Introduction
Gospel Lightfaith is a roleplaying character on the Earthen Ring server of "World of Warcraft" (http://www.worldofwarcraft.com). She was established in December of 2005 and is steadily growing as an upstanding member of the roleplaying community.
Prophecy's Child: The Storyline
"Prophecy's Child" has really grown in the last few months, I'm surprised to say. When I first started this project, I was expecting it to be a small Storyline that I played out with a few friends. Now, as of June 2006, I can proudly say that "Prophecy" now touches characters in about six various guilds, and has grown to a respectable size as far as players involved. The Storyline itself has been a wild ride, but one that I (and hopefully all the participants) have truly enjoyed. It is my honor and my priviledge to have brought this Storyline about, but moreso, to have had all the people involved that I have. Let's face it, without the rest of you, this Storyline would be no more than a mere story. ^_^
Cast of Characters
In no particular order Gospel Lightfaith - Alkan von Streunan - Finnel Mintorel - Darthal Mann - Akallandin of Northshire - Immortis K. Jurevicious - Wendall Harken - Crimsonlock (Siannodel) - Felena the Orphan - Maevista Lamont - Sirithil Nightstone - Inaria - Dominik Daleus - Rheyl Veracus - Thienal Moonshadow - Dasri Ceilios - Zylvia Steelbreeze - Githrazgul
Cast of Guilds
House Nightstone - Knights Errant - Winters End - Freelance Fellowship - Deadbeat Dragonslayers
Prophecy's Child: Faith of the Fallen
Author's Note: There is much pre-history existing that comes prior to this arc of the Storyline, however, I've yet to be able to recover the original documentation. I will be updating/adding it in as soon as I am able to either recover or re-write the work.
Chapter One: "Endgame"
Gospel stood on the edge of the stone circle in the Arathi Highlands, watching Alkan summon the fearsome shadow, Dreadsinger. It felt as if her consciousness was wavering, and her memories became fragmented more and more as The Other fought to come into dominance. Weakened by her battles and internal turmoil, and further wounded by Darthal's refusal to attend the ceremony, even as mere support for her, left Gospel drained and without the resolve to fight.
The Other came to the fore, and She and Dreadsinger duelled in words, bantering back and forth. The Dreadsinger threatening the lives of Gospel's allies, but foremost, the life of her good friend Akallandin. The Other cared not, taunting the Dreadsinger, for if He destroyed Gospel's friends it would only fuel the torment of the paladin and drive her further toward Darkness, which served The Other's plans quite well.
"Kill them all, by all means," The Other had said, "You will only be doing me a favor."
The Dreadsinger, through Alkan, demanded to speak to Gospel, but The Other refused. She did not know what this covenant had planned, but She wouldn't go down so easily. Yet, it was Sirithil Nightstone's words that goaded Her to obey, "Let us speak with the girl. Surely you'd love to hear her beg for the lives of her friends..." And, indeed, it would be music to The Other's ears, for the more Gospel wounded herself over these pitiable humans, the easier it would be for The Other to finally win her over. So, The Other permitted Gospel to come to consciousness, but the cunning alter ego kept control of their shared body. Gospel the mind and mouth, The Other the body.
The Dreadsinger came forward, once again threatening Akallandin's life, dispassionately listening to Gospel's cries as she begged the shadow-thing to not harm her friend. She begged Akallandin's forgiveness, having never wanted to endanger the lives of anyone else. She begged from her heart, as she never had before, but the monster in Alkan would not listen.
The Dreadsinger roared at her in rage, demanding for her to stand up and fight, but Gospel could only cry back in bitter refute, "I cannot! Thou didst only command The Other to let me SPEAK, not to ACT." But, the warning went unheeded, and the unholy rite continued. The Dreadsinger, enraged, shape-shifted into a shadow-dragon spewing fire in Gospel's face, trying to goad her into a fight, and lashed at her with a mighty paw, sending her flying.
She landed in a graceless heap some distance away, still and unmoving. The Dreadsinger approached, drawing a darkly enchanted dagger, claiming that this would be the end of it, that the sacrifice would be made that was needed to fulfill the Prophecy. Yet, he did not count on the cunning of The Other. The Other still controlled Gospel's body, and it was the Other who grabbed his wrist when he attempted to plunge the dagger into the paladin's breast.
The Other fought back, but the irate Dreadsinger saw nothing but the prize of sacrifice before him, and heeded not the protestations of Gospel's allies around him. Even Sirithil in her wisdom, believed the Dreadsinger to be competent, and prevented Gospel's friends from rushing to her aid. The Dreadsinger roared his might, the shadow-dragon plunging forward with an unholy strength.
The Other resisted only a critical moment more, and then, at the last possible second... gave Gospel her body back. When the wicked knife stabbed deep into the heart of the paladin, it was her body and her consciousness that it pierced... and not The Other. She fell to the ground, clutching the grievous wound, her life-blood pounding itself out between her fingers.
The Dreadsinger pulled the knife back, roaring his triumph, unbeknownst to him that his ritual had failed. The others of the Circle stared in horrified fascination, unsure of whether this was supposed to happen or not.
Gospel gasped against the agony burning in her chest, "Akallandin..." Her paladin friend knelt close, drawing her carefully up into his arms. She leaned close to his ear, murmuring her last request.
"How he doth underestimate The Other. Oh, Light... I am dying, Akallandin. Take thee my Oathbreaking; accept my rite as I renounce the Light, and foreswear the life of a paladin..." she gasped around each word, fighting to stay only a few moments longer. She saw Akallandin hesitate, his disappointed frown almost writing his refusal and her death sentence, "Please, Akallandin..." she rasped, blood spilling from the corners of her mouth, "It is the only way..."
Akallandin, in his nobility, clutched his hands into fists, but resignedly gave himself up to her command, "As you wish." With all the courage he could muster, the paladin rose to his full height, looking to the assembly around the Circle, "From this day forth, let it be known that Gospel Lightfaith..." his throat choked, and his voice failed him a moment, but he quickly regained his composure, "...that she is no longer a follower of the Light, nor a sister of paladins. She is Oathbreaker, and broken."
Gospel could only smile at him, the glittering emerald of her eyes clouding in death, her final words a mere gasp of breath, "Thank thee..."
Chapter Two: "Divinity"
"Until the day of his death, no man can be sure of his courage." -Jean Anouilh, Beckett, 1959
There was Light.
Devoid of shadow, all was bathed in radiant, amber-hued softness; it was warm against the skin, carrying the faint scent of lillies in full-bloom. Gospel stood in this light-washed world, dressed in an elaborate white robe woven with small crystals. With every movement, the crystals chimed against one another, creating a soft, soothing background to this already tranquil place.
"I've died...haven't I?" she murmured softly, lifting her right hand and putting it over her heart, directly over the place where the enchanted dagger had pierced her flesh and drawn her life's very blood.
There are Greater Fates for Thee than Death...
That Voice emanated from everywhere and nowhere at once; it seemed to reverberate around her, dancing along her skin--and yet it seemed to thrum within her heart and soul, as if she were nothing but the string of a harp in a greater orchestra. It was a Voice that commanded, and a Voice that soothed, all in the same moment. Gospel could only stare upward in wonderment, unable to respond to that simple statement.
Oh, Child... The Voice was warm, filled with pride, Thou hast Exceeded my Expectations beyond all my Hoping.
Gospel raised a hand, sweeping a lock of her silver hair back behind her left ear, looking upward into the amber glow, "Thy expectations?" She lowered her hand once the hair was tucked, clasping her hands before her chest, almost as if in prayer, "I did only what was required..."
The Light around her seemed to swirl and dance, caressing around her like a gentle wind. The warmth touched her cheek, almost as if in a ghostly kiss, What was Required and More! Oh, Silvered One, Child of Prophecy...! Thou hast Served me far greater than ever I Served thee.
"I have served..." Gospel blinked momentarily, her feathery brows knitting in consternation, "But I only serve..." Her vivid green eyes went slightly wide, as tears began to brim along her lashes. There was only one thing she served faithfully,"Oh, Light..." she murmured.
The gentle wind settled, bringing with it that amber lily-scented softness once more, I am.
Gospel fell to her knees, interlacing her fingers and bringing them to her chin as she bowed her head reverentially. Her throat closed, so great was her awe, her eyes staring at the ochre-colored ground in stupefaction. To be here, in this august presence...! It was not something she had anticipated; she had only waited to die, and for Akallandin to take her Oathbreaking.
The Oathbreaking! Gospel closed her eyes in shame, even as the warmth of the amber light surrounded her. This was no place for her. She gave up all this, repudiated it in hopes that The Other might be, once and for always, defeated. Her tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks, her skin burning with her great shame. She didn't deserve to be here.
Oh, but How thou Dost! The Light responded joyously, Child, Child...canst Thou not See? "Great Sacrfice Divine". To Save thy friends, Thou gave up that which was Most Precious to Thee. Thy Faith, Thy Servitude...thy very Life. The Light seemed to solidify around her, blanketing her like a cloak, enshrouding her in brilliance, comfort, and gentleness, Thou art More than ever I could have Asked.
Gospel bowed her head in humility, the greatness of that Voice it's pride and love filling her very being. It flowed into all the empty, dark places that The Other had poisoned, pouring into her with that amber glow and loving warmth. What was broken was made whole; what was splintered reforged. All the sorrow and pain she had experienced was washed away in cleansing Light. It left her feeling rejuvinated, refreshed, and for the first time in a long time... filled with Hope for her future.
It is not in thy Destiny to Die just yet, Silver Child. There is Much in this World that doth have Need of thee. Rediscover the Light, come once again to thy Faith... I shall Await thee.
The Light around Gospel faded, but it did not leave her. It stayed warm and welcome in the depths of her soul, a single candle burning for the long road ahead. There was the sudden sensation of falling, of dreaming, of forgetting...
Gospelina woke in the inn, looking around the room in confusion. In one corner, neatly placed, was a pile of battle-scarred armor upon which rested one of the mystical Phantom Blades. On her left hand was a ring of Truesilver embedded with three stones; this hand she raised to her forehead, "Where...where am I?"
Chapter Three: "The Path of Truth"
Gospelina stood in the rented inn room, the door carefully closed. She was over in the corner, standing over the neat stack of armor and the Phantom Blade. She reached out a hesitant hand, touching the hilt, the Icy Chill enchantment upon it radiating a soft coolness. Her long, elegant fingers brushed against the leather-wrapped grip, the rough texture like fine-grained sandpaper beneath her touch. Slowly, she withdrew her right hand, turning that same hand over to regard her palm with an almost analytic detachment.
The fingers of her left hand brushed over a palm that was smooth, slightly roughened, as if rubbed by the constant pressure of holding something. Her fingers were slightly calloused, "Swordsman callouses" she'd heard Gale and his friends remark about such. It was almost like a badge of honor, to have these swordsman callouses, for it meant that the person bearing them had much experience with a blade.
But proper, well-bred Stormwindian Ladies didn't fight.
She turned away from the accoutrements of war, her eyes catching her own movement in the small mirror hanging on the wall across the room. She gazed at her reflection; heart-shaped face, molten silver hair, and those vivid, soft green eyes.
"Who art thou?" she murmured, bringing her left hand up to touch her own cheek, "Art thou a woman dead... or a woman lost?"
Gospelina put that self-same hand over her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to overwhelm her. So much of this didn't make sense! Where was Gale? Where were her parents? Who were all these people who knew her, yet she could not put name to?
Master Gith, a nice old man, who first gave her the news that she was someone else. Was he perhaps just confused? Shocked over his friend's death and wanting to see something where there was naught?
Then there was Finnel, loyal as any lioness to her pride, a fierce friend that both fascinated and frightened her. The Lady Lightfaith must have been someone of worth to have attracted a friend such as Finnel. She had extended that branch of friendship to Gospelina, but did she dare to take it? Did she have the courage? Finnel's path of friendship could very well lead her down a path she was not prepared to follow.
The path of Truth.
Chapter Four: "Dreams & Visions of a Life Unknown"
Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes. -Carl Gustav Jung
Gospelina relaxed in the hot water of the bathtub, steam rising around her as the water lapped against her soft, pale skin. She rested her head back against the rim, staring up at the tiled ceiling of House Nightstone's private bath.
"Do you have any dreams?"
Alkan had asked her that earlier tonight, and did she? She couldn't remember. When she asked herself, "What are my dreams? What do I want to be?" it felt like her heart swelled within her, and there was almost a...magic she could feel swirling through her. It was brief, like a gust of wind on an autumn day, scattering the leaves then leaving them to flutter forlornly to the ground.
She couldn't explain it, or what it was. How could she tell Alkan? What did it mean, this feeling? She raised her right hand out of the water; the skin rubbed smooth, and calloused. She'd seen it yesterday--Finnel had the same hands. Finnel was a paladin, a servant of the Light. As good and true a friend as any could want...paladins couldn't lie, could they?
Slowly, she rose out of the bath, rivulets of water running down her lissome frame. With an almost ritualistic care, she dabbed a towel against the dampness of her skin to absorb it, until she was mostly dry. Only then did she take the towel and wrap it around her body, shivering slightly as the night air caressed her water-softened, silky skin. She took a moment to wrap her molten silver hair in a second towel, only a few droplets escaping to pad softly onto her bare shoulders. She flitted back down the hall to her room, like a pale ghost in the moonlight lancing through the large windows of the night-darkened manor house.
She slipped into her room, walking quietly across to the small dressing table. She sank down into the small stool before it, picking up the brush and letting her still-wet hair loose of its confines in the towel. It fell in ragged, soft gray tendrils, and she ran the brush through it as she continued to browse her thoughts.
There was also that man from last night, Akallandin, who spoke so ardently of the Light. The things he had said, the fervence with which he had spoken, had struck an odd chord in her. It panged discordantly with her beliefs, yet the note it struck sang with such prodigiously sublime beauty she couldn't ignore it. She didn't believe in the Light, but upon hearing Akallandin's voice, hearing him speak, something in her stirred. She had blushed at that, turning her face from the paladin last night, not understanding what it was she felt.
Gospelina sat before the mirror, examining every detail of her reflection. She was beautiful, in an aesthetic sense; pale green eyes, the color of the purest jade, set in a heart-shaped gentle face and framed by those shoulder length silver tresses. Pale ivory skin, marred only by one singular pale-white scar. Her fingers caressed the curious scar on the left side of her chest, just left of her breastbone. As if someone had plunged a knife into her very heart.
A scar she could not ever remember getting.
So many fragmented pieces, so many feelings she couldn't explain. She raised her jade eyes to the mirror, looking at herself intently, "Who art thou, pale ghost?" she murmured, "Art thou I who art but one and lost alone, or art thou a woman whose death doth haunt so many in this city that they see thine face in mine?"
Gospelina put both her hands to her face, weeping, for no answers would come, only an emptiness in her heart.
Chapter Five: "Soul Ghost"
The sweet, thrumming notes of the gittern* echoed through Gospelina's room in House Nightstone. Her fingers played along the metal strings, elliciting a heart-achingly pure melody. After a few moments of melodic prelude, her voice joined with the notes of the gittern; innocent and pure, her music coming from her heart, like ruby-red drops bleeding from a fresh-cut wound.
Oceans apart,day after day
And I slowly go insane
I hear your voice, in my mind
But it doesn't stop the pain
If I see you next to never
How can we say forever?
Her voice was beautiful, and well-trained. It soared into soprano, and fell as deep as contralto, an excellent range for song in the female voice. Her song echoed around the room, as she sat in the bay window that overlooked the courtyard of the Nightstone manor, her pale jade eyes watching the comings and goings of the House.
Wherever you go
Whatever you do
I will be right here waiting for you
Whatever it takes
Oh, how my heart breaks
I will be right here waiting for you...
Her fingers faltered against the strings, the last notes dying like songbirds hushed by the entrance of the Hunter. Who was she waiting for? Why would this song come to her now? She set the gittern aside, rising from the bay window bench. She took a few steps away, looking back to the gittern as if it had been a friendly cat that had suddenly scratched her. She put her right hand over her chest, directly over that strange, pale scar.
"Is it someone thou doth know, Ghost of my Soul...?" she murmured, "Doth thou sing still for thy beloved Darthal...?"
It was the first time she'd ever admitted aloud that there was some kind of connection between herself and Gospel Lightfaith. No matter how ardently she wanted to deny it, no matter how much Alkan wanted her to find her own path--there were too many who looked at her with knowing eyes, too many who saw a face in hers that she did not recognize.
"What half-life must I now be made to live? A girl with no House living in the shadow of a Greater woman, whose life doth touch so many who seem to love her so...?" Gospelina walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge, her hand still over the scar on her chest, "Am I to live as sorry replacement of thy belovedness? Or shalt thy supporters give thee up forever as dead, and leave me to a life of my own...?"
The young girl shook her head, blinking back tears that she again couldn't understand. Why should her heart ache like this, when she speaks frankly of banishing this Ghost in her Soul forever? Her heart ached with loss, it ached with emptiness, as if to give up the Ghost were the worst act she could ever commit.
Author's Footnotes
- gittern: An instrument similar to a harp, save with strings made of metal instead of catgut.
- Song credit: "Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx
Chapter Six: "Two Become One"
"I was wondering if thou wouldst e'er arrive..." the voice was a low, pleasant contralto that echoed through the vast expanse of Gospelina's consciousness as the young girl slipped from her waking mind to her dreaming one. She materialized in a beautiful garden, enclosed in a frost-windowed greenhouse. Low hedges blossoming with fragrant flowers enclosed a small grassy tuffet in the center of which was a pedestal upon which was an earthenware pot. Growing in this pot was a single, delicate tigerlily, over which a tall woman stood, her shimmering silver hair falling over her shoulders.
It had been the woman who spoke, as Gospelina entered the garden, moving to one of the curved benches that sat along the line of hedge. The young girl sat upon the cool marble, looking up at the woman, who faced away from her, tending carefully to the tigerlily in its pot, "So...thou hast been waiting for me then?" she asked quietly.
The woman nodded, but did not turn, "I have been waiting several days, in fact, for thee to more comfortably accept my presence. Alkan and Finnel hath done their duties for thee marvelously." Her elegant, long-fingered hands caressed the leaves of the lily, a set of pruning shears carefully cutting the brown deadness from its edges. Gospelina watched as the brown, deadened parts of the leaves fluttered to the ground.
"Why...why hast thou been waiting, milady?" Gospelina asked, uncertain, her eyes still following the deadened parts of the flower as they fell to the ground.
The flower-tender turned her face slightly, so that she could be seen only in profile, Gospelina could see the glint of pale emerald eyes, scrutinizing the spreading leaves of the flower's bulb, "Much like this flower, my little one, without care and consideration, thou shalt wither and eventually fade. Yet, thou canst not take care and consideration of thyself without first knowing the Truth."
The young girl bit her lip, half-crawling off the bench to fall to her knees in the grass before the woman, "Art thou whom I perceive thee to be...?" she whispered, "Art thou the Ghost who so haunts all who look upon me?"
The woman looked down at her, and Gospelina saw her own face, perhaps slightly older and more wise, looking at her with those pale eyes of purest jade from the flower-tender's visage. "I am one who shares with thee all the pains, joys, and loves from the Life that was taken from us... although the memories I harbor are safely taken unto the Light for safekeeping, until we were once again ready to take on that mantle of responsibility."
"So..." Gospelina murmured, bowing her head, staring at the grass beneath her hands, feeling every blade that pressed into the tender skin of her palms, "What everyone hath told me before now is true..." She looked back up at the woman that towered over her, "We are one and the same."
Gospel set the pruning shears down upon the pedestal, shifting her weight to her far leg as she bent to kneel down before the young girl that looked up at her with a face from yester-year, that looked up with her own eyes, filled with fear, confusion, and a strange longing. Gospel reached out one of those elegant hands, touching her younger self's elaborately coifed silver hair, "We are who we are," she responded quietly, "Thou art thyself, as much as I am mine. Yet, we are also one and the same, in this body. Thou art myself, and I am what thou art destined to become."
Gospelina gaped at her older self, blinking uncomprehendingly, "Destined?"
The once-paladin nodded sagely, "I see, no one hath saw fit to tell thee yet of the Prophecy, as one Brother of the Abbey did see fit to do so for me. Very well, I shall tell thee of our destiny, and our future." Gospel recited the Prophecy, as she had done so many times before; yet unlike anyone who had ever heard the Prophecy, Gospelina's eyes took on the spark of recognition.
"Of course," the young girl murmured at last, "Crimsonlock, and Lord Darthal..." she looked up, her brow furrowing, "Master Alkan?"
Gospel could only shrug in response, "Crimsonlock watches over thee like a she-wolf over her packmate, Lord Darthal thy guardian, to hold true thy heart--as for Alkan, perhaps he may be the Keeper, giving thee the gift of Knowledge," the ghostly former paladin reached out a hand, putting her palm to the young girl's cheek, "But no Other shall there be for thee, Little One. That part of us hath been vanquished, never to return to hinder us again."
"That is why thou art..." Gospelina said quietly, unable to finish the sentence, because--No, Gospel wasn't truly dead, merely waiting.
But the Ghostly One nodded all the same, "Once thy walk unto the Light is completed, we who art two shall be remade unto One."
"I see..." Gospelina responded, the world around her fading gently as morning broke in the real world. She was waking, and there was much to be done. She sat up in bed, looking at the world through new eyes, now understanding the strange feelings she'd been having, and why. They were not her own, but the feelings of the Ghost that slept within her. The young girl put her hand over her heart, murmuring, "I will honor thee, and we shall be remade unto one, and thou shalt be reborn," she said softly, "Gospel Lightfaith."
Chapter Seven: "A Quiet Moment"
Gospelina lay in bed long into the morning, hugging a pillow close to her chest, remembering the feel of Alkan's arms around her. She trembled, but it had little to do with the coolness of the morning, but the stalwart beating of her heart. A heart that had no more room. This heart belonged to Darthal, even though it spasmed with pain at the thought of him. What haunted love was it that Gospel harbored for the Death Knight, to know such bittersweet desire?
How she had wanted to tell Alkan how she felt! She buried her face in the pillow, gasping as the anguish of the dagger point of her unrequited love drove deep into this heart that was not hers to give. Gospelina would have wept, were there anymore tears to shed, but she had promised Alkan that what remained of this life she had--this life that, indeed, was hers for now, would be devoted to happiness.
Her hand went to her cheek, where his lips had touched her skin. It wouldn't have been fair to either of them, for her to tell him now. He had said himself that he thought of her as a sister, that small love would have to be enough. She would hold tightly to that, and hope that come what may, it would be enough to keep Gospelina's memory alive when Gospel returned.
She rose at that point, unable to stay abed any longer. She walked over to the dressing table, letting her silver hair loose from its elaborate coif. Absently, she picked up the brush, running it through her hair. Softly, she hummed the Song of Streunan to herself, slowly picking through all of her happiest memories, most of which were of Alkan, and Finnel. In her mind, she picked up each memory, as if each were a globe made of the finest-spun glass, her fingers caressing the surface of the orb lightly as her lips curved in a smile of rememberance.
Oh-so-carefully, she gathered all of her best memories, storing them away into a collective that she would always keep in her soul. The next to last one she held was of last night, when Alkan and she had raised their voice in song, and had danced into the night. Of that moment when he had held her close, and it almost felt as if he might...
Gospelina shook her head, setting the brush aside abruptly. The sat there, quietly, for several moments, staring at her reflection without seeing it. With infinite care, in her mind's eye, she lifted the final orb from her memories. The orb filled with her love for Alkan, and for Finnel, for all whom had touched her life with such joy. She held it close, letting that love seep into her very being. Then, meticulously, she held the memory away, placing it gently atop the others she had collected.
Yes, she said to herself, regarding the assembled memories, There is happiness here--and there will always be.
For where there was love, there would always be happiness.
Chapter Eight: "Separation"
In the dream-garden of Gospelina's mind, Gospel waited. Waited as she had every night since the first dream she had met the young girl. Yet, tonight, she waited long into the darkness, so long that she began to walk the expanse of the dream-garden to bide the time. It was not some few minutes later, that Gospel heard the sound of crying; the bittersweet tears of loss that Gospel herself knew only too well. It took only a few extra steps through a hedge maze to find Gospelina kneeling in the grass, her arms pillowing her head on one of the curved marble benches.
"Oh child," Gospel murmured, "What tears are these on the eve of what should be a joyous occasion..." She knelt behind the young girl, putting her hands on Gospelina's shoulders.
'Lina shook her head, "I did a foolish thing, and now...now I shall live in torment for the rest of my days."
Gospel took a hand of the girl's shoulder, gently stroking those soft, platinum locks, "What couldst thou have done that was so foolish? Surely..."
"I told him!" 'Lina sobbed, crying out that statement in a voice that was laden with her anguish, "On the eve of my destruction..." she gasped past the pain in her heart, "I told him..."
The older woman winced in sympathetic understanding, "I see," she murmured quietly, watching the younger version of herself, "And--what did he say to that?"
'Lina's sobs seemed to increase at that question, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sorrow, "He said..." she gasped around her tears, "He said he loved me in return."
Gospel took her hands from Gospelina's shoulders, rising abruptly to her feet, blinking in stupefaction at the young girl weeping before her. Alkan...loved her? The once-paladin ran a hand through her silvery hair distractedly, her mind racing for answers she couldn't begin to devise. There were no answers, merely more questions--and no time. She looked once more to 'Lina, the young girl continuing to sob out her depthless sorrow as she mourned a love she would never have. Gospel's heart contracted painfully in sympathy; it wouldn't be fair to take away everything 'Lina had built for herself.
She backed away quietly, leaving 'Lina to her grief, although the once-paladin's face set into a mask of determination. She wouldn't destroy a life...not even to save her own.
Gospel left the Garden that represented 'Lina's consciousness, returning to that plane of Light where she'd been residing in waiting. The amber-hued glow surrounded her, filling her with that sublime peace. Yet, peace was not what she wanted at the moment. She wanted answers. She looked up into the air, where she knew that omiscient presence waited, and she spoke to it with a gentle tone that did not match the determination in her heart, "Light, I beseech thee for answers, for I fear I must know..."
Ask Thee then, Oh my Beloved Child, and I shall endeavour to Answer Thee. That great presence replied, once more enveloping Gospel in its warmth and light, seeking to comfort, even as it prepared to provide answers for whatever she would ask.
Gospel looked to the floor, absently rubbing her hands together as she pieced together what she was going to ask, and how she was going to ask it. She bit her lip thoughtfully, before once more looking up at the light-filled air, "What will happen tomorrow?" The question seemed to echo around her ominously, for the Light did not immediately answer. She shifted her weight on her legs, trying not to shuffle in anxiety. She had to know. Had to.
Art Thou Prepared for Thy Answer, Silver Child? the Light inquired, the very air laden with the great responsibility of the question.
The once-paladin drew a long, steadying breath, squaring her shoulders as she once more turned her face upward, her silver hair falling in a golden-touched silver sheet over her shoulders, "I am, my Lord."
Then open Thy Mind to me and I shall Show Thee what Awaits Thee... Gospel did not need telling twice. She closed her eyes, slowly letting out the breath she'd drawn, opening her mind and her heart to the august presence she knew and trusted so well.
In the beginning, there was Darkness.
Around her, she could hear voices calling her name, feel hands on her shoulders shaking her to wakefulness. She opened her eyes to see Akallandin standing over her, with Finnel and Crimsonlockl on either side. She rose to her feet, looking first to Crimsonlock, whom--even in her undeath--she could still remember by the beautiful music of her flute. She hugged the Night Elf warrior, and received one in return; then she turned to Finnel.
She'd never seen eyes that held such joyous anguish; joy, aye, certainly--but sorrow, a sorrow that resounded with the loss of someone cherished. Gospel looked around at the other people that hemmed around the edges of the Shrine of Uther, their eyes radiating a joy at her return, but no eyes save Finnel's showing any regret that Gospelina was gone...
Gospel put a hand over her eyes, shaking her head as she closed her mind to the Light, "Enough..." she murmured, "That's enough." Just that little snippet told her all she needed to know. 'Lina's life would end tomorrow if she didn't do something about it. Setting her jaw firmly, she lowered her hand from her eyes, looking once more heavenward, "I would ask a favor of thee, my Master..." she said quietly, putting her arms to her side as she looked up in entreaty to the ochre-colored light that surrounded her.
Thou doth only need to Ask, Silver Child... the Light replied patiently.
She drew her hands up, as if in prayer, clasping them before her chest, "Take Thee my service, for now and always," she said fervently, looking up at the Light with eyes that shimmered with unshed tears, "Take my life and bind it forever to Thy Divinity." Tears trickled unheeded down Gospel's cheeks, "But let not this travesty against Life occur. Let Gospelina live, no more to dwell in the shadow of a woman she shall never become. She is her own person now, with her own Destiny. Let her have it, and be not forgotten."
If Thou doth break from her, Silver Child, Thou Shalt Lose more of Thyself than is already Lost... the Light responded gently.
Gospel bowed her head, her tears falling upon her hands in slow droplets, "I know..." she whispered.
The Light, again, did not immediately respond, but the air around her took on a certain heavy poignancy, pregnant with the weight of consideration that the Light was giving this decision. For the passage of several heartbeats, there was naught but silence between them, the intensity of the moment filling Gospel with some small thread of...not so much fear, as it was--expectancy. It surprised her then, when the Light around her contracted to a single beam, in the center of which she stood.
By Thy Oath thou art, Here and Now, forever Sworn unto my Service. In every Deed, thou Shalt Serve in my Name. In every Action, thy Hands shalt Move as Mine. Every Life thou shalt Touch will be graced by my Light. The Light's voice around her boomed in pronouncement, the words seeming almost like an incantation, In this, thou Shalt Serve faithful, as my Avatar.
Gospel fell to one knee, bowing her head beneath the Power of that voice, "So Thou doth command, so shall I obey."
Then rise, Light's Avatar, Silver Child...Gospel Lightfaith. Go unto Thy Life Renewed. Seek Thy lesser self at Uther's feet when Thou doth come to Thyself again.
The beam of Light seemed to shatter into a thousand glittering fragments before filtering back around her to once more surround her in that amber glow. Yet, Gospel continued to kneel, offering her silent thanks to the Light, for giving her Life...and allowing her to spare another.
Prophecy's Child: Endless Horizons
Author's Note: This is the current story arc in progress. Stay tuned for more updates!
Prologue: "The Journey Begins"
Gospel walked along the road between the Eastvale Logging Camp and Goldshire, Spirit's reins held tightly in her hand as she led the warsteed along. Strange, how all of one's worldly possessions could fit on the back of one horse. Did that tell of a life well-lived; one so carefree that one could pack up and leave on a moment's notice? Or did it speak of a life well-emptied; one so devoid of attachments that there was nothing to lose by leaving? She wasn't entirely sure anymore. Once, she might have believed that her life was full and filled with all the joys that were meant to be part of life. Once, she might have even believed that it was devoid of anything worth living for beyond duty. Neither were exactly true, but nor were they precisely false. In truth, perhaps her life was a strange commingling of both.
The paladin heaved a weary sigh, scuffing her boots in the dust of the road. She'd chosen her path now, and she would have to live by it. In a way, she was glad, there would be no evidence of her life out here, nothing to tamper with...him...moving on. By all rights and rumors, he already had, and for some reason, that comforted her. Her journey could very well be a long one, and he deserved someone who could give him their utmost attention. He was incredibly naieve and innocent, entirely unsuited to the rigors her journey would force her to endure. Better he stay here, safe and secure, enveloped in warmth, welcome, and friendship. Would she miss him? Perhaps. Some small part. But the rest of her knew this was for the best; for her, and for him. In some small way, she had wanted to say good-bye, but that would have only made it harder on the both of them. Yes, it was better this way.
"Every journey begins with but a single step." Isn't that how the stories always went? Gospel could only suppose this was that first step. Yet, the farther she walked away from that house, which was now devoid of any reminder of her presence, she couldn't help but feel her heart lighten. As she raised her head, looking down the dusty road toward the silhouette of Goldshire beyond, she had hope. Even if she died in this attempt, at least he could live on in peace and happiness. Wasn't that what her oath of service was about? Serving others so that they might live better lives? Someday, he might thank her, or then he might not, there was no real telling. However, she couldn't help but feel in her heart that this was right.
She looked back over her shoulder in the general direction of the Logging Camp, "Good-bye," she murmured softly, "May the Light bring thee happiness all of thy days..."
Chapter One: "Preparations"
Menethil Harbor
The dull rush of the sea thundered in the distance, the waves wasting their fury against the protective jetties that surrounded the safe harbor. Beyond the stone promontory, the undulating expanse of the sea went on as far as the eye could see; eyes the same soft jade as that sea. Gospel sighed softly as she leaned on the railing near the prow of the "Confident Wanderer"; the ship and its crew had been costly to obtain, but thankfully she'd been somewhat frugal with her earnings up until this point. As she looked out over the sea, she couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty at her leave-taking. Only three even knew of it; one a man who, even now, replaced her in his heart; the other, a man one who seemed to be little more than a friend; the last, her dear Elven friend, Alir. She couldn't tell Finnel and Crimsonlock; they were so happy right now, and it would've been unfair to press her troubles upon them. They would figure it out for themselves, once she was gone long enough. Other than that, there were fewer still with whom she would share the news of this journey.
She sighed again, closing her eyes as a sea-borne zephyr curled over the ship, tousling her silver hair. She held her right hand with her left, absently rubbing at the palm with her thumb. It would be hard to go on this journey alone, but somehow she knew it would be better this way. She couldn't ask anyone to risk themselves on this fool's errand, and none seemed to understand exactly why she had to go. Her life had not yet come full-circle, there was still more of it to be lived...but what was its purpose? She knew the answer, no matter how many times she tried to think otherwise.
Prophecy.
When the first chapter of the Prophecy had been completed, she had hoped that she would have been able to move on to a more normal life; to, perhaps, even be as other women. Her chest seemed to tighten slightly as she brought her hands to her face, rubbing absently at her eyes and temples in disquiet. She had made her choice the day she was Reborn; no matter how much she wished it, she could never be as other women. She was forever geas-bound to serve the Light until it no longer had need of her, and there were few who seemed to want to understand such devotion. Now, she was on a mission to find the next chapter of that same Prophecy; nightly it tormented her in her dreams. Images of a sunken ship, an elaborately carved chest, and the scroll inside were all she was given the right to see in these dreams, but it was enough.
Ever since these dreams started, she felt driven to seek out this sunken ship and find its contents. The more she tried to stop herself from leaving, the more intense the drive became. In the end, she submitted to whatever force governed her life through that Prophecy; it could no more be denied than she could stop breathing the air. It was part of her, it is what gave her life purpose, direction, intent.
But does it bring you joy? came the unbidden question of her rebellious conscience, almost echoing the question Rheyl had asked of her some nights ago. And now, as she had then, she had to admit there was something missing in her life. She had joy in the form of friends: Finnel, Crimsonlock, Alir, Alkan, Dominik, Thienal...even Kypros, when he was in the mood to be nice, and there were more friends beyond just those. Yet, there was still some part of her that felt isolate, filled with an echoing emptiness that had yet to be filled. She had tried to fill it with a series of relationships that had all been more bitter than sweet; loves that had flared quickly and bright, only to smolder and die in the next heartbeat. In all of them, something had been missing, some integral part that she had wanted so desperately to find, and had failed three times to do so.
Gospel exhaled slowly, lowering her hands to the gunwale of the ship. The moon hung low over the distant horizon of the sea, is reflection dancing along the ripples in myriad, shimmering fragments. None of this would be solved tonight, perhaps not even anytime soon. However, those were worries for another day. Gospel walked across the deck of the ship, hopping down to the pier below and walking into Menethil proper. She had a ship. Now she needed a Captain, and a crew.
Captain Merissey hadn't ever turned down a job in his lifetime, but he was sorely tempted to turn this silver-haired lunatic down flat. He looked up at her again from the remnants of the hefty meal she'd purchased for him, idlly picking his teeth with a bone shard, "Lady, you've got to be crazy, stupid, brave, or a combination of the three," he commented, but after eyeing her a bit longer he added, "I'm inclined t'say the latter, 'cause y'don't look too much of any of 'em separate. I mean, hey, you're a paladin an' all. Y'can't be too much of a loony."
"I meant what I told thee, Captain," she said, in that strange, old-style dialect of hers, "I will see thee rewarded for thy service, shouldst thou choose to accept." She sat across the table from him, nursing nothing worse than a mug of cold apple cider... so that kind of threw out the being drunk idea. Merissey just couldn't believe she was serious! Yet, as she looked at him with those soft green eyes, there was something in them that told him, quite coldly, that she meant every word. In some ways, that cool detachment scared him more than her proposed destination.
The Captain scratched absently at the back of his head, then lowered his hand to rub at the stress tension already developing in his neck and shoulders. Constance wouldn't like this at all, not one bit, but he had to admit the money this barmy paladin was offering would definitely be good for business. He huffed slightly, and grumbled, making all the proper show that he was good and ready to turn her down (more often than not, this sometimes brought in an increase in his pay), but this paladin was made of sterner stuff. She simply looked into her cider mug, swirling the contents almost absently as she awaited his decision. Merissey had to admire her cunning, she was nobody's fool...no matter how blasted crazy she was otherwise, "Okay," he said finally, "I'll do it, but you'll be hard-pressed to find a crew that will do the same."
The silver-haired woman nodded, although she seemed to let his pronouncement slide off her like water off a duck's back, "I will make do with what I find, Captain. However, thou hast made one part of my undertaking much easier with thy acceptance." She waved an elegant, fine-boned hand toward the serving wench; such hands didn't belong on a fighter, a musician or artist perhaps, but not this battle-seasoned warrioress of the Light. Her lips curved into an almost shy smile as she nodded to the serving girl, "Please, ensure that the Captain's needs are all met this evening. Innkeeper Barlowe shalt know which tab to put it on."
With that, she rose as if she intended to leave, but Merissey wasn't quite done yet, "Wait!" he barked hoarsely, but when other patrons around him glared in his direction, he lowered his voice, "Wait a minute... You're really serious about this though?" he asked, lowering his voice again as if not wanting to really be overheard listening to this loony bin, "You honestly think to sail to the Maelstrom and survive?"
"I will," she responded simply, "I have to," she took a few steps away, looking back over her shoulder at him, a curl of that silver hair brushing against her ivory cheek, "Prophecy wills it so."
Merissey didn't bother to stop her that time as she left, when the serving wench came by to clear the dishes of his meal away he grabbed her wrist, "Do y'know who that woman was? The one who just left?" he asked. The mousey girl looked in the direction the paladin had departed, "Oh, her? That's the Lady Gospel, she's a paladin straight outta Stormwind. From the stories I've heard lately, she's as good and kind a heart as you could ever wanna find." The Captain nodded and shrugged, releasing the girl back to her duties with nothing more than a request for some whiskey. The question still remained: what did so good and kind a woman want so badly that she'd risk death in the Maelstrom just to find it?
Unfortunately, he figured he'd be finding out all too soon if the Light had its way, "Bugger all," he muttered taking a long pull from the whiskey when the girl finally brought it.
Chapter Two: "Requisitions & Shadows"
"Cripes, this shit is heavy," muttered one of the crewmen, lugging the laden chest up the gangplank. As she stood on the pier, shielding her eyes from the sun as she supervised the loading of her personal effects, Gospel couldn't help but laugh softly. Little did he know, that poor sailor, that in that chest was her full set of plate armor; what precious pieces of Lightforge she'd managed to scrimp together, and the other hodge-podge pieces. With a shake of her head, her silver hair drawn back in a single tail in a topknot, she walked up the gangplank to take one end of the chest, nodding to the crewman. He looked down at her a moment, frowning slightly, "I don't think that's wise, milady..." he muttered, but one look from those too-wise jade eyes made him shrug indifferently, "Suit y'self, I don't think y'can..." Gospel had to supress her amusement as she picked up her end of the crate with ease, arching a brow at him expectantly; he boggled at her and quickly stooped to lift his end as well, "Well, if'n that don't beat all..." he muttered again as they both carried the heavy chest down into Gospel's personal quarters.
As the crewman retreated, eyeing her with slightly more respect, Gospel sat on the chest looking around the small private cabin located in the ship's belly. Not much longer now. It had taken weeks of preparation, but soon her journey would be underway. Indeed, just thinking about it, she felt a weighty burden lift from her shoulders and a certain relaxing of her subconscious; yes, this was what she was supposed to do. She hoped this trip wouldn't be overlong, already she had made promises she intended to keep; Finnel and Crimsonlock, as well as Dasri and Zylvia...they wanted to be married at her hands, and the didn't want to fail them. She had to come back. She had to.
Thienal's reaction to hearing the news of her departure weighed heavily on her heart. Part of her felt badly at having stirred up something to cause such dismay in the normally placid druid. However, his words had proven useful, and she now had a bit more information, going forward, as to what she might face once she reached the Maelstrom. Azshara, and her naga.
The Library in Darnassus had yielded little fruit on the cursed queen, but Gospel had a solution for that: the Shen'dralar in Dire Maul. The only concern would be for the Gordok ogres that seemed to infest the ruin, but Immortis had shown her the trick of getting around them. She paused a moment in her thoughts, carefully exploring the memory of Immortis like someone inspecting a wound half-healed. There was no pain, no remorse, no regret. Nothing. She couldn't begin to know whether he would have wanted to know about her journey, but she supposed it best that, like so many others, what he did not know, could never hurt him. They had both suffered enough at each others' hands, she could only hope that he found what most made him happy, whatever and wherever it was. That was all she really wanted for most of those she knew, for them to live happy lives, regardless of the state of turmoil in the world.
But what about your happiness, Gospel? her conscience twinged again. She shook her head, resolute, her silver ponytail shifting back and forth across the nape of her neck, "I have happiness," she answered aloud, though more to herself than any listening, "I have Finnel, and all the others... good and loyal friends who bring me insurmountable joy."
Do they really? Or are they just pawns in the Prophecy's game? She winced slightly at the thought, her lips compressing into a thin line of contemplation. It was fortunate that, with her death, the Other had been destroyed; elsewise, she might have been tempted to think these rebellious thoughts were Hers. However, this was no more than her own conscience, voicing thoughts that had plagued her ever since she discovered her life was ruled, not by Fate, or by her own will, but by a Prophecy written millenia before she was ever born. She continued to sit on the chest containing her armor, suddenly feeling the poignant pressure of the Prophecy all around her. She sighed, hugging her knees to her chest as her thoughts continued to wander.
Of all the people she had told, perhaps Alir and Rheyl had taken the news best. However, none of her friends seemed to think it was a wise decision. Indeed, perhaps they were right, in some respects. One does not simply waltz into the reach of the Maelstrom and expect to come out of it unscathed. She supposed that some of them might, even now, think her crazy, but none presumed to stop her. In fact, most of them offered to come with her, but she couldn't let them. Just as she had told Javanna, the young paladin she'd met the other night: she could not ask anyone to risk their lives for her own. It would simply be contradictory to everything Gospel herself stood for. She rested her chin on her upraised knees, her thoughts continuing to run in similar circles. However, when some manner of commotion broke out, and she could hear a loud thudding and the hoarse cries of the men, she reminded herself that there was still much to be done.
Stormwind City, The Park at The Laughing Jester
The long list of "to-do's" was slowly being whittled down to just a few remaining items of business; Gospel sipped at her mug of cold cider, glancing up occasionally as if expecting someone. Drawing a small stick of coal from her pocket, she scribbled another notation onto the parchment as she heard footsteps from behind the bar. She raised her silvered head to look up at the boyishly charming proprietor of the Jester, "Good morrow, Master Daleus," she said with a warm smile.
Domink came up from the kitchen below, a small kegger of ale balanced precariously on his shoulder, "Why, good afternoon, Lady Gospel," he set the keg on an empty stand lining the back of the bar, looking over his shoulder at her. His long, blond ponytail swung like an impish cat's tail as he flashed her a debonaire grin, "I wasn't really expecting anyone so early..." he said as he turned to lean on the bar, regarding the lady paladin with a welcome gaze.
Gospel gestured somewhat helplessly to her list, "Well, I've...something of a favor to ask of thee, Master Daleus." She looked at his dashing features, batting her eyes coquettishly, "I fear thou art the only one who might help me."
He chuckled softly in response, his grin widening as he arched a brow. He stepped back from the bar, bowing in a low, courtly fashion, "If it is within my power to provide, Lady Gospel, I shall do my utmost to provide..."
The silver-haired paladin couldn't help but laugh and roll her eyes at that point, this subtle game between them always managing to break through her demeanor, "To business, Master Daleus, I am taking a trip of sorts, and am in need of supplies in bulk. I was wondering if thou might be able to provision such a need?"
Dominik smiled, walking along the bar as he came around it, "Well, I provision for many needs, Lady Gospel, and while I'm not exactly in the business of catering goods, I can certainly make the arrangements for you." He came around even with her as she sat at the foremost table, leaning back so his lithe hips rested against the bar. Gospel continued to smile at him as she tore off the bottom portion of her list, handing it to the tavernkeep. His eyes briefly perused the list, a golden brow arching only slightly, "Not exactly going on a short trip are we, Lady Gospel?"
She regarded him with those jade eyes, nodding slightly, which caused a lock of her silver hair to fall and caress her cheek, "Indeed, Master Daleus; hence, the quantity of the supplies needed," she said, nodding toward the list in his light-fingered hands. Carefully, Dominik folded the list, gifting the paladin with another of those winning bows, "I shall endeavour to see your needs fulfilled, my lady."
The paladin exited the tavern, absently crossing another item off her list. As she reached the bottom of the incline leading to the door, she let out a shrill whistle and her warsteed, Spirit, came cantering from nearby where he had been contentedly grazing. She easily vaulted onto the warsteed's back, patting his proudly arched neck, "Let's call it a night, shall we?" she murmured companionably, nudging him with a knee to direct him toward the Park's exit. As Gospel departed the Jester, riding slowly along the grass-lined parkway, a swift, silent shadow slipped out from behind the dormant moonwell, following the paladin at a safe, destreet distance.
Chapter Three: "Of Harmony & Discord"
Stormwind City, The Cathedral District, The Cathedral of Light
"Hear me, Oh Master..." the deep contralto echoed in the candlelit semi-dark of the small prayer room. The golden light illuminated only a small four square foot area, but it was captured and held in the sleek, silver sheet of hair that graced the head of the woman knelt in reverence. Her head was bowed as the soft words fell from her lips, "I come before Thee, always as Thy servant. I heed Thy words and obey Thy will. I ask only, my Master, that Thou doth stay with me during my trial ahead. Protect, shelter, and guide me as I proceed into this, the unknown fragment of my life..."
"Gospel..." The silver-haired paladin looked up at the man that spoke her name, her soft jade eyes regarding the Archbishop with a revered gentleness. Benedictus motioned to her with a hand, "Come, walk with me." Gospel bowed her head one last time before rising from her knees to go to the Archbishop's side. He watched her in quietude as she did so, neither of them speaking as they mounted the steps leading out of the small prayer room, "We've not seen much of you, as of late, Lady Lightfaith," he said conversationally as they walked.
She smiled faintly, "The Archbishop doth honor me with the use of honorifics as if I were his equal, however, I feel it needful to remind him that he doth still exist as my superior." Gospel clasped her hands behind her back, looking up at Benedictus' cowled head, "As for my recent negligence in visiting the Cathedral, I must sincerely give thee my regrets, Archbishop. I fear there is much going on in my Life that I do not yet understand, but hopefully, the journey I shall soon make will shed light upon these issues."
The older clergyman looked down at her, smiling with an almost paternal air, "Gospel... when will you put aside all this Prophecy nonsense and do what really needs doing?" He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I think, you let this business consume you too much."
She sighed. Of course, not even he would understand... However, she looked up at him with that congenial smile, "Again, thy esteem doth humble me, Holiness, but I must regretfully beg to differ. This Prophecy hath delinated my Life up until this point; it hath given it direction, and shown me my purpose. To ignore it would be tantamount to sacrilege, I would think. For such a Prophecy would not exist had it not been Light-willed."
The Archbishop walked with her through the halls of the Cathedral, the stained-glass windows casting a hodge-podge of colors upon the floor. As they passed, lower members of the clergy knelt or bowed in deference to the Archbishop and his rank, their eyes mostly sliding over Gospel without really noticing her. Unfortunately, Gospel's view of the Light was widely known in the spiritual community here in the Cathedral; views that, by and large, many did not agree with. Hence, the spiritual community mostly deigned it worthwhile to simply ignore her. Except for Benedictus. To what end, or what motive the Archbishop had to do so was beyond Gospel's understanding, but perhaps there was no motive at all and he was simply acting as a true spiritual leader would. Even if it meant embracing that which was different.
Chapter Four: "A Change in Plan"
Gospel...
I know your upcoming pilgrimmage is important to you, but the safety of our people is in peril. The Scourge are on the move. Already they have been spotted in various places, and their taint spreads like a foul disease. I know you've already been through a lot, but I'm asking you, as one of the best paladins I've known, please...come fight with us.
If not for us, then for our people.
General Marcus Jonathan Stormwind City
She sighed heavily as she sat on the pier that stretched out into Menethil Harbor and for a moment she spared a glance toward the "Confident Wanderer" as the ship lay at berth beside the dock. If there was one who knew her best, and what one thing could call her home, even against the will of the Prophecy, it was General Marcus. For our people... It was all Gospel lived for these days; to serve, and to help, and to guide the people under her jurisdiction. She carefully folded the letter, hopping off the pylon and walking up the gangplank of the ship.
Again, she paused, looking out to sea with a resigned sigh as everything within her clamored to set sail and find that which Called. However, she shook her head resolutely, descending below decks to begin the laborious process of strapping on her armor. Home needed her, and that need would always call greater and stronger than any Prophecy.
Gospel pressed her back against the burnt-out husk of what once seemed a merry little cottage. Her shield-arm ached from the strain of holding it, and her weapon-hand ached from the hours of combat; it all seemed endless. Her breath came in tight, ragged gasps as she steadied herself for yet another push against the Scourge. She set her jaw tightly, pushing off the building with her back as she leaned over to peer around the corner of the building. Off in the distance, she could hear the continual sounds of combat as other members of the Alliance tried to stay the onslaught of undead.
A Scourge patrol made its way down the street, the hollow eye-sockets of the leader seeming to bore holes in the very fabric of the air to find his enemies. Gospel could feel the nervous twitch of her muscles, and the dull tracing of a droplet of sweat down the back of her neck; she was pushing herself at the very limit of her endurance, but the Scourge numbers hadn't seemed to dwindle yet. The silver-haired paladin lunged out of hiding, making a daring run toward the leader of the small pack. She could hear their gutteral, slavering groans as they charged toward her, but she flung up her hand crying out a brief incantation of Exorcism, which sent a flare of light and a thundering boom resounding into the leader's face. It groaned and clutched at its ruined features, but only seemed daunted for a moment. However, Gospel was seasoned in combat with the undead, and quickly unleashed a lash of Holy Shock with a single word of command. Yet, her enemy continued to be unphased.
"By the Light," Gospel hissed, glancing around herself at the advancing members of the patrol. She murmured another brief prayer, "Reach out with Thy hand of anger, and unleash Thy Holy Wrath!" Torrents of light extended from her like fingers of vengeance, lashing out at the surrounding undead. They yowled their agony, retreating from the holy touch...all save the leader.
The Scourge leapt at her, its taloned hands screeching discorantly against the metal of her shoulderguards, sending sparks flying dangerously near her face. Her legs trembled as she fought to bear the full weight of the hideous fiend as it attempted to topple her by sheer force alone. Gospel grimaced, trying ineffectively to push the undead off her; it was so close she could feel its hot, fetid breath on her cheek. Around her, she could sense the undead recovering from her Holy Wrath and beginning to advance upon her yet again. A shivering tendril of fear threaded down her spine.
The ghoul wrapped its terrible hands around her neck, its taloned thumbs cutting into her throat. Gospel gasped for breath as she felt the warm trickle of blood slip down her skin. She stared, unblinking, at the horrifying visage mere inches from her own as the ghoul leered at her in horrendous glee. The outer rims of her vision began to haze over with black as the cadaverous monster tightened its grip around her neck.
Light and sound seemed to clash together around her as she heard the words of the Exorcism spell fading in the distance; the ghoul leapt from her body, shrieking its dreadful rage. For a moment, in her asphixiation, all Gospel could make out with her blurred vision was a splotch of red, black, and gold against the landscape. The paladin shook her head, looking once again to that splotch, finally able to make out the new arrival as another paladin: his face obscured by a Judgement crown, and his weapon the Untamed Blade. There was no mistaking who this was.
"Rheyl..." she managed to breathe, shaking her head as she struggled back to her senses. She readied herself again to re-enter combat just as Rheyl engaged the leader-ghoul. His two-handed blade swung with deadly accuracy, biting into the ghoul's side with a sickening thud. He swore bitterly as the blade hung, lodged in the bone of the horrifying creature's frame. One of the other Scourge from the patrol leapt at Rheyl in this moment of distraction, "Rheyl!" Gospel cried out, flinging forward a hand to wordlessly throw an Exorcism into their enemy. The undead scout fell to the ground, twitching and moaning in anguish a few feet away.
The hooded cowl with its glowing eyes looked at her, nodding imperceptibly as Rheyl beckoned her over. Together, the two paladin's stood back-to-back, to face the regrouping enemy. It was flawless, the bloody combat almost beautiful in its precision; the two of them alternating offensive spells with defense and healing. The air around them was like a thunderstorm as one Exorcism after another fell upon the undead. The ground beneath them glowed like a morning sunrise, imbued with the power of their dual Consecration. In the end, however, Gospel's exhaustion won out. Thankfully, the undead had been routed by the onslaught of the two paladins, so there was a welcome respite in the battle.
The silver-haired paladin fell to her knees, panting with the effort of their exertions, looking up to Rheyl gratefully, "T'would seem I am indebted to thee, Rheyl..." she said, reaching up to pull her own Lightforge helm from her head, shaking out the sweat-dampened hair.
Rheyl pushed back the cowl from his head, running a hand through his own damp, golden locks, "There is nothing to owe, Gospel," he said mildly, "You would have done the same for me," he extended a gauntleted hand to her, which she took as he helped her to her feet. He let out a series of odd whistles, and his golden-armored charger came rounding the nearby buildings, "You're exhausted; let's get you out of here." And without so much as a "May I" Rheyl lifted her, armor and all into the saddle on his charger. He paused for a moment, making sure she could balance there by herself, before climbing up onto the saddle behind her.
Gospel was so bone-tired, she didn't bother to argue. In fact, so weary was she, that she eventually slept, her head gradually leaning onto the breastplate of Rheyl's armor. He looked down at her as she slept, unable to keep himself from admiring the soft gentleness of her face in slumber; she seemed so at peace. When awake, she always seemed fraught with worry, mostly for those around her, never for herself. A stray strand of that silver hair fell into her face, and almost absently Rheyl swept it away, lightly caressing her cheek. He couldn't help but smile slightly as she stirred at his touch, only to lean closer into him.
"Poor thing," he murmured, "You've just worn yourself to a frazzle, haven't you?" He ran a hand back over her hair once more, spending the rest of the ride back to the base camp in silence.
Chapter Five: "Friends & Honor"
Scourge Invasion: Argent Dawn Basecamp, Light's Hope Chapel, Eastern Plaguelands
Gospel grimaced, raising a fine-boned hand to the front of her throat, which ached. However, as her jade eyes slowly fluttered open, her hand was gently batted away, "It won't heal right if you keep prodding at it, Lady Paladin, and I won't beg your pardon for saying so," she was admonished. As Gospel looked at the slightly matronly woman that hovered over her, dressed in the habit of a Sister of Light, the paladin couldn't help but grin slightly, "You're lucky that you and the man that brought you carry as much rank as you do, elsewise we would have just healed it up and sent you off," the Sister continued to berate her casually, reaching to Gospel's throat to slowly undo the bandages, "But you wouldn't have it. 'Save your magic for those in need more than I,' you said, and then that man with you wouldn't let us do anything more for you because of it!"
The man that brought me...? Gospel stared at the white cloth roof of the tent that served as the field infirmary for the war against the Scourge, searching through her exhaustion-hazed memories... Of course. Rheyl. The Sister continued to prattle over her, but she paid the woman little heed, wincing only once as the nurse gently pried the bandages loose from her throat. Foggy, fragmented memories came to her: the ghoul scraping its claws on her pauldrons as the sounds of battle echoed around her; the feel of those claws cutting into her flesh, the coppery scent of her own blood... then for a moment the world was nothing but a brilliant flare of light, and she could feel an aura drape over her like a protective blanket. She could vaguely recall fighting, but there had been a strong, protective presence at her back, ensuring that no foe came in under her guard. Then, nothingness... whereupon she awoke here, only moments ago.
"...you'd be surprised how often he's been in here to check on you," the nurse was saying as she wrapped fresh Mageweave bandaged around Gospel's wound, "I think we can let you go back to the field some time tomorrow. There will be a bit of scarring, since you wouldn't let us outright heal it, but I think you can live with that." With that, the nurse gathered her things and moved onward to her next patient a few feet away. The silver-haired paladin relaxed her head against the pillow with a sigh as she allowed herself to drift off in a half-slumber. In the next moment, a gentle hand caressed the crown of her head, smoothing her hair back behind her ear, which caused her to open her eyes. Her soft jade gaze fell upon the battle-worn, haggard features of Rheyl as he blinked at her in surprise.
"Oh, you're awake," he said with a mild cough, abruptly withdrawing the hand that had brushed back her hair. Gospel smiled, nodding weakly, as she did not yet trust her voice. Rheyl eyed the fresh bandage on her neck critically, but after a moment's inspection he seemed satsified. He looked to the nurse who was tending the patient on the next bed over, "She's going to be all right, isn't she?"
The nurse seemed to roll her eyes impatiently, "Like I've told you the other dozen and a half times you've asked me: yes, she'll be fine. I'll be releasing her tomorrow." With that, the nurse gathered her things yet again, and moved down another bed. However, Rheyl was satisfied by that answer, reaching down to take Gospel's hand in his own, "You just get better," he said, patting her hand, "There's still a lot of undead that need divine retribution." Gospel supressed a chuckle, inclining her chin a bit to show her willingness to continue the fight once she was released.
Rheyl released her hand at that point, pulling on his Judgement crown as he left the tent. Indeed, there was much fighting to be done; yet, here he was taking a moment to visit her. Gospel absently flexed the hand he had released. He had saved her life; she would have to find a way to repay him. It was simply a matter of honor.
Scourge Invasion: Alliance Basecamp, Everlook, Winterspring
Plate armor made the bitter cold around Winterspring even worse. The thick snow drifts crunched beneath Spirit's hooves as the warsteed steadily plodded his way northward. News was spreading like wildfire that the Scourge invasions were now inflitrating several different lands, and fighting against both the Horde and the Alliance; Gospel had been dispatched to help deal with the strike against Winterspring. She drew her cloak more tightly about her, trying to shield herself as much as possible from the wind-driven snow. Her jade eyes cautiously scanned her surroundings, looking for any sign of these crystalline monoliths that indicated a Scourge drop-zone. As she and Spirit rounded a bend, she caught sight of one of the sickly glowing crystals, three of the four cultists already working to repair it. The fourth lay face-down, dead in the snow, but the Shadow of Doom it released maliciously laying into a lone paladin some distance from the circle.
Gospel slid easily from the saddle, sending Spirit cantering off to return when called. She strapped her shield to her arm, and unslung her axe from its holster. Slipping down the snow dune, she landed on a ledge just above where the combatants were locked in their struggle. The great two-handed blade of the other paladin swung with a practiced ease, cutting into the Shadow with vicious strikes, but these monsters were difficult to handle alone. Why would anyone be so foolish? Gospel knelt on the ledge, murmuring a swift prayer and gesturing in the direction of the other paladin. The shimmering light that was an indicator of her healing spell surrounded the fighter, who was too preoccupied to bother searching for the unlooked-for aid.
That done, Gospel leapt down from the ledge, extending a hand to throw the full force of her Exorcism spell into the Shadow's midsection. It squalled in anguish, raking its black talons in her direction as it turned the force of its fury upon her. However, Gospel was rested and recovered now, so she raised her shield against it, the wicked nails of the shadow-creature shrieking against the metal. Once she stepped into the fray, time seemed to lose all meaning; minutes became hours, hours became days. Together, she and the other paladin fought against the Shadow of Doom; the two of them working together like a well-oiled machine. Around them, Gospel was vaguely aware of more Alliance reinforcements surging toward the circle of cultists, but she paid them no heed. All that mattered was this fight, this enemy, and her ally.
Gospel alternated her combat spells with prayers of blessing and healing, giving no quarter to their terrible, ghostly foe. For all that it seemed to take days, it was only a matter of minutes before she and the other paladin rendered their enemy to a defeated smudge of pale black upon the ground. It seemed odd as the Alliance around them raised their voices in cheer, clearing the battle-haze from Gospel's mind. Apparently, this ground was won. She smiled and waved to what fighters she knew as the Alliance began to call their mounts in preparation of moving to the next drop-zone, but she looked to the paladin she'd rescued, nodding slightly, "Thou shouldst be more careful," she said gently, "These Shadows are powerful and not to be trifled with alone."
"I had a feeling help was on the way," replied a familiar voice. Gospel shook her head as the other paladin pushed back the cowl from his head; she couldn't help but smiling at him, "T'was still a foolish endeavour, Rheyl." He shrugged in response, hefting his Untamed Blade onto his shoulder as he let out that odd series of whistles that summoned his charger. Gospel, in turn, let out a shrill whistle and Spirit came at a canter through the snow, as he trotted past without stopping, she pulled herself easily into the saddle, in spite of her plate armor. Rheyl scoffed mildly in her direction, "Show off," as they rode down the path cutting a swath through the snow.
Gospel eyed the horizon, the black plumes of smoke indicating where the next incursion was taking place, "T'would seem there are yet more Undead with which to contend," she said with a nod toward the smoke. Rheyl simply looked over his shoulder at her as he rode, "Well, shall we show them what for, Gospel?" For some reason, she couldn't supress another smile as she nodded again, leaning low over her steed's neck as they raced toward the next zone. Side-by-side the two paladins rode, bringing Holy Doom unto any Undead that were foolish enough to cross their path.
Resources & Acknowledgements
Prophecy's Child: Official Website
Freelance Fellowship: Official Website
Knights Errant Forums
House Nightstone -- Link coming soon!