Far From Home

It loomed out of the early morning mists like some misplaced monolith, some forgotten obelisk of evil. Hovering over a shattered town, fields filled with only death. Nothing stirred, all was silent, as the gryphon's wings beat steadily. The air itself seemed afraid to move near this great citedal of cruelty. Dunè gripped the reins of his gryphon, guiding him in towards the entrance at the bottom of the structure. Others followed him, fellow crusaders, all on a mission. Into this sad statue of desolation.

It started out well, as they struck into this structure's hidden faculties and many surprises. The Lich's horrid and beastly spiders fell easily, though this quick and crushing victory was soon replaced. These poor Argent Crusaders soon found themselves out matched and ill equiped to deal with the black fortress. Naxxramas.

One fell to a ghoul hidden within a shadowy casket, the creature bursting forth and leaping on the poor man. The other crusaders prayed, and offered what funeral service they could before pressing on. They had to reach that icy monster. They had to reach Kel'Thuzad. Or die trying.

Others soon fell, to gargoyles, stray arrows, blades, or just... The omnipresent feeling of dull evil... Throbbing as if it were alive, within the walls, the hearts of weak willed men, speaking to them, whispering... "Run, run, there is no hope, you fool!" And so some ran. And soon it was only Dunè and two others, running through these dark and clouded chambers.

He was lying in the corner now. What corner, nor where, he did not know. Dunè had been seperated from the others, a blade finding its way through his armor. He was lying here now in the darkness, watching the nearest walkway. He was panting, as his blood slowly leaked away.

He throught back, to Stormwind, the city he had once championed. Those saintly Silver Dragoons, the best of the best. He would certainly miss them. The pure hearted Lirriel, always friendly despite the circumstance. Intelligent Zaas, so young, and yet she had such a bright future ahead of her. Any could see this. Perhaps now, she would not be reminded of the one who hurt her. And of course, Taneel would not miss him. The man hardly knew Dunè, only that he was crazy. And here Dunè lie, as if fufilling some sick prophecy.

He thought back to those mercenaries he had once worked with. His tired mind could not recall even a friend's name any longer, the eye patch wearing man on the ledge. He had always been a friend, and yet, Dunè knew he too would not recall, notice, his absense.

But most of all, his thoughts roamed to Nabilliana. She remained fresh in his mind. He had to make it home, if for anyone, for her. But he knew he knew the danger. He was dying already, escaping was just a fleeting hope now. He loved her, he truly did, and here he was letting her down. The tired man gripped his blade in his hand, drawing his shield up to lie on his chest. If they were to kill him, he would not be caught helpless.

The paladin began praying.