#itrius

~~~

General Eclipse.

It has been several months since our tour together. Since I and my own helped defend against the machinations of the druids. We learned that their intention was not born exclusively of malice. It was through calm negotiations that we found a peace in Kris. I have not heard of this changing in the past months.  

I do not know the intentions of your Dawnbringer, or the hopes for your land; but I do pray that this war has not impacted the innocents greatly. In the two years I spent among you I grew very fond of those I met. Kris is an honest land filled with good hearts. As I find myself fighting with the Sunguard in the South I can’t help but to remember what land lays just a few mountains further on.

In the coming weeks we will march against the forces of the so called “Quel’thalas Reborn and their so called King Morningstar. Their coup is hamfisted and misguided. Quel’thalas must continue to be a united nation. We are a people, a people that helps one another to survive. Not by forcing a wedge between Brother and Sister and offering promises of grandeur built on blood.

Winter is growing worse, and resources continue to be scarce on all fronts. Please let me know if Kris is in need. I can get supplies to your people. We can aid any burden they may feel. We are one people, and despite differing beliefs we have shed blood together. Sin’dorei are the people of Blood. The people of Quel’thalas.

I look forward to hearing back from a friend.

~Itrius Sunshatter.

~~~

There were no titles to share on this letter. Writing it alone was damning enough. Even worse if it were to be found.

Oh- oh… oh.

I think that’s one?

Uh, crap. He has buddies.

Alright.

Think, baby, think.

I’ve done this before.

Kind of.

It was in an alley instead of a forest, though.

And I didn’t kill the idiots that time, according to the Church menders.

And I didn’t want to, anyway, because I had mail to run, and time is money.

But I’ve got this.

Somehow.

Uhmmmmmmm.

Step One: use my magick-y shit.

…

…

Done. They ain’t gonna see me or hear me now.

My magic smells funky out here.

Think a Magister-y folk would call it effer-esc-verent. Or something.

Anyway, focus. Focus.

Step Two: yoot-ill-ise my surroundings.

Tree. Tree. Tree. Bird. Tree. Root. Stump…

...Rock.

Rooooock. Rock. Big rock.

Just gonna… zip up there. ‘Cause they all distracted with drawing pictures on the ground or something. Wonder why they’re arting right now.

And now all I gotta do is… make these shadows eat up the rock too.

Now I’ve got a buddy. A quiet, quiet, buddy. For a big rock.

And… push.

Or try to.

Fuck.

Come on! You’re right on the ledge!

Shove! Kick! Shoulder-check!

Ah! Come on, baby!

COME. O- there it goes.

Rooooll on off, buddy. Like the silent meteor of death you are.

Theeere you g- ...Mmm. Oh.

That was the grossest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

Sounded like someone dropped a horse onto a vat of cheesy noodles.

--Alright, alright. Focus here, Elv-y. What’s the next step? Two? No, we did two. Right, right.

Step Three: E V I D E N C E. Very important.

...well.

There’s no picking up that boulder.

At least not for me.

Maybe if Cow Guy was here. Or Sunspear Grandpa. Or Dawnmender Tower.

But I am none of those.

There’s….

There’s some body parts sticking out.

Alright, alright. I got this. I knew this camera would come in handy. And Vissy-boy said it was a waste of those crystals I got tipped.

Jokes on you, baby: it IS being used for something other than sleeping drunk people.

Just… gotta… finagle with this shit. And taaake off the lens guard or whatever. Because that’s important, evidently.

Okay.

Alright.

I did it.

Without Stevenie or Grandma.

All by myself.

Hell yeah.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

BOOM, BABY.

Step Four: Profit!

Captain Itrius Sunshatter finds an unreported envelope displayed right on the center of his desk in Kris in the next day’s early morning. Within, is a discordant polaroid.

The foreground possesses the ‘visage’ of the curiously-masked Pathfinder from earlier time, still enwrapped in her characteristic, contrastingly vivid, silks. In spite of her obscuring attire, her pride is evident with the twist of muscles around her lidded eyes and a wrinkle breaking across the scattered dust of freckles along her face. Oh, and one thumb brandished upward across the scene.

Behind her, is the deep forests of the province. Dark, lengthy, underbrush contrasted with towering trees and the crumbling dirtside of a nearby cliff so typical to Kris’ environment… and a rock. A big rock. A boulder, actually, rashed with wet soil from a scraping, hazardous journey.

Beneath the boulder, the wetness of blood blends in with the shadowed greenery of the grasses. But what cannot be easily looked over is… the evident fact that fresh bodies lie crushed underneath the terrible force of nature above. Hips, feet, arms, hands, ears, tusks, all sorts of body parts poke out from underneath their crushing fate. Scraps of their attire, following the known descriptions of the particular trolls known to the province, can be spotted as well amidst the mossy fur and sluggish wounds coating the visible flesh.

The faint glow of unfinished druidic engravements etch out below the gruesome display.

What a talent for framing.

She should be a photographer.

[Mentions: @retributionpriest @captainswingbeard @veloestian @sonofkhaz @stormandozone ]

Thanidiel stands shoulder-to-shoulder with a dozen men in either direction. A row of glinting, near-blinding, gold in the sunlight; casted with periodic shadows of crimson and mellowed paint.

In normal circumstances, there ought to be some form of concern towards the thought of taking over another’s company in command. Here? There was no such thing. The people of both units were well-acquainted with one another and their Captains, for training skirmishes between the individual one-hundreds is a regular occurrence in the Dawnspire Training Ground whether on foot or horseback. Similarly, many of the soldiers around her harken back to those of the old Order; either attracted to the primordial names of Highdawn and Dawnstalker, or of similar mind to the resignations signed by the two former Knights.

In that light, the Phoenix Guard has no issue in seamlessly falling into step with the twenty-four to her flanks and the twenty-five ahead of them. Together, in the unspoken bond of blood and sweat that curls around all of their limbs in stringed performance, they move. Synchronised, all soldiers tighten their grips on their targe shields. United, all raise their spears with hands curled towards the butt of the weapons, causing the tools to jut out a near three yards in front of the simple formations.

Renalays stands a distance away, close to the large crowd of Kris citizens and other men-at-arms surrounding them. The Duskward can feel the subtle itch of her old comrade’s Shadow, ready to pluck her words from the winds and scatter them in snowing whispers that would reach the ears of every elf in observation. Thanidiel doubts it would be needed, but precautions are always useful things.

Even confined within her greathelm, her voice cracks over the field like the roll of traveling thunder. Decades of command have learned the fighter well in how to project clean from her diaphragm and cut through the din of warfare like the penetrating length of waving steel.

“The spear is the tool we have brought to you from the forests and quarries of the Dawnspire, for it is the most deadly you will find in any army!

It is a tool that emphasises victory in Unity, much like the Unity found today between the provinces of Kris and Dawnspire; south and north; the Blood shared between all Children of High Home. Your goal, when whatever prey comes at you whether it is Nightmare or bandit, will not be the slaying of what is in front of you. Your goal, when you’ve a spear in your hand and your comrades aside you, will be the support of the woman to your right; the man to your left.”

By now, all fifty sabatons march in the characteristic noise of plate sections clattering against leather and chain, the frenzied energy crashing against the grass below. Still in perfect bond, both lines spur into their faux combat.

In the midst of this controlled chaos, Thanidiel continues to boom over it all. Demonstrating the qualities of the spear in the context conveyed to the Kris people, her scanning vision catches the movement of a soldier preparing to stab towards a comrade two-men-down from her right. Raising her targe shield upward, and trusting in the fighters to her left, she extends in counter-assault.

“The root of all success is in the care of your fellows. Your daughters take your wheat to your market. Your sons harvest it. Your parents shelter you. Your friends repair your plows. Your governors provide you road and contract of sale. Your militia protects your fields. So too, does every soldier cooperate in everyone’s mutual safety to claim victory.”

Hefting her right shoulder outward, the arm, bent inward, extends outward in practiced motion. The lengthy spear held overheard stabs right for the woman who wished to ‘bleed’ her ally in this exercise. Crossing three yards diagonal, the weapon impacts its blunted head against the collar of the unfortunate woman with jarring force. Swiftly pulling back her arm, the Duskward observes the agreed-upon drop of the soldier onto the green earth (with some honesty noted there - that one will be examined for a broken bone later).

The showcase continues on, every person tasked with the protection and assistance of their left and right, in a flurried cacophony of spears knocking one another aside, thudding scrapes along the curve of shields, and the clatter of steel when weapons find home and push ‘enemies’ into the soil.

Eventually, the demonstration is whittled down to the participation of twenty-three soldiers, with the current Commander’s force outpacing the other row before them.

“Cease!”

Simultaneously, all spears are lowered and thrown into the empty span between the two lines. Every man and woman moves then in silent order to clasp their shields to their girdles and begin the work of uplifting the fallen and separating those genuinely hurt in the exercise. In the center of them, the Phoenix Guard pushes on.

“Thus, you see the power of the tools we will provide to every head here to keep. Its range, its power, and its versatility in defense and offense, is unmatched concerning what may be placed into anyone’s hands on the battlefield.

Consider this my gracious introduction. Now you have our expectation in the use of these tools displayed. Tomorrow will be a thorough mastery of the spear with the assistance of the soldiers aside you. You will bruise, you will bleed, and you will break. In that fashion, all volunteers present, you, Children of Iron, will be wrought into Steel.

For now? We will continue our focus on the lifeblood of victory; Unity. No one will fall behind. No one will exceed. No one will be forgotten.

You will observe this well in the coming days as every soldier beside you now will be at your aid, and you, theirs. You will learn to love your comrades, new and old, temporary or permanent, like siblings fed from the same milk and blood. That is how you will send any threats that come for Kris into the clasp of the earth - permanently.

In the spirit of Unity, command passes to Lightward Ethalarian Dawnstalker. He will introduce you, as I did, to another topic; how to form and move as one.

And he will further demonstrate how the success of combat relies not on individual strength or passion - but togetherness.”

With that, Thanidiel draws back into the crowd with a hand pulling her waterskin to her hoarse lips, and shifts into merely another face in the crowd.

It was at this point that Ethalarian stepped forward through the assembled mass of gleaming plate and towering spears until he stood at the head of the formation. Gone was his once signature scarlet and black now replaced by the warmer, brighter crimson and gold of the Sunguard. It was simple, for the most part, and far more reflective of his previous life- no ornate etching, nor expensive exotic metals, but layers of chainmail and partial plate overlapping a leather hauberk. His cuisses and greaves were much the same; simple yet sturdy leather and plate all reflective of his upbringing- and perhaps strategically chosen to appeal to the common folk of Kris.

“Greetings, my brothers and sisters. I thank you all for your attendance; it warms my heart to see communities come together in defense of one another.” The knight offers a wide, warm smile to each of those before him, his tone kindly and honeyed. These are no soldiers and he cannot dare to speak to them as such. Not yet. “My colleague-” he gestures to Thanidiel here “-has already demonstrated to you all the individual merits of the spear and the shield on an individual level.

As you’ve all observed, and as Duskward Highdawn has capably demonstrated, these are effective tools that allow you to safely engage your enemy from afar and to cover your brother’s flanks. An individual with a spear can keep at bay an enemy with less reach nigh indefinitely. However.”

At this point Etharian turns sharply about to face the formation behind him. “About, face!”

His voice echoes across the field like a cannon shot and immediately is answered by the rumble and clatter of armored troops wheeling about in a matter of moments. The Sunguard’s banners had caught the breeze and were flying high now in the afternoon sun above Kris as a second formation, a group of volunteers from the villagers, took up position to the left. As anticipated, the latter had little idea of what to do or how to do it but did their best to mimic the Sunguard formation anyway and packed together as tightly as they could. Admirable. Ethalarian gave a slight nod as he turned now toward a broad shouldered, raven haired elf at his left.

“Sergeant Heartwood, give the signal if you please.”

With a nod, the Sergeant’s chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath and raised a horn to his lips that sounded at an almost deafening volume that echoed for several seconds across the rolling hills. A few short moments later, a low rumble began to roll in toward Kris from just over the next rise that grew louder and louder with each passing second. Within a minute a dark blob appeared upon the rise and was quickly followed by a chorus of shouts and jeers as the Enemy for this grand demonstration appeared.

Ethalarian grinned a crooked grin as he gestured up toward the Enemy and turned his attention back toward the gathered townsfolk.

“The Enemy presents itself and is set to lend credence to this next lesson: taking the field are two groups, equal in number and armed much the same.”

Now his attention falls to the group of volunteer soldiers, each looking more pale than the next. They had not fallen apart yet, not begun to disperse or rethink what they’d gotten themselves into but flight had definitely crossed their minds.

“Before you are the Blood Knights from the Eleventh Regiment. They are hardened soldiers, veterans of a dozen wars over the course of the past twenty years. For this example, the Enemy has been instructed to show no mercy- to treat this battle as they would the real thing.”

One of the volunteers toward the front took a half-step back.

              His will was already faltering.

                           The rest would follow soon.

Excellent.

Again Ethalarian turned to Sergeant Heartwood and without a word the latter again sounded his horn. Without delay the dark blob upon the hill surged forward, pouring down from the as though an inkwell had been overturned and thundering toward both formations at a full gallop. Their approach was like a clap of thunder that never ended, a deafening rumble that became a roar which threatened to drown out everything else. As the ground began to shake beneath his feet, the Lightward turned his attention back to the man at the fore of the volunteer formation.

             Another step back.

                          Then another.

                                     Then a fourth.

                                                   Not long now.

Ethalarian glanced again toward the massive formation of cavalry now practically on top of both formations of infantry. The combined Phoenix Guard and Bloodsworn held strong, their lances and pikes planted firmly in the ground and held aloft at eye level, forcing their foe to wheel about and look for a better opening before trying again.

                      And then it happened.

The man at the front of the volunteer formation lost his nerve and broke, turning to flee as fast as his feet would carry him.

             Then another.

                                        Then another.

                                                                   Then another.

                                                                                              Then them all.

That was all it took to turn the roughly organized group of volunteer mass into a broken, routing mob and the Enemy did not pass up the opportunity to fall upon them with a merciless vigor...or would have, had this been a real battle. Instead the company split and enveloped the fleeing herd of volunteers as pack of starving wolves would circle their prey.

Grinning, the Lightward turned back now to the remainder of the assembled villagers and spoke over the now quieting din.

“As you can see, my brothers and sisters, it is not individual skill that wins the day on the field.” He held up a single finger in turn as he spoke the next three words. “Discipline. Unity. Coordination. Once my colleague has instructed you how to fight as an individual, I will teach you how to apply the lessons you have learned and forge you all into a single cohesive unit.

You will learn to think, breathe, move, and act as one whole. I will not lie to you; this will likely be the most difficult two weeks of your lives. Persevere, however, and I promise your town will be the safest it’s ever been with or without our presence.”

Ethalarian took a moment to survey the crowd now as the defeated made their way back to the group, heads hung low in shame. Good. That would save him the trouble of humbling them later.

“Duskward Highdawn.” He turned over his right shoulder to seek out Thanidiel amongst the otherwise faceless formation.

“I believe it’s time to begin.”

A Phoenix Guard breaks formation, near unidentifiable from any other of the golden-plated soldiers present - were it not for the distinct engravement of horses carved into the fore of the regiment’s symbolic greathelm.

The woman strides to Ethalarian’s side and clasps her grip along the chain sleeve of his midarm as the opposing hand steadies the butt of her spear into the grasses underneath.

“Aye - for Kris.” strikes out from her, shattering the ‘quiet.’

“For Kris,” echoes from one former Blood Knight to the other; like two artillery shots in succession.

The volunteers, hesitant, break the silence in only tiny bubbles in their mimicry of the cry. Natural to their training, the two Sunspear before them roar in correction, in unison:

“WHO DO YOU FIGHT FOR?”

Hiccups of “For Kris!” answer, building in rate that fails to satisfy their instructors until it becomes a wild cacophony that shakes the air.

“For Kris!”                          “For Kris!”                                  “For Kris!”

                         “For Kris!”                           “For Kris!”                         “For Kris!”

          “For Kris!”                       “For Kris!”

                                                                                      “For Kris!”

Then the assembled two-hundred of Bloodsworn and Phoenix Guard join in, and the sheer energy transfers from sky to a rumbling across the whole of the earth. The subtle hand of Kris’ new comrades causes development from chaotic shocks of noise to proper, deafening, unified, waves.

“For Kris!” “For Kris!” “For Kris!”

                      “For Kris!”                       “For Kris!”                       “For Kris!”

                                             “For Kris!”                                              “For Kris!”                                              “For Kris!”

                                                                   “For Kris!”                                                                    “For Kris!”                                                                   “For Kris!”

As his task force gouged their way through the plants Eclipse’s chosen followed. Stringing along the gunpowder to form the noose for the execution. Just a bit longer and they would knock down the tree and light the entire city a blaze. With his helm gone there was nothing to hide the smile growing on his face.

There were still many questions though that addled his thoughts. Despite killing several of the citizens as they slept the group was still surrounded in enemies in all directions. Moving over to the first of their kills Itrius found Eclipse dissecting the flower.

The Crimson Commander had hacked off one of the petals and was already butchering the rest of it. They must have noticed the him watching as they paused for a moment before. A sense of silence wafted between the two commanders. Nothing was shared. With the barest hint of a shrug Eclipse continued their harvest, taking samples and examining the structure of it.

Lifting up the repulsive sponge of the butchered petal they checked to see the base. Entwined into the wood of the branch below the sprout must have gathered many of its nutrients, or whatever it fed on from there. Gripping the stem of this flower Eclipse gave it a hard shake. The liquid in the bowl sloshed about as the plant was waved, but it did not come free.

Itrius nodded at the examination. His mind transfixed on this mystery, the rest of the city seemed to have melted away. Watching the flower move violently he caught the outline of something else beneath the petals. “Stop. what’s that?” Eclipse halted from trying to uproot the plant.

Kneeling down the blood red knight tugged the remains of the already hacked up petal away. Sliding his gloved hand along the bottom of the surface. Being that close to the vile thing should have been nauseating. Eclipse didn’t shrink away from being brought face to face with the bowl of foul liquid. Finally reaching the base of the flower he clenched his hand and with a small grunt they tugged away… something.

Standing back up they turned to Itrius and  revealed a fleshy ball. Examining the object they kept their voice calm “It bares fruit.”

Tugging a knife free from his belt Eclipse dragged it along the skin of the ball. Cutting deep into the meat the blade sunk quickly inside. With a stomach turning pop the fruit exploded with a slick oil.

Quirking an eyebrow Itrius pushed his breakfast back and turned away. He thought the flower smelled bad.

Golden eyes trailing the path they had cut he noticed the crew of Crimsons had almost disappeared on the far side. Gaze following the trunk upwards he couldn’t help but to look for the same fruit again. Giant petals blocked out the sun above, but in the shadows there was no mistaking the structures.

Narrowing his eyes to try and count the number of fruit. Pausing on each in turn he guessed there were maybe 4 visible. Bringing a hand to his eyes he tried to strain them even more. One..two...three, maybe there were just three.

“Sunshatter.” The voice broke his attention from the ghastly fruit. Eclipse merely tapped his wrist.

Right… he had to focus on the task at hand.

The Phoenix Guard and the Crimson Sun had worked well on this operation. Clearing a path to the tree and a ring around its base there was a swathe of singed petals and charred wood. They may have been people once, this was the only mercy they could afford.

Reaching the north flank the three Knights saluted Eclipse. In unison they announced the plan was ready. Itrius waved over his own soldiers. Time for a briefing. “So this is going to be an operation of dominos. One charge will set off another, and then another, and then this whole mess gets brought down.”

Pivoting to look at the primary charges Itrius nodded. There were four large bombs spread along this half of the tree. Flanking them all was a pair of large metal weights “Lets begin then. Eclipse I believe this was a plan of your making? I don’t have the details.”

Shaking their head Eclipse brought their hand to point at one of their Knights. “This is Goldschmidt’s field of expertise.”

The smallest of the three knights practically leapt forward the faceless mask seemed to light up in joy as their time had finally come.  “So, this is a Drillbot original straight out of the mad goblin’s play book. I am not going to explain taking down a tree, but these babies are going to make the lead cut.” Blowing out his fingers to simulate the event. The crowd seemed less than amused by the theatrics

“Fine, fine, moving on. The first explosion will knock a big chunk out, and toss the balls out.” Whistling as he finger gunned into the north field. “And then the magic starts, following them will be the ‘Slicer’. What is that you may ask? Well the ‘Slicer’ is a chain wrapped in thermite that's what it is. Like a hot wire through butter this thing can melt titansteel, so this tree is going down, in flames, and because of the lead it will fall on its ass. All according to plan.” Cocking a thumb at his face he arced it from one side of his mask to the other. Ending by pointing behind him. “And we get the hell out of here.”

Tilting an eyebrow at the presentation Itrius had to admit the plan sounded insane. He had come to trust the Crimsons though, this was their home. They had shown they knew what they were doing. “Alright, then. I trust everyone got that right?”

“I can explain it again if you’d like?” Goldschmidt seemed far too excited at the idea.

"That will be enough." Eclipse's words were hard with finality-- but came with a haste unusual to him. Perhaps he had heard such 'explanations' one too many times to allow for another.

Itrius rose his hand. Eclipse made more than clear that giving him more time would have been a mistake. “What I want to know is where we will hide from the blast.”

Goldschmidt tilted his head. “Hide? If we hide we can’t see it?” Turning to Eclipse he shrugged at his leader. “I didn’t think of that part.” quickly looking from side to side he scanned the surrounds. “THERE!” pointing out to a nearby building. “Should be clear of the blast there, and able to see the show.”

Looking over to Eclipse Itrius’ question was written on his face. Are you serious? His returned nod was all the answer the Captain needed. Suppressing his sigh he closed his eyes and mouthed a prayer to the Sun. “Is everything ready then?”

Goldschmidt snapped a salute. Hand hitting his mask with a bit to much enthusiasm. “Just give me the word!”

~~~~

4 of the 5 chapters done in this tale and my @stormandozone is keeping me strong. Thank you love. Stay tuned tomorrow for the finale of Flares.

“But you aren’t dead, you are here in Kris, in a bed, safe, warm. You are alive..” Swinging his fist down on the mattress he grit his teeth suppressing another scream. “Do not disgrace their name, Ours doesn’t belong there. They are heros, you are a coward. You left Allamar. You left them. You led everyone straight into hell, and you were the ONLY one to leave!”

Swinging his hand out he slammed it into the wooden wall next to the bed. The thud of an arm hitting something it couldn’t dream of changing echoed out. The ache of pain spread radiated, but that didn’t stop him. Again, and again, and again the thud rang out. “

“I am not the leader you were brother… I failed our family. I wish I was with Sunstorm against the Eternal Dawn. If they killed me my men might still be alive…” Clenching his teeth he sucked in another breath. “Irigir… Help me. What in the Sun’s name can I do? I can’t go back by myself… The Crimons won't follow me without Eclipse. And I am already out of my jurisdiction.. the Phoenix Guard won't come…”

Wetness gathering at the edges of his lashes Itrius bit his cheek. Bringing a hand to rest on the palm shaped scar seared into his skin he closed his eyes. “Sun guide me….”

Knock… Knock… Knock

Itrius couldn’t help but to stifle his growl. Was now really a good time to disturb him? Despite the mused questions he remained silent. He had no words for anyone. He didn’t want the world to witness his failure quite yet.

After a brief pause there came a second round of knocks. Just go away already! Fingertips digging at the scar as the hint of copper flicked at his tongue.

The unknown guest must have gotten the message as there was no third round. Instead the sound of soft scratching filled the room. Sitting up the paladin squinted at the space below the door. Then with a serendipitous push the folded parchment slid onto the floor.

Eyes shot wide open at the invasion Itrius lept to the floor. “Light above…” Practically falling to his feet he dove for the letter. Greedy hands pawing over the parchment to see the answer to his prayers and problems. All summed up with the familiar signature.

“Elleynah Stormsummer”

Throwing the chair out of the way Itrius tossed the letter onto the bed. There would be time for that later, now was not for idle conversation. Bringing the candle closer to the parchment he ripped a quill from its rest. Stilling his racing heart he dipped the quill away and raced the edge along the paper. Creating what could barely be acknowledged as a return letter.

Elleynah,

Your letter could not have come at a better moment. I found myself back in Kris after a nightmare return to Allamar. They are gone Elleynah, my men, the crimsons. The casualty level of the mission was nearly all. I need help, I need your Sunguard to help, someone, anyone to help. Their is a faint hope they still live, I pray to the Sun they are. If I don’t act with beyond haste they won't be though. Please deliver this to Lord Truefeather personally. You are a leader in your order. He has to listen to you…

Please, for everything I hold dear I need you.

Itrius.

Moving the first letter aside to dry the shaken man relaxed the hold on his lungs.. “Sun, please guide me.” He had spoken with the Truefeathers often. The lords of the house came by Goldsea often. They were proud of it. Breathing again Itrius summoned all the nobelity he could muster as he penned his second missive.

Archon Lord Telchis Truefeather.

My name is Itrius Sunshatter, Investigative Captain of the Phoenix Guard and eldest son of the late matron of Goldsea. I am writing this most dire letter in a great time of need. These past few months I have been on assignment in the Southern tip of Quel’thalas along the Amani border. I have witnessed horrifying oddities that have plagued this land and its people. Working alongside the local militia I had hoped to placate any threats and minimize possible incidents.

The forces at work though, are far more insidious than I could have fathomed. Entire cities have been laid waste at the feet of some dark magics. This land is caught in a war between the mindless undead, the savagery of the Amani, and now this new element of terror. People are dying, good, honest people that have done nothing but struggle to live their lives. I find the resources at my disposal inadequate to remedy the situation.

I write you not as on envoy of the Phoenix Guard, but as a Son of the Dawnspire and Lord of Goldsea. Send aid to Kris. Help me show the people of this land they are not forgotten, that they are as we are, citizens of Quel’thalas.

Itrius Sunshatter

~~~~

This is it, this is the end of the story and the call to action. One year of work 60 pages wrote and its ends here.

I want to thank my lovely wife @stormandozone for standing by me, for pushing me, and for inspiring me.

@sakialyn for supporting and helping me build this world

@felthier is being tagged for mentions.

Zanarian “Felsunder”

Relic of the past this former paladin and heir to House Shadowsunder threw away his ties when a conflict in Shimmervale threatened to tear apart his home land.  After being accused wrongly for his part Zanarian was arrested and detained.  In the fallout of the third ware he was given a second chance at freedom. If he would follow Kael’thas through the portal. He didn’t hesitate to take up the banner. While in the Black Court Zanarian aligned with the Illidari and agreed to become a hunter of demons. Now a ranking member of the Cabal of the Dying Sun he has been freed from imprisonment. Zanarian is ready to experience anything he could care to enjoy and is always interested in having a good time.

Vulthaen ~ Dawnspire Quartermaster

Youngest born son of the Lead Voidsunder house, Vulthaen was well crafted to be a political tool and soldier.  Finding peace in the forges and fire of his family he has shown quite the gift at metallurgy and was trusted with many Void secrets.  In an attempt to keep the family strong after the loss of Shimmervale the Voidsunder struck a deal and promised Vulthaen would work and share his knowledge at the Dawnspire.  During the fall of Silvermoon he lost his life fending off the scourge, only to join them.  Once freed from the Lich King he returned to his original oath tending the flames of the Dawnforge.  Patient and cool headed as a Deathknight he can is commonly found at the forge working to procure anything and everything the Oathsworn require as the appointed Quartermaster of the Dawnspire.  Always willing to talk and take on extra work one just needs to locate inquire at the within the Dawnspire

Iritus Sunshatter, Captain Investigator of the Phoenix Guard

Current Heir to the land of Goldsea in the Dawnspire Itrius has delegated much of the duty of being head of house so that he can continue his work with the Phoenix Guard. Through years of investigative work Itrius has been promoted to Phoenix Captain. While on his search for seditious activity towards the State he enjoys helping all those that he comes across. A kind hearted man by his nature he will work to reach a compromise and ensure as many best interests are met. He believes he walks in the shadows of his family and his duty, but his mind have earned him his position and Itrius will not waste a moment to put it to use.

Isilos Sunshatter, High Advocator of the Sunshatter Ardents

Leader of the Sunshatter Ardents Isilos has taken the order of healers by force. Purging the corruption of Fel from Goldsea he removed many of the members of the Ardents from power and instilled himself in the vacuum. Devout Sun cleric Isilos does not approve of Shadow or Fel magics viewing them as a source of corruption, but understands their role in the practical. Always a pragmatic and respectful speaker he will always be willing to share his strict views of things and debate with those that do not agree.

The last of the seconds ran out. “Alright, that is time. Your Commandant didn’t respond but we are moving on with the mission.” Looking once again to Eclipse his hand pressed harder against the breastplate, running over the location of the scar he spared another moment. “We’ll have faith in the Northern squad. Goldschmidt, please light it.”

The lone human in the group leapt off the rubble he was sitting on, a scramble of lanky limbs. Clearly waiting for this moment, he rushed over to the cables switch in hand. “ALRIGHT! This is going to be great!” With enthusiasm, he quickly attached the spooled wires to the right nodes. Raising a hand to the group he pointed out three fingers.

Three… two… one. “SHOW TIME!” Slamming his hand onto the button.

Silence fell on the ruined city of Allamar. No one dared to breathe as they waited for something to happen. For anything to happen. As the seconds stacked onto each other the gathered curiosity-- and tension-- grew.

Goldschmidt was the one to break it “OH COME ON!” His hands ripped at the contraption, tearing at the switches he connected and disconnected and connected the wires again and again. He hammered at the button, cursing blue. “Comeoncomeoncome…”

The large barrels at the base of the trunk glowed orange, just for a second, before with a thunderous bang burst-- there had been no warning. In seconds, their view of the tree-- the entire scene-- vanished in a blinding flash that seemed to sear vision. On its heels was a rumble, a shock that screamed past them, shaking the nearby building.

Plant matter evaporated, flowers nearest to the blast turned to nothing but moist fiber that choked the air, thickening it with the stench of rot and death.

Itrius clapped hands to his ears, turning his back to the brilliance as he staggered a step at the cacophony, the wind hot and wet as it rushed past. Why wasn’t I warned about that part?

Marshalling his thoughts through the constant ringing, Itrius tried to center himself and lifted his eyes to the giant crown of the flower, the canopy that cast the shadow. It swayed and lurched violently. A grim smile flickered over his features.

In the distance, there was a popping as the rest of the charges were blown. They’d done what they could, and now, it was time to--

In the thick haze of dust and debris, a glowing red line appeared in the amorphous mess. A glowing, infernal smile seemed to wrap around the trunk. Eyes strained across the mess Itrius tried to sort out what he seeing. The mocking reflection of his expression twisted and morphed even as he watched; it started to unravel, the groan and twist of overheated metal rang out as the smile avalanches towards them

As the shaking of the tree stilled his eyes widened and a primal fear ran through his entire back. No… the slicing chain that had connected the barrels and the charges. It should have rent the tree in two, totally devastating its stability, causing it to come down but the bark-- the trunk of it… the chain couldn’t sever it.

Instead, the chain had snapped, and blazing with the explosions heat, it was--

He did not even have time to yell a warning. The shrieking of the chains through the pulp-sodden air deafened the rooftop, the crack of the metal resounding. His plan-- the slicer, which should have worked-- had been flung right off the tree. Ill luck had its glowing mass crack right towards them, and hot as dragon’s breath it came crashing down, bisecting their perch.

Cold weight bloomed in his gut. Goldschmidt was right, even if he was wrong about the tree-- it could cut through like a wire through butter. Just not its intended target-- no, it was cutting through their refuge.

Slicing through the building, the rope of glowing thermite seemed unslowed by stone, wood, brick, victims. Screams and cries broke out as the chaos began to settle.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

With another shattering crash the slicer finally found its end. Rushing to the edge of the roof Itrius scrambled up its side, trying to see what he could. Against the smoke and fiber that seemed to rain down, he strained his eyes, trying to catch sight of anything. The chain must have done something, they could regroup, finish this.

As the dust and pulp began to settle, Itrius felt that weight harden, grow sharp in his belly. No. He was witness to the true horror of the situation.

The explosion did nothing. There was, at the base of the vile thing, a line where the slicer had been-- a scratch and sear in the bark. It oozed, in the few places he saw scarring, but the meat of the plant remained whole.

Struggling to grasp what went wrong, Itrius continued to stare into the settling debris. In the murk… he froze. There, deep in the shadow of the tree, what might have been movement in the final fragments of the fog.

No...

Pop…. Pop…. Pop….

Unseen hand gripped his heart, he lifted his gaze skyward. There, inky lines unfurled against the grey, exploding loudly in the silence of the aftermath. The black flares sounded, one by one, painting the sky in coal-dark streaks.

“No, no no no no!” the word his only refuge, his only response. There was movement, something was coming, and his troops were not the first to encounter the enemy. The others faced off against the unknown foe, and all his squad could hear was their screams.

It was enough to shame him for his stillness. Turning, he looked to what was left of the rescue force. People were scrambling, the plan had failed, and now dread consumed every living heart in Allamar. I’m so sorry, Sperro, I didn’t mean for--

There was a second roar, and despite himself Itrius closed his eyes, the panic and chaos claiming his sense. What else was going wrong?

One of the buildings nearest  made another crash-- Like a cracking egg on a massive scale, the side of one townhome groaned as fissures spread over its walls. The slicer’s work on the stone was much more effective than anything on the tree, and even as he watched, the brick began to tumble down, into its basement where they superheated chain had started a roaring blaze.

A deep groan sounded as the opposite side of the bisected building began to lurch. It began to collapse too though not inward-- instead it wavered dangerously, bricks and beams starting to crumble off right near their location.

Itrius found his voice. “It’s coming down!”

It wasn’t enough.

The Crimsons and Phoenix Guard tried-- Hawkheart, Brightblade, all of them. The unnamed crimsons, they turned just in time for his warning, but the ground beneath their boots gave way as the rest of the building collapsed inward on itself, bringing the street-- and everyone on it-- down into the smouldering dark.

“NO!”

He had to do something. Forcing his frozen body to move Itrius bolted forward, pain lancing through his chest as he scrambled to the crumbling edge of the pit. Vainly, he reached into the dark, trying to see anyone-- any of his men, the people who had trusted him to save this town, to keep them safe.

They were gone. The nightmare was never over.

In an instant all of them had vanished into the abyss. Lip quivering he tried to force himself to react, to respond, to do something, fucking anything.

A voice-- a cry-- came up from the darkness. Relief (cold as it was) washed through him. Some of them were still alive.

“HOLD ON!” He screamed against the smoking dark. “I hear you, hold on!” Itrius scrambled to his feet, looking for anything-- a rope, a vine, something he could lower into the pit. He couldn’t let them end up like Embershade. He found nothing, and so he only had one option. Leaning to the edge, he began to lower himself down, even as the rocks beneath his feet seemed to give way. He cried out again, “Hold on, I’m--”

In a blur of red and a meteoric landing Itrius found himself sliding on his back, away from the edge of the pit. What was that? Before him was the Crimson Leader Eclipse. The towering man held another red clad soldier under his arm. “Sunshatter, gather yourself we need to move.”

What? No! He looked once more to the edge of the pit, and saw the place he had been standing had fallen away, cobbles sliding from the earth. He shook his head, and snarled at the man. “That isn’t happening Eclipse, my men are down there. We are going after them!” Back on his feet he stormed over to the all Crimson general, ready to grab the man by his breastplate.

Unphased, the man barked back. “Negative.” Tilting his head Eclipse jerked an elbow back to the tree. Back in the distance a squirming tide of… something, cast in rubble dusk and shadow seemed to seethe and claw forward. “Now we are in Code Black.”

The man’s words were still sliding over Itrius as the opposing foes raced to meet them. “By the Sun.”

With his unoccupied arm, Eclipse lifted a pistol, and a flare launched itself into the sky. “Allamar is lost, we have failed. Make haste with what we have left, save who we can.” Above, the smokey black flare bloomed, sooty outline blocking what was left of their light.

Allamar was truly lost to the dark.

Stepping forward, Eclipse yanked a dirk from his belt, jostling the soldier he carried and handing the weapon hilt-first to Itrius. Even surrounded by chaos and death Eclipse did not lose his composure, or the clarity in his words. “Do not die in vain Sunshatter.” Spoken like a final goodbye, the man turned and fled towards the outskirts.

Standing alone, Itrius wasted precious breathes watching-- the creatures that twisted and surged unnaturally in the distance, below the dark pit where his troops had fallen. Itrius gripped the dirk tightly, the sword at his hip, shield at his back. His men were down there. Monsters-- he could see their writhing still, in the murk-- were closing on him. He could still go down there, try to save them-- He should try, he promised--

He should never have come back to this wretched place.

He was a fool.

Do not die in vain.

Swallowing bile, he turned his back to the city and ran, eyes caught on the crimson cloak ahead.

~~~~~~~~

Again I would like to thank my lovely wife for all her glorious work in this project. You are my favorite writing partner @stormandozone