Site Write Finale- Unspoken

Beckyann sighed, looking into the surrounding forest as if her baleful blue eyes could pierce the foliage and see into the distance. Through the dim light of the coming dawn she saw only shadows dancing beneath the trees, the object that she wished to see and that she so desperately did not want to see concealed by distance and terrain.

She never liked coming to this part of the Western Plaguelands and generally did everything in her power to ensure that she was not part of the patrols that rode in this area. The forest rose up along the edge of a range of hills, and she knew that beyond the woods stood Hearthglen, the settlement controlled by the Argent Crusade. Although the Crusaders themselves gave her little concern, amongst them was one Captain Frederick Lightstone, a man that she once knew from a time when she still drew breath; a man that was once the love of her life and often in her thoughts even in undeath.

With another sigh, Beckyann turned around, returning her attention to the matter at hand. They were in a small clearing that had, at one point, contained a somewhat orderly camp of four or five tents. It was hard to tell now exactly how many there had been given that several of the tents had caught fire when they commenced their attack. Amongst the still smoldering ashes lay several still forms, broken weapons laying beside them or strewn about the open space where the main fighting had occurred. Taken by surprise, the small cultist group had stood little chance against a patrol of armored Knights of the Ebon Blade.

Several other Knights watched the camp's perimeter, while a few milled about near the center of the camp where a form struggled futilely between two of Beckyann's men. She walked towards them, nodding at the others as they saluted her. One of the men holding the captive spoke as she approached, “Sergeant, it looks like this is the only survivor of the battle. The rest fought to the death. Never a good sign with these scum.”

Beckyann nodded, taking in the ragged appearance of the cultist. Wearing torn and stained clothes, his hands and forearms were stained black with strange chemical burns. Given the remains of some of the equipment found in the tents, it was clear that he was one of the Cult of the Damned members that had been brewing whatever it was they'd been working on before the Knights interrupted them. Beckyann leaned forward, her blonde hair neatly framing her face as a smile curled over her black-painted lips, “Well then, perhaps our friend here would like to tell us what exactly they were up to.”

The man being held glared at Beckyann, actually leaning forward to spit on her boot, “I ain't tellin' you nothing, bitch.”

Beckyann rolled her eyes, scuffing the toe of her boot in the dirt to remove the filth before reaching forward and backhanding the captive with her gauntlet, setting his head to rocking, “Wrong answer. Let's try this again. What were you brewing in the tub near the campfire over there? Where is that substance now?”

The cultist merely grinned at her, shaking his head as blood dripped from the split in his lip. Beckyann sighed again, her voice an unpleasant hiss now, “Perhaps you think that you're in the hands of the Crusaders up in Hearthglen? Let me explain something to you; you are my prisoner, and we are the Knights of the Ebon Blade. I will ask you one last time to tell me what you have done with the substance that was in that tub, and then I will take the answers from you. Do you understand?”

The man maintained his bravado, although Beckyann could tell that he was nervous after she'd spoken; his skin looked a little paler as she studied him. She gave him several minutes to make the right decision, the silence lingering as she waited. Her patience was not particularly good to begin with, and his stubborn refusal slowly soured her mood. After enough time had passed and she could stand no more, she shook her head, reaching back to grab her runeblade and slowly sliding it from the sheath, smiling at the man, “As you wish.”

The man blanched, opening his mouth to say something but by then it was, of course, far too late. With a grin, Beckyann plunged the tip of the runeblade into the cultist's chest, the weapon piercing his heart and exploding out of his back in a shower of gore. He had no time to even scream before life fled, the foul necromantic magic in the runes of Beckyann's blade already flowing into his corpse. The body twitched several times as Beckyann focused the energies, her lips whispering words of blackest magic as she reanimated him.

After a moment, she extracted the blade, the now-obedient corpse sitting up and staring at her, awaiting instructions. She pointed at it, knowing she had limited time to access whatever dull memories it might retain, “The tub. What was in it?”

The corpse shuddered, as if it fought her. After a moment it began to hiss its answer at her, malice in its tone, “Poisssssssssson. Plaaaaaaaaague. Deaaaaaaaath.”

Beckyann snorted, exchanging glances with the other Knights that were observing the proceedings. They were all quite familiar with all three of those subjects, and whatever little plot the cultists had been planning was likely nothing that they couldn't deal with. With a bit of contempt in her voice, Beckyann completed her questioning, “And where is this poison-plague now? What did you do with it?”

The corpse grinned at her, the same shit-eating smirk it had had when alive. Beckyann felt an eyebrow twitch as she waited for it to answer, knowing it was compelled to obey her. It's mouth opened, and an answer came out that she was not expecting at all, “Wellsssssssssssss. Hearthhhhhhhhhhhglen.”

The answer was like a blow to the stomach. A sudden fear and urgency began to well up in Beckyann, the likes of which she found difficult to process. Her thoughts swirled as she realized the implications of the cultists successfully poisoning many of the Crusaders in their own town. Worse, a personal feeling of dread rose up as she thought about him, about Frederick. Try as she might, the years had not made her forget her connection with him, and the thought of him suddenly being in danger made her feel panicky.

The corpse began to hiss, a mocking laugh that was silenced instantly by the swing of her runeblade. The headless body slumped to the ground as she flicked gore from the blade, looking at the other Knights. One of them, a Kaldorei, looked at Beckyann and nodded, “It's possible that he spoke the truth. There were tracks leading into the camp that could not have been more than two hours old. They may have slipped into Hearthglen in the middle of the night.”

Beckyann paused, trying to quell the rising sense of urgency, the realization forming that when the dawn came, the Crusaders would draw from their central well, unaware of the threat it posed. As was her nature, Beckyann began to react, her mind already plotting a course.

“Secure the camp and the equipment in it. You and you, go and search the surrounding forest and ensure that we've found all of the cultists,” Beckyann barked, already hurrying away from the edge of the camp. Behind her Knights sprang into action, several of them turning to shout at her.

“Sergeant! What are the rest of us to do? Where are you going?!” the cries echoed through the fading night.

Beckyann didn't answer, already rushing towards her deathcharger. The beast turned towards her, hissing and attempting to snap at her with its teeth. She cruelly struck it with the pommel of her sword, mounting it as it staggered and then digging her spurs into its flanks. It hissed again, bursting into speed as she began to slap it with the flat of her runeblade, urging it on into the night.

With the light of the camp fading behind her and the dim glow of dawn beginning to brighten the sky above, Beckyann rode. Her urgency lead her to great recklessness, spurring her steed on faster and faster through the dense foliage, forcing it up inclines that would have snapped the bones of a living horse and thrown her from the saddle. Relentless, she continued to beat the beast, ignoring its warning growls as she forced it onto the paved path that looped up the steep incline towards the Crusader's town of Hearthglen. Hooves pounding on the dirt, Beckyann leaned forward, her black cap of the 1113^th flaring out behind her and her golden hair spilling down her back as she rode like the wind.

Ahead of her the white stone wall of Hearthglen rose up in the dim morning light, sleepy guards that had been standing near either side of the open gate suddenly snapping out of their boredom as they heard the hooves of her steed pounding away on the road below them. As she reached the crest of the hill, two of them stepped forward, pikes held upright and one of them holding a hand up to slow her.

“Halt! In the name of the Argent Crusade, identify yourself at on-” one of the guards began to call out.

His words were cut off as he and his companion were forced to dodge out of the way of Beckyann's deathcharger, its mistress digging her heels in harder and forcing the undead beast on to greater speeds. The two Crusaders managed to throw themselves clear just in time, the angry men shouting and brandishing their weapons as they alerted other Crusaders along the gate and walls overlooking the path upwards. It was far too late though, and Beckyann had moved well past the opening as the shouts rose up and then faded in the distance behind her.

In the early morning only a few of the people who called Hearthglen home were up and about. Those that Beckyann saw as she rode past at a frenzied pace were mostly guards that were probably just coming off duty or heading towards their stations for the day. Many of them turned to stare at her, as her undead steed and the silver bone motif of her armor would have made her stand out even without the scourge-light that glowed in her eyes. A few shouted at her to halt, and she ignored them as she'd ignored the guards at the gates, only applying more speed as she passed.

After a few minutes of this, her destination became visible around one of the towers, the central well of the settlement made of stone with buckets to draw from, troughs nearby already full and prepared for the stalls used by the Crusade's mounted soldiers. Beckyann jerked her reins hard, directing her steed towards the well at full-gallop, ignoring the shocked and frightened faces of the people standing around the well or carrying buckets.

With a cruel yank on the reins, Beckyann forced her deathcharger to skid to a halt, the beast nearly losing its footing on the cobblestones around the well as she jumped down. Enraged, the creature attempted to bite her only to have her parry the attack with the flat of her blade. A second well placed smack with the weapon sent it staggering away from her again, her eyes communicating to it for a moment what she would do to it later once she was done with her mission.

Around the well, several of the townsfolk had paused, staring at her with open-mouthed shock. She pointed at the nearest, a dark haired woman with a baby in one arm and a small bucket of water in the other. Dark tendrils of magic lashed from Beckyann's hands, wrapping around the bucket and ripping it from the woman's hands. The woman stumbled backwards, just barely maintaining her footing as Beckyann turned and repeated the spell over and over, snatching buckets of the poisoned water from the civilians and sending them reeling.

Angry shouts rose up from those she had man-handled, but Beckyann ignored them, bringing her runeblade up and pointing at the well itself. Runes flashed on her blade as she summoned a howling gale of cold wind, freezing the water solid enough so that no one else would be able to draw water from it for quite some time. Townsfolk scattered away from Beckyann as she moved towards the well, turning and putting her back to it protectively.

“Monster!”

“Get away from there!”

“She's knocked over old man Simmons!”

“Are we under attack?! What's going on!”

The shouts poured over Beckyann, making her roll her eyes as she yelled back at them, “The well is poisoned you idiots! Get away!”

The enraged citizens ignored the threat though, one man actually picking up a rock and hurling it at Beckyann. She managed to deflect it with her runeblade, but only barely, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm. In the distance she could see a crowd of soldiers rushing towards the area, weapons drawn. Concerned now, she brought her runeblade up, dark tendrils of magic spilling from it as she chanted in the Language of Death, the spell ripping holes open between the shadow realm and the real world. Ghouls crawled from the holes, rising up to surround the well at Beckyann's bidding, the shadowy magic fading as they were summoned.

Although the sudden appearance of the ghouls drove back the citizens, they did little to deter the armed men that rushed Beckyann's position. The armored group of warriors spread out, watching her warily as they began to circle her. Elven archers took up positions further back in the crowd, bows bent and arrows at the ready as they drew aim at her. After a moment, a deadly silence settled over the scene and Beckyann glared at the men arrayed against her.

She took a step forward, her mouth open to speak when one of the archers let loose with her bow. The arrow flew almost faster than the eye could see, piercing the armor over Beckyann's thigh and causing her to stumble. She fell to one knee, cursing at the damage to her form, her glare murderous and her voice filled with malice, “You idiots! The well. Is. Poisoned. Do you understand Common? You need to get a mage or an alchemist here now!”

Several of the warriors standing before Beckyann glanced at one another, muttering angrily. To Beckyann's irritation, the elf that had shot her had pulled another arrow from her quiver, merely smiling as she set it to her bow. Realizing she was about to be cut to pieces, Beckyann was barely able to restrain her rage. Just as she believed that battle would be inevitable, a voice cut through the crowd.

“Hold! Stand down! And by the Light, let me through!” a man shouted.

The crowd in front of Beckyann began to part, the men moving aside as another figure made his way through their ranks, coming to stand in the open space between Beckyann, her ghouls, and the armed forces ready to destroy her. The moment he stopped and faced her, Beckyann gasped, her eyes going wide.

He had changed a bit since she last saw him, the thick dark hair of his youth now spotted with a hint of gray here and there. Wrinkles had begun to creep in at the edges of his eyes, although it would be many years before he became weathered. At thirty five, Frederick Lightstone was still an imposing figure, his shining silver armor and flowing white tabard of the Argent Crusade lending him an air of majesty and purity all at once. His cloak was pinned in place with a Captain's seal, and he stared at Beckyann firmly, not recognizing her at first.

“Fred! Oh thank the Light, Fred!” a voice cried out. Beckyann watched with rising fury as a dark haired woman parted from the crowd, running up to Frederick and wrapping an arm around his armored form, her other hand still holding her baby. It was the same woman that Beckyann had 'saved' not a moment before, and she looked at the Death Knight with a scowl now, “That awful thing attacked us! She nearly knocked me over and she's done something to the well!”

Frederick nodded, untangling the woman's arm from his waist and guiding her behind him as he stared at the kneeling Death Knight, “It's alright, Miranda. We'll figure this out. It's only one Knight so I'm sure that she won't be giving us any trouble, now will she....wait... you there...rise and look at me.”

Beckyann actually felt a thrill of fear run through her as Frederick issued the command, knowing what would happen next. Slowly she pushed herself up off the ground, ignoring the diseased black ichor that ran down her armor from the arrow protruding from her leg. She straightened her back, her glowing eyes rising to meet his, seeing the surprise and then the horror cross his features.

“B-becky...why? What have you done?” his voice came out as a whisper.

“The well...it's poisoned, Fred,” Beckyann replied hesitantly. For all the years since her death, she had seen Frederick only a few times, and always at a distance. They had never spoken until this moment, and now that they were, she didn't know how to talk to him, what to say.

They had been so in love once, he a guard captain for a noble family and she a tutor for the same family. Their romance grew in secret, beneath the noses of their employers, their time together short but magical. It had ended only when the plague came to Lordaeron and brought their entire world crashing down around them. The feelings between them, the memories they shared, were bittersweet and tinged with the knowledge that in the end Beckyann had lead them on an impossible quest and paid for her ambition with her life. She had fallen when Frederick had abandoned her on the field of battle and now the time since stood like the weight of eons as they each held the others' gaze across the distance between them.

It was he that broke the silence finally, the crowd around them all but forgotten, “And so you rode in here, nearly cutting down men and women rather than getting help. Nearly harming my wife and child and all of the others who had gathered here this morning. Why doesn't it surprise me, Becky? After all these years, why am I not shocked to see that your impulsiveness has created an angry mob?”

Beckyann was so stung by the words that she nearly stumbled, her body drawing in a great, unnecessary breath as she gasped, her eyes blazing for a moment, “And what would you have me do, Fred? Did you want your wife to drink tainted water and die? Did you want me to wait and ask permission from the perimeter guards so I could get some sort of light-damned pass to ride in here and politely ask everyone not to drink the water?! People are alive now, thanks to me. And in gratitude, the knife-ears you've got over there put an arrow in me.”

Frederick scowled, shaking his head and speaking in a firm tone, “We have mages at the gate, Becky. They could have warned the people here even faster, without putting such fear in them or nearly injuring any of them. But you couldn't wait, could you? You have to be the hero. You have to ride in and fix it and get the glory for it. And that's why we're here now, talking like this, isn't it?”

Fury flowed through Beckyann, the years of pent up anger at what Frederick had done when he'd left her in the hands of the Cult of the Damned to die a slow, painful death finally surfacing, “Oh I'm so sorry that you weren't concerned about your wife and child, Fred. Why does that not surprise me?! Figures that you would put your duty first, and your wife second. Don't worry though, I made sure that she and your baby are safe and healthy, which is fel of a lot more than you did for me.”

Beckyann turned and stared hard at the woman named Miranda, her eyes blazing with scourge-light, “I hope that he truly does love you and I hope for your sake that he's never put in a position where he needs to decide between that love and his duty.”

“ENOUGH!” Frederick shouted. Beckyann actually cowered slightly, blinking at him in surprise as he continued, “It's bad enough that you've created a near-riot here and almost gotten yourself destroyed. You will not talk to her that way! I don't know why you think you care so much about my family, Becky, but I'll not have them living under the shadow of what you've become. Yes I loved you once, and I would have done anything for you; anything at all except let your ambition lead the rest of us to our deaths. You're lucky we don't lock you up for what you've done here, instead of reward you. You've got some nerve. What makes you think that you should even talk about my child, my wife like that?!”

Beckyann knew in that moment that she would hurt him. Deep within, a part of her didn't want to, but it had long been buried by what she'd become in undeath. She stalked towards him, slamming the point of her runeblade into the ground and planting her hands on her hips, shouting up into his face, “YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY, FRED? YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I CARE SO MUCH?! BECAUSE THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MY CHILD! THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME THERE! BECAUSE....”

She continued, her mind horrified at the words she let slip next, the words that had been unspoken for all those many years, knowing that they would cut him like a sword, “....because...I was carrying your child, Fred. Because....because I was pregnant...when I...when you...”

She trailed off, the horror of what she'd said sinking into all who listened. The woman, Miranda, turned ghostly white and fainted, a guard behind her catching her and easing her to the ground before picking up her baby and holding it gently. For his part, Frederick just stood there, staring at her with his mouth agape, small sounds escaping from him that formed no words.

She felt the weight of it, of the secret she'd been carrying for so long. She'd never told a soul. No one had known when she'd lived, no one had known after her death. Not even her closest friends like Red had known. It was just one more life lost to her mistakes, one more tragedy in a burden she already carried personally, and now she'd lashed out with it to wound, to harm the one man that she'd ever truly loved, the one she still loved beneath all that she'd become.

She spoke softly now, her voice trying to find the right things to say to undo the horrible consequences of her lack of self-control, of her terrible impetuous nature. As she spoke, the glow in her eyes faded slightly, their original green color partially visible, “It...it was just before we left on our quest, Fred. I-I didn't want to tell you. I-I couldn't tell you. You wouldn't have allowed me to come with you... If I d-didn't complete that task, if I wasn't part of the group that found a cure for the plague, Lord Woodbury would have thrown me out of his household, w-would have stripped you of your position. I-I...I had to keep it secret. It was the only way.”

And so the truth came out at last. She almost felt lighter, having rid herself of the burden of it after all these years. Her reasons were, at the time, sound. The plague had risen around Stratholme, the Woodbury family had been planning to send an expedition there to find a cure. If she had succeeded, she'd have had prestige and fortune and her pregnancy in her unwed state would have been overlooked after the deeds she'd done. Her pride, her ambition, had lead her and her unborn child to their deaths and her lover had never known of it until this moment.

“H-how...how far along...?” Frederick asked after a lengthy silence. Beckyann could feel the weight of emotion in his words, could feel his suffering from where she stood. She was meant to feed on such things, although it seemed almost comical to think she could actually enjoy this moment and the suffering it brought her.

“F-four weeks? Five at most,” Beckyann whispered. “I...I found out just before we set out. My moon's blood had not come and...I-I knew. I hid it from you. The sickness in the morning, the fear of it being discovered. I h-had to. For us, for you, for the child. I-I...I'm...I shouldn't have...”

“No. You've said enough, Becky,” Frederick said, his voice heavy. He looked at her through tear streaked eyes, shaking his head. “I could have gone on forever without knowing that, without the guilt that comes with knowing that I left not only you, but my own child to die. Every night I hear your voice crying out to me for help. Every day I have to get up and face what I did. And now...now I know I can never come to terms with it.”

Beckyann took a step forward, reaching out to touch his arm and feeling brackish, disease-ridden tears running down her own face, “Fred...please, I-I shouldn't have said it in anger, I shouldn't have t-told you like this...please, I'm s-so sorry...”

He brushed her hand off his arm, stepping away from her. He gazed at her, his voice raw as he spoke, “You have become a monster, Beckyann Eastberg. A terrible monster that has only the worst of who you were in her. I want you to leave. Now. I want you to walk away from me, my wife, and my child and never darken our lives again. You are not the girl I loved, not the person who you were. She died long ago, and I will mourn her every day of my life, especially for the part I had in that, but you are not her. You're...something else. Now go.”

Beckyann felt emotions pounding at her, threatening to strangle her. Behind her the ghouls she'd summoned collapsed as she lost her grip on her necromancy, a sob bursting free from her mouth, “Please, Fred...please...”

He turned away from her, kneeling down beside his wife and propping her up to comfort her. His voice, when it came to her from over his shoulder, was cold and final, “Go, and leave me be. You've done enough here.”

The sorrow was more than she could bear, and so Beckyann let the truth of Frederick's words show as she stood behind him. She let the pain melt away, let it turn into the fury of the creature she was now, and buried the real Beckyann Eastberg beneath a sea of writhing anger.

“FINE!” she yelled at him, her voice echoing from the structures around them. Cold seeped from her, frost forming on the stones beneath her feet as her eyes blazed with scourge-light. She stormed away from him, knowing that they would never see each other again in life or undeath, her wrath turned on the soldiers in front of her. “GET THE FEL OUT OF MY WAY!”

Men scrambled from her path as she raged, storming past them and over to where her deathcharger was standing. The beast began to hiss at her and then paused when it saw the state she was in, as if deciding that now was not a good time to test her ire. Angrily she launched herself into the saddle, grabbing the reins and snapping them, driving the deathcharger away from the mass of people who stared at her in loathing as she left.

Behind her she left the frozen well, her runeblade planted point-first in the ground, and the broken remains of a love that had been the greatest treasure of her life.