Light's Advance

Several Years Ago, Icecrown

Southwest of the Shadow Vault

Midday

Screams rose up from the mass of men and orcs as the attack began. Thousands of Scourge soldiers poured into their flanks, while other monstrosities rose up from the very ground beneath them, shattering the icy crust that covered the ground and erupting into battle. The effect of the multi-directional ambush was instant as panic set in amongst the Horde and Alliance fighters.

Marcus Deathsworn laughed as he watched the chaos unfold. The plan had been rather simple to initiate given the rivalries between the Horde and Alliance, and watching it unfold was like observing beautiful art to the necromancer. He'd spent much of the past two days weaving spells across the frozen plains, using heat to bring up thick fog banks to confound and disorient the two armies that now clashed before him. Knowing that the rivals would be unable to help themselves once they stumbled into each other in the fog, he had carefully arranged that both vanguards would reach this location at the same time, small skirmishes quickly escalating into a full scale battle.

As one of the more powerful necromancers of the Cult of the Damned in the area, it had been child's play to prepare a legion of undead minions to ambush the two forces once they were fully engaged with one another, flanking their forces and setting them to panic. The slaughter that was unfolding would leave many corpses for use as new Scourge soldiers and many component parts for larger constructs. This was not to mention the fact that it would severely weaken both Horde and Alliance advances towards Icecrown Citadel.

In the distance a unit of human warriors broke as their morale failed them, the individually fleeing soldiers becoming easy targets for the undead monstrosities that had struck from the rear. Men and horses perished as claws and rusty blades plunged into them, the screams of the dying rising up over the general noise of battle and setting Marcus to laughing again. It was indeed a good day for the Scourge and by nightfall he would have even more undead enslaved to his will. Why any would choose to openly assault the Lich King's holdings was beyond him.

The gray sky began to shed snow as more men and orcs perished, their blood mixing with the white to make shocking patterns of gore. The battle continued, the Horde and Alliance armies desperately attempting to disengage from one another as their rearguards were slaughtered by the undead. The commanders of the two forces clearly knew what was happening, but in the middle of battle knowing and being able to do something about it were two very different things.

As Marcus watched, a distant sound caught his attention, making him shift in the snow and search the perimeter of the battle. The sound came again, allowing him to pinpoint the noise that was so out of place amongst the screams and mayhem. It was the clarion call of a trumpet; a signal for soldiers to advance to war. As the necromancer scanned the distances of the plains, he saw ten figures riding up to a small snowy incline overlooking the battlefield below.

The minute he saw them Marcus snarled, knowing what they were. Although they were quite distant, he could see their silver-barded warhorses and the long white lances they carried. Although snow fell fitfully over the rest of the battlefield, a glimmer of sunlight seemed to lance down upon the ten men and women, a sparkle of it glittering off of the steel armor that encased their bodies. White pennants fluttered from their lance tips and white tabards adorned their armor, the telltale emblem of a golden sun with a silver cross around it indicating that they were Argent Crusaders.

As he watched them line up in battle formation, Marcus frowned. There was something more about the ten knights, something that made him uncomfortable even from a distance. He knew without a doubt that the power of the Light was present, either within them or within their weapons. Ten knights would do little to stave off the disaster that was unfolding but it was still something that made him wary. With a snarl he gestured to several of his attendants, sending the lesser necromancers scurrying to obey.

Within moments he saw the results of his barely spoken orders; units of Scourge were reorienting themselves, Abominations moving to block any move the mounted knights might make. Although they presented a formidable challenge, Marcus watched with some concern as the leader of the group again brought a horn to his lips and the call went up again. A moment later all ten knights dipped their lances at once, spurs digging in and sending their mounts hurtling forward.

It was amazing to watch their coordination; they moved as one, each lance held perfectly straight, each warhorse propelling its rider forward, bringing the deadly weapons closer and closer. Within the Scourge ranks, Abominations turned, striding towards the mounted foes. Marcus watched the battle as it unfolded, his fingers steepled before him as he contemplated what he would do next.

The battle began and ended in seconds, the mounted knights plunging into the Abominations, their lances driving deep into the foe. Blessed by the Light, the weapons tore through undead flesh, leaving burning holes and sending the creatures tumbling to their final rest. Although the knights quickly pushed through the blocking forces, they did not do so without casualties and Marcus counted only eight of them as they continued. Several were knocked from their horses during the conflict and even those who retained their mounts were slowed as they slammed into the masses of lesser Scourge that had been milling about the edge of the battlefield.

It was then that Marcus realized that they were not merely knights, but paladins.

Light blazed forth from the group as Scourge leaped on them. Blessed weapons came down on diseased, twisted flesh and put and end to the suffering of the undead. Claws lashed out only to meet shield or armor or blade, and warhorses crushed the undead beneath their hooves. Within moments the eight remaining knights had made headway into the Scourge who were ringing the two imperiled armies, carving their way through lesser Scourge.

As they advanced, more and more undead surged towards them, and they began to falter. Here a knight fell, there a knight took a wound and was slowed. Even with these losses Marcus could see that they would continue to push forward...and that they were heading towards him and his command group. With another snarl he pointed, sending waves of necromantic energy across the battlefield.

In the center of the two battling armies the ground surged upwards, men and orcs thrown away as a huge sheet of ice buckled and then shattered. From beneath the frozen ground a giant arm reached up, grasping the lip of the hole it had made to pull the rest of the undead form upwards. Combatants quailed as the giant undead construct surged to its feet, turning at Marcus's command to lumber towards the knights.

The holy warriors were well trained and saw the threat as it approached. Quickly they grouped together, shields and blades forming a wall of defense that kept the lesser Scourge back as the giant approached. It towered over them, its decaying form dripping ichor as it roared and brought a hand down to batter the enemies before it.

The Argent knights scattered as the hand came down, several darting forward to slash at the creature's lower legs with blades and hammers. The blessed weapons cut deeply, burning away undead flesh and causing the giant to reel backwards as it was assaulted. The knights fearlessly pushed forward, taking advantage of the creature's retreat to hit it again and again. Although it stomped down and killed two of the attackers instantly, the damage to its legs began to tell and within moments it was teetering in place, falling to its knees and bringing its upper body within range of the holy spells and blades of the knights.

One of the attackers surged forward and Marcus winced as the knight plunged a two-handed sword into the giant's chest, Light flaring from the wound. The creature shrieked in agony before shuddering and beginning to fall forward, its massive weight collapsing on the valiant crusader that had brought it down.

Of the ten knights, only five remained now and Marcus began to prepare himself for a very deadly fight as they came closer. The battle swirled around them, making it difficult to see them from moment to moment and as he prepared his wards and deadly combat spells. Before he could bring his magic to bear a massive explosion ripped through the center of the battlefield as a goblin-made aircraft slammed into the ground. Marcus looked up, grinning as he saw one of the frostwryms hovering over the battle, having sent the mechanical contraption to its doom.

Smoke billowed up in a huge pillar nearby, and all of the combatants that had been in the area had to stagger back to their feet after the shockwave passed. Marcus laughed as he realized the advancing knights had likely been obliterated by the explosion, his victory all but assured now.

Even as he thought this, a single figure emerged from the billowing smoke, the silver armor and white tabard clearly marking her as one of the Argent Crusaders. Her helm had been lost somewhere in the battle behind her, leaving her blonde hair to blow in the wind and shrapnel from the explosion had torn up the armor on her right arm. Blood dripped from beneath her shoulder pauldron and from the gaps in her armor on her right side as she advanced towards him, a morningstar in one hand and shield in the other. He could see it was a female elf, likely a Sin'dorei based on the fel green glow of her eyes. It was hard to tell in the haze of the battlefield.

Almost casually Marcus brought his hands up, sending deadly waves of disintegrating magic towards the paladin. He would flay her flesh off and use the bones later in an undead construct. Even as he thought this, holy Light flared around her form, the magic dissipating before it reached her body and leaving her untouched.

With a growl Marcus gestured again, this time causing the ground before the advancing figure to erupt. Smoke curled around her from the fires behind her as skeletal hands burst up from the ice and long dead warriors drew ancient blades to face her. She brought her morningstar up before her, her fel green eyes closing as she murmured a prayer to the Light. The undead before her paused and then cowered in horror, their twisted, enslaved souls given voice as the Light touched them. As one they turned, fleeing from her blessed form as she continued her advance, her gaze locked with Marcus's own.

Feeling somewhat desperate now, Marcus brought his hands up to begin casting another spell, this one far more powerful than the previous spells. Before he could begin chanting the elf brought her left arm up, twisted her upper body and hurled her shield with all her might. He saw it for only an instant, the emblem of the Argent Crusade looming ever larger before steel collided with flesh and he was bodily hurled to the ground.

For a moment Marcus saw only stars as he lay in a daze. Above him the stormy sky had begun to lighten, a glimmer of sunlight beginning to come through holes in the clouds above. He could taste blood in his mouth and felt it running down his face. A brief prodding with his tongue showed that he had lost a good deal of teeth from the impact of the shield to his face. In the far distance, a frostwyrm turned and began to fly away, as if it already knew he had fallen and that the constructs he'd summoned would falter without his will to guide them.

And then his view of the sky was blotted out as the paladin stood over him. Up close now he could confirm that she was a Sin'dorei, her gaze locked upon him with such intensity that it made his skin crawl. There was no hint of self in her look, no thought of mercy or compassion or even understandable emotions like rage or hate. There was only unyielding, unwavering faith in her gaze as she studied the foe that had intended to inflict more evil upon the world.

In that brief moment he noted many things about her; the way her breath frosted in the air as she studied him, the now blood-stained white purity ribbons tied in her blonde hair, the wax seals that affixed prayers of Light to her armor, dedicating her very body to her faith and turning it into a weapon against darkness, the prayers inscribed in the metal haft of her morningstar, and oddly enough, the name 'Britany' inscribed alongside the symbol of the Argent Crusade on the clasp that kept her cloak in place.

Realizing who and what stood above him, Marcus heard words pour out of his mouth, pleading and begging for mercy and hoping he could stall her as his hand slipped into a pocket in his robes, desperately searching for spell components to slay her before she could capture him.

The elf's free hand came up, halting the tumble of words and bringing a moment of silence to that part of the battlefield. She looked down at him, her voice firm and filled with the conviction of one who believes beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is absolutely right, “I grant your flesh absolution for your crimes. May the Light have mercy on your stained soul.”

The spiked head of her morningstar came up as Marcus felt his mouth hanging open in surprise, and then it came down with a great deal of force.

Marcus Deathsworn saw only darkness after that.