Unholy Resurrection Part Three

With a sudden lurch I felt myself arrive in Stormwind as I appeared in the mages’ tower. I had hoped for a moment’s peace from the nightmares, but this was no longer a world for hope. When I came into the chamber I found my senses flooded by a high-pitched noise that I could not explain. It assaulted me and I clasped my hands to my ears to keep from being overwhelmed. A moment later and the sound became more recognizable. The city was screaming.

All around me in the main room of the tower I saw the remnants of devastation. There were scorch marks and bloodstains along the walls and floor. My hope for respite from the bloodthirsty madness of that night was slipping. My mind nearly shattered in that moment and it was only the heat of a fireball passing by my face that finally shook me from my daze. I looked about and a mage near me was yelling.

“RUN!”

Looking further I realized what had happened. A portal to the chamber stood open, the other side lead to a landscape of twisted timbers and shattered crates; a dock without workers, and far off a great statue of a towering goblin. I had heard rumors that the plague started on the docks of Booty Bay, and someone – either enemy or fool – had created a portal to Stormwind from that town. Again and again ranks of gibbering mindless horrors were coming through that portal. This was not a haven; this was the eye of the storm.

“Down!” the mage nearby commanded me, and without hesitation I dropped to the floor on my stomach. Over me I felt the heat from a ring of magical fire blasting out from the mage. Several ghouls were knocked back and away from me by the impact of the mighty conflagration.

“Do you have your beard in your ears, gnome? I said RUN!” he shouted at me. I did not think to stay and help, I ran. Through the portal into the mage tower entryway, to find more ruin. The mages must have been fighting the ghouls in that tower for some time before my arrival; I could only hope they had cleared a path for me.

I ran through the room and down onto the twisting spiral ramp of the tower, but my hopes were immediately dashed by the slavering madness of a dozen ghouls advancing toward me up the ramp. I could have ran back to warn the other mage of the monsters that were approaching him. But that would have cost me time I needed. There is often no pride in self-preservation, but I do not regret my survival. I jumped from the ramp and lightened my body again to float as far as I could from the fiends that pursued me. That was a mistake.

As I slowly floated away, several of them leapt from the ramp and were following me on the ground – moving faster than my slow descent. I thought that they might catch me, take me into their arms, and welcome me to oblivion with waiting jaws and ragged claws; and for a moment, I considered surrender. But I shook those thoughts from my mind and fought on. Just above the ground I unleashed another ring of ice that froze the beasts in place, teleported myself a bit further ahead of them, and began to run. I cursed myself for not training more avidly in the ways of frost; I could have rained down an icy torrent upon them, freezing them as it tore their rotting skin from their carcasses. With my knowledge of the arcane, I could slow one – but I could not stop them all.

I ran through the alleys of the Mage Quarter, I did not know where I was going – but I had to escape. As long as my feet could carry me forward, there was a chance for sanctuary, or at least salvation.

I ran from the inner section of the Mage Quarter and headed north along its outskirts. All through the city there was the stench of death, and the cacophonous, hungry moans of the ghouls bearing catastrophe. I saw flames consuming the Trade District, the light of which cast the forms of guards battling the undead scourge into harsh silhouette. Everywhere I looked there were brave men and women giving every last ounce of their strength to defend their homes; the ghouls took their strength and kept coming, pulling them down with fingers stronger than steel, teeth sharper than swords.

I reached the Stockades of Stormwind, hoping that the guards there had held off this unholy plague. Instead I saw that the prisoners of that hellish penitentiary had escaped and rioted, taking the prison over. But they had overstepped their strength, and the ghouls were pouring down into the prison, destroying everything they could. The prisoners were rising up quickly with the familiar, twisted forms of undeath – still wearing their red bandanas – and turning upon their former allies, eating their way deeper and deeper into that place. With the twisted humor of one who had abandoned myself to depravation I thought, briefly, that perhaps the ogre Hamhock would finally live up to the potential of his name.

I ran past the entrance to the Stockades and crossed the small bridge that leads to where the Druids of Kalimdor have made their home; but the sounds from that place, and the red blaze of flames burning beyond the outer buildings made me continue and run instead toward the Cathedral to the east. That holy place, where the priests and paladins pray to the light, was my last hope for refuge within the battered, bloodied walls of the city. And one last time, I found that hope had been abandoned for the sweet repose of madness.

The square around the Cathedral was as much in flames as the rest of the city, and the doors of the great church were shut fast against the plague. At first I was horrified, wondering how the servants of the light could abandon their charge and turn the city over to the undead. But then I saw a mighty host of the Scourge slamming themselves again and again against the walls and doors of the Cathedral. The servants of the light were no better prepared to fend off this nightmare than the rest of us.

As I departed, I saw that some of the wretched ghouls were breaking down the door to the orphanage, but I did not stay to witness their feast; I chose to try the district of the dwarves and hope that the tram would take me from that place. I raced from the square about the Cathedral and crossed the small bridge to the Dwarven District. As I passed over, I could see shadowy forms moving below the waters, their faces hidden by dark currents, but their hands grasping at and rippling the surface. I moved quickly but steadily, dreading a fall into that watery crypt.

The Dwarven District was a clamor of undead moans and stout dwarven yells. There were the sounds of gunshots, of hammers cracking twisted bones, and axes severing decayed limbs. The dwarves were holding their district well enough, or at least one section of it. As I passed through their ranks, one of them stopped and shouted to me, “Gnome! Stop your flight and help us fight these things!”

I stopped a moment and looked to the dwarf, his beard was matted with blood and the bilious green humors of the undead. “I cannot,” was all I said. Then I moved on, concealing myself within the magic of invisibility, and slipped silently into the entry to the Deeprun Tram station.

The undead vermin had demolished the station. One of the trams had been torn from the rails and everywhere was the sounds of the howling, gibbering madness that the Lich King had released upon us. I looked deep down the tunnel, as far as my vision would allow, and could see shadows moving toward me. There was no way now that Ironforge had been spared this calamity. No home for me to return to.

Suddenly, a ghoul I had not seen lunged at me from the tracks below me. It missed its mark but it was quickly pulling itself up to where I stood. I slowed its movements with a brief flash of energy, and by the light of that spell I saw more hideous forms emerge from the depths of the tram tunnels and begin to lurch toward me. Once more a wave of frost held them in place and allowed me to make my retreat. But they howled behind me, calling to the others; my time was short.

I had one final idea, one last chance at where the stoutest hearts of Stormwind might have made their stand and held their defenses. I ran to the Keep, toward the very castle of King Wrynn. Perhaps I still had a chance. And if not, then to die before the throne of Stormwind would be as fine a death as any.

* * * * *

I reached the entrance to the Keep, the long hallway that passes upwards into the throne room of the king, and found that even there the rampaging horrors had sewn destruction. There was a line of soldiers at the end, before the throne itself, and they were fighting back the oncoming ghouls with every last bit of strength. Behind them were a few of the mages of Stormwind as well, hurling their magics over the shoulders of their friends and slamming the undead fiends back with blasts of ice and flame.

Even the warlocks of the “Slaughtered Lamb” had come from the darkened hollows of their catacombs to aid in the defense of their city. Towering felguards, torn from the Twisting Nether and forced into subjugation by fel magic, were battling the zombies. They shattered the undead with each strike, but were ultimately pulled down and torn apart by the unending ferocity of the ghouls. I had reached Stormwind’s last stand.

I was not ready, however, to try to force my way through to join the defenders and lend them help. I was weakened, my powers not yet drained, but not sufficient for the effort I required. I needed a place to spend a moment and recover myself. I ran down a side passage toward a small courtyard that I had often visited; spending warm days beneath its trees, reading esoteric tomes of arcane mysteries on benches cooled by shade.

The courtyard had been taken and was occupied by three ghouls who crouched, eating something I did not wish to see. I draped myself in magic again and slipped, invisibly, past them and toward the small library of the keep. Once deep within, concealed from sight by large bookshelves, I slid out from the arcane veil and into the world. I realized, immediately, that I was not alone.

There was a woman crouching behind a stack of books nearby, hiding herself from the undead monstrosities. The sounds of wet crunching and slurping coming from the courtyard were reminder enough of what she feared. I looked at the woman, then toward the gap of bookshelves between us that would make me visible to the ghouls if I crossed it. I motioned for her to move slightly aside, which she did – then in a subtle flash of blue light, I appeared beside her.

“Are you ok?” I asked her, after making sure the ghouls had not noticed my teleportation.

“Yes,” she replied in a whispered tone, “who are you?”

“My name is Crowley Gimblestone,” I replied in a hush, extending my hand to take hers. She took it with a slight smile, her feminine hand enveloping my own small digits. I conjured a small pouch of water, and sat down to drink while whispering to her, “It’s not safe here, you must try to reach the throne room.”

“I can’t,” she said back, “I haven’t the strength.”

I looked at her then, remembering those who would always rely upon me, those weaker than myself. They were the reason I first left home to find glory with my arcane prowess. “Please, help me!” she hissed desperately.

As I considered our situation, the woman shifted slightly and a small stack of books crashed to the floor. The ghouls in the courtyard ceased their dining. I heard their rotting feet quickly approaching where we hid. Three ghouls, I could destroy them; but at what cost? I could not hold off all three; one of them, at least, would almost certainly infect me. I could save this woman, but at the cost of my own life. I was alone, without the friends who had helped me slay dragons and conquer the elements.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” I stammered as I slowly backed away from her. I had only finished about half my water, but I could not risk being there any longer. “I can’t save you. I-I cannot!”

“I’m sorry.” I replied quietly, looking into her eyes one last time: the eyes that haunt my memory and remind me of what I lost. I quickly hid behind another stack of books as the ghouls entered the library, I saw only for a moment that all three of them were charging and leaping toward where the woman was hiding, and then I ran from the library and into the courtyard. The screams were brief and quickly lost in the city’s tumult.

As I slipped back into the passageway toward the main hall to the throne room, I looked back one last time to see four ghouls shambling from the library. I ran then into the main hall and found the undead had doubled in number during the brief time that I was away. The defenders at the top of the hall were still fighting them back, but their overwhelming numbers seemed insurmountable. I thought to turn back, but the ghouls behind me were approaching me, called by the others to join in the main assault. I was trapped between opposing ranks of the profane offensive. The four ghouls behind me saw me then, and began to charge toward me.

I rushed out into the main hall and the others immediately noticed me. They began to close in around me. In every direction, my vision was filled by the sight of gangrenous limbs, ragged claws, and twisted mouths with teeth-mangled lips. I released a blast of freezing ice to hold as many of them in place as I could and made a desperate run for the defenders.

But, there were far too many of the unholy abominations for me to get past them all. I could feel their claws raking at me, slicing into my arms and legs, tearing at my robes as I passed. I felt a sudden surge of warmth around me and saw a priest at the top of the hall, her white and gold garments stained with the filth of the Scourge, she was looking down at me and yelling, “Run!”

I could see the golden barrier around me and knew that my time was short; I had to push through quickly. The claws and teeth of ghouls on every side glanced off the shield of holy energy that surrounded me; I desperately pushed my way through the slavering mass of unholy villainy. I was too far from the defensive barricade, too far when I felt them push through the shield enveloping me, too far when I felt teeth sink into my shoulders and tear a small piece of me away. And I was much too far when I noticed a mark, like a small green bruise, forming on the top of my hand.

I felt sick. The world seemed to be spinning, tearing me down. My feet moved without my will, I was still moving but felt as though the ceiling was going to lift me up. The warmth within me was draining away, being replaced by sickness and confusion. The plague was spreading like a devouring fire within my veins, eating away every last part of me that lived and replacing it with a hunger I had never imagined; fueled by a voice that pounded in my skull, an unholy litany with the rhythm of a heartbeat, “Eat! Devour! Destroy! Eat! Devour! Destroy!”

It was the Lich King, his thoughts invading my mind and droning an endless command to swallow the world. My left hand began to convulse, my bones pushing through the thin parchment of my skin, changing me into something terrible. With my last moments I focused and in a brief flash of light, I teleported myself through the horde of ghouls, through the barricade, and behind the defenders.

I could feel my mouth filling with my teeth as they grew larger, bloody foam frothing from the corners of my lips. My mind screamed as a constant din rang through it, a voice scraping against my skull, “Break down their doors. Burn their cities. This is the time of the Scourge! Embrace the purity of the grave!”

With my last energy I looked up at the priest who had shielded me before, her front covered in the black and gold symbol of the Argent Dawn, laying at her feet I squeaked out, “Help me.”

There was a sudden blast of glorious golden light all over me. It filled me, rushing through my body and purging the howling, hungry madness from within me. One final time I heard the Lich King’s voice within my skull, a silken whisper, “Come to me, I will give you power. I will give you peace.” The terrible voice replaced by the echoing void of righteous purification. I was exhausted, defeated, and yet somehow still alive. My left eye was swelling shut from the impact when I fell to the floor, but I could see that my hand was returned to its normal shape, the skin repaired. And in my last moments of wakefulness I looked up and saw the King himself, Varian Wrynn, each hand holding a sword larger than I am; he was leading his guards, wading into the endless tide of unholy carnage, and they were winning. Then I slipped into the black repose of unconsciousness.

It has been six months and still I wake in the night, screaming as the phantom limbs of my dream body change into the howling madness of undeath. King Wrynn and his men turned back the shock forces of the Scourge. Stormwind has been repaired and rebuilt. Almost nothing remains to remind us of what happened there. Sentinel Hill was rebuilt; druids from Darnassus went to Westfall and brought life back to that tortured, scorched land. Had I not seen those terrible times of ruin and desolation with my own eyes, I would have thought it all a dream; there is little sign that civilization was nearly torn down and devoured.

And the heroes moved on. They took boats to Northrend to take the fight to the Lich King, punishment for what he had sent to our lands. Too long they allowed him to sit at the top of the world and plan his attack. I followed them as well, and though I have once again regained my taste for scouring the dungeons of the world with flame and magic, there is a change within me. I walk the avenues of this glorious floating city and remember those wailing streets, that corpse-lit night. I look at gleaming towers in the bleeding light of sunset and see only a scene worthy of carnage. I stare down darkened alleyways and yearn for the sight of mounds of bodies piled upon each other, each writhing and bursting in hideous rebirth.

For a few moments, I knew the peace of the grave. I heard the steady, guiding voice of a master who has seen worlds beyond reckoning. I followed the heroes into the north, aiding them in their endeavors to destroy the elegant necropolises of my new King. I have seen him several times in this land – and each time he promises me a new life. Free from choice. Free from doubt. Free from remorse. I need only follow to the gates of his citadel, and offer myself there to him. I am not yet worthy of his blasphemous benediction, but I will be soon.

I remember the eyes of a woman I would not help, and I envy her for the glory she was given. At night I still dream of changing into something more than myself, something blessed with the unholy purity and focus of death; and I wake up screaming, because each time I realize it is only a dream.