[Open RP] In the Ruins of the Scarlet Enclave

[Jadedinsc]

Folami swallows before opening her eyes again and taking in her surroundings in a new way. She prepares herself for another nightmare, praying it's less horrific than the last.

[Twinyarrow]

Twinyarrow reaches out to Folami, His hand slipping into hers and squeezing it soothingly; as much to calm himself as her.

"Together.", he whispers softly in Eredun. "We face this together."

[Jadedinsc]

Folami gives one solemn nod and twines her fingers with Yarrow's. She focuses her magic in preparation for the moment they can seal this new fragment away.

[Solivar]

The book is an exquisite thing: its binding heavy, hand-tooled leather carved and dyed in a fashion suitable to its contents. A pair of blood-crimson dragons, wings folded close, chase each other around the edges of the cover, gouts of gilt flame pouring from their befanged maws. The spine is a riot of creatures from half a hundred myths, almost impossibly tiny, details picked out in colored lacquer and metallic accents, unchipped and unfaded despite the tome's obvious age.

The youngest children gather close around him where he sits on the chapel's upraised dias, legs crossed and the book of quel'dorei children's tales spread across his knees, so they can see the pictures as he reads in the light of the spirit-candles set in sconces all about the room. The elder children keep their distance, less trusting, but do not seek to restrain the young ones -- not even the baby, who rests in her ghost-cradle at his knee that he can rock her gently when she fusses.

"Asthera's brother despised her lover as unworthy of her, and no proof of virtue, no act of heroism, could change his mind. And so in the confusion of battle, he thrust his weapons into her lover's body and left him bleeding on the field, believing he would die, and that his sister would forget the liaison and seek a more suitable mate. But her grief knew no end and no balm and her tears flowed unceasing, as did her lamentations. The air itself was so moved by the anguished beauty of her mourning song that, when she sought to end her life by throwing herself from the high cliffs by her father's house, the wind caught her and bore her safe to the ground. The waters drank deep of her tears and knew her grief, and so when she tried to walk into the sea to drown herself, the waves refused to claim her and instead washed her safe to the shore. The fire had borne witness to the purity of both her love and her sorrow, and so when she ordered her maids to build a great funeral pyre for her that she might join her beloved, the flames refused to consume her flesh. The earth had felt the crushing weight of her pain in her every step, but when she took up a knife to let flow her blood as well as her tears, the steel refused to even scratch her skin. Instead, they took up her song, earth and air, fire and water, every spirit of earth and sky filling the celestial vault of heaven with the sweet sorrow of her plaint, so that even the highest of the most high heard it and were moved.

The spirits of earth and air sang to Sister Moon of the tears Asthera wept unceasing and the purity of her love and her grief. The spirits of fire and water sang to Brother Sun of Asthera's unending sorrow and devotion. And the great spirits of heaven sent messengers to one another, each asking the other the same question: did the lover of the maiden Asthera perish under the other's sight and, if so, would that sibling be willing to yield the soul of the fallen hero to give peace and joy to the soul of his grieving beloved?

Sister Moon realized, upon receiving her brother's messenger, that the sight of Tariel's death had not met her eye -- and Brother Son realized the same, when his sister's messenger came to him. And thus did they realize that the lover of the maiden still lived and they resolved to find him wherever he lay and aid in restoring him to her..."

[Solivar]

"There are dozens more where these came from, though these are the freshest." Plaguefist's gesture encompassed the dozen and more corpses spread across the chapel floor.

Some of them, Mercy could not help but note, were extremely fresh -- lying in pools of their own blood, flesh still warm and unstiffened from rigor, their souls thrashing against the bonds of shock and trauma still anchoring them to their corpses. Plaguefist had set the new recruits to executing the remaining Argent prisoners and this was clearly where the bulk of them had come. Or at least the bulk that still had intact skulls, and spines -- some of the new ones had responded quite poorly to fond reminiscence. Some less so: the majority of the deaths dealt by the their own hands had at least been clean -- the stroke of a sword, swiftly granted. Some of the older corpses laid out here had obviously died in some durance, under the tortures favored by the Scarlet Pestilence, than yield whatever information they required. Or perhaps no information at all -- the Scarlets were not above sadism for orthodoxy's sake.

One, laying in a place of something close to honor on the dias, partook of both. She was freshly slain -- there was, in fact, blood still fresh and only beginning to coagulate still oozing from the stroke that had split her breast and ended her life, while the monstrous signs of a particularly savage torment marring her flesh suggested that blow might have been an unironic act of mercy. The necrolytes had already begun etching the circles about her body in blood and salt and bone-dust and merest whisper to her spirit showed him all he needed to know about the extent of their preparations.

"A paladin."

Behind him, Plaguefist chuckled, low and harsh. "Indeed. The lich and the Highlord are both engaged with the King, Mercy, and we needed a hand such as yours for this task. He wants all of her sort recovered, above all else."

"But of course." The sharp, white pain behind his eyes, that had only just begun to fade, sharpened again, needles and quills of it running up and down his spine and through his skull, a savage ache. He raised a hand and unslung his runeblade, the shaft soothing-cold against his palm, driving back some of the white-bright-pain muddling his head, and began the first of the invocations of the Investiture, reaching for the paladin's soul, laying quiescent in its bindings --

It felt, for an instant, as though an explosion had gone off directly beneath his feet. A torrent of brilliance rushed out to meet him, radiant power -- strength of will and mind, spirit and purpose -- held in abeyance for just this moment, to break the being sent to break her. He set his teeth against it and spun Winterthorn to guard, the runic defenses built into its structure unfurling around him, a pillar of cold death proof against the fiercest of her blows.

Coward! Her spirit spat at him, accent pure Wildhammer. Put down yuir shield an' we'll dance, yeh vomit-drinking dog o' the Lich Whore.

He knew that voice. He knew that invective. He almost dropped the shield out of sheer surprise and something close to reflex and her name exploded out of him completely unbidden. Flora!

Her retaliatory strike rang his shield like a bell.

[Jadedinsc]

"Two memories reside here," Folami says in soft tones, barely above a whisper. "The first...that story was quite personal."

She takes a deep breath and holds out her hand, not yet drawing on the surrounding energies in case there is more to this tale.

[Twinyarrow]

"Quite... though the form... be different. We behold a memory within a memory. Solivar, blast it Mercy recalling a quick memory while being compelled to do the Lich King's will. I can "feel" pain from him."

Twinyarrow looks to Keldris then to Folami and the others one after the other.

"Are not Death Knights supposed to be free of all such emotional investments? Yet, I can feel pain within him.... torment."

[Jadedinsc]

"A Death Knight under Arthas's control, yes, but a death knight who is now free?" She shakes her head. "Skyspear could answer were he here, though I say he has a range of emotions and it would seem the Highlord does too. But I possess such limited knowledge for theorizing such."

[Solivar]

Keldris, you cannot help but notice, is white to the lips and when he speaks his voice is less than totally steady. "Death knights weren't supposed to be...invested in anything but their loyalty to the Lich King, no. But in practice...? I've heard stories of death knights becoming attached to each other, having vestigial emotion -- hesitating when they shouldn't, that sort of thing." He shakes his head. "I never saw it myself, but if we ask around at Light's Hope or Mardenholde...or up at Acherus...we could probably get some horse's mouth answers on that question." He crosses the room and climbs the stairs to the dias, where the remnants of blood and salt and bone-dust still stain the floor. "That woman...the paladin. Floramelia Steelheart. She was another of our master's students -- the only Wildhammer. Solivar was the only quel'dorei. They were...very close."

[Jadedinsc]

Folami is silent as she focuses her magic to create another soulstone of Solivar's memory. Perhaps she'll muse on this bit of insight later, either when Keldris is able to handle it or when he's not around to hear her thoughts.

She places this soulstone with the other and ponders their next course of action.

[Twinyarrow]

Yarrow's voice softens...

"Kel, don't torture yourself with maybe's and what if's. Easier spoken the acted upon true, but it will bring you and I only torment."

"Tell us of this Paladin of the Wildhammer."

[Solivar]

"I wish I knew how not to live in what if or maybe about this, Yarrow. I really do." Keldris swallows with some difficulty. "Flora...She was...very different. Like I said, a Wildhammer -- she came to the Silver Trials without a sponsor, and against the wishes of her family, though we didn't know that from the start. But they were very traditional and wanted her to be more traditional, too." He turns back, a decidedly wry smile coming and going on his face. "Which is to say that she was the only girl in a family full of boys and her people were all heartstruck shocked and horrified when she turned out to have ambitions other than landing a nice boy and settling down. She placed fourth overall in the Trials and probably would have gotten higher if it weren't for the jousting. I will personally cherish the memory of her knocking Nechtos Blackpool ass over tin cups in the individual combat matches until the day I die, and probably longer because it was a thing of immortal beauty. She was terrifying. And wonderful. And had a heart at least four or five times bigger than she let on. She and Solivar were the only two in our cohort to be accepted into Sir Bridenbrad's field healer training. She beat the sense back into me on at least two occasions I can name, and probably more that I've forgotten...and it doesn't really surprise me that she might have been the one to beat the Mercy out of Solivar, either."

[Hunter Angellis]

A large structure hangs weightlessly on the edge of the mountain range that borders the devastated Scarlet Crusade settlement. Acherus, normally a dark tomb, its lower balcony lights up with a soft violet glow. Dust and tiny debris quickly scatter from the area. The light slowly forms a shape, materializing into a death gate. A dark shrouded visitor steps through the air-formed gate, cowl pulled low. The gate dissipates the same way it appeared and the unknown transient is left in a lifeless silence.

"Jinjai?" Siouxsie the Banshee broke the silence. The undead Kal'Dorei sat mounted atop her risen steed, hidden just outside the boundaries of the moonlight.

The visitor unveils her identity. Gnarled hair wound tightly on her scalp and cobwebs adorn her from head to toe. It looks as though she just dug herself out of a crypt. The troll death knight called Jinjai bows a head in respect towards the Banshee. The two exchange the silent greeting It has been nearly two seasons since her last visit to Acherus. She has been asleep for so long and though she feels renewed and there is a great sense of relief as she does not detect any lingering piece of the spirit that nearly consumed her, her mind swims from being active once more.

She directs her attention towards the vista that stretches below and beyond from the balcony. Her ghostly blue gaze sets upon several shadows lurking within the Scarlet Enclave and after a moment her laughter bounce off every wall.

"Mon" Jinjai palms her face in disbelief, where a tired yet wide and toothy grin spreads "What are t'eh chances?"

[Skyspear]

"Oh, I am here." Skyspear's voice is the merest whisper from behind Folami, so soft one can hardly hear the echo that marks a death knight. "And I can tell you... when I was the hand of the Lich King, I would never have spoken of feeling." His gaze sweeps the wreckage, less out of curiosity than as an excuse to look away. "It was a despised weakness... to care for others, madness. To hesitate at a kill, worthy of the harshest punishment. And yet..."

[Jadedinsc]

To her credit, Folami does not start too noticeably. She whirls around to face Skyspear, her face fearful at first and then there is a brief-yet-wide smile of relief. Her shoulders relax and she lets out a held breath.

"...and yet it still happened that some Death Knights could feel affection, fear, even perhaps empathy?" Her smile has faded to nothing more than a very slight upturn of the corners of her mouth. "Hello, Skyspear. You rejoin us at another juncture of our journey."