Scarbles, chapter 5
Days streamed into months and the boundaries of time eroded, as most of my time was spent in the vast basement complex of Scholomance. Experimentation had begun on the harvested corpses, and I was to serve those who required any assistance in their research. I witnessed dismemberment of strong and youthful body parts that were then enhanced with muscle grafts and alchemical steroids, and then stitched together into a hodge-podge monstrosity. I witnessed facsimiles of the Plague of Undeath administered to the captured citizens of Caer Darrow that still lived, but showed no love for the Cult of the Damned. Some simply vomited to death; Some were reduced to a vegetative state, becoming riddled with boils and fungal growths; Some, such as the blacksmith, collapsed and convulsed on the floor, writhing as they bled out of every orifice until death sequestered their agony. Through it all, I also witnessed the depths of devotion. There were some cultists that were detached from the things we did, and there were others who were revolted by the sight of it all, but nonetheless persevered. As I heard their stories, I realized there was something common in all of them.They were orphans of Azeroth; Poor, sick and abandoned by their people, forever powerless to change their lot. Kel’Thuzad had lured them all with promises of infinite power and immortality, in exchange for their lives. “A bargain price”, they must have thought.
It was also during this time that Kel’Thuzad began tutoring those with an affinity for the arcane. Very few had a collection of spells of their own, as many would-be magi couldn’t afford a tome to learn from or simply could not read one if they had it. Nevertheless, they possessed the raw skill, and fairly quickly acquired a basic understanding of the dark arts. Within weeks, Kel’Thuzad’s pupils were raising the dead and using them as practice targets, hurling deadly orbs of shadow magic at them, and inflicting pain with the mere whisper of a word. Regardless of one’s specialty, everyone toiled and strove for perfection. Acolytes like myself were only useful in helping others achieve such goals.
This night in recollection was a night like any other which I described. Of course, I am only assuming it’s night at this point, since most other cultists had retired to their dormitories and I, along with a handful of others, were left to clean up or work on finalizing some elusive formula. Once the chores were done, I decided to retire as well. I walked up a set of stars and crossed a wooden bridge in a room that used to be a wine cellar. We had initially built a crypt beneath this room, but there wasn’t enough space to accommodate the steadily accumulating corpses, so we extended upwards and erected the bridge. It was easier to deposit bodies this way as well, Rather than hauling them through the corridors.
I ascended the staircase at the end of the bridge and began to hear the muffled shouts of a heated conversation. When I opened the hefty wooden door into the vestibule, there were two middleweight cultist guardsmen arguing with someone through slats embedded into the double doors of the main entrance. There would have been less of a need for security if the portcullis installed in the entryway hadn’t become bound in rust, or there weren’t dire secrets to protect within the mansion’s depths. Before I could get any closer, there came a thundering boom, and the doors were wrenched from their hinges and crushed the two guardsmen beneath them. Through the wake of fire and smoke, an angry mob of dwarves, humans, and gnomes poured through, clad in varying degrees of armor; And those not wielding sword nor axe bore blazing torches, table legs, or clenched fists. I did not remain long enough to see the assailants, however, as it was immediately apparent that we were under siege, and I thought it was more prudent to warn whomever I could. I ran back across the bridge and into the room in which we kept most of our tomes of knowledge, where there were still a few diligent cultists with books in hand, reaping whatever relevant knowledge they deemed empowering. I ran down the stairs and stood before them.
“We are under attack!” I shouted, to draw their focus. I could only hope the similarly diligent alchemists in the laboratory could also hear me from here. Those sat before me looked up in confusion, and some in irritation, but any question they had was answered as the mob burst through the door behind me. They jumped up or dropped their books where they stood, five men in total, as the mob started down the stairs after us; One gnome misstepped off the side of the staircase, onto his head and fell unconscious. One of the cultists ran further into Scholomance, more likely in fear than to warn any other stragglers that hadn’t gone to rest yet, but the other four began casting their shadow magics at the twenty or so men that were about to bear down on us.
I was fortunate that these cultists were prepared for battle, but I was not. I felt helpless; That is, until I saw the sword the unconscious gnome had dropped on the floor, landing not far from where I stood. I supposed the blade required the gnome to grip it’s hilt with both hands, but was light enough for me to equip in one hand, and wield with minimal difficulty. I hadn’t lifted a sword before, thus I couldn’t be certain. There was no time for hesitation, as I dashed for it and succeeded. Though, when I was about to return to stand with the others, a shield was thrust against me and knocked me to the floor some distance back. A mithril battle hammer was soon to follow, but a bolt of dark energy interrupted the wielder’s strike. I took the opportunity to get back on my feet and prepare for the next attacker, but as I regained my footing, another weapon came to draw blood.
So it did, as it made a gash where the shoulder meets the forearm. I had thought the pain would be somewhat numbed, due to my condition, but the pain was even sharper than the time I had accidentally sliced my thumb while whittling, and the shock of the deed sent an electricity coursing through my body. The bloodied sword was thrust at me again, though I reflexively and inelegantly was able to parry this strike. I was correct in my assumptions that the blade would be easy enough to wield, but the outcome remained grim due to the sheer numbers in opposition. I was only fortunate that this opponent was as inexperienced with a blade as I, judging by the speed and inaccuracy of his strikes. When he recovered from the parry, he attempted a backhand swing. In response, I jumped backwards out of range and then attempted a downward swing counter attack, to which he also dodged. We had a brief stand-off, where we just peered at one another, waiting for the other to strike.
He was a human man of medium build with a keg belly. His face was slick with sweat and twisted in panic, and I knew that I showed neither quality and understood then my advantage. I was able to make more intelligent decisions, despite the ever-imminent threat of death. To add to my advantage, I saw behind him the cultist that fled return, and with three more cultists in tow. Just as I began to consider making the first move against this opponent, I was struck across the jaw with another battle hammer. It was thrown by someone to my left, and forced me to reel and absorb the pain, as I watched it fall to the floor. I also saw movement in my periphery, as the hammer clattered to the floor. My opponent was using the opportunity to strike a deathblow. In my hunching posture, I swiftly twisted my torso towards him and thrust my blade. It landed in his unarmored diaphragm, which he could have avoided had he chosen to strike anywhere but from above. He remained frozen in the same attack posture as I dragged the blade down a little and withdrew it from his body. I saw his blood began to pour like wine from his bloated belly, when suddenly I was tackled from that same left flank.
When I slammed to the floor, the air that was forced from my body also ejected two teeth and a grotesque, viscous mixture of blood and saliva across the stone floor. This man was more muscular than my first kill, and pinned my right hand to the floor and used his right hand to grip my throat with equal strength. Where the other man showed panic, this man’s face was painted with rage, and I felt my lungs beg for air with increasing intensity. Fortune had not abandoned me, though, as I felt the hammer that likely this man had thrown under my left forearm. I was able to grasp it and bring it down on his bald head with enough force to make him reel as I had moments ago and relinquish his grasp. I felt the sword was still in my hand, despite the man’s crushing grip and best efforts, and after gripping the hilt like a dagger, I plunged the it into his bare chest, where I thought the heart lies. I wasn’t able to withdraw it this time, as he had held it as he held his injured head. I had to push him off of me and scramble from under his straddle.
I lept for the blade of my first kill, which felt heavier but also more powerful in my clutch than the gnome’s weapon . In my reprieve, I looked out and made an assessment. The cultist’s magics were powerful; in the time it took me to struggle with two men, about fifteen lay dead on the floor, but at the price of six cultists. I had no sooner understood the situation, that my reprieve was over. A dwarf wearing plated armor, a leather cap, and equipped with a studded iron buckler had locked eyes with me as he unsheathed his gladius from my brethren’s gullet. He held his shield out in front of him and charged at me, intent on mowing me down. He was fast, but I managed to go around him faster than he could turn. As he passed me, I attempted to bring my sword down on him, but he blocked the blow with his own stubby blade. Being more heavily armored, he was by far my greatest challenge. Drawing blood from this dwarf would be harder than drawing water from a tendril of briarthorn. He gave me no quarter and continued his onslaught with a low sweeping swing at my legs. I managed to jump back in time to save my footing, but still suffered an incision to my right leg. Attempting to take advantage of my new lack of balance , he moved in and thrust his shield at my chest. I felt the studs would leave a bruise, but that was the least of my worries as he went in for a diagonal strike. I was barely able to lift my sword quick enough to block the impact. He brought up his sword again to attempt another diagonal attack, but from the left instead of the right. I held up the war hammer this time instead, which was slightly more effective at blocking his sharp swings.
I couldn’t remain on the defensive, however. I was already beginning to feel the effects of fatigue, and it would only be a matter of time before I left him an opening at this rate. Going on the offensive would be difficult though, as this nemesis left no opportunity to successfully do so; I would have to get clever. Though I was able to have a clear mind through through these battles, I was never known to be resourceful. And then it came to me as I barely avoided a thrust at my torso from below. The metallic taste that welled up in my mouth was somewhat relieved, as I spat a mouthful of blood into his eyes while he prepared for his next strike. He grunted and shook his head, feverishly blinking, trying to recover his precious sight. I dropped my weapons and, with much difficulty, wrestled the shield from his hand and tossed it across the room. When I went to disarm the sword, he slammed the back of his fisted gauntlet into my right cheek, and I spun to the floor.
By the time he had regained his vision and orientation, I was able to get to my knees and re-equip my weapons. When I stood up, I found him glaring at me, standing there as my first opponent did, waiting to for me to strike; But unlike that fear-stricken man, this dwarf was calmer and more calculating. He was analyzing me, predicting my next move and all the places it would leave open for him to counterattack. No doubt he was used to battle, and nothing I could reasonably do would surprise him. Nevertheless, this was the chance I had been waiting for, and I now had to make my offense. Just as I had crouched slightly to leap at the dwarf, I felt the same kind pain I suffered from the wound in my shoulder, intensified one hundred fold, suddenly explode from the left side of my back. A cry of agony escaped from me, and I quickly shambled to the right when I saw the dwarf about to take advantage of the surprise attack. He was now standing next to my ambusher, a woman in light leathers with a dagger in her left hand, poised to strike. It would seem I was wrong; He wasn’t analyzing, simply waiting.
With no small amount of grace, she lept into the air with the intent of bringing down that dagger on me with full force. I tried to dodge to the left but the dwarf had anticipated this, and in a frenzied charge was able to strike a deeper cut into my left leg. In the same movement, he used his momentum to knock me down using only his shoulder. This time, I was able to maintain enough balance to roll into the fall and land back on my feet. This effort was rendered futile as I took the woman’s boot to the forehead, and was on my back again. She landed next to me on my right side, and I understood that she had the chance to make the killing blow, but abdicated it to the dwarf. I struggled to rise, but she had thrust her hand on my chest, pinning me to the floor. The dwarf, out of breath, steadily swaggered over to me until he was straddling my lower torso. He directed a malicious smirk at me as well as a slight shake of the head.
Reactions and possibilities raced through my mind as doom, in the corporeal form of this bearded warrior, peered into my very essence and raised it’s blade skyward to complete some sort of metaphysical circle. In the end, impulse somehow triumphed over contemplation, as my hand shot up and grabbed the collar of the woman’s jerkin, and pulled her down while the blade fell. It was too late to control the blow completely, and a gaping wound spewed blood from the side of her neck. While he was stricken with regret, I swiftly brought my knee to his groin, one of the few areas on his body protected not with plate, but mere cloth. Her strength was drained by fear and shock, permitting me to sit up enough to make an effective swing of my hammer at the side of the dwarfs head. It was enough to make him dodder in the opposite direction, tripping over me and collapsing to the floor as he did so. I gripped the sword once again and jumped to my feet, and plunged it into the middle of the dying woman’s back.
The seasoned dwarf had already recovered by the time I realized I, with all the strength I would summon in my right arm, couldn’t withdraw the blade from her back. I also realized the dwarf had lost his leather cap and no longer possessed all of his wits, as he hastened towards me with drunken steps. He had been slowed enough that when he reached me and tenaciously swiped at me with his bloody sword, I was able to knock the weapon out of his hand with my deflection. His sword clattered across the floor as I brought my hammer down on his head with all the strength I had left. Only then was I beginning to feel my own fatigue, which had apparently been ever present. The dwarf collapsed one final time and I was, against all odds, the victor. I looked out once again. Every combatant in the room had been slain, and the stone floor had become rife with corpses soaking in their own blood, or singed and disfigured by wicked magics.
A scream pierced through my houndish panting, and shortly two more attackers emerged from the next room. They looked at me as wolves with prey. Picking up the dwarf’s weapon, I prepared for yet another dire struggle, when I saw a large icicle soar through the air and pierce the skull of the man on the left. Before the man on the right could react, he was quickly taken down by a slightly larger man, clad in black plate armor. He stabbed the attacker many more times than could have possibly been necessary. I looked at where the deadly icicle could have come from, and found Kel’Thuzad at the top of the stairs with many armed cultists behind him.
“That’s enough, Marduk.” Kel ordered. The armored man looked back for a while but then nodded. He got up and moved to stand in the corner, at the foot of the stairs, while the wizard came down to better examine the scene. His expression was one of silent fury, but shifted to disappointment. Eventually his eyes found mine, and again his expression shifted, this time to intrigue. “You have outlived some of my most diligent students, Vincent. I am baffled, but impressed.” After Kel said this, he began to approach me. “I suppose a lifetime of manual labor was good for something, no? You’ve become much more useful than I had thought you could be, but we will see if this was some fluke.” The mage was next to me now, and I had let loose a gasp as he drew and a dagger from my back and began to study it. Finally, he turned to face the onlookers, holding out the dagger, “It would seem a citizen of Caer Darrow was allowed to escape the island. Know that I will fully investigate this and any other liability within the cult. However, this means we can no longer afford the luxury of perfection. We run the risk of compromising our mission, incurring the wrath of the unenlightened and suffering fruitless skirmishes like we have suffered tonight. Therefore, we must make due with our present situation. Tomorrow night, we will unleash the plague in the heartlands, and from there, let it spread to Stratholme to the north, Brill to the west, Tarren mill to the south, and darrowshire, who have perpetrated tonight’s attack, will suffer it in the east. With that, my children, all of Lordaeron will be ours!”. The proclamation was met with excited cheers. When they died down, he pointed to two cultists armed with axe and staff and continued, “Zegrith and Aranel will stand guard for the night. Lay rune traps and alert me of anything suspicious with your communication orb, Aranel. The rest of you: sleep well, for tomorrow will be harrowing. You too Vincent.” He said turning to me, and pat me on the shoulder as his voice returned to an intimate volume. “You’ve earned your rest”.
It was also during this time that Kel’Thuzad began tutoring those with an affinity for the arcane. Very few had a collection of spells of their own, as many would-be magi couldn’t afford a tome to learn from or simply could not read one if they had it. Nevertheless, they possessed the raw skill, and fairly quickly acquired a basic understanding of the dark arts. Within weeks, Kel’Thuzad’s pupils were raising the dead and using them as practice targets, hurling deadly orbs of shadow magic at them, and inflicting pain with the mere whisper of a word. Regardless of one’s specialty, everyone toiled and strove for perfection. Acolytes like myself were only useful in helping others achieve such goals.
This night in recollection was a night like any other which I described. Of course, I am only assuming it’s night at this point, since most other cultists had retired to their dormitories and I, along with a handful of others, were left to clean up or work on finalizing some elusive formula. Once the chores were done, I decided to retire as well. I walked up a set of stars and crossed a wooden bridge in a room that used to be a wine cellar. We had initially built a crypt beneath this room, but there wasn’t enough space to accommodate the steadily accumulating corpses, so we extended upwards and erected the bridge. It was easier to deposit bodies this way as well, Rather than hauling them through the corridors.
I ascended the staircase at the end of the bridge and began to hear the muffled shouts of a heated conversation. When I opened the hefty wooden door into the vestibule, there were two middleweight cultist guardsmen arguing with someone through slats embedded into the double doors of the main entrance. There would have been less of a need for security if the portcullis installed in the entryway hadn’t become bound in rust, or there weren’t dire secrets to protect within the mansion’s depths. Before I could get any closer, there came a thundering boom, and the doors were wrenched from their hinges and crushed the two guardsmen beneath them. Through the wake of fire and smoke, an angry mob of dwarves, humans, and gnomes poured through, clad in varying degrees of armor; And those not wielding sword nor axe bore blazing torches, table legs, or clenched fists. I did not remain long enough to see the assailants, however, as it was immediately apparent that we were under siege, and I thought it was more prudent to warn whomever I could. I ran back across the bridge and into the room in which we kept most of our tomes of knowledge, where there were still a few diligent cultists with books in hand, reaping whatever relevant knowledge they deemed empowering. I ran down the stairs and stood before them.
“We are under attack!” I shouted, to draw their focus. I could only hope the similarly diligent alchemists in the laboratory could also hear me from here. Those sat before me looked up in confusion, and some in irritation, but any question they had was answered as the mob burst through the door behind me. They jumped up or dropped their books where they stood, five men in total, as the mob started down the stairs after us; One gnome misstepped off the side of the staircase, onto his head and fell unconscious. One of the cultists ran further into Scholomance, more likely in fear than to warn any other stragglers that hadn’t gone to rest yet, but the other four began casting their shadow magics at the twenty or so men that were about to bear down on us.
I was fortunate that these cultists were prepared for battle, but I was not. I felt helpless; That is, until I saw the sword the unconscious gnome had dropped on the floor, landing not far from where I stood. I supposed the blade required the gnome to grip it’s hilt with both hands, but was light enough for me to equip in one hand, and wield with minimal difficulty. I hadn’t lifted a sword before, thus I couldn’t be certain. There was no time for hesitation, as I dashed for it and succeeded. Though, when I was about to return to stand with the others, a shield was thrust against me and knocked me to the floor some distance back. A mithril battle hammer was soon to follow, but a bolt of dark energy interrupted the wielder’s strike. I took the opportunity to get back on my feet and prepare for the next attacker, but as I regained my footing, another weapon came to draw blood.
So it did, as it made a gash where the shoulder meets the forearm. I had thought the pain would be somewhat numbed, due to my condition, but the pain was even sharper than the time I had accidentally sliced my thumb while whittling, and the shock of the deed sent an electricity coursing through my body. The bloodied sword was thrust at me again, though I reflexively and inelegantly was able to parry this strike. I was correct in my assumptions that the blade would be easy enough to wield, but the outcome remained grim due to the sheer numbers in opposition. I was only fortunate that this opponent was as inexperienced with a blade as I, judging by the speed and inaccuracy of his strikes. When he recovered from the parry, he attempted a backhand swing. In response, I jumped backwards out of range and then attempted a downward swing counter attack, to which he also dodged. We had a brief stand-off, where we just peered at one another, waiting for the other to strike.
He was a human man of medium build with a keg belly. His face was slick with sweat and twisted in panic, and I knew that I showed neither quality and understood then my advantage. I was able to make more intelligent decisions, despite the ever-imminent threat of death. To add to my advantage, I saw behind him the cultist that fled return, and with three more cultists in tow. Just as I began to consider making the first move against this opponent, I was struck across the jaw with another battle hammer. It was thrown by someone to my left, and forced me to reel and absorb the pain, as I watched it fall to the floor. I also saw movement in my periphery, as the hammer clattered to the floor. My opponent was using the opportunity to strike a deathblow. In my hunching posture, I swiftly twisted my torso towards him and thrust my blade. It landed in his unarmored diaphragm, which he could have avoided had he chosen to strike anywhere but from above. He remained frozen in the same attack posture as I dragged the blade down a little and withdrew it from his body. I saw his blood began to pour like wine from his bloated belly, when suddenly I was tackled from that same left flank.
When I slammed to the floor, the air that was forced from my body also ejected two teeth and a grotesque, viscous mixture of blood and saliva across the stone floor. This man was more muscular than my first kill, and pinned my right hand to the floor and used his right hand to grip my throat with equal strength. Where the other man showed panic, this man’s face was painted with rage, and I felt my lungs beg for air with increasing intensity. Fortune had not abandoned me, though, as I felt the hammer that likely this man had thrown under my left forearm. I was able to grasp it and bring it down on his bald head with enough force to make him reel as I had moments ago and relinquish his grasp. I felt the sword was still in my hand, despite the man’s crushing grip and best efforts, and after gripping the hilt like a dagger, I plunged the it into his bare chest, where I thought the heart lies. I wasn’t able to withdraw it this time, as he had held it as he held his injured head. I had to push him off of me and scramble from under his straddle.
I lept for the blade of my first kill, which felt heavier but also more powerful in my clutch than the gnome’s weapon . In my reprieve, I looked out and made an assessment. The cultist’s magics were powerful; in the time it took me to struggle with two men, about fifteen lay dead on the floor, but at the price of six cultists. I had no sooner understood the situation, that my reprieve was over. A dwarf wearing plated armor, a leather cap, and equipped with a studded iron buckler had locked eyes with me as he unsheathed his gladius from my brethren’s gullet. He held his shield out in front of him and charged at me, intent on mowing me down. He was fast, but I managed to go around him faster than he could turn. As he passed me, I attempted to bring my sword down on him, but he blocked the blow with his own stubby blade. Being more heavily armored, he was by far my greatest challenge. Drawing blood from this dwarf would be harder than drawing water from a tendril of briarthorn. He gave me no quarter and continued his onslaught with a low sweeping swing at my legs. I managed to jump back in time to save my footing, but still suffered an incision to my right leg. Attempting to take advantage of my new lack of balance , he moved in and thrust his shield at my chest. I felt the studs would leave a bruise, but that was the least of my worries as he went in for a diagonal strike. I was barely able to lift my sword quick enough to block the impact. He brought up his sword again to attempt another diagonal attack, but from the left instead of the right. I held up the war hammer this time instead, which was slightly more effective at blocking his sharp swings.
I couldn’t remain on the defensive, however. I was already beginning to feel the effects of fatigue, and it would only be a matter of time before I left him an opening at this rate. Going on the offensive would be difficult though, as this nemesis left no opportunity to successfully do so; I would have to get clever. Though I was able to have a clear mind through through these battles, I was never known to be resourceful. And then it came to me as I barely avoided a thrust at my torso from below. The metallic taste that welled up in my mouth was somewhat relieved, as I spat a mouthful of blood into his eyes while he prepared for his next strike. He grunted and shook his head, feverishly blinking, trying to recover his precious sight. I dropped my weapons and, with much difficulty, wrestled the shield from his hand and tossed it across the room. When I went to disarm the sword, he slammed the back of his fisted gauntlet into my right cheek, and I spun to the floor.
By the time he had regained his vision and orientation, I was able to get to my knees and re-equip my weapons. When I stood up, I found him glaring at me, standing there as my first opponent did, waiting to for me to strike; But unlike that fear-stricken man, this dwarf was calmer and more calculating. He was analyzing me, predicting my next move and all the places it would leave open for him to counterattack. No doubt he was used to battle, and nothing I could reasonably do would surprise him. Nevertheless, this was the chance I had been waiting for, and I now had to make my offense. Just as I had crouched slightly to leap at the dwarf, I felt the same kind pain I suffered from the wound in my shoulder, intensified one hundred fold, suddenly explode from the left side of my back. A cry of agony escaped from me, and I quickly shambled to the right when I saw the dwarf about to take advantage of the surprise attack. He was now standing next to my ambusher, a woman in light leathers with a dagger in her left hand, poised to strike. It would seem I was wrong; He wasn’t analyzing, simply waiting.
With no small amount of grace, she lept into the air with the intent of bringing down that dagger on me with full force. I tried to dodge to the left but the dwarf had anticipated this, and in a frenzied charge was able to strike a deeper cut into my left leg. In the same movement, he used his momentum to knock me down using only his shoulder. This time, I was able to maintain enough balance to roll into the fall and land back on my feet. This effort was rendered futile as I took the woman’s boot to the forehead, and was on my back again. She landed next to me on my right side, and I understood that she had the chance to make the killing blow, but abdicated it to the dwarf. I struggled to rise, but she had thrust her hand on my chest, pinning me to the floor. The dwarf, out of breath, steadily swaggered over to me until he was straddling my lower torso. He directed a malicious smirk at me as well as a slight shake of the head.
Reactions and possibilities raced through my mind as doom, in the corporeal form of this bearded warrior, peered into my very essence and raised it’s blade skyward to complete some sort of metaphysical circle. In the end, impulse somehow triumphed over contemplation, as my hand shot up and grabbed the collar of the woman’s jerkin, and pulled her down while the blade fell. It was too late to control the blow completely, and a gaping wound spewed blood from the side of her neck. While he was stricken with regret, I swiftly brought my knee to his groin, one of the few areas on his body protected not with plate, but mere cloth. Her strength was drained by fear and shock, permitting me to sit up enough to make an effective swing of my hammer at the side of the dwarfs head. It was enough to make him dodder in the opposite direction, tripping over me and collapsing to the floor as he did so. I gripped the sword once again and jumped to my feet, and plunged it into the middle of the dying woman’s back.
The seasoned dwarf had already recovered by the time I realized I, with all the strength I would summon in my right arm, couldn’t withdraw the blade from her back. I also realized the dwarf had lost his leather cap and no longer possessed all of his wits, as he hastened towards me with drunken steps. He had been slowed enough that when he reached me and tenaciously swiped at me with his bloody sword, I was able to knock the weapon out of his hand with my deflection. His sword clattered across the floor as I brought my hammer down on his head with all the strength I had left. Only then was I beginning to feel my own fatigue, which had apparently been ever present. The dwarf collapsed one final time and I was, against all odds, the victor. I looked out once again. Every combatant in the room had been slain, and the stone floor had become rife with corpses soaking in their own blood, or singed and disfigured by wicked magics.
A scream pierced through my houndish panting, and shortly two more attackers emerged from the next room. They looked at me as wolves with prey. Picking up the dwarf’s weapon, I prepared for yet another dire struggle, when I saw a large icicle soar through the air and pierce the skull of the man on the left. Before the man on the right could react, he was quickly taken down by a slightly larger man, clad in black plate armor. He stabbed the attacker many more times than could have possibly been necessary. I looked at where the deadly icicle could have come from, and found Kel’Thuzad at the top of the stairs with many armed cultists behind him.
“That’s enough, Marduk.” Kel ordered. The armored man looked back for a while but then nodded. He got up and moved to stand in the corner, at the foot of the stairs, while the wizard came down to better examine the scene. His expression was one of silent fury, but shifted to disappointment. Eventually his eyes found mine, and again his expression shifted, this time to intrigue. “You have outlived some of my most diligent students, Vincent. I am baffled, but impressed.” After Kel said this, he began to approach me. “I suppose a lifetime of manual labor was good for something, no? You’ve become much more useful than I had thought you could be, but we will see if this was some fluke.” The mage was next to me now, and I had let loose a gasp as he drew and a dagger from my back and began to study it. Finally, he turned to face the onlookers, holding out the dagger, “It would seem a citizen of Caer Darrow was allowed to escape the island. Know that I will fully investigate this and any other liability within the cult. However, this means we can no longer afford the luxury of perfection. We run the risk of compromising our mission, incurring the wrath of the unenlightened and suffering fruitless skirmishes like we have suffered tonight. Therefore, we must make due with our present situation. Tomorrow night, we will unleash the plague in the heartlands, and from there, let it spread to Stratholme to the north, Brill to the west, Tarren mill to the south, and darrowshire, who have perpetrated tonight’s attack, will suffer it in the east. With that, my children, all of Lordaeron will be ours!”. The proclamation was met with excited cheers. When they died down, he pointed to two cultists armed with axe and staff and continued, “Zegrith and Aranel will stand guard for the night. Lay rune traps and alert me of anything suspicious with your communication orb, Aranel. The rest of you: sleep well, for tomorrow will be harrowing. You too Vincent.” He said turning to me, and pat me on the shoulder as his voice returned to an intimate volume. “You’ve earned your rest”.