Saora's Benediction 13

    Saora plopped to the ground. She stared at the man, numb and exhausted. Another person she'd failed. She hiccupped, trying to cover a sob. The Light in her was nearly gone. She wouldn't be any help much longer. She felt so worthless.

    A strong hand clasped her shoulder, "Saora?" It was Onyxe, worry shining in his eyes. Saora smiled, touched, and patted his hand. He smiled back and knelt beside her. He muttered a prayer, blessing the body. Motioning to his cousin, he took hold of the man's shoulders. Grifton whispered his own blessing and grabbed the legs. Together, they turned him over.

    Onyxe swore, "A paladin. The bastard possessed a dead paladin."

    "How can yeh tell?" Armod squatted close.

    "His clothes," the Dwarf pointed at the faded cloth, "are of an old uniform given only to paladins of a specific high rank. He would serve as chief military advisor and sheriff of his assigned city. This was once a Magistrate of Stratholme."

    "Heresy! I'll tear this Death Knight's rotted heart out his chest," Grifton snarled.

    Saora couldn't take her eyes off the fallen paladin. He was bald, but grey hair still reached past his shoulders. His beard was cut close to the chin. He loved that beard, always took such care of it.

    Power charged through the priestess's body. She quivered. The ground under her wobbled and rolled like the sea in a storm. She shouldn't know about this man's beard. She shouldn't recognize his shining head and tattered clothes. She shouldn't remember the name that echoed in her mind.

    "Barthilas."

    Grifton blinked, "Say again, Saora?"

    "Barthilas. Magistrate Barthilas."

    "You know his name?"

    "He was stationed here. He would pretend to be sick so my mother would bake him clam chowder. It was his favorite."

    Onyxe stared at her, "Saora...what're yeh doin' rememberin' stuff?"

    "Incoming," Verita pulled out another arrow. The group spun around, staring through the gates the Magistrate had come from. Six giant skeletons draped in rusted armor lumbered through the mist. As tall as the deformed Magistrate had been, these atrocities were at least a head taller. If that wasn't enough, each dragged a shield and sword.

    "You've gotta be jokin'," squeaked Armod.

    "CHARGE!" Onyxe leapt up and raced through the open gates. Hollering his own battle cry. Grifton followed right behind with the hunter and her pet easily keeping pace.

    Armod stood but hesitated, watching the priestess, "Saora..."

    "Yeah...I'm--I'm coming..."

    "No. No, yer not movin'."

    "I'm...not?" she couldn't tear her eyes from the paladin.

    Armod frowned. He knew this was a big deal for Saora. Here was the first face she'd recognized since waking in Northshire. The guy was even a connection to her family, to her mother. He couldn't imagine not knowing where he'd come from, who'd raised him. The sound of metal against metal rang from the walkway. He gritted his teeth. Memory or no, they needed Saora now. Glaring through his soaked brown hair, he took hold of Saora's shoulders and shook her.

    "H-Hey!"

    He stopped but lifted the priestess off her feet, "Wake up."

    "Let go! Put me down!"

    "Listen. Yeh hear that?"

    Saora froze. They were fighting. Her friends were being hurt. She blinked and focused on the warrior easily holding her three feet off the ground. He nodded, gently setting her down. Together they raced through the gates.

    Without pausing, Armod charged for a skeleton about to remove Grifton. The attack knocked the creature off balance, giving the Dwarf just enough time to dodge. Saora fired off a heal, mending a gaping wound in Onyxe's side. The Dwarf grunted and happily broke a skeleton's spine in half.

    To her left, the priestess heard Endy scream. She looked over in time to see the cat be thrown through a burning building. The skele turned on Verita, easily in sword reach. The Elf's leg was wounded. She wouldn't get away in time. Twisting her wrist and fingers, Saora pulled at the Light buried deep underground. The stone floor rumbled. Enormous chains of Light burst through stones and wrapped around the monster. Its arms and waist were locked in place. It screamed, struggling against the spell.

    "Grifton!" Saora yelled. Immediately, the paladin flung his own attack at the creature, the golden hammer spell. The skele roared and broke the chains holding it. Moving impossibly fast, it chased after the Dwarf. A black shadow shot after the skeleton, tackling it to the ground. Endy. Grifton laughed, raising his sword overhead. It was charged with Light. He hollered and threw the weapon, cleanly slicing through its neck. The body fell. It was dead. All of them were dead.

    Saora breathed a sigh of relief. Just in front of them was a building she recognized from her briefing. It was the old infirmary, one of the largest structures in Stratholme. Baron Rivendare was inside, along with his prisoners. They were going to make it.

    "So," Armod shouldered one of his swords, "how do we get in?" Maniacal laughter bounced through the city. Saora shivered, covering her ears. The Baron.

    "You won't be getting in at all, heroes," he mocked. "None who defy the Scourge do."

    Onyxe shouted, "Enough of yer games, Baron! Open yer doors and see how we've left yer puppets!"

    "How flattering that you believe these creatures are of my power. Naïve but flattering."

    "Show yerself!"

    "You see fit to toy with the Lich King's creations, heroes. Let us see how you fare with one of His masterpieces. Ramstein! Give these intruders a proper greeting."