The best of intentions...The worst of consequences - By Vaknor

Vaknor leant heavily on his staff as he made his way up the stairs of the cathedral. Eager neophytes rushed to make their greetings as he entered but he had no time for them this eve. He knew how they really viewed him; old, tired, weary of war. He had heard the whispers amongst his younger siblings of the light. They thought him lost in dementia, obsessed with his own personal war on the darkness. Let them believe what they wanted, he cared not.
Vaknor slipped into the back of the main chamber, upon the dais clad in his white garments stood Evangelist delivering a rousing sermon. Now there was a paladin the young ones loved, ‘Order Champion’, ‘Horde-Bane’, the ‘Scion of the Light’. Bah. He could not blame his brother for he loved him dearly. They had fought side by side until recent years where Vaknor had been forced into study. How he envied his adulation. The initiates all longed to be like him, champions.... Little did they know that whilst Brother Evangelist fought the foe on the battlefield, Vaknor fought them in his own way.
His staff glowed brighter as he made his way into the side cloisters, sister Penitence sat polishing her plate and greeted him in her usual fashion;
“Greetings, you old grumpy bastard,” She smiled a cheeky smile that brought light even to his old and creased features.
“And to you sister, do you have what I asked of you?” Vaknor replied with the slightest smile. It felt good to be in the company of a woman, even one of his sisters. It reminded him of simpler times..
“I have brother, I gathered the tears and black lotus as you requested but for what do you need them?”
“I am brewing a simple potion to aid me in my studies sister. I will give you the recipe should it be a success.” She chuckled to herself;
“Ah Vak’, will you always lurk in the shadows of the light? Keeping secrets from your family?” She smiled a sad smile,
“I do as I must sister, thank you for these.” He bowed slightly and made his way back out into the dimly lit cathedral.

It was late, the sun was down and the time was almost at hand. The old man had spared no preparation. He made his way into the depths of the cathedral, down through the mausoleum. Down into the heart of the earth, the secret doorway was there as always invisible to any who didn’t carry his torch of retribution, or any who didn’t carry his consent to enter. He tapped the tip of his staff against the door and it opened.

“Hello Merri’.” Vaknor whispered stopping in front of the entrance.
“Damn it old man, I thought you old enough to be half blind and deaf by now?” He turned to see the leather clad rogue behind him swathed in shadow and darkness.
“Age has nothing to do with it, I know you girl, curious too curious for your own good.” He sighed. “Did you manage to obtain the target without resistance?”
“It wasn’t easy, almost had half the Undercity on my ass getting it out of there.”
“But it’s alive?” She lost all mirth,
“Alive as it could be.” Sorrow filled her eyes.
“You will be paid in the usual way, you know how it works..”
“Be quiet old man, I’m a professional. Your filthy works will be our little secret.” With that she melded back into the shadow and left him.
The culminations of his efforts were at hand. His heart beat faster in excitement as he opened the door into his sanctum he could smell the taint of the being Merrideath had left there. He heard its sobs. It was Pathetic.

His sanctum was known only to himself and brother Macloren, and brother Macloren did not delve too deeply into what Vaknor practiced down here, all he knew was his mandates came from high bishop Benedict, which was enough for the Lord Militant. It was a simple stone chamber, in its centre lay a wooden bench and bound upon that was a child. An Unforgiven child. It writhed against its shackles, whimpering in its dark tongue. He hated it. He fought down the urge to smash its puny skull to pulp.

He mixed the Arthas tears and black lotus with the potion he had been brewing. A puff of smoke choked the small chamber and the low candle-light seemed to almost go out. The things head turned to look at him with black eyes, this thing had once been a pawn of the Liche-king, a member of the scourge. How many of his brothers and sisters had fallen pushing back their vile ranks. People claimed that these ‘Unforgiven’ were different but he cared not. This was science as much as faith and could prove to be the saving of all of them.

Vaknor pulled the warmth of the light into his heart tugging upon the energy of the brothers in the sermon taking place several floors above his head. He spread a consecrated circle of light around the child. It burned, screaming. The chamber had been sound proofed long ago.. This was not the first time he had attempted his experiments.
He grabbed the child’s rotted flesh and yanked open its jaw, pouring the liquid concoction down its vile throat he recited the litanies of the 'Lightbearer'. Light filled the room as the potion worked its way down her gullet.
“Yes! It’s working!” Vaknor watched as the rot peeled back from the child’s face as she was transformed back to the child she had once been. The ritual came to a close and the child sat up against her shackles.
“What…What have you done to me?” She stuttered in a broken voice.
“I have freed you my child, finally your people will be free.” The glorious light cascaded about him falling like snow around the room, Vaknor’s heart filled with joy. He had cured the scourge..

Darkness fell instantly over the room.
“What, what is happening?!” Vaknor pleaded with the darkness. The darkness around him whispered in his mind;
“Fool, you really think your petty conjuring can defeat the powers of undeath?”
“Who… What… are you??” The room was filled with the sound of ripping flesh.
“I am he who is death, this one may have escaped my grasp with the rest of her cursed kin but you opened her up to my powers, your cure did nothing more than empower me to her.” The shadows boomed with laughter and Vaknor was launched across the room slamming into the hard stone wall. He came too moments later, the only light in the chamber was cast across the floor by his torch of retribution. The secret door was caved in and blood lined the walls of his chamber.
“What have I done?” Vaknor pulled himself to his feet and started down the corridor after whatever was left of the girl, his spine felt broken, his limbs bent. He was the old fool they had always claimed. He let his ambitions cloud his mind, his goals out weighed the consequences... He heard screaming for the corridors above.


Half running, half stumbling he fell into the main abbey. The beast that had been the girl was a monstrosity now. It reared on tentacle legs and its maw was filled with giant dagger like teeth. It was plowing through the assembled brothers, killing as it went. The elder brothers broke for the weapons hold at the entrance of the church Lord Macloren leading the way but the younger initiates were being cut down without mercy.

“Stop! I can still save you!” Vaknor screamed at the beast, it turned at him and started to charge. It swung in with a slimy tentacle and smashed him from his feet. He was hurt but he would not let this beast kill anymore of his brothers.
“Fine! I swear by the blood of my brothers spilt upon this floor that I will spend the rest of my days destroying your kind! Damnation upon you all!” He screamed through tears and felt the light well in his hands. It charged him teeth bared.
“Die.” He whispered to himself. Vaknor unleashed a bolt of pure holy power at the undead beast, it squealed in pain as it was blinded. It was not enough. The beast ploughed into Vaknor crushing him. They both lay on the floor of the cathedral, broken and blood soaked. The last thing Vaknor heard as he lost consciousness was his brothers;
“For Illumination!” The cry reverberated around the high ceilings as they set about the beast. He saw Lord militant Macloren land a thunderous blow to the beast’s skull and watched as its head imploded. He blacked out.

“Sister Penitence, will he recover?” Macloren leant over the broken frame of the old man.
“Aye brother, what state he will be in is yet to be seen.” She mused.
“Wake him and leave us sister.” His voice had dropped to a low menacing tone.


Light started to fill his vision, his body hurt, his soul hurt but what hurt most was the look in his brothers single remaining eye. Macloren stood by his bedside and in a low tone spoke.

“Tell me… Tell me why five initiates are dead. Tell me… Tell me why the church has been defiled by the vile undead. Tell me brother, why I should let you live.” The usual mirth in Macloren’s voice was gone, all Vaknor could see was anger.
“I am sorry brother.” Tears streaked the old mans face. “It was for the good of us all.”
“Good?! Good?! How can this be good! Men are dead! My men!” Macloren looked as if he wanted to take the nearest object and cave his old friends head in.
“The only reason you are still alive is because you are an old friend Vaknor, don’t make me change my mind. Talk, quickly and plainly.”
“What I tell you is of utmost secrecy and came from the office of Arch-bishop Benedict. I was charged with concocting a cure to the rot that afflicts our land.” Vaknor’s voice was broken and he explained his tale through tears.
“I thought I had done it. I thought I had come up with a cure to one of the biggest threats to our lands. I employed a hired blade to capture a child from the Undercity. The cure worked! I swear to you brother, for a moment the plague of undeath was lifted. Then the Liche-king made his claim on her, all I had done was open her up to the ravages of his power. She turned, and the rest you know.”

Macloren sat on the bed beside him,
“She was human again brother?”
“Aye, for but a moment, I swear this to you brother.”
Macloren stood and stared at the pitiful old man, he had tried to do something that was beyond belief. His brother had tried to cure undeath; all he had done was sow death amongst his brothers. His heart felt heavy for the burden his brother now carried.
“There will be enquiries; I can not speak of what the Arch-bishop will do.”
“I understand brother. I accept any fate that is bestowed upon me.” Vaknor cringed in pain as he tried to sit up.
“You are hereby put back on active duty. I want you out of here and in the field, you are my brother and I love you dearly but I cannot bear to look upon you. Once you are well enough to you will leave the cloister and take a tour of penance. I will call for you once I have consulted the Arch-bishop.”
He got up to leave turning back to look in the old mans sad eyes,
“You really managed to cure her?”
“Yes my brother.”
Macloren’s eye glazed over as he dreamt of a land free of the scourge.
“A shame you did not succeed old friend…A shame.”
Macloren shut the door of the room plunging Vaknor once again into darkness.