Conquest of the Horde

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You fucking traitor. Betrayer. Coward. After all I did for you, helped you, raised you back to life--you and your pathetic new "order" assault me like common bandits, with you as their ringleader. You could not even show your faces while you tossed your righteous hammers at me, fired your bolts at me. Cornering me in that house like I was an animal to be captured and tamed. You would not even wear your tabards, stealing the Crusade's instead.

So ran the thoughts of the odd priestess Annabelle Greene. Stripped, hog-tied, surrounded by her four captors in their chapter house. Beaten, bruised, and bloodied from the battle that brought her here. A knee rendered unusable.

One speaks. Cassius Palenix. Along with the taunts of the others, he tosses accusations of heresy, support of heresy, and endangering the lives of the citizens of Hearthglen. The morals and oaths she lives by, draws her power from questioned. She promptly spits sardonic venom back.

You have no idea what you've just unleashed.

Her defense of one necromancer is particularly questioned.

Tress. Tressian. Tresses--...heh. My cousin. They cannot get at you, so they go after me instead. They are children thinking themselves powerful by crushing the ants of a colony one at a time. Enjoying every twitch the tiny beings give as they end.

...Don. I'm so sorry I've gotten into such trouble since you're back. I'm sorry I make you worry. I love you.

Further banter, the priestess refusing to give into their fear and hate, though she knows there is next to no hope of her escaping this. While she is not silenced, she is in no condition to fend off three paladins, and one warrior.

Cassius grows tired of her resistance. He orders a particular member forth. A tank of a young man with green eyes, he grips her jaw.

Their eyes meet, green on violet. She catches a flicker of guilt beneath the hate and fear. Forgiveness flickers across her own, for this one man. She stills, accepting her fate, choosing dignity over the fight she knows they want to see.

There will be no forgiveness for this, Palenix. Justice, vengeance, there will be that. Perhaps mercy for your followers, frightened children that you lead.

But not for you, Palenix.

Not for--...

The man's iron-gripped hand suddenly closes, wrenching off her jaw, tossing it aside. The sudden shock quells any scream of pain. Mere seconds after, her skull is caved in by repeated beatings of the man's fists. He beats this heretic instead of the ghouls in his dark memories.


(04-05-2012, 10:41 PM)Cassius Wrote: [ -> ]The mountains of Alterac--layers of the ever present snow blanket the ground, but one could notice a tall silhouette against the white and gray. It did not appear to be a tree--No, it was far too short. As one would walk closer, the dark shape took a more solid form: that of a crucifix.

A stripped woman--still kept somewhat decent with her undergarments--with black-brown hair and paling olive skin hangs upon the wooden beams, her dark ponytail flapping constantly with the wind. Her once bright face covered with dry blood, and an iron mask covers her chin. Its positioning alludes to it almost trying to prevent the jaw from falling off.

For those who recognize the corpse they would eventually recognize the woman.

That woman being Annabelle Greene.

(04-06-2012, 12:31 AM)Ozewse Wrote: [ -> ]The cold winds beat, then calm. Beat, then calm. A small snow drift builds at the bottom of a pole in the ground, erected in the mountains of Alterac. As one might lift their gaze, they'd find it's a very special type of pole, used for nailing people to on the occasion of a rather tortuous death. Indeed, this crucifix is occupied; a young woman, her body in its twenties. Olive skin, scars from battle dotting and slashing her flesh. All old. What is new is the beaten in skull, and the lower face mask holding her jaw in place. Her skin has paled considerably, bruise-like discolorations forming at her feet. She is very cold and very still.

Ralerian passes over soft, icy powder. His bare feet, swathed in faded shadow, are untouched by the cold. Clasped in his hands, a bouquet of herbs and flowers held at his abdomen, like a bride at her wedding. He leans down, and with gentle fingers he plucks more herbs from the near-barren soil. As he draws near this atrocity, the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise, a feeling he was not at all used to in his profession. He flips back his hood in the icy wind, a tumble of crimson cascading about his shoulders and down his back. He looks cautiously from around a tree, curious, perhaps even cautious. He finally sets eyes upon Annabelle, a shock of green in his shadow widened at the sight. "Of all the humans to die an early death..."

Ralerian shakes his head slowly, looking about, gathering information as to who would attempt to kill -Annabelle- of all people.

Annabelle hangs there, snow settling upon her shoulders, what remains of her hair not crushed into her skull flapping in the wind. The Guardian may notice the remnants of heavy footprints--guarded by plate, the trail of the cross being dragged.

Ralerian lets his cool emerald gaze trail over those prints, only the faintest touch of emotion in their beryl lights. He brings his gaze up to Annabelle and mimics her place, arms out to the sides, palms facing out. He closes his eyes, that faint green light masked by lids of shadow. He drops his head, murmuring low in Thalassian. Moments pass like hours, the prayer wasn't short and was spoken with a grave solemnity that did not become his usual manner. He splays his fingers, pulling his arms back, and with them, the nails that held Anna's arms in that humiliating display of death-for-show.

They rocket from her, to be caught in Ralerian's outstretched arms. Her feet would find themselves freed thereafter, dropping the first ones, he ripped the next out with a violent sweep of his arms, up, then down.

Annabelle 's arms, stiffening by now, slip down to her sides. She starts to fall forward toward the snowy ground....

Sparing her the fall, she floats gently from her perch to his arms, where she is cradled as if she were but sleeping. His cloak whips out from behind him, covering her in whole with a shroud of midnight blackness.

Given some bit of dignity, her corpse floats to the shadowmancer, resting stiffly in his ghostly arms. Further secured, she might indeed be appearing asleep, were it not for her ruined face.

"It was not your time, my child. Of that I am certain.” Ralerian pauses for a moment. "Eagan! Come!"

A giant white wolf pads up through the snow, a simple saddle upon his back. Ralerian coos gently to it. "We're headed south."

In the Catacombs

Aryeon raps on the wrought iron door loudly, “Ralerian!! I've arrived! Open up!”

"It isn't locked, Aryeon."

Aryeon slams the doors open in a huff and strides in, “Where is Anna?! What has happened to her?!”

"Quiet down, I'm in no mood. She's just over there."

"No mood... bah!" Aryeon looks at Annabelle. “ ...” Aryeon kneels before Annabelle.

Ralerian gestures vaguely to the bed. "It isn't pretty. I don't suggest staring for long."

“Oh... dear Anna...”

"We are bringing her back."

“Where did you find her like this, Ralerian? Of course I'm bringing her back!”

"Alterac, nailed to a cross. I said we are bringing her back. I can't have you muddying up the job."

“... Muddying... you do realize who you speak to?! Remember who it was that saved your brother, Ralerian.”

Ralerian looks up at Aryeon with a stern, milk-curdling gaze. "Yes, my brother who just last week was able to walk again. I realize exactly who I'm speaking to."

Aryeon frowns and turns back to Anna. “Nailed to a cross... in Alterac? Who'd do that, so far out there...”

"Men, by the wounds. Armored men, by the tracks."

“Scarlets, maybe, but in the mountains? ... Bah. Time to worry about that later!”

"It could have been anyone who knew her, they might have done it as some sort of cruel irony."

Aryeon lets out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Ralerian pushes himself to his feet, stretching his toes in the process.

“Despicable... thank you for letting me know...

"We will kill them. Together."

“...” Aryeon does not reply to that.

Ralerian silently slips over. "Whether you like it, or not." He gazes over the covered corpse. "It is best to do it now, I think."

“Let us focus on the more urgent matter at hand. Every moment we waste is a moment her soul could slip further away.” Aryeon holds out his staff.

Ralerian reaches to take one of Aryeon's hands. "I said we." He seems very insistant.

“Do as you wish, Ralerian. Just let me do what I know what to do.” Aryeon lets Ralerian take hold of his hand.

Ralerian's cold, bony fingers are uncomfortable to hold. He bows his head and begins chanting -the- Thalassian prayer for ressurection. His voice becomes low and unnaturally deep, resonating in his chest and the air around him.

Aryeon begins chating in unison with Ralerian, his voice reverberating as the holy power builds within him. His chanting speech slips from Thalassian to holy tongues, a light building in his hands.

Ralerian's sorry excuse for Light is pallid white, sickly with a grey tinge as he pulls from the Sunwell and his own inner will. He slips into non-chordal tones as he begins chanting in shadow-tongues, something along the lines of balance and untimely deaths.

Aryeon's own Light radiates with absolute purity, its warmth filling the entire room as it emanates from the old elf's body. His eyes turn from their low fel green glow to a divine golden as he focues all of his power!

Ralerian 's shadow is only darkened by the brightness of Ary's flare, his eyes seeming to fade completely as Shade clasps hands with Paragon. He emanates with nothing, the only force emitted from him is a clawed hand that reaches through the Light to grasp a certain Little Lantern and drag it down into it's rightful place.

While Aryeon's healing divinity mends her body and opens the way for her Lantern of a soul, Ralerian's willful claw grabs at it and keeps it in place. The Guardian might feel the burning sting of betrayal and its resulting fury in the little ball of hope that is Annabelle's essence.

Aryeon's voice resonates with an unearthly, divine sound. It is booming yet meek, commanding yet obedient, horrifying but all too comforting. He waves his stave over the girl's body before him, Light charging into the flesh.

“Do not resist the Light of life, lost soul! The shadow is not for you yet! Let the Light guide you back to your flesh! Body and soul together once more!”

Annabelle's face slowly restores, the outline of the caving in white-hot with divinity. The absence shrinking.

Ralerian's chant is low, discreet and yet ever lurking around the booming prayers that fill the room. "Come my child, your time has not yet passed... The Shadow is not for you yet." He seems to speak in unison on that line. "The cold grasp is not yet upon Ralerian you..."

Aryeon stands at the pinnacle of the storm of Light, it radiating from every part of his body now. He stands unphased among it all, stalwart in his prayers. “Breathe... let your lungs take in new life... breathe...”

Annabelle's face's flesh, and bone build and build. The brain in her skull remakes itself with the Light's guidance. Other wounds have by now far mended. Once the last freckle is upon her cheek, one assumes Ralerian's claw yanks her furious soul back into its loved shell. Nearly on cue, she breathes in deeply, one hand gripping at the sheets in clawing rage. Her physical self then enters its coma, souls' fury outwardly quieted.

That blackend claw, singed by Light, sinks into her chest, soul in tow. Dark runes spin around the edges of the beams of Light, never touching, dancing just out of Light's reach. "Let the heart in your chest beat once more..."

“Light... let her live once more...!”

Aryeon gasps at the sudden, violent jerking of Anna's body at the sheets. “... ...” Aryeon kneels before Annabelle.

Annabelle lives! Laying there, breathing. Asleep. The rage stilled as her body recovers.

Aryeon falls to his knees as soon as the work is done. He reaches out to be double sure the girl lives again. “Anna... you live yet again... thank the Light...”

Ralerian lets the faintest smile touch his shrouded lips. "Thank the Light, and be damned those who follow it."

Annabelle 's cold body has warmed, but it could probably use a few more degrees. But, she lives. A finger, or toe, or some other random muscle might twitch as her neurons get reacquainted.

Aryeon ignores Ralerian's crankiness as he usually does. “Here. She must stay warm in her coma while her body recovers...” He removes his badass bloodmagey styled cloak and places it around Anna.

Ralerian lets his shade fade away. "I will keep her safe until she is well enough to berate me once more."

“Please do. She is precious to me. As if she were one of my own children. I shall try and seek out those who have done this to her...”

"Do not worry. You will become even more wrinkled than you already are, you old bag. They were humans, that much is obvious."

“Wrinkles add character, at least. Heh. And, that does not exactly narrow it down.”

"Consider checking Hearthglen first. I believe they were heretical paladins. Armored boots, the manner in which she was strung up, the brutality to her already hideous face."

“Anna lives there, so it is likely she was targetted from there. I shall start there.”

"I'm surprised they didn't violate her corpse."

“ not speak ill of her face. It is fine.”

"She clearly has some sort of pox-scarring, look." Ralerian points to the freckles.

“... those are freckles, Ralerian. Theyre just local differences in skin pigmenting.”

"Regardless. You will tell me who did this to her within the month. They are a pox. I know a pox when I see it. I am skilled in plagueweaving, and that is clearly a pox."

“She was quite healthy in life. It's not a pox.”

"And if you fail to give me that information, I will strip Urameil and send him to you naked with instructions to dance with you. Publically."


"Then I will end you. Violently."

“...What am I to make of that?...Ok, that is better...relatively speaking.”

"I think it is quite obvious, you had better find who did this, soon."

Aryeon lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, “I will deal with the monsters.”

"No, your idea of deal and my idea of deal are very different. They have upset the balance of Light and Shadow and must be punished. I will have names in my hand, before the end of the month, or I will end you."

“I will not let you return murder for murder. They will be brought to justice, and if justice executes them, then that shall be their fate.”

"If I must I will promise not to kill them."

Aryeon lets out a long, drawn-out sigh.

"You will give me their names."

“In due time, my friend.”

"Good, now begone. I have to dress her and I do not wish your old lecherous eyes upon her."

“Heh. Of course, I won't have to worry of you doing the same.”

Ralerian looks down upon her. "Disease ridden humans." He spits out the words. "The mere thought."

“... I was referring to other matters of your character, but that works too.” Aryeon smirks at Ralerian.

"Do not think I would take you to bed before her." Ralerian smirks with his retort.

“... that... was not at all what I meant. Ugh.”

Ralerian lifts a swath of white runecloth from the wall nearby.

“Mmm. I shall be off, now.

"So you shall. Return before the month's end."

Drawbacks and Developments

Short Term:
After a week in a coma, blindness, from the damage done to her face. This will take another week of natural recuperation. She will probably still need a pair of glasses for the long term, despite.

Her mind will be completely vulnerable to shadow prying and assault.

Short term memory loss.

She'll be in bed a while yet.

Long term:
While her mental defenses strengthen, they still are not up to par to what they were. Her thoughts are not completely open, but still easily readable.

Her sight has recovered after a week, but she'll constantly need her glasses.

She can stand and walk, but the knee struck with the bolt is a weak point. Prone to pain, stiffness. Knock it, and she's easily lost balance.

Will most likely always be wearing glasses. While not blind without them, vision will be fuzzy.

Due to the damage to her brain, she has lost a deal of mental fortitude. Her faith remains strong, but she lacks the mental prowess for the higher Discipline abilities. No longer can she call forth a Penance, a Power Infusion, or Pain Suppression. As well, her mind is still more vulnerable than it was to shadow. This may develop into her progressing into the pure Holy tree.

She will be rendered more as a support in battle, a healer. No longer charging in and beating things with her staff. Well, she might try. But, she'll be knocked aside easily.

Killer: Cassius ordered, Todd carried out.
Ressurecctors: Aryeon, and Ralerian
((OOC Note. Feel free to post here if your character might visit. Don't feed the guarding Aendron. He bites.))
Ralerian bites too, and his saliva causes necrosis.
While being completely ignorant of the background story, I really enjoyed reading that resurrection post. Lots of descriptions helped paint an image in my mind of exactly what is going on.
Thank you! I was worried if it was too long and over-dramatic.
Vision was blurry. The suited man was literally in a vortex of memories, thoughts, emotions and it was too much for him to make any sense of it. His body moved on impulse, blindly walking memorized hallways of the cold, silence crypt. Voices ringing in his ears, Redis made his way to the room that held Annabelle Greene.

"If she isn't brought back yet, she could be of some use to us."

"What? If we even -tried- doing that, we'd set off half of the damn world after us. I'd get slaughtered!"

"Then take her, the looks on their faces when they cannot find the little..."

"Aha! Glorious. Though we'll have to move her to-"

"... Let's not."

His head pulsed with pain as if hammers battered nails into his skull. He raised a bare, pale hand to hold his forehead up, gritting his teeth as he pushed through the door. Surprisingly, there was no one in the room currently. Only Annabelle and the little shrine that was being built around her elven bed.

Redis stepped into the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He sulks over to the bed, hovering over the robed woman as his darken eyes stared at her. She was indeed alive, breathing, but still asleep.

"What luck! Snatch her, now!"

"For being dead and brought back... She looks inviting... I'm sure no one would mind, or notice."


The pain increases, a vice grip clenches down upon the thoughts. The high pitch demonic voice reigns over the other two.

"You don't have a say in the matter boy! Be a good b***h and take her."

The necromancer clenches his fists, seemingly unwilling to budge from his position. He grinds his teeth together, staring holes into the woman. He slowly began to move forward, reaching out with his hands...


"No, screw this. Screw -you-. I had enough of you."

"Oho, the boy is growing a pair on him! I'd like to see how long you'll las-"

Already, he was feeling extremely weaken, his muscles growing lax and energy draining. Redis lets out a soft sigh, gathering his remaining strength to slap his hands together, emerald energies collecting together for one small portal, a hand sinking in to withdraw a small blue doll. He holds it outward, shutting down the pocket of energy with a closing of his hand. The human leans down to place the stuffed cloth figure down onto the ground beside the dice and the hat that was left there.

"Rest well, Anna. We'll get the bastards that did this to you."

"HA! You think so? Not unless I want you to. You won't even make it out of this room-"

"Shut it, at the very least if we find these assholes we can use them to our advantage."

"I'll make sure you won't leave this crypt, worm."

The throbbing was getting worse, he wouldn't last long if he remained. Redis reaches over towards the bed, resting his hand onto the woman's that was hidden under the sheets. He patted it gently, a firm frown spread across his face as he draws away. The human turns about carefully, dragging himself towards the doorway as his body was sapped, weakly pulling one of the doors open to slip back out.

"... Who would've done this to her?"
(04-07-2012, 04:26 AM)Ozewse Wrote: [ -> ]Ralerian bites too, and his saliva causes necrosis.

Why does Aryeon hang out with you people I mean really.
(04-07-2012, 09:58 AM)CappnRob Wrote: [ -> ]
(04-07-2012, 04:26 AM)Ozewse Wrote: [ -> ]Ralerian bites too, and his saliva causes necrosis.

Why does Aryeon hang out with you people I mean really.

You have Urameil for a brother. You're fated to hang around with jerks.
... I still think being crucified on Good Friday was a nice touch.
(04-07-2012, 12:21 PM)muhaha8 Wrote: [ -> ]... I still think being crucified on Good Friday was a nice touch.

I'd rather people not bring up references. While ironic, certainly, it wasn't intended.
Wait. Is a priest of the Crusade ressurected in -the- Catacombs?
(04-07-2012, 12:47 PM)Bovel Wrote: [ -> ]Wait. Is a priest of the Crusade ressurected in -the- Catacombs?


Is that an issue? Are anti-Light lasers supposed to go off? She has contacts and friends down there, oddly enough.
As I recall, Light users -are- allowed, but they're insulted and jeered at by some of its darker denizens.
(04-07-2012, 12:58 PM)muhaha8 Wrote: [ -> ]As I recall, Light users -are- allowed, but they're insulted and jeered at by some of its darker denizens.

Well, she was dead at the time.

Ary was there too, but the amount of craps Aryeon doesn't give is one short of making Urameil a model citizen.
Tressian enters, green eyes settling on the form of a man in a hat kneeling next to the limp form of Annabelle Greene. His cousin. He watched her fiancee, Don Bronco, and let him mourn in peace. Bronco held her small hand in his own, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the only testament to the spark of life forced back within her body. After some time, the Rancher mutters to the figure behind him, without peeling his eyes from the comatose woman before him, “This ain't right...”

“Of course it isn't,” Tress stepped forward, resting an open palm on the kneeling man's shoulder. It was gesture that, in most any other circumstance, would have no legitimate emotion behind it. He however, felt Bronco's pain, “...Of course it isn't.”

Don, from beneath the wide brim of his hat, looks up at the finely clad man, “Then what th' fu-” Cutting himself short, Don glances to Annabelle and her small hand, “Sorry darlin'... What th' Fel d'you reckon we're gonna do 'bout it then?”

“There are preparations being made. I cannot give you specifics however, as even I am not sure to what extent Annabelle's death has effected Azeroth. Many have answered our call, and many more are sure to follow. Regardless...” Tressian reaches a gloved hand up the sleeve of his coat's left arm. The sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the room as a latch is undone. With a swift yank on his wrist, the whole of his hand is removed.

The Necromancer sets his animated appendage down on the ground, pulling a bracelet from within his coat. He sets it on the stump of his hand's wrist. It reads 'Property of Tressian van Ravenholdt.' The makeshift collar is adorned with fine shards of saphire, and forged from the highest quality silver. Taking his leave, Tressian steps for the door from which he entered. The Alteraican continues from where he had left off moments before, tone still somber, but now with an added air of dignity and determination...

“Vengeance shall be swift.”
(04-07-2012, 12:57 PM)c0rzilla Wrote: [ -> ]She has contacts and friends down there, oddly enough.

Issue? Not really since I doubt the laser system was put back in. Just odd as you said. (Had to ask!)
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