Resurgence of the Light [Warcraft]

[Kordelius]

In the annals of time, the Eastern Plaguelands, once known as Easteweald, stood as fertile foothills beneath the heavens. Within these undulating landscapes lay green grassy plains and towering arboreal giants that brushed the very firmament. A symphony of life echoed through its expanse, a tapestry woven with the threads of both carnivores and herbivores thriving in harmony.

Oh, what a tranquil existence one could have embraced here, basking in the serenity of a life untouched by the tumultuous currents of excitement or danger. But destiny's cruel hand intervened, and the idyllic tableau shattered.

The transformation was profound, a wretched curse falling upon this land. Those once-fertile foothills now birthed only decay and putrefaction, the once-beautiful trees warped into grotesque and malevolent monstrosities. Animals, once vibrant and vital, now wore the mantle of death itself – ambulatory corpses with flesh ravaged and torn asunder, an aberration of existence.

To witness such a metamorphosis was to invite despair, for the eyes that once beheld its beauty were now subjected to a harrowing spectacle. It was as though the darkest and most abhorrent yearnings of mortal hearts had taken corporeal form; an avaricious hunger for power that paid no heed to the toll of its toll.

Amidst this blight-stricken realm strode a solitary figure, a stranger with a singular purpose – to liberate these lands, nay this world from the clutches of malevolence. His prowess was formidable, fortified by an unshakable faith in the guiding Light. Yet, even in his unyielding might, he acknowledged the truth that his quest could not be embarked upon alone. Thus, he set his course toward the solitary bastion where the Light still held sway.

His equine companion, imbued with the very essence of Light, underwent a transformation of its own. Its eyes gleamed with the incandescent radiance of the Light, while its hooves blazed with the luminescent fires of divine power. With each stride, the land itself felt the scorching touch of its hooves, leaving behind searing footprints that resisted the encroaching decay, standing as beacons of defiance against the insidious rot.

And so, his path led to the fabled Lights Hope Chapel – the ultimate sanctuary, where the torchbearers of justice, righteousness, and morality persevered in defiance of the land's curse. Here, the Argent Dawn, as they named themselves, rallied under the banner of honor.

~~~~
​

In the hallowed halls of Light's Hope Chapel, an extraordinary assembly unfolded. Diverse orders converged — the Argent Dawn, alongside the Brotherhood of Light, a sect within the Dawn known for its martial resolve against the Scourge. Not to be overlooked, the contentious Scarlet Crusade also joined, notorious for their zeal to obliterate the scourge, yet infamous for their ruthless methods. Divisive and exclusive, they had alienated themselves from the wider world, forsaking unity for a narrow mission.

Alas, the Crusade outnumbered the other orders, their debates over strategies a recurring cacophony. Lord Maxwell Tyrosus, wearied by the ceaseless discord, questioned the point of these gatherings. Unity seemed beyond reach, and action even more distant. The land remained plagued by undead, survivors navigating a harrowing existence, wary of both the Crusade and the undead's relentless onslaught.

Yearning for justice against the Crusade's atrocities, Tyrosus harbored a desire to confront them. Yet, the grim reality of his limited resources held him back, a dangerous clash potentially provoking further undead onslaughts.

"Light, grant me hope," he silently prayed, optimism dimming as resolution grew elusive. Just as the next argument seemed poised to erupt, a guard rushed in, heading straight for Tyrosus.

"Lord Tyrosus, a stranger approaches on horseback," the guard reported urgently, an edge of anxiety in his voice. Maxwell found it peculiar; the chapel received visitors regularly, so why the urgency now?

Undeterred by Tyrosus's skepticism, the guard persisted, "He... he radiates Light, my Lord. His steed leaves burning hoofprints that cleanse the decaying land. Undead attacked him, yet he pressed on, his mere presence obliterating the assailants."

"Absurd! Must we believe this nonsense? It appears your men have lost their minds, Lord Tyrosus," scoffed Scarlet Commander Marjhan, her words laced with sarcasm.

"At least their 'hallucinations' don't lead to innocent deaths!" retorted Commander Eligor Dawnbringer, his voice a mix of anger and frustration.

With a sigh, Tyrosus called for a temporary pause. As the factions dispersed, an uneasy atmosphere cloaked the chapel, shared among all attendees. Stepping outside, they felt compelled to witness the truth firsthand.

And there it was, the stranger's arrival confirming the guard's words. The land sizzled and purged corruption beneath the steed's hooves. An infected bear lunged at the stranger, incinerated by his mere presence.

Maxwell, seldom at a loss for words, found himself speechless. As the stranger drew nearer, Tyrosus extended a welcome. Yet, it was the stranger's final step onto the chapel's sanctified ground that unveiled a revelation. Maxwell glimpsed the radiant Light flowing from the stranger, enveloping all in its embrace. Wounded soldiers emerged from their tents, renewed and baffled.

For their Scarlet guests, most writhed in agony. The Light had passed judgment on their transgressions.

However, the greatest astonishment lay ahead — spirits materialized. Initially baffling, recognition soon dawned. Among them were familiar faces, souls entombed beneath the chapel's foundation.

Unified, the spirits knelt before the stranger, who addressed them with solemn authority.

"Valiant heroes, I implore you, let the fire of my words kindle the flames of your spirits! Your respite, hard-fought and well-deserved, has granted you a moment of reprieve. Yet, let us not forget the relentless grip of darkness that continues to shroud our world in its malevolent grasp. It festers, lurking, while those who should stand as its staunch guardians are entangled in petty disputes, blinded by insatiable greed and unbridled ambition.

Can you not feel it? The cries of the innocent, the anguished pleas that reverberate through the very core of our existence? Their suffering, like a haunting symphony, echoes in the silent recesses of our souls. But fear not, for within each of you lies the power to dispel this ominous gloom. The Light that resides within your hearts, the beacon of hope that has guided you through countless trials, still burns with an undying intensity.

Look around you, at the world teetering on the precipice of oblivion. The pillars of morality, shaken by the tremors of darkness, threaten to crumble into dust. Yet, in the face of this impending doom, I call upon those among you who have not forsaken compassion, who have not surrendered to the allure of power at any cost. Rise, my champions! Unite your unwavering wills and stand as a formidable bastion against the encroaching night.

It is not power for power's sake that drives us forward, but the unwavering dedication to safeguarding all that is good and just. Let your hearts beat in harmony with the pulsating rhythm of the world's heartache. Let your swords sing through the air, striking down the shadows that threaten to consume us all. The clarion call of the Light resounds once more, a clarion call that echoes through the annals of time, beckoning you to take up arms.

In this pivotal moment, cast aside doubt, embrace your purpose, and charge forth with a fervor that knows no bounds. The destiny of our world rests within your grasp. Let the flames of your determination blaze brighter than ever before, for it is through your valor that the dawn of a new era shall break, banishing the darkness and ushering in an age of hope and renewal.

Those of you with the will to stand, be reborn in the name of the Light!"

His words resonated powerfully, an earnest plea to rekindle the flames of heroism.

In that suspended moment, the air seemed to crackle with an energy no one could fully grasp. The living stood, their hearts pounding, unable to fully process the extraordinary sight before them. The spirits hovered, as if weighing their response to the stranger's impassioned plea. But some among the dead needed no deliberation; their resolve shone in their eyes, and as the stranger's radiant light embraced them, their beings were transformed. Once the glow receded, the congregation saw the risen heroes, souls once lost to time now back among the living.

Yet, one figure stood out, commanding attention. Before the stranger who had called them back to the realm of the living, there stood a figure recognizable to all—a figure that transcended history.

Uther the Lightbringer, the embodiment of wisdom and nobility, the paragon of paladins, and the revered leader of the Order of the Silver Hand. One of the earliest paladins to walk Azeroth, his legacy was woven into the very fabric of their world.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the chapel, Tyrosus remained frozen, his mind grappling with the impossible truth he had just witnessed. Never in his wildest imagination could he have conjured such an event. It defied every rule, every precedent, every understanding of the Light's power. And yet, there it was, unfolding before his very eyes.

Unseen by him, a hand came to rest on his shoulder, breaking the spell of disbelief. Turning, he found himself facing Lord Raymond George, the previous leader of the Argent Dawn, a knowing smile on the veteran's face.

"Not something you encounter every day, is it?" Raymond's voice held a mixture of camaraderie and understanding, as he surveyed the newly arisen spirits.

Tyrosus struggled to find words. How could he articulate the awe and the questions racing through his mind? He finally managed a nod, his gaze fixed on those who had returned from beyond.

A sudden realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. The plea he had whispered, his fervent plea to the Light, it had been answered in the most astonishing manner. The Light had not only illuminated the darkness but had woven the threads of existence, transcending death itself.

Determination surged within him, fueled by the Light's response to his plea. His doubts and uncertainties seemed insignificant compared to the monumental power he had been a witness to. He turned his gaze once more toward the figures gathered in the chapel's sanctified grounds, the heroes of old reborn in the name of the Light.

With a renewed fire in his eyes, Tyrosus vowed to himself that he would not squander this divine intervention. He would rally those who still clung to their compassion, who had not abandoned their sense of justice. The fate of their world rested upon their shoulders, now more than ever.

As the echoes of the stranger's plea lingered in the air, Tyrosus took his first step forward, ready to embrace the Light's charge with an unwavering heart. The dawn of a new era, an era of hope and renewal, awaited them.

---

Just a little something I made. This story will mostly be posted on Patreon, with irregular updates here.

Cheers!

 

[Kordelius]

Days had passed since what had become known as the "Day of the Light." Tyrosus couldn't help but shake his head at the name, though he begrudgingly acknowledged its fittingness. The event had left its mark on him, as it had on everyone.

In the wake of that momentous day, a flurry of activity had ensued as people worked to make sense of the new reality they found themselves in. Questions hung in the air like a lingering mist, the most prominent of them revolving around the enigmatic stranger. The one who had delivered the impassioned speech, who had called forth the fallen heroes, and who now stood like a sentinel, unyielding in his silence.

Tyrosus sighed, his fingers rubbing at his temples as he grappled with the complexities before him. The stranger's reticence to explain his actions was, in itself, maddening. It left them all in a state of perpetual uncertainty, grappling with the implications of their newfound purpose.

And what a purpose it was. The chapel's grounds were alive with activity. The risen heroes moved with purpose, equipping themselves with armor, gathering weapons, and amassing supplies. It was as if an invisible call to arms had resounded, compelling them to prepare for something they all felt, but couldn't yet fully comprehend.

A sudden clamor from the chapel's entrance drew Tyrosus's attention. Stepping into the light, there was Uther himself, followed by Lord Raymond George. The energy in the air shifted; a sense of urgency and gravity emanated from Uther's very presence.

As if speaking to his unspoken thoughts, Raymond addressed Uther, his voice laced with concern. "Uther, it's too soon. Our forces are not fully prepared."

But Uther's determination was unwavering. His words were charged with the weight of his past failures, and his eyes blazed with an unquenchable fire. "The Light has given us a chance to face the evil that plagues this land, this world! We can't squander it in endless discussions. Innocents suffer, darkness festers, and we must act! My inaction has already cost us dearly once; I refuse to repeat that mistake."

His words resonated, striking a chord deep within those who heard them. Uther's strides were purposeful, leading him to the stranger who had orchestrated this resurgence of hope. His mace struck the ground with a resounding thud, and he fixed his gaze upon the assembly.

"The time has come!" Uther's voice carried a thunderous weight. "We will do what we were brought back to do: cleanse this land and world of the evils that infest it. Evils hidden and revealed, within the hearts of those who masquerade as good. The Light has granted us a chance to save our world, and I, for one, refuse to let it slip through our fingers."

With his mace raised high, Uther's rallying cry was met with a chorus of cheers and raised weapons. The energy was palpable, a fusion of determination, hope, and anticipation. The fallen heroes stood ready, a united front against the encroaching darkness.

"Prepare yourselves! Today, we march! The era of evil ends now!" Uther's voice resounded through the air, his proclamation echoing in the hearts of those who stood beside him.

As Uther turned to face the same direction as the stranger, an air of finality settled over the scene. The assembly, each one prepared in their own way, stood united, ready to confront whatever lay ahead.

Tyrosus approached Raymond, his mind still swirling with questions. "What's happening? We were days away from any concrete plan."

Raymond's sigh was heavy with exhaustion, his gaze following Uther's commanding figure. "Uther believes that action is the answer now. He's haunted by past mistakes and is determined not to repeat them. He's decided that the time for discussions is over."

Tyrosus's gaze didn't waver. "And the stranger? We still know so little about him."

Raymond's expression hardened, a glimpse of frustration surfacing. "The stranger's purpose aligns with ours—to save this world from darkness. His intentions are pure, and he bears no ill will. That's all you need to know. Don't pry further."

With a nod, Raymond's words signaled the end of that line of inquiry. Tyrosus turned his gaze back to Uther and the stranger, an amalgamation of resolve and uncertainty churning within him. The path ahead was shrouded, but they were stepping onto it, united, and ready to face whatever destiny had in store.

~~~~
​

As time marched forward, the ranks behind Uther and the enigmatic Stranger swelled steadily. Men and women, united by a shared purpose and fortified by an unyielding resolve, gathered to face whatever awaited them. The anticipation hung thick in the air as the final stragglers joined their ranks, completing the assembly.

Then, as if awakened from a profound slumber, the Stranger stirred. A subtle movement, a mere shift in posture, but it signaled a monumental shift in their course of action. The stillness that had enveloped him for days was finally broken, and with it, the march of the united assembly commenced.

There was no need for rallying cries or speeches; each person understood their mission, their duty. Their intent was clear, their path defined. Tyrosus watched as the silent procession moved forward, each step resonating with a palpable sense of purpose.

Gazing at those who remained behind to anchor the chapel in their absence, a pang of frustration gnawed at Tyrosus's heart. His desire to march alongside his comrades was undeniable, yet he recognized the necessity of having a stronghold, a sanctuary to return to. The chapel would stand as a symbol of hope, a beacon to guide them back from the trials they were bound to face.

While the ache to be on the front lines tugged at him, Tyrosus found solace in the fact that the cause he had long yearned for was finally taking shape, even if not in the way he initially envisioned. His faith in their success remained unshaken. The stranger might have expended considerable power to raise the fallen, but Tyrosus believed that, bolstered by stalwart figures like Uther, their collective strength was undiminished. The undead, the very scourge that had tormented their world, would crumble in the face of their united front.

His gaze shifted, landing on the distant silhouette of Naxxramas, the ominous flying fortress of the Scourge. The fortress that had once struck fear into the hearts of many would soon meet its reckoning. The monsters within would fall, their reign of terror coming to an end. And beyond Naxxramas, Tyrosus saw a vision of what lay ahead—a world cleansed, an evil vanquished, and a future reborn.

As the procession continued its steady advance, Tyrosus's heart swelled with a mixture of hope, determination, and a hint of bitter sweetness. This was the beginning, the first step toward a brighter tomorrow. And while he couldn't be among those marching forward, he held fast to the belief that the destiny they were forging was a destiny worth fighting for.
​

~~~~
​

As they neared their first destination, Uther's thoughts turned reflective and somber. The city that loomed before them was both a testament to his greatest failure and a poignant reminder of the consequences of inaction. It was here that he had faltered, where he had failed to take the necessary steps to prevent the fall of their kingdom. The memory of that time weighed heavily on his heart—the kingdom lost, the king slain, and innocent lives tormented by the scourge of undeath.

He clenched his weapon tightly, his grip a tangible reflection of his resolve to make amends for his past mistakes. This time, he would not allow inaction to bring ruin to their world. The city of Stratholme, where his student fell to darkness, where the kingdom's downfall began, came into view. A mixture of shame and sorrow welled within him as he beheld the place that held such painful memories.

Stratholme was a reminder of the price paid for hesitation, a reminder that would be etched forever into his soul. He could still hear the anguished cries of the innocent, their pleas for mercy and salvation echoing in his mind. Now, all he could offer them was the mercy of a final death, a release from their tortured existence.

As the group approached the city gates, Uther's anticipation grew. Undead forms awaited them, a haunting sight that fueled his determination. His heart raced, ready to confront the horrors that had tainted this place.

But just as he was about to surge forward, the Stranger, who had been a silent presence beside him, intervened. The Stranger's raised hand and the gathering light within it held Uther's attention. A pulsating sphere of radiance formed, growing in size until it transformed into something else entirely—a spear of Light, a weapon of pure illumination forged for a singular purpose.

With a deft movement, the Stranger sent the spear hurtling toward the undead horde before the gates. The impact was explosive, a bloom of radiant energy that forced Uther to shield his eyes from the brilliance. When the light finally subsided and he was able to look again, the scene had transformed.

Gone were the undead that had awaited them. The gate and the surrounding walls had disintegrated, reduced to rubble and dust. Uther couldn't help but chuckle, a mixture of awe and gratitude in his laughter. The Stranger's intervention had not only decimated the undead forces but had also opened a clear path into the city.

Turning toward the enigmatic figure, Uther's tone was lighthearted yet appreciative. "Leaving any for the rest of us, lad? What's the point of us joining your journey if you do all the heavy lifting?" His words were infused with camaraderie, a testament to the bond that was forming between them. The Stranger didn't respond in words, but his continued movement signaled his intention to press forward.

Uther glanced back at the army behind him, observing the awe and determination in their eyes. Addressing them with a rallying call, he stirred them from their stupor. "Are we here to gawk or to act? Let's do what we came to do!" His words ignited their fervor, and with a resounding cry, they surged forward, swords and weapons at the ready. The collective force of their determination carried them into the heart of the city, a wave of righteous fury cutting down the newly risen undead that dared to stand in their way.​

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Well here is the next chapter.

If you wish to read ahead, there are 3 more chapters on my Patreon

Cheers!

​

 

[polarpwnage]

I prefer this kind of MC, more a plot device and force of nature. They remain unmoving and silent, refusing to explain themselves, only moving forward with purpose when the time to act arrives

 

[Kordelius]

I prefer this kind of MC, more a plot device and force of nature. They remain unmoving and silent, refusing to explain themselves, only moving forward with purpose when the time to act arrives

Click to shrink...

Glad you enjoy it, I've chosen to have different kind of MC's for all my stories to see what I personally prefer writing for future references. I must say I quite like this and the MC from my other story The Enigmatic Meddler.

 

[Kordelius]

Among the ranks of the assembled, Killoren stood as a testament to the Light's offer of a second chance—a chance to rise from the grasp of death itself and to take up arms against the malevolent forces that had wrought havoc upon their world. His heart carried the same desires as many of his comrades—to reunite with his family, to learn of their fates in the midst of turmoil. Yet, duty surged within him, a purpose that eclipsed his personal longings. This opportunity was granted for a reason, a chance to make a difference and put an end to the darkness that had ensnared their world.

Their leader, known to them as the Light's Chosen, was a source of both intrigue and caution. Killoren couldn't shake the eerie feeling he'd experienced when he first saw the figure at Light's Hope Chapel—still and motionless upon their steed. The palpable aura of Light radiating from them was undeniable, yet their silence and enigmatic demeanor left an indelible impression.

As they moved forward, Killoren observed the calculated movements of their leader. There was a deliberateness in their actions, a measured pace that seemed to indicate a deep understanding of the path they tread. Even now, in the midst of the fallen city of Stratholme, the leader's steed pressed forward, unperturbed by the surrounding horde of undead. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and uncertainty that pervaded their surroundings.

Among those who had rallied around their leader, a contingent had taken on the role of guards, forming a protective barrier between them and the mindless undead that threatened to assail them. Killoren recognized the wisdom in this strategy, a collective decision to preserve their leader's formidable power for the battles that truly warranted it. Their actions at the city's entrance had showcased the extent of their abilities, and it was clear that they were not to be underestimated.

Their methodical approach persisted, leading them deeper into the heart of the city. Their pace was deliberate, a reflection of both their own convictions and the gravity of their mission. Killoren couldn't help but marvel at their resilience, the strength that allowed them to maintain their composure in the face of the relentless onslaught of undead.

At a crossroads within the city, their leader paused, as if contemplating their next move. Eventually, they chose the path to the left. Unspoken cues seemed to pass between them and Uther, a silent communication that directed the majority of their forces to hold the line at the crossroads. The message was clear: their leader, Uther, and a select few would venture deeper into the city.

Killoren couldn't help but wonder about the rationale behind this decision. Did the path to the left hold an imminent threat that required a concentrated force to overcome? Or was it a calculated maneuver to swiftly clear the way, ensuring a smoother passage for the rest of their forces? The unknown variables weighed on his mind, but ultimately, he recognized the futility of dwelling on such matters. They had their orders, and they were resolved to follow them without question.

As they readied themselves to hold the line, Killoren's thoughts shifted to his comrades who would venture ahead. Their dedication was evident, a testament to the unity forged in the crucible of their shared mission. With a renewed sense of purpose, Killoren turned his gaze forward, his resolve strengthened by the unspoken camaraderie that bound them all together.

~~~~
​

Uther's heart sank as he gazed upon the city that lay before him—a once vibrant and thriving place, now reduced to a decrepit, rotting hellscape. The foul stench of decay hung in the air, and the moans of undead echoed through the desolate streets. Citizens who had once lived their lives with purpose were now cursed to wander aimlessly in the eternal torment of undeath.

He couldn't help but curse himself, blaming his own inaction for allowing this horrifying fate to befall his kingdom. The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders, and he knew that he could not escape the truth that it was his lack of intervention that had led to this disaster. Arthas, his beloved pupil, had fallen to darkness, becoming the harbinger of their downfall.

Among the morbid surroundings, there was a small mercy—the decayed state of the citizens' bodies. The passage of time had rendered them unrecognizable, sparing Uther from the agonizing task of identifying the twisted remnants of those he had once sworn to protect. As painful as it was, their decrepit state made his grim duty slightly easier to bear.

Questions swirled in his mind, fueled by a sense of confusion and urgency. Why had the Light's Chosen led them on this specific path, leaving the majority of their forces behind? Despite his doubts, Uther acknowledged that he lacked the crucial insight into the enemy's strength within the city. With a heavy sigh, he conceded to the Light's Chosen's unspoken expertise, trusting that there was a method to this apparent madness.

And then, revelation struck with the force of a thunderclap. Uther's eyes widened as he saw figures emerging in the distance, their garb unmistakable even in the gloom.

The Scarlet Crusade.

As his heart clenched in sorrow, he remembered the days when the crusaders were his allies, dedicated to preserving the Light and protecting their people. But now, their twisted fanaticism had driven them to unspeakable depths. He struggled to reconcile the grim reality with the memory of what the order once represented.

Fanaticism, he knew, was a slippery slope—one that had to be navigated with caution. The consequences of unyielding zealotry could be catastrophic, as the current state of the crusaders starkly demonstrated. They invoked the Light as a shield for their dark actions, a perversion that filled Uther with a mixture of anger and sadness.

His grip tightened around his weapon, knuckles turning white with the pressure. There could be no mercy for these individuals who had so thoroughly embraced corruption. Though his heart ached at the prospect of confronting those who had once stood as allies, he could not afford to waver. Evil took many forms, and sometimes it wore the guise of comrades.

"Wait, Uther," the Light's Chosen's voice interjected, a request rather than a command. Uther regarded him for a moment before conceding with a tight nod.

Then came the moment that sent shockwaves through the tense atmosphere. The Light's Chosen turned his gaze towards the scarlet-clad crusaders, his presence commanding and his tone potent. Each word he spoke carried an air of divine judgment, a weight that struck Uther's heart like an anvil.

The Light's Chosen's voice thundered, each word laden with divine authority, cutting through the air like a blade through darkness. "Your crimes are numerous, unforgivable, and damning. The torture and slaughter of the innocent—sins committed under the banner of the Light itself, tarnishing its sanctity with your malevolence. You dared to wield its power, casting aside its solemn warnings, all for your twisted desires. Your day of reckoning has dawned, and the weight of your transgressions can no longer be ignored. The scales of the Light's justice tip against you! The time has come for you to answer for your heinous acts and embark on the treacherous path of redemption—In Ministerio ad Lucem!"

With a single motion, the Light's Chosen's palm erupted with a blinding radiance. A surge of divine Light burst forth, connecting with the crusaders one by one. The brilliance spread like wildfire, chaining from figure to figure in a cascade of retribution. The once-proud zealots fell to the ground, their anguished cries tearing through the air. Light emanated from their eyes and mouths, an ethereal illumination that transformed their very beings.

In the aftermath, they stood as if united by an unseen force, their faces adorned with intricate lines of Light. Uther's eyes widened in awe and disbelief. The radiant energy faded, revealing their transformed countenances—eyes aglow with the Light's power, their features etched with radiant lines like intricate patterns of redemption.

They stood there like statues, a collective embodiment of the Light's judgement. Uther's gaze shifted from the crusaders to the Light's Chosen, horror etched into his features. "What have you done?!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and outrage.

The Light's Chosen turned his attention back to Uther, his demeanor unwavering. "Mere execution would be a waste," he stated calmly, yet with an unwavering resolve. "They shall earn redemption through service to the Light. Their crimes shall be atoned for."

With those words, the Light's Chosen turned his steed and began to depart, leaving Uther to grapple with the sudden turn of events.

"They are under your charge now, Uther," he asserted, a sense of finality in his words. "Cleanse this place and unveil the corruption that festers within this order. The Light is merciful, but it does not abide the repeated abuse of its gifts for malevolent purposes."

As the Light's Chosen's figure grew smaller in the distance, Uther was left alone with the weight of the situation. His fists clenched in frustration, his resolve tested by the unexpected turn of events. He had sworn to be decisive, to act without hesitation. Doubt gnawed at his thoughts, but he knew he couldn't falter. He trusted in the path guided by the Light, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness. Determinedly, he pushed forward, ready to confront the corruption that had taken hold within the order he once held dear.

As Uther and his newly transformed soldiers pressed further into the forsaken halls that the Scarlet Crusade had tainted with their presence, his thoughts swirled in a tumultuous sea. He chose to tune out the unsettling sights and sounds of the converted Crusaders bearing witness to the Light's Chosen's divine judgment. The image of their punishment was etched in his mind, a weight that he knew he would need to address in due time. But for now, amidst the shadows of the corrupted church, he had more immediate concerns to grapple with.

For now, he would place his trust in the Light's guidance. If the Light had chosen to wield its power in such a manner, there must be a reason beyond his current understanding. As much as he wished to dismiss the surreal scene he had just witnessed, he couldn't escape the undeniable truth—it was vital to bolster their ranks for the challenges that lay ahead.

In his quest for insight, Uther had engaged some of the converted Crusaders in conversation. Their accounts revealed that this very place had once been the epicenter of their fanatical order, led by none other than Saidan Dathrohan—an individual who had stood beside Uther as a fellow champion of the Light, a bond that had once been unbreakable. Uther's brow furrowed in deep contemplation. How had Saidan, a man who had shared the same vision and convictions, descended into this twisted madness that now tainted the halls?

With each step, memories of their shared history echoed through Uther's mind—days when they had fought side by side against the forces of darkness, when they had believed in the honor of their cause and the righteous path they were treading. The present reality, the reality of the corrupted crusaders who now worshipped the perversion of their shared faith, seemed like a mockery of the past.

As they moved deeper into the tainted corridors, the weight of their surroundings mirrored the heavy burden Uther carried within his heart. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for the fallen Saidan, the friend who had become a stranger. The path that had led him here remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle that Uther yearned to solve.

Uther's thoughts mingled with the echoes of footsteps and the hushed murmurs of the transformed Crusaders, creating an intricate tapestry of introspection.

With a heavy sigh, Uther's gaze focused ahead, his resolve unwavering. One thing was certain—he would confront the corruption that had taken root within these walls, and he would do so with the Light as his guide. As he moved forward, Uther remained determined to untangle the web of madness that had ensnared the heart of the Scarlet Crusade.​

---

We see more and more how our MC's actions will change the world.

As said before, there are additional 3 chapters on my Patreon if you wish to subscribe and read ahead.

Cheers!

​

 

[polarpwnage]

Glad you enjoy it, I've chosen to have different kind of MC's for all my stories to see what I personally prefer writing for future references. I must say I quite like this and the MC from my other story The Enigmatic Meddler.

Click to shrink...

I've found that if you stay silent, people just assume you know what you're doing and fill in their own assumptions. Meanwhile if you talk too much or try to act mysterious, you come off as chuuni or the more you speak the high the chance of exposing yourself as an idiot

"Your crimes are numerous, unforgivable, and damning. The torture and slaughter of the innocent—sins committed under the banner of the Light itself, tarnishing its sanctity with your malevolence. You dared to wield its power, casting aside its solemn warnings, all for your twisted desires. Your day of reckoning has dawned, and the weight of your transgressions can no longer be ignored. The scales of the Light's justice tip against you! The time has come for you to answer for your heinous acts and embark on the treacherous path of redemption—In Ministerio ad Lucem!

Click to shrink...

As far as I'm concerned, no where does it say that the Light actually cares for what purpose you use it for, as long as you hold your convictions. It's not a religious ability backed by a higher power that acts like a morality police. So this just comes off as a bit sanctimonious (though perfectly just as no one wants to live with people who use a supposedly good power against you)

It's not that the Scarlet Crusaders being able to use the Light that is evil, but the fault of the Church Of Holy Light as a whole in misinterpreting the nature of Light

 

[Kordelius]

I've found that if you stay silent, people just assume you know what you're doing and fill in their own assumptions. Meanwhile if you talk too much or try to act mysterious, you come off as chuuni or the more you speak the high the chance of exposing yourself as an idiot



As far as I'm concerned, no where does it say that the Light actually cares for what purpose you use it for, as long as you hold your convictions. It's not a religious ability backed by a higher power that acts like a morality police. So this just comes off as a bit sanctimonious (though perfectly just as no one wants to live with people who use a supposedly good power against you)

It's not that the Scarlet Crusaders being able to use the Light that is evil, but the fault of the Church Of Holy Light as a whole in misinterpreting the nature of Light

Click to shrink...

Well there is a reason why the saying - Silence is golden. But ye speak little, speak softly.


First of all, please don't edit you post with new information, since it doesn't send out an alert for that, so I wouldn't have seen your update about Light.

That said, you are right 100% that's how it is in cannon lore since that is how Whitemane is able to keep resurrecting herself all the time after she is killed because her conviction and belief in the righteousness of her cause and deep belief in Light reflects her power in it.

But like I said if I went with the same the story wouldn't really work so yes I changed it. Just one thing that has to be changed to make the story flow better. Hope it's not a deal breaker for you.

 

[Kordelius]

Malor the Zealous, a name that had once swelled with pride, now weighed heavily upon his conscience. The name, once a symbol of his fervent devotion to the Light, now stood as a stark reminder of the darkness that had consumed his actions. He had reveled in the belief that his zealotry justified his deeds, that his every action was righteous and sanctioned by the very force he held sacred. But as the Light's Chosen's judgment enveloped him, the facade crumbled, leaving his soul exposed and his heart heavy with regret.

The revelations were as brutal as they were enlightening. His crimes, once obscured by a veil of self-deception, now stood bare and unforgiving. The lives he had extinguished, the suffering he had caused—it was all laid bare before him, a damning testament to the atrocities he had committed under the banner of the Light. The realization struck him with the force of a blow, shattering the illusions he had clung to for so long.

Gone were the justifications, the excuses he had woven to validate his actions. Mere mention of the Light in the context of his deeds now felt like sacrilege, a perversion that he could no longer deny. The Light's purity had been tarnished by his blood-stained hands, and the weight of that truth bore down upon him, threatening to crush his spirit.

For a moment, he teetered on the edge of despair, on the brink of collapsing under the weight of his own guilt. But then, salvation—a chance at redemption—stretched out before him like a lifeline. In the face of his crimes, the Light's Chosen had offered him an opportunity, a final chance to set things right. He clung to it with a desperation born from the knowledge that he was undeserving.

It was a reckoning he had long feared, a reckoning he now knew he could never truly repay. His crimes were too numerous, too heinous to be simply washed away by a fleeting act of redemption. As much as he yearned to be absolved of his sins, he understood that such a path was beyond his reach. The weight of his own darkness had left an indelible mark on his soul.

Yet, despite this grim realization, he held onto the lifeline he had been granted. He accepted his fate, the punishment that had been meted out to him, with a clarity that he had never known before. His redemption was not an end in itself; it was a journey, a path he would walk without the expectation of reward. He was a drowning man, and this was his last chance to cling to the surface.

In this newfound acceptance, a glimmer of hope emerged. He was no longer blinded by the delusions of earning redemption for his heinous acts. Instead, he would serve faithfully, unwavering in his commitment to the path of righteousness. To be placed under the command of Uther the Lightbringer himself—a figure he had revered since his earliest days—filled him with an overwhelming mixture of awe and humility.

As he watched Uther, a once-fallen hero now reborn by the grace of the Light, lead their charge against the forces of darkness, Malor's heart swelled with emotion too complex to name. He felt a profound sense of gratitude for this second chance, a chance to fight alongside a leader who embodied the virtues of the Light.

There would be no redemption for him, no erasing of the horrors he had perpetrated. But as long as he followed Uther's lead, he knew his cause was just, his actions righteous. Branded by the Light, he was forever marked by its purity, unable to stray into the depths of darkness again.

And so, with a heart burdened by remorse yet uplifted by newfound purpose, Malor the Zealous stepped forward, resolved to serve faithfully, to bear the weight of his past and march alongside his fellow crusaders on a path that was guided by the very Light he had so gravely betrayed.

~~~~
​

Balnazzar, the malevolent demon lurking beneath the facade of Saidan Dathrohan, seethed with fury as his meticulously crafted plans began to unravel before his very eyes. The charade that he had orchestrated so masterfully was now threatened by an unexpected force, and his frustration knew no bounds.

The supposed death of Saidan Dathrohan had been the culmination of a carefully orchestrated scheme. The puppeteer had manipulated the corpse to serve his sinister purpose, puppeting the lifeless vessel with deft expertise. Oh, how he had reveled in the irony of it all—Saidan's own body serving as a vessel for the dreadlord's malevolence. It was a masterpiece of deception, a symphony of pain and suffering that played out under his subtle manipulation.

The corruption of the Scarlet Crusade had been a gradual process, an artful manipulation of their fervent devotion to the Light. Balnazzar reveled in their zealotry, their unyielding faith that blinded them to the true darkness that lay beneath their actions. One by one, he twisted their minds, turning them into bloodthirsty fanatics who saw nothing but traitors and abominations in the world around them.

The crusaders, once noble and valiant defenders of the Light, had been reduced to mindless instruments of death and destruction. Their once-proud order had become a fanatical sect, driven by their obsession with purity and righteousness, and fueled by a thirst for the slaughter of any who dared to oppose their twisted doctrines.

Balnazzar delighted in their blind obedience, in the way they eagerly embraced his manipulations without a second thought. He reveled in the screams of the innocent as they were tortured and slaughtered, the echoes of their pain like a sweet symphony that played to his twisted senses.

But now, a force he had not anticipated had emerged—an entity of unparalleled power, the Light's Chosen. Balnazzar's teeth ground together so fiercely that they cracked under the pressure. This newcomer was disrupting his carefully constructed plans, casting doubt and truth upon the minds of his brainwashed minions.

Uther the Lightbringer, a name that should have been nothing more than a distant memory, now stood at the forefront of this resistance, leading a charge to cleanse the city of the very corruption that Balnazzar had sown.

The sight of Uther, reborn and empowered by the Light, was a bitter pill to swallow. Balnazzar's anger and desperation grew with each passing moment, as his puppets were confronted with the harsh truth of their actions. They could no longer deny the atrocities they had committed, the lives they had taken, the suffering they had inflicted—all under the guise of righteousness.

Balnazzar's gaze was fixated on the unfolding battle, his heart pounding with a mixture of rage and fear. He could not face this force head-on, not with his puppets now torn from him and the undeniable reality before them. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing for a solution, for a way to salvage his grand design.

With a final glare at the scene before him, Balnazzar made a decision. He would retreat, regroup, and seek refuge within the Scarlet Monastery—a bastion of his influence. There, he would rally his remaining forces, attempting to salvage whatever remnants of his plan he could.

As he slinked away from the scene, Balnazzar's mind raced, his thoughts consumed by the need to counteract this unexpected turn of events.
​

~~~~
​

Uther's heart was heavy as he surveyed the aftermath of their battle against the corrupted Scarlet Crusade. The once-sanctified halls of the church now stood as a grim reminder of the fanaticism that had consumed those he had once considered allies. The twisted remains of his former comrades lay scattered, a stark testament to the darkness that had taken hold within their hearts.

He turned his gaze towards the transformed Crusaders under his command, their faces marked by the Light's judgment. The radiant symbols etched upon their skin served as a visible reminder of their past sins, a mark that would never let them forget the horrors they had committed in the name of their twisted cause.

The Crusaders stood before him, their heads bowed in a mixture of shame and acceptance. They had been cleansed by the Light's Chosen, their true selves exposed and their actions laid bare. Redemption, it seemed, was a distant possibility, but Uther believed in the transformative power of the Light.

As he spoke, his voice was a blend of sorrow and determination. "You are no longer the pawns of corruption," he declared, his words carrying the weight of his conviction. "The Light has branded you as both a reminder of your past transgressions and a testament to your potential for redemption."

The transformed Crusaders nodded in solemn acknowledgment, their eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and hope. They had been given a chance—a chance to atone for their crimes and to forge a new path in service to the Light.

But just as Uther's words began to settle, a hushed whisper spread among the Crusaders. "He's gone." The words were accompanied by a sense of disbelief, a realization that their true enemy had slipped away unnoticed.

Uther's brows furrowed in concern. "Saidan?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

One of the Crusaders stepped forward, his features a mixture of frustration and regret. "Aye," he confirmed. "While we were occupied here, he managed to escape. It seems he sensed the tides of battle turning against him."

Uther's jaw clenched in frustration. Saidan's escape was a setback they couldn't afford. "We cannot let him elude us," Uther declared, his voice firm. "But first, we must regroup and rejoin the Light's Chosen."

The transformed Crusaders nodded in agreement, their determination unshaken by the turn of events. They had been given a chance at redemption, and they were resolved to see it through.

With a shared purpose, they retraced their steps, leaving the desecrated church behind. As they emerged back into the undead filled city, they felt a renewed sense of purpose. The Light's Chosen awaited them, a beacon of hope and strength in their fight against the encroaching darkness.

Uther's heart was heavy with the weight of his responsibilities, but he drew strength from the resolve of those around him. As they made their way back to the main force, Uther couldn't help but feel that their paths were guided by a higher purpose—a purpose that would see them confront the darkness that threatened to consume their world and reclaim it in the name of the Light's true ideals.
​

~~~~
​

As Uther and the transformed Crusaders returned to the main force, they were met with a mixture of relief and uncertainty from the resolute Heroes who had been resurrected by the Light's Chosen. The Heroes' eyes bore witness to the radiant symbols of the Light's judgment on the Crusaders' skin—a stark reminder of their past sins.

Among the resurrected Heroes, there was a sense of apprehension. These were individuals who had been chosen by the Light's Chosen to rise from death and serve a purpose greater than themselves. But now, as they beheld the transformed Crusaders who had once embraced darkness, doubt gnawed at their resolve.

A young mage, his eyes marked by wisdom beyond his years, voiced the uncertainty that hung heavy in the air. "Are they truly worthy of this chance?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

A fierce warrior, her armor gleaming in the light of the burning city, replied with a tinge of caution. "They were once our enemies, allies of the darkness. Can they truly be redeemed?"

Uther stepped forward, his gaze steady as he addressed the Heroes. "The path to redemption is not easily tread," he began, his voice carrying the weight of his own experiences. "The transformed Crusaders have been marked by the Light's judgment, and they now bear the consequences of their past actions. But redemption is a journey, not a destination. Their willingness to serve the Light and atone for their sins is a testament to their potential."

The Heroes exchanged uncertain glances, their doubts still lingering. But as they observed the transformed Crusaders, they saw in their eyes a mixture of regret, determination, and hope. These were individuals who had been confronted with the truth of their actions, who had accepted the weight of their sins and were ready to bear it.

The Paladin among the Heroes, his features etched with the lines of experience and conviction, spoke with a mixture of acceptance and caution. "We were once granted a second chance by the Light's Chosen," he said, his voice resonating with the memories of their resurrection. "We were given the opportunity to right the wrongs of our past lives. Perhaps the same grace can extend to them."

The transformed Crusaders lowered their heads, humbled by the words of the resurrected Heroes. They knew the doubts that clouded the minds of those who had been granted a chance at redemption. They knew the weight of guilt and the struggle to prove oneself worthy.

Uther's voice broke the silence, his words carrying a resolute conviction. "The battle against darkness is a fight that requires unity. Together, we can face the encroaching shadows and reclaim our world from the grip of corruption. Our pasts do not define us—it is our actions in the present that shape our destiny."

The Heroes exchanged meaningful looks, their skepticism slowly giving way to a glimmer of understanding. They had been given a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite their stories. And now, they stood alongside the transformed Crusaders who sought the same redemption, united by the common goal of confronting the darkness that threatened to consume them all.

As they prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead, uncertainty still lingered, but it was met with determination. The path of redemption was not without its trials, but in the unity of purpose and the unwavering commitment to the Light's true ideals, they found a beacon of hope—a hope that even those who had strayed farthest from the Light could find their way back and play a crucial role in the battle for the world's salvation.​

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Let me know your thought's below.

The next two chapters are available on Patreon if you wish to read ahead.

Cheers!

​

 

[RandomDragon]

intresting, a soft peaking warrior of light, a being who has only the lights best itrest in the world. A force of Absolute Good...who by no means will let the wicked go unpunished and thrawts those that hate them and the Light itself.

 

[ThePillar]

He busted out a complete mass resurrection on dudes that were dead for years?
Damn.

 

[Kordelius]

Killoren found himself once more caught off guard by the unfolding events, a sense of bemusement mingling with a growing sense of acceptance. It seemed that surprises had become a frequent companion on this journey, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly at his own tendency to underestimate the twists and turns of fate.

The revelation of living individuals within the desolate city of Stratholme had already shaken his preconceptions, but to discover that they were members of the Scarlet Crusade—a group he had anticipated confronting—added another layer of complexity to the situation. His initial suspicions were challenged, and he begrudgingly acknowledged that sometimes reality had a way of defying one's assumptions.

Uther's return with the transformed ex-members of the Scarlet Crusade was met with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism among the ranks. Killoren's eyes flickered between Uther and the branded individuals, his thoughts a whirlwind of contemplation. While he understood the need for caution and vigilance, the sight of Light's own power marking those who had once embraced darkness was a sight to behold.

A part of him recognized the irony—the irony of using the Light's own judgment as a means of control. It was a harsh reminder that even the most devout could stray from the true path. The branded Crusaders were a living testament to that fact, a reminder that faith alone did not guarantee righteousness.

And then there was the matter of the Light's Chosen himself. Killoren had witnessed the enigmatic figure wield the Light's power in ways that defied his understanding. Twice now, the boundaries of possibility had been shattered, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to come. It was a humbling realization, a reminder that their knowledge of the Light was limited and that there were mysteries yet to be unveiled.

As he listened to the unfolding discussions and observed the interactions, Killoren felt a twinge of unease deep within him. The ground beneath him felt shaky, his once firm beliefs challenged by the events that had transpired. He couldn't help but wonder what other revelations lay ahead, and he harbored a sense of trepidation about the potential impact on his faith.

However, amidst the uncertainty, Killoren found solace in the unity that had formed among the diverse individuals gathered in the shadow of Stratholme's ruins. Despite their differences, they shared a common goal—to confront the encroaching darkness and restore their world to its rightful state. In that shared purpose, he saw a glimmer of hope, a beacon that could guide them through the trials that awaited.

With a renewed sense of determination, Killoren squared his shoulders and fixed his gaze ahead. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and unknowns. But he was ready to face them, to embrace the surprises that lay in wait, and to stand alongside his newfound allies in their pursuit of redemption and the preservation of the Light's true ideals.

~~~~
​

Baron Rivendare's fury burned like a raging fire as he witnessed the chaos unfolding within his city. Stratholme, a place he had claimed as his own, was under siege by an army unlike any he had faced before. The meticulous destruction of the undead forces under his command struck a chord of disbelief and anger within him. This was not how it was supposed to go!

His frustration was further fueled by the realization that the army assaulting his domain consisted of individuals who should be nothing more than the rotting corpses he commanded. And yet, they were alive—truly alive, reanimated and brought back from the clutches of death itself. The absurdity of it all gnawed at his sanity.

Uther's presence among the living was a particular thorn in his side. The fact that the paladin had not only returned from the dead but also led this assault was maddening. It defied all logic, all the rules that governed the balance of life and death. Rivendare seethed at the audacity of these individuals who dared to challenge his dominion over Stratholme.

A deeper, more sinister concern weighed on his mind—the presence of those who had once been under Balnazzar's control, the same dreadlord whose influence had subtly guided the Scarlet Crusade down a path of fanaticism and violence. The twisted puppet master was not known for relinquishing control so easily, and Rivendare couldn't fathom how these individuals had managed to break free.

Yet, his vengeful determination burned just as fiercely. He had claimed this city for himself, and he would not let it fall without a fight. As the chaotic clash of battle echoed through the air, Rivendare found himself riding forward, rallying the remaining undead forces to his side. His voice carried over the tumult, a chilling proclamation of the Scourge's power and his own defiance.

With each thunderous step of his steed, Rivendare's resolve grew stronger. He relished the thought of crushing these intruders, of breaking their spirits and reducing their so-called heroes to lifeless husks. The anticipation of their despair, their realization of the futility of their efforts, brought a wicked grin to his skeletal face.

His laughter rang out, a haunting symphony of malice and triumph. "The Scourge will consume you!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. His eyes gleamed with malevolence, fixated on the adversaries before him. This was his moment, his opportunity to prove his dominance and establish his supremacy over Stratholme.

With a surge of dark energy, Baron Rivendare charged headlong into the fray, his army of undead trailing behind him like a tide of death. The clash of forces was inevitable, the clash of wills even more so. Amidst the chaos, he sought to prove his might, to bend these intruders to his will or crush them beneath the overwhelming might of the Scourge. The battle had begun, and Rivendare reveled in the impending chaos that would further cement his reign over his cursed city.
​

~~~~
​

Uther's eyes blazed with determination as he beheld the menacing figure of the horseman tearing through their ranks. It was clear that they were facing none other than the leader of the undead forces in this cursed city. His grip on his weapon tightened, the surging power of the Light coursing through his veins. With a fierce cry, he lunged forward, charging at the abomination before him.

His swift intervention blocked the horseman's sword from striking down another of his comrades. "By the Light, you will go no further!" Uther's voice thundered with righteous fury. "This affront to life ends today!" He exerted his strength, pushing back against the undead foe with unyielding determination.

In response, the rider's laughter rang out, a haunting melody that reverberated in the air. "You are one to speak about affront to life, Uther," the horseman's voice was dripping with mockery. "Were you not dead yourself, yet now you walk once more! This changes nothing—the Scourge will wash over this world!"

Rivendare charged at Uther again, his undead mount granting him speed and height advantage. In a regular battle, Uther might have struggled against such an opponent, but this was no ordinary fight. The power of the Light surged within him, granting him strength beyond the ordinary limits of mortal combat. With a resounding cry, Uther struck at the horse, shattering it and sending the rider tumbling to the ground.

Pointing his mace at his fallen adversary, Uther's voice resonated with conviction. "No, the Scourge's days are numbered! We will cleanse this world of your taint once and for all. Light has granted me this opportunity to fix my mistakes, and I intend to do so."

Rivendare's reply was filled with defiance, laced with a sinister cackle. "Fool! I will enjoy delivering you to the Lich King. No doubt he will be pleased to kill you once more!"

Uther wasted no more words, his intent clear. He charged at Rivendare once more, their weapons clashing with a cacophony of metal against metal. The Death Knight was empowered by necrotic energies, while Uther was fueled by the Light itself. Their clash was a testament to the power of opposing forces, each strike echoing their determination to emerge victorious.

Despite Rivendare's attempts to evade Uther's relentless attacks, he found himself struck again and again. The battle raged on, but even those less skilled in combat could see that Uther was the superior warrior. With a final, resolute strike, Uther sent Rivendare flying, leaving the undead leader temporarily incapacitated.

However, in the midst of their battle, a new presence arrived on the scene. Rivendare's attention was abruptly diverted as he sensed a force of immense power behind him. In a desperate, reflexive motion, he swung his sword, only to have it shattered as it made contact with an unseen barrier.

The battlefield seemed to fall silent as the gaze of every combatant turned to the figure that had appeared—a figure shrouded in armor and surrounded by an aura of blinding radiance. It was the Light's Chosen himself.

Time seemed to stand still as the two formidable opponents observed one another. Rivendare's fear was palpable, a feeling he had not experienced in ages. Yet, he channeled that fear into a surge of anger. How dare this individual humiliate him in such a manner?

With all the power he could muster, Rivendare launched an attack at the Light's Chosen, his magic aimed at the figure before him. But with a mere wave of the man's hand, the assault was dispersed effortlessly. A simple utterance resonated in the air— "Iudicium Lucis."

In an instant, Rivendare's existence came to an abrupt end. His ash fell to the ground before he could even utter a sound. The battle continued around them, but the once-mighty horseman was no more, a testament to the overwhelming might of the Light's Chosen and the unassailable power of the Light itself.
​

~~~~
​

With Rivendare defeated, the remaining undead forces faltered. Without their commanding presence, they were no match for the combined might of the resolute soldiers and the revived heroes. The battle continued, yet it was clear that victory was within their grasp. Caution prevailed over recklessness, as the soldiers meticulously dealt with the remaining threats. Mindless as some of the undead might be, they still posed a danger.

As the hours passed, the relentless effort paid off. With each fallen undead, the city's grip on darkness began to loosen. When the sun dipped below the horizon, the last echoes of battle faded, and silence returned to the city streets. Not a single undead remained—Stratholme had been cleansed.

Uther approached the Light's Chosen, gratitude and weariness etched on his face. The presence of the Light's power was tangible, and those who were wounded found themselves healed in its benevolent embrace. However, a new sound interrupted the stillness—a sound that drew the attention of all present. Gazing skyward, Uther and the others beheld the flying fortress beginning to move.

Panic surged within Uther. The fortress couldn't be allowed to escape, not with the potential devastation it could unleash upon the world. He rushed toward the Light's Chosen, his urgency evident in his voice. "Stop them! We cannot let them escape!"

To his surprise, the Light's Chosen remained unperturbed, observing the flying fortress with a calm demeanor. Uther's frustration grew, his pleas falling on seemingly deaf ears. He looked to the man for guidance, hoping for a way to prevent the fortress's departure.

Finally, the Light's Chosen turned his attention to Uther, his voice steady and resolute. "Let them go," he remarked, his words carrying an air of certainty. "We have other matters to attend to. Allies to gather and a journey ahead to prepare for."

Uther felt a mix of confusion and reluctance at the Light's Chosen's words. It was clear that the man knew something, some greater purpose that guided his actions. As the enigmatic figure began to leave the city, Uther glanced back at the streets that had witnessed their hard-fought victory.

"We should return to the chapel," the Light's Chosen continued, his voice a calming presence amidst the lingering tension. "The day is won, and the men deserve to rest and recuperate."

With a sigh, Uther nodded in reluctant agreement. As the soldiers began to follow the Light's Chosen's lead, making their way out of the city, Uther cast one last look over his shoulder at the now-empty streets of Stratholme. The battle had been won, but the mysteries and challenges that lay ahead were far from over.​

---

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always you can read ahead on my Patreon

​

 

[Kordelius]

Tyrosus found himself remembering the returning army, his gaze fixed on the sight before him. It wasn't their return, nor the noticeable absence of injured soldiers, that truly surprised him. Rather, it was the unexpected presence of Scarlet Crusade members among their ranks that sent a jolt of disbelief through him.

After witnessing the fate that had befallen the members of the Scarlet Crusade following the arrival of the Light's Chosen, Tyrosus had never imagined that he would see them again—especially not in this manner. Learning of the circumstances that led to their inclusion among their forces was a revelation that both astounded and unsettled him.

The notion that the Light itself had rendered judgment upon these individuals, branding them for their sins and demanding their servitude as a means of redemption, was a concept that stirred a maelstrom of conflicting emotions within Tyrosus. On one hand, he could comprehend the practicality of such an arrangement—the need for additional soldiers in the face of an impending darkness that threatened all of Azeroth. Yet, on the other hand, the idea of these once-twisted zealots now standing as they are now called the Penitential Atoners, their lives irrevocably changed by the Light's judgment, was a profound revelation that challenged the boundaries of his understanding.

Uther's misgivings about the situation resonated with Tyrosus. Despite his inherent trust in the Light and its chosen emissary, there was a certain sense of distant unreality that surrounded the Light's Chosen. While Tyrosus had unquestionably devoted himself to the teachings of the Light, he couldn't deny the human tendency to find comfort and assurance in the tangible, the known. Uther, a man whose character and deeds were well-known to them all, stood as a beacon of familiarity and reliability amidst the tumultuous uncertainties of the current situation.

As Tyrosus grappled with his thoughts and feelings, he couldn't help but contemplate the profound lessons he had been encountering. The stark contrast between blind faith and questioning, between acceptance and understanding, was etched into every facet of these events. Struck by the realization that the Light did not scorn him or any others for their doubts or inquisitiveness, Tyrosus found himself embracing a newfound sense of purpose—a purpose rooted in seeking knowledge, understanding, and a deeper connection with the Light itself.

In this moment of reflection, amidst the returned soldiers and the mysteries that lay ahead, Tyrosus found a quiet reassurance that his doubts and questions were not obstacles, but rather pathways to greater enlightenment. The journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, but with Uther's leadership and the guidance of the Light's Chosen, he was determined to face whatever came with unwavering resolve and a heart open to the truths that awaited discovery.

~~~~​

The days following the successful cleansing of Stratholme were a respite that the battle-weary warriors welcomed with open arms. Weariness etched on their faces told stories of the battles they had faced, but there was also a sense of shared uncertainty about the path ahead. Plans were discussed, yet the lingering shadow of the challenges they faced was never far away.

In the midst of this, Light's Chosen summoned both Uther and Malor, the former Scarlet Crusade member, and presented them with a singular artifact of immense power. This artifact required both of them, representing two distinct perspectives, to harness its true potential.

"Uther, Malor," Light's Chosen's voice was solemn, "this artifact is a reflection of the Light's judgment. It requires the harmonious unity of your convictions—Uther, your unwavering commitment to righteousness, and Malor, your intimate understanding of the Crusade's corruption."

Malor's gaze was intent, his memories of the Scarlet Crusade's darkness still fresh. "So, this artifact will unveil the truth within them?"

Light's Chosen nodded. "Indeed, Malor. It will reveal the essence of their souls, whether they are bound by righteous intent or consumed by twisted beliefs."

Uther's grip on the artifact tightened as he looked at Malor, then back at Light's Chosen. "And what of their redemption? Can they truly be saved from their past?"

Light's Chosen's gaze bore into them. "Redemption is a journey chosen by the heart. The Penitential Atoners were once ensnared by the Crusade's fanaticism. Now, branded by the Light's judgment, they will face their true selves and the chance for redemption."

Malor's voice held determination. "You believe there's hope for them."

"Hope exists where there is a willingness to change," Light's Chosen affirmed. "But it must be a conscious choice to atone and break free from the shackles of darkness. Your guidance will be pivotal."

Uther exchanged a resolute glance with Malor, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "We accept this responsibility," Uther declared firmly. "If there's a possibility to rescue those lost to the Crusade's corruption, we must not shy away from it."

With determination, Uther and Malor embarked on their journey to Tyr's Hand, the artifact in their possession and the weight of their purpose propelling them forward. Uncertainty had given way to purpose, and within their hearts burned the conviction that they could bring those who had strayed back to the Light. With the artifact as their conduit, they would pass the Light's judgment upon the Scarlet Crusade members, granting them a chance for redemption—a chance that rested upon the unyielding faith of those who believed in the power of the Light to cleanse and heal even the darkest of souls.
​

~~~~
​

The decision had been made, and the forces were divided. Uther and Malor returned from their mission in Tyr's Hand, their numbers bolstered with new Penitential Atoners—former members of the Scarlet Crusade who now bore the marks of Light's judgment, determined to atone for their past. Light's Chosen had given them a new purpose, a chance to cleanse themselves of their dark history.

As discussions about the division of forces unfolded, it became apparent that the Heroes resurrected by Light's Chosen would naturally rally behind him. The focus then shifted to the Penitential Atoners, whose roles would be distributed based on their unique strengths and abilities. In the end, consensus was reached with surprising ease. Some would remain to continue the cleansing efforts, while others would join the battles that lay ahead.

The Penitential Atoners, having experienced the transformative power of the Light firsthand, were eager to prove their newfound allegiance. Among them were those who were particularly adept at identifying and eradicating pockets of corruption that still lingered across the land. Their determination and understanding of the darkness that had once consumed them made them invaluable assets in the ongoing struggle.

Dawn, too, played a pivotal role in this division. Many of its members chose to remain behind, embracing the mission to cleanse and reclaim the lands from the Scourge's grasp. They understood that this was a battle that required their combined efforts and steadfast resolve.

With the forces separated and the roles defined, the united front now turned toward their next destination—Tirisfal. Light's Chosen had foreseen the path ahead, yet details remained shrouded in mystery. As the journey unfolded, they knew that whatever challenges awaited them, they would face together, drawing strength from each other's unwavering commitment to the Light's cause.

The road ahead was uncertain, but with Light's Chosen guiding their steps, the Heroes and Penitential Atoners alike were united by a shared purpose. It was a purpose born from redemption, fueled by determination, and fortified by the belief that even in the darkest of times, the Light's power could illuminate a path toward salvation. And so, with hope as their guide, they continued their journey—undaunted and resolute in their quest to vanquish the shadows that threatened to engulf their world.
​

~~~~
​

As they journeyed past the remnants of the once-thriving city of Andorhal, a group of riders approached them. Many among the group were cautious at the sight of these newcomers, particularly due to the presence of individuals adorned in the colors of the Scarlet Crusade.

However, the Light's Chosen decided against taking immediate action, allowing the riders to draw nearer. It was during this approach that several individuals caught sight of the man leading the riders. While some remained unfamiliar with him, many recognized him instantly.

Tirion Fordring, a figure once tarnished within the Silver Hand, now seemingly aligned with the Crusade? The sight ignited anger among many, as they perceived him to have forsaken his principles.

"Tirion," spoke up the Light's Chosen once the distance had closed. "Has the task been accomplished?" he inquired of the man.

Tirion nodded with a solemn expression. "Indeed, Hearthglen has been secured. Those deemed beyond redemption have met their end by the blade." As he uttered these words, a notable realization began to dawn upon the gathering. All the Crusaders standing behind Tirion were identical to the Penitential Atoners.

Confusion clouded the air as Uther voiced his query. "What is the meaning of this?" he questioned, his brows furrowing. Tirion pivoted toward him, his countenance now revealing more than just stoicism. "Uther… it's hard to believe this reality. It warms my heart to see you, old friend," he spoke with a blend of incredulity and genuine joy.

Uther acknowledged the sentiment. "Likewise, Tirion. However, my question stands," he pressed, his resolve unwavering.

A soft laugh escaped Tirion's lips. "I believe the same as you, old friend," he responded, gesturing toward the assembly behind him.

Light's Chosen intervened in their exchange, steering their focus back to the mission. "This discussion shall need to wait for another time. We have pressing matters at hand. Coordinate with the Argent Dawn at the Light's Hope Chapel, Tirion," he interjected, emphasizing their purpose. Having imparted his directive, he resumed his stride forward.

Tirion's jocularity emerged as he commented, "As imposing as ever, that one." This jest was followed by a nod of acknowledgment directed at Uther. "Nevertheless, he's right. There's much work to be done. Both for me and for you. I wish you luck in your endeavors, Uther. May this chaos find its end once and for all," Tirion concluded with a tone of gravity.

Uther reciprocated the sentiment with a solemn nod. "Indeed, the time has come for us to rectify this situation. It should never have been permitted to escalate to this extent," he replied, his demeanor mirroring Tirion's seriousness.
​

~~~~
​

As they neared the entrance to Tirisfal, a sense of anticipation loomed. However, the reception awaiting them was not that of the Scarlet Crusade. Instead, some regarded it as even more perplexing – undead filled with Light.

Their undead nature was undeniable, yet equally conspicuous was the Light that flowed within them. This spectacle left them all taken aback, struggling to comprehend the sight before them.

Uther shifted his gaze from the Light's Chosen to the unexpected newcomers, his expression one of sheer bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this? Why?" His emotions were too confounded to allow room for anger; confusion reigned supreme.

A solitary member of the Lightforged Undead ventured forth, a High Elf in her past life. "Uther, what a pleasure to cross paths with you," her words belied a deeply ingrained animosity towards him.

Uther regained his composure, choosing to meet her ire with equanimity. "Have I inadvertently affronted you, my Lady? I do not recall our paths having crossed before," he responded calmly, refusing to be drawn into a provocation.

"Oh, we've never formally met. However, my people and I had the distinct privilege of encountering," she continued, glancing back briefly before resuming her gaze at Uther. "Your prized protégé," she spoke, each word laced with menace.

Uther's jaw clenched, realization dawning as he understood the source of her resentment, regardless of its misguided nature.

Intervening, the Light's Chosen commanded, "Enough of this. Save your grievances for another occasion. Sylvanas, has the Light's Vengeance executed its orders?" His tone brooked no disobedience.

The newly named Sylvanas turned her attention toward him, her demeanor composed. "Indeed, we have completed the task. The former capital has been purged, Varimathras now imprisoned. Additionally, we've secured the Monastery and the Crusaders within it. As predicted, Balnazzar, known to them as Saidan, sought to rally support there. Our exposure of his true nature and subsequent capture proved relatively uncomplicated," she reported clinically, briefly diverting her gaze toward Uther with a hint of mockery, a gesture left unfulfilled.

"Continue," the Light's Chosen commanded, his authority unwavering.

Sylvanas locked eyes with him, collecting herself before proceeding. "Both Dreadlords have been detained according to your specifications. We've secured several vessels for the forthcoming voyage, though their numbers may fall short," she concluded her briefing.

The Light's Chosen turned his gaze to a realm unseen by others, before focusing back on Sylvanas. "It matters not. The rest of our forces will contribute to the construction of additional ships. Meanwhile, I have other matters to fulfill." Addressing both Uther and Sylvanas, he added, "You are now both in charge. Allocate responsibilities as necessary, but confine personal disagreements to private discourse." With those final instructions, he urged his steed into motion, the animal gathering momentum until it vanished from their view.​

---

Well, that was unexpected. Sylvanas herself a servant of the Light! Who could have foreseen that!

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

P.S. As usual more chapters available on my Patreon

​

 

[CILinkz]

its a bit sad that we cant have anymore 100% good protagonists these days. everything needs to be some flavor of evil, apathy or inner conflicts.

 

[Kordelius]

its a bit sad that we cant have anymore 100% good protagonists these days. everything needs to be some flavor of evil, apathy or inner conflicts.

Click to shrink...

Well to me it would just seem bland honestly... life is not just black and white. Also if he were a 100% good guy, that would mean all Scarlet Crusade members would have to be put to the sword, since they have committed a lot of crimes. Which would weaken the powerbase he is attempting to build. One would also consider Sylvanas and the rest of the Forsaken as evil, so they have to go as well.

What remains? Dawn I suppose and the heroes that he raised. Seems kind of a weak powerbase, for attempting to fight the Scourge.

I suppose the fate of Scarlet Crusaders could be considered evil in some ways, don't think Apathy applies since if he was such he would not attempt to do anything. As for inner conflict sure the PoV's have it but I thinks it clear why it is so.

Honestly I don't know what you mean when you say a 100% good protagonist, do you want a one dimensional MC that has no reflection on his actions or emotion or any character growth?

Also I don't think I would be able to write such a MC, I am a negative person by nature, so it's hard for me to see only good.

 

[MyThule]

Getting the Scarlet Crusaders to join up is great, as they do have a lot of manpower, and if the MC want to make a change in the world, then he needs them, also is the MC gonna do something with the elfs?

 

[Kordelius]

Getting the Scarlet Crusaders to join up is great, as they do have a lot of manpower, and if the MC want to make a change in the world, then he needs them, also is the MC gonna do something with the elfs?

Click to shrink...

Well, if you want to know there are 3 more chapters on Patreon if not you will just have to wait heh

 

[CILinkz]

since when would an all good protagnoist kill anyone? if it is rewritten a tiny bit the current actions would still fit in with the good morality. if he were to cast his spell to make them strip all justifications from their minds and confronts them with their inner evil just like he did it now, that would be seen as good. he gives them basically a chance at redemption that they need to grip with their own hands if they want to. Not that instand mind control thing. If he were to cast it on a good person, nothing would happen for example. but your wrote it like it is a bad thing that uther didnt approve of. the mindset is different and the mechanics of your spell could have just shifted a bit and all would be good. As long as they had a choice, is all im saying. its all in the writing style. no action you currently did was in any way evil - the way you wrote it made it out to be though.

i think the Warcraft verse is already dark enough to not become bland with an all good MC but its still your story so do as you like.

 

[Kordelius]

since when would an all good protagnoist kill anyone? if it is rewritten a tiny bit the current actions would still fit in with the good morality. if he were to cast his spell to make them strip all justifications from their minds and confronts them with their inner evil just like he did it now, that would be seen as good. he gives them basically a chance at redemption that they need to grip with their own hands if they want to. Not that instand mind control thing. If he were to cast it on a good person, nothing would happen for example. but your wrote it like it is a bad thing that uther didnt approve of. the mindset is different and the mechanics of your spell could have just shifted a bit and all would be good. As long as they had a choice, is all im saying. its all in the writing style. no action you currently did was in any way evil - the way you wrote it made it out to be though.

i think the Warcraft verse is already dark enough to not become bland with an all good MC but its still your story so do as you like.

Click to shrink...

You don't give criminals the choice whether or not they want to atone for their crimes. Making them confront their evil is one thing, but you don't just let them choose if they want to atone for it or not. Example - Police catch a murderer and he finally realizes the horrible thing he did, they don't just say "Do you want to go to jail?" and you don't just not send him there when he says No.

They are not mind controlled, the Light's mark on them is basically chains of prisoners that ensure they will pay for their crimes and serve a sentence.

I guess I should've included that in Malor's PoV. I suppose this one of the many things I will need to pay attention to as a writer, thank you for pointing it out.

 

[yugo]

I need more!!!

 

[Kordelius]

I need more!!!

Click to shrink...

SoonTM​

But for real, been feeling a bit down so the creative juices had not been flowing. This week should see more updates since I'm feeling better.

 

[Kordelius]

Lor'Themar Theron was overcome with a potent mixture of sorrow and anger as he cast his gaze upon his homeland once more. The ache of revisiting this place after all that had transpired was a bitter pill to swallow. The agony, the anguish of having to forsake their ancestral land, following Prince Kael'Thas on a quest for a new sanctuary.

He clenched his teeth in frustration, the decisions their prince had made for their people remained difficult to accept, yet he grasped the stark reality—they had been left with precious little choice.

Betrayed, shattered, and betrayed once more. He found himself pondering if they were being subjected to a form of punishment. Deep within his thoughts, he could acknowledge that there were countless things others could cast blame upon them for, attributing this bleak fate to their perceived transgressions.

However, his ability to comprehend it did not equate to his ability to embrace it!

The consequence of their self-imposed isolation became glaringly evident—a grievous miscalculation. Had they only been more attuned to the currents beyond their borders, perhaps they could have better fortified themselves against the impending calamity. What stung more was the realization that they had managed to narrowly evade this very downfall once before, yet failed to enact the necessary safeguards to prevent its recurrence. And now, they bore the brunt of their own neglect.

Their homeland, once a thriving bastion, lay in ruins; their kin, mercilessly slaughtered; those who had survived now struggled to find a refuge. Reduced to nomads, they wandered from one makeshift home to another, exchanging servitude for shelter.

No, this could not persist any longer!

Amidst the wreckage, Lor'Themar found solace in their return, albeit to a fractured realm. He pledged to guide those who had rallied behind him towards a brighter future. He entertained no illusions; he acknowledged the very real possibility of eventual conflict with their prince over the directions they would wish to lead their people towards. Though he fervently wished to avoid such a confrontation.

For now, he resolved to dedicate himself to the reclamation of their shattered homeland and the establishment of stability for those who looked up to him for leadership.

~~~~​

Lor'Themar's teeth clenched tightly, a visceral expression of his anger and frustration. The source of this vexation? It lay in those who had been forsaken during their exodus—a people left to endure prolonged deprivation of magic that had ultimately twisted them beyond recognition.

These once-vibrant beings had devolved into mindless husks, a haunting echo of their former selves. Ravaged and consumed by an insatiable hunger for magic, they embodied yet another stark reminder of their collective failure.

Eliminating mindless undead was one thing, but extinguishing the existence of those who had once been his own people—now contorted and malformed by their insatiable magical thirst—was a heartrending ordeal.

This was but a single facet of the myriad issues that had plagued their people. The curse of mana addiction was an affliction that had persisted for ages, yet it had never been meaningfully addressed until it was too late. The telltale signs had always been present, as had the looming danger, but the urgency of finding a solution had never truly resonated. After all, the Sunwell had long provided an abundant source of magic, rendering concerns seemingly moot. Who could have foreseen such a fundamental upheaval?

And now, their complacency and arrogance had returned to exact a heavy toll.
​

~~~~
​

Having reclaimed a substantial portion of the city and its surrounding vicinity, they stood at the cusp of beginning the daunting task of rebuilding. While the menace of the Wretched and Undead still held sway in certain regions, the mere fact that they finally possessed a viable space to consolidate their efforts was a glimmer of hope.

Rommath's contributions in eradicating significant clusters of undead had proved invaluable. If any silver lining could be gleaned from the situation, it was that the Scourge had exhibited a degree of restraint in their destruction en route to the Sunwell.

However, the journey ahead remained no less Herculean. The menace of the undead continued to linger, large sections of the city demanded reconstruction, not to mention the pervasive decay that had beset everything over time.

Yet amidst these pressing concerns, an even more immediate issue surfaced. Halduron's scouts had returned bearing tidings that Lor'Themar would have preferred to remain buried and unspoken.

The name Dar'Khan, the very traitor who had sown chaos, resurfaced like a bitter memory. No matter how much his blood boiled at the mere mention of that name, no matter how greatly he yearned to muster his forces and assail him, practicality prevailed. And this reality, despite its reasonableness, was far from palatable to anyone else. The situation was a veritable headache. Vengeance, though a potent lure, could not eclipse the greater need to rebuild their ravaged home.

Lor'Themar found himself in his chambers, scrutinizing a map, deliberating over the next area of focus, when an insistent knock interrupted his thoughts. Sighing inwardly, he bade the visitor to enter.

Halduron rushed into the chamber, an air of urgency surrounding him. Lor'Themar's weariness deepened; it seemed another wave of adversity was about to crash upon them. "What is it, Halduron?" he inquired, weariness evident in his tone.

"Lor'Themar, scouts have brought word of a rider approaching the city at remarkable speed. He should be upon us imminently!" Halduron hurriedly relayed, already exiting the room and gesturing for Lor'Themar to follow.

Resigned to yet another upheaval, Lor'Themar trailed after Halduron. 'What new challenge awaits us now?' he mused, hoping fervently that this was not another adversary to contend with, a realm in which they were already far too well-versed.
​

~~~~​

As Lor'Themar arrived at the scene, he noticed that Rommath was already present. A nod of acknowledgement passed between them before Lor'Themar's attention turned to the approaching figure. With every step, the presence of the newcomer grew more palpable, an undeniable manifestation of power.

However, amidst this unfolding scene, a peculiar sight drew his gaze away—the flickering flames in the background. He turned his focus towards Halduron, his tone laced with urgency. "What is ablaze over there, and for what reason?" His words carried a note of urgency; he had no desire to contend with an unforeseen firestorm.

Halduron's jaw tightened as he delivered his reply. "It's the Dead Scar. According to my scouts, the moment the stranger set foot on it, it ignited. But it's not an ordinary fire. It burns with a golden hue and isn't searing to the touch. One of the scouts even dared to place his hand in it, yet suffered no burns."

Rommath interjected, his attention still primarily fixated on the mysterious occurrence. "That's because it's not truly fire. It merely assumes the appearance of fire. It's the Light expunging the land's corruption." His voice held a detached quality as he explained, his focus deeply engrossed elsewhere.

Lor'Themar found himself momentarily taken aback by Rommath's insight, a glimmer of hope kindling within. If they could harness the assistance of this enigmatic figure, their quest to reclaim their homeland might find a swifter resolution.

As the stranger drew nearer, the pace of their approach gradually slowed until they finally stood before the assembled group. A silent assessment seemed to take place, each member potentially subject to judgment. Lor'Themar sensed the weight of the gaze even though the stranger's visage remained veiled.

"Lor'Themar Theron," the stranger's voice cut through the air with clarity and conviction. Involuntarily, Lor'Themar straightened, his posture reflecting the stranger's authoritative aura.

"Yes, that is my name. Regrettably, I'm unfamiliar with yours," Lor'Themar responded with equal clarity and resolve.

A beat of silence lingered, raising doubts as to whether the stranger had even heard Lor'Themar's reply.

"Do you wish to save your people?" The stranger's words penetrated the air, disregarding Lor'Themar's inquiry entirely. The question left him guarded, unsure of the stranger's intentions.

"What do you mean?" Lor'Themar responded cautiously, his uncertainty mirrored by those around him.

"The Light extends an offer of redemption, a path out of the darkness you now tread," the stranger continued, his cryptic words leaving Lor'Themar puzzled.

"I'm afraid I don't comprehend your meaning," Lor'Themar replied with a note of skepticism.

"Your Prince has led you down a path of ruin. If you persist, only agony and despair await. Summon him back, for the power of demons will not save you—it will only seal your doom further," the stranger's tone remained firm, his words echoing even in their hushed delivery.

"And the Light would save us? The Light abandoned us in our hour of need!" Rommath's anger surged forth, an expected reaction. Lor'Themar had anticipated as much, considering Rommath's unwavering loyalty to Kael'Thas.

The stranger's gaze shifted towards Rommath. "You forsook the Light long before it turned away from you. Your people succumbed to greed and the lust for power. Do you view Dar'Khan Drathir as an aberration? A lone misstep? You're well aware that many more would have embraced the offer he received, heedless of the consequences. Among those condemning him now, jealousy festers just as strongly." The stranger's damning words sparked resentment among those addressed.

Though not without their bitter taste, Lor'Themar couldn't deny their veracity. However, Rommath's reaction was anything but agreeable. "How dare you!" Rommath's fury radiated, accompanied by a surge of arcane energy.

Yet with a simple gesture, the stranger deflected Rommath's magical onslaught, leaving Rommath reeling from the recoil. "Be cautious with your actions. I offer a chance at redemption, but I will not hesitate to subject you to the ramifications of your prior choices," the stranger warned sternly.

Lor'Themar absorbed the gravity of the situation, the tension in the air palpable. Despite Rommath's display of power, the stranger remained unruffled, emanating an aura of authority that was impossible to ignore. As the intensity of the moment hung suspended, Lor'Themar could feel the weight of the decision that loomed before them.

"Who are you? What is your purpose here?" Lor'Themar inquired, his voice tempered with a mixture of caution and curiosity. The stranger's appearance had ushered in an air of mystery that demanded clarification.

"I am a harbinger of the Light, a servant of its divine purpose," the stranger replied cryptically, their demeanor enigmatic.

Lor'Themar weighed their words, skepticism warring with the desire for a solution to their plight. "And what exactly is the Light's purpose?"

"The Light seeks to cleanse, to offer a path of redemption to those who have strayed from its grace. It offers deliverance from darkness, a chance to cast aside the burdens of mistakes made in ignorance or folly," the stranger answered, their words carrying a sense of profound earnestness.

Rommath's skepticism remained unrelenting. "And why should we trust in this offer, in your words?"

"The trust must be earned, I understand that. I do not ask for blind faith, only the willingness to consider a new path—one that may lead to salvation for your people," the stranger replied, their tone imbued with sincerity.

Lor'Themar mulled over the stranger's words, his gaze shifting between Rommath and Halduron, both of whom were wrestling with their own doubts and reservations.

Halduron finally spoke up, his voice tinged with skepticism. "You speak of redemption, but what do you ask of us in return?"

The stranger's gaze, though concealed, seemed to meet Halduron's with an intensity that bore into his very soul. "A willingness to relinquish the path you are currently on. To challenge old allegiances that have led to the suffering of your people. To unite under the banner of the Light and work towards the salvation that is within your grasp."

The proposition hung in the air, a weighty offer that carried the potential for profound change. The tension of the moment seemed to stretch on endlessly as each individual contemplated the path that lay before them.

Lor'Themar, though cautious, found a glimmer of hope taking root within him. The idea of redemption, of reclaiming their heritage and restoring their people, held undeniable allure. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Rommath and Halduron, silently acknowledging the monumental decision they were collectively facing.

The silence was broken by Rommath, his tone far more measured than before. "And what assurance do we have that this path is truly one of salvation and not another twist of fate?"

The stranger's voice remained unwavering, resolute in its conviction. "You have my presence, my word, and the Light as your guide. The path to redemption may be arduous, but it is one paved with the potential for renewal."

The magnitude of the choice lingered in the air, the fate of their people precariously balanced. Lor'Themar's mind raced as he considered the implications, the uncertainties, and the flicker of hope that had ignited within him.

"We will deliberate," Lor'Themar stated finally, his words carrying the weight of the responsibility that lay upon his shoulders. "This decision affects not only us, but all who look to us for guidance and leadership."

The stranger inclined their head, acknowledging the weight of the decision. "Take your time, for the path of redemption is one that requires thoughtful consideration. May the Light illuminate your choice."

With those words, the stranger turned and began to recede, their presence fading like a specter in the wind. Left behind were the leaders of a fractured people, the uncertainty of a pivotal decision, and the lingering echo of the stranger's offer of redemption.​

---

Heavy is the mantle of Leadership and Lor'Themar feels it firsthand himself now.

Let me know your thought's below.

Cheers!

As always you can read three chapters ahead on my Patreon​

 

[yugo]

i love it

 

[MasterOfDragonsGod]

This is really interesting keep it up.

 

[polarpwnage]

Follow the light or be put to the sword! Let the crusades begin

 

[Kordelius]

Sylvanas Windrunner, a figure once renowned as the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, then ascended to the throne as the Queen of the Forsaken, and now assumed the mantle of Light's Vengeance. Her life's trajectory had taken an astonishingly swift and bewildering series of turns, a whirlwind of events particularly astounding for someone who had witnessed over two millennia pass.

In her eyes, it felt as if the downhill spiral began with her little brother's tragic death at the hands of the savage Horde. That was when her life seemed to take a turn for the worse. Alleria, consumed by her fury, plunged into battle against the same faction, vanishing into the depths of another world.

Then the Scourge invasion struck, and Sylvanas could still recall the anguish and pain of watching the undead ravage her homeland, mercilessly taking the lives of her people.

Her own demise followed, her body subjugated to be turned against her kin—the very people she had vowed to protect. It fractured her on multiple levels. Upon regaining her freedom, she was so consumed by rage and torment that her sole desire was to make Arthas pay for his actions.

But in the end, even with all her fury, she couldn't manage to end the abominable existence of the being who tormented her. His escape gnawed at her, the frustration of being unable to deliver her long-awaited revenge leaving a bitter taste.

A fleeting thought of ending her own misery crossed her mind, yet it was thwarted when her rangers sought her counsel once more. She gathered those who had managed to break free from their chains, uniting them under a common banner—vengeance.

It became her sole purpose, a guiding star to navigate the darkness. Consequences be damned, condemnation from others endured, all she pursued was the realization of their thirst for retribution.

In retrospection, Sylvanas could see how far she had fallen, how she was gradually transforming into a monstrous version of herself. The backdrop of ruins, death, and despair that surrounded her only seemed to exacerbate these sentiments. She began to resent the living, despising their sympathetic gazes and disdainful looks. How dare they judge her and her people when they had no understanding of their torment?

Meeting Light's Champion, however, turned out to be a pivotal moment in her journey.

Initially, as she set her eyes on him, she pegged him as another zealous paladin, surely on a mission to cleanse the land of their supposed corruption. Her anger surged, and she attacked impulsively, only to be swiftly overpowered and brought to her knees by the radiant power of the Light.

Bound and seething, she unleashed insults and taunts, expecting her provocations to elicit a response. To her surprise, he absorbed her vitriol without flinching, offering her an unexpected chance to break free from the dark path she had embraced.

In her heated fury, she responded with more anger, only to be met with patient resolve. And then, in an instant, the Light encompassed her. She believed it to be her end, ready to succumb to its judgement, but instead, she was confronted with a reflection of her actions, laid bare in all their raw truth.

The sight of the monster she had become, driven by anger and vengeance, sent shockwaves through her. The realization that her unbridled rage had begun to twist her into the very evil she sought to destroy filled her with despair.

And then, another offer was extended—did she wish to forge a different path? In that moment of darkness, she grasped onto the extended hand like a drowning soul reaching for salvation.

The Light's embrace inundated her, and she surrendered to its judgement, accepting its offer of redemption. Surprisingly, it did not condemn her desire for vengeance; instead, it empowered her to pursue it, not as a conduit of wrath, but as an agent of the Light itself. She transformed into Light's Vengeance, a being as enigmatic as her own journey.

As her metamorphosis concluded, she looked up at the Light's Chosen, her gratitude palpable. About to inquire about her people, he instead requested her bow. Handing it over, he allowed the Light to cleanse its darkness and bless it anew. With the return of her weapon, he departed without a word, yet his message was clear. The responsibility to lead her people towards a better path rested on her shoulders.

With newfound resolve, Sylvanas returned to Undercity, determined to guide her people towards a brighter future, to show them that vengeance need not define their existence.

~~~~
​

Once again, Uther found himself pleasantly surprised by Light's Chosen, appreciating the depth of his foresight and dedication. The fact that the Champion had taken proactive steps even before awakening them from their slumber was both remarkable and reassuring. While it made logical sense given the Champion's power and commitment, it still managed to astonish Uther.

Learning that Tirion Fordring had been called from his exile to oversee Hearthglen and the Scarlet Crusaders or rather the now called Penitential Atoners stationed there brought Uther a sense of peace. He had worried that those left behind might struggle without their guidance, but Light's Chosen had evidently anticipated this concern and acted accordingly.

However, there was a matter that left Uther somewhat uncertain—the Lightforged Undead, or as they referred to themselves, Light's Vengeance. The name didn't sit quite right with him, yet he could comprehend the reasoning behind it. Uther held no personal grudge against their leader, Sylvanas Windrunner, nor did he fully believe her professed disdain for him. He noted that ever since Light's Chosen had embarked on his enigmatic mission, Sylvanas and her people had fully committed themselves to the cause, even participating in shipbuilding efforts for the impending departure.

Uther hadn't had the chance for a substantial conversation with Sylvanas. She seemed to prefer solitude, especially when accompanied by her rangers—silent, loyal companions who seemed fiercely devoted to their Lady. Clad in dark cloaks that concealed their forms, they would have been indistinguishable from regular undead if not for the unmistakable Light emanating from their eyes. This unique manifestation of the Light, while devoid of warmth and forgiveness, was dedicated and resolute in its purpose. Uther found it somewhat disconcerting, yet the Light reassured him that their commitment was unwavering—they had made their choice and were steadfast in following the Light's Chosen.

Uther's thoughts also turned to the whereabouts of Light's Chosen. He had left in a direction that suggested he might have headed to Quel'Thalas, though Uther was aware of the devastation Arthas had wrought there. Could there be remnants of the land that survived? Perhaps the Champion had left to lend aid to those who remained, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins. It resonated with Light's Chosen's character to provide assistance and instill optimism. Yet, the Light remained silent on the matter, refusing to confirm or deny Uther's suspicions.

Such behavior from the Light wasn't new; it rarely divulged information regarding its Champion, and the few insights Uther gleaned often carried a tinge of sadness. These unspoken truths only added to the complexity of the situation, leaving Uther to ponder in both wonder and uncertainty.
​

~~~~
​

Kael'Thas Sunstrider, once the illustrious Prince of Quel'Thalas, now the leader of the Blood Elves, a race marked by tragedy and displacement. His heart bore the weight of numerous regrets in the aftermath of their exodus from their ravaged homeland.

The recollections of putting faith, though reluctantly, in the biased and narrow-minded Garithos stung him deeply. Trust might be too generous a term—desperation seemed more apt. Their options were scant, and they found themselves in a situation where they had to seek aid from a human who despised them for who they were. Despite the sacrifices they made and their earnest efforts, they were met with disdain and scorn. Their trust had been shattered once again.

In the grip of hopelessness and despair, Kael'Thas's choices led him to form an alliance with the Naga, a decision made out of necessity to ensure the survival of his people. Even though this alliance bore bitter echoes of being used and manipulated, they persevered to secure their place. While some might argue they had indeed established themselves, Kael'Thas would not concur.

The solution presented by the demonic night elf – Illidian, to quell their mana addiction was abhorrent to him, an affront to his principles. Yet, with their backs to the wall, they had little recourse but to accept it, lest they fall prey to their unrelenting hunger for magic.

Thus, Kael'Thas reluctantly embraced fel magic, a power that sickened him and left him feeling self-loathing. Each day he wielded this corrupting force, he felt he was betraying the memory of those who had perished in their homeland. The fact that the Scourge, the force that had obliterated their home, was an instrument of the Burning Legion, masters of fel magic, churned his stomach.

Stranded on a shattered world, he struggled to find an alternative means to sate his people's need for mana that didn't involve the tainted magic. The glimpse of hope came with the news of their gradual reclamation of their homeland under the guidance of Rommath. The prospect of laying eyes on his ancestral land once more and perhaps finding a solution to their plight filled him with elation.

However, his soaring hopes were rapidly tempered by the grim reality surrounding him. The presence of Illidari demons passing by sparked a surge of anger and regret. He increasingly lamented the choices that had led him to this point, recognizing that his desperation and lack of options had ultimately deepened his people's predicament.

A touch on his shoulder disrupted his grim contemplations, and he turned to see Capernian, one of his advisors. Behind her stood Thaladred, Sanguinar, and Telonicus. Taking stock of their surroundings and finding that they were not under scrutiny, Capernian leaned close and whispered in his ear. She conveyed a message from Rommath—someone had arrived in Silvermoon with a message of an alternative path to save their people, a path that spoke of the Light. Lor'Themar sought his presence to engage with this individual and ascertain the authenticity of their claims.

Her words carried both hope and trepidation, a mixture of longing for a solution and a fear of it being another false dawn. Kael'Thas understood her apprehension; after all, if this person's words were true, if their promise held merit, it could revolutionize the destiny of his people. He resolved to meet this enigmatic figure, to hear their message firsthand. For his people, for the Sin'dorei, he had to explore this chance for a different path.​

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Bit of a backstory for Sylvanas, I felt it prudent. A little from Uther, in this case he serves as bit of an outside look on it all so to speak, and Kael'Thas regret and new hope.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always if you wish to read ahead there are three more chapters on my Patreon

​

 

[LokKi]

Hmm, his desire to not reveal himself, reveals that Champion was reborn on Azeroth and was vulnerable in his early years, so that bronze or infinite dragonflight won't find him he conceals himself. Curious path, I like it.

 

[Kordelius]

As Kael'Thas walked alongside the enigmatic figure who had brought them a message of hope, he couldn't help but feel a burgeoning sense of happiness within him. Skepticism had initially colored his thoughts, as the offer presented to them seemed almost too good to be true—much like the false promises and choices he had been forced to make in the past out of sheer desperation.

This time, however, something was different. He couldn't shake the feeling that this offer held genuine potential. Perhaps it was the palpable presence of the Light emanating from the man, a presence that lent an undeniable weight to his words. It was as if the Light itself compelled him to speak only the truth, lest it strike him down.

When he inquired about the price they would have to pay for this chance, Kael'Thas found himself both surprised and unsurprised by the response—keep to the Light, prevent evil from flourishing, and protect the world.

On the surface, these directives might appear simple or even naïve. Yet he knew better. Evil was a multifaceted entity that manifested in various forms. The most obvious form was the commission of wicked deeds for the sheer sake of malevolence. However, the most insidious evil was the one that lurked in the hearts of individuals.

Dar'Khan, the prime example of such malevolence, had allowed his greed and lust for power to lead him to betray his own people. His evil had thrived and flourished within him. What was asked of them was to nip such malevolence in the bud, to eradicate it at its inception, before it could grow into a destructive force.

This task was the true challenge—preventing the seeds of evil from taking root. Kael'Thas could admit that, had their circumstances been different, these seeds might have found fertile ground within his own heart as well. Desperation had always been a fertile soil for evil to sprout and spread, eventually turning individuals unrecognizable from their original selves.

Arthas Menethil, the fallen prince of Lordaeron, stood as a grim example of where desperation, unchecked and unfettered, could lead. It pained Kael'Thas to understand and even feel a semblance of sympathy for a man who had committed unforgivable atrocities against his own people. Yet, in some twisted way, he could see a reflection of his own potential path in Arthas.

Fortunately, their course had veered away from such a fate, and Kael'Thas was filled with a newfound sense of resolve as Quel'Thalas came into view. He was determined to lead his people with unwavering commitment to the Light, to ensure that evil would find no fertile ground within their hearts, and to protect their world from darkness.

~~~~
​

Liadrin, once a high priestess of the Light, now found herself in a state of inner conflict. Her faith had been severely tested, even shattered, by the events that had unfolded in her homeland, Quel'Thalas, during the Scourge invasion. In her eyes, the Light had failed to protect her people when they needed it the most.

What she craved now was not the spiritual guidance of the Light but the cold steel of a blade and the mastery of martial skills. These were things she could trust, things that would never abandon her. The only way they could fail her was if she herself proved inadequate.

Accompanying Prince Kael'Thas and the enigmatic wielder of the Light on their mission to reclaim Quel'Thalas had thrust her into a moral dilemma. She clashed with her newfound beliefs. When she first laid eyes on the mysterious figure who claimed to be a champion of the Light, she struggled to contain her anger. How audacious of this person to come to them, extolling promises from the Light and accusing them of having abandoned it when it was the Light that had failed them!

Where was the Light when her homeland was being overrun by the Scourge? Where was the Light when the priestesses who had fervently prayed for its aid were torn apart by the undead? Her respect for this person and his self-righteous attitude was nonexistent.

However, to her dismay, Lor'Themar, Haldurin, and even Prince Kael'Thas himself seemed to place trust in this individual. It was maddening. The only one who shared her suspicions was Grand Magister Rommath, to whom she had confided her doubts.

Liadrin had never expected to have any dealings with this person. So, when he specifically requested her presence, it took her by surprise. She couldn't fathom the reason for her inclusion, and she made no effort to hide her disdain for the Light.

Yet, even as Prince Kael'Thas attempted to admonish her for her words, the enigmatic figure intervened. He calmly stated that her words only hurt herself and not him. Liadrin found this puzzling but dismissed it as yet another instance of a self-proclaimed preacher of the Light who thought he understood the power he wielded. In her eyes, the Light was a cold and unfeeling force, one that sought to use individuals and then discarded them when their usefulness had expired.
​

~~~~
​

Lor'Themar Theron, the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas, found himself in a rare moment of optimism amidst the turmoil and suffering that had befallen his people. The arrival of the enigmatic stranger had brought with it a glimmer of hope. For the first time in a long while, he felt that things might be looking up for the Sin'dorei.

While many would attribute this newfound hope solely to the stranger's presence, Lor'Themar's sense of relief was more deeply rooted. What lightened the weight on his shoulders was not just the stranger's offer but the fact that Prince Kael'Thas himself agreed that their people had veered down a perilous path. Lor'Themar had long feared that the prince, driven by desperation, might lead them even further astray. Having those fears assuaged gave him a sense of inner peace.

Admittedly, they did not have a clear path before them, and they were still stumbling in the dark. However, the stranger's arrival had ushered in a glimmer of light, and Lor'Themar was determined to seize this opportunity. While he was not oblivious to the suspicions of others, he firmly believed that if they regarded every helping hand as an enemy, they would doom themselves to failure.

He did, of course, have his own reservations, yet he remained cautiously optimistic. Rommath and Liadrin were both deeply suspicious of the stranger, and he could understand Liadrin's skepticism given her recent disillusionment with the Light. However, Rommath's wariness had taken him by surprise.

Prince Kael'Thas, on the other hand, seemed genuinely relieved at the stranger's offer. The terms presented by the enigmatic figure were not unreasonable, and Lor'Themar could see their merit. He couldn't help but acknowledge the wisdom in the stranger's words during their initial encounter.

What puzzled him was the fact that the stranger had only requested Prince Kael'Thas and, surprisingly, Liadrin to accompany him on the mission to reclaim Quel'Thalas. Lor'Themar couldn't fathom why this was the case, especially considering that the land was likely teeming with undead, given the absence of any prior efforts to reclaim it.

The presence of Prince Kael'Thas was understandable, as he was their leader. However, Liadrin's inclusion remained a mystery, particularly after her initial confrontation with the stranger, during which she had expressed her disdain for the Light. Remarkably, the stranger had not taken offense at her words.

Despite Prince Kael'Thas' assurances and the potential trust he placed in the stranger, Lor'Themar couldn't help but feel uneasy about the idea of his prince traveling to a land infested with the undead with only two other companions. In response to this concern, he had dispatched Haldurin and a contingent of rangers to shadow the trio as closely as possible, fully aware that their presence might be detected. Nonetheless, he hoped the stranger would not take offense at this precaution, given the perilous journey that lay ahead.
​

~~~~
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As Kael'Thas Sunstrider gazed upon the shattered remains of the Sunwell, his heart swelled with a profound sadness. Once, this place had been a radiant fount of magic that had sustained his people, a symbol of their glorious heritage. Now, it lay in ruins, a stark and bitter reminder of the devastating losses they had suffered.

The weight of despair threatened to consume him, but he refused to yield to it. Instead, his gaze shifted to the enigmatic man who had come to offer them salvation. In the presence of this stranger, hope bloomed within Kael'Thas like a fragile but determined bud.

Their journey to this point had been surprisingly uneventful, given the perilous nature of the path they had chosen. Encounters with the undead, once a terrifying ordeal, were now dispatched with ease by the mere presence of the stranger. Kael'Thas couldn't help but wonder how different the fate of Silvermoon might have been if this man had been there during the city's darkest hour. It was a dangerous line of thought, one that led to questions about the stranger's origins and past, questions for which Kael'Thas had no answers.

The stranger turned to regard Kael'Thas, his eyes conveying a solemn depth of purpose. Without a word, he extended his hand, allowing the Light to gather within it. The radiance swirled and condensed, forming a luminous sphere that floated toward Kael'Thas, who observed it with a mixture of anticipation and reverence.

"Make your oath, Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Prince of the Sin'dorei," the stranger intoned, his voice carrying the weight of destiny. "Lead your people back into the Light."

Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Prince of the Sin'dorei, stood before the radiant sphere of Light, the embodiment of hope and redemption. With the weight of his people's future pressing upon him, he took a deep breath and spoke the solemn oath:

"I pledge before the Light, the source of all that is just and pure, that I, Kael'Thas Sunstrider, Prince of the Sin'dorei, do solemnly swear:

To keep to the Light, unwavering and resolute, in all our endeavors, and to seek its guidance in moments of uncertainty.

To prevent evil from flourishing, not only in the world around us but also within the hearts of my people, by addressing the roots of corruption before they take hold.

To protect the world from the encroaching darkness, to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and to stand as a beacon of hope against the tides of despair.

I swear this oath, knowing that it binds me to a path of righteousness and sacrifice. May the Light guide my steps, and may I lead my people back into its benevolent embrace."​

---

And there you have it, the Elves fate has been laid out, so to speak.

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always next three chapters can be found on my Patreon

​

 

[damican]

Ive enjoyed this but damn if it doesnt sound culty af lol

 

[Kordelius]

Ive enjoyed this but damn if it doesnt sound culty af lol

Click to shrink...

What is any religion or single goal organization, but a cult

At least this one seems better then the Cult of the Damned or the Old-God cultists.

 

[Kordelius]

As her prince spoke the words and released the sphere of Light, which floated over to the place where the Sunwell once was, there was a moment of silence. Before an explosion of Light washed over them and the entire island. Somehow, Liadrin knew – there were no more undead on the Isle of Quel'Thalas.

The Light died down to a more soothing glow. Even she had to admit that, after a long time, she felt at peace. No matter how she desired to hold onto her anger and resentment, the gentle presence of Light and the lack of condemnation and judgment it had for her words and actions in spurning it made it harder to let such negative feelings fester.

Was this why she had been brought along? Was it truly so important that she, of all people, let go of her anger?

Then again, their Prince made an oath to not let evil fester in the hearts of his people, and even she could admit that – anger, resentment leads to darkness and evil.

Yet a part of her still rebelled at forgiving so easily! She looked at Prince Kael'Thas, who was silently observing the new fount of power. The expression he wore surprised her – peace, there was only peace on it. He stood tall and strong, not at all how he looked upon returning to Silvermoon, where the weight of the world seemed to crush him.

Looking at the Stranger who made this possible, she could not discern anything. Armor covered the man from head to toe, and if she had not seen him move and speak, she would think him a statue.

"Why am I here?" She whispered lowly, feeling a little lost.

"Good does not have sole ownership of victory. Evils triumph at times; it is a simple fact. Yet it cannot win fully while even a single person believes in good, for it takes but a single will to rise once more. To make a stand and push back against its success," the Stranger spoke, still gazing at the fount of Light. Afterward, he turned toward her and continued. "Will you be that person, Liadrin? Will you rise once more, will you help the Light in its fight against evil? Or will you surrender and allow it to win?" He finished, challenging her.

At first, she was taken aback at his words. Then, anger, righteous anger, began to grow in her, and she glared at him. How dare he! HOW DARE HE! "HOW DARE YOU! I was not the one who surrendered! You dare call me a COWARD!" She finished with a shout of rage, rushing at him and striking with the weapon that had appeared in her hands. He caught the sword of Light in his palm, radiating smug satisfaction, while Liadrin simply looked on in amazement at the way the Light had responded to her, even unconsciously.

She took a step back and closed her eyes, feeling Light flow in her once more. For a moment, she almost pushed it away, but the earnest desire to help she felt from it stopped that.

"I think she is ready, Kael'Thas," the stranger spoke to her prince, who turned to gaze at her. All she felt was confusion. Ready for what?

She looked at her prince in confusion and perhaps a measure of apprehension.

Kael'Thas approached her until he was standing in front of her. "Tell me, Liadrin, would you be willing to lead a new order of knights? Wielders of Light, defenders of the innocent, and enemies of all evils?" He spoke with utmost seriousness, making sure she understood that this was no joke.

Liadrin was taken aback at his words and was struck speechless. "I…" She began haltingly. "Am I really the best choice for this?" She spoke softly, gazing at the sword of Light still in her hand. A hand on her shoulder made her look up at her prince's smiling face.

"Doubt is natural, but one must use it as a catalyst for critical thinking and exploration, rather than allowing it to paralyze or limit their potential," Kael'Thas spoke, imparting a measure of wisdom to her.

While she was still unsure, she knew that if she did this, tragedies like the one that befell them could be prevented, which hardened her resolve and made her nod at her prince. "Yes, my Prince, I will do so," she spoke with conviction.

At which Kael'Thas clapped her on the shoulder one last time before stepping aside and letting her see the Stranger standing there, his hands on a sword with its point resting in the floor. He reminded her of the statues of knights she had seen in the human kingdom.

"Kneel," he commanded her, his command echoing in the chamber and demanding obedience.

Not letting go of the sword of Light, Liadrin did so, one of her knees on the ground with the sword pointed at the floor in front her bent knee.

"Liadrin. Once but a simple believer in Light. The path your life has taken has shown you the price paid for those who fall to evil. You have seen the innocent suffer and die. Your faith has been tested time and time again. Yet even as you gave up on your faith, the spark of good still burns brightly within you," the man spoke, his words heavy and without mercy. Liadrin simply gripped the sword tighter, remembering all those moments.

"So I ask – will you become the protector of the innocent?" The man continued, the question he asked carrying weight. Liadrin could feel that she would be judged upon her response, and if her will was deemed too weak, she would fail.

Hardening her will and conviction, she responded clearly and crisply. "Yes." After a moment, the fount of Light released a pulse, yet Liadrin did not move her eyes from the man in front of her, nor was she cowed by the power growing from him.

"Will you strike at evil no matter where it hides and no matter who protects it?" The man continued, seemingly finding her will strong enough.

"I will," Liadrin responded, and as the fount of Light released another pulse, she felt Light grow in her, emboldened by her will and righteousness.

"Rise, Liadrin, Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light!" The man finished, and the fount of Light released its strongest pulse yet at his words.

As she rose to her feet, Liadrin felt a sense of purpose and direction. Her path was clear, and she would walk it with conviction. She would be the Righteous Blade and the Just Protector.

~~~~
​

Kael'Thas looked on with pride as Liadrin affirmed his belief that she would be worthy of this choice. At first, when the man had asked his opinion on who would be a good choice for this new order, he was lost.

While names came to his mind for one reason or another, he had to discard them. Some would not be able to handle the responsibility, others would become too prideful upon being given such an honor.

Then, while he was deliberating on this choice, they happened to overhear a conversation or rather a tirade from a former priestess who had lost faith in the Light and how she was unimpressed by the Stranger coming to them and offering all these promises from the Light.

At first, he was worried that the words would upset the man, yet he made no comment or took any actions.

After her words had been said, he had simply asked for her name from him. Fortunately, he knew her name, and after hearing it, the man had grown quiet and contemplative.

Before out of nowhere, he had asked him if she would not be a good candidate. Which completely took him aback, since she had made her opinion on the Light quite clear.

Yet the stranger said that only those that fall know how to get back up again. Also, her belief in the Light was not an issue; her character and the will to be a force for good were all that mattered.

So seeing Liadrin here and now, almost a changed woman, filled him with pride and relief. Not just because he was worried about what would happen to her if she failed, but also for the simple fact he had no one else in mind.

He turned toward the man; something told him that he would be leaving soon. "Where will you go now? And is there anything we can do to assist you?" Kael'Thas asked him. While they had their own problems, he would in no way repay the man's generosity with nothing.

"Back to Lordaeron. Ships are being built, and soon we will depart for Northrend. The Lich King's evil must be destroyed; it cannot be allowed to fester," the man responded, and Kael'Thas felt his eyes widen, and anger grew. Arthas, the fallen prince responsible for the misery of his people.

The Stranger spoke up before Kael'Thas could offer to come with him. "Peace, Kael'Thas. This mission will not end in a single day; your people need to recover first. I am sure that by the time you are ready to provide us assistance, there will still be work to be done." The Stranger cautioned Kael'Thas to not make rash decisions based on emotion.

"Still, there is one thing you can do that would help us both," the Stranger continued, piquing Kael'Thas's interest.

"Are you familiar with the Draenei?" The Stranger asked, and Kael'Thas felt a measure of confusion at the man's knowledge of them. Yet, after a moment of thought, he could see where the man was going with it. As far as Kael'Thas knew, the Draenei were fervent believers and wielders of the Light.

"You wish to have them join us on this world?" Kael'Thas asked to clarify, while being quite certain that was the idea.

"Yes, they could be of great help to your people in this period of transition. Not to mention worthwhile allies to have in general. Seek out Prophet Velen and be truthful with him; long has he led his people, and he is a just and wise leader," The Stranger finished while beginning to walk outside of the chamber.

"I expect great things, Matriarch," were his parting words to Liadrin, who had remained silent during their exchange, still coming to grips with her own ascendancy as well as being simply interested in their conversation and not willing to interrupt.​

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So... that happened. What do you think, is Liadrin a good choice?

Let me know your thoughts below.

Cheers!

As always three more chapters are available on my Patreon​