Saying farewell- written by Cartheron

There was, Renwick noted, something to be said for the ability of Mother Nature to render even the most traumatised lands serene and beautiful. Looking down the valley at the small township of Valens Smith, buried as it was deep in the north-western mountains of the Hillsbrad Foothills, it was hard to visualise the slaughter that had occured here not 3 days hence. A light drift of snow had settled on the township and the surrounding hills, more swirling in the air as if Kalimdor itself wanted to keep the truth hidden away.
Still, such half hearted attempts to avert the scrutiny of the three who rode with Renwick would not work. Theirs was the clarity of purpose that would not and could not be turned away and they would allow nothing to stand in their way. They sat astride their chargers, immobile and impassive, carved out of stone for all the emotion and movement they showed. Only the slight golden motes of light that circled their horses and the occasional rustle of chain and plate proved that they were men, flesh and blood, as real as Renwick himself. Even so, he wasnt sure that they were entirely human.

"This is the place. The child was released at the entrance of the valley and left to wander. Sheer blind luck that the prospector found him and brought him in before the lions got him. Or worse. Otherwise we wouldnt have known for days yet.
Renwick leaned over the neck of his ageing grey mare and spat.
"Poor bastard was raving. Only a child and his mind broken already."

Finally, some response. The woman edged her charger forward. Barding clinked softly and the morning suns light glinted in her eyes, startlingly blue. Not bad looking, if Renwick was honest, her figure honed and tautened through years of combat, athletic and trim. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her eyes in battle. Hard to imagine her swinging that massive mace slung on her back, but there was something in her eyes that made you think twice about it. She'd seen things alright, things Renwick didnt even want to think about. Penitence, she'd said her name was.
"The child is young. He will heal, given time."
Her voice was soft yet firm and possessed a quality that made you believe her, made you accept that she was right and that everything was going to be ok. The child had certainly listened, not even a whisper had escaped him since she had spoken to him.

Renwick grunted and nudged his horse onwards with his knees down the path that lead to the township. Paragons of virtue they may be but there was something not quite right about them. Something about them suggested an otherworldlyness, as if they werent entirely human. Take the stocky one, called himself Macloren. Looked decent enough, like he'd enjoy a nights drinking, and by the build of him he certainly looked like he could hold his drink. But look closer, actually look at him, into his eyes and again there was something there. Something just below the surface - a furnace of anger, of righteousness, of the need to hurt someone, something, for its sins. And judging by the ease with which he hefted that axe, this Macloren had certainly done his fair share of cleansing.
Further down the path now, the township starting to take shape before them in the swirls of snow. Outlying houses, fences, all dusted with a white that was now turning a dirty grey, as if the ground itself was tainted. They drew to a halt at the outskirts of the town and dismounted, Renwick circling his shoulders and easing out the cramps and aches of the ride up here. The others showed no such discomfort, no grimaces crossed their faces, no memories of old wounds haunted their movements.
"Bastards" Renwick muttered and spat in the ground again. The third of them looked over and Renwick felt a chill run down his spine. Of all of them, this was the one that best epitomised the difference between them and normal folk. He even looked like an angel, all cheekbones and long hair, eyes that had all the girls swooning and he moved with such grace. But still. Something there was undeniably different, as though his long exposure to the Light and changed him in some basic way. Renwick wasnt even sure that he could be coulnted as fully human anymore, there seemed to be so much of the light in him He had said his name was Evangelist, Scion of the Light. Looking at him you could well believe that angels had once walked the lands of Kalimdor.

The snow now was falling all around them, settling on Renwicks battered felt hat and the massive plate clad shoulders of the Templars. Strange though, it was cold but not at all wet. Renwick raised his face to the sky and let the flakes fall on his face, into his open mouth and catching them on his tongue like he used to as a child. It was then that Evangelist spoke.

"Ash. The inhabitents of Valens Smith. They have been burnt to ash."

And even though his voice sounded like an angels, like the beautiful Truth of the Light made real, it couldnt stop Renwick faling to his hands and knees and vomiting until his stomach muscles cramped.

The remains of the townsfolk of Valens Smith had finally settled, coming to rest in the town in a mockery of the lives they had once dreamed of having there. The ash lay inches thick on the township and Renwick knew that none of the townsfolk had survived save the child. Again he rinsed his mouth with stale water from his flask and spat. Half of it gone and he still couldn't get the taste out of his mouth. His stomach muscles ached from repeated vomiting, his guts left hollow and throat burned raw by bile. He didn't want to know what had happened here, didn't need to know what had reduced a hundred or so townsfolk to dust. Renwick already had a lifetime of bad memories and wasn't looking to add to that collection. The paladins stood loosely grouped just outside the doorway Renwick had crouched in, seemingly unaffected by their sickening surroundings. They spoke quietly and though Renwick could have strained to overhear their words he couldn't bring himself to. He didn't want to get any closer or become any more involved in the atrocity that Valens Smith had become. whatever had happened here, it was their problem now and they could deal with it, leave him to crawl back into his memories with a bottle of South Shores finest.
A shadow fell over him and from the corner of his eye he saw plate boots, their gleam dulled by a fine layer of ash. Renwick kept his eyes down, whatever they planned to do, he had no part in it, his job was done.

'Stir yourself. we must find the church.'
Macloren stood over him like some dread sentinel, the axe still slung over his back.
'Not me, oh no. I'm done here. You and your friends can grub around all you want, I don't want any further part of this'
'What happened here must be answered. There must be a record of what we find, to show that we speak the truth. You must witness'
'Witness? Witness what? This town is dead, everyone is dead, what more do you need? Leave me be and find your own answers.'
'Tulen Renwick. You misunderstand. You are not requested to witness. You have no choice here, You have a part to play whether it suits you or not. The Light has chosen you to be here, in this place at this time. You are the witness'
'Godsdamn you paladin I said no! I aint chosen, I aint special and there is no way im staying in this cursed place any longer.'

Renwick struggled to his feet, shivering slightly in the chill morning air. He stared out across the township with its dusting of ash, looking for all the world like a winters day. Abandoned carts and possesions were strewn about, some half buried and it was clear that whatever fate had befallen the townsfolk they hadnt been expecting it. A few slow steps took him past the glowering form of Macloren. The paladin didnt move but Renwick could feel his eyes upon him. They didnt understand, couldnt understand that no normal person could be here, could see this and know what happened and not be sickened. He would be left tainted forever, the sight of this place a stain on his memories for years to come. The scuffing paces took him to the side of a wagon lying abandoned in the middle of the dirt track. The bed was full of ash, humps and dips suggesting what lay beneath. Some compulsion made Renwick reach out hesistantly and brush the ash aside. Slowly he picked up what had lain below. Achilds rag doll. Crudely made but all the more endearing for that, stiched together from scraps of leather and wool and hide by some loving new mother for her child. Something broke inside him, something fundamental needed to hold his sanity together and Renwick could feel himself falling, feel his mind and soul breaking under the enormity, the certainty of what had happened here.
'Oh gods........children' barely a whisper, but it was enough to open the floodgates in his mind..

'Tulen, look at me please. Please.' A womans voice, soft and gentle and a hand on his shoulder. It was bare and Renwick could feel the warmth of it spreading slowly through him, pushing out the chill that had settled into his bones. He turned and looked into penitences clear bright blue eyes. There was something dancing deep within her eyes, a small mote of golden light and suddenly Renwick could feel the darkness receding, feel his soul and mind mending. For the first time in many years he felt .... comforted, almost safe. Penitence spoke again softly, her breath warm and slightly spiced.
'Forgive macloren. The Fist of Retribution sometimes forgets what it is to be untouched by the light. He merely seeks to repay whoever has committed this atrocity in kind, to answer the pleas of the townsfolk.'
'What....I..I dont understand, what pleas? Theres no one here to speak....I..'
A sad smile crooked the corners of her mouth and she inclined her head towards Evangelist.
'Our brother is closer to the light than any of us. He hears the cries of every soul that died here. Every soul Tulen. All 157 of them, men, women and children. They cling to him crying out for help, for solace. And all he can do is listen.'

Renwick looked at the third paladin. He stood like a statue in the centre of the square, face turned upwards as if seeking benediction. He had not moved, had not spoken and his face was a mask of the deepest grief. Penitence spoke again in the same soft tone.
'Three of our order were also here. Their voices cannot be heard amongst the dead and we cannot feel their presence. We would find them and the truth of what occured here. And then we would answer it. We know what it is to feel fear, to be unable to do anything in the face of such horror. We just ask that you stay with us, stay with us and be our witness. Another voice must speak for them, must carry their story back to the world.'
He looked at each of them in turn. Penitence, her face composed yet caring. Macloren, tensed like a coiled spring, grim determination set in his face. And Evangelist, grief etched deep into his face but twinned with unshakeable resolve. Deep inside something stirred, some urge, a voice that said yes, this must be answered and Renwick found himself nodding in agreement. His resolve grew, shaky at first but gaining in strength, to see this through to its bitter end for better or worse. He turned back to Penitence.
'All right then. For them though, only for them.'
She smiled fully then, dazzingly bright and for a moment seemed to glow from within.
'Come then Tulen. Find us the chapel. A good as place as any to start dont you think?'

A quick look around to orientate himself, and Renwick knew which direction to head. He passed Macloren and the immense paladin gave him a nod, as if acknowledging the force and strength of will it had taken to take those few steps. There were no tracks to follow, no signs to read and interpret and if there had been three other paladins here they had not left any sign of their presence. They strode between half built and freshly finished houses clustered on either side. Valens Smith would have been a large settlement, easily twice the size of Andorhal to the northeast. Doubtfull that anyone else would settle here though, surely none want to make a life in the midst of so much death. Still though, for all its size Valens Smith was organised in a the same layout as many other towns in the Eastern Kingdoms and the chapel was simple enough to find. It stood ahead of them, set aside from the surrounding buildings by a low wall and courtyard. the foundations and walls were built of pale grey stone and possessed a strength that belied their fragile appearance. the roof was low and wide with a small unfinished bell tower that would ever more await the installation of its voice. The doorway was merely an archway open, no doors hung there yet and it was decorated on all sides with simple carvings of the holy symbols of the gods.
They entered the courtyard and stopped just inside the embrace of its walls. An unspoken agreement had brought them to a halt and a sense of unease had settled on Renwick, a vague idea that something was fundamentally wrong here. He looked about, not knowing what to look for but seraching for something, anything that explain the fingers of dread creeping down his spine. And then...he saw.

The ground around them was clear. Not a single flake of ash had fallen inside the church boundaries, even the ash which had dusted Renwick and the others had simply disappeared. The empty space were the gate in the wall should have stood showed a clear unnatural line of ash, stopping exactly on the boundary of the church grounds.
'This...this isnt right......' he stammered and wildly looked to Penitence. She was staring aghast at Evangelist, her eyes wide in shock. The paldin stood with his hand up covering his lower face. Some dark fluid had dripped onto his tabard, staining the pure white material. Evangelist moved his hand away and Renwick gave an involuntary cry. A stream of blood coursed from Evangelists nose, running down over his mouth and driping from his chin. He looked at his gauntled hand, the blood thick there, as if he couldnt quite beleive that it was his own.
'By the light.....' Renwick managed to murmer, his voice low and fearful, 'what in all the gods names happened here?'

They rode back to Southshore in silence. Not one word was uttered and when they finally reached the town and the Templars left on the Griffons that would carry them back to Stormwind, Macloren and Evangelist flew without a backward glance. Only Penitence stayed for a moment, sorrow still lingering in her eyes and a hand laid gently on Renwicks shoulder.
'Just ...remember' she said, staring into his eyes. He nodded and she was gone, borne away in a flurry of feathers. She had asked him only to remember and as Renwick turned and took in the life and bustle of Southshore that surrounded him, he wondered how he could do anything but remember what he had seen.

By the time they had crossed the threshold into the church all of the Templars were bleeding from somewhere. Macloren had coughed and spat, a red bloody mess that had stained the ground and Evangelists nose had continued a steady stream of blood. Penitence bore red tracks on her face where small tears of blood had wound their path down from her eyes. He was the only one not bleeding but still Renwick felt ill and pained, his muscles cramping in rhythm and bile forcing its way up his throat. They had approached the open doorway cautiously, as if expecting attack at any moment, the two men leading and Penitence staying slightly back. Renwick had opted to stay by her side, any small curiousity overwhelmed by a feeling of despair and the almost certain knowledge that he didn't really want to know what had happened here. They moved inside and there was a heart-stopping second where his eyes adjusted to the change in light and Renwick was blind. His vision quickly returned and he glanced all around, taking in as much of the church as he could in case some assassin lurked in its shadowy corners. The interior of the church was fairly standard, a long hall broken up by rough wooden pews leading to a raised dias with some sculpture at the far end. A small aperture to the left showed stairs rising to the unfinished bell-tower. Loose pamphlets and woodcuts littered the floor, as if some whirlwind had raged through here and pews were knocked askance. A small sound, a murmer from Penitence drew his searching gaze back. She stood rooted, hands clasped over her mouth as if afraid to make a sound and real tears joined the sanguine in rolling down her face. She stared at the far end of the church, to the figure that Renwick had dismissed as some carving of the towns patron god or hero. The other Templars were also seemingly memerised by the statue, Maclorens features shifting between grief and rage and Evangelists frozen in a mask of disbelief. Renwick took a step forward and looked closer at the statue, and suddenly sickeningly realised what he was looking at.

It was no statue. A man stood, no, was nailed to a beam of timber in some grotesque parody of sculpture, crude iron spikes driven through his arms, legs, torso and groin. He had been stripped and beaten, bones showed beneath the surface of his discoloured skin in jagged lumps, not quite where they should be.
'My gods...' Renwick whispered but something compelled him to look again, forced him to take in every gruesome detail. The man had an older, grizzled face, older by far than either of Renwicks companions but his true age was hard to determine through the damage inflicted. Special attention had been paid to the mans eyes, the ravaged empty sockets staring back accusingly at his new audience. The scale of damage was hard to take in, as if the mind could not comprehend the amount of punishment the body had taken or the strength of will needed to inflict it. Renwicks eyes took in everything, almost against his will, as deep inside something looked and analysed and concluded and screamed that this man, this poor unfortunate victim, had been alive when his limbs were broken, alive when his eyes were torn from their orbits and alive when the iron spikes had been driven through him, fastening him to the upright beam.

'Faith.....' Penitence whispered behind her hands 'it cant be...'
'I..no, I refuse to see this...' Macloren was visibly shaken, his hands clenching and unclenching unconsciously. Evangelist walked slowly forward as if in a trance, one hand outstrechted to the figure. He slowly lowered his hand gently onto the corpses forehead, as if offering a prayer or benediction. His hand rested for mere seconds on the unfortunates head then was snatched away as if it were red hot. He turned to the others, his angelic face ashen.
'Draylin. By the Light this is Draylin. Our brother has...fallen...'

There was an incohate bellow of anger and grief followed by the sound of wood splintering. Macloren visibly shook with rage and his eyes blazed with light. He was surrounded by the splintered remains of several pews. Penitence moved quickly and placed one hand on his armoured chest, incredibly seeming to restrain and reduce his rage with just a touch
'Brother, this is not the time or place...Patience.'

'You..you know this...this..' Renwick couldnt bring himself to say person, the wrecked physical shell left behind bore little resemblance to any living thing. It was hard to imagine that the end result of such hatred and cruelty could once have been a walking talking soul. His voice little more than a whisper, Evangelist replied,
'Aye. He was..is..Draylin. One of our Order, one of the oldest. He stood with us when the Order first held the line at Dagon fields. His sword was one of our strongest, one of our most resolute.'
I'm sorry' Words failed Renwick. What could you say to these inhuman warriors, that seemed so distant to normal people? What words could possibly bring solace to those touched by the Light?

'Apologies mean nothing damn you. We will have retribution for this. Bloody and hard, we shall have retribution' Macloren's fury was plain to see. Sorrow, it seemed, was not his way. Rage appeared to sustain him and allow him to deal with what he saw, the shattered remains of his comrade in arms, his Brother. The other two looked at each other for brief moments. then nodded sorrowfully.
'Aye. Retribution.'
Somehow it was more frightening to hear the words come from Penitence, to hear the steel behind them.


They had fired the church and watched it burn to the ground in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. The ash still lay heavily all around and Renwick fought his gorge with every breath. Once the shell of the church collapsed into a flaming mass the Paladins turned as one and started back towards the horses. Renwick kept pace, his mind struggling to keep a hold on all that he had seen, all he had witnessed. Just as they reached the edge of Valens Smith, before turning south-east for home, he found the courage to speak again.
'So...so what now? What next?'
There was no answer for a few moments, only the sound of the horses hooves on the packed earth of the track and the jingling of harness and plate. Then Evangelist spoke, his voice clear, calm and angelic.
'Now the Order rides to War, friend Tulen. Now we ride to retribution'

Thanks for this post really nice story

I am happy to see more alliance rp-ers in here