realm of Shadowmoon my lord?”
Vaknor grimaced at the word lord.
“Please Gilliad, Vaknor or brother will do fine.”
“Sorry brother.” Vaknor half smiled at the comparatively young man;
“We go to avenge a dear friend of mine and right a wrong that I should have been able to prevent.” Gilliad didn’t really care, he was just happy to not be dead, it would be a hard journey but at the first sign of trouble he’d ditch the old man and run for it… Gilliad was a survivor, and he’d see his way clear out of this. That was his promise to himself.

***
They had been riding for ten days at a slow pace; the old man didn’t seem willing to pick the speed up. He seemed happy to plod along at the speed of a snail. They had entered the mushroom forests of Zangermarsh. Gilliad hated this place nearly as much as he hated Hellfire. Gnats and mosquitoes had bitten him raw and he was constantly damp from the humidity. The old man didn’t seem to let it trouble him. In fact Gilliad couldn’t see one welt or bite on him… He looked closer and could see a thin sheen of light that would flutter anytime an insect would land on him. Bastard; Gilliad thought, sat on his horse without a care in the world. He hated paladins, Light-bothering lady boys all of them… The old bastard had stopped again.

“What is it this time old man?” Gilliad’s patience was wearing thin, the old man often stopped and starred at things for several minutes only to move on without remark. The worst thing about his company was the silence, he barely spoke and if he did he repeated what he had said before. Senility seemed to have a strong grasp on him.
“Quiet.” Vaknor whispered as if sensing something in the mushrooms above them.
“There is a presence here I have not felt in a long time…As old as the soil beneath our feet.” Before Gilliad could sigh and shake his head at the old fool something swift moved in the corner of his eye; a panther as dark as night sprang upon the old man and bit down at him. Vaknor lifted his gauntled fist and shoved it into the cat’s maw. He wheezed and coughed with the effort. The beast swiped at the old man again and again raking paint from his armor. Gilliad stood horrified at the beast’s feral power.

Vaknor whispered a command and the beast was flung from him in a wave of light. Mid air the thing seemed to come apart and reform into a sleek raven swooping in the air it landed; and looked upon Gilliad. With a sound of tearing flesh it stretched and expanded, its limbs contorting into the visage of a bear. It leapt at Gilliad tearing at him.

“Enough!” Vaknor bellowed, the authority in his voice causing Gilliad to stop in his tracks and the bear to snap around to look at him.
“Lifeseed. What has happened to you my friend?” The bear padded towards Vaknor and roared, its maw drooling with spit and blood, patches of fur hanging limp and oozing scars adorning its flanks. Slowly the bear-creature transformed and before him stood a night elf his eyes as red as blood.
“Get out of here you old fool!” Lifeseed spoke as if fighting for every word.
“What is going on my friend?! Look at you!” Lifeseed was covered in blood from head to toe. His once perfect skin marred with scars.
“I am not who I once was Vaknor, I cannot control the beast within…” With those words spoken he started to shift again his limbs sprouting fur and his teeth lengthening. He roared in pain and with one last effort said;
“Run you fool.”
Vaknor watched as his blood brother twisted into the mighty form of a bear once more as he ran for his mount.
“Come Gilliad we must be away!”

Gilliad made no objection and mounted his steed. The pair rode off deeper into the forest not daring to look over their shoulders. Behind them they could hear howls of pain and the ripping of flesh. They rode hard until they came to the borders of Terrokar. There the howling stopped, Vaknor felt Lifeseed… Or whatever was left of Lifeseed’s presence retreat into the depths of the jungle-swamp.

Vaknor hadn’t spoken a word since their encounter with the mad beast of the mushroom forests. Gilliad was lost in contemplation as they entered the sanctuary city of Shattrath; how could Vaknor have known that thing? He called it friend… What kind of company did this mad old cleric of the Light keep? They rode through the refuge district and up into the centre of Shattrath, the bustling city was alive with the sounds of traders; beggars; thieves and adventurers all seeking shelter within the great neutral cities walls.

“We shall stay here tonight Gilliad.” Vaknor handed the watcher a purse of coins, procure us lodgings. I shall be in the temple of the light when you have found us a place to sleep, summon me. Gilliad took the heavy purse and wandered off to find the nearest accommodation…

“Excuse me?” He said stopping a passer by. “Do you know where the nearest tavern is?”


***To be continued***

edge wishes sage. sanctum hostile, the grasp of darkness.
family united in shade, reunion by moonlight

‘Get up you fool.’ Vaknor slammed his blackened fist into the table making the bar-goers jump at the sudden noise, the look in his eyes told them to look away.
‘This is your idea of securing us lodgings; this is what you use my coin for?’ Vaknor frowned at the slumped form of Gilliad; he’d vomited on himself at some point in the evening.
‘You know what you old ball-buster? I hate you. I hate this place. I hate the filthy xenos that patrol this city, but what I hate the most… What I truly can’t stand is me.’
Gilliad fell from his stool to the floor and started to snore loudly.
‘Damn younglings,’ Vaknor muttered to himself. Walking towards the nearest bar-enforcer he palmed the eight foot Dreanei a gold piece and pointed at the recumbent form of Gilliad Steelshard.

Gilliad was asleep. Gilliad liked being asleep. He could hear a scraping noise coming from somewhere close, it was annoying. His drunken eyes blinked hard. He was looking up at the reddish glare of the Outland sky, he looked at his feet and immediately realised the source of the scraping. A brute of a Dreanei was dragging him somewhere; beside the xenos filth strode Chaplain Vaknor. Bastard paid off the giant to do his bidding, so like him, passing his duties to someone else. Gilliad felt bile in the back of his throat, he retched and vomited all over himself, and lost in his drunken throes his head knocked against the cobble-stone walk way and he was asleep again.

Vaknor had left Gilliad in the temple to sober up; he couldn’t afford to have the fool mess this up. The tent entrance flapped open and the bird-man came out with its chained slave. It looked at him its head moving quickly side to side as it made whirring and clicking noises, the human chained to it obediently communicated its master’s greetings.
‘Welcome Light-bearer, Master Shreeel is most delighted to be receiving you this pleasant and clement evening.’ The bird-man clicked and whooped further, ‘he would also like to inform you that I am well treated, there is no need to be alarmed at my chains. He is simply protecting his investment.’ Vaknor had been staring intently at the heavy shackles at the man’s wrists and neck. He sighed heavily,
‘Tell your master it saddens me to see any of my kind in chains, but your liberation is not my purpose this day. I come seeking answers from High-prophet Annekesh.’
The man translated the words back into whoops and clicks, the bird-man stretched forth a gnarled claw and opened its beak.
‘Pay,’ it cawed. Vaknor smiled, it seemed when gold was the issue everyone spoke the same language. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small gem, its value high above anything that the bird-man would have normally expected as tribute had caused the beast to squawk in delight. It bowed clumsily and held the tent curtain open so Vaknor could enter the smokey interior.

It was dark inside, on pillows around the tent sat more chained slaves, Orc, Troll, Dwarf and Gnome, it seemed the prophet had a flavour for all the species of Azeroth. On a raised dais the ancient bird-man sat in a drug induced dream state, at Vaknor’s presence his guards moved forward to check the old cleric for any signs of weaponry. The prophet stirred and parted his beak.
‘Leave us,’ it squawked. The slave girls and guards all fled into other compartments of the tent and the prophet signalled that Vaknor should join him sitting on the dais.
‘You speak the tongue of man High-prophet?’ Vaknor inquired.
‘Yes flesh-beast. Annekesh speak all tongues.’
‘Surely you cannot talk in all the tongues of the known world?’ In what sounded like Darnassian the prophet spoke, and then changing to the guttural Orc tongue he spoke again.
‘Useful. Tongues useful,’ Vaknor nodded in understanding, the prophet was as much a business man as a seer and all races sought his advice. It did him well to be able to speak in their native tongues.
‘I have come here seeking information on a demon-being, it grieves me to have to come to you but I am told you are the most powerful seer in these climes.’ The bird-man chuckled in a squawking kind of way.
‘Very proud your tribe, no like help from outsiders.’ It cawed, ‘must be important if you come to Annekesh.’ Vaknor frowned, he hated having to rely on the resources of other cultures but the priests in the church of the Light in Shattrath had not been able to give him any help.
‘I will have no more idle chatter prophet, tell me of the thing I seek and I shall leave you to your ways.’ Again the beast chuckled,
‘So proud,’ it clacked and whirred for a second and a beautiful female human walked in completely naked bar her chains and set a small case before her owner. The beasts tongue lolled out of its beak as it watched her move, every second making Vaknor feel more ill. It reached down and opened the case, removing the animal bones it whirred and clacked in its native tongue whilst swaying slightly. Finally it cast the bones onto the floor.
‘The demon-being. Powerful. If you face, you die.’ Vaknor attempted to look as resolute as possible, he would not show fear in the face of this foul beast. It cawed and went on;
‘Man-fleshling hear the words of the mighty Arakoa. My people see beyond the veil of time, beyond the veil of place. If I tell where to find, you go and you die. Prepared?’ Vaknor stared at the nonsensical bones that the Arakoa was hunched over.
‘I am prepared.’
It whirred and clicked, ‘Excellent.’

lovely...dont kill vak tho

MORE, MORE!!!!! I demand MORE!!!

**Ponders spirits these days are very demanding and noisy.

Love the story Vaknor

Kaylaruana wrote:**Ponders spirits these days are very demanding and noisy.

Love the story Vaknor

Mac's not dead you silly Paladin!!!

Macloren wrote:

Kaylaruana wrote:**Ponders spirits these days are very demanding and noisy.

Love the story Vaknor

Mac's not dead you silly Paladin!!!

You said in other post:
i'm still here in spirit! just taking a sabatical of sorts.

oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot girls had the Loooooooooooongest meroies!