Trial of Sacrifice: Erscydiol

[Erscydiol]

The night is dark and full of terrors, but unbeknownst to an Alliance sentry squad, it would soon come for them sooner than later. As dusk fell and a cold wind blew through the natural valleys of the Western Plaguelands, night soon followed, and a light snow began to fall on the Alliance camp, a campfire in the center burning brightly in the dark of night. The fire crackled and popped as a sturdy, relatively well-armored man with Sword and Board tossed a large pile of kindling into the fire before removing his helmet, letting his shoulder length dark hair fall freely as he tossed it to one side with a flick. The man let out a long sigh before dropping himself onto a log and resting his arms on his knees, elbows bent outward.

Another man's voice broke the silence: "How much longer we gotta be out here in this frigid weather before we head back to Hearthglen? I'm freezin' my rocks off out here!" asked a second sentry, this one also armored, albeit not as heavily, leathery skin & prominent stubble but with a single Claymore sheathed upon his back. The armored man with Sword and Board glanced up with a raised eyebrow before answering. "As long as we have to solider, this new patrol route comes straight from High Command. We're to expand out sentries and patrols from Chillwind and make a regular presence known at Hearthglen. The King wants to maintain diplomatic ties with the Argent Crusade in the hopes that they will ally with us against the Horde." An uproarious laughter echoed through the night as the rough-looking man with the Sword let out a sharp rebuttal. "Those Undead lovers and Cow Milkers will never throw their lot in with us! They're much too soft and -" "Mind your tongue!" said a third man seated on the edge of the camp, still wearing his helmet, equipped with a mace and round shield drawing patterns in the snow with a stick. "Although the Highlord is dead, Light rest his soul ... I must admit, things are different now, and I am loyal to the King, Ragnus, whatever the orders." Ragnus scoffed and remained standing, this time crossing his arms as he mumbled something under his breath. A fourth, smaller figure sat seated, silent in the foreground, observing and listening to the men bicker & argue. "That'll be all for tonight gentlemen, thank you very much" ordered the Commander. "Say, that reminds me. How long has our large fr-" the Commander's sentence was cut short by a "whoosh-whoosh" sound that cut heavily through the air, a heavy throwing axe lodging itself deeply into the center of Ragnus' slightly less armored interwoven chest armor, which was clearly designed more for mobility. The man stumbled a few steps back, eyes wide with disbelief and frustration as he struggled to make a sound before collapsing to the ground in the snow.

The camp immediately sprung to attention and hastily formed a circular phalanx, albeit just loose enough from the confusion for the perfect opportunity. A blur of dark purple and black came stampeding out from within the darkness of the woods with unholy speed, a long-haired figure barreling straight into the Cleric; the man with the Mace & Golden inlaid Buckler, knocking him back, along with all of the wind in his lungs. The blurry figure, in a fluid motion, utilizing the momentum of the charge, swung her body to the left, the faintly-glowing axe in her left hand hooking onto the shield as she spun, following through with the brutal-looking spiked Warhammer in her right hand, it's spiked edges finding its mark as it dug into the cleric's face and forced his weight to the ground with a lifeless thud, facial-bones cracking & breaking as he fell. Hearing motion to her right, Erscydiol, now clear to all in the light of the fire, tore the hammer free and swung 180 degrees in a roundhouse motion, both weapons cutting through the air to her left and struck her mark, hearing the sound of rending, tearing flesh as Shadow's Edge whispered dark words in the wind as it reveled in the blood of the fallen Alliance soldiers. Erscydiol's eyes were glowing with fiery determination as her steel jaw and largess became illuminated by the crackling fire. The Commander, to Erscydiol's surprise, stood directly before her as she recovered and returned to a proper battle stance. Expecting to exchange blows and possibly suffer injury, instead, a strange sound permeated the air, and a panicked expression intensified over the commander's face. A heavy "click-clack" snapped through the air, akin to the crackles of the fire as the Commander tried desperately to free his blade from it's scabbard. Erscydiol grinned wickedly as the man, eyes now flooded with sheer terror, stood to face her. "The frost" Erscydiol said smugly, "sometimes it makes the blade stick." Erscydiol, ambidextrous as she is, wound up and dug Shadow's Edge deep into the flesh of the Commander, its blade rending face, throat and chest. The Commander fell to the ground with a thud.

Just as Erscydiol thought to lower her gaurd, she heard a heavy, lumbering noise to her right, coming from the - "HEYAGH!" screamed a monster of a man as he burst forth from the darkness as she had, wildly swinging a massive Warhammer twice the size of hers. Stunned by the ambush, Erscydiol had naught but enough time to cross-block with her weapons which caused her armored heels to crack with pressure and dig deep into the snow & earth, even being pushed back in the slippery snow. After a tense moment of chaos, simultaneously harnessing all of her available strength, she was able to utilize the downward momentum generated by her block to strafe away and reset as the weight of the hammer caused the bear of a man to lurch forward ... but not enough to leave him open or vulnerable. This monster of a man, bald head and dark, well-trimmed beard, continued his savage onslaught. The two struck blow for blow; a first with the clash of heavy steel, hammers and axes crashing through the night in a violent, primal cacophony. A second blow and parry cut through the cold night air, while a third cross block rumbled through the valley with a thunderous boom ... except this time, the cross-block was intentional. Erscydiol's face twitched ever so slightly. "Gotcha" she said with a steely tone as she utilized the blade and head to latch on to the brute's Warhammer and drag it down to the ground, with the enormous man in tow, as the grip on his hammer was nigh unbreakable. The beast stumbled ever so slightly with one foot, and Erscydiol seized the moment to sweep back with the spiked greaves of her right leg, also bringing an armored elbow, bristling with more spiked edges, into the bear-man's face. As a coup-de-grace, she unlatched her weapons from her opponent's Warhammer, lunged back, and then forward again with all of her might as the hook of Shadow's edge and the head of her Gladiator's Warhammer slammed into the man's left flank with all of their combined force and might. This caused the solider to stumble, but not before he was able to recover his hammer and attempt to reset his stance, blood dripping from his face and several perforations in the skin of his lower left leg. Erscydiol wasted no time either, however, and was ready for this exact moment. Swapping weapons so that Shadow's edge was gripped by her right hand, she closed proximity, and with a dark, sinister force, Shadow's Edge swung upwards in a blur or cold, sharp steel, rending the torso of the oversized solider with deep, deathly wounds. The man stumbled forward as he violently spewed blood from his mouth, then stumbled again before falling to one knee. With a determined surge of energy, Erscydiol finished him off with a fully wound-up, perfectly formed downard strike of her spiked Warhammer. As he fell, she noticed something unusual for the Eastern Kingdoms ... the mark of Kul'Tiras.

Finally sensing that the battle at-hand had been won, she felt something dull thwack against her left greave ... and again. As she slowly looked down, she saw a small boy of about 11 with blonde hair, left leg crushed & mutilated, blood draining from a gaping wound in his abdomen, which he had covered with thick piles of gauze, hastily torn from a nearby medical kit. The boys eyes grew wide with anger and fury as he lay against a stack of supplies, propping himself up, swinging the fallen Cleric's mace at Erscydiol's leg. "I hate you! I hate you! MONSTER!" he shouted as blood began to trickle from his mouth. "I hate .... I hay ... hate" the boy, obviously a squire said as he trailed off, still alive but fading, listlessly motioning with his right arm and trying to continue speaking for as long as possible. Erscydiol put a boot on the mace when it hit the ground as the boy lost strength and kicked it to the side. The Squire continued to stare, eyes mad with rage as he held on to a dark, burning anger. Erscydiol's eyes widened, and she was reminded of a young girl who fell near this very spot in a similar fashion, many years ago. The snow continued to fall on the camp, the air, silent but for the sound of the Squire's labored breathing and his right arm dropping to the snow after every attempt at a wild flail. Finally, the noise stopped, and a slow, chilled breeze flowed gently through the valley. Silence.

The Forsaken gathered her bearings and trudged off through the snow. After about twenty to thirty minutes of walking through the cold, silent snow, not even the sound of wolves or winter creatures to break the eerie, dark silence, she arrived at her destination - a small pocket of Scourge held out at the edge of the forest by the base of the Eastern valley hills. This small, atypical camp had been reported by Lord Koltira Deathweaver at Andorhal, amongst something unique about the largest among them - an armored Scourge with particular plating from the Third War bearing the sigil of House Crestfall, whose Patron Knight, Erscydiol's former Master at Arms, fell at the battle of Hearthglen years ago. Four to five minor scourge zombies, mostly rotting, and slightly more than usual, littered the camp, roaming about between the usual, hideously grotesque Scourge encampment accoutrements; these were dispatched immediately without even a thought. As the Scourge fell one by one with what was not even akin to beginners target practice, Erscydiol stood face to face with her former Knight at the center of the camp. The usual, blank undead stare met Erscydiol as the Knight moved slowly towards her, green ichor drooling from it's fetid mouth, moaning with the usual, dull scourge sounds. Erscydiol herself, appearing vastly uninterested, distracted, her mind on what had happened earlier, let out a dusty sigh. With a single, deft swing of her Warhammer, she shattered the armored Scourge's armor and sent it flying back into the snow with a dull thud. Erscydiol slowly walked closer, formed up a stance, and swung both of her weapons down upon the rotting husk, finally putting the filth out of it's misery. A dull chill crept through the valley, and as Erscydiol turned to face the direction of the Alliance camp that had simply stood in her way, the sound of the larger world seemed to suddenly reappear; creatures of winter, wolves, wind and other sounds you might expect to hear in the forest at night sprang to attention from nowhere. With a sharp whistle, Selene, Erscydiol's Armored Bloodwing, slowly descended from the treetops, silhouetting the now crescent moon. As she mounted her most trusted companion, she slowly drifted back into the here and now, having but one, nagging thought. "I must report the incidence of Kul'Tiran involvement to Magister Qabian at once ... for this is most unusual, and quite concerning." With a click of her re-stiched, bio-organic tongue against a metallic lower jaw, Erscydiol took off into the night as Selene let out an approving, friendly screech, slowly flying towards the Horde controlled City of Andorhol ...

[Qabian]

Finally back in his office, Qabian read over the report. Erscydiol had made herself clear enough at the meeting, perhaps clearer in fact, if less visceral. He wondered if he should put anything in motion over the signs of Kul Tiran involvement as far off the front as the Plaguelands, but he couldn't see any obvious gain. They would, as had been discussed, need to put their focus on the Zandalari in response. Perhaps he could simply send an alert. With the rumors around the Ashvanes, maybe certain constructs could be unraveled.

He left a simple Good. ~Q in the margins and sent a note to Khorvis.

Lasher,

If you want anything more from E.B., you have two weeks.

~Q