Stratholme Syndrome

Chapter One:

Stratholme... a city that had been marred and scarred and completely ravaged. Yet it remained occupied, 'people' still filled the once grand and noble city. They were breathing into it a twisted and warped version of life, evident in every sense of those words.

The sprawling streets stretched forth like needles and thread, a sharp turn and a sudden loop would send any treasure seekers or adventurers straight back to where they started or into something far worse. Even if they returned to their entrance, they would be trapped. The gates always locked behind any who entered.

They would be left to die there if they couldn't find an alternative route through the hungering dead that roamed the streets or through the zealous Scarlet Crusaders that hid themselves in a barricade. The city was divided quite literally into three parts. The Crusaders held the westernmost portion of the city, a small festival square and lane that allowed easy defense but no way out. The next portion was from the exit of the Crusader's Square all past the main gates, and out towards a small chapel in the east. The walking dead paraded the streets mindlessly, their flesh torn and their speech so slurred and mangled that understanding their gibberish was impossible. The ghosts that roamed near the entrance were normally quiet, more like mirror reflections of a happier time. Further and deeper in though, the creatures would become far more horrid, more violent, and certainly more willing to kill for the flesh and bone offered by any mortal.

Then, the final portion of the city. Just north of the small chapel was a gate, and beyond it was an area that could easily be mistaken for Hell. 'The Gauntlet' had become it's title. A large circle of a road, three towering ziggurats with crystals and unholy energy protecting the gate towards the Slaughterhouse. Necromancers, banshees, walking skeletons, and cadavers were the least of any person's worries. It was the gargoyles and invisible and malevolent spirits that posed a threat. If you weren't noticed by the others, a gargoyle would spot you from the sky and slash into your throat silently as it dived or a spirit would scream a warning out to alert any nearby who had orders to kill. Death in this place was final and painful beyond any mortal's imagination.

The entire city was a smoldering tombstone, covered in ashes and burning or rotting black wood. The cobblestone streets littered with boxes containing diseases or holy water, a risky choice to make whether or not to open one. The entire place based off of chance, to give or take a life was nothing here. All the cunning, intelligence, strength, or agility in the world would make no difference here. It was either you escaped with a forever living memory of terror, defeat, and complete anguish or you decide to give in and submit to the Lich King's tempting offer of Undeath. Undeath surely for some wouldn't be that bad... for others, they would prefer to die and never be brought back. The horrid and cruel things many had to do while in the Lich King's service was not an obstacle for some. Especially one particular death knight, who would take extreme pleasure in drinking in the suffering screams of his victims.

More of a scavenger and a terrorizing fiend of the Eastern Plaguelands, Baron Rivendare swooped down with swiftness towards any who dared to walk the Plaguelands at night. If his ghouls and other ravenous dead did not reach you during the day, he'd be hot on your heels all night on the back of his great skeletal steed. His runeblade long and engraved with his chosen symbols, dark and truly haunting spells to increase his already mighty power. His eyes were something you'd expect to come only from that of a demon, however by far he was more terrifying. Those black voidless eyes, no white or iris, would bore into even the stoutest warrior's soul and shake the very foundations of his morality. The color blue, a dark and more tainted color of it's righteous color, was his calling card as a horseman. The entire lower half of his face from the nose down was covered by a rich blue scarf of plain design, his armor holding such a dark hue of blue in it as well. The skin that was visible of his face was pallid and as pale as snow, one touch of it would rip it perhaps due to its frailty. His voice even in death had changed little, light and aristocratic as any other man but certainly gaining a much stronger air of control. Even when tempting his victims to give in with a subtle undertone, his voice held a note of complete command. He had an entire city at his disposal. An entire city of dead men nonetheless, all of which immune to fear and sleep and charms.

However horrible the actions of the Scourge and Rivendare, there was always someone or some group to oppose such evil. The Argent Dawn, an organization not based upon alliances or races but completely tied together by the will to destroy the Scourge. The Forsaken, a group of Undead that had broken from the Scourge, were hesitant but joined full force to extract their revenge. The Horde itself had sustained many losses and endured heartache for what the Scourge had done in the continent of Kalimdor. The Alliance mainly based in the Eastern Kingdoms had been driven from several major areas in the North, their families slaughtered or turned traitor. Naturally, the Scourge had become the enemy of all reasonable living beings.

Especially to the small handful of survivors who managed to escape Stratholme alive when it was first invaded. Bearing witness to the complete and utter atrocities taking place within the once shining city, the majority joined the Argent Dawn as soon as they could in a vain attempt to either free the city of Death's grasp or in hope of seeking vengeance. Their healers were undoubtedly some of the most talented among all, peerless in their abilities of sending the Light's blessings in healing waves.

Ysida was one such healer. Strong minded and unwavering in her faith, she was no zealot of the blood crazed Scarlet Crusade. Spending many years since her sixteenth birthday, she spent her time healing the wounded and sick that had run into the many dangers of the Plaguelands and came into the refuge of Light's Hope Chapel. Those soft blue eyes and gentle touch gave her a wonderful bedside manner to those about to die. Her blond hair would catch the light in even the dusty and dry climate of the Easternmost Plagueland. Her robes were that of any other priestess, a runecloth robe dyed white with holy embroidery. The spell threads used in the stitches and seams helped to keep her both protected from minor injuries as well as increase her spells' power. However, her robe would not save her this night. Nor would her cloak, her gloves, or her boots.

Despite the warnings from many of her superiors, Ysida felt it necessary to gather herbs from the Plaguelands that were essential to the healing and study of the Plague the Scourge was using against them. However, 'Plaguebloom' was the flower she was looking for and it would only come into full bloom at night. During the day, Plaguebloom is nearly invisible to those who are lacking in the teachings of herbalism. Several other plants, such as 'Arthas' Tears' and 'Golden Samsan' were only obtainable in some of the most odd of locations. Locations that even the Scourge would abandon at night for some unknown reason. Ysida was of course nervous of such a journey into the depths of the Plaguelands at night. She never thought of what such a bold move would lead to later though.

She had left on her own, truly she knew that this was an extremely foolish and dangerous thing to do. She'd be an easy target for the Scourge or the Crusade should they find her. Even if the Crusade was against the Scourge, they were certainly fanatical enough to kill any who would not side with them specifically. The parched earth beneath her feet and the uneasy silence that prevailed over the countryside kept her alert and with only the comforting sound of her own pulse to keep her from losing sanity. She set to work quickly, hoping to finish the task as soon as possible and to return to the chapel before anyone worried for her.

Widening her eyes, Ysida whipped her head around in surprise. Nothing was behind her, she could have sworn she heard a groan or a set of horse hooves trampling the nearby road. The road... she immediately made a sprint in absolute terror towards a nearby tree to hide behind. Mumbling to herself a prayer as she did so prevented an unusually small plaguehound from seeing her too easily near the tree's base. She held her breath, her lungs contracting and clinging to the breath she had taken in. Dare she look at the road? Should she turn her head in the direction that may well have it chopped off? She needed to know if it was safe and yet...

The beating of hooves in the distance finally did break the silence, slowly it worked down towards a trot, then a slow paced walk, and finally stopping all together. Ysida's lungs by this point were about to burst, she was turning a light red and was starting to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen reaching her brain and heart. She cautiously turned her head towards the road, the sight that she beheld did nothing to help her breathing. Her eyes only grew watery and wide from seeing the horror before her.

On the road in her eyes' sight was Baron Rivendare himself, mounted upon his steed and gazing about the rest of the road and the nearby hills and cliffs. His horse scratched at the cobblestones below in a restless state while the Baron seemed to try to soothe the skeletal beast with a gentle stroking of his hand as he observed the land. A tender motion for a Death Knight for certain, but legend had it that the Baron was deeply connected to his horse in life and even now in death. Ysida noticed the Baron turning his head slowly towards her, but not at her for he stopped mid way, and stared off in the direction of Light's Hope Chapel. He let out an audible snarl, and Ysida could hear the utter hate building and boiling beneath the dead man's skin. Ysida wished he would vanish, would have him return to Stratholme, she didn't need to be captured now or ever! Her breath though was running out, she'd have to breath soon and...

She gasped, she needed the air. The Baron's head whipped around like a well placed lightning bolt, his eyes narrowed and chillingly merciless. Ysida started to run, she knew it would be futile but if she could at least try to get to the chapel maybe someone would hear her and they could kill the monster forever...

She heard the horse letting out it's unholy whinny, a scream that pierced her ears and had her mind rushing as she heard the heavily falling hooves behind her. The air about her was cold, soft puffs of vapor rose from her open mouth as she ran. Who was she trying to fool, herself or Rivendare? She knew very well he'd catch up. The Baron was hot on her trail, his unholy speed causing him to gain ground every second bringing him in bounding leaps closer to Ysida. The priestess turned sharply around and lashed out with a prayer she had been charging as she ran, the stream of heavenly light ripped through the dead horse's empty shell. Releasing a terrifying screech it threw Rivendare off of his mount with an unbalanced standing act. The horse had several bones broken through the collar, it's front legs a painful thing for the undead creature to stand on. Rivendare only focused on Ysida, even as she turned to run once again. Now that the Baron's Deathcharger lay wounded she had a feeling that she had only angered the Baron further.

Ysida heard the sound of the Baron drawing his runeblade once more from it's sheath, he had placed it within its scabbard after he had fallen and only now removing it once he was within a few feet of the priestess. She forced her legs to move faster, increased her strides and frequency, but in the end it was all futile. She could hear his unneeded breaths behind her, his eyes beginning to bore a hole into the back of her neck as he perhaps fantasized of plunging his sword through the back and crushing her windpipe. Finally the inevitable occurred, Ysida tripped on a stone she had not seen in the darkened wasteland but forced herself not to scream. Should would not give the Baron the pleasure of hearing her cry out and beg for her life.

What was ironic was the fact that she had run into a road cobblestone. Back where she had begun in a sense, however this was a road that stretched north... she had been traveling away from Light's Hope the entire time. She must have become distorted in the dark and couldn't find her way, because only now did she realize how much closer to Plaguewood and Stratholme she really was. It had all played out perfectly into the Baron's hands. She did not have much time to think over where she had turned in the wrong direction for the Baron seized her by her hair and brought her up to him, face to face with those dark dead eyes. Ysida could feel the aura about him that made her stomach flip and squirm around uneasily, she was extremely grateful that she was not facing him on a full stomach. She composed herself, drawing in a breath only to regret taking in the stench of Death from him. She heard a light chuckle come from the Baron as she did her best to hide all of her fear, but he spoke not a word to her as he raised his blade to her throat. Perhaps contemplating on how to kill her exactly, he stayed as still as a statue while gripping Ysida's hair without mercy. Ysida herself kept her face a mask, she tossed all fear of Death to the side, if this was her fate then so be it.

The Baron cocked his head to the side, amused by Ysida's attempt at bravery but more disgusted by the pendant about her neck. She had an insignia of the Argent Dawn about her throat that gleamed lightly in the dull Plaguelands. He brought his face to look her once more in the eye and finally spoke.

"Another one, I should have known that it would only be a matter of time before one of you decided to dare tempt my wrath in these lands." His voice was laced with venom and as soft as dried rustling leaves. His blade grew painfully close to Ysida's throat, her pulse was enough to push her skin close enough to the blade to make a small trail of blood leak out.

"We've been challenging you, monster, for a very long time if you haven't noticed until just now." She said cheekily, if she was to die she would rather not die as a coward or one who did not try to end the evil. She glared defiantly even with the blade at her throat, even as a priestess her blue eyes blazed with a burning hate for the dead man before her. "Your crimes will be met with a severe and fitting punish-"

The Baron let out a loud and low growl from his throat and a sharp gaze made visible his displeasure. By extreme self control from Rivendare's end, Ysida's vein and throat were spared. "Watch your tongue, wench. I shall make your death far worse if I so desire." Ysida did nothing, although she seemed to be planning her next reply as soon as the Baron would speak his next sentence.

She never heard it though, with a fluid and fast motion the Baron swiped her from the back of her head with his runeblade's hilt. The unconscious woman fell limp in his hand and he gripped her by her upper arm as his horse trotted over to him from a nearby clutter of sickly looking trees. The charger had time to mend its wounds and immediately sought its master as soon as it could walk. Sheathing his sword as gracefully as any Death Knight, the Baron tossed Ysida like a sack of potatoes over the saddle before mounting the warhorse. Ysida's arms and legs dangled over the egdes helplessly, her captor could care less if her limbs were gnawed off by the hungry ghouls. As long as her voice box was intact and he could squeeze information from her then he need not worry of her physical condition. Even in her mind at this point, Ysida knew all to well where she was headed and what was in store for her. In the dark recesses of her mind in this vegetable state, Ysida knew that she would be wandering into the jaws of Hell and no one would ever hear her scream out into the pitch black nights to come. The Baron glanced about once more, his horse began to trot further north on the road towards Plaguewood and into the eternally burning city of Stratholme.