So it begins...

It was dark in Elwynn, very dark. The bitter cold wind cut into your skin like a thousand knives, and even the brightest of flames couldn't pierce the blackness. It is on this night, that one certain corporal was lost forever... And perhaps only one man can save her...

The garrison stood silent liking a haunting vision. The Stormwind Militia lay sleeping in their beds, all except one. Sharox Moonscar lay awake, tossing and turning trying to sleep, but yet she didn't have that pleasure. She sat up, bathed in sweat, and looked around. There was a nice warm yellow glow coming from the burning coal in the stove and it was somehow calming. But on top of this Sharox yet couldn't sleep. She stared around, glancing at the other Militiants sleeping soundly in their beds and sighed. Muttering, she hopped off her bunkbed and stretched. She looked around, and realised what she must do.
She turned and looked at the table next to the bunkbed. She grabbed her backpack and took out her robes and dressed herslef silently. She packed the backpack with matches, books and her Diary, then picked it up and slung it over her shoulder, silently opening the door that creaked loudly like a cat. She cursed loudly and closed the door behind her.
The hallways of the Garrison were pitch black. She held up a finger and a small flame bounced from her fingertips, giving her warmth and light. Walking silently, Sharox entered the main hallway with the long table in it. The remains of last night's meal was still there, and she could remember where she sat next to James and happily ate with the Commander, Officers and all the other Footmen and recruits who stayed at the garrison overnight. She inspected the remaining food and put them in a small box and put them in her backpack as rations. Then she sighed, looked back and walked outside.
She found her horse, Eldoria, and saddled her, stroking her mane sadly. She didn't spot the person walking out of the garrison.
"Going somewhere?" James Dascombe said.
Sharox nearly died, she swung and faced James and was relieved it was him. She blushed and spoke, trying not to sound suspicious.
"Well, i erm... You see, i couldn't sleep and i thought that i'd go for a walk too calm myself down."
James shook his head.
"With your Books, Reports, Diary, extra Robes, food and water and your horse?"
Sharox sighed, she knew when she was beaten. She slung her backpack over the saddle and harnassed it so it wouldn't fall off during the ride. She faced James again.
"I'm heading North, to Andorhal..." She mumbled. I need to do something, i can't tell you, not now..."
James nodded, her knew something was going on but he also knew it must be important to Sharox if she was being so secretive of it.
"You grew up in Andorhal, just like me... I know what you're feeling and i understand. Go, i won't stop you. And if anyone asks i'll say you're in Stormwind or something."
He smiled and Sharox just replied with a nod. She mounted Eldoria and gave a small wave, she nudged Eldoria and the Horse started trotting along slowly. She pulled on the reins and stopped and turned.
"James, how did you know i was awake?"
Dascombe chuckled and said merrily:
"Let's just say you should try being more quiet next time you decide to sneak off in the middle of the night. Farewell, Corporal."
And he winked and turned and walked inside. Sharox smiled and kicked Eldoria in the Hind qaurters and she rode off.

She gracefully glided over the blighted land. She knew her sister was coming to her, and she knew what she was going to do. The Banshee smiled to herself and whispered to only she could hear.
"The game starts, Sharox. A pawn is moved, soon i shall have a mortal body to possess, and all those years of torment in this wretched form shall be over. He tortured me, stabbed me, cut me, but he never killed me. And now i am here to see that you suffer the same pain I did!"
She cackled and whispered:
"And so it begins..."

(( As i didn't have much of a RP reason to why i left the Militia, here it is. A small story of how Sharox was possesed by her mad Banshee sister Sileen Moonscar, and how only dascombe can save her. James and me are gonna have a RP event after GHI is released, /w me or James in game if you wanna be part of it. (P.S James, can you reply to this with some RP? ) ))

Just as the sound of horse hoofs trotted off into the distance Dascombè swiftly turned around and proceeded to his chambers in the south-western turret.
Something was not right here.
Why in the light's name is she going to Andorhal? She's never been this strange, something is obviously amiss here and light damn it i'll find out what!
He glances around his small little 'room' and picked up a bag he kept his dalaranian equipment in.
Pulling out a small rune he uttered a small wisper and suddenly his surroundings started to melt and bleed into the distance, colours seeped away from sight until he was left in a black empty void with but a circle upon the floor.
He still has his bag on the floor beside him and searching through it he pulled out several candles, a small vial containing a golden liquid and several dusty old tomes.
In the manner of a warlock he set up a small ritualistic circle and poured the liquid onto the floor and proceeded to open one of his tomes.
A sudden gust of wind entered the void and the pages of the book flickered as though guided by a malevolant force.
Light, shed some light on this darkened moment He muttered to himself
And as quick as the gust came, it went, leaving the book open on an omniomus page.
"The Banshee" was the title of the page, it seems Dascombè had brought with him a book on the ranks of the Scourge.
He reached his hand down to scan the page but as his fingers came into contact with the paper his mind was overwhelemed with a screech that deafened him and shattered vials in his bag.
He struggled to stand or even move for that matter, his hands were clenched around his ears but the noise was being generated within his own mind.
Scrambling frantically for his bag, Dascombè tore open the fabric rather than opening it the convenational way and pulled out a small gnomish device. Twisting the dial quickly the unbearable shrieking was overtaken by the sound of whirring and a vacumme.
Placing a palm on his now aching head he read the book, unable to make sense of it.
A Banshee? What in the blazes are you showing me -that- for?
It was all to late that he placed his finger upon the list of attributes that a Banshee can perform:
Curses
Hexes
Mental burns

and...

Possession.

By the light...

The morning sun rised over Redridge. Near Lakeshire a small camp had been set up. It was a simple camp, but yet it was different to most. The flames on the fire where still burning, but does was strange as the wood had completely burned away. And the tent had been set up without using any sticks or poles to keep it up.
Sharox yawned and walked out of the small tent and muttered a spell sleepily. The tent collapsed into a bundle and started folding itself into a neat bundle of cloth. The fire extinguished itslef and the rocks and other remains of the wood disappeared. Sharox smiled and sipped water from her flask, trying not tod rink to little and not to much, keeping as much as she needed for the rest of her journey. She packed the neatly folded tent away into her backpack and strapped it to the saddle of her horse, Eldoria. She clambered onto the mount and sat down, grabbed the reins and pulled on them gently. Eldoria gave a soft neigh and started trotting.
"We have a long journey ahead of us, Eldoria... I'm sad to say we may not return from this trip. But none the less, it shall be pleasurable."
She sighed and urged Eldoria on. The horse broke into a fast trot, and eventually into a gallop.
"I'm sorry you had to come, i could've got one of the Gryphons to fly up north, but i daren't let myself be seen in Stormwind," she muttered.
And they rode on.

Three days later.

The sun was setting over Loch Modan and Sharox prepared camp for the night next to the Loch itself. Casting the usual spells around the campsite and tieing up Eldoria was all she did. She had been away from Elwynn for nearly four days, and so far it hadn't been very enjoyable. What awaited her in Andorhal or what she wanted to do there was haunting her like a banshee. All she wanted was rest and to go back to the Garrison with the rest of the Militia. But she shrugged it off and entered the tent and silently fell asleep.

Two days later.

This last night was worse than the rest. She was camped somewhere near Southshore, and so far she had been plagued by Syndicate thugs ambushing her. She just wanted a peaceful night's sleep, but she couldn't even get that. Luckily she was close to Andorhal now, in about two days she'd be there.
"Not long now, Eldoria... Not long."

Two more days later.

She dismounted Eldoria outside of Andorhal and dropped to her knees. Staring up at the ruined town she once lived in. Tears rolled down her cheeks but she had to stay alert, this place she once called home was crawling with Ghouls, Banshees and other Scourge. She stood up and walked in.
If the town wasn't a ruin, it would've looked just like ti had when she had lived there. There was so many places she wished to visit, her old home, the Inn where her mother met her father, the gardens she and her friends had played in for hours on end in. The thoughts made her smile and the memories made her want to go visit these places even more. But she had a mission to do and she had to do it quickly.
She walked near the centre of town, the bloodspattered cobbled streets held so many memories for her, but they didn't draw tears. How could she cry when she knew what she was doing. Everyone that had died, her parents, her friends. She needed to avenge them. And as she walked into the centre of Andorhal she stopped and saluted. She looked around. Undead had started crawling to her, intent on ripping her apart no doubt. She didn't mind, in fact, she smiled. Staring at the darkened sky and shouted as loud as she could:
"I, Corporal Sharenia 'Sharox' Moonscar Silverlaine Sealwind of the Stormwind Militia, Archmage of the Kirin Tor and the Violet Citadel am here to request a deal to your master, Kel'Thuzad!"
And the rest was a blur, she felt herself being lifted off the ground and tossed what seemed to be high in the air. But instead of landing on the ground and being devoured by the thousands of Undead below, she landed on a cold, hard floor. A cold laughter filled her ears.
"And you have got what you wished, Archmage..."

(( No, sharox isn't evil, more is revealed when i can bother to do more IC nobody knew this happened Sileen isn't in this one sadly, she is in the next one though ))

Banshees?! BANSHEES?!
Dascombè scrambled frantically in his sleep having collapsed from exhaustion only to look up to a rather grubby looking human male.
'Ey, tha boss don' like no strangers sleepin' in his camp...
He looked around and instantly noticed the trollish architecture and pondered for a moment.
The man offered out his hand to give Dascombè a lift to his feet which he accepted and swifly brushed the earth off his battle armour.
Zul'aman? What in the light's name am I doin here?
Peering around suspiciously he narrowed his brow at each of the burly bodyguards wandering around the decrepid camp choosing to instead seat himself within a troll hut.
That void...damn it! Why do i meddle still in these arcane magics...why here of all places?!
He rummages around and shrugged briefly after finding his bag of arcane equipment and apparatus briefly taking note of his position he got to his feet and made down the pathway.

After a few hours of walking he came upon a settlement of Thalassian design, how did he know?
Well the guards had two elven glaives poised at his throat.
[Thalassian]: Bah shar dah ahlanore?
Dascombè quickly dropped his shield and sword to the floor and raised his hands to the air.
I seek aid, i come here on peaceful terms as a paladin, not a member of the Alliance.
The two guards looked at each other briefly and guided Dascombè forward with the two glaives still at his throat.
They led him to a small elven construction with several elves and forsaken in high ranking armours emblazoned with insignias.
One elven woman eyed the paladin up and down and made a swift hand gesture to the guards.
The two guards pushed Dascombè down onto his knees.
Tell me, human, why do you come to our lands during these stressful times?
Dascombè grunted briefly and looked up to the high ranking officer.
I am here to aid a friend, I believe she may be at risk from the scourge.
Her eyes widened and she swiftly wispered in a forsaken Officer's ear.
We will grant you shelter for the night, since we are both currently on agreeable terms and have the same foe...you are welcome to some basic supplies from our Quartermaster if you wish.
He got up to his knees and bowed politely before the magister.
Thank you kindly for your hospitality mi'lady.

There was no joke about it, the amount of books in such a decrepid ruin were amazing.
Bestiaries on beasts, tomes on the forsaken...it was near limitless to the libraries at Dalaran for such a small covet of knowledge.
One book caught his attention as a Forsaken male was loading food supplies onto his backpack.
"Holy armouries"
Flicking through each page with little interest in how to craft Dark Iron plate he paused in amazement on one page:
"Soulforge"
This holy armour can be melded from Lightforge which enables the wielder to harness the light for divine purposes. Soulforge can enable the wielder to harness the vindictive power of lost souls and when utilised with various holy relics can possibly hold dominion over the souls of those stolen away from their shells.
He paused for a moment and placed his Scourge bestiary beside it, eyeing both the page on the banshee and the scriptures of Soulforge.
Light have fortune over me! This must be pure luck!
Dascombè unbuckled his backpack whilst the forsaken man was wrapping up some elven bread and he pulled out a pair of plate bracers along with some gloves and a belt.
They were a deep gray, almost a depressing colour until he pulled out a similar set of armour that shined with a brilliant hue.
Stroking his hand down the Soulforge gloves he quiet wisper was heard in his ear from a young woman.
Whereas when he held the Lightforge Gloves they glowed gold causing the forsaken man behind him to cover his two empty eye sockets.
This is it! I need to emblazon my armour to become this...this..."Soulforge!"
He tapped his biestry briefly.
This book has yet to lie to me, i'll stake my powers of the light on it!. Strapping on his Soulforge belt, gloves and bracers he also fitted the remainder of his armour with lightforge and walked out of the doorway with his recently packed bag.
Turning around as he left he bidded a briefly thalassian farewell as it was one of few things he knew.

Now...to find this armour...

((Yes, that book is very god-emotey i know, i need to make it into a GHI item so some git can teach me a lesson and burn it or something.
I liked what I did with soulforge there as I always wondered what a paladin would be doing with something that would be so grey and slightly evil-looking so i've just utilised what I thought it would be able to do for this RP ))

Present Time

Sharox coughed up blood, a lot of blood. She stared around weakly, trying to figure out where she was. She gasped, it was Andorhal in the Plaguelands. But what spooked her was the fact that this was James's old home next to the Inn. She tried to stand but she couldn't, so she decided, using all her strength, to send out a "singal" to try and find anyone in the area. Luckily she zoomed in on one man, barely alive and struggling in the poor conidtions, but as she zoomed in on him more, she realised it was James himself.
Unable to walk or even stand, she summoned what energy she had left and sent a message to him:
"J-James... Andorhal... Plaguelands... H-help..."
And she shut her eyes and rested as well as she could until he arrived. She was nea the north entrance, close the where he was, emaning that he might find her quicker. She heard a voice:
"Hello?!?"
Sharox gave a sigh of relief, James was a paladin and a skilled medic, he could help her, just as long as her banshee sister Sileen didn't return as he did...
A man stumbled up the cobbled pavement. He looked ragged, tired, hungry and weak. As she was wearing a hat, James wouldn't know ti was her. She moved her arms and knocked it off. She heard a gasp and smiled.
"J-James, i'm s-sorry... You have to help..."
She looked up with fear. james looked doubtful, but he approached.
"But why, in the light's sake, why?!?"
Sharox wanted to reply, but before she could something semed to hit her. A wail was heard, it was loud and piercing and very high pitched. Sharox gave half a scream as darkness blinded her. She slumped to the ground in total blackness as Sileen took over once more.

James looked at Sharox twitching body, half screaming, half cackling. Her robes darkened, turned more ragged and mis-used. As Sileen regained control, Dascombe frowned and yelled. He was so close to sabing Sharox but his doubt stopped him.
"That's better..." Sileen cackled.
She stood up the her full height. Every hint of Sharox was gone from this women. Even her looks had changed. Her skin had darkned and was rotting in several places, some of her flesh had completely gone from her face, revealing her skull. Trickles of blood ran from her mouth and below her eyes, as if she was crying. You inspect the rotting skin and realise maggots are crawling around in it, eating away at the de-composing flesh.
"What kind of abomination have you become?!?" James roared.
Sileen laughed and pulled up her head, shrouding her face in darkness. Wasting no time, James unleashed a holy spell, letting it fly at Sileen. Sileen cackled as it hit her in the arm, actually blasting it clean off. With a smallw ave of her other hand, a new arm slowly grew back. James stared in dis-belief as the arm actualy re-grew itself. It looked the same, even the torn robes wear re-sweing themselves. And all the rotting flesh was still there where it should be.
"You monster, give her back!" James yelled.
Sileen shook her head and held up something. It was a dark orb that glowed mysteriously. Inside there was a dark swirling mist that filled the whole orb.
"Dear, James. Still weary from your adventures in Naxxramas? I am sorry that you didn't get your precious Wizzragal back. What a shame i got to him first..."
She cackled and a sack "appeared" in her hand. She threw it at James and a head rolled out. James collapsed to his knees next to it and held it in his hands. He looked up, his eyes alight with holy fire.
"HARLOT!" he roared.
He yelled a battle cry and charged at Sileen and dug his blade into her left shoulder. She roared and pulled the blade out (With james still holding the handle) and pulled it hard, sending James flying across the room and hitting the wall hard.
Sileen cackled, he stood up, clutching his side. He dropepd his sword to the cold floor and looked up.
"Just give her back... You have no idea of what i faced in that Dread Citadel..."
Sileen laughed and shook her head and held up the orb once more.
"I do have an idea... And i know something worse... Sometime more painful... Something you havn't felt before..."
She dropped the Orb.
"It's grief..."
The orb hit the floor and shattered, the dark mist filled the air and blinked out of existence. James looked at it and roared, fighting the tears back. Sileen cackled as James collapsed to the floor in a sorry state. Hitting the ground with his fist.
He stopped, and with exhasution, he fell back. Sileen walked forward to him and picked up his sword.
"Would be a shame if the Militia found you and healed you. I can't live with that torment every day. I will give you a choice, Join us or you will serve us in death!" James shook his head, tears trickling down his cheek. "Fool... Then you have chosen death..."
And she drove the sword into his stomach, pinning him to the floor.
"And i just have to make sure the Militia DO find you. I am a Mistress of pain and suffering, i enjoy seeing other people suffer, even if it's my own... And so, i must be here to see the Militia find you.
"So, to make sure they DO find you, i better make a signal... And frie is the best singal i believe."
She cackled and muttered a spell, a flaming fireball hit his body and set him alight. James twisted and turned, screaming in agony. The blade stuck in his chest cut him open. Sileen cackled and walked away, and then "disappeared" into thin air. leaving Dascombe behind to burn...

(( To much to make bold and italics This is based on a RP that happened yesterday, most events in this happened, so this isn't me making das die or anything, although that is a good idea... ))

((this is awesome! Read my pm btw))

It was daybreak...
Rather than the sound of the morning birds the only sound that filled the air was the gutteral groaning of the undead scourge as they ravaged their way through Andorhal, picking off adventures and treasure hunters.
His sword lay down by his feet, covered by his own blood whilst his face remained hidden in the shadows...
All that could be seen was his scarred and scorched battle armour from the neck down and his glowing green eye lens penetrating out from the darkness.
H...how did I--

Suddenly Dascombe was struck by a brief flashback of the previous night, the burning pains became a reality again...the stabbing agony of being impaled upon his own holy claymore.

Returning to his senses he stumbled forward in a low yell grasping his chest where the sword had gone through.
The wound had gone...no trace of blood...
All that marked his chest was a horizontal cut mark that had a runic symbol around it.
Dascombe struggled, trying to recall what happened when he was stuck by another brief flashback..

He twisted and writhed, impaled upon his own sword...his face literally melting as flames whipped and cracked around him, seeking to not consume him but to force him through pain never ending.
But he had remembered his sachel which he kept by his side, rummaging through he tapped the first relic he came across...
A symbol of divinity.
Harnessing the powers of the symbol he was unaware he touched he forced the energies to feed upon what little life remained in an undead ghoul who was observing the agony hoping for a snack.
The ghoul writhed in torment as the relic consumed it and harnessed that energy to force the blade from Dascombe's chest and to seal up the wound.

Blinking for a moment he reached for his sachel and counted the runes.
He indeed had one missing...there WAS the charred remains of a ghoul, burned in a holy fire.
But it was not enough...
His hands were carved from Naxxramas...small jagged pieces of obsidian lay in the cuts that formed ritialistic symbols around his palm and cut deep into his hands.
His face, still hidden in the shadows gave no expression as he stroked his back.
There were knife wounds just at the shoulderblades made by a curved dagger...the wounds stung with a sharp pain indicating they were either cursed or posioned...nither of which Dascombe wished for.
Looking around his old childhood house he stared blankly into space...his head thinking as hard as it could with this torrent of pain secretly overwhelmeing him...what could he do?

He cried in sheer agony, something that would make the most battle hardened orc cringe in fear...
It was a big mistake...
He heard footsteps tap their way up to the ruined building from around the corner.
He embraced his armour in the shadows and picked up his warblade ready to strike down whatever came around the corner.
The first thing he saw...was red...not of blood...

By Uther's Strenght! What is this?!
A short woman in her mid thirties with a well trained pet hound at his side eyed Dascombe up and down with his face obscured in the shadows.
The woman was wearing...well...red...
Her shoulderpad were red...her gloves were red emblazoned with a gold lining and her Rifle had a red painted barrel...
But what was most important was the colour of her tabard:
Scarlet.

What are scarlets doing around here at this time of morning? Dascombe demanded
What are soldiers of the southern kingdoms doing around here at ANY time? the scarlet replied
Dascombe grunted admitting defeat and glaring at the woman with his green lens.

Well, since your not one of the undead scourge i suppose i could aid you with some supplies she pondered
Opening up her knapsack she placed a small wrapped up package of elven bread and nodded agreeingly.
Dascombe was a chivilrous man, polite and caring always resorting to his manners...but in his current life-or-death situation he did'nt care.
He lunged towards the bread and consumed it like a cannabalistic ghoul in the shadows.

The Scarlet woman giggled to herself
You sure are hungry, you have'nt eaten in days!

Dascombe continued to devour the bread in the corner of the ruin pausing only to ask one question.
Do you have any arcane runes?
The scarlet lady raised an eyebrow at the idea of a paladin wielding arcane magic but shrugged and turned to yell into the distance of the Inn
RONALD! WE NEED YOUR MAGIC!
There was a moment of silence then the top floor of the Inn shook with an explosion and an undead ghoul was blasted out of one of the windows, breaking the glass.
BE WITH YOU IN A MINUTE SARAH!
Unexpectantly the next thing to fall out the window was a man in red robes, albiet he did it with some clumsey efficiency but none the less standing to his feet and dusting himself down.
He walked up to Dascombe and the Scarlet woman to reveal he had a rather expensive looking chapeau on as well as a shining red monocle.

What is it that you need now, more food? the stroppy magus demanded.
No, this man here needs arcane equipment...do you have any? she questioned.
Opening up a backpack the magus conjoured from nowhere he held out an assorment of runes for Dascombe to inspect from his shadowy corner with his wounds still bleeding badly and his breathing getting heavier.

After several minutes of selecting runes Dascombe wrapped up his supplies handed to him by the scarlets and bid them farewell as they returned to their column of soldiers that passed through the city.

Setting up the runes in a circle he focused his minute powers of the arcane for a single purpose....

Meanwhile all over the kingdom of Stormwind, Militiants flicked their radios on and off at the high pitched static that pestered them for several minutes until a small wisper came through with heavy breathing in the background:
H...help....me..
Plague...lands...

He collapsed from the strain the spell had on him and crawled over to a footlocker in the corner.

He opened it using a small key embraced around his diary on a chain to reveal several items within the near-impenetrable chest:
A painting album of his family
Several sharp throwing knives
A boquet of scarlet carson roses
Dascombe clenched the strongbox in his arms, releasing it from his grasp and...after pulling out a small picture...he buried his burned and twisted face into his hands...and cried.



((*Sniffs* that picture makes me cry quite a co-inceidence that I found that picture is EXACTLY what Dascombè's parents look like...
A stroke of luck eh what?
And yes, Dasc is horrifically mangled and burned so don't laugh at him in public if you value your teeth ))

(( Nice one Back to the past then ))

She stared around the room in fear. The walls where cloaked in darkness, the floor was cold and hard. Corpses where all over the floor and walls. And then there was the Lich himself, Kel'Thuzad. She smiled coldly:
"Kel'Thuzad... After all these years i thought you had died... But here you stand before me. I should've killed you when i had the change. YOU helped distribute the plagued grain. YOU killed my family. Now DIE!"
She didn't even roared in anguish of lost memories creeping back to the surface of her mind. Grabbing her sword, the Lionheart, from her back, she charged at the cackling Lich. Leaping off the ground, she arced the blade upwards and charged it with her hatred and anger for Kel'Thuzad and it hit home. The Lich grunted with surprise.
"You believe you can beat me?!? I, the Majordomo of the Lich King himself?!? Fool, DIE!!!"
He raised his skeletal arms in the air and the corpses littering the floor rose to serve their master. The leaped on Sharox one at a time, biting and scratching her. Attempting to rip her apart. But these Undead where slaves, mindless corpses that could walk. Sharox muttered a quick spell and the air around her exploded with Arcane energies. The floor shook and cracked, and the undead surrounding her flew back and hit the wall, burning like wood. Kel'Thuzad frowned.
"Perhaps you are some use for us yet..."
He flicked his hand and the great doors behind Sharox opened silently. Two large Abominations led by a death Knight on a Skeletal Warhorse entered. The Abomination's grabbed her and lifted her off the ground. She struggled but their grip was to much. The death Knight muttered some spells and she fell un-Concious onto the floor.

She woke up in a small damp room in a cage made out of bones. She looked around and saw that five or six of these cages where arranged around the room, and others where hanging from the ceiling. Her cage was empty apart from herself. But in the other cages there where three or four men or women. Sharox sighed and lay back, trying to figure out how to escape. Normally she would've just teleported out of the cage, but she couldn't leave the Humans behind.
Then suddenly, the door to the room burst open and a robed necromancer with two undead guards walked in. The Undead walked silently to a cage filled with humans but the Necromancer hissed:
"The master said to use the fresh stock. He said he wanted to test something on her."
He pointed at Sharox and the Ghouls turned and walked towards her cage. They ripped some bones off the floor and lifted the cage off her. They dragged her by her hair across the floor towards the necromancer who dragged her onto her feet. He took out some rope and tighed it around her arms and legs to bind her. Then he gave the rope to one of the Undead who hauled her along the narrow corridors until she emerged into a Large room.
The necromancer ordered the Ghouls to stop and dragged Sharox to a bench and strapped her to it. He then walked away to a table nearby and looked at the bubbling Vials of green liquid. He nodded and grabbed one that frothed with white foam. He walked back to the bench and grinned, showing rotting teeth. He un-corked the Vial and opened Sharox's mouth. He poured the Liquid down her throat.
It burned like fire and tasted horrible. She felt drowsy, then sleepy. The pain subdued and she fell into what seemed like an endless dream.
And the rest was darkness...

(( I didn't really bother about this one as much. Got bored halfway through. So it may be different from my others ))

(( this is nice))
(( And maaaan..Siheld really messed up with Dasc.))

(( James, REPLY DAMN YOU!!!!!!!! ))

((Now for what happened to Dascombè in Naxxramas and why he came out with such horrible wounds))

The cursed sickening sound of entrails being dragged along the ground brought sickness to Dascombè's being, such a foul sight to behold.
He had swifly ran past the first group making sure that he had not been seen thanks to his quick reactions.
Just around the corner another group of ghouls stood devoid of all emotion except of the alertness of an intruder in the Citadel's Plague quarter, since Dascombè had decided to start his search through there as the DeathKnight wing was too heavily guarded.
Apart from the tortured wailing deep inside of Naxxramas the only sounds for hundereds of feet were that of Gargoyles grinding their stoney hides against hidden perches and low-toned groaning from the ghouls that wandered aimlessly around the quarter.
Wispering under his breath Dascombè exorcised one of the ghouls from a safe distance causing it to burn quickly in a shine of light but also bringing other nearby walking corpses to invesigate what happened.
He pulled over his darkened hood and wispered a quick spell under it and warped out of sight of the ghouls and gargolyes nearby.

Hours of trecking past the undead he came upon a square chamber with nothing in it, cautiously Dascombè walked over to the centre of the square when he heard a voice:

"Die trespasser!"

Before he could do anything Dascombè fell to the ground in agoney, his very being overwhelmed with the wrth of the plague bringer and sending him into a furious fit on the ground.
Noth decended from his balconey and cackled manically only to have Dascombè swiftly bring up a knife and fling it towards the Plaguebringer's through but with little effect...since Noth cackled and not a drop of blood was seen from the wound.
The floor became burning with holy energies as the Head Recruiter stood to his knees and roared, causing it to echoe through the chamber.
Just as Dascombè sprinted towards Noth, the necromancer vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Come out you coward! Let me re-aquaint you with Death!"

The mad cackling resonated through the chamber once again, Dascombè looked up to see Noth grinning madly from a ledge.

"Rise my Soldiers! Rise, and fight once More!"

There was a strike across his head by something metal...
And then he blacked out

((I'll add the rest after I see what Sharox has put ))

Garthic rode silently away from Stormwind. He looked back at the impressive city and sighed, remembering how life used to be before the Scourge. He had lived in Andorhal with his Wife and two daughters. His wife, Rosen, a perfectly plain, funny, smart women. He enjoyed the thought of his two daughters, even though they were probably dead long ago. Sileen and Sharox, he smiled at the memory. He stroked his horse and remembered his old steed, Eldoria, and imagined if she to had perished. He cursed under his breath as he remembered that night:

The night was light and the moon was bright over the starry sky. Sharox and Sileen were sleeping in their room. Rosen was asleep and Garthic to had nearly dozed off. But something was amiss that night.
A scream woke up him and Rosen.
"They're here, the Undead abominations are-"
He never finished his sentance and a blood curling scream of terror ringed through Andorhal as everyone awoke to the truth. Garthic swore loudly and ducked under his bed and grabbed his sword.
"Rosen, stay here with Sil and Shar, i have to-"
His voice broke as he heard the front door rip off it's hinges. Ghoulish screams of delight were heard and Garthic ran onto the landing.
"They're here! HERE!"
The room opposite their's door opened and a teenage girl stepped out, half asleep.
"D-dad, what's going on, what's all the fuss about?"
Garthic looked back at Rosen and he sobbed.
"It's ok, Sileen, go tell your sister to go back to sleep."
Sileen walked back into her room, she looked curious but she daren't disobey her father's orders.
"Garthic, we have to get out," a quiet voice said from behind. "You can't fight, you know that."
Garthic shook his head at Rosen's pleas. He silently padded his way down the stairway and saw two ghouls standing over the corpse of a dead man who had obviously ran into their home for protection. Their was no time to mourn his loss as one ghoul howled and charged at him. Garthic reacted quickly, and without any form of technique, swung his blade upwards in a wide arc and cut open the Ghoul's stomach. It screamed in pain and fell to the floor, howling. The second ghoul launched at him and Garthic quickly cut him down aswell. He ran back upstairs and barged into the Master bedroom to a horrific sight.
Rosen was dead, a blade pierced her heart and she was impaled to the bed. A man dressed in dark robes smiled at her and was muttering strange words.
"ROSEN!" Garthic yelled.
The man stopped and turned, his lips forming into a cold, thin smile. He appeared to try to say something but Garthic yelled and jumped at him. He took his sword and swung it blindly. The strange man must have been caught by surprise by his outburst and was struck in the chest, drawing lots of blood. He coughed, more blood dripping from his mouth. He smiled and fell forward onto his stomach and died.
Garthic sighed, holding back tears. He knelt next to Rosen's corpse and kissed her on the forehead. He forgot about his daughters, he forgot about the dieing citizens. He just stood and walked to the open window and stared into the carnage below. For some reason, he smiled at this massacre. He laughed then dropped to his knees, eyes closed. A voice reached out to him.
"Good... You have passed your first test."
He was shaken from his rested state and snapped his eyes open and muttered the words.
"S-Scourge..?"
The voice seemed to chuckle and replied.
"No, Demons..."
And then he entered the Twisting Nether...

Garthic smiled. The horse he was riding was a Felsteed. The robes he was wearing were a sickly dark green colour. His eyes where like two burning orbs of green flames in his sockets. His staff held the cries of a thousand dead souls.
This was no longer Garthic Moonscar, noble and proud husband of Rosen...
This was much more...

(( A little skip from sharox's story to introduce her father, a twisted and mad man who serves Kil'Jaeden. That voice he heard at the end of the Andorhal bit was Kil'Jaeden's voice or a Eredar sorcerer's one. Look out for Sharox's bit coming up next ))

The room in the depths of the citadel where Noth tortured his victims was a damp and dark holding pen, human treated like cattle.
In one corner where Noth is stood facing a rack you here manic cackling followed by the torturous cries of a human in mortifying pain.

AARRGH! NOOOO.....PLEASE! STOP IT!

A small trickle of blood passes by Noth's robes which seem unfettered by it however the screams grow louder and more agonizing.

NOOOOO.......WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?!

Various humans, scarlets and Argent dawn minions looked away in their cages as they forsaw this being done unto them.

Noth pulled a blade from his waist and held out the man's hand peering at it for a moment then strapping it to the rack.
The movement of the blade was not a swift slash as Dascombè had hoped but a slow, tormenting, cutting notion that sank deep into the flesh and left jagged pieces of obsidion the size of glass shards deep into the cuts.
The pain was unbearable, the paladin writhed and squirmed in his bonds yet all he tried he could not break free, he could only watch as the necromancer kept him sustained by force fed food rations and cut him all over his body.

Several hours later instead of Noth re-appearing two assistants followed by a bearded old man came.
After a lengthy discussion with the wise....albiet psychotic reminder of a fossil this had in fact been Heigen the Unclean...called so due to his crafts with plagues and noxious potions.
Rather than cut him he tested a painful elixer on Dascombè by serrating his legs with a long length of wire torn away from a strip of scourge barricade in the Death Knight quarters...
The pain of the wire slicing into his leg was nothing compared to the contact of the potion with his flesh.
The pain seared so much there were vapours emenating from where the fluid came into contact with the bare muscle making violent hissing and cackling noises.
Rather than resort to a more sadistic taunt Heigen took down notes and studied the effects of the potion...
Dascombè almost seemed thankful that he was not being mocked and ridiculed but not enough to know that this potion would be used against innocents.
How to escape? Where to? and when?

Looking around the section of the Death Knight wing that he was now in, Dascombè looked to his right to see a small ramp lead down into an almost arena-style ring along with several target practices.
Across from his rack were sinister figures practicing marching formations on skeletal steeds which emitted a deep purple aura.

Heigen had been careless in his studies however.
The wire just below Dascombè was in reach of his mouth enablling him to pick the flimsy battered lock on one hand, as a result of which loosely freeing the others.

He pattered quietly across the obsidion floor avoiding detection as he made his way towards what he believed to be...the exit...

((more soon after Sharox ))

((damn you Sharox for not replying =( ))

Crawling around, Dascombe had gotten nowhere...the architecture of the place was warped and twisted, hidden corridors and balconys were around the entire Necropolis.
He had gone the wrong way, he was sure of it...the ghouls had all gone only to be replaced by more and more Death Knights as he sneaked further in trying to avoid being seen.
He had sneaked past the instructor's lair with no sign of his friend Wizzragal, not even a trace as he passed Gothik the Harvester.

The final chamber layed before him and Dascombe had no idea what stood before him.
Approaching the door it open of its own will, causing him to fall to his knees in horror.
Before him stood the Four Horseman....and the Highlord of the Scarlet Crusade.
He stood paralysed as the four trotted toward him on their skeletal steeds, Sir Zeleik looking down upon Dascombe with a look of sorrow in his eyes and speaking quietly:
You should flee, Paladin, before you join the ranks of the Scourge.

Morgraine lay his cursed blade upon Dascombe's shoulder, pulling it back swiftly leaving a blackened cut that delved deep into his flesh.
There was a manic laugh that followed the sound of the skin being cut into:
Stubborn fool! You came here after Razuvious's little jester in a cage?!
He swung his blade horizontally towards Dascombe who took a swift step backwards leaving a minor cut across his chest.
Grasping his wound, he turned and ran, forgetting about the act of stealth.

"The citadel has been compramised! See to it that he does not leave alive!" the Highlord yelled

Dascombe sprinted as fast as he could, his wounds were getting a grip over him and he was slowly loosing conciousness.
He had time to cast a single spell he always kept in emergancies, so with a quick mutter he surrounded himself in arcane energies.

There was a small crackle and wind blew by his face, he was outside Naxxramas...

A hundered feet in the air.

Plummeting to the earth, blood was still streaking from his cuts and wounds but thankfully he landed in a small moat outside the city of Stratholme, floating gently towards land he kneeled down, coughing violently and collapsed on the floor...

Appirations of people flew past his head...
The ghostly image of Commander Pilus stood up, his arms cross and face with a stern look
You should'nt push yourself...I'm disappointed with this act of stubborness.The Commander faded away, replaced with Wizzragal's stotic form still bound in chains and ragged clothing.
You idiot...your going to kill yourself trying to save me...you'll only make things WORSE.
Just as the Commander faded away, so did Wizzragal...replaced by Corporal Hafwen who stood sternly with an expression of disappointment upon her face...
What were you thinking?! Marching in there alone! You need to take yourself into consideration too!

Dascombe lay on the ground for a moment, staring into the sky still plagued with noxious clouds.
I was.......
I was just trying...to help a friend...

He stared into the sky for one last moment, then darkness clouded over him as an ominous figure stood over him.

His mind went black

((dear me, who is that ominous figure? Stay tuned and find out!))

I look towards the stars and see my family, my sister, mother and father. Perhaps i'm dead, if this is death it isn't so bad, in fact it's quite peaceful.
"Ye' alright, lass?"
Now she was hearing voices to.
"Gomert, ye' lazy bugger, get yer arse ower here this instan'!"
She chuckled in her deathless state.
"By the titans, she's insane! Where's that bloody medic!"
She felt a searing hot pain in her right leg, as if molten rock was being pressed into her flesh. She roared and sat up, staring around trying to find a weapon to use. She glimpsed her sword nearby and grabbed it, ignoring the blistering pain in her right leg. Standing, she swung her sword in an upwards arc but through the pain she missed her "enemy" by several feet.
"Aye, i thought that'd wake ye'!"
She dropped her sword and rubbed her eyes. She saw five or six dwarves huddle around a campfire. Two where standing near her, one of them was holding a metal rod that glowed crimson as if it was seething hot.
"Wh-where? What? Who are you?" Sharox gasped.
The Dwarf holding the metal rod chucked it into the darkness and chuckled.
"This aint the time for questions, Lass. Ye' must be starvin' and freezin', come have some food and warm yersel' by the campfire," the dwarf replied.
She didn't decline the offer and sat next to the dwarves and ate some cooked Boar's meat washed down by a Pint of Ale. She wasn't fond of Ale but she was parched and drunk it all the same. After she warmed herself and ate her fill she started asking questions.

The Dwarves where the survivors of a larger group of Dwarves who where sent by Magni to excevate a lost burial ground. Magni hoped there was artifacts there that could be important to revealing more of the Dwarves clouded past.
The dwarves weren't the only one's digging, when they arrived a group of Scourge, led by several death Knight overseers, where already digging into the site. The Dwarves, in blind rage of the Scourge perhaps destroying part of their heritage, attacked the group but they where cut down in seconds by the massive amount of Scourge workers.
"We're the only survivors as far as we know, well..." He paused and sighed. "We're the only livin' anes..."
Sharox frowned.
"What do you mean by you're the only living survivors?" She asked curiously.
The dwarf turned away from Sharox and drunk deep from his mug. He shook badly and Sharox thought he may pass out. But after several minutes he spoke softly.
"The corpses of our fallen friends, fellow dwarves, wander these lands day and night, searching us. The Death Knights must have raised them as mindless Undead and sent them after us..." He pointed to the edge of the camp where a small bundle of bones lay. "Those are the remains of some of them. Our group consisted of nearly thirty or forty dwarves. We've killed seven so far. So there could be at least twenty three more out there."
Sharox looked at the dwarf and hung her head.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know how it feels to lose friends and family to the Scourge. My Sister, Father and Mother where slain by those undead brutes, and i won't rest until i avenge my fallen family..."
She felt a tear roll down her cheek. A voice spoke out to her from behind. It was high pitched and slightly mad sounding, but even if she was strung up like a pig and tortured she could recognise that voice anywhere. She turned and saw a figure suspended in midair.
"Is that so, Sister? Are you sure we're really dead?"
The figure glided towards her, cackled madly and the world went black again.

Disorientated...darkened vision...a figure stood in the distance...

Dascombe got to his knees and rubbed the side of his head, the cuts on his body had not yet fully healed and his hands still continued to bleed in defiance against his will.
He clenched his fist, trying to hide his rage from the mysterious veteran who had come to his aid.
He had a rather mid-toned and demanding tone, his face slightly obscured by the plain hood he wore over his head which blended in, especially in comparison to the huge glowing warhammer mounted on his back.
Are you alright boy? the man enquired
'Boy'? You certainly have some nerve... said Dascombe with his remaining strength
Easy now, you've tested yourself too far, you have reached the brink of madness simply entering that cursed citadel...
What I was doing there is none of your concern...now who are you?
The man's smile was briefly visible under the hood, a rather poorly groomed white beared was noticible around the wide and welcoming smile.
My name is Tirion Fordring...a hermit in these parts....you stumbled upon territory that was particuarly well defended by the Scourge...
And...how did I get here?
Well, it was no easy task getting you here but Mirador is a sturdy friend especially when carrying your armour
Dascombe bowed his head politely, Tirion reached behind a small crate nearby and pulled out a slab of Carrion worm meat, the Militiant eats it without second thought, having not eaten for days.
I am in your debt, Fordring...
Fordring nods lightly, watching the man eat the meat
Dascombe wipes his mouth with his hand, looking up to Tirion briefly...
Tell me Tirion....where can I find Andorhal from here?

((Right, rather than go on about Dasc i'll do a short part on Dasc's IC mother))

The moon shined through the clouds over Lordaeron, a green tint added to the rays of light which fell upon the blight.
A small crow lept from its perch, gliding elegently down towards a large construction on the ground, the ebon gargoyles remainded stotic in their concrete setting on the ziggurat yet the crow kept its eyes focused on a woman walking out of the doorway.
The feel of sharpened fangs quickly ended the life of the crow, a decrepid ghoul hanging off an outcrop on the ziggurat had been spectating the spectator, a grinding crunching followed the decent of the crows life...
The sound of the unholy crunching of a human corpse gnawing on a bird attracted the woman's attention, the ghoul quickly spat out the bird which resulted in the lady clicking her fingers and causing it to explode in its decent...
Feathers fell from the sky, a black and deep as the abyss fell to the blighted floor upon the mushrooms which exhaled noxious toxins into the air around it.
My son....my child....why did you leave me? Said the woman, staring deep into one of the feathers, twisting it around with ther thumb and forefinger.
She threw the feather like a dart towards the ground, drawing out a huge cursed blade and swinging it swiftly in a light green flash around her.
All of the feathers which had not yet reached the ground departed in two.
You coward, you cared not for your mother?! Where were you my baby?! Why did you not wake me from my slumber?
The statues which rested upon the ziggurat took form and spread out their wings, leaping off and then beginning their ascention, forseeing what is to come next.
The lady walked towards the stoney wall of the ziggurat, carving with a knife the name 'Clairenne' into the wall with the name 'Dascombè' directly under it.
Her runeblade knew no remorse, she would wisper 'Griefender' to it, speaking to it like a newly born child with a motherly tone to it but still treating it like a weapon of mass hatred she threw it with all her force towards the wall, striking the scrapings of the names and destroying the wall utterly from within...
The ziggurat's structure groaned and wailed as if it was a living being, she pulled out her blade from the rubble of the wall and stepped several feet away.
Looking up to the sky, she peered towards the clouds which seemed to part before her, the sun was a shining gold, spreading a lighter hue to the Scourge constructions in the area but the sky around the sun was blotted a blood red...
I am needed....in Northrend....she wispered to Griefender

The dwarf screamed as his stomach was sliced open by her blade. He feel to the ground, clutching his chest from where blood was pumping out of his wounds. The women laughed at the dwarf's pain. She turned and looked at the corpses. Two dwarves had fled, ther was about five slumped dead around the camp, one's remains where burning as he had fallen back onto the fire. She smiled and lifted her sword, wiping fresh blood off it. She swung it over her head and sheathed it.
"Sileen, you were succesful it appears?" a voice murmered from behind her.
She turned and rubbed her hands together and stretched, testing the body.
"As it appears i have. Sharox was weak at that moment, but i didn't anticipate about how powerful she had become. Power that I can use to my advantage," she said, grinning.
She eyed the man up and down. He wasn't a fighting type of man, not even close to a Death Knight. He was more of a, what did humans say? A friend. Although she wasn't his enemy, she didn't plan on keeping him around.
"Well i expect it will take some time getting used to, Sileen. Sharox isn't dead, i doubt she'll even be weakened yet. Perhaps you should've thought this through more so not to have her fighting back. I did warn you of the-" he cut his sentance short.
Sileen drew her sword. It was a fine blade, crafted by Dwarves by the most valuable of metals. It couldn't be shattered like normal blades, only a spell of some kind could destroy it. It was light but long, and she had charged it with her hatred and sorrow, giving it an eerie purple glow.
"Are you questioning my actions, worm?" she snarled.
He tried to say something but before he could move his lips she dived forward, plunged her sword through his chest. The man squealed and fell to the ground. Blood pumped over his body. He screamed for about a minute, then fell silent. The lonely silence of death...
She wiped blood off the blade and sheathed it once more. She whistled and Sharox's horse, saddled and ready to be rode, trotted up to her. She mounted it and thought of her life and smiled. She could remember back to when she stayed in Andorhal. The small, quiet, obediant child. She thought of herself now and spurred on the horse. Leaving behind the corpses of the dead who had tried to stop her and failed.

(( Crap ending, couldn't think of a good one ))

(( you are wirting a DAMN GOOD story countine!!! ))

(( Awesome! ))

The days flew by as Dascombe lay in his bed in the infirmary, writing notes in his diary and reminicing as he went along the way and thinking quietly to himself as he shrugged and returned to his rest...closing his eyes and leaving his state in the present and going back into the past...

"Move damn you, Move! These cursed abominations won't slow down for you to get your breath! MOVE FASTER!"
He struggled to his knees, his chest clenching inwards and trying to bring the boy to the ground and almost succeeding if he had'nt given his body one last push attempt towards the weapon rack at the back of the plaza.
A stray fireball struck the young man next to him, sending him hurtling at a ferocious speed towards a bale of hay to the side of the open square just as a second volley of spells struck out to the group from all sides, the boy using his initiative and ducking, sending all of the incoming spells back towards where they had come from.
Several hooded figures who had been wearing dalaran robes were knocked to the floor by their own magics.
"STOP! Stop it right there!"
A man in his mid-fourties donned in plainly decorated but rather sturdy-looking plate jumped down off one of the battlements and landed with a steel-like thud on the ground.
"Recruit, where did you learn such a devious and under-handed trick like that?"
"Kul'Tiras Sir, something to avoid the press-gangs and muggers, Sir!"
A grin spread from one ear to the other on the old man's face, reaching a hand down to shake the boy's hand heartily.
"My my, such a devious skill, we'll need that beaten out of you, your a Paladin now my boy! You must fight with honour, not initiative, your priorities must be set right!"
"Yes Sir, fully understood, Sir!" the youth replied with exhaustion, still glaring at one of the mages who had stumbled back to his feet.
"I'll be eyeing you with keen interest...Recruit Dascombè"
"Yes Lieutenant Haltman, I won't let you down Sir!" he said as he smiled with enthusiasm.
Picking up his blade he made his way to the mess-hall in the bastion, placing a small wooden plate laden with cheeses, fruits and a half loaf of bread as he peered around at all the Recruits in his group...
"Psst, can't we get more grub?" One Recruit wispered to Dascombe
"Stealing?! Your trying to be a paladin for Uther's sake!" Dascombe exclaimed in return with defiance in his voice
"Oh come now James, your as bad as that guardsman Xacsermat who was stationed at Andorhal, your not going to be as tight-pocketed as him are you?"
"Oi, that man did a fine job at that place...just a great loss that it fell...so you will do well to uphold the honour of Lordaeron rather than resort to acting like petty thieves"
Peering from the corner, Lieutenant Haltman took a large bite out of a bread roll, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms as he overheard the conversation briefly, smiling to himself
"That boy will be doing something great for the Kingdom in the future, i can feel it in my bones..."

((yeah, bit of Dascombe's interesting past-life again ))