Hey there! I've been a fan of the Warcraft series for a long time, and I finally decided to write a story about it. It'll be three acts long, but I should be able to update around twice a week. I'll try and be as faithful to the lore as possible (as I'm quite a lore-junkie myself), but as good storytelling takes precedence, not everything will be completely accurate. Though anything that will be changed will be minor in the grand scheme of things.

Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own (World of) Warcraft. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions

Part 1: At the Monastery

Born down in a dead man's town.
—Bruce Springsteen

1: Prologue – The Interrogation

"The Scourge just think they can walk right into the land that's rightfully ours and take it? While movin' may be fine for some people, I'm not giving up my home without a fight!"

The door opened, letting an intense flow of light into the darkened room. Danthor Kurock squinted as a figure entered through the door. He felt himself squirm a little in his chair as a female figure sat down on the opposite side of the table in the middle of the cell.

The woman, who had brown hair tied behind her head in a bun, set her shield and axe down beside her. She then looked up at Danthor and asked, "Do you know who I am?"

Danthor grinned a bit. "Everyone knows who you are, High General Brigitte Abbendis."

"Ah," Abbendis said, viewing the surroundings Danthor had been in for the better part of three weeks. It had one window near the roof at the very back, letting only the faintest of light seep inside. Other than that, the table and two chairs were the only items in the room. "Then this should go a little faster. Are our lodgings to your liking?"

Danthor cast a quick glance around the gray-walled room before training his eyes back on the high general. "A bit barren for my taste, but where I'm from it's not too different."

"And where exactly are you from?"

"Tirisfal Glades," replied Danthor. "My family lived in a small house on the outskirts of the Solliden Farmstead."

Abbendis nodded. "Well it's good to know these surroundings aren't too foreign to you. It's unfortunate, but we have to keep all prospective recruits in confinement for a few weeks to make sure there's nothing . . . wrong with you—it's just policy. In a land governed by the trickery of the Scourge and Forsaken, we can never be too safe, can we?"

"To check if I'm undead or been infected by the plague, you mean." Danthor put his hands in front of him. "And what about not restraining a prospective recruit in the presence of one of the Crusade's leaders? Is that not in your policy?"

Abbendis chuckled, grabbing her one-handed axe that glowed fiery red with some type of enchantment. "I didn't become the high general for nothing. Rest assured, boy, I can easily take you if you tried anything."

Danthor ran a hand through his loose, ragged, shoulder-length brown hair. "Fair enough. So may I ask why I'm graced by the presence of such a high-profile figure as yourself?"

"I've been told that you approached our Scarlet outpost at the Farmstead, raving about something before passing out," Abbendis said. "The soldiers on duty took you in and healed you, and when you regained consciousness you demanded to join our ranks. So they shipped you off to Tyr's Hand on one of our cargo runs."

"Sounds about right."

Abbendis stared at Danthor. "Those who live at the Solliden Farmstead grow up to become farmers, not warriors. So why don't you tell me why you want to join our ranks so badly?"

"Don't worry, Dan, I'll be back before you know it. Until then, I'm counting on you to take care of your ma and sister for me."

Danthor slumped a bit in his chair. "I grew up in the only untainted part of Tirisfal—aside from Scarlet outposts, of course—so as you can imagine, we were constantly targeted by both the Forsaken and Scourge. Mostly for our plentiful resources. You should know about that. After all, you're supposed to be protecting us from attacks."

"We do protect that land," Abbendis said, narrowing her eyes as if she was the one now put on the spot. "Though I can assure you we've never heard of the Kurock family living there before."

"Like I said, we lived on the farthest of outskirts," Danthor replied, "so it's understandable that we wouldn't fall under your protection. We were the poorest of the poor in terms of farming, but we got by just fine. That was until one day a Scourge attack hit a little bit too close to home, so my father joined up with some of the other men at the farmstead to repel the invasions. I was tasked with protecting the home until he came back."


"Just remember that your Pa loves all of ya, and I'm doin' this for our own good. It'll pay off in the long run—you'll see!"

"The militia was slaughtered right outta the gate. He never came back."

Abbendis said nothing.

"I was put in charge of our farm in the blink of an eye," Danthor continued, "and I did a pretty good job, all things considered. Then, one evening, from out of nowhere we were attacked. This time by the Forsaken. It was a small contingency force, but I took up my father's sword and shield and tried to fight them off. I was wounded and left to die as the soldiers stormed the house."

Abbendis could see Danthor was fighting back tears with all his might.

"As I heard my mother and sister's screams, I could do nothing but lie on the ground with my face in the dirt. As their voices died down, I could only think of one thing the entire time."

Abbendis raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

Danthor wiped his eyes quickly, dispelling all moistness within them. "I thought of how futile all of this really was. That we could never have lived peacefully in this land, even if we tried our hardest."

Danthor could tell that Abbendis was smiling on the inside. And why wouldn't she? Sounds like she's got prime soldier material right in front of her. At least in spirit, anyway.

"And that's when you approached us, begging to join?"

Danthor nodded.

Abbendis looked behind herself at the closed door, saying, "It's always been Scarlet procedure to have either myself or Grand Inquisitor Isillien visit all prospective recruits at some point during their detention, especially after they've gone through some of our other tests to make sure they're made of the . . . right stuff."

The torture you've put me through for the past three weeks, right? Danthor thought, yet would dare not say in front of the high general.

Abbendis looked down at Danthor's exposed arms and saw several white scars lining them. She bet she'd see even more if he took off his shirt and exposed his back. "You realize it's for your own good, I hope. We have to not only make sure the undead do not infiltrate our ranks, but that our soldiers won't give away any of our secrets to the Scourge if captured."

Danthor managed a weak smile. "Just policy, right?"

The door opened behind Brigitte Abbendis, revealing a priest flanked on both sides by a paladin. All three of them wore the tabard of the Crusade. Danthor looked at Abbendis skeptically, opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then closed it.

"There's just one more test we put our prospective members through if we like what we see," Abbendis said, standing up. "As the only true organization dedicated to completely eradicating the Lich King and his forces for good, we like to pride ourselves as being more in tune with the Holy Light than most."

The priest, who Danthor thought was looking more and more like an inquisitor, stepped past Abbendis while his two paladin guards moved the table that separated him from them.

Abbendis smiled, saying, "In my years of service, I've learned that the Light provides answers to those who listen, yet we also have to be a bit proactive, don't you think? So I tasked our priests and paladins to devise a new way of channeling the Light against the undead."

"The Light helps those who help themselves," Danthor said, frozen in his seat as the two paladins moved to both sides of him. He noticed they were prepared to draw their hammers and crack his skull open with only the slightest provocation.

"Exactly," Abbendis said. "And after months of trial and error, the Light gave us our very first breakthrough. It's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it serves its purpose, especially when dealing with the Scourge . . . and as an extension, our new recruits."

"I feel honored," Danthor said, putting on the weakest of fronts to try and hide the terror coursing through his veins. He could handle the weeks of daily torture just fine (well, as fine as any common farmhand could), but the fear he felt now dwarfed any feeling he had while being whipped or prodded with a hot poker—it was the unknown that frightened him the most.

Abbendis didn't look amused, yet still said, "As you should be. What we were able to combine were the powers of the Holy Light that priests channel to heal our soldiers, with the power our paladins use to inflict damage upon the Scourge. The result is deadly for the undead, yet nonlethal against humans. But needless to say, it's a bit more of a . . . potent feeling in comparison to just being healed."

Danthor looked at the door, saw it was open, and had the sudden urge to bolt from his chair and escape, maybe taking one of the paladin's hammers they had strapped to their backs to protect himself while he was at it. It would be the work of but a second, and all he had to do was move . . .

He started to get out of his seat, but felt the weight of both paladins pulling him down and securing him. They were too fast for Danthor, it seemed. Still, he struggled against their strength as the priest


moved closer and closer to him. He yelled, "Let me go! You've already seen that I'm not a part of the Scourge or Forsaken! I've told you why I'm here and you've been watching me for three weeks! There's no need for this! Do you hear me? By all that is holy, let me go!"

"We have to be sure," Abbendis said. "Those of the undead have been getting trickier and trickier with their tactics, and we can afford to have no cracks in the armor. Have faith in the Light, and all will turn out right."

The priest was right in front of the struggling Danthor now, and he removed the white glove on his right hand. He held it in front of the prospective recruit as it glowed yellow with the Light flowing through it. Slowly, he reached and put his hand on Danthor's forehead.

"No! You don't need to do this! I'm fine, I swear to you! The plague of undeath has never been near—"

The spell was both blinding and brilliant—both painful and enlightening. To Danthor, it felt like having electricity flowing throughout his entire body in a fraction of a second. His eyes rolled back into his head as he gave spastic jerks, yet as the magic coursed through his body his mind gave sight to several things at once. The ruins of Lordaeron, necromancers brewing the plague in their cauldrons, countless undead rising from the grave, Sylvanas the Banshee Queen plotting in the Undercity, the Lich King teaching the next generation of death knights, and the last thing he saw was the red and white banner of the Crusade—the last bastion of hope for humanity.

Danthor toppled over in his chair and landed face-first on the ground in front of Abbendis. Spit flowed freely from his mouth as his limbs gave off little twitches. Slowly, he regained his eyesight, enough to see the feet of the priest and paladins going towards the door while Abbendis picked up her shield and axe before moving closer towards him.

She kneeled down in front of the farmer and said, "You know you're never allowed to speak to anyone about what went on in this room for the past three weeks, right?"

Her voice sounded distant, foreign. Still, Danthor said slowly, "Doesn't matter . . . you'd kill me if I did . . . and you'll kill me if I'm not worthy of joining . . . seen too much . . ."

"That's right," Abbendis said. She cracked a malicious smile. "It's just policy." She stood up and walked towards the door, saying, "The good news is that you've been deemed worthy to join our ranks. You'll be shipped off to the Scarlet Monastery first thing in the morning. I think we can't expect much more out of you than a warrior, but that's fine. The Light finds purpose for all who wish to serve it."

She stopped at the door where both the paladins and priest were waiting for her.

High General Abbendis looked down at Danthor and said, "Oh, and welcome to the Scarlet Crusade."

She left, closing the door to leave the semi-conscious Danthor in darkness. His mind seemed to float to a hundred different things at once, yet seemed to be focused on absolutely nothing at the same time. Slowly but surely, he started to slip away from reality, and before he knew it, he was out cold.

A successful initiation . . .

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