Chapter I

All the works of Men and Orcs crumble as a new darkness threatens the lands. It is not the blade and the axe. Neither is it the will of the living; it is far darker that that. Disease and corruption, with a will and a dangerous sentience, are creeping into the hearts of all the races. A Scourge is about to befall the world, and those brave few who dare to face it must stem the tide. Death awaits them, no longer bound by their own shadowed, mortal fears.

Here follows the tale of Sir Tallon Kharnson of Moonharvest, hero of the Third War and Paladin of the Holy Light.

Tal meandered down the woodland path, letting his gaze roam across the road in front of him. Fading sunlight lanced through the canopy here and there, giving the forest a faint, golden glow. The air was mild and even warm, befitting the late summer of Northern Azeroth. Woodland creatures sang their various evening songs, almost as if they were serenading the weary young man who walked through their midst. Such was the way of existence in the small Duchy of Moonharvest: eternal tranquility. Though, more often than not, that translated to eternal boredom in Tal’s mind.

Tal sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. A sharp pain in his right shoulder told him that he had overextended himself again. Swordmaster Opal was always berating him, the phrase "Control your swing!" falling from her lips so frequently it became meaningless, droning background noise as Tal tried to rehearse his combinations. Swordplay had never been a strong point for Tal. It required too much finesse for him to appreciate its finer points. As Opal constantly reminded him, you had to use your wrist, your elbow, your shoulder, and your feet. Most of all, you had to use your brain. The trainer always managed to make Tal feel stupid, somehow. It was, irritatingly enough, an innate gift the woman seemed to possess.

Give me an axe and I’d show her what for, Tal thought vehemently.

Tal had, however, been trained with the sword for most of his short life. At the relatively young age of nineteen, Tal had been receiving military instruction for battle for the last ten years, but had yet to see any action. He was frustrated with his current education. So frustrated, in fact, that one of his favorite pastimes had become complaining about it whenever the subject was mentioned. This had made his home life rather uncomfortable of late, as Tal’s father, a large and imposing veteran of the Azeroth Army, was insistent that the only way Tal could achieve any sort of worth in this world was through such a noble and venerable institution as the military. A gentle breeze stirred the forest as another sigh escaped Tal’s lips. It had been such a long day.

A sudden noise off into the trees on Tal’s right awoke him from his reverie. The unmistakable sounds of something large crashing clumsily and carelessly through the trees rang in Tal’s ears. Training that had become instinct took over and Tal readied himself, noting, to his dismay, that his only defense was his wooden practice sword. Tal’s eyes scanned the trees, looking for the source of the continuing sounds. There, he said to himself. Movement through the brush headed this direction. Fast. What the hell is that? It almost looks…

"… human?" The words came unbidden as Tal’s surprise stayed his hand. "Hello? Who is that? What the hell are you doing out here?"

The branches parted and a man stumbled onto the path before Tal. He fell to his knees, gasping for air as he clutched at his own arm. Blood seeped through the cracks of his fingers. He had scratches on his face, one running dangerously close to his left eye. Long, blond hair cascaded about his head, twigs and briars clinging to the tangled ends. He was obviously tall and moved gracefully, despite his wounded state. Piercingly green eyes stared, unfocused, at the forest floor ahead of them as air rasped in and out of the man’s lungs. The remnants of an ornate suit of armor rested about the man, who after more inspection appeared to be very young, though Tal could not be sure. A bloody sword of graceful curves hung loosely in a scabbard at the odd man’s side. The stranger grunted in pain as he glanced over at Tal, his hair shifting to reveal the pointed tips of his ears. "You’re an elf!" Tal cried, attempting to draw the obvious and rude statement back into his mouth even as it spilled forth.

The elf looked slightly taken aback by Tal’s reaction, then his chapped lips began to move, his voice so dry that his whisper was barely audible. "Run…" he muttered.

"Run? Run from what?" There was no response other than a shudder. "Look, sir, you need help. Come on." Tal moved to help the elf to his feet, but the foreign creature violently shoved him away, falling over backwards in the process.

"Don’t slow… yourself… down with… me, human." The elf was forcing the speech from his lungs as he virtually sobbed for oxygen. His eyes glazed momentarily as his hand moved to squeeze his wound again.

"Look," Tal said, trying to sound casual and confident, "I’ve had a long day. You’re obviously in trouble. You can’t stay here, and I probably shouldn’t stay here. Let me help you." The elf seemed unconvinced. "If you honestly think that somebody as light as you is going to slow me down, then I’m going to have to question the legendary wisdom of the elves."

The man’s green eyes focused clearly on Tal for the first time, suddenly making the young man very conscious of his own appearance. Tal glanced down at himself, aware of how ridiculous he must appear. A young, beardless boy in simple peasant clothes and no shoes with a wooden practice sword in his hand created an impression that any sane person would hesitate to put confidence in. Tousled brown hair and various sweat and dirt stains from that day’s training session were Tal’s only other adornments. Perhaps the only reassuring quality about himself that Tal could discern was his broad, muscular build. Tal had always stood at least a head taller than everyone else his age, with a shoulder and chest befitting the son of a lumberjack.

The elven man finished his perusal of the young human and extended his hand upwards. Tal saw in his eyes a desperate vote of confidence. "Agwin," he said as Tal clasped his had and helped him to his feet. "That’s my name. Agwin."
"Tal… Tallon Kharnson."

"Well, Tallon… I wish I had better news… for such a… newly acquired acquaintance."

"What happened to you?"

"I was with… a regiment… of my own people… about two miles east of here. I’m a dignitary for… my nation… to Azeroth. I was supposed to put up with… Duke Moonharvest. His manor… is near here, I believe."

"Yes, this is his land. His manner is just back down the road. I can take you there if you want."

"No… no… not yet… anyway. We were… ambushed by…" Agwin stopped, shuddering.

"Ambushed by what?"

"Creatures. Monsters the likes of which… I have… never seen before."

"Orcs?" Tal interrupted. "We have to get to the manor to warn the Duke!"

"No! Not Orcs… Tallon. I have fought Orcs many… many times. These were… like the walking corpses… of those… who had been slain." Tal blinked in disbelief. Agwin was unaware of the youth’s reaction, lost in the horror of his memory. "Beasts fell upon us… tearing us to pieces… dragging us down, consuming our flesh… and their victims… by the Sun, it was awful…"

"Their victims what? What happened?"

"Their victims… my people… stood up… undead… and began to… attack us… I had almost banished it from… from my mind." Agwin’s last words degenerated into a fit of coughing, as if his body was trying to expel the chilling recollection through his throat.

"Let us still go to the Duke, then! His army has at least ten knights, and scores of infantry. With such a force any threat would be banished quickly."

"You do not seem… to entirely comprehend… this threat, human. And even if… such a thing… were true, these creatures… came on us… from the… north. They plowed right through us. They are heading… south, from Northrend, not towards… the Duke’s manner. There is a town that I saw. We must… warn them."

"Gods, are you serious? There was a guard tower, atop a hill? That’s Harvest’s Hillock. That’s my home!"

"Then let us… move quickly, Tallon. We must…" Agwin’s words were cut short as a fiery bolt lanced from amongst the trees to take him in the shoulder. The hapless elf was spun around by the force of the blast before landing face down on the soggy forest floor. He did not move.

"Ah, master elf. You, most certainly of all, know that you cannot truly avoid death." A dark voice echoed ominously from the trees, the evil of the owner’s intentions saturating the words.

Tal swallowed the growing lump of fear in his throat and turned to face this new threat, his practice blade ready. He was in no way prepared for what he saw. Clothed in dark robes and a miasma of shadow stood a hooded man with a staff in his hand. Before him stood three hunched and mutilated creatures that possessed vague traces of humanity. They had long, terrible claws and fangs. Saliva ran in rivulets down their twisted and pockmarked faces as their unnaturally large jaws gnashed together. Insane glares focused on Tal, the eye sockets that were their origins little more than sunken craters. Tattered clothes clung the misshapen bodies of the monsters, revealing in patches their twisted, leathery, and gnarled skin.

The dark being gave a short laugh upon observing Tal’s reaction. "I suppose you’re going to try to stop us, then? This is hardly worth my time. Finish them, my children, and remember… bring the elf’s heart to me!"

Those final words rang through the trees as the man spun, his robe and cape swirling about him, and disappeared back into the trees. With an alarming burst of speed, the three demonic creatures rushed at Tal, fangs and claws readied. Tal could feel his body tense, and knew that the only thing between him and death was his training.

The first monster leapt into the air, flying directly at Tal. Tal swung his practice blade with both hands, batting the creature aside, his wooden sword cracking in half in the process. The beast landed in a heap a few feet away. The second monstrosity closed in, swiping at Tal’s face, and the boy instinctively jerked his head back, the undead thing’s claws missing him by a hair. Viciously, he jammed the splintered remnant of his practice sword into the flesh of the creature’s forearm as it swung past his head. The young warrior was rewarded with a howl of pain as he used the hilt as leverage, twisting and swinging the beast back in front of him just as the third monster’s attacks were launched. A fury of demonic claws met Tal’s improvised demonic shield, and the boy watched as his living defense was ripped to pieces by its compatriot.

Yanking the hilt of his wooden blade out of the body of the now still thing, he planted his foot firmly against the corpse and shoved it forward with all his might. The wieght of the creature bore the living monster to the ground, pinning it underneath momentarily. Tal stepped forward with the intention of finishing off his trapped foe, but something hit him from behind with ungodly force, knocking him forward. His practice blade flew from his hand as he hit the ground, momentarily winded. His vision cleared, and he tried to jerk back in surprise, as the pinned monstrosity’s face mere inches from his own. Tal knew he was firmly held down by whatever was on his back as his muscles strained uselessly. He managed to glance behind himself to see his first assailant sitting on his back, jaws gnashing wildly and claws poised to strike.

Something glinted in the sunlight, and the beast atop Tal toppled sideways, it’s head landing with a sickening thud a good distance away from the body. Agwin stood over Tal now, sword drawn. His left arm hung limply at his side. "Thanks," Tal gasped, clutching his ribs. Agwin just nodded as he helped Tal to his feet.

A sudden movement out of the corner of Tal’s eye alerted him that the last beast was up again. It lunged at Agwin, whose reaction would have been a second too late had Tal not caught the beast around the shoulder and neck. He heaved with all his might, somehow restraining that Undead fury within his mortal grip. Tal’s muscles in his right arm strained, the pain in his shoulder flaring, but he was still rewarding with the sound of the monster’s neck snapping. He let the body slide to the ground and kicked it once for good measure. "I’m impressed," said Agwin as Tal stood back, panting.

"I’ve never… that’s the first time I’ve… well, I’ve never actually fought before." There was a slightly frantic look in Tal’s eye, partly from fear and partly from adrenaline.

"You’ve a knack for it, Tallon."

"I mean… I know they were just monsters… well, not just monsters, but… well, you know… I’ve never… uh, killed before, either. I… never mind… let’s go… let’s go warn... my family."

"Right."

"There’s one thing… I don’t get, though." Agwin looked at Tal in surprise, his whole face taking on a look of mild consternation, as if to ask how there could only be one thing. Tal ignored the look. "If you’re just a… a dignitary, then why pursue you… all this way? And then… take your heart?"

Agwin’s expression became pointed, his glance suddenly somewhat dangerous. "We have a village to rescue."

With that, the elf set off down the road, leaving Tal to momentarily gaze at his receding form. The young human bent and retrieved the haft of his practice blade before running to catch up. It’s relatively useless now, but it will make a fitting relic for my village when we have staved this threat off! Tal thought to himself. The triumphant nature of the idea gave speed to Tal’s powerful legs, and it was not long before he and Agwin ran side by side.

Chapter II

Dusk had fallen as the companions approached the tiny hamlet that had been Tal’s home for all his life. The trees began to thin around the woodland path as the slight hillock, bearing the town’s guard tower on its crest, rose up before them. The tower was a graceful building, a remnant of some long gone military outpost built during the beginning of the Second War. It had been constructed from thick stone slabs braced against a wooden frame and then cemented in place, though by what means Tal could not discern. Erratic patterns of flickering lights, swirling orange and red, could be seen through the arrow loops in the tower walls. The only possible source was some uncontrolled fire that consumed the inside of the structure. Aside from the faint crackling and popping that could be heard from the tower, the forest was deadly silent. A twig snapped in amongst the shrouded depths of the trees, and a peculiar prickling sensation crawled up Tal’s spine unexpectedly. He shivered and almost stopped in his tracks as an unfamiliar stench greeted his nose. Agwin did not say a word, nor did he slow.

"What is that foul smell, Agwin?" Tal asked, unable to keep the trepidation from his voice.

"Shh, human. Speak quietly. There may be unwanted listeners."

"What is that smell? Is it more monsters?"

"It may or may not be." Agwin noticed Tal’s quizzical glance, and paused before gently continuing, "It is the smell of burning flesh."

Tal’s eyes flicked worriedly towards the guard tower. He began to make for the doomed structure, even as the road to the town, and his family, veered away beneath his feet. Agwin’s strong right hand caught his arm, though the elf’s left limb still hung at an awkward angle. Tal paused, thinking of Agwin’s immediate suffering, momentarily forgetting the unforgiving ache in his own shoulder that had plagued both his body and his mind since early that afternoon. The elf yanked Tal closer, drawing the boy toward to his face and capturing all focus with his intense green eyes. His dark words came as little more than formed breath brushing across Tal’s cheek. "Do not waste your time or your mourning on those who inhabited that tower, lest we are too late and must spend more for your home."

Tal’s eyes flashed dangerously, then saddened with realization. Panic set in, and his muscles bulged as he tried to pull away from Agwin, but the elf held him firmly in place. Tal glared at his companion, and then, in a breath, his furious energy dissipated. The young warrior suddenly felt very young and alone, as he nodded sullenly. Visions of his family in pain and suffering danced through his mind, and the anger began to boil again, but this time, hardening the resolve in his soul. His face suddenly rose an inch to meet Agwin’s eyes again, the human’s features becoming a resolute mask. "This way."

Elf and man hurried down the road, dodging the ruts and potholes left by the wagons that utilized this part of the path frequently. Smoke hung heavily in the air, stinging the eyes of the two travelers as they struggled to see in the thick blackness of the night. As the worried men rounded the corner of the road below the once watchful structure, a silence so profound that it filled the senses completely greeted them. Heart wrenching images of loved ones being tortured at the hands of the sinister man and his unholy minions cycled through Tal’s mind ceaselessly, their pace quickening with the young man’s pulse. The stars crept into the ever-darkening sky above the two would-be rescuers as fear crept into their hearts, and Tal could restrain himself no longer. He broke away from Agwin’s reserved pace and pounded away down the road, hoping against hope that he had not been delayed overly much by his first encounter with the monsters. He heard Agwin’s warning cry behind him, but paid it no heed.

His family - his mother, his father, and his young sister - were in mortal danger. If he could not help them, it was all too likely that they would meet an early grave. Or worse, they could be denied the rest and finality of death. But, no, he mustn’t give into that thought. There is a time and place for caution, Tal thought vehemently, And this is not…

The sight stopped Tal completely. The breath of his lungs continued on with Tal’s broken charge, escaping unexpectedly, leaving them empty. Empty, like his heart. His fury melted away under the torrent of tears that rose to the surface. An indescribable agony chewed at Tal’s mind through his eyes, mocking him as it destroyed him. A cruel parody of reality was lain before him, and yet he could not wake from it, though his mind fought it with all its might. His body felt as if a million undead claws were tearing it limb from limb, gnawing on it. He felt each burning house in his village like an arrow in his heart. He felt each corpse on the ground tighten the icy fist that had seized his lungs.

Tal stumbled forward into the ruins of his town, searching frantically among the faces of the dead, turning each body as if a stone, and dreading what might be crawling underneath. His weeping blurred his vision, each slain face blending together, becoming one unnamable mask of horror in Tallon’s mind. Through some twist of the imagination, the disgusting face seemed to laugh at him, to mock his futile efforts. "Shut up!" he screamed to the apparition. "Just shut up!" Farther and farther into the village he went, praying to all things holy and good that his family alone had been spared, that they, out of every person he had ever known or loved in his town, had managed to escape. They had to have. Yes. Only a few bodies left. Only… Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, ohgodsohgodsohgods!

An inhuman howl roared forth from Tal’s huge frame, as a bestial rage possessed him. In front of him lay the mangled bodies of his mother and father, their arms and legs twined together, the look of horror on their faces only offset by the fact that they had died in each other’s embrace. Their skin was cold and clammy, and their joints refused to relinquish their deathly hold upon each other.

Tal sobbed. That was all he could do. There were no words or emotions, just a bitter and absolute knowledge of loss. Cold, unforgiving, and permanent. The boy felt the executioner’s axe fall, cleaving the heart and soul from his being. He did not know how do continue, what to do. He was at a loss. All he was capable of was howling his pain at the empty night.

He became aware a presence behind him, but he did not turn. Nor did he care if he died here. He readied his neck for the sweet sensation of cold steel. He welcomed it. A soft touch on his shoulder dispelled his distraught dreams. "I am… so very sorry, Tal," Agwin whispered. The boy just continued to cry, as an emotional pain so intense it became physical began to wrack his body.

"Oh, yes. Cry if you must, mortal. It’s pitiful really. How easily you succumb to inner pain. I have frozen that weakness from my soul. Let it out. And let it in. Know defeat in your soul. Know pain. Know terror. Know futility. Even you, princeling. Know death before it has come for you, and embrace its eventuality. It’s what I’ve done."

An evil echo slid into the minds of the companions, and an all too familiar sense of disease and frost crept up Tal’s spine. Agwin’s sword sung as it ripped forth from its sheath, ready to do battle for its wielder, ready to take blood for blood. Tal, on the other hand, turned slowly, knowing exactly what he would see. The robed man stood, an unholy purple light emanating from his eyes, the mask of his human skin revealed. The being’s gaunt features were dead already, as was his soul, though his heart still beat in his chest. The corpses of Tal’s friends and neighbors stood behind him in rank and file, their eye sockets hollow. Town Father Daro, the whole Linnian family, including young Garas Linnian, and Farmer Vird and his wife all gazed with utterly dead faces, their blank expressions infinitely worse that any hatred or malice could be.

"Die, you unholy bastard!" The cry ripped forth, cutting the air, but not from Tal’s throat. The boy’s bleary eyes followed Agwin as he rushed forward, his sword before him, leaping and spitting with deadly intent. Tal felt in his heart that it was useless. The cloaked man stood still for a moment, then raised his hand, almost lazily. A purple glow infused the air about Agwin, and his body seemed to lose some measure of strength and control. The elf’s ornate sword clattered to the cobblestone street as his mind lost hold on his body, and he involuntarily fell forward. Two undead creatures rushed toward the toppling dignitary and grabbed his limp form, dragging him back amongst their ranks.

"I’ll deal with you later, princeling," the evil thing spat, it’s voice dripping with venomous anticipation. "But first, I will finish with this man-boy. You see, child, you destroyed three of my children, and I spent a very, very long time creating them. You will pay with your life, you understand. That is all you have left to give me, I see." An utterly wicked smile cleft the sunken features of the man. "Aha," he said, reveling in the irony and vileness some idea that had occurred to him. "That will do nicely."

Tal began to back away, his hand automatically finding the broken hilt of his practice sword at his belt. His muscles tensed for a countercharge, and he believed himself ready for anything. That’s when the hand clamped around his neck. Tal was momentarily shocked as the breath was squeezed out of his throat. His eyes traveled down the length of the arm that was killing him, to see the empty face of his father staring up at him with expressionless malice. Tal let out a strangled cry, barely more than a gurgle. His vision began to fade as the undead fingers tightened around his neck. He had not the strength to fight his father.

His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground as his mother’s now claw-like hands began to tug at him. He looked up into the eyes of the being that had been his undoing, and knew the true meaning of hatred. All the pain, the sadness became an arrow, and in that moment, it found its mark. Tal knew whom and what was responsible for destroying his world, and he hated it. The damned thing was laughing at him, a maniacal, insane laughter.

How many families will fall to you? Tal asked silently, knowing that to be his last, bitter thought.

NO MORE.

The answer came from within him, and yet, it was not his own voice that had said it.

NO MORE.

The voice repeated. Tal stood in shock, and was again surprised by the act of standing. He looked at the zombies that had once been his mother and father, expecting resistance, but they were crushed to the ground as if by some invisible force. He looked up at the Undead commander. There, too, he saw surprise. And fear. The unholy thing was afraid. Tal felt his fist tighten around his wooden weapon. Now was his chance to take vengeance on the soulless fiend. A fiery determination was born in his heart, and it melted the frigid fist of fear that had previously stolen his breath. He began to march slowly toward the necromancer, the very atmosphere around the boy igniting with his righteous fury. The grotesque being growled, and hurled bolt after bolt of fiery energy at Tal, but it was deflected some distance ahead of the young man by that same holy barrier that had freed his body and his mind only moments ago.

"Attack!" cried the monster, it’s voice now quivering, its dark majesty washed away by fear. However, these zombies also were held at bay by Tallon’s shield. The warrior strode forward now, confident and proud, his pace breaking into a sprint as he ran down the dark man. Tal’s massive fist grabbed the many folded robes and capes of the vile traitor and pulled him to his knees in front of Tal. Inhuman, purple eyes looked up, pleading for mercy. With a might born of rage, Tallon planted the splintered remnants of his wooden practice short sword right between those eyes with a grunt of satisfaction. Purple light erupted from the wound, and whatever demonic energy was contained within the frail mortal form of the man faded and bled out into the vengefully crackling night air. The dark wizard fell backwards, dead before he hit the ground, the wooden hilt still protruding from his forehead. There was, oddly enough, no blood.

As the form of the man crumpled, so did the zombies, their disgusting parody of life fleeing their bodies as the fuel of their existence fled the fresh corpse on the ground in front of Tallon. And as the bodies of those that he had loved tumbled away, so did the powerful energies swirling about him. The emptiness of knowing his whole family was dead returned to him, and the pain that accompanied that knowledge was staved off only by a great numbness of the soul. As the last zombie slid, unanimated, to the ground, an unharmed Agwin was revealed kneeling in the midst of the carnage. The elf rose unsteadily to his feet, gazing oddly at Tal. "I think there is more to you than is immediately apparent, my young Tallon," he remarked weakly.

Tal, opened his mouth to reply, but Agwin cut him off. "Explanations later. Let us attend to these bodies. They deserve a decent burial. After that, we must hurry to Duke Moonharvest." Tal could not keep the bitterness from souring his expression. "I am sorry for your loss," Agwin said, trying to be tender and firm in the same instance, "But we must make sure this does not happen again."

"But that damned murderer is dead, Agwin."

"He was only one of many. Get a shovel."

Chapter III

Tal was thankful that they had found her after they had buried the bodies. At least her young mind would be spared that sight. The gruesome vision of his parents as their limbs reached from beyond death to clutch at him would stay with him for the rest of his life. He doubted that he would ever sleep peacefully again. But for now, she was safe. That was all that really mattered.

Agwin sat quietly with her as she slept in his lap, a soft Elven lullaby soothing her ears as she rested. The early morning sunlight reflected from the dew on the grass and the leaves, creating haloes and rainbows all around the somber pair. It would have been a perfect scene but for the ruined and empty town in the background. Tal sighed, still barely daring to believe she was alive.

The dawn had just broken the horizon when the last of Tal’s friends had been laid to rest. Weary, but beyond pain, Tal had sought to return the shovel to it’s proper place. It was completely unnecessary, but it was a gesture of habit and comfort when nothing that held those qualities remained for him in the world. He had just felt the need to do it. He almost fell down the steps into the dank darkness of the cellar, his feet betraying the resolution of his mind. He clutched at the shovel as a lifeline, knowing that with its return he at least left this one cellar intact. Maybe the memories could hide in that place, be preserved as they would be in the similar parts of Tal’s mind.

Something had then skittered through the dank recesses of the basement, startling Tal from his reverie. He raised the shovel menacingly, his body freezing in absolute stillness. His eyes sought to peel away the layers of darkness that concealed whatever hidden thing lurked there. Barrels and crates were stacked haphazardly, their presence seeming to shrink the space, make it close in about Tal. Suddenly, the brief yet glaring light of a reflection shot through the room, followed by movement behind a barrel, slinking, clinging to shadow. "You’d best show yourself," Tallon said grimly. "I’ll kill you either way."

"Tallon?" Her tiny voice had echoed from the recesses of that cellar. He had known her immediately. He almost rushed forward into the darkness to find her. He almost wept and shouted for joy. He almost believed. And then the reality of the situation had caught up with him.

"Whose devilry brings you here?! What trick is this? Is it not enough? Are you not all dead?!" he roared, swinging the shovel violently through the air, attempting to stave of the ghosts of his shattered past. The soft sound of weeping answered his angry accusation.

"This is a trick, all a trick! Show yourself! Show yourself, or by the gods, I will…"

Then she had stepped forth into the light. Dirt clung to her, almost obscuring her face, as her clothing hung in tatters about her. Her arms were locked about herself, as if feeling her own human contact was the only thing that kept her sane. Her young features were stained with tears, her raven black hair was an utter mess atop her head, and her pure blue eyes were wide and shining with a hesitant mix of anticipation and fear. In that moment, he knew his little sister to be real.

"Oh, Ceara… I had lost all hope. You’re alive. You’re…" Before he could say any more, she rushed to him falling into his embrace, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs. Tal’s own pain found its way to the surface again, though he had thought himself numb. Her tears and his were as healing water, washing the infected wounds in their souls, so happy and yet so devastated. They wailed, each individual tear another memory of their short lifetimes spent in this place, with their family. And the tears rolled away into the darkness, sliding into shadow, all possessing a beautiful gem of remembrance, to be preserved forever in perfection. As they held each other, a shadow passed over the entrance of the stairwell. Tal whirled, snatching up the shovel, pushing Ceara behind him so that his body might serve as a shield from this new threat.

Sunlight silhouetted the figure, reflecting in patches and flashes off of broken armor. The being stepped towards them, relieving the glare of sunlight just enough to make out the shape of an elf. Agwin’s tattered garments swayed in the wind about him, jumping and swirling in the cool morning breeze. His hastily bandaged arm sat close to his side, unmoving. He looked on, his face unreadable. His inscrutable, green eyes, shone forth, and Tal wondered why he suddenly felt a strange kinship with the elf.

Tal laid the shovel back on the ground, reaching around himself to pick Ceara up in his large arms. "Ceara, this is Agwin. My friend."

Agwin smiled down at the girl, a sort of golden beneficence on his face that outshone the pale morning sun behind him, and yet it was mixed with an expression of pain. "Hello, Ceara. It is very nice to meet you."

The little girl just nodded. She settled her small head back into Tal’s chest, closing her eyes only moments before she fell into a deep sleep. Tal looked up at Agwin as his self control threatened to slip and let lose another tide of tears. Agwin’s face was lit by a half smile, though his eyes remained somber. He reached out to take up Ceara from her brother’s arms. The exhausted child didn’t even stir as her sleeping form switched hands. They had carried her up the stairs, and Tal had cast one longing glance back at the cellar with which he trusted his most sacred remembrances. Unorganized barrels and crates formed canyon cliffs around a river of tears, flowing past a lonely shovel. In some quaint way, it was beautiful. He shut the doors.

Tal awoke with a start to Agwin shaking his shoulder. He realized his musings must have led him to some much-needed sleep. The bleary-eyed boy sat up quickly, then fell back, wincing at the pain from his lessons with Opal and his exertions in combat as it sunk in thoroughly. As sleep cleared his eyes and mind, he looked suddenly up at Agwin, then around the meadow in alarm. Ceara sat by herself some distance away, idly plucking blades of grass from the ground and tossing them away behind her. Her expression held an aura of perplexed fascination, perhaps at how something could break so easily.

"She is fine," said Agwin. His voice then lowered. "But we are not. We must make for Moonharvest Keep. We cannot delay any longer. This victory here will not slow their cause for long. There is likely many more of that man’s kind in the immediate area. This place is dangerous." His eyes flicked worriedly towards Tal’s younger sister. "What do you wish to do with the girl?"

Tal looked up into Agwin’s eyes, understanding the concern he saw there, but he could not bring himself to make any other decision than the one his heart spoke to him. "She comes with us. I will not leave her here, or anywhere out of my sight for that matter."

"It is a dangerous road we travel. Perhaps we could find…"

"She stays with us."

"Very well."

"Ceara! Come, we must go visit the Duke for awhile." The girl stopped plucking grass, a few final blades falling from her hands. She stood and nodded, walking over to her brother and holding out her arms. Tal scooped her up, swinging her around a little before bringing her to rest on his back. The sun caught his sister’s dark hair, giving it a red sheen even as it gave her face a healthy glow. Ceara smiled at the fun, but did not laugh. With a melancholy deliberateness, she laid her head on Tal’s shoulder and began to play with the hair growing from the nape of his neck. He sighed, the momentary image of his sister as he had left her yesterday fading into the reality of the slender, frightened girl clinging to him. The horror of last night had affected them all in their own ways. Ceara had not said a word or made a sound since he had found her. He thought, perhaps, it was too much for her to say.

Tal turned back towards the road, motioning for Agwin to follow with his head. The town’s guard tower looked on solemnly, it’s only tenet a slowly rising column of smoke. The companions, three now, set off down the same road that had led them to their fates the night before, with knowledge of the terror that was befalling the land lending their journey grim purpose.

The gates of the keep stood before them, large stone walls rising on either side like great fists of earth thrust towards the heavens. Sickly looking vines clung to the base of the fortress, like diseased tendrils trying to pull the proud structure into their vile embrace. Tal did not remember such an ominous feeling associated with this place, but then, the whole world was darker to his eyes now.

The forest did not echo with any of its usual sounds of life. They had noticed it on the entire journey to the castle. Leaves drooped, bark lost its color, no animals were seen or heard. It was almost as if the land was dying, like something terrible was boiling up beneath it. The filtered sunlight held no warmth, and the orb itself seemed pale and sickly. The sun hung just past midday, and yet Tallon could not shake the chills that relentlessly assaulted his spine.

Now at the keep, the one place they had prayed had remained untouched, it seemed they might be too late again. Nothing stirred within. A thin green film clung to the walls of the keep, as if proclaiming to the world that even the very powerful were not beyond this threat. So many places and people that they had taken for granted yesterday. "This is hopeless," Tal moaned, letting exhaustion and fatigue creep into his muscles and voice.

"We could try knocking." Agwin’s voice held none of the expected sarcasm.

"Fine. But it won’t work." Tal passed Ceara into Agwin’s waiting arms before striding up to the castle and thrusting the slimy, unkempt vines aside to reveal a thick-corded rope. Tal grabbed the rope and yanked with all his might, once, twice, three times. An alarum bell rang in sync with each tug, and for several minutes there was no response from atop the castle wall. The young man’s heart sank through his chest, and he turned away from the fortress, pitying himself and the hollowness of his hopes.

"Wait." Agwin’s words caused Tal to turn back to the wall just in time to see a head pop over.

"Hallo, Keep Guard!" Tal shouted, unable to keep the joy at seeing another living human from his voice.

"Hallo, ground! Who goes there!" the guard called back.

"Tallon Kharnson, and his sister, Ceara Kharnson, and an Elven acquaintance…"

"Just Agwin."

"… Agwin of Quel’Thalas!"

"What brings you to the keep?"

"We seek shelter, and bring news from Harvest’s Hillock!"

"News from the village?! We wondered when we saw smoke on the horizon."

"Yes! Please, we are all that survived! We bring warning of what we face! Let us in!"

The guard turned, shouting back into the courtyard. "Open the gate!" The cry was echoed by several other voices, and the heavy wooden doors swung open before the three weary travelers. Tal turned to Agwin with joy in his eyes, spared a moment to smile and wink at Ceara, then spun and led his small party through the gates.

To Be Continued