The Color of Trust

Give me your Trust, said the Priest.

Gwrtheyrn couldn't seem to get comfortable in the pew, small splinters digging into his back however he turned.  He stared at the stark walls around him, trying to avoid looking at the elf in front of him.  "It wasn't your fault, Gwrtheyrn.  There isn't anything you could have done to save them."

Gwrtheyrn sighed and turned back to the elf.  When he and Wayra had made it back to Light's Trust, Wayra carrying him due to his legs having given out long since, there had been questions at first, people curious as to what had happened.  It didn't take long for the upper management to assign him a priest for counseling.  "I know that, Owain.  I haven't said differently, and I don't need your Light-damned counseling."

On my shoulders I support the sky.

"Gwrtheyrn, please.  If you would just talk with me, I could help you."  Owain looked the picture of a saint.  Long, white hair surrounded his ageless face, and his eyes had a pained look about them.  Gwrtheyrn had heard that the man drank nothing stronger than water.

"I don't need your help, Owain.  I'm fine.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go speak with Eysten."  Gwrtheyrn promptly moved out of his seat and out of the chapel, ignoring the priest's words.  Once out of the cramped building, Gwrtheyrn searched for the nearest circle of drinking men.  Eysten almost always seemed to be where men were drinking, though seldom having more than one at a time himself.  He was a good friend though, and Gwrtheyrn wanted to talk to him.  Besides, he could use a drink.

Trust me to know and do what is best.

Spotting his friend, Gwrtheyrn hunkered down by the fire, immediately grabbing for the jug of brandy being passed around.  Eysten grinned and said loudly, "They have Owain at you again, Gwrtheyrn?  You'd think they would have given up by now."

Gwrtheyrn grimaced.  "Who knows?  Maybe he decided to take his own initiative with my case?  Maybe he wants to bloody well convert me?"  Eysten broke out laughing, and Gwrtheyrn quickly followed with, "Know anything happening over at Agmar's Hammer?  I need to get out before Owain catches me again."

Eysten was sent into peals of laughter again before he managed to answer, "I hear they've got that death knight, Koltira or some such, working on something.  Didn't hear what though.  Why don't you go ask him?"  Gwrtheyrn nodded his thanks, before moving for the picket lines.

I will take care of the rest.

Gwrtheyrn expected that it would be a short rid, and it was.  Hardly an hour passed before he was moving through the stark, metal wall of the Horde encampment.  Agmar's Hammer was virtually a small village, with various merchants crying their wares for wandering soldiers.  There were women everywhere, so many that they seemed to almost equal the soldiers.  Wives, whores, hanger-ons.  Those who would seek profit out of the distress of others.  Adventure seekers and mercenaries.

He had to ask for directions a few times, each time being pointed somewhere else.  It seemed Koltira had a penchant for wandering the camp.  When the death knight finally came into view, Gwrtheyrn gave a sigh of relief.  "Koltira, I heard that you were given some sort of special assignment, and I was wondering--"

"If you could help?  You and every other simpleton who comes through here."  Koltira snorted his derision.  "No, unless you know how to translate the language of death that the Scourge uses, you are of no use on this project.  But if you need something to keep you occupied, then I might have something for  you to do."

But trust is the color of a dark seed growing.

"I need a source of unholy power to work into my blade.  So take this gem, kill one of the Lich King's death knights, absorb his power, and then bring the gem back to me.  There, simple enough for even a simpleton to understand.  Well? Get moving!"

Trust is the color of heart's blood flowing.

A half-hour later, Gwrtheyrn found himself watching a death knight slowly circle the Dragonshrine from among the great tree's roots.  Overhead, red dragons fought ember and magma wyrms.  Occasionally, a corpse would slam into the ground, and a team of necromancers would race to reanimate it.  Gwrtheyrn took a brief breath, steadying himself, before charging, sending a bolt of pure arcane energy ahead of him.

The magic took the death knight by suprise, knocking him from his horse.  But he was on his feet, sword rising to meet Gwrtheyrn's in an instant.  Gwrtheyrn grunted against the impact, feeling his own sword pushed backwards by the unholy strength of the death knight.  He let out a small scream as the runeblade suddenly sliced through the muscle in his arm, his sword falling from suddenly limp fingers.  Gwrtheyrn fell backwards, his hand raising, and a fireball consumed the death knight.

Gwrtheyrn quickly produced the vivid green gem, and weaving small flows of magic into it, began to gather the magic that had fueld the undead monstrosity.  Koltira had best be happy with this.  Clutching his injured arm, Gwrtheyrn stumbled from the grove.

Trust is the color of a soul's last breath.

When Gwrtheyrn returned, Koltira was sitting at a small writing desk.  "Oh good, you're back.  Give me my gem first, and then you can take this to Captain Gort."  Koltira handed Gwrtheyrn a small book.  Gwrtheyrn nodded, handing over the gem.  He then waited until he was just out of Koltira's sight to thumb through the book.  His blood went cold.

The book was a listing of the members of the Cult of the Damned.  Serik of the Frostwolf Clan.  Anar'gul of the Warsong Clan.  Eysten Dawnbow, enrolled with the Argent Crusade.  "Oh Light, Eysten.  Not you."  Gwrtheyrn squeezed his eyes tight for a moment, snapping the book shut.  He moved to find the Captain.  As he walked away from Gort, Gwrtheyrn could hear him exclaim, "What!  This can't be right.  I've known some of these orcs for years!  Leave me!  I have traitors to execute."

Thunder rolled through the clouds hanging over Icecrown.  Euphadora smiled up from his lap, her body stretched out beside him.  "You worry so much.  You should trust in the Light."

Gwrtheyrn stared off into the distance, his vision barely registering the undead activity in the valley below.  He shook his head and murmered under his breat, low enough that Euphadora wouldn't be able to hear.

"Trust is the color of Death."