A/N: Thanks to SilentMech, refferee, Quixotic Enigma, the alicorn huntard, and Borderline Valley for your comments last chapter!
This one is a bit of a deviation, but I was having trouble with the main chapter and I had the idea for this one, so here we are! A chapter focusing on our next arc-villains. For players of WoW, I bet you've fought at least one of them before!
I hope you enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts in the comments below!
“Welcome to our Monastery, Grand Crusader. It is rare honor to have the leader of our cause visit us here on the frontlines of battle.”
A pale white haired young woman, clothed only with red cloth on her torso leaving her arms and legs bare except for a loincloth, and a tanned man with balding red hair wearing white and red robes with a flame symbol on them were each waiting for Dathrohan along with an entire retinue of Scarlet Crusade soldiers. The elder man likely had as many years as the two who had come to personally greet him amongst the officers of the Monastery.
“High Inquisitor Whitemane, Arcanist Doan, I thank you for welcoming me to your Halls.”
The Scarlet Monastery was located to the north-east of the Undead hive known as Undercity, located near enough that it was their main stronghold against Sylvanas’s ilk while having enough distance that they were not in deadlocked warfare. To its east was the area known as the Plaguelands, where the Scarlet Crusade had even more forces such as at Tyr’s Hand, but here the Monastery was the primary stronghold.
Dathrohan looked between the man and woman who held so much power here. They were each capable in their own rights, with the powers of Whitemane to revive the dead without turning them Undead being nothing less than prodigious while Arcanist Doan was one of the most wise and lasting members of the Crusade.
Also stationed there was Interrogator Vishas, known for his proclivity for torture even when unnecessary, but he produced results. Then there was also Mograine…
Mograine…Dathrohan remembered how he brought the young man to his current station. Strong, but weak willed, Mograine had needed Dathrohan’s aid and guidance to come this far. He would be a perfect leader for the mission Dathrohan had come to give.
Along with a polite bow, Doan spoke to end the silence that had been standing for some moments, “Is there anything we can assist you with, Dathrohan?”
Dathrohan’s head nodded agreeably as the leader was drawn back into the conversation.
“Your forces are deeply encroached upon the territory of the Undead, and as such are well suited to bolster the very front of our conflict with their forces. Their Elven allies to the North may press us, and with the Undead to our North and West we cannot afford to allow them to press us back.”
Whitemane eagerly bowed as well, her eyes excited at the proposed plan, “I understand. I will ready our most powerful forces for your coming Crusade, my lord.”
Dathrohan smiled as he remembered a piece of useful information about the Inquisitor: she was quite fond of Mograine. Together, with his strength and her magical capabilities, they could carve their way through countless foes.
Love was powerful, and it should not be squandered as a resource.
“I am thinking that you and Mograine can lead the expedition, High Inquisitor. I will stay here and make sure that the Monastery keeps its vigil while its most veteran soldiers are on the frontline.”
If she was eager before, Whitemane was almost ready to leap to action at that very moment. She kept it from showing outwardly though, and she kept her head bowed as she responded to the Grand Crusader.
“As you will, my lord.”
Plans were being set according to Dathrohan’s specifications, and while it took the better part of a day the Grand Crusader turned away company and other officers who sought to help as he finished them in Doan’s study, which was repurposed as Dathrohan’s own while he stayed.
It was not that Dathrohan did not trust his associates: he knew the officers to be competent, or else he would never have allowed them to rise to their positions. No, instead it was that he knew everything he needed to for this planning already and did not need others meddling and questioning his planning. Instead he had all those who would help instead go and prepare for the campaign they were about to wage.
The top fifty percent of the Monastery’s forces were to leave, leaving the others, their families, and their servants behind in the area. The Alliance forces arranged to assault the Monastery would then be able to cause damage and lessen the seeming threat if the Crusade, making Sylvanas turn her attention to Outland and devote her forces abroad instead of at her gates.
A momentary sacrifice, but a necessary one. It would be seen as a tragedy worthy of revenge to the other Crusaders, but Dathrohan would be there to stem the tide of the damage so nothing permanent was inflicted upon the Crusade.
They had over ten thousand soldiers at their beck and call across Azeroth. A hundred could be sacrificed for a greater purpose…the eradication of the Undead. The defeat of Arthas.
“Your plans seem to be going along quite well.”
Dathrohan turned around in the room and narrowed his eyes at the eight and a half meter tall Demon standing before him. Clad in large red armor and possessing lime green glowing eyes in his pale face, Varimathras would appear intimidating to many who randomly came across such a fearsome being, what with his massive height, large wings, unnatural eyes, formidable claws, and an aura that radiated to those nearby it a sense of dread.
After all, he was a Dreadlord.
“Varimathras, it is careless for you to visit this way.”
Dathrohan turned back to his work, though he did not sit down as he did not even seem to notice that he had stood up to confront the sudden intruder.
Varimathras took to leaning against a wall nearby Dathrohan, having stepped away from the door he did not even have to use to enter given his powers, “Sylvanas was infuriated by the Scarlet Crusade destroying a supply shipment and sent me out on a revenge campaign. I have a hundred heads to collect or she will pursue further action.”
Dathrohan sighed. His forces were being too competent for their own good…he would normally be pleased, but this was not the time to be diverting their opponent’s attention towards them. It was not as if he could outright say that to his forces though, for they would burn even their beloved Grand Crusader at the stake if he told them to leave the Undead alone.
“Weed out the fools we send to the frontlines against her, or exhibit some patience for our coming conflict here. Sylvanas is not our primary enemy, Arthas and his abominable Scourge are. After the Alliance comes, you can take as many heads as you please from the remainders. I do not want to squander additional forces.”
The sound of a key turning and a door opening came at the same time as some muttering from outside, the door swinging open as a figure sullenly trodded in.
“I wish she would notice—D-DEM—”
Arcanist Doan lashed out with his magic a moment too late, as a single swipe of the Dreadlord’s claw decapitated him and silenced his warning.
“There is one,” Dathrohan growled as he watched the veteran spill his blood lifelessly onto the ground, no doubt having returned to come receive one of his own materials from here, “Damnable fool. He must have left something in his office.”
Varimathras grabbed the severed head and looked at it with annoyance as it hung from red hair, “I shall take my leave. I have ninety nine more heads to collect, if the forces Sylvanas lent me from the Apothecary have not succeeded on their own in taking some.”
As the Dreadlord disappeared with the blue flash of a Hearthstone, Dathrohan growled as he sat down and began to think about how this changed things, if it even did at all, “Doan may have eventually been eliminated anyways to weaken our position here and maintain the balance of power against Sylvanas, but these circumstances are unfortunate. Now the Undead will rally around his death, and our call to arms will be more severe…”
Dathrohan blinked as he realized something pooling within his armor. He looked down to see that the deceased spellcaster’s magic had penetrated his armor and struck what to many would be a lethal blow. Varimathras had moved out of the way of the magic and struck on his own, so the attack had instead struck the Grand Crusader.
“The fool even struck this body of mine. I should have a healer take care of this…”
The commotion from moments ago had caused nearby guards to come to Dathrohan’s room, and when the first entered he barked an order at them.
“You! Bring a healer to me. An Undead agent came and has assassinated Arcanist Doan. I drove them off, but I have been wounded by their foul magic.”
It was not entirely a lie. Varimathras did work for the Undead.
“Yes sir!” the soldier shouted as they did an about face and ran off to find the nearest healer. Other soldiers set up a defensive position around the room to protect their leader, leaving Dathrohan to sigh to himself and roll up the scrolls he had been writing on.
The pain was distant, but feeling it reminded Dathrohan of once when he had been on the receiving end of the same claws Doan had…
“A temporary setback to assure victory down the road…I will take Undercity back from Sylvanas.”
“Dear admirer, I appreciate your kind words and the flowers you have sent me. I hope that you are dedicating as much time as you do writing to me as you do your duties, for the Undead will not rest.”
At Tyr’s Hand, Abbendis paused as she dictated her letter as she also wrote it. She was trying to think of something from one of her romance novels, but nothing was coming to mind.
She was a skilled warrior and was growing into her role as leader…but romance? Well, she only had her books for reference.
Brigitte had received another letter, with another rose and more flattery, but this time it had come from a particular mailing service and location. If she wished, she could send a letter back to it and the sender likely would come across it…whoever they were.
“If you would like to speak more about the matter, visit my quarters after hours this coming weekend. I do not think I need to tell you this, but I expect this matter to remain between us.”
Brigitte brought her quill to her chin as she tried to come up with something to say back. While flattery of course improved her mood, it was truly the feeling of a forbidden romance that made her latch onto this. A commanding officer and some rank and file member consorting together? Brigitte could only imagine the thrill that would give…
Rapid knocking on her door made her drop her quill onto the desk and also managed to drop her mood severely.
She rose from the chair and rushed to the door, swinging it open to stare down the messenger cowering before it, “What is it? It’s the middle of the damn night!”
“My lady…”
It took a minute, but Brigitte was informed of the passing of Doan. Doan, one of the oldest and most loyal members of the Crusade, even if he personally crept Brigitte out.
Needless to say, she was not pleased.
“Go. Get out of my sight. I need to think.”
The messenger departed and Brigitte slammed the door. The whiplash of her moods left her in a haze, as she had been blushing one moment and infuriated the next. How could something like this happen? Were the troops truly so lax as to allow this sort of travesty to occur?
“We can use him as a martyr…” she paused as disgust rose within her again, “To think that those cretins could infiltrate us and eliminate one of our highest ranking officers…”
The Undead had taken so many from them, had destroyed so much…and now they had yet another leader of the Scarlet Crusade to claim as their trophy. It sickened Brigitte to think that right now they could be reviving Doan’s head with some sick magic to further taunt the Crusade. The mere thought of being transformed like that, twisted into a sick creature tortured with eternal life as an abomination, had Abbendis’s gut twisting.
To move her mind off of the depravity of her foes, she decided to focus on what mattered immediately: her own forces and their reaction to this.
“First, execute the guards who ought to have stopped this. They were either incompetent or heretics, and in either case our cause does not need them.”
This would instill greater discipline in others, who would learn from the mistakes of the fools who dared allow their superior officer to die. If they knew any better they would have committed suicide by now to pay for their sins.
“Second…”
But what then? Brigitte’s mind trailed off as she tried to come up with a follow up to her planned execution of the incompetent soldiers, but beyond rage and fury she could not think of anything. Perhaps fortifying their holds? Increasing their guard retinues? What?
Looking across her desk to a photo, Abbendis moved to a comfortable sitting position and ran a hand across the picture frame.
In it there was a dark haired man and a teenage red head standing in the white and red armor of the Scarlet Crusade. Brigitte cringed as she looked at the smile upon the man’s face, the man seeming sure of himself as he stood there for eternity in the photo.
“Father, what would you do?”
There was no response, leaving Brigitte to sigh and lay her head down on her desk, ignoring the paper she soon began to drench with tears.
“Right…you’re dead, and these same bastards are to blame. That’s why…that’s why I can never forgive them…”
The Undead came to be when the Burning Legion came to Azeroth and sought to utilize a mindless slave army for their purposes. The Demons created this blight, and their creation now ran rampant on the world even after their creators were all defeated and driven away.
Over ten thousand soldiers would fight them…but against a never-ending horde, could they win? If things continued, they would stagnate under the stalemate they were engaged in.
“Light help us all…”