Rescuing Chadley: June 24

In the two long days and nights Chadley has been bound in the cabin, he's kept true to his word. Head bowed low and eyes closed, his cracked, parched lips still shakily form the words for his shielding prayer. The Light still shines, illuminating the bristly face of Adeline's felhound, which sits drooling and obedient at Chadley's side, guarding him while Adeline has stepped outside to gather herbs.

Outside of the cabin, Adeline is less gathering herbs and more frowning in something between frustration and grief. She rests her back against the cabin and observes the forest around them--quiet, save for the far off sounds of battle, Forsaken and worgen, clashing almost endlessly, and some mechanical roars from the main road, too far through the trees to see. Once she's given herself a proper pep talk, she makes her way back inside, basket devoid of all but a few sprigs of silverleaf.

Chadley hasn't moved. He takes a deep inhale around his prayer when the door comes open, the burst of semi-fresh air a relief to him. Or it is until he coughs, his throat so dry that it prickles when he inhales. He falls into a coughing fit, and for the first time in two days, the barrier flickers to its weaker version again.

Adeline grimaces at the cough but still smiles at Chadley. "Y'must be thirsty," she observes in a gentle tone, more like he's been playing outside on a hot summer day than like she's trying to kill him. "Ah hate seein' you lahk this."

Chadley swallows several times, trying to make saliva, but there's nothing there. Two days with nothing to drink combined with his earlier sobbing has left him weak and dehydrated. It's a wonder he has the energy for a small shield at all. Stubbornness, most likely. He finally speaks to her, and his voice is a dry crackle. "I'm still here."

"Anythin' you drink at this point'll lahk as not kill ya anyway," Adeline continues in a soft voice. The delicious smells from a few days before have vanished from the air, leaving nothing but the overpowering scent of the incense.

Chadley's still-illuminated eyes open as he looks around the room in renewed fear. With his barrier weakened it's only a matter of time before the incense drugs him. He tries again to concentrate on his prayer, but the delirium of hunger and thirst make it impossible. He croaks out to his mother, "Wh-whatever you do, I- d-don't blame you." He's shaking again.

Adeline hesitantly approaches Chadley, staying just this side of the barrier. "Ah'm only doin' any 'a this 'cause Ah love you and Ah want what's best fer you," she says in a choked voice. The roaring sound of the road outside seems louder than before.

"I'm all grown up," Chadley responds, his voice growing hoarser. "I can choose what's best for me." His head lifts at the new noise and his eyes close, as if letting more cool air pass over him. "I can feel the drugs."

"Everyone needs someone ter advuhcate for 'em once in a while," Adelien argues. "And they ain't that strong, just somethin' to help you sleep better." The roar is most definitely closer now, as if something's approaching the cabin.

Chadley nods again, dazed. "I- I can feel that, yes. I'm- feeling very tired." He slumps in his seat, only to sit right back up straight again, looking panicked that he almost lost consciousness. With the sound louder, he looks over his shoulder toward the door. He's not sure if he's hallucinating or not at this point, but the familiar sound is enough to make him smile.

Right when the roaring sound seems ready to burst through the door, it's replaced with the sound of something screeching to a halt right outside of the cabin, tires skidding against dirt, and then muffled conversation. One voice, male, is tinged with a lot of emotion and breaks at a few points. The other, female, is surprisingly rational, though at one point, it does snap, "Pull yerself together or I'mma bring you -right- back to Hearthglen."

Chadley brightens a bit, his bloodied lips cracking into a full-on smile. He turns to look back at his mother and hisses, no longer able to speak, "-- I win." Adeline scowls, patting her felhound on the side of the head. It lopes off into the shadows, and the floorboards creak as the rest of her hidden horrors move to find the intruders. "They's weak as you in the shadow, dear. My friends will fetch them for us."

Outside, and not quite ignorant to the horrors that await them, Lorcan and Mairèad still argue. "Look, y'wanna do some good here? Go find a gryphon or somethin' and get down to Stormwind. Find Shep and he'll be able t'set up a portal and get us outta here once we're done," Mairèad informs the priest. They're still sitting on her bike, which is turned off and waiting to be converted into its box state. Lorcan glares at Mairèad, as if he's trying to melt her with his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere without him," he snaps and Mairèad rolls her eyes. "-Fine-. Jest don't do nothin' stupid. We're damn near fucked jest bein' here." And with a few murmured prayers, the two bless themselves and each other, preparing for whatever lies ahead.

What lies ahead makes itself very obvious as the front door cracks open to reveal Adeline herself. She smiles at them. "Mairead. Y'look so pretty. It's so good t'see y'gain. An' Lorcan." She inclines her head and turns around, waving her arm in an inviting gesture. "Y'come on insahd." She seems very unafraid of them, despite their being Lightcallers and her being-- what she is.

Lorcan makes a sound that's almost like a growl, moving to cast a bolt of Holy Light at Adeline, but Mairèad grabs his arm and holds him steady before he can manage it. "We'd love to, Aunt Addy. It's good t'see you again," she says in as close to a bright voice as she can manage. Beside her, Lorcan glares, looking every bit the part of Chadley's boyfriend, but he says nothing.

Adeline hobbles back inside, disappearing into the inky black that seems to spill out from the doors like firelight would a typical house. Inside, Chadley begins to struggle again, making as much raspy noise as he can to let them know he's alive.

Mairèad looks at Lorcan. "Whatevarrr y'see in there, keep. calm," she warns him before releasing his arm and dismounting the bike. The priest barely has a chance to leave the sidecar before Mairèad collapses the bike and tosses the box into a nearby bush for safekeeping. She gives Lorcan a nod and makes her way into the house, almost retching as the oppressive amount of shadow hits her. Lorcan follows after a moment, and though he also staggers at the shadow magic, it doesn't seem to affect him nearly as much as it does Mairèad or Chadley. He simply grimaces as if he's tasted something bad and tries to see Chadley through the darkness.

The shadow is not only oppressive, it also hides things. As they pass the stoop of the house, a dagger flies from the spreading dark. The foe knows its bigger threat, and the dagger aims for Lorcan's backside.

Lorcan hisses in pain and surprise; the dagger just barely misses embedding itself in his back but still cuts a nasty gouge in his skin as it flies past. He presses his hands against the skin to try and heal the wound, but though it mostly seals up, blood still trickles from the edges. "--fuck," he murmurs.

Mairèad glances back at Lorcan and then frowns. "Aunt Addy, we don't want thin's t'get violent, please. We jest wanna talk," she pleads into the darkness. "We're jest here to talk."

The darkness doesn't seem interested in talking. Light feet pad across the floor and this time a dozen shadowy hands grasping daggers shoot out from the dark, all aimed at their weakened target. "She won't hear it!" Chadley rasps from the dark, and Adeline confirms with a sigh. "Ah dunno why none 'a y'all is seein' that this is th' easy way." She gasps as her hidden husband attacks the intruders and frowns. "Impatient. Go on, then!" She waves her arm and turns, and the glowing eyes watching them advance.

Lorcan is still distracted by his wound when those daggers fly out towards him. He gives a grunt of pain and crumples easily, multiple stab wounds on his chest, back, and sides. And a dent in his new leg. Well, that's just great. Too late, he calls the Light to shield him, but he's already on the floor, hands moving shakily over the worst of his wounds in an attempt at keeping them from being life-threatening. -

Mairèad turns and swings her arcane blessed shield out into the darkness, trying to catch whoever's getting stab-happy. "We don't -wanna- get violent," she repeats, sounding more worn by the oppressive shadows, "but we will."

A shadowy figure is briefly illuminated as it skitters to the side. The shield doesn't hit that, though- it instead slams into a hulking felguard that had been hidden by the dark, which roars in pain and charges for her. The entire cabin shakes with its might. The shadowy figure, meanwhile, beelines for Lorcan again. It doesn't speak a word, just tries for the most efficient kill it can. Chadley has started struggling with all the might he has, his shield fading from lost focus. Adeline approaches him and places a hand on his shoulder as she watches the fight.

A fucking felguard. Of course. Mairèad roars right back at the creature, wielding her shield and sword in an almost barbarian manner. She swings them in an arc at the felguard, aiming to bash its head with the shield and follow that with a sharp hit to its side with her sword. All the while, she tries to keep herself between Lorcan and whatever is attacking him, stamping her foot to call forth a consecration on the ground beneath. It's weak and it doesn't last long, but it's there just the same.

Lorcan, meanwhile, pauses in his frantic healing (why won't these stab wounds -heal- damnit?) to swing outwards towards his assailant with the staff that until now has seemed just decoration or maybe a cane. He can't see well enough to aim for the head like he wants to, but he's flailing enough that he should hit -something-.

Both attacks land, and this succeeds in both damaging the felguard and pissing it right off. It roars again and thrashes its gigantic arms at Mairead with a bone crushing swipe. Lorcan's assailant is revealed by the Light: a lanky forsaken man clad in form-fitting black, his glowing yellow eyes under the cowl his only visible color. He disappears into the shadows again, leaving Lorcan to bleed, and reappears in a cloud of haze at Chadley and Adeline's side.

Lorcan seems relieved at this, trying to scoot back on the floor and out of the way of any fighting that may be going on between Mairèad and the felguard, hands still fluttering over his wounds to try and seal them. Of course, it's frustratingly not working in the least, and in a panicked moment, a bit of twisting shadow magic comes to his fingertips, sealing the deepest wound on his chest and leaving an unsightly tumor behind.

Mairèad braces herself for the felguard's blow and is only thrown off her feet rather than across the cabin. "COME AT ME, Y'YELLA BELLIED FISH LIVER CODPIECE!" she roars, jumping to her feet probably quicker than she should and charging at the felguard with her sword aimed to decapitate it in one fell swoop.

The felguard charges, knocking chairs and herb jars out of the way left and right. It makes a hard downward blow at the small paladin, the force becoming only momentum as its head is lopped from its shoulders and it collapses in a pile of smoldering green ash. Adeline gasps and steps forward, stopping herself to instead nudge forward the shadowy figure. "Thomas, Ah'm tired 'a people gittin' hurt over this. Make it quick. Fer Lorcan over there, too. Y'left 'im hurtin'." Thomas responds with silence, different entirely from his boisterous living self, and once again disappears. Adeline, in the meantime, raises her arms and chants a spell. All at once, the cabin is illuminated by green light as her demons vanish. Then, the darkness returns.

Mairèad groans quietly, touching a hand to her side. There's a brief flash of Light as her own shielding comes into play, weak against the shadow but better than nothing. "I don't wanna fight you, Uncle Tom," she says into the dark. "I jest wanna take Chad away from here and Lorcan, too, and all of us get out safe. We don't need'a do this."

"We dun' need to," Adeline agrees, curling a hand around Chadley's face. He can't repel her anymore. "But it's better us'n somethin' impersonal in a mass grave." Thomas doesn't seem interested in fighting her either. Not yet, anyway- he's left something alive. He appears from seemingly nowhere above the priest, gruesome and jagged daggers clutched in both hands. They're driven down, and Chadley hisses Lorcan's name as a pathetic warning.

Lorcan, still tending his wounds, is caught partly off-guard, enough that there's no stopping those daggers. He throws up an arm to protect himself, as Mairèad throws her shield at Thomas, Captain America style, trying only to knock him away from Lorcan.

Thomas looks up and disappears, the shield flying through where he stood and crashing into the wall behind him. He reappears behind Mairead, the dagger in one hand replaced by a tiny glass sphere filled with dust. He crushes this sphere and throws its contents into the air. Probably best not to breathe whatever it is. "Brave girl. Strong in the shadows," he teases, vanishing again before she can turn around and attack him. "Dun watch," says Adeline, covering Chadley's eyes with a rotten hand. He groans but can't fight her.

Mairèad ducks away from Thomas to recover her shield, though she can't help but inhaling some of the dust. She coughs harshly, something of a weak, pale glow coming to her body. "Shadow don't scare me," she rasps. "Yer still Uncle Tom, no matter ha' creepy you try t'be." She swings blindly into the shadow, if only trying to illuminate something nearby.

Nothing is brought to light, though. Wrecked furniture and spilled liquids are illuminated briefly, but the only movement is from Adeline, still cradling Chadley's head in her arms as she tells Mairead, "We's the closest thing y'got to family, Mairead. Y'seem real hurt by yer lahf, from what Ah been watchin'! It won't be lahk that with us. Ever."

Mairèad's eyelights flicker. "I appreciate the offer, Aunt Addy, but without the dark, how can you appreciate the light?" Another pale consecration spreads outward from her feet.

It's to Mairead's luck that Thomas is merely an initiate amongst the shadow, talented as he may be, and he gives a grunt as the Light burns his feet, having not yet mastered resistance. This causes him to lash out defensively, another dagger aimed at Mairead from behind. Chadley has again started to try and mouth a protective prayer, this time for his friend, but his delitium is such that his words practically come out backwards.

And it's to Thomas' luck that he manages to drive the dagger between the plates of Mairèad's armor. She gives a grunt of pain and turns around, swinging for Thomas with her shield and a surprising amount of power, though blood has already begun to drip between her armor plates and down to the floor.

Mairead makes a solid connection. He's not taken out, but the blunt trauma alone is enough to send him staggering backwards, leaving himself open. Adeline's hands leave Chadley to reach out toward he husband. "Thomas!"

Mairèad takes advantage of this, more sweeping for Thomas' legs to knock them out from under him rather than attempting to behead him outright. She doesn't cry out as she does this, simply exhales with the effort of it.

It's Adeline's turn to make a panicked noise as she watches her husband fall to his knees. Quickly, she begins to mutter in a demonic tongue, runic patterns beginning to glimmer on the floor around her and smoke rising from the cracks. As Thomas hits the floor, he shoots out a sweeping flurry of daggers across the floor. They're sharp, but they're meant to just knock her down to his level.

Mairèad is easily brought to the floor, falling far harder than it seems someone her size should be able to fall. She groans, winded, and lies on the floor a moment as still as she can, a chant starting within her helm. -

Now, where's Lorcan, you may be wondering. Wounds largely sealed, he pushes himself into a standing position and casts a shield about Mairèad, if only to buy her a second of time.

The familiar chittering of an imp fills the cabin as Adeline completes the quickest summon she can do. The tiny demon, either brave or stupid, launches out in a vengeful leap for Lorcan's face, at which it claws wildly shouting murderous curses in demonic tongue. "The girl!" Adeline shouts at the imp, but it's too busy with its revenge to obey. Thomas steadies himself on his feet. "Not a problem, Addy. We're done." He flips the dagger in his hand and lunges for Mairead.

Lorcan yelps in surprise, clearly not expecting to see this little bastard again. Without the Light, he's not much good for fighting it, though he does try to pull it away from his face and throw it to the GROUND, stomping after it with his angry leg. -

Mairèad still lies on the ground, but when Thomas lunges for her, she brings her legs up to catch him and propel him away before pushing herself raggedly to her feet. She's still too busy chanting to exchange any witty banter.

Adeline scowls at the turn of events, and she begins to twist her hands in spell, green sparks beginning to flicker around her fingers. Thomas staggers back again, but this time it's straight into the dark. He appears behind her seconds later, a dagger aimed to the base of her skull. The imp, meanwhile, is busy dodging Lorcan's foot and flinging tiny fireballs at him.

Lorcan looks like a complete idiot, doing a sort of Mexican hat dance with the imp. He calls over to Chadley, "This is why I want a leg gun," and then just gets sick of the imp, swinging his staff for the creature.

Mairèad, meanwhile, manages to move out of the way in time to avoid having her brain skewered, though the dagger still hits her upper shoulder. She gives another growl of pain, bringing her sword around for Thomas' side.

Chadley's head slowly turns in the direction of Lorcan's voice, but his eyes are rolled back and most of his effort is going into staying conscious, so he slumps back over. Adeline's spellcast is complete, a large circle of green flame swirling around her body. The cracks in the floor glow with that same green, and fire spits up from them at the paladin and priest. The green flames illuminate Thomas' expression of surprise as he's struck clean, but such is the benefit of undeath: he keeps fighting, taking another stab for Mairead.

Lorcan continues to swing and stomp for the imp, apparently having regained some sense of himself now that he's seen Chadley is still alive. Possessed or unconscious or something, but alive. He can work with that.

Mairèad brings her arm up to block Thomas' attack, dropping her shield in favor of aiming a punch for his face. The felflames sputter against her Light-blessed armor, mostly leaving her untouched but creating a few vulernabilities. She tries to position herself to take the brunt of the fire, allowing Lorcan to continue playing with the imp.

The imp doesn't want to play, it wants that man dead. He's oddly spry for someone recovering from multiple stab wounds, though, so it's having trouble. It tries latching onto the backside of his good leg and gnawing. Adeline sets loose a massive felfire blaze toward Mairead just as her fist connects with Thomas' face. He's slowed from his injuries, but keeps fighting, slashing at Mairead even with the oncoming fire.

Lorcan has had just about enough of this imp shit and reaches down, grabbing the creature by the scruff of its neck and attempting to wring its neck. His breath is ragged, and he's shaking, but he tries, damnit. -

Mairèad gets the full blast of Adeline's felfire, falling backwards enough to avoid getting stabbed in the face, but once again, the dagger sinks in through one of the felfire created cracks in the armor. Mairèad now lets out a cry of pain, the injuries finally starting to wear on her properly. There's no more aiming to cripple; her sword arcs through the air in an attempted beheading.

Thomas' arm flies up defensively. It's this that he loses, his head still in tact, but the force is enough to send him reeling back toward his wife. Adeline stands protectively in front of Chadley, and Thomas in front of his wife. He's broken, and she's afraid for her family, but they won't go down. The imp's neck can't be wrung, but it can apparently be strangled into unconsciousness like anything else. It goes limp in Lorcan's hands. "Think about whut'cher doin', Mairead," Adeline says slowly.

"I am," Mairèad rasps. A keen eye in a brighter place might note that blood is dripping down and out of her face mask. "I don't wanna kill either 'a you. I wanna redeem you both. I -love- you, and I know how to bring y'back to paradise, if you'll let me." She forces herself to stand taller. "Y'ent meant fer this world, Aunt Addy. Yer death was horrible, but I can give you peace. You and Uncle Tom both. Please. Don't make me kill you."

Lorcan, on the other hand, finally throws the imp to the ground and stomps on its head. Even if that doesn't do anything, it feels good.

"Ah was offered th' same thing by Chadley," Adeline says, glancing over her shoulder with those covered, oozing eyes to her surprisingly still semi-conscious son. "We all seem t'be delusional in our love, don't we." Her hands coil in another spellcast, interrupted only briefly as she winces when her imp evaporates into smoke.

Mairèad raises her shield to block the spell, though she continues speaking in a hoarse voice. "It ent a delusion. When Chad told me you were watchin' him, I did some research. There's a ritual I can do--fer both 'a you--and it'll redeem yer soul and return you to paradise, where you belong." Lorcan, still stomping on the ground where the imp was, pipes up with an, "It's true. I've read the ritual myself. Chadley hasn't slept in several weeks, trying to learn it so that he can send you home."

"-- Ma," Chadley rasps from behind, curled in on himself and trembling with the effort of staying awake. "You don't have to fight. And it'll feel like n-no time at all before you see me- again." Adeline just looks furious, letting her circle of felfire flare out and hit anything in its path- even Chadley. "Ah'm done bein' kahnd about this! Fer th' Dark Lady!" Her arms rise and the fire bursts from the floorboards once more.

The tense and quiet moments distracted Lorcan from his futile imp stomping, and he extends a shield around Chadley with an almost desperate cry. Mairèad is left vulnerable, and the fire does a number on her, sending her falling backwards to the floor her armor smoking acridly. She whimpers in pain and shakes her head in a protest against something. "I don't wanna do this..." she trails off and then stands, all of her energy going into a charge for Adeline, everything aimed at knocking her down and stopping her cast.

And that is why Thomas took the place he did. As Mairead lunges for Adeline, his single hand lifts to cloud Mairead's eyes with shadow before he takes another swing for her.

Mairèad squeezes her eyes shut and keeps going in her charge--she's already fighting in the dark, anyway. Thomas' attack connects, opening another wound, but she's single-minded in her determination to get to Adeline, swinging her sword blindly ahead.

"Shadows-- T-Thomas," Chadley stutters out randomly as Mairead makes her assault. He's probably not even audible over the sounds of combat. Mairead's sword swings right into Adeline-- but she's gone. Across the room she stands, safe in a runed circle, and blasts another fireball at Mairead.

Yes, Thomas is a problem, and Mairèad continues to grapple with him, screaming in pain as another fireball hits her in the back. She's still blinded, not sure if she's even grappling with a real person, but she holds onto him, trying to bring them both to the floor and pressing her sword against what she thinks is his neck.

Right she is. The blade digs into his neck, threatening to slice it, but he seems fearless of the idea. Zombies, yo. He fumbles a hand into his pouches and produces another glass ball of poison dust, smashing it against her helmet vents. Adeline takes the time to chant another summon- a more complex one than before now that she has more than a few seconds to spare.

Mairèad hacks at the poison dust forced through her helm, but after the initial hesitation and a hoarse, "I'm sorreh, Uncle Tom," she drives the blade downwards, intent on severing his head and letting her hands fall to the floor shakily afterwards.

Thomas goes still as the sword severs his head. Adeline screams. Felfire engulfs her as her summon completes, her felhound bounding out of the fire, but it's too late. The shadows around the house retreat, and the darkness of the house is a natural one.

When the darkness rises, the lights on Mairèad's armor flare to life, a pale glow enveloping her form as her body attempts to heal itself. She doesn't spare the felhound a second's thought, blasting it with a shock of holy energy and advancing slowly on Adeline, because at this point, she has two speeds: slow and slower.

Once Lorcan can see, however, he immediately runs to Chadley's side and presses his hand against the paladin's chest, a blessing of fortitude issuing forth in one powerful word. His arms are around Chadley, and he works to undo the bindings at the younger man's wrists and ankles.

Chadley manages to look at Lorcan, but he can't manage to make any facial expression beyond a blank stare. His still glowing eyes fall shut, and now that he's with someone he trusts, he allows himself to fall unconscious. Adeline looks between this and the advancing paladin in horror, a filmy green shield glowing around her protectively. "Y-y'always was th' tough one, weren't'cha Mairead?"

Mairèad's hands glow with an exorcism spell that's immediately aimed for Adeline, still intent only on incapacitating her. "I ent here to kill you," she reiterates, speaking slowly and deliberately, her voice hoarse. "I'm here to send you home. You remember paradise, don't you? You remember th'feelin' 'a  bein' safe and happeh, how we were all there with you and alive? I'm gunna send you back to that."

"Ah remember that bein' th' way things was. An' Ah remember discoverin' bein' gifted enough t'have it back. This is why we gotta do this, Mair. 'Cause folk like you is hellbent on killin' us. Y'call it redemption, but it's killin'."

"We all die someday," Mairèad points out. "I might die t'night or mebbe fifteh years from now in me bed. But I know that when I die, me soul'll taste paradise. Y'can't live ferevarrr, Aunt Addy. Even undead, you'll start losin' yer mind, losin' who you -are-. And then it ent you in that body no more, it's a mindless, hollow shell." Another exorcism is sent Adeline's way.

Adeline crumples to the ground, backing herself against the wall and clutching her hands to her chest. "Won't be a long tahm 'til that," she counters in a labored voice, but then manages a smile and adds, "But Ah s'pose it won't, 'cause yer gunna kill me t'naht."

Mairèad sets her shield and sword on the ground and nods, reaching up to remove her helm and setting this on the ground as well. She's sheet white with a dribble of blood trailing down her chin. "I am," she confirms. "I'd like t'do it as gentle as possible and let you rest again. It's what we all been workin' fer."

Lorcan finally manages to get Chadley unbound and catches him in his arms. With some careful manipulation, he tilts the paladin's head back and tries to give him some water from a canteen.

The water mostly dribbles out of Chadley's mouth. He's appears unconscious, but his weak attempts to actually swallow show that he's still trying to hang on. Adeline looks over at this, and her angry snarl turns to grief. The forsaken looks back up at Mairead and says in a slow voice, "... Y'took mah husband. An' now yer gunna take mah son. Ah don't really got a lot worth fahtin' m'way outta here fer anymore."

Mairèad drops to her knees once she reaches Adeline, her expression crumbling in grief. "I'm so sorreh about Uncle Tom. I didn't wanna do that. I wish there was a way fer us to all be -alive- together. I wish I could bring you back to life."

Lorcan murmurs encouragingly to Chadley, continuing to gently help him drink and wiping the water from the paladin's cheek with his sleeve. He may or may not be crying as well.

Adeline stiffens at Mairead's approach and lifts an arm defensively to keep the paladin at a distance. "Lahf don't have a point," she whispers. "World's gone dark. Only th' dead'll be able to faht fer it soon."

Chadley still struggles with the simple task of swallowing, but with Lorcan's help he manages down a few small mouthfuls. At the very least he seems otherwise uninjured, just dehydrated, hungry, fevered, and covered in his own filth.

Mairèad shakes her head and holds up her hands to show she means no harm. "That ent true. Th'world's gettin' better, and that's what me and Chad are fightin' fer. We want Lordaeron t'be green again. And fer there t'be chicken farms and playin' on th'beach and pies and happeh times again." She manages a small, watery smile. "And we wanna know that yer okay."

Lorcan lets Chadley's head rest on his shoulder and continues murmuring encouragement, now pressing his hand against the paladin's chest to clear away any infections.

Adeline doesn't lower her arm and shakes her head. "It ain't never gunna be that way. Clean up one mess an' a bigger one'll take its place. Y'gotta be strong fer it. Livin' ain't strong." She smiles sadly. "Y'go on ahead an' kill me, Mairead. Ah couldn't do raht. One day, when y'all fall t'whutever it is that's fellin' everythin', th' Dark Lady'll bring y'back. Then y'can faht. Then you'll see." Chadley's head lolls to the side at the sound of his mother's voice and he makes a pathetic little noise in a failed attempt to speak.

Mairèad looks up and over to Chadley, trying to make it seem like she's not crying nearly as hard as she is. Lorcan leans closer to the man in his arms. "Say it again, love. Go ahead and speak quietly, and I'll tell them what you said."

Chadley makes another dry little sound before whispering hoarsely, "Goodbye. Love you. Didn't- get to before." He lets his head rest against Lorcan's chest and his newly-granted energy is spent on the return of his trembling.

Lorcan brings his hand up to hold Chadley's head close to his chest, soothing Light flowing from his fingers. "He says good-bye, and that he loves you," the priest announces, and Mairèad closes her eyes to steel herself before looking back to Adeline. "When yer ready," she says quietly.

Adeline seems more angered than saddened by what Chadley had to say, turning her hollow, oozing eyes on Mairead and lashing her arm out with a flash of felfire. "Do it, miserable child! See no reason by me. Ah'll die knowin' Ah tried."

Mairèad catches Adeline's arm before it can reach her face, though the felfire still stings at her skin. "I'm sorreh," she whispers before placing her free hand on Adeline's chest and closing her eyes. She begins the prayer exactly as she practiced, and it doesn't take long for her hands to light up with a gentle golden glow that seems to sing, that same wordless melody that's so familiar. It's an uncomfortable sensation, but not painful.

Adeline fights it, struggling against Mairead as best she can. More green flames spurt from the floorboards under her, but with the Light coursing through her, she's beyond weak. "Ah hope this moment haunts you!" she cries.

Mairèad doesn't interrupt her prayer, despite the sob that shudders through her. The Light pulses and courses through Adeline, undoing the necromancy keeping her alive and purifying her soul in the same action. Lorcan's grip on Chadley tightens bracingly.

Adeline's last energy is spent turning her eyes on Chadley again. In that last moment, her look of anger falls to one of regret. Her arm goes limp in Mairead's grasp after, and she's gone. It's then and only then that Chadley finally allows himself to slip into complete unconsciousness.

Mairèad continues her prayer for a few minutes after Adeline has fallen limp, and even after that, she only drops to her hands and knees and sobs raggedly rather than doing anything else. Lorcan shifts awkwardly while still holding Chadley, and finally speaks up. "Mairèad, we should probably burn this cabin and get your injuries looked at." Mairèad nods and tries to stand, but the energy spent in sending Adeline off was too much for her. She falls right back down, this time actually lying on the floor for a minute before pushing herself into a standing position. Together, she and Lorcan clean out the cottage (leaving Chadley safely hidden in the bush with her bike) and set fire to it, wrapping Adeline and Thomas together in the remains of a sheet.

The house burns to the ground, and the bodies of its owners with it. The smoke rising from the trees attracts attention, though: a bear emerges from the brush. A very... inconspicuous bear, teeth bared and approach cautious.

By this point, Mairèad has taken over Chadley's duty of shaking, attempting to remain conscious, and generally being unwell. She squints at the bear as Lorcan works to seal the worst of her wounds. "C-claude?" she asks faintly. Lorcan turns immediately his hands glowing defensively.

The bear eyes down the two, sniffing at the blood and fear in the air. With a low, gravelly voice it speaks through its teeth with an obviously Gilnean accent, "You are not Forsaken."

Chadley and Adeline, June 22

The summoning spell brings Chadley to a small cabin, deep within Silverpine Forest, and the place is beyond dark. Darkness is merely visual, but this, whatever it is, permeates everything. The atmosphere is oppressive and terrifying, like something out of a horrible nightmare that you can't see, but that you know is sneaking up on you and you can't even scream for help. Demonic eyes flit in and out of the shadows, and there's the sound of laughter, though it's a warm, happy sound, totally out of place for this dark cabin. Also out of place is the smell of delicious home cooking--pie, chicken soup, toasted bread, the works. Once Chadley has fully materialized, a rotting hand reaches out from the darkness and pulls him gently but firmly to sit down on what seems to be a stool, with no back to speak of. His hands are immediately bound behind his back, his legs to the legs of the stool, and all the while, someone is humming a lullaby.

Chadley staggers, a sickness overcoming him that is partially from the summon and partially from the creeping, crippling sensation of his Light being suppressed. His curse wears off now that his destination is reached, and he seems to finally understand what he did- and where it took him. "No. No, no, NO-!" He thrashes angrily in his bindings, a pale, weak glow flickering up around him, sparking against the undead woman's touch.

Adeline clucks her tongue and hisses in pain, fighting through it to secure the bindings more tightly than they need to. "Ah'm sorry this'll prob'ly hurt you fer now, but it's necessary, y'see." She takes a step back, once Chadley is secure, and smiles at him, warmly and lovingly, like he's come home from a long journey rather than been summoned to a cabin of horrors against his will.

"As if hurting me is suddenly an issue with you." He struggles again and snarls, shouting a plea that results in a red glow flickering around his bindings-- and then doing nothing. His eyes widen in panic to mix with his rage, and he struggles again. "What the hell have you done to me?"

"Ah want your last memories of lahf to be pleasant--not lahk mahn," Adeline answers sadly, moving away from Chadley to check on the stove. For a brief moment, the light of a crackling fire illuminates the darkness, showing the forms of her demons all crouched around and watching Chadley curiously. Then she closes the stove and the darkness returns. "Ah've done nothin' to you. Seems Tommy was discoverd to have an affinity fer Lahtslayer work, so he helped me douse this place in shadow. Ain't it nahce?"

"T-Tommy," Chadley stammers, almost a sob. "Is h-he here too?" He is shaking uncontrollably, his lips silently fumbling over more words of prayer when he's done talking. He wiggles his wrists behind his back, trying to find a weakness in the knot.

Adeline shakes her head. "He's away quite a bit on church business, much lahk yer father was, but of course, we're both very devout. Ah'm sure you'll understand why." That grotesque smile returns and quivers slightly. "But look how you've grown, in jest the couple 'a years it's been since Ah saw you. Ah can't tell yuh how proud Ah was to see you, all decked out in yer paladin gear, fahtin' fer the Crusade."

Chadley looks nauseous again, his body curling forward as much as it can as he lets out another pained, frustrated growl. "Then let me go be that! I know how they make you think, but I know what you want, and you want me to be happy, right? Then let me -go be that-." He struggles more, his Light flickering again and causing the imp that was apparently climbing up the back of his chair to scramble off with a yelp.

Adeline shakes her head and avoids addressing the main query in Chadley's diatribe, returning to the stove. "Ah hope a berry pie's alraht. You don't know ha' hard it was to get good food up here--ain't nobody deliverin' to Fersakin lands, but Ah managed t'fahnd some nahce berries visitin' Hearthglen. And there's soup and fresh bread fer you, once yer hungry." She's obviously smiling from the way she's speaking. "Ah'm jest so excited, knowin' how well you'll serve our Queen. You'll be a real blessin' to Lordaeron, jest lahk you always wanted."

"You should have saved yourself the effort. I wasn't stupid enough to eat your poison the first time, I won't be now." He stops struggling in hopes of conserving his energy, and instead watches her through the black as she bustles about. His face twists in anger, but his voice sounds just vulnerable and shaky as he says quietly, "D-do you even hear hear how you sound? You're a brainwashed fanatic! I'm already a soldier of Lordaeron! You don't need to..."

Adeline turns around and fixes Chadley with the kind of glare he'd have received as a child for doing something particularly stupid or, in this case, for backsassing. "Don't take that tone with me, boy. Ah am still yer Ma, and you will treat me with respect," she snaps. "The Banshee Queen's th'only one ensurin' those of us from Lordaeron actually get to live in our home. You think yer Crusade'd let folk lahk me on their fresh, green grass? Ain't a snowball's chance in hell."

"It's the Banshee Queen's fault you're even what you are to begin with! She killed everyone in Southshore, Ma! She killed Thomas and brought you back!" His angered features are wet with tears now, and though he appears vulnerable, his Light still shines. "Ma, there are undead Crusaders. Dad! He's bad off as most of you, and's he's... he's..." Chadley trails off, shaking his head and muttering, "Please don't do this, Ma."

"Oh, darlin'." Adeline's expression softens. She ignores the burn of the Light and reaches in to hold Chadley's face in her hands. "Darlin', it'll be alraht. This is how we're all gunna be together again, at last. You, me, yer Pa--" Her voice breaks and she looks down and away to compose herself. "It ain't conventional, no, and it ain't what Ah woulda chosen, but it's what we got, and Ah know you'll be happier for it. Yer Lorcan, once he's with us, he can have a brand new leg and no more pain. And Mairèad won't even hafta cry over that husband 'a hers anymore. We'll all be together again. You'll see."

Chadley shakes his head in her hands, his eyes still wide and welled with tears. "I'd only be happier for it because I'd be a brainwashed minion like you. The Forsaken are killing everyone, Ma. It's like the Scourge again. That's what you are."

"Ah'm hardly brainwashed, Chadley," Adeline says, releasing his face and moving back to the kitchen. Metal scrapes against metal, and for a moment, the sumptuous smell of chicken soup is almost overwhelming. "And we ain't got ambitions lahk the Scourge. All the Banshee Queen promises us is our home back, and that's what we're takin'."

"That's why you attacked Gilneas, right? Because it's a part of your home? That's why everyone in Hillsbrad was murdered, right? I hope you don't have it in your mind that you can convince me to join you over a nice dinner. I won't be convinced."

"You will be," Adeline answers coyly and with complete certainty. "And you'll fahnd it's far, far better'n you ever coulda imagined."

"... No. I won't be," Chadley argues stubbornly. "You seem to be ignoring the fact that I am a paladin, and it's my duty to wipe the kingdoms clean of things like you. What they're -made you into-."

Adeline shakes her head and laughs as if Chadley's said something absolutely adorable. "Tahm is not on yer sahd, darlin'. Jest--" And then she frowns, a flare of green felfire jumping to her fingertips. She darts about in the dark, waving her hand as if trying to grab something invisible.

Chadley's eyes narrow at her actions. "... Just what?"

Whatever it was, Adeline grabs it and holds onto it, her grip growing tighter and tighter until she relaxes, exhaling out of instinct. "Well, Ah've some good news fer you. It seems our location has been divahned, so you'll have company soon enough."

Chadley barks out a noise. He's to upset to genuinely laugh, but it's close enough. "Mairead. And Lorcan. And Shepard, probably. Do you think your ew pathetic years of fel practice will have anything on them?"

Adeline laughs and shakes her head. "Oh Chadley. So little y'understand. They ain't comin' to rescue you. They're comin' to -join- you. Save fer that worgen fella. That's his misfortune, though Ah know y'don't think too kahndly of him."

"I'm- fairly certain they're coming to rescue me," Chadley corrects her, a bit of energy coming back into his escape attempts. "Y-you seem to know a lot about me. How long have you been watching?" Now he's just stalling the conversation.

"You think that. They think that. Ah know better," Adeline answers sweetly. "And, oh, pretty frequently since y'reached Hearthglen. Ah've not got anythin' in yer room--that'd just be rude--but y'ain't exactly secretive with yer conversations." She seems entirely content to stall as long as Chadley wants.

Chadley's fingers manage to painfully bend at an awkward angle, but even then, his nails barely scratch at the rope. "You've been trying to kill me for a while now. Why are you waiting for them now?"

"Ah'm not waitin' fer them," Adeline answers, once again returning to the stove. "They'll get here when they get here. This cabin's deep enough in th'woods that even with scryin', it should take them a couple 'a days at least."

"But you don't plan to keep me alive that long, do you."

"Always were a smart boy," Adeline answers with another smile. "In a couple 'a days, you'll either have fallen asleep--maybe even sooner, dependin' on how much you faht and wear yerself out--or be hungry enough to take anythin' yer offered. Ah'd rather it not come to either option, but you are so stubborn." She sounds tired now, almost sad.

"A life of meditation has prepared me for many things," Chadley says, easing up again on his struggles in an acknowledgment of her point. "I can last a lot longer than you think I can." He swallows and adds before she can respond, "-- I still wish you could truly hear yourself. You want to kill me. Somehow don't think that's what you figured on while raising me. 'One day, when he's grown, I'll murder and assimilate him into a pestilent horde of zombies.'" His head tilts to the side, his eyes somewhere off in the black now.

Adeline shakes her head. "It'll be so uncomfortable fer you, lettin' exhaustion and starvation take their toll. And Ah think yer bein' obtuse on purpose. You'll see soon; Ah know it's hard, but you'll see."

"... You're going to take the Light from me," Chadley mutters, still staring off into the dark. He can't really bring himself to look at her much anymore.

Adeline shakes her head. "You'll still be able t'call on the Light, if y'want. Ah've found shadows to be much more honest, mahself, but Ah won't judge you fer thinkin' otherwise."

"I won't deserve the Light if it's used SERVING YOU!" Chadley shouts back in a sudden thrash and burst of energy, but it doesn't last long. He hangs his head, shudders and- against his will- begins to cry. "I'll outlast you."

"Ah hope y'won't," Adeline murmurs, not turning back towards Chadley, as if in a battle not to start crying herself. "Ah can't stand to see you in pain lahk this. If y'give in now, instead 'a waitin' 'til you got no other choice, it'll be quick and painless, lahk goin' t'sleep. And then you'll wake up, as if yuh've had th'best dream ever and fahnd that bein' awake is just as wonderful."

"If it takes biting off pieces of my own lip, I will stay awake until they reach here. And until then, Ma, I will pray. Pray for power over these shadows, pray for the power to cut you and your little menagerie down, pray for the power to give you your rest. You had it once. And I am so, so sorry they took it from you."

Adeline sighs and shakes her head again, still not looking at Chadley. "Don't be sorry. Ah've been given a second chance to have mah family back, and Ah ain't gunna let it slip away jest 'cause mah boy's stubborn." She makes a sound like a laugh. "After you, and Mairèad and yer Lorcan, we'll all of us go and bring yer Pa home. It'll be much easier fer him anyway... Ah'm surprahsed he ain't come our way sooner."

Chadley just sobs quietly as she talks, the full gravity of his situation finally bearing down on him. When she's done, all he can really manage is, "He prefers the livin'. Ones who still got their heads screwed on straight. Married, too, so good luck." He somehow manages to keep his voice from being wobbly.

"That's what Ah'm countin' on, that silly new wahf 'a his. Not a lick 'a sense in her head. Ah figure, it's only a matter 'a tahm before he slips up and raises her, and then they got nowhere to go -but- Undercity." Adeline still doesn't look at Chadley, but she speaks as if relating idle town gossip to him. Nearby, there's a flicker of green light and another scent joins the mix--a powerful, heady incense.

"I think he'd sooner take his life than join forces with you monsters. He never seemed capable of hate, until I heard him talk of the Scourge-- and your queen. He-" Chadley would continue on arguing, but a whiff of the incense brings a scowl to his face. "It's drugged, isn't it?"

"Mm," Adeline confirms quietly. "Ah've quite a stock of it. Y'could always jest have a piece 'a pie and call it a naht." From somewhere in the darkness, Bronwyn giggles. "And you -do- love your pie," she agrees.

Chadley makes another gross sobbing noise and closes his eyes, the welled tears spilling from them. He lowers his head and takes a deep breath of his remaining clean air and then, quietly, begins to murmur a prayer.

Adeline doesn't seem quite bothered by this, continuing to speak over the prayer. "Tommy should be back tomorrow or th'next day, and he'll wanna say hello. Y'should see him, barely looks a day buried, bless his heart. He's lookin' forward to seein' you again. Said he didn't get a chance to talk to ya after mah funeral." She chuckles, stooping to remove the finished pie from the oven. "Ah am sorry Ah left you lahk that. None of it was expected."

All of Chadley's energy and focus is directed into his prayer. Though he still cries, his words are steady and clear. The Light around him grows brighter with a chime-like hum, and though it can't pierce the darkness, it doesn't fade back.

Adeline continues speaking over Chadley's prayer. She seems determined to get her apology out. "Ah saw someone defendin' th'town, a man with shoulders on fahr. I wonder if he was any relation t'yer Stehl at all."

Chadley's voice doesn't raise to overcome hers, nor does it quiet to hear her better. He continues praying, trancelike, maintaining the stronger barrier. His eyes crack open and illuminate his face at the mention of Stehl's name and surprisingly he nods, but doesn't break his prayer in any way. He lowers his eyes again and sniffs. -Must ignore-.

"He was a good man, yer Stehl," Adeline continues, now moving on to the simmering pot of soup. "What Ah saw of him, anyway, which was brief. They'd set fahr to the house bah then...it's a miracle Tommy made it out."

Chadley's meditation training has provided him with much discipline, but not quite enough to cope with listening to his rotting mother detail her own death. He sobs again through grit teeth, shaking his head and starting his prayer again. The Light flickers.

"Mah last thought was of you," Adeline continues, now speaking in almost a whisper. "Ah couldn't see and Ah couldn't breathe, but Ah prayed with all mah heart that I'd see you again."

Chadley's voice cracks and his words fail. The Light flickers again, but he manages to keep it up without words. It's at a great expense, it seems, because he's sweating like it's midday. "And the Light brought me to you," he grunts. "To save you."

"Ah am saved," Adeline insists quietly, shaking her head. "Yer here. And that's all Ah need."

Chadley trembles and then snaps, "I'll outlast you." Quieter he says, "I love you, Ma."  He closes his eyes and restarts the prayer, his posture relaxing and his brow drying. The tears are back, but his meditation is deep and he doesn't notice them at all.

"Ah love you, too," Adeline murmurs and moves away from Chadley and the Light that radiates from him. When she's a safe distance away, she begins humming the lullaby again, something vaguely familiar from his childhood.

And now he's alone, a single light in an inky dark that sings childhood songs to him. His prayers stay firm and his trance deep. The Light is all he has.

Mairèad, Lorcan, and Shepard: June 21

Mairèad has barely dismounted her gryphon before she's already moving at a decent clip toward the inn, sparing a glance towards the barracks and up at Tirion's statue on the way.

Shepard has been following the entire time, quiet and focused, eyes on the ground as he murmurs this or that to himself.

Once they've reached the room at the top of the stairs, Mairèad doesn't even bother knocking on the door. "We're back," she calls out to Lorcan, who is pacing the room in an unbuttoned shirt, going frantically over various papers and notes. He looks up at Mairèad and Shepard's entrance. "Took you long enough," he grumbles, brushing at his face, which is blotchy and tear-stained. "What do you need, Shepard? I'll get it for you."

The worgen glances over everything in the room, ears flicking in thought. "--quiet," he begins. "And something of Chadley's. A personal item, a lock of hair, anything to help trace him for the scrying ritual. I'll also need a large bowl of water."

Lorcan hurries off towards the bathroom, returning a moment later with a basin filled nearly to the brim with water, which he sets on the floor. As for an item of Chadley's, he hands over an ancient, mold-ridden shield with the Silver Hand's symbol. "It belonged to him in Southshore, and was sent to him recently by his mother," Lorcan explains weakly, sinking down on the bed. Mairèad, meanwhile, leans against the doorpost silently, her eyelights flickering far dimmer than usual.

Shepard doesn't waste time with setting up the ritual; he removes a small satchel of arcane-infused dust, sprinkling it across the floor into small piles, drawing runes and symbols onto the surface. The bowl is placed just above, and the shield just in the center. "The bowl is for outsider viewing," he murmurs as he continues going over the fine details. "I won't be able to communicate during the process, so be ready to write down everything you see."

Lorcan stands up again, staggering to his desk and fumbling about for parchment and a pen with ink. He plants himself on the floor next to the bowl of water, pen at the ready. Mairèad also moves closer so that she can see the bowl better. "Ready when you are," Lorcan says.

Shepard eases himself to the floor, his eyes trained on the shield. A low chant begins to leave his lips, the runes and symbols flickering to life, the energies filling the room and humming softly. Eventually, the worgen's eyes cloud over with Arcane mists.

Mairèad starts some, a hand jerking towards Shepard and then falling back to her side, curled into a fist. Lorcan, meanwhile, leans over the bowl of water, watching it for any signs of life or change or anything but a normal bowl of water.

The pool of wate begins to ripple and churn, sloshing against the container's sides--but then everything calms, and images begin to appear. Dead trees, broken bodies, the shadows of worgen running through the wilds. Forsaken banners are draped over horrible, metal-wrought buildings. The stream of sight soon arrives at an old cabin, pauses, then rockets forward through the doorway. It's dark, except for the occasional flash of demonic eyes and flesh. The train continues chugging ahead until the main attraction appears: Adeline, in all her grotesque glory.

Lorcan scribbles away at all of the images, even adding sketchy illustrations on the side in case there's any question. Mairèad remains completely silent, though she jerks again when Adeline appears, an exhale of pain echoing in her helm. Lorcan glances up at her and then back at the image in the bowl before darting his eyes over towards Shepard, almost expectantly.

Adeline's visage twists and turns, as if looking through the window to those on the other side. Shepard's brows furrow, his head tilts, and a bead of sweat runs down the side of his face. But he continues on in search of Chadley.

Mairèad gasps at this and then covers her helm with both hands, as if to keep further sound from escaping. Lorcan, meanwhile, continues to write furiously, the only other sound in the room being the scratch of his pen on the paper.

And that's where the trail ends: with Chadley, bound, a shield of Light enveloping him--his saving grace. The man's face is a mixture of terror and hate.

Now it's Lorcan's turn to make a pained sound, his pen tearing through the paper. Mairèad remains silent, though she nods at the image, almost as if in encouragement, even though there's no way Chadley can see or hear her.

It's then that the image jerks, as if battered, almost fizzlng out completely--but it holds. It swivels around to view Adeline one again, shaking and beginning to break. The water is beginning to violently splash and leak from the basin, and Shepard's grip on his knees is approaching a death grip. The flurry of sights retreats to the outside world, soaring higher and higher to offer a bird's eye view of the area. And that's when the spell breaks entirely. The worgen gasps and reels back. He's a sweating mess.

Mairèad drops to her knees and reaches out for Shepard, a blessing bursting out before she even thinks about it. Lorcan, meanwhile, finishes his writing and presses his hand to his forehead. "That was Silverpine. Wasn't it? Silverpine?" Mairèad nods, eyelights flickering as she does so. "It looked like Silverpine t'me. And it looks like he's keepin' hisself safe pretty good."

Shepard nods, at a loss of breath, eventually flopping onto his back unceremoniously. "Si-Silverpine," he murmurs. "Home. Rem-remember it well." The blessing helps him enough to speak, at least.

Mairèad shifts around, still reaching for Shepard and trying to hold him up a little better than what's happened. Lorcan, on the other hand, has already jumped to his feet. "What are we waiting for, then? We should head out now."

"Don't be dumb," Mairèad answers quietly. "We ent headin' into Fersakin territory in th'dead 'a night."

Shepard, with Mairead's help, manages to sit up enough to regard Lorcan. "She'll... she'll be expecting us to rush in," he says. "Acting on emotion rather than thought. We need- need to plan. Prepare."

Lorcan starts to make an angry protest, but eventually just throws his hands up and pushes away from the bowl of water, spilling some of it on the floor. "I'm going outside," he announces, as if that's a thing. And he slams the door behind him. -

Mairèad remains quiet for a while after Lorcan's gone, still holding onto Shepard, almost mindlessly.

Shepard's strength is- questionable, at the moment, and he slumps against Mairead with a tired sigh. "Perhaps you should go after him," he mumbles.

Mairèad shakes her head, not moving from her current position. "He jest goes out to th'front stoop and drinks," she says quietly, distractedly. "He ent gunna do nothin' stupid. If nothin' else, he knows his own limits."

"Love," he murmurs. "Can make us do stupid things." Shepard's eyes drift shut, his body losing the will to remain tense. "Are you alright?"

Mairèad shakes her head again, though she says, "Ent got time to be anythin' but a'right. I can't fall apart. Not when he needs me. I'll fall apart when it's over."

"I think you can allow yourself something, Mair. You might as well let it out now, and go with a clearer mind."

Mairèad laughs, though it's a humorless sound. "I can't do that," she repeats. "I don't -wanna- do that. I-- if I fall apart now, I can't think of a plan, me mind stops bein' clear, and I start panickin'. And then when it's all over, then I can lose it and scream and cry, and I'll come do that on you, okay?"

"If that's what you want."

Mairèad grunts in response to this and removes her helm, letting her hair stick up on all sides. She's white as a sheet, her freckles standing out in sharp relief against her features. "What I want is to be yer wife," she answers quietly. "But I need to grow up before I can be th'wife you deserve... or, rilly, that anyone deserves."

Shepard coughs, his entire body shaking from the effort, a groan lodged in his throat. "What I deserve," he says quietly. "Is happiness. You make me happy--imperfections and all."

Mairèad sighs and closes her eyes. "Then I need to grow up fer me. 'Cause if I don't, I won't be happeh. And I will hurt you. I dunno if I'd be unfaithful. I don't think I would. But I know I'd cause you pain."

"Do what you need to, love..." Shepard mumbles. "But I know where my patience ends, and now, so do you. So that's a step."

Despite herself, Mairèad lets out a small laugh. "I'm jest glad to see that yer still human and not some... weird illusion Shepard sent to try'n make me happeh while th'rill you's off doin' dragon shit."

"You're my wife," he groans. "Sue me if I get testy when I hear the words 'unfaithful' and 'gonna be' together.--don't actually sue me. That'd make the situation worse."

Mairèad looks at Shepard curiously, though her eyes have a bit of a devilish gleam to them. "-Do- you have any money I could nick away from you?" she asks before breaking into a tired sort of smile.

Shepard's eyes flutter open. He stares at Mairead with as tired of a look as her smile. "Woman. The only thing you'd get is a giant dick-slap."

Senkha & Oliver: An Epilogue

Senkha enters the house in complete silence. Not even her footsteps make a sound on the stairs or the floor, and the door closes noiselessly behind her. She makes her way to the kitchen and starts putting away the eggs.

Macglynn is still seated on the bottom step, head down and clutched in his hands. Chadley sits at his side, looking equal parts pained and nauseous. He's quiet as Oliver endlessly talks. "-- believed in it so much, why's she so upset by it? Weren't fer her, Ah dun' even know where Ah'd be. Dead. Ah'd be dead, or maybe Ah'd 'a let m'self fall ter my blade, maybe Ah'd-- Light, all she ever done is remind me to keep good-" Chadley raps Oliver on the shoulderplate and nods toward Senkha as she walks in.

Senkha still silently sets the eggs in place, the slight scraping of their shells against each other the only indication that she's here at all. If she's noticed the silence following her entrance, she doesn't show it.

Macglynn peers up in the direction of the sound and frowns. Chadley claps him on the shoulderplate again and stands, slowly and painfully making his way back up the stairs. The boy shakes his head to clear it. Oliver... remains where he is.

Senkha slowly and carefully sets the last of the eggs in place before closing up behind them. She turns to set the basket by the door and catches Oliver's eyes as she goes, exhales softly and closes her eyes before joining him on the stairs.
Senkha says: I just want you to be happy.

Macglynn says: Likewise. This clearly causes conflict.

Senkha says: I'm fine. I'm sorry that I reacted the way I did. I'm sorry I didn't just... just shut up and let you be happy.
Senkha says: I'm not very good at doing that, I know. Every time you've been happy, I've been so quick to rain on your parade, and that's the worst thing. I'm... I'm not very good for you at all.

Macglynn says: ... Please don't go away.
Macglynn 's voice is small, his features hidden by his gauntlets. His words come out slow, but his thoughts are racing.
I've made a mistake I can't fix. She liked me better before. I've ruined things, I've frightened her, I should've been happy to help how I could have-

Senkha closes her eyes and cringes, covering her face with her hands as well. "Stop," she says quietly. The barrier to her own thought process falls down; she's far from calm and collected.
--only a matter of time, now he's so -good- and you're so not. You're not good, you've never been, you bring out the worst in him. It's only a matter of time before he realizes it. He's not an idiot. And then he'll leave, just like everyone else, and what will you have then, Senkha?

Macglynn 's plated fingertips dig into his hair in frustration. His voice sounds about to break as he asks, "Whut's 'good' got t'do with any it all? Y'think ha' textbook 'good' y'are is whut Ah care about? -Ever- cared about?"

Senkha runs her hands through her hair, burying her face further. "This part of you--the part of you that calls on the Light--hates me for what I've done to you. The way I've fed those Scourge-borne depravities, the way I enjoyed them."
Senkha says: Every time you almost killed me because of what they did to you--it was me. It was my fault. It was my digging and pushing and need to be hurt. I made you a monster.

Macglynn says: ... Are you leaving.

Senkha says: Are you?
Senkha says: And I mean... even if you say no now, what's to stop you from leaving later? I'm so broken and fucked up and wrong, and the Light favors you so much...

"NEVER," he answers too loudly. "Why d'you think that's all that matters t'me. Why d'you think that's in any way whut Ah care about."

Senkha says: That's all -anyone- has -ever- cared about! And tell me honestly, if things were different... if you weren't undead and I'd played with your mind and pushed you into evil, would you love me?

Macglynn lifts his head and looks at her with those eerie, golden eyes, his features fallen in an absolutely defeated expression. "It ain't whut Ah care about," he weakly argues. He doesn't answer her question.
He can't even think of an answer. He cannot at all consider the outside circumstances. Would he? Maybe. Maybe not. But he does now.

Senkha sags weakly, just as defeated, as if all the life has gone out of her. "I'm not leaving," she tells him in a low voice. "I'm just so afraid that you will."

Macglynn says: Ah- Ah love you. Ah made this happen 'cause 'a you, an'- an' it was you whut brought me here. Y'made some mistakes, but -you saved me-.
If I wasn't dead by now, I'd have been consumed by my blade. Gave up. A slave.

Senkha makes a sound not at all unlike a wounded puppy. "How did I stop any of that? I -encouraged- some of it. I said you were good, but the second you had me in your arms, all I could think about was--"
You killing me. You enslaving me. Belonging to you the way you belonged to your blade.

Macglynn says: ... Y'helped me balance it. Y'helped me see ha' awful it really was, whut Ah needed to watch out fer in m'self. Y'even showed me th' Light again.

Senkha looks up, about to protest, before remembering that oh yeah, she did do that. "That's what you see, in spite of everything horrible I've done... everything horrible I am. That's what you see."

Macglynn tries looking her in the eye. "Y'can't recreate that kind 'a beauty unless it's in you, even jus' a little. But- lemme ask. All those things y'call horrible. Why'd y'do 'em?"

Senkha exhales slowly. Talk about a can of worms. She scratches her scalp for a moment, thinking. "Because I love all of you, and I wanted you to know that. Even the bad. I shouldn't have pulled it out, but I wanted you to know that nothing about you was that bad to me, that I wouldn't love you for it. But then I enjoyed you hurting me and I thought that... that maybe if you saw me as something that belonged to you, nothing would or could ever make you leave."

Macglynn says: Ah'm glad yer able t'jus' tell me all that. Senkha, Ah- Ah don't say it enough, ha' much yuh've helped me an' seen me through. Y'done some crazy things, but Ah won't lie that a part 'a me enjoyed 'em as much as a part 'a me hated 'em.
Macglynn says: An' Ah -don't- mean th' blade.
Macglynn says: But Ah don't care. An' apparently th' Light don't either, so long it's done outta love or somethin' stupid lahk that. Ah don't know.

Senkha looks at Oliver with raised eyebrows. "-You- enjoyed them? Oliver MacGlynn, not Oliver the Death Knight."

Macglynn says: Senkha, yer talkin' at me lahk Ah suddenly became a whole new person. Oliver the Death Knight is a part 'a me. It's somethin' that happened t'me. It's who Ah am.
Macglynn says: Th' whispers is gone, but Ah'm still th' same.

Senkha says: --but.
You're a paladin now. That changes so much.

Macglynn says: -- It does, but it don't give a single reason fer me to stop lovin' you.

Senkha starts to respond to this, but instead has an abrupt subject change attack. "Can you feel anything? When Stehl put his hand on Dad's bare chest, Dad felt everything. Can you feel anything?"

Macglynn stumbles. He was also about to keep talking, but now he's being questioned. He places a hand over his bony cheek and gives the smallest of nods. "J-jus' a bit. It's there, oh Light. It's there."

Senkha says: --and. And if I never did anything with your mind again, if I never gave you that illusion of life, and this was all you had. You would still love me?

Macglynn says: Senkha, please stop askin' me all these 'if' questions. If y'get th' urge to ask one, jus' assume th' answer is "yes".
Macglynn stares at her. He tries to smile.

Senkha manages something like a smile. It's weak, but it's genuine. "Alright."
Senkha says: --take off your glove.

Macglynn blinks and does as instructed. "Why?"

Senkha takes Oliver's hand. "You can feel, can't you? Sort of?" Without waiting for an answer, she places his hand on top of her hair, letting his fingers tangle there and his thumb brush against her cheek.

Macglynn smiles, curling his fingers in and feeling her hair between them. He laughs, even- a quick, short, almost sad laugh. "Thank y'fer stickin' with me," he says as he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers.

Senkha closes her eyes and removes her own glove to place her hand against Oliver's right cheek: warm, calloused along the palms, but beautiful. "Right back at you." She leans forward to brush her lips against his ever-so-gently.

Macglynn ups the energy a bit, returning the kiss with a smile. There's a calm about his mind; one that's never been there in all her time knowing him.
I have everything I want.

The Nightmare

The early-morning silence of the MacGlynns' Surwich home was shattered as Oliver threw the door open, wide-eyed, with a manic grin spread across his face. Almost dazedly he stumbled into the home, his blade clutched in his arms like a child. The runes glowed with the same excited energy as his eyes, lichfire flickering up from the blade and around his gauntlets. He was drenched in a combination of blood both demonic and his own, a black trail left in the doorway and entry hall as he staggered his way toward his chair.

He cared little for the noise he made, his mind still locked in the euphoria of suffering, and as he sank into his chair, his arms wrapped around his blade and he allowed the lichfire to surround him. The new tears in his flesh bubbled shut, and a foul noise and even fouler smell rose from it.

It had been a good night.

Senkha could never really sleep when Oliver was feeding his blade. Or, to be more accurate, she could sleep, but her dreams couldn't block out the euphoria of the kill, and the feelings of elation translating to a dance in her mind. Though Oliver killed demons in the nearby woods, Senkha dreamed of other things--death and destruction at her hands, not necessarily of those who deserved it or of those whose blood she would be happy to see staining her hands. When this happened, sleep frustrated Senkha beyond belief, and she'd often wake up in a cold sweat after forgetting to breathe, fighting and embracing the euphoria in the same moment.

So she welcomed her husband's noisiness and didn't even bother to dress properly when she came downstairs, looking like she'd slept very little, but at least not covered in bug bites like she had been. The navy blue string remained around her finger from several days before, unmentioned but still hanging tight. She barely grunted at Oliver as she stumbled to the kitchen and started shuffling around for tea.

So in all, it was just another morning.

Oliver barely acknowledged her as she descended the stairs, still reveling in that rush of combat. The blue flames licking about his body intensified as the sword grew empowered- it had devoured many souls that night, and its magic burned them into his own life.

His chair gave a groan as he rose suddenly, the trailing flames dying behind him into nothing but the usual flicker in his eyes as he stomped into the kitchen. He put a hand to his wife's shoulder, nudging her off to the side and out of his way as he reached for the nearest rag he could find. As soon as it was in his grip, he turned and tromped back to the chair. He landed heavily down into it, and immediately began to wipe down the layers of demon blood already coagulating on the metal. His blade took first priority, always. His own state of cleanliness and repair was unimportant.

After sitting down, he grunted a distracted, "Mornin'."

Senkha watched the process with a sort of bored fascination, the kind that comes when your eyes are too bleary to completely focus (and so there were three Olivers and three runeblades). She was barely sipping at her tea, either, bitterly and unwantedly feeling the same concern for the runeblade that her husband felt. It was free of cracks, of dents or dings, and that was one less worry for either of them that morning. Still, it occupied her mind enough that the tea remained woefully neglected until it was lukewarm and far stronger than she would've liked, one way or the other.

"Good night?" she asked by way of response, even though it really wasn't a question that needed asking. And in any case, the thread caught her eye again and she started fiddling with it while waiting for Oliver to respond.

Oliver grunted again- almost a laugh- and it was his only response. The manic smile had left his face with the burst of lichfire, replaced by a softer, almost loving one as he dug the dry, congealed blood out of the blade's grooves.

"Was. " He turned the blade over so he could work on the opposite side. "Yer thinkin'," he said, giving a brief glance up at her hands. "'Bout whut."

"Getting a tattoo," Senkha responded, turning her hand over to look at her palm and run the fingers of her opposite hand over the callouses there. "So that I can take this string off." As per usual, she didn't continue in this train of thought or really expand it beyond that besides adding. "Well... two tattoos, actually."

Oliver's cleaning took a brief pause at her statement, though he resumed the moment her words processed in his mind. "Ah know 'bout yer finger thing. Y'think about it a lot. Y'do whut y'want, there, though if y'ask me it'll raise too many questions from others. Y'really wanna explain that ev'ry-" he allowed himself to fall off into silence, carefully running the rag along the blade's edge.

"Whut's th' second one," he asked.

"All I'd have to explain to them is that it's a reminder to me to think before I act. Not much more to it than that; I needn't go into detail." Senkha gave Oliver a soft smile, waking up some from the lukewarm tea. "And even if I did, most people would be bored after about the third sentence and wander away to do something more interesting. Like watch paint dry."

At the second question, Senkha paused and stood, lifting the hem of her nightdress until her lower back was exposed--and along with it, the Cult of the Forgotten's symbol. "I want to do something to hide this."

"Could burn it off," Oliver muttered. He held the blade out so that it rested on its point, and he turned it around, giving it an inspection for remaining grime. It seemed to be free, and with that satisfaction, he leaned back to prop it against the wall at his side.

He turned to look at Senkha, free of his obligations to the blade, and gave a smile. Blight had trailed and crusted down from his eyes, mouth and nose to his chin, and strewn bits of demon still clung to him in several places. The chair and the carpet beneath him were... probably no longer suitable for human contact.

"Well anyway, Ah still think tattoin' words on yerself's a weird ahdea, but y'go fer it. Any ahdea whut yuh'd wanna have t'hide that?"

"Why's it a weird idea?" Senkha asked, half looking at Oliver over her shoulder, nightdress still pulled up to her lower back. "You've a tattoo yourself, commemorating your ordination. I just want to commemorate attempting to turn over a new leaf!"

"...again." Senkha dropped her nightdress and sighed heavily, sitting down again and almost dropping her face into her tea. "Oliver, why am I retarded?"

Oliver contemplated this, and eventually came up with an answer. "Ah think it's weird ta put words on yerself," he stated amtter-of-factly. But he gave a shrug after, continuing to say, "But Ah can't really say nuthin'. If y'think it'll help y'be less 'retarded', as y'put it, who'd Ah be ta ridicule it?"

"An'' fer th' record, y'ain't retarded. It's called bein' alahv, an' all livin' is is makin' one mistake after another. Name one person that ain't a retard."

Senkha shrugged, wiggling her index finger at Oliver to show off the blue thread again. "I think I'm just dumb enough that I might need that reminder," she pointed out with a sad smile. "I mean, half the time, the dumb shit I do is because I forget to think, you know? And then you or Dad or Marius find out about it and I get the 'I am very disappointed in you' face at the least or make one of you cry or break or..." She shrugged again and drained the last of her tea.

"Well, I mean, when you put it that way. I just seem to fuck up more frequently and to more fanfare than most." Senkha gave Oliver a wry grin, setting her teacup back down. "I mean, it almost feels one missed step of mine means Azeroth gets plunged into eternal darkness sometimes, you know?"

Leaning back in his grimy chair, Oliver gave a soft chuckle. "Well, a'rite, y'got me on that one. Ah dunno why th' world seems t' care so much about whut you do- heck, whut th' both 'a us does- when all th' rest is able t'make mistakes, learn from 'em, an' keep on livin'."

Oliver shrugged a shoulder, further making himself comfortable by crossing one leg over the other and letting his arms fold across his chest. To his side, his satiated blade still pulsed with an excited light, the entire corner illuminated despite the candles being unlit. He reached out and turned it a little, the light better on his wife.

"Ah dunno whut makes y'so special in that way. 'Cause yer mistakes, they ain't nuthin' world-shatterin'. Folk jus' seem ta treat 'em that way."

Senkha nodded and, for no reason in particular, stood and turned her chair around so that she could rest her forearms on the back of it and still look at Oliver. The runelight flashed particularly brightly against her cheek, against the curved, silvery mark that looked as if it had been carved from her flesh by sharp teeth. "It honestly almost feels like I'm on display sometimes," she admitted, sounding more amused than anything else. "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! See the great and idiotic Senkha MacGlynn fuck up spectacularly! Only thirty silver!"

After a beat, she added, "That's kind of why, too... why I whip myself. Or did. It's easy enough to shrug off mistakes and stupidity when they're just mistakes and stupidity that are yours, but when the world is looking at you, it feels like merely saying 'I'm sorry' isn't anywhere near good enough."

Oliver let out a soft chuckle. "'Cept that's th' thing folk say's th' most retarded of all."

He allowed silence to take him for a moment, eventually continuing, "It's possible we ain't allowed ta fuck up by nobody because us fuckin' up really is a danger. We ain't exactly a normal couple 'a people. Me in perticular. Lahk walkin' a rope; ain't no room fer a wrong step."

Senkha smiled wryly and vaguely picked at a piece of wood on the back of the chair. "Don't I know it. I think that's why I'm retarded: I just can't understand, if people get so upset when I fuck up, why I'm not allowed to punish myself for it or make myself suffer for it." The smile faded into a frown. "No, I mean. I understand that. I just... if they're allowed to punish me for idiocy, why can't I punish myself?"

At Oliver's words, she nodded with a heavy sigh, conceding. "It's true. If we fuck up, probably the entire world dies." Sometimes, I wish we could, just to see if that would really happen...

With an amused snort, Oliver again reached out for his blade. The runelight moved with it, casting strange shadows across the house, and stranger ones yet as he began to spin it on its point at his side. "Fuck th' world, Ah'm jus' talkin' about us. Whut's a normal couple gotta deal with? Kids? Who's turn it is ta do th' laundry? Ha' late th' husband's been out drinkin'? Water unner th' bridge, all it. We fuck up, an' it's yer lahf an' soul at stake."

He ceased the blade's twisting and lowered it so it half-crossed his lap. "Folk got their eyes on me at all tahms, jus' waitin' fer me ta slip up an' ruin you."

Senkha tilted the chair forward so that it leaned precariously on two legs, balancing only because she kept her feet planted firmly on the ground. "See, I half hear it the opposite way. I feel like the world worries about me bringing you down, as I'm an obviously depraved and wanton young thief and you're a noble and upstanding former paladin with a strand of bad luck." She shrugged and rocked the chair a few times. "Sometimes, I wonder if the world wants us to be together so badly that they want us to leave each other alone."

"...which isn't going to happen, by the way," she added quickly after a moment's pause. The constant reassurance wasn't something she needed to do, but it was a bit like spitting when you accidentally said the name of someone you didn't want to see--clearing the bad luck from the air.
Oliver lofted a brow and a smile found its way onto his face again. "They really tell y'that? Light above, it's as if they dun' even look at me."

He ran a hand over the flat of the blade across his lap, lichfire curling up from the runes around his hand at his touch. "Ah ain't a paladin. Ah don't know why Ah still carry this book, even," he said, glancing down at the moldy, blight-eaten old libram chained at his side. "Ah follow th' Light best Ah can, an' Ah ain't stopped tryin'a keep to th'tenets, but they took more'n jus' m'lahf away from me."

His hand lifted away from the sword, and the light dulled again. His eyes were fixed on the runes. "Ah ain't a paladin," he repeats. "Ah'm a Knight 'a th' Ebon Blade, an' Ah'm ev'rythin' whut comes with bein' that."

"You're whatever you choose to be," Senkha answered dully, and even coming from her as an attempt at encouragement, it sounded more like words printed on paper than spoken. "At least you try. I... I can't even say, really, that I do that anymore." She leaned back and let the chair rest on all four legs again, now arching her back and looking at the ceiling. Were she wearing less clothing, it would almost be vulgar. "I feel like I lost something of myself in Ahn'Qiraj. Like... like part of me's been licked hollow. I felt that way after Mystadon as well, but then I had you to distract me. Now it's just..."

She frowned, still staring at the ceiling. "Not that you aren't a distraction, but having to face that emptiness again and try to deal with it... Light, it's a worse hell than what initially happened."

Oliver smirked at her feeble attempt at encouragement, and shook his head. "Got done kiddin' m'self. Ah stick ta whut's right jus' by virtue 'a it bein' right, but Ah also can't pertend nuthin'. Ah don't try t'be anythin' no more." A brief pause, and he admitted with another chuckle, "... Not since you."

The air above Senkha shimmered, the moisture gathering and bursting into a tiny rain of snow onto her upturned face. Oliver's hand lowered, the calm smile having not yet left his disgusting features. "Tell me whut Ah kin do that'll help y'deal with it. Anythin'. If'n at all there is anythin'."

Senkha's frown deepened slightly. "...I hope I didn't take any hope away from you," she said, albeit sadly. "I don't want you to ever stop believing that you're a good man. You are a good man, Oliver, no matter what sustains you and no matter what you enjoy. You have a good heart, and those other things are things you can't help." She sounded as convinced of it as always, mostly because she really did believe it.

At the snow, Senkha smiled and opened her mouth to catch snowflakes on her tongue. This gave her a good excuse to be quiet and think about Oliver's question until she had a decent answer. And she really did intend to answer when she spoke, but instead, she asked, "What would happen if those runes really were carved on my back?"

Oliver watched her silently and patiently as she caught the snow, his smile fading to a more neutral expression. The snow too faded, the last few flakes catching in her hair as she questioned him.

He again ran his hand over the blade, and the runes again reacted with tiny flares of blue. "Th' blade runes," he muttered. "These runes is unique t'me, to this blade. Each rune repersents somethin' whut makes it work, an' t'gether they spell its name." His hand followed the runes down the blade. "Angravar. Death, vigor, enslavement. If another blade took this name, it'd act as a extension 'a it. Ah don't rightly know whut it'd do to a person."

"I didn't know that was your blade's name," Senkha remarked by way of giving the subject a little bit of rest. Only a little bit, though, before she was back on topic again. "Do you think the blade would enslave me? Or would it merely corrupt me and then I would enslave you? Or would I just be...?" She frowned and let the questions trail off. "I know you don't know. I'm just... thinking out loud."

As if he needed clarification, she adds, "The reason I ask is because I think those runes would be a nice way to cover up the marks on my back. Kind of like getting your name tattooed on me, but different. More permanent." More real.

"Ah don't rightly know," he repeated in agreement, his gaze still fixated on the runes. "If these was on yer daggers, it'd take you's its own an' thrive from yer kills. It wouldn' be th' same as me- yer soul'd be yer own, still safe in yer heart an' not tore at an' threatened ta disappear if y'don't kill. But lahk all magic, 'specially dark magic, yuh'd never wanna put 'em down.

On you, though. These isn't meant fer people. It's possible you yerself could be a extension, not jus' yer blades. Or it could jus' kill you, since a livin' body ain't meant ta share energy lahk that."

He looked up at her and gave an honest shrug, and his smile returned, if only slightly. "Th' thing about runes is they gotta be empowered. If'n they was scratched inna you, they'd not mean nuthin' more'n jus' mah name. But then Light help if y'was t'git on a runemaster's bad sahd."

Senkha's hand fell reflexively to her hips at the mention of her daggers. Of course, they weren't there, what with it being so early in the morning and everything, but her hands went to where they usually sat regardless. "Would my daggers feed your blade?" she wondered softly, drumming her fingers against her hips in their usual reflexive motion. "I mean... I could kill without necromancy. Unless the actual feeding of the blade itself is the necromancy."

Another sigh. Senkha wrapped her arms back around the back of the chair and smiled over at Oliver. "Do we even know any runemasters whose bad side I can get on?"

Oliver hefted the blade up again so that it was now on the opposite side of his chair, between Senkha and himself, as if displaying it to her. "That's th' funny thing about us. We's always on somebody's bad sahd without ever meanin' ta be."

He studied her illuminated face for a moment, continuing on to say, "By empowerin' me through it, yes, it's nekermancy. Th' magic itself is unholy. Ah don't gotta look no deeper'n yer facial expression ta know whut's on yer mahnd, Senkha." He used his blade as leverage to push himself forward, and he leaned in closer. He didn't need to look any deeper, but he did anyway.

Just how much about me are you willing to learn?

"You'd think an undead man and his wife could exist peacefully," Senkha commented dryly, leaning forward against the back of her chair as Oliver leaned in towards her. Once again, the front legs lifted off the floor, so she was more squatting than sitting, but it didn't seem to bother her much.

And it didn't bother her much either that he was looking deeper; she always encouraged him to do just that, and Light knew she looked deep enough herself, usually deeper than he was comfortable with. You know the answer to that is always everything.

Oliver's back straightened as he leaned away from Senkha again. His gaze was fixed and level on her runelit face, the neutrality of his expression broken only by a single twitch of his brows.

"... Outta yer chair. Take yer shirt off. Come over here t'me."

Senkha blinked a few times but didn't argue. She stood slowly and removed her robe and nightshirt, standing bare chested and bare backed before Oliver, far more comfortable doing so with him than she had been several weeks before with Aradelle. After all, he knew her scars.

"...are you going to do it now?" she asked, sounding more surprised than anything.

Her back displayed plainly in front of him, Oliver stood. A blight-encrusted arm wrapped around her middle, pulling her close, and a cold hand rested against the small of her back, just over the heathen symbol etched into her skin.

"Ah'm clearin' room," he whispered.

Beneath his hand, her skin began to crawl. It spread from his palm outward, at first more a dull tingle than anything. The numbness was replaced by discomfort, and quickly grew into an agonizing burn. His grip around her middle tightened to keep her standing as her branded flesh began to redden and bubble.

"Clearing...?" Senkha didn't finish the question before the tingling began and, before too long, found herself unable to think of anything but the burning of her flesh. For several minutes, she managed to stand quietly and carefully, but even with her tolerance for pain, it was too much. Her legs gave out and she staggered, first growling and then screaming and sobbing in pain. She managed to fight back the instinct to tear at him, to pull his arm away and fight him off, but her hands still grasped at his arm around her waist as if doing so would deaden the pain.

The process didn't take much longer than several minutes. Under his glove her flesh blistered, boiled, cracked, and melted back into itself, and Oliver himself was unable to contain an ever-widening grin.

He reveled in her struggle. His arm around her tightened as she dug at it, securing her against him in a reminder that even if she were to give in to instinct, he was simply the more powerful of the two. His head rested on her shoulder, his face held close to hers, and it was indistinguishable if this attempt at comfort was genuine or chastising.

The blood cast did not end gradually. He tore his hand away and the boiling came to a sudden stop, the pain of the burns and blisters all that was left. Where once her flesh had been marred by the Forgotten brand, there was now only a twisted, red, raw patch of skin.

His arm remained around her, assuring she wouldn't fall, and before even speaking to her he couldn't help but look down at his work. His grin softened into a prideful smile.

Even if his closeness to her was more chastising than comforting, even if he was delighting in the agony he caused her, the thought of really struggling or putting up any sort of a fight against Oliver never once crossed Senkha's mind. Part of him, she understood, genuinely wanted to help her with this void and emptiness that her time with the Cult had created.

And the other part just loved hearing her scream and seeing her skin twist and boil under his touch. And how much more twisted it was that another part of him was probably excited by the fact that she'd already decided to pay him back for this in kind later.

But now her hands shook and as the pain disappeared, her screams gradually turned into sobs, and even those became nothing but shudders and sighs after a while. Senkha rested her head back against Oliver's shoulder as if he'd just given her a long, soothing massage instead of searing away the skin on her lower back. She even kissed him on the cheek, almost sensually.

"You used to deny this p-part of yourself."

Oliver lowered himself back into the chair, his arm still curled around her raw and half-naked body and so bringing her with him onto his lap. As they sank down together, he looked up from the beautiful new scar and again rested his chin on her shoulder.

Senkha was right. The smile on his face reflected nothing but love for what he'd done. The past months brought with them a steady decay of willpower, a blatant disregard for his virtues, and a continually deeper lust for giving in to what the Scourge had made of him. His rotten lips pressed cold against her jawline after he considered this.

Maybe you did bring the noble paladin down.

The shifting of positions didn't help much with the pain, and Senkha winced as they sat down, eyes screwing closed in an attempt to keep her pained noises behind her teeth. It didn't work very well after Oliver's words, and she gave a soft groan, covering her face with both hands. "I never meant to do that," she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head. "I love every part of you, but I didn't want to bring you down into the darkness with me."

The thoughts jumbled in her mind, and she didn't bother trying to hide them. Was it me? Did I do this? What if this doesn't stay in our house? What have I done?

Senkha was right in another regard- there were many parts to Oliver. One of them clung desperate and afraid to the paladin: a man of rectitude, faith, and honor. With his body a blighted horror, and his mind a shattered mess, Oliver found comfort in hanging on to that part of himself. The paladin held the darkness with contempt and strove to illuminate it with his Light, and cursed her for her curiosity.

The Death Knight held her in his arms and gave in to the darkness, damnation far past some kind of negative consequence and more just an accepted inevitability. They were both sick, twisted individuals- she through a life of trial, and he through the Scourge's games. But it didn't matter how it happened. The end result was the same.

The thoughts crossing from Oliver's mind to Senkha's were tinged with equal parts shame and acceptance, love and hate.

You dig deeper and deeper, lighting little fires as you go. What did you expect would happen once you'd illuminated everything?

"But surely you knew all of this about yourself before I started digging!" Senkha protested. Somehow, there was still some comfort for her in speaking out loud. "It's why you haze over your thoughts whenever you start to think more darkly than you'd like to, and it's why you were hesitant about this in the first place. I can't believe that just because I know everything about you, you've decided it's not worth it to even try anymore."

The trouble was, of course, that Senkha--like most people--had no real two sides to her personality. Even Itzhal, the Guardian, was just her emotion concentrated, not a real severence from who she was. She may have had tempers, she may have had moods, but at the end of the day, Oliver had been right to say that things like Virh and Itzhal weren't really different people...just part of the mind not often indulged.

And with that knowledge, the question Senkha sought to ask in probing so deeply was if Oliver--if she--could do horrific things and still be a good person. Could the paladin and the death knight coexist?

When she spoke again, it was in a defeated voice. "I only wanted you to see that doing horrible things against your will or because you need to do them to live doesn't make you a bad person." I only wanted to fix you.

"Fix me?" Oliver repeated aloud, followed by a low and gravelly laugh.

A child knows the world is full of toys, but he doesn't cry for them unless they're held in front of him.

Reminders. Memories. Encouragement. OBSESSION.

His grip around her tightened, pressing her raw and blistered back against his blight-drenched tabard. His thoughts flicked to Virh, and the excitement and obsession Senkha felt when that deep, disgusting part of him made itself known. Virh wasn't real, but what the Scourge did was, and Virh was the part of him that loved it all.

Embracing Virh was embracing the Scourge. And she slowly took away his shame.

The blight on Oliver's tabard only burned the new scar more severely, hissing and popping against her skin and causing Senkha to whimper with a pain that cut far deeper than the scars ever could. It weighed more than anything else she'd done, and it beat over and over in her head, that relentless drumming: You destroy everything you love.

She couldn't speak, she couldn't think, she could barely even breathe. No screech of metal on metal was necessary to bring her thoughts into as deeply broken of a place as they were. You destroy everthing you love. Monster. MONSTER. You set out to prove them all wrong and you failed. FAILURE. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve any of it. You don't deserve any better than them.

She became dead weight in Oliver's arms, only upright because he forced her to be. She wasn't aware, really, that she was shaking. Or sobbing. Or screaming.

Oliver took her by the chin and lifted her head, forcing her face nearer to his. He kissed her cheek as she sobbed; the way he held her was almost like he was cradling her.

Senkha, you're crying.

For a brief moment, Senkha was leaning forward in her chair again, smiling at Oliver. You know the answer to that is always everything.

Everything.

They then stood together in the Stormwind Harbor, overlooking the water as the sun sank below it. Something about them seemed fresher, innocent, even as Oliver turned to her and his lichfire eyes flared to a sickening black, and blight trailed from his sockets.

Senkha was staunch in her decision. "I know what I'm getting into."

Everything.

She was back in his cold arms, trembling bare and raw against his plague-ridden tabard, with his black disgusting lips pressed lovingly against her cheek.

Everything.

Senkha hadn't known what she was getting into, that much was apparent, though it wasn't as much this darkness of Oliver's that shocked her as much as her own unwitting creation of the monster that held her. She'd known, at least in a sense, of the darkness that a freed agent of the Lich King would always carry...anyone from Lordaeron would know as much.

But she had no idea how dark her own heart could be.

Everything. Oliver wasn't wrong. She had asked for everything and that was what she'd received. She'd torn down what was good about him and pulled forward all that was evil about him, and now she shouldn't have wondered at her creation.

Perhaps because of this realization, it only took her a few moments longer to stop sobbing and to calm down. "Do you love me," she asked hoarsely, her voice breaking and crumbling into something more like gravel. "And is this what you want?"

"Ah love you so much," he responded with his lips still against her cheek. "Ah don't know whut yer so afraid 'a."

His grip around her lessened as she calmed and regained capability of holding herself up, though he didn't entirely let go. His arm fell to rest more around her waist. "You kept me here. Y'brought me love inta a dark, lonely, terrifyin' existence. You make me happier'n anythin' in th' world."

His chin rested down against her shoulder again. "Ah want whutever you'd allow 'a me," he says contently.

"I'm not your master," Senkha murmured, and from the way her body shifted under his touch, it almost seemed like the opposite was true. "It's not about what I'll allow you and what I won't allow you. It's about what you want. What do you want, Oliver? Whatever it is that you want, it's yours."

For the first time in a very long time, Senkha meant this honestly. It wasn't just her saying "anything but THING X" or a list of stipulations. If he told her he wanted her dead on the floor, it would happen. Her entire posture and demeanor reeked of defeat.

Oliver's eyes grew wide at the suggestion.

Whatever it is that you want.

The chair crashed onto its side, and Senkha was thrown to the floor. Oliver rose above her, eying her in an almost predatory manner. One last flicker of regret marked a severance of their bond, and he took his blade by the hilt. The runes flared and he struck.

The only regret Senkha felt, watching the blade arc above her, was that their bond was gone. That she would die without being one with Oliver.

But she deserved this. Everything seemed to slow down, and for the only time since she'd met Oliver MacGlynn, Senkha did nothing to prevent her own death.

Death.

It was unlike the sick, psychotic little fantasies they lived out in their minds. There was no love, no sensuality, no tenderness about it. His blade pierced her lower back, sinking easily into her boiled skin until its double-point touched the floor below her. He took a moment to delight in her reaction before ripping out the blade, and as the wound began to well up with blood, blighted pustules rose from her skin around it. They burst, reformed, and spread up her back and body, leaving nothing but putrefied, gaping wounds behind.

Oliver watched gleefully as she rotted and writhed at his feet, making little slashes of his blade at her darkening skin. As the plague reached her throat and her screams turned to hoarse, tiny shrieks, her life began to slip away. It wasn't out of pity, but out of boredom that he gave the final strike to her temple, dashing blood and grey matter across the floor.

Vigor.

Shaking, grinning, Oliver held the blade above her broken body. It was an easy kill, but he looked every part victorious.

A silvery ribbon of light rose from Senkha's body like smoke. It twisted around the blade, danced with the lichfire, and disappeared into the runes. It belonged to his blade now, and the soul of Senkha MacGlynn broke and dispersed into the pulsing energy of the unholy weapon.

Enslavement.

The Death Knight gave a triumphant scream as he stood over the body. His sword arm thrashed out with excess energy, and the blade crashed into the nearby desk. The wood splintered and its contents strewed across the blood-soaked floor. He gave in to the mindless destruction, brandishing his sword about, slashing and breaking and shattering all that he could.

Lichfire blazed from his eyes and mouth, curling and licking about his face and leaving strange reflections on the blight spilling from his pores. He left the house destroyed. Blood and black sprayed across the walls, the furniture laid in pieces, and their belongings laid scattered and broken across the floor. Senkha's journal had fallen to her side, and in a fitting final entry, its pages grew saturated and dark with her blood.

It was the morning light through the window that brought him to a righter state of mind, if "right" was even the proper term for it.

She was dead. She was dead. She was dead.

He dropped to her side and took her blighted corpse into his arms. He shook it, as a child would to wake somebody up, but he knew it was foolish. He knew what he'd done. He knew what he could do.

He rolled her body over and his hand grasped into the mess desperately until he found a letter opener. He held it above her pustuled, putrefied back for a long time with a stony expression on his features. His grip tightened and his hand began to tremble. He'd taken her. She was gone. The dull knife fell from his hand and he backed away, looking out the window.

What will you do, Oliver?

For the first time even since his death, Oliver was truly alone. He'd chosen the monster, and now his wife was gone. This was not something that could be his own secret; he knew he'd face the wrath of everybody that loved her- everybody that had loved him. Not that he'd even be able to lie about such a thing.

He came to a full emotional halt, taking another step away from the body, staring at it like some foreign thing he wasn't familiar with. He was afraid. Afraid for himself, afraid for what his future held. To confess would mean execution, and beyond that an eternity of suffering. Taking his own life would simply hasten this fate.

He did not want to die. He could not die.

Oliver took up his blade and fled the house, her body left behind. Many cared for her. Someone would find it soon. They would know what happened. He found himself at the ocean shore, staring out over the water. Too many people knew his face. There was nowhere he could run. He couldn't die, but he'd lost all chances at living.

He found himself ankle-deep in the water, the tiny waves breaking around his boots.

He needed to be alone. Alone to hide, and alone so this would never happen again.

He couldn't help but think about how he always hated water as he secured Angravar to his back and trudged out into the sea, his head disappearing beneath the waves.

Good riddance, I say.