Retooling

Right now I'm retooling the first few chapters of the story, changing some minor things that allow for better story flow.

In the meantime, here's a little intro to one of the main antagonists in the story, Falt Greyhaft:

Far to the north, Layette Manor stood safely ensconced within the foothills of the Alterac Mountains. To the south lay Strahnbrad, once a jewel of the former kingdom, now a festering ruin full of brigands, rogues and mercenaries- just the kind of people with which Falt Greyhaft had recently surrounded himself. As a liason from the Scarlet Crusade to the Syndicate, he worked with lowlifes and criminals on a daily basis. His orders came from the highest levels of the Crusade, but he didn't particularly mind them. He didn't hold himself so high and holy as others in the Crusade, and was in fact glad to work away from the tireless and desperate struggles against the Scourge.
With the Light's blessing, the Scarlet Crusade had held its own since the Third War and stood strong in several places. But the Scourge hadn't let up in the slightest, despite their huge setback in the far lands of Kalimdor. With the fall of one master another had risen- this mysterious Lich King, of whom one of the Light's greatest servants had become a lieutenant. Many in Lordaeron, or what remained of it, were bitter against former prince Arthas Menethil, and rightly so. He had stood poised to become Lordaeron's next champion, the greatest student of the legendary paladin Uther Lightbringer. But as the Scourge devastated the kingdom to which he was heir, Arthas lost himself in madness and desperation, to the point where he became consumed by a desire to avenge his kingdom's loss. Somewhere in the insanity that followed he betrayed his own people and allies, taking up arms against them as the Scourge's general in Lordaeron. At last report he had gone to Northrend for some unknown purpose, but his minions in Lordaeron were relentless in their continued attacks. The seemingly endless carnage and defeats had started to wear on many of the Crusade's bravest soldiers- only by the resolve and strength of its leaders had they remained steadfast.
One of those generals had just sent a missive to Greyhaft, updating him with the goings on up north. He saw Dathrohan had nothing of great import to pass along, just the usual casualty numbers and territory changes. Greyhaft noted that fewer soldiers had been lost this month as compared to the last. Well, it was the little things that mattered, isn't that what everyone said?
Putting the missive down, he picked up another letter, this one from much further south and not from any Crusader, though in Greyhaft's mind this was no less Scarlet business. It was old business, relatively speaking, but important nonetheless. Unfortunately, he saw, there was nothing to report. He put the letter down and walked to the window. It was past midnight, and storm clouds had begun to gather to the west over Lordamere Lake.
It had been almost three years to the day when Nikolas Tien had slipped out of his grasp. A captain at the Monastery when they met, Greyhaft had disliked Tien from the start. On the scout's third day, he had reported to the captain for orders. Falt had ordered him to duty in Hearthglen, knowing the precious need for good scouts in that part of the kingdom. When Tien asked if the post was permanent, Greyhaft replied that it was. At that point, in front of a good dozen soldiers or so, Tien had shown the gall to defy the order, saying he intended to stay near the Monastery. When asked why, the scout said he wanted to keep his sister safe. Greyhaft matter-of-factly told him that the sister, a priestess in the Monastery, would be perfectly safe, and that he was needed in Hearthglen.
Then that upstart refused again, at which point Greyhaft said it was an order, not a request. Tien smugly replied that he was not some conscript, that he had volunteered, and was going to stay near the Monastery regardless. With the others watching, Greyhaft had had little choice but to relent, not wanting to seem tyrannical. So he asked if Tien might be pleased with scouting duties in Tirisfal, with the occasional job of taking messages to and from Hearthglen. The latter agreed, even smiling at the compromise, but for Greyhaft, the damage had been done. He knew from that day that Tien would be trouble and a malcontent, though the degree of the problem could not have been known, not at that time. Falt decided to keep an eye on the scout, reporting every infraction to his superiors: in a cause as important as fighting the Scourge, there was no room for chinks in the Crusade's armor, no matter how small.
Over the next few months, to his dismay, Greyhaft had found little with which to criticize Tien. The man's work had been very useful, and for a while it seemed there'd be no problem. Then Greyhaft had begun to hear rumors that Tien was becoming...discontent. Through sources loyal and well-placed, he learned Nikolas had started to express doubts about the Crusade and they way they fought the Scourge. He felt the soldiers and leaders were becoming too brutal and extreme in their methods.
What that...dissenter...failed to realize, Greyhaft now remembered, was that the war to reclaim Lordaeron was more than a seemingly-futile battle. It was a war against evil itself, a war against demons and devils and all that was dark. The Undead had ripped life itself from the land and those living on it, and turned both into aberrations of nature, blasphemies to the Light itself. True, Greyhaft admitted to himself now, some of the methods employed by the Crusade were unpleasant, but they had been absolutely necessary. Faith demanded that all measures be taken to wipe every last abomination from existence. For good to prevail, not one particle of the Undead taint could exist, and removing it was the sacred charge taken up by the Scarlet Crusade.
With time, Tien's complaints grew into treachery. He began resisting orders to carry out the simplest of tasks, claiming he wished to know more about the Undead before he attacked them. His sister, the priestess, had tried to make him see reason, to see the truth of their cause, but the man's mind would not be assuaged. Repeated attempts by leaders spiritual and marshal to bring Tien back to reason failed. Greyhaft began seeking cause to have the man arrested and tried for treason, for in war desperate as the one in which the Crusade fought, anything less than total allegiance was the same as betrayal. Falt's efforts were in vain, however, as the traitor somehow managed to skirt a fine line and avoid going too far.
Then, Greyhaft remembered with a grim smile, Tien did the unthinkable. He and a footman patrol came upon an Undead straggler hiding in the mountains. Their orders at the time were to hold all Undead alive and take them to the Monastery, where they would be subjects for experimentation. But somewhere during the journey north, Tien had lost his mind and attacked his comrades, trying to free the abomination. The two escaped, but soon ran into another patrol. Tien and the monster had been promptly arrested and imprisoned in a farmhouse until both could be moved- the monster for his experiments, and Tien for the Monastery dungeons. Now, in the present, Greyhaft clearly remembered learning of this and his feeling of victory at finally getting his hands on a traitor.
But only two days later, Tien managed to get away, taking the monster with him. To make matters more serious, one of the Crusaders had been killed in the escape, two others wounded. Somehow, when finally within reach, Tien had escaped Greyhaft's grasp. He remembered the pure rage he felt, almost as if he'd had a demon itself in his hands only to watch it blow away with the wind. He had been so close. And he hadn't been about to give up.
For months following, Greyhaft had sent scouts and runners in all directions, trying for even a sniff of Tien's whereabouts. There were many who began turning against the Crusade- many, especially, after the death of Highlord Mograine- but few had proven so elusive. It seemed, to most, that Tien had truly disappeared. Greyhaft tried his sister, Katia, but to no avail. She maintained she knew nothing of his whereabouts, and was quite convincing. But when he planned more extreme interrogations, Katia's mentor- Inquisitor Whitemane- had intervened and commanded Greyhaft to cease his fruitless search.
And so he had, at least officially. From that time he worked in secret, hiring bounty hunters and others to be his eyes and ears, watching always for some little sign.
Greyhaft knew, years later, that his desire for justice had grown into an obsession. He had managed to let it go enough to where it didn't consume his as it had. Over time, the numbers of seekers he had out looking for Tien dwindled, though there were still a skilled few. He rarely lost sleep over the matter anymore, but then there were occasional nights, like tonight, where it all came back to him.
As he looked toward distant Lordamere, Falt Greyhaft wondered, not for the first time, if he might die never seeing the fruits of his dedicated search.

Chapter 2 is Done and You Get to Meet Someone New

First things first: Chapter 2 is done, and I like how it turned out. The whole thing is still in development so there may be changes, though they will likely be small. Now, the few readers I have are all in the family and therefore get the chapters e-mailed to them. If you're reading this and aren't on my e-mail, leave a comment with an e-mail address and I'll be happy to send you a copy to read/comment on/critique.

Now, to the new kid on the block:

Alira Stone- co-owner of the Bear's Brew
In Chapter 2, we meet the person that will likely become Nikolas' love interest- her name is Alira Stone, and she's from a small hamlet called Shadyglen, which lies on the road through the Hillsbrad Foothills, in between Southshore and the border with the Arathi Highlands. Shadyglen is little more than a few shops, homes and, most notably, an inn, owned and operated by Alira and her father, Harac. Alira's mother died of disease when the girl was twelve, leaving her and her father to manage the inn. She is very kind to all her guests, even when they are flat-out drunk and rowdy. But dealing with drunkards and ruffians of all kinds has given her a tough side that comes out when necessary.

At some point in the process, Morena Baccarin stood out as someone who could play the role well. She's best known for her role as Inara on the Joss Whedon bit of genius, "Firefly" (as well as the subsequent movie "Serenity.")

Another Teaser

Southshore (image from wowwiki.com)

Some miles away on the road from Silverpine to Southshore, Fitch Millen wiped his dagger on the ground, leaving streaks of blood on the grass. He looked around, seeing no one except his small band. They had managed to pull off the heist without arousing suspicion, something not easy in the busy travel hours of the morning. Outnumbered almost two to one, the four travelers had been easy to manage. Fitch's sharpshooters had taken the guards out by expertly hitting them in the neck with their crossbows. The other two barely had time to reach for their weapons before Fitch and the other three had them on the ground. Glosser and Bilgi had shaken them down, taking their money and other valuables. Then the men had been stripped before Fitch cut their throats. The bandits dragged the bodies and covered them with branches some yards from the road, out of sight and mind. None of them were worried about discovery- mountain lions or moss spiders would likely find the corpses before anyone else.
Of most interest to Fitch was what had fallen out of one traveler's shoe- a note wrapped around a small key. The note had only a few symbols written on them, Elvish by the look of them. That was odd- the man carrying it was human, as were his companions. Fitch began to wonder where the man had come from, and where he was going.
He looked toward the road- the travelers had been heading east, and by the looks of their provisions would have had to stop sometime soon. That put their likely destinations at either Hillsbrad or Southshore; smaller villages wouldn't have made good refitters.
He looked back toward his men. "Bilgi!"
The mute hulk of a man looked up.
"You get their papers yet?"
The brute nodded, then brought the documents to Fitch. It took him a minute to find what he wanted: the group had come from Ambermill, an Alliance town on the edge of Silverpine Forest. They were headed.....there. Southshore, like Finch thought. Their business was listed as a non-commercial personal visit, and they were to stay only a day or so. Beyond that, there was little useful information. But Finch had a destination, and the fact that the man had hidden this key could only mean one thing: whatever it unlocked was or contained something valuable, and that thing was probably in Southshore.
Rounding up his band of brigands, they headed southeast toward the seaport. Before heading to the bank, Fitch had to find someone who could decipher the symbols on the note. Fortunately, the Syndicate had men in Southshore who could.
Yes, Finch thought to himself, this could be something good, something to win the appreciation of Lord Layette. And that was a rare and valuable commodity.

Thursday Two-Fer

Part One of the Two-Fer: a segment from Chapter 1 of the story. Enjoy!

The Scarlet Bastion in Stratholme

Far to the north, in the city of Stratholme, Falt Greyhaft rode toward the Scarlet Bastion, careful not to make too much noise: the Undead with whom the Crusade shared the dying stronghold were on the other side, but there was no sense in taking chances.
As he came upon Crusaders' Square, the central hub of Crusade forces in Stratholme, he slowed his horse to a stop. He was almost immediately challenged by a loud voice: "Declare yourself, stranger!"
"Peace, Captain Malor, it's just me."
"Greyhaft?"
"Aye, captain, it's Greyhaft."
"Prove it!"
"You owe me seven gold and forty-three copper for our game two weeks ago," Greyhaft called with a smile.
"I'm still not convinced," Malor answered with a smile.
"You smell like burnt rat tail!"
Greyhaft heard several chuckles coming from Malor and the guards with him, then: "Come forth, you pathetic Gilly dog!"
Smiling at the mock insult, Greyhaft spurred his mount forward into the square, soon coming to the fortifications where Malor and the other guardsmen stood watch, keeping an eye out in case the Undead attacked. He dismounted, then strode forward and grasped Malor in a firm handshake.
"Welcome back. Did you meet success?" Malor didn't know the particulars of Greyhaft's mission, but any success was good news.
"Aye, I believe I did. Is Lord Dathrohan waiting for me?"
Malor nodded. "He is. I believe he's at prayer in the throne room."
"Very well. When I get done meeting with him, you'd better have my money ready," Greyhaft said.
Malor scoffed. "It's taken me this long to pay you, what's another two weeks?"
Greyhaft laughed and entered the Bastion. The building's interior was a cool refreshment from the acrid smell of smoke outside. Some Crusaders had expressed their opinion that the fires which burned endlessly across the city were unnatural, kept alive by some magic force. Indeed, they had been burning since that terrible day years ago when the heir of Lordaeron had swept through the city, slaughtering every person, living or undead, that stood in his path. That day, Greyhaft mused, had changed the world forever.
He paused at the entrance to the Crimson Throne and peered through the doorway. Grand Crusader Dathrohan was on the far side of the wide room, kneeling before an ornate throne. Greyhaft waited for his leader to finish praying, and only stepped into the chamber when Dathrohan had risen from the floor. His footsteps turned the Grand Crusader around.
"Welcome back Greyhaft," Dathrohan said, seating himself on the throne. "I trust you met with success?"
"I did, milord. The thieves are willing to work with us."
A grim look crossed the Grand Crusader's visage, and for a brief moment a shadow seemed to darken his eyes.
"Perfect."

************************************

Part Two of the Two-Fer: A Contest!!!

Some days ago, I e-mailed people asking if anyone was any good at drawing. Well, now here's your chance to prove it. Below is a very rudimentary idea of what Nikolas' swords look like (he has two and wields one in each hand). If you are interested in a prize (small, but still a prize), then submit your artist's rendition of the sword pictures below and send it to me. Rules? There aren't really any. You can draw the sword by itself, you can draw it from multiple angles (an artistic ability that REALLY eludes me), or you can draw it in the hands of some daring warrior or something like that. What does the winner get? Well, their picture will be proudly displayed on this blog for the internet world to see. There will also be another prize, like a gift card or lunch or ice cream or something. I'll get to that later. So the contest officially starts now, and will end sometime in the future!

Details of the sword for consideration- the blade is intentionally black. The handle is wrapped in brown or dark grey leather (your choice), and the pommel is a gryphon's claw (like an eagle). Draw the guard as you like, whether straight like below or all curvy-cool. Up to you.

Now.......Draw!!!

Prologue

Tirisfal Glades

The approaching dawn did little to bring light to the Tirisfal Glades, where the taint of death and decay was strong and ever present. Suffering from the blight brought by the undead armies of the Scourge, the once beautiful forests now stood in shades of sickly green and brown, not quite dead but far from flourishing. Many of the smaller plants had died off, and those animals that survived had mostly migrated to more welcoming environments. The air smelled of rotting wood, and a constant, though thin, mist seemed to cover the whole of the land.
In the darkness that shrank slowly with the rising sun, two figures moved as silently as possible, pausing at each spot of natural cover to survey their surroundings. They had been on the move since late the night before, not stopping to rest, but only one of them was beginning to grow hungry.
At the next thicket, both dropped low to the ground as they had done dozens of times in the last few hours. One of them slowly raised his head until his eyes could see just over the thorny branches that concealed them. He slowly scanned the woods through which they had just come, his ears listening for any sound other than what nature made, but no sound came. There was no indication that they were being followed, at least not closely.
The man, a human originally from Stormwind, dropped back down to the ground and looked at his companion. It took some effort for him not to flinch at the other's appearance, still somewhat unsettling despite the days they had known each other. A human in life, he had lost most of his hair; his eyes, now dark and cold, seemed to sink back into their sockets; and his skin peeled away from muscle and bone on his arms and legs. The Scourge plague had ravaged the man' body in life, and even in death seemed to consume it. Though he walked and talked, he was anything but alive. The irony of their situation was on both men's minds. For the last several months, the living one had spent his time scouting out positions and strength of the Scourge armies that yet remained in Lordaeron. Like the soldiers around him, every day was spent finding ways to combat the Undead and drive them from the land. The dead one had been a simple man in life, a baker in Hearthglen who left a wife and young child behind, saved because of an impromptu visit to her parents in Hillsbrad. A month ago, had they encountered each other, a fight to the death surely would have taken place. But things had changed since then, changed in ways neither of them likely could have predicted.
With a look, the undead man indicated he was ready to continue, and the pair moved on.
Only once did they encounter any Scarlet Crusaders, and the living man decided the soldiers were ignorant of the pair's escape. But word of betrayal and treason would surely spread quickly, and the Crusaders' superiors would surely exert no small effort to find and recapture the man and the near-skeleton who traveled with him. Escape from their makeshift prison had been simple enough; now if only their luck would hold until they reached their destination.
They had decided to head for Brill. In the past months, many undead had been able to break away from the Scourge armies, having somehow regained their free will and mental independence. These newly-free undead had taken over much of western Lordaeron, setting the former human capital city as the heart of their new kingdom. It was toward these lands the two travelers hurried; both had decided that if the walking dead were to find refuge, it would be among these his kin.
They reached the southern tip of Brightwater Lake near mid-day and rested among some rocks near the water before continuing on. Their luck in avoiding Scarlet patrollers held, though neither was too too surprised. The closer they got to Brill and the undead territory, the smaller any Scarlet Crusade presence would be. After resting for an hour or so, the pair moved on, almost as silent as the dying trees around them.

*****

Miles away, to the northeast, a Scarlet captain let out a frustrated breath and gritted his teeth.
Escaped. The man against whom he had dedicated much of his energy over the last two months had escaped. Worse still, he had rescued one of them, one of the thousands of abominations against whom the captain and his men fought every day. The scope of this blasphemy, this affront to the Light was enough to clench the captain's fists. By sheer will he kept himself from sweeping everything off the table in a child-like tantrum, but he was close.
For weeks, this man, this traitor, had been lacking in his faith and dedication to the most holy cause of removing the Scourge from the land. Few knew of the man's doubts, but the captain had his sources. He had known, and had assigned several of his best men to finding evidence of the man's growing betrayal.
Betrayal? Despite his rage, the captain wondered if that was too harsh a word. After all, it wasn't as though the man had killed any Crusaders or attacked any holdings. But that thought quickly left, as the captain decided the man truly was a traitor. He had been taken in by the Crusade and give responsibility, not to mention safety and security. And how did he repay the Crusade? By questioning their motives, their methods, perhaps even their very beliefs.
Yes, the captain told himself, the man was a traitor, a heretic, and deserved the extent of justice that the Scarlet Crusade could give out. Especially in light of the revelation that he had helped an abomination, an affront to life and the Light itself, escape the justice that it deserved.
But by now they were far away, likely out of reach of his soldiers and patrols. That didn't matter, the captain assured himself. He had his sources outside the Crusade as well, and he would have them keep their eyes open. A man like this would know how to hide, but even he wouldn't be able to keep the mark they'd given him from everyone.
The captain smiled. It would take time for this man, this heretic, to face justice. But the captain was a patient man, and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

*****

Two floors above him, a young woman wrote feverishly, trying to finish the letter she had started the day before. She had managed to secure one of the messenger pigeons used to carry missives to and from the other Crusade bastions scattered about what remained of Lordaeron, now called the Plaguelands. But she'd had to do so secretly: here at the Monastery, she enjoyed some level of influence, but if anyone knew to whom she wrote, it would raise eyebrows and unwanted questions.

She had been torn about the whole thing, wanting to do the right thing but wondering exactly what that was. Her heart tugged against her mind, and she had lost sleep over it. But fortunately he had made the choice for her, and in a way that kept her safe. And now, she wanted to thank him and wish him well.

My greatest worry is that our paths will never cross again, for I feel I won't leave any time soon, and I am sure you have no plans to return. My prayer is that the Light may see you safely to your destination and guide you to your destiny. Know that I love you and care for you, despite the different way in which we see things. I hope sincerely that we will see each other again.

Light be with you.

Signing the letter, she rolled it up and tied it with a small purple ribbon. She went over to the window where the pigeon waited patiently and secured the small roll to its leg. Using her training to communicate the letter's intended destination to the bird, she released it into the twilight, praying silently that it would find its way south in safety. Wiping a tear from her eye, she left her room quickly, rushing to avoid being late to worship service.

*****

The pair reached the borders of Brill shortly after dawn on the second day since their escape. They worked their way south to the main road leading into the town, where they decided the dead man would have the best chance of encountering those like him without appearing suspicious.
The two parted ways, each wishing the other luck. After that, no words were said as the undead began walking toward Brill. After he was out of sight, the other man followed him at a distance. He simply wanted to make sure his companion of the last few days would be okay. He marveled to himself that he should be so concerned for one whom he earlier would have considered an enemy. But they had become something akin to friends, and he wanted to be sure his friend was safe.
He had little to worry about. Though the patrolmen had been a bit wary at first, after learning the undead man was like them- raised from the dead yet free from the Scourge- they sent him along with a runner to Brill, where he would be taken care of.
The man who yet lived waited until his companion was out of sight again, then began working his way southeast. Where his ultimate destination lay, he didn't know. He rubbed the mark on his forearm that marked him as a traitor- that he would have to keep hidden if he wanted to associate with normal society. He wasn't sure what would happen if anyone saw it, what they would think, or if they would give him a chance to explain. He wasn't even sure where he could live and keep his secret indefinitely.
For now he would return to the Hinterlands, to the place where more than any other he felt at home; where he might, for the first time in months, feel truly safe.

Update on the Update

Okay, forget the update I added to yesterday's post. Tien will still be the main family's last name. Nikolas will have a different name change later. Stay tuned. And forget the name Gavalan. For now.

The Main Character- A History, Part V: Change

The Monastery in the Tirisfal Glades (image from www.toomanyannas.com)

UPDATE: Change Nikolas' last name (and that of his family) to Gavalan. Altus Galavan, Naya Galavan, Katia Galavan, and Nikolas Galavan. Why Galavan? Two reasons: a) it's a mix of the words gallant, valor and valiant, words that describe the family; and b) Nikolas will use the name "Tien" as a nom de usage/alias later on. Okay, back to the back story action.

As I traveled north toward the Tirisfal Glades, I learned at taverns and inns much about what had happened since Stratholme and Darrowshire. In his quest against the Scourge and its leaders, Arthas followed a demon named Mal'Ganis to Northrend, a frozen wasteland continent at the roof of the world. It turned out the Scourge had been created by demons not of this world. There, in Northrend, something happened to the prince that made him lose his mind and actually side with the Scourge. He returned, murdered his father, and disappeared as quickly as he had returned, leaving his people to watch the kingdom to which Arthas had been heir fell apart.

Uther Lightbringer, Arthas' teacher and friend, had parted ways with the prince at Stratholme, refusing to slaughter innocent people. Much of Lordaeron's army followed Uther, including Arthas' close friend, a sorceress named Jaina Proudmoore. When Arthas reappeared following his father's murder, he somehow had allied himself with the Scourge. Commanding its agents, he confronted Uther at Andorhal and slew his former teacher. That left Jaina in command of the Lordaeron armies. Reports are that she followed the advice of some mystical advisor and took the armies west, across the sea, to Kalimdor. The Scourge, led by its demon masters, followed them to that distant land.

Reports came back to the Eastern Kingdoms that the Scourge met a major defeat at a place called Mount Hyjal, and that somehow the spirits of the earth itself had risen up and vanquished the Undead masters. It was evident, though, that the Scourge was far from finished. They still held much of Lordaeron; they had all but decimated the high elves that lived north of Lordaeron; and rumors spread that Arthas had survived and taken command of the Undead. What his plan was, no one exactly knew. But the Scourge fought on, continuing their attempts to wipe out the living.

The remnants of Lordaeron's armies had rallied behind leaders from the Silver Hand, great warriors like Alexandros Mograine and Taelan Fordring. They renamed their forces the Scarlet Crusade, and concentrated their defenses in and around major cities and locations that hadn't fallen to the Scourge: Tyr's Hand, Hearthglen, Northridge, the Monastery, New Avalon and Havenshire served as the main bases of operations. Other large cities, like Andorhal and Stratholme had fallen under Scourge control. Outside of Lordaeron, the Scourge had begun to push eastward into the vast forests of Silverpine; beyond that, it appeared that the Scourge had little or no presence. That gave me comfort, knowing that my mother would be safe far to the south in Stormwind, and that my friends in the Hinterlands were safe for the moment.

From Southshore, I made my way north to the Tirisfal Glades, which I found had also been overrun by the Scourge. It took time, staying hidden and avoiding roads, but I finally reached the Monastery (now called the Scarlet Monastery in honor of the Scarlet Crusade). Staunch defense by Alliance soldiers had kept the sanctuary safe, and as I approached I felt heartened. That feeling quickly left, though, as I came upon the guards watching the path to the Monastery. From the onset, I felt they were treating me with suspicion, as though I were an enemy. I told them I wanted to see Katia Tien, and they recognized the name, but wouldn't let me pass. Instead, they sent a runner to fetch my sister and bring her to us.

It had been some years since we'd seen each other, but with Father's death, our reunion was bittersweet. We embraced, happy to see each other well. Katia told the guards I was to be trusted, and took me on into the Monastery. She introduced me to her mentor, a priestess named Sally Whitemane. Katia was one of Whitemane's better students, and was quickly becoming a talented priestess whose ability to use the Light's power would soon match Father's own skill. Whitemane immediately struck me as a strong and determined woman- she had a fierce but cold beauty; her gaze seemed to me as it were ice. I met in her the same distant quality, the same suspicion as the guards. She was cordial, but my welcome was anything but warm.

Honoring Father's wish, I tried to convince Katia to leave for the south. But true to the stubbornness she got from Father, Katia refused. She told me of all that the Scourge had done: how they had taken over the overwhelming majority of Lordaeron, how the capital city was an empty shell, and how the Scourge had somehow managed to destroy the entire wizard city of Dalaran. She said the remaining armies of Lordaeron were determined to hold on to that which they still had, and try and reclaim the land from the Scourge. Nothing I said dissuaded her from her intention to stay and fight. Feeling responsible for her safety, I decided to stay and keep an eye on her. I offered my scouting services to Renault Mograine, leader of the martial forces at the Monastery. Katia vouched for my intergrity and trustworthiness, and Mograine reluctantly agreed.

While Katia and the other clerics at the Monastery worked on new ways to fight the Scourge, my time was spent scouting Undead positions in the Tirisfal Glades. My job was to report their movements, numbers, and any arming or building up of defenses. I also worked as a messenger of sorts, taking messages and news from the Monastery through the mountains to Hearthglen and back. It was somewhat mundane work most of the time, but it allowed me to keep an eye on Katia.

The more I spent time among the Crusade soldiers, the more I became concerned at what the armies of Lordaeron ws becoming. I can find no better description than to say that a kind of darkness or gloominess was evident in their very countenances, as if a blackness lay within, hidden by their proclaimed devotion to the Light. This was most evident in the leadership, people like Whitemane and Mograine.

As I listened to soldiers' conversations and sermons from Crusade priests, I began to gather what had happened to Lordaeron's armies. Their intent of driving the Scourge from the land, even from existence, had been firm from the beginning. But the Scourge never seemed to weaken, and despair began to settle in the hearts and minds of the Crusaders. Despair turned to fear, fear turned to paranoia, paranoia turned to fanaticism.

That paranoia began to consume the Crusade- where at first they viewed the Scourge as their primary enemy, they soon began to distrust those of all different races. Even long-time allies, like the dwarves or high elves, were viewed with suspicion. The Crusade had essentially isolated themselves from everyone that wasn't human.

But I soon learned the problem didn't stop there.

As the weeks wore on, the Crusade's suspicion began to spread to everyone who wasn't part of the Crusade. Outsiders, human or otherwise, were treated as hostile unless they could prove their loyalty. The effect was that those outside the Crusade began to view the Crusaders as fanatics, zealots and extremists. Some began to publicly question the motives and actions of the Crusade and its leaders. These were imprisoned, if possible, by the Crusade, deemed to be a danger to both morale and security. I began to have my doubts, but was careful to keep them to only myself. Even my sister was unaware of my growing concern; if confronted, I would blame grief for Father's death.

As it is, I must now tread lightly on a daily basis. I am glad that my only work lies in scouting and reporting Scourge locations and numbers. I thank the Light that I am outside the Scarlet bastions most of the time, for despite the constant presence of the Undead in Lordaeron, I still feel peace in the forests.

I do not know, however, that I can stay too much longer, if the Crusade continues to fall further into paranoia and despair, even madness. For now, I will watch and wait, hoping things get better before they become worse. For now, Katia is safe; Mother is safe; and I am alive. That is enough.

High Inquisitor Isillien, leader in the Scarlet Crusade (image from www.wowwiki.com)