Retribution is at Hand, Chapter 1
A cold breeze swept above Stormwind City, carrying reddening leaves and the brisk winds of autumn. It was mid October, and the sky was gray with thick clouds and blanketed with cold mist. Lantern lights and torches flickered in the air, and the city as a whole seemed like a ghost town.
Few citizens left their houses in this time of late noon, with sunset so close; lights danced behind the windows of the houses of the capitol city of the Alliance as if giving life to the maddening stillness, brightest of which illuminated the Cathedral of Stormwind, where few devoted remained after the Friday prayers.
In its bright halls, the clerics and paladins spoke with each other, frequently staring out the windows of the cathedral into Stormwind Harbor, with a silent prayer for those who left to the far north.
Archbishop Benedictus stood in a room overlooking the harbor, by a painted window, hands behind his back, staring out at the Stormwind Harbor, and the large steam ship that set sail to the north.
He cast his eyes to the floor, before he heard a man clear his throat by the door.
“Archbishop, the sorceress is here,” said the man. Benedictus nodded, before turning to face the room’s open door.
“Welcome in, Lady Dawnweaver,” the archbishop said softly. A rustle of robes followed, before a woman stepped through the door frame before the two men. Clad in Dalaranian robes and carrying a gray staff, her lips lifted into a smile.
“Thank you for having the time, father,” she said, lowering her hood and letting down her strawberry locks cascade to her shoulders. “I will do my best to be at your expectations. What is it you wish?”
“Lady Dawnweaver,” the archbishop began. “I am sorry to have you back from Northrend on such a short notice, and I hope I haven’t interrupted any plans of your superiors over at Dalaran.”
I’d love to be away from them for a while, actually. The sorceress held back the thought, “The Light’s call is above all.”
The archbishop smiled slightly, before he turned to his seat and settled on it, and observed the sorceress with his gray gaze.
“Have you left the Azure Coven of Lordaeron, child?” He asked, traces of gentleness seeping away.
“No, father,” she bit back her lip. “I don’t intend to in the near future.”
“You will do well to promote kinship between the Alliance and the Horde,” The archbishop said, frowning, before the other man, Brother Sammuel cleared his throat.
The archbishop frowned, and said, “Alas, I am no politician, and my word stops here…Brother Sammuel?”
The paladin nodded, and said, pulling himself to a military stance, “We request your aid in the Plaguelands.”
“Lordaeron?” the sorceress asked eyes wide and mouth agape.
She turned to the archbishop, whose gaze unnerved her. She turned back to the paladin, and asked, “How can I serve the Alliance in Lordaeron?”
“You will be sent for a joint venture between the Tower of Stormwind, the Cathedral of Light, the Argent Crusade and the Dalaran Watch,” the paladin said. “The Tower and Dalaran need an extensive report on Ley Line disruptions in the Eastern Plaguelands, and we received information about a long-lost member of the Order of the Silver Hand."
The sorceress took a glance at the archbishop, whose gaze was troubled and whose hands shivered. A paladin who survived in the Plaguelands for six years, not allied with the Argent Dawn or anyone else?
"We need you to locate the member with the assistance of the Argent Crusade, and they will lead you to where the Ley Lines ran wreckage, so you can analyze the situation. You will report to Leonid Barthalomew, in Light’s Hope Chapel once in the Eastern Plaguelands, and he will update you with the situation on our missing brother," Sammuel continued.
The sorceress nodded, and turned to the archbishop, who stood up, and said, “Lady Dawnweaver, needless to say that this task is dangerous, and that we chose you for your abilities and respective history. The matter at hand may be an operation of the lich Kel’Thuzard himself, and could harm the Argent Crusade and the Horde just as it could harm us.”
As if the Forsaken didn’t do enough already; now I must protect them. The sorceress nodded mutely, and stood up once mentioned to.
“Thank you for taking up the task, Lyrissa,” the archbishop said, and he smiled.
Lyrissa nodded, and said, “I won’t disappoint you, father.”
She said that, and swept out of the room.
It’s ok. Just calm down, Lyrissa, don’t let them smell fear in you. The sorceress whispered to herself as she drew a palm-sized black crystal from a pouch on her side, and gazed at it. It was raining outside, and a sudden flash of lightening brightened the skies, as the skies cackled with thunder. She poked her head out of the carriage she was in and called at the driver, “Excuse me?”
“Can I help ye, milady?” the driver squeaked. Lyrissa wiped her brow from the downpour and squinted at the lantern leading the way, and at the short driver, whose head just appeared for a questioning glance.
“Can you steer the horses a bit slower? I’m trying to catch a line down here,” she called out.
The dwarven driver nodded at the request, pulled slightly on the horses’ reigns, and shouted over the rain, “Sure thing lass!”
She muttered her gratitude and drew back her head into the dry carriage, ignoring the sound of the rain against the carriage’s roof. She sat down against a lantern and whispered into the crystal, “Lady Proudmoore?”
The flat face of the gem distorted as if water, and in a moment, a face appeared in the crystal. It was unclear and shaky, but there was no denying the light skin and golden locks. A familiar voice shook the gem, and the resonation formed the words, “Good evening, Lyrissa Dawnweaver.”
“Good evening, Lady Proudmoore,” the sorceress replied, and smiled at the image of her senior. “Are you well?”
“Garrosh Hellscream is making things a wee bit hard for us in the Argent Stadium, but other than that and King Varian’s death threats, all is well.”
Lyrissa sighed, and said, “Understatements are born with you.”
“Are you well? I thought you’d report from Light’s Hope Chapel,” Jaina Proudmoore asked. “You’re not at Light's Hope yet...”
“I thought that I’d best not test my magic near the grounds of Lordaeron, and instead communicate in Hillsbrad,” Lyrissa replied, frowning slightly, unaware that Jaina saw her perfectly well. "Ley Line problems...I'd rather not risk anything."
“You have lengths to take in communication magic, sister,” Jaina laughed.
“Lady Proudmoore, I’m not sure if I’ll make it.”
“Why do downtrodden?” Jaina asked softly. “It’s not like you’re standing against Ner’Zul himself.”
“I wish I have been; this is all so mysterious and sudden. I’m not comfortable,” Lyrissa said, lifting the carriage’s window and peering north, where darkness reigned.
“You’re good with Ley Line research,” Jaina said, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not good in combat, and that’s why I’m worried!”
“I won’t have any of that; we all hate making war. Just because you don’t feel it doesn’t mean you can’t do it.”
Make war? Lyrissa hid a smile at what Jaina sounded like saying. Jaina grinned and said, “Just don’t worry. You know what you have to do when you need to do it, right?”
“Not really,” Lyrissa answered, her heart thumping faster at the prospect. “I’m a follower, not a leader!”
“It’s not alien gnome technology, Lyrissa. This is magic, the same type you’re born and raised with. Take things one at a time, and remember; I recommended you for a reason. Now show them what you’re made of.”
I'll be showing the Scourge I'm made of meat and skin. “I seriously wanted to remain in Northrend, you know that.”
“I’m not hearing anything! Oh, look at that, the connection is about to be disconnected,” came Jaina’s voice, accompanied with a laugh.
“Then please…Pray for me,” Lyrissa said suddenly, laughter gone from her voice. “I don’t feel well.”
“Light grant you strength, old friend,” Jaina said, and smiled at the sorceress.
That's enough for me. “To strengthen us,” Lyrissa said, and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Make us proud.”
The transit was uneventful, and took most of the raining evening. The downpour ran light at dusk, and the driver called out to the sorceress.
“Here we are, milady, the Western Plaguelands,” he said, voice thick with Ironforge accent.
Lyrissa Dawnweaver jumped out of the carriage to the muddy grass and rummaged through her pouch for gold. She then lifted her gaze at the driver.
“Can you take me to Light’s Hope Chapel? I’ll pay twice I have already,” she said, eyebrows high. “Please?”
“No can do, lady sorceress,” the driver said, voice gruff at the thought. He scratched his great beard and continued, “Too dangerous this land fer a carriage and a dwarf.”
“Is it any less dangerous to a single human?” She asked eyebrows knotted to a frown.
“There’s nothin’ I can do, lady. No one comes here without companions," he exclaimed. As if I need more late advice. "You can head out to Chillwind Camp, and find someone from the Argent Dawn to help ye.”
“Thank you for the trip, then,” the sorceress said, her hand tight on her staff as she handed the dwarven driver his gold. He muttered an apology, and then whipped his steed, and it sped away.
“Thank you for being a gentle dwarf,” she whispered as she faced the northern gap between the high mountains of Lordaeron. She turned back, facing the south-west, before taking a deep breath, and venturing into the forsaken Plaguelands.
The air was heavy, and to the sorceress, sickening. It wafted with many queer scents, and there was no wind in the land. The grounds were charred, and some of the dry soil cracked underneath the sorceress’s treading feet. She pushed on, knowing that Chillwind Camp can’t be far.
She pressed on, eyes thinned at the coming of dusk.
Comments? Criticisms? Compliments? All are welcome.
Updates may run late, but I'd like to think I'm dedicated to the story.
Edit: A few stylistic edits. Less commas, better dialogue, and some more characterization.