#ILL SCREAM AND BITE AND MELT INTO THE FLOORBOARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[megatraven]

Woe What a Night remains my favorite episode of Wednesday. if anyone was wondering. :)

[alanden-damouxmg]

The Mourning

You only mourn in private.

The room was dimly lit. Candlesticks affixed to their respective holders melted away into the night beneath the flickering flame that illuminated the small quarters. Soundlessly, the light emitted would war against the darkness that threatened to swallow the room and everything within. It would be inevitable in time, although, for the wax to continue to melt away until nothing remained but a puddle of what it once was. It was far past time to replace the candles with fresh ones to continue illumination throughout the night, but as Alanden stared at the dancing flames, he had refused to move. 

Much had happened since Goldshire. Lord Sunshield had found him on the road to the Capital. Sir Adamar Meadowcraft, a seasoned Knight of the banner, and a Dame Alanden did not recognize accompanied the Lord. She bore no fealty to anyone of House Sunshield from what he knew. A simple do-gooder, perhaps? Or a Knight chasing to uphold the righteous virtues of which they swore? It mattered not and Alanden did not bother to inquire. They had found themselves among the droves of undead in bulk and fought ferociously to aid the evacuation of Elwynn Forest. They had come away unscathed, save for Sir Meadowcraft suffering a particularly brutal bite to his cheek. Were it not for the menders hovering on the outskirts of the battle he would have surely fallen ill to the plague the creatures carried. 

The following nights were spent within Rosemarri’s own room upon his return to Saltwood Manor. The fear of loss had brought them even closer together than before and neither wished the other to leave. Turmoil had overtaken the world around them. Undead savaged the streets of Stormwind, threatening to overpower even the most stalwart pockets of defense. None had expected this bitter resurgence of the Scourge. The crown called for aid and, as such, Lord Sunshield’s banners would answer. Plans were made. Patrols. Training. Efforts were doubled within the City to clear out the ghouls which now infested it. Other banners fought. Peasants armed themselves with pitchfork and torch to join the fray. All would fight, or all would perish.

Some days would pass and it seemed the initial chaos would begin to wane. Organizational efforts were established and more solidified plans would be prepared for the bannerman of House Sunshield. They gathered in the great hall of the manor - series upon series of maps splayed out across the extravagant dining room table. Conversations were had amongst those responsible for planning the defense. The course of action was clear and decided upon. Before any attempt to retake the lands from the clutches of undeath, Stormwind must be secured first.

Then it came.

Rosemarri was the first to go. In a spectacular twist of shadow and dust she was ripped away from the great hall. Halanden, a trusted advisor to Lord Sunshield, was torn away with her. Empty air lingered where they once stood and screams chorused from the courtyard outside. The dead had come. Bannerman fought the creatures as they scrambled inside the perimeter, hastily shouted orders and commands from senior ranking officials within the guard were heeded as the defense was mustered.

Alanden winced at the memory of the battle. Among those lost, the recollection of Lord Araian Sunshield’s head being cleaved cleanly from his shoulders resurfaced in his mind - much akin to a child begging their mother to tell the same bedtime story over and over again. Sir Meadowcraft had slumped to his knees and held onto the lifeless corpse of their Lord - screaming to the heavens as the others watched in a mixture of horrified, somber disbelief. Only a bare handful of them remained, and their Lord had fallen in the battle.

A blank piece of parchment and inkwell were placed neatly atop the desk in the center of the room where Alanden sat. His hands remained folded in his lap as he moved his gaze from the candles and onto the parchment. There seemed little hope to rebuild. The course of action was an obvious one. Rosemarri was nowhere to be found and her body was not recovered when the deceased were checked. That meant she was out there. Somewhere. As his right hand rose to pluck the quill from the inkwell he would begin to write upon the parchment. 

His mind flashed to another, one he had met within the city days prior to the events that unfolded. Jubilation Springvale. A Westfallen girl who seemed more in touch with the vagabond rabble of Stormwind than Nobility. She had her merits, as most do, and Alanden found himself employing her to listen for any news of slavery within the Capital. A fruitless endeavor now, it would seem, as surely such priorities had fallen to the bottom of everyone’s list. Still, he had use of her yet. Dawkson had not been seen since they parted ways in the chaos of Goldshire and he’d need to find him. If nothing else, should Alanden perish, there were loose ends that needed to be taken care of.

As he wrote, the candlesticks would shrink still. He would not replace them this night. The letter was finished thusly and sealed with deep red wax and stamp to keep the paper unreadable from unwanted eyes. As he pushed his chair out the wooden legs would scrape against the floorboards. Swiftly, he made his way to the door, pausing only to take a deep breath and gather himself.

You only mourn in private.