Fist's Lament

Vaknor Wed Sep 23, 2009 2:18 am

The cathedral bells sung out over the city as the procession of knights made their way through the wide streets of the trade district. The armour they wore had been blackened with lacquers and each hardened veteran of a hundred battles wore an expression that showed the pain in their heart. At their head road the scion, carrying a rune emblazoned hammer.

His hammer.

The knights that followed in his wake bore torches which illuminated the streets around them. Peasants and traders fled to the sides of the cobbled roads, their eyes dropping out of respect. Somewhere in the distance, a lone piper played a lament, news had filtered down the ranks.

Macloren was dead.

The mounted procession came to a halt upon the bridge that crossed the valley of heroes, the statues lining each side seemed to watch over them on this most dark evening.

‘Parade ground formation!’ Castorr bellowed into the night sky. With well practised grace the paladins riding two abreast split and lined up on opposite sides on the bridge.
‘Draw arms!’ As one the honour guard brought their ceremonial shortswords up to create a tunnel of glinting truesilver. No man or woman moved an inch, the only sounds that could be heard were the chargers as they snorted and whinnied and the rumble of the approaching carriage as it drew ever closer to the assembled knights.

Brother-Chaplain Vaknor drove the great beast of burden on as the ram pulled its cart load begrudgingly. He stopped, took a deep breath and spoke the words none of them wanted to hear.

‘My valiant brothers and sisters, my friends. The fist has fallen, I like many of the senior brothers of the order were tasked with finding our missing lord and it grieves me greatly to stand before you and deliver him thusly.’ Vaknor hung his head and motioned towards the cart. Evangelist stepped forwards and heaved the heavy mace up onto the tarp that covered the body of their departed brother.

‘We shall bring him home.’ Evangelist lifted the tarp covered palanquin from the cart and he and the Elders of the Order bore Macloren back to the Cathedral. Men, women and children mobbed the street sides watching as the fallen lord was escorted to his final resting place. Mourners cried the name of Macloren and sung his epitaphs as they trudge in grief through the city of Stormwind. Not a single word was spoken by those in the procession, silently they marched until they came to the foot of the cathedral’s altar and the great doors were barred to keep the on lookers from interrupting the sacred ritual of internment.

Vaknor moved forwards and grasped the edge of the tarp in his gnarled hands.
‘It is not a sight for those weak of constitution to behold, but you deserve to know that it is truly he who has left us, your hearts need closure so your eyes shall bear this grief.’
Vaknor pulled back the covering and the crowd openly wept at the sight, Macloren’s armour had been scorched almost clean of markings but it was unmistakably his, his crest adorning the shoulder pauldron. His skin had rotted away and all that was left was a pile of bones clad in the liveries of their lost brother.

‘We must move passed this brothers, for the sake of us all.’ Evangelist placed his hands on the fallen lord’s chest plate, ‘For Illumination bro...’

The doors of the cathedral rang with a dull thumping as someone clamoured to gain entry, Krieghund heaved his axe to his shoulder and moved towards the great iron gateway.
‘Who would dare interrupt this?’ He mumbled to someone unseen. All eyes were on the door as Krieghund greeted Azeem who had arrived at the ceremony directly from the front, behind him stood a man clad in furs from head to toe. He was gaunt and drawn his expressions hidden within a deep cowl.

The three men moved through the ranks of the order towards the alter that the armour lay before. The man in the furs reached it first, snorting with laughter at the sight of the fallen knight’s wasted corpse.

‘You would dare mock this most sacred ceremony?’ Evangelist bristled with fury and every man and woman assembled placed their hands upon the hilt of their ceremonial blade.
‘Aye, I apologise brother. I just didn’t expect to ever see that again.’ Motioning towards the pile of broken armour the man in the furs lifted his cowl and the room fell into stunned silence.

‘What? You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

The assembled men and women dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

Their lord had returned.