Chapter 1 - Spine of the World

He woke with a strangled scream; waking his companions and making them all reach for weapons. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, despite the howling winds of the blizzard beyond the mouth of the cave, plastering his hair to his face. He tried to sit up, but found himself twisted in his bedding.

“Azael’thas!” someone in his party roared and stood, pointing to a figure looming in the entrance to the cave.

It was a hunched bestial figure, mostly furred but as it reared up, Azael’thas glimpsed leathery wings and a bat-like face.  It looked like a Dreadgheist, a monstrous bat that was more akin to a drake or dragon. He reached over to his scabbard, but found empty ground. Looking at the foot of his bedding he had found that he had kicked it in his sleep. There was a blur of red as something rushed past him, charging the Dreadgheist. He moved to warn the figure, but his voice was stilled. An ice blue blade flashed, scoring a wound across the beast’s chest before it could strike back. Its forelimbs were its wings, and ended with wicked talons that threw up sparks as it hit the stones of the cave.

The warrior leapt away, nimble and graceful. The blade of ice slashed down and scored another wound on the Dreadgheist’s wings, making it screech before leaping away from the cave. It flapped its massive, leathery wings and leapt onto the mouth of the cave, hovering there and rearing up.

“Watch out!” Azael’thas shouted and pulled his packs over him.

The warrior darted aside, behind the cover of jutting rocks as the Dreadgheist let loose a jet of shadowy flames. They swirled about the cave with a roar that was only matched by the screaming of the dying. The horrible stench of burnt hair, skin and leather filled the air and Azael’thas kicked off his burning packs. He rolled over his bedding, scooped up his scabbard and swiftly buckled it to his waist as he sought the cover of a nearby rock formation.

A mighty figure in plate armour roared past Azael’thas, wielding a mighty warhammer and shield. It was a fellow paladin, but a stocky human, thundering through the cave with the weight of his armour. He crashed into the Dreadgheist and nearly knocked it out of the air, it seemed to be small for its race, only triple the human paladin’s size. The Dreadgheist struck, its claw rending the shield but sticking fast to it. The paladin slammed the shield down, trapping the beasts arm, then twisted and brought his hammer down. There was a sickening crunch as the hammer broke the fragile bones of the wing and the Dreadgheist let out an ear-splitting screech of agony. The hammer came down twice more, each time answered by a screech from the Dreadgheist. It flicked its arm as it tried to free its talons from the rent metal, knocking the paladin aside for only a moment. It attempted to take flight but struck the cave ceiling and fell back to the floor. 

Soldiers, wearing sparse pieces of their chainmail armour, mostly what they could throw on in three seconds, charged out of the cave as well, swords and shields before them as they sought to finish of the wounded Dreadgheist. It continued to writhe in agony and attempt to escape, but the seven soldiers running to confront it was a threat too big to ignore. It rounded on them, sweeping its good arm forward. Its talon rent the metal of their shields, and those unlucky to be caught in its path were cut in half. At least two of them fell in the first attack, before it reared up and breathed another gout of dark flames. The roar of the flames was once again matched by the screams of its victims. Most of the soldiers hadn’t managed to put up their shields in time and the Dreadgheist turned to the survivors. Darting forward it snapped it jaws shut on the torso of one man, his legs and arms trailing bloodily to the floor. The other soldier charged it and slashed at its underside, opening a cut that welled with dark blood. It reared up and shrieked again, high enough to make blood pour from the man’s ears before it finished him off too.

Azael’thas whispered a prayer to himself and drew his blade. His eyes wandered up his elven blade as it began to glow with the power of the Light itself. Looking over to the rock formations the red cloaked figure sat at, he found emerald eyes staring back. He nodded, and the silent plan was agreed to with another nod. He stood and charged out, the Dreadgheist instantly snapping to attention. He twirled the blade, end over end in his hand as he confronted it.

“In war and battle, the Light is my shield and sword…” he chanted as the Dreadgheist stabbed at him with its good arm.

The talons scratched at the floor as he spun away from it, his sword cutting down in a swift arc. A shriek of pain alerted him to his success. He came to face it again, his sword held before him. This time it reared back before leaning in to sweep at him, hoping to separate the top half of his body from the bottom half.

“It is my retribution, as I am its hand in the darkness…” he continued chanting, his voice rising as his blade began to glow fiercer.

He stepped in with the sweep, coming inside its embrace, delivering a backhand blow that cut up its arm, severing tendons and cutting into muscle. It shrieked and breathed a gout of focussed flames. Rolling aside he snatched out a dagger from his boot and planted it in the beasts left, upper arm.

“Light from the shadows and vengeance for those lost…” he shouted, his blade beginning to burn with holy fire.

The Dreadgheist leant down to snap at him with fangs as large as his forearm. He narrowly stepped to the side, avoiding the teeth and swung his sword in a clipped arc. The blade, now wreathed in flame, cut up through its face and through one eye. It reared up again and this time he awaited the blur of red that would signal his ally coming to aid his attack.

“From the darkness shall rise the light!” he cried and felt the Light stream through his body.

He directed it around him, forming a bubble against its next attack. Looming over him it breathed a continuous stream of fire against his shield, only his outflung hand keeping it in place.  The red blur he was counting on came, as his ally leapt from the floor onto the dagger and onto the beasts back, leaping atop it and driving the ice-blue blade through the creatures skull and down and out of its mouth. The flames fluttered and died in its mouth as the creature began to convulse, not quite believing its dead yet. Stepping beneath it, Azael’thas drove his flaming blade into its heart, twisting savagely for good measure. It convulsed once more and then began to collapse, so he withdrew his blade and swiftly rolled out of its way. It collapsed with a thud that shook the cave and reverberated all the way down. The figure atop it, in voluminous red cloaks, rode the beast down and then stepped, rather dignified, from its back. 

Azael’thas could only grin at the antics of his old friend, Davethstraz. He walked forward to stand with his friend as they looked over the Dreadgheist, the armoured paladin that was Damien Evart stood once again, his hammer propped on his shoulder. Azael’thas gazed over both friends. Davethstraz was a dragonling, a creature that could, upon first glance be mistake for an elf. His face was angular and proud and his ears sharp and pointed. His sparkling green eyes matched Azael’thas’ own, however, Davethstraz’ also glinted with mischief. His fiery red hair was tied into thousands of complicated braids, making it look as if each hair was ten times as thick. As was customary, he wore the brazen armour of his household; bronzed breastplate, curved spaulders, vambraces and shin-guards. Underneath the breastplate was a tabard of fiery cloth, which glimmered in the light, as well as a thick cloak that was tied across his neck and attached to his armour by a large emerald.

Over his back was the long sheathe for his staff-sword, a traditional dragonling weapon. The weapon was in his hands, the blade equal in length to its hilt. The only thing that made him distinctly dragonling, in the eyes of others, was his horns. They were slight and bone coloured, curving backward from his head to point up slightly. Aside from that, there were only smaller, more subtle things that would point to his dragon ancestry. He was stronger than most of his opponents, stronger even than an elf, quick and dexterous. He was highly resilient, and would recover from his many wounds fast. Azael’thas was glad to not have him as an enemy. He dreaded the thought of having to face any dragonling in battle.

On his right was the human paladin Damien, a stout and strong man who was rooted firm in his belief of the Light. Damien was bald, joking he couldn’t fightwith a head full of hair, it would only put him off. Instead, the only hair on his head was his beard, which he kept trim and neatly oiled. He was armoured in the customary fashion of his fraternity, the Brotherhood of the Light. They were the paladin order that worked closely with the church. Over his light-weight plate armour was a tabard of white, with the golden hammer emblazoned upon it. His weapon arm was the only arm with a pauldron covering his shoulder, the shield techniques taught to the Brotherhood are incompatible with a pauldron. In the heat of the moment though, he had forgotten his snowy cloak, further emblazoned with the golden hammer. The other human order of paladins was the Guardians of Light, instead of white they wore a rich red, and instead of the hammer they wore the symbol of the fleur-de-lys.

“You might want to get yourself armoured, Azael’thas. Its chilly out there” Davethstraz remarked, cocking his thumb at the howling winds of the Spine of the World.

“I’d best do that. You and Damien can pack your things, no use waiting here when we can try to catch up to further Crusade groups. I might be able to meet with someone who knows what the Elves are meant to be doing here.” Azael’thas nodded in agreement.

While he went through the process of donning his golden plate armour, forged from the elven Runesmiths, the others packed up their bedding and equipment, donned their thick, brown cold-cloaks and waited at the entrance to the cave. Azael’thas kicked his burnt belongings aside and retrieved his, thankfully, untouched cold-cloak and wrapped it around himself. He knelt amidst the ashes and bodies and said a quick prayer for the fallen before taking some of their food and water packs, and heading out with Davethstraz and Damien.

They pulled their hoods down over their faces to try and block some of the chilling winds, but it still managed to sweep under and freeze their faces. They trudged up the mountainside, the thick snow coming up to their knees, making their going on the already treacherous slope hard going. Several times, Damien of Azael’thas would fall, only to be caught by the quick and strong arm of Davethstraz. The further up the mountain they got, the colder and more fierce the winds got. The clouds were white as the snow and at times it was hard to tell up from down. They relied on Davethstraz’ keen sense to keep them in the right direction and watch the skies for anymore creatures or dangers, namely anymore Dreadgheist.

Sometime later Davethstraz held up his hand to indicate to them to stop and turned back to them.

“This would be a good place to stop and rest. Water only, we need to make more progress before we can be any closer to the Crusade camps.” Davethstraz explained.

Damien gratefully shrugged off his pack with a gruff sigh, fishing through it for his water skin. Azael’thas put his amalgamation of salvaged packs down and turned back to Davethstraz when he noticed the dragonling was still staring up at the slope ahead.

“Daveth?” Azael’thas used his shortened name.

“We’re being watched, and it’s not…holy” he warned, slowly stepped back toward the two paladins.

Azael’thas cursed and dropped his packs, reaching for his sword hilt. Damien hefted his warhammer, and glared at the top of the slope, at least the top that they could see. As they watched a figure in dark, tattered robes suddenly emerged from an inky puff of smoke at the top of a small ledge, ahead on the mountain. Its robes hung about its chalky-skinned form like a morose pall of darkness. It raised its arms and chanted, making inky blackness swirl about its hands.

“Damn, that Corpsayer’s up to something” Damien reported, peering from around the rocks they sheltered against.

“Then it has to die, doesn’t it” Daveth replied simply.

Damien gave him a questioning look.

“We can’t get up there before it hurls down all manner of dark magic. How do you supposed we deal with it?” he stopped and asked, looking ridiculous with his hands on his hips.

Azael’thas could only mirthfully shake his head at the antics of his allies. They argued as much as the old human wives Damien complained about, yet they seemed not to notice.

“You and Azael’thas distract him, I’ll sneak around and put and arrow in his head” Daveth stated.

“Oh, lovely. What do you propose we do? Go out and dance a merry jig? Serenade him?” Damien joked, not finding the prospect as bait for a Corpsayer enticing.

“Just make sure the light hits that dome of yours the right way and you’ll get his attention.” Daveth snickered, and for a moment Damien looked like he was going to tackle him.

Then he broke into a broad smile and his stomach shook with his laughter.

“You b*****d! Don’t worry, his eyes will be on us!” he laughed and hefted his hammer again, spirits high.

Daveth had finished his preparations, and loosed his large red cloak, donning a smaller one with a hood. He pulled it over and pulled up a face mask. The bow on his back was made form dragonbone, one of the best materials for a bow. Flexible yet powerful, enchanted dragonbone would never break from simple use. The end were tipped with gold dragons, and the front of it was fashioned into a jaw. Azael’thas had seen arrows flying out of the jaw instantly catch fire, a simple enchantment on the bow making it all the more deadly.

“Good, I shan’t be a moment then” he winked at Damien and trotted off, his cloak quickly shifting colour to be a snow white, the same as everything around them.

Damien looked to Azael’thas who had shrugged out of his cold-cloak and had drawn his glimmering sword.

“Shall we?” Damien asked in mock courtesy.

Azael’thas only nodded and they both charged out from the rocks, keeping low and hoping the Corpsayer couldn’t fight as well in the hindering weather. They were wrong, Azael’thas figured, he didn’t plan on fighting. The darkness shot from his hands and struck the ground, running through the now like black veins. Snow would irregularly exploded up like a geyser, and they charged through it, knowing to stand still would mean death. Before they were halfway the snow before them exploded and threw them on their backs.

“Not good...” admitted Damien gruffly.

“Steady.” Azael’thas replied.

A skeleton’s clawed hand reached from beneath the snow in one of the craters, slowly giving way to a whole skeleton, reanimated by the Corpsayers damned magic.  It wore parts of archaic armour, and carried a rusted old blade with it. Azael’thas stepped forward, kicking out its knee and sending it collapsing he brought his sword up into its skull. The magic animating it was released with its second death, but there were more dragging themselves up from the snowy graves. The dead were being called to fight the living, and there were none better equipped to combat them than the two paladins.

“Calling up the dead, not like I’d seen that before!” Damien shouted over smashing aside two skeletons with a brutal arc of his hammer.

“Where there is uncertainty, I shall bring light!” Azael’thas chanted, his sword severing a skeleton’s head.

Spinning he blocked one lame strike and returned a riposte that severed another skeletons spine. Turning back he caught a blade on his armoured arm, wincing as it bit deep but he drove his blade through the foes eye socket and turned half of its face to dust.

“Where is there is doubt, I bring faith!” he completed the small prayer, that acted as a spell, for once again his blade was wreathed in holy flames.

Turning back to back with Damien he confronted the skeleton horde with the holy fire burning in his eyes. He charged forward, unable to move fast because of the snow, but still quicker and stronger than the skeletons. His sword, wreathed in holy flames, cut through the magic animating the bones and left them to fall back to pieces. The numbers of the horde pushed inward though and Azael’thas found himself stepping back more and more. Finally he bumped into Damien and then ducked.

“Damien, all around!” he shouted.

With a roar, Damien gripped his hammer and swung in an arc that let the hammer spin right around, smashing apart all of the skeletons within reach. Azael’thas leapt up again and began to work on moving the horde apart from one another, fighting in one direction but peeling off to attack in another. The horde began to move in on itself, hampered by their numbers and slow moving bodies. Azael’thas set about slaughtering them as they were packed tight, unable to block or even attack back as their limbs became entangled. Stepping back, out of reach from the skeletons swords, Azael’thas realised they weren’t making good progress.

“Ah, damn. These things just don’t stay dead!” he shouted over his shoulder and set about cutting more of them to pieces.

Bones turned to dust beneath his sword and the skeletons turned to piles of bones in his wake. But it wasn’t enough, the horde was too great. Getting desperate now, he fought with greater effort on defence, he found himself being stuck in a monotonous defence against at least a dozen of the skeletons. A sword scrapped off his breastplate and made him stagger back. Throwing form and swordplay to the wind, he set about him in a less elegant and more brutal fashion. Slicing up through one torso, he swung his gauntleted fist about into the face of another. He kicked another firmly in the chest and laughed when it collapsed, swung his sword about and sheered the top of another’s skull off. He swung his elbow behind him and caught another in the face, making it fall, before launching himself at another.

Fighting tooth and nail brought him some respite, but it was short-lived. He had time to breathe and wipe the sweat from his face, with the back of a gauntleted hand. He wracked his mind for a way out, and could think of only one.

“Damien, cover me. I’m calling down the Light.” he shouted over the clash of battle and knelt on the spot, sword tip down.

A skeleton reached out for him but a warhammer head smashed its hand to pieces and came back for its head. There was no prayer required, only a razor sharp concentration and a will to bring the Light down upon yourself. He closed his eyes, but the rigours of battle continued to play in his head, aided by his hearing. Bones could be heard shattering under Damien’s warhammer, and their swords could be heard dashing of its hilt or his armour. True to his word through, the blade did not come close to him. Reaching out, he focussed on the magical background of the world. Under his will it turned black to his sight, but there were small shining sparks left. They were motes of the Light, embodied in a way similar to mana. He began to gather them, collecting them and shaping them in the sky above him.

Opening his eyes, which were burning orbs thanks to the power coursing through him, he stood to deliver judgement. Raising his sword high, as a point for the flames he roared at the top of his lungs. A column of fire, pure, bright, flames, shot down from the heavens, drawn to his sword. Flames of holy wrath scoured the mountainside around the paladins, thought they licked at the paladins they left not a mark. The skeletons, however, were reduced to charred bones that were clumped together in a sticking mess. He moved to stand, but swooned a bit, his vision crossing to doubles. He fell back to his knees to steady himself. He felt Darien’s hand on his shoulder.

“Steady there, friend. That was all of them! I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.” Damien remarked, awed at the display of power.

“Well, I think I used a bit too much, I won’t be right for another few minutes. Meanwhile we’re sitting ducks for the Corpsayer” Azael’thas replied, jutting out his chin to point up the slope at the dark robed figure, blackness swirling around his hands.

Damien stood and started walking up the slope.

“Yeah, what you got for us now, eh? More skeletons?” he asked coming to the head of one in the snow.

He picked it up and showed it to the dark figure atop the slope, shouting at him;

“Come on then, more skeletons, we’ve seen it all before!” he shouted, crushing the skull beneath his massive hand.

The Corpsayer swirled the blackness in his hands, and then shot it down, into the snow not melted by the Light’s flames. It struck the snow and exploded, exposing bones bigger than a man.

There was a hideous screech, and then the bones began to move, popping back into place as the ink blackness of the dark magic swirled around the bones like smoke. A clawed forelimb, that was once membranous, rested atop the snow. It was joined by another and soon the horribly disfigured, bat-like head of a very large Dreadgheist skeleton pulled itself up as well. Coming to stand twice as tall as the live one they had encountered. It stalked down toward Damien, ink like blackness dripping from its massive maw. Reaching him it struck once, quickly, and dashed him back near Azael’thas making him clatter against the stone with a gasp.

“Well…that’s new…” he muttered as he stood again, taking up his warhammer.

“Davethstraz had better move himself, or we’ll be dead before he get loose an arrow” Azael’thas groaned as he stood.

Its bone claws clicked on the stone as it stalked down toward them, unable to fly without its membranes. Or so they thought… The Dreadgheist leapt into the air, flew in a circle and then tucked in it wings and dived straight toward them.

“Oh, bollocks!” Damien’s eyes widened, seeing the bone monstrosity falling through the sky, eager to crush them.

“Move!!” Azael’thas yelled as they dived away as the shadow of the beast fell across them.