In Which I Am a Bad Person

or, “The Ninja’s Justice”

Let it be known, therefore, that a certain evening in the not-too-distant past found Your Humble Narratrix marching boldly through the ruined streets and blackened byways of the once-proud city of Stratholme, under a grim and bloody sky. The return of Deathwing has left the armies of Stormwind and her allies, already much depleted by their long campaign in the frozen wastes of the north, stretched thin upon the ground; and so it is that they hire rough bands of mercenaries for jobs such as these. I am, as you will see, a humble Priest in service of the Light, assigned by the Abbot to keep the suffering bastards alive, an I may.

I met them at the front gates of the old City, greeting them with pleasantries and words of fortitude as is my wont. As I have come to expect, however, they were men of few words, and we moved into the streets with little fanfare. Our orders upon this particular day were to beat back the roving remnants of the Scourge that still infest these once-fair streets, and drive our way into what is left of the Scarlet Crusade’s old bastion. There, Commander Dawnbringer did warn us, a foul Dreadlord had taken up his residence; our task was to defeat him at any cost.

As we fought our way through the burned and blackened streets, I took note that one of our number, an unkempt warrior from some nameless borough, was disdainfully arrogating to himself all of the valuables that were found upon the remains of our fallen enemies. Such loot is generally overlooked by those in authority as an unspoken perquisite of the mercenary; however, this particular fellow was an especially greedy specimen, leaving no bright thing for his companions to claim. To those of you who live in more civilized places, this may seem natural for mercenaries; but I assure you, such folk have quite an elaborate code for the sharing-out of such goods. I am told (though I do not know this first-hand) that it is similar to how booty is shared among pirates on the high seas.

Be that as it may, this warrior-fellow ignored the plaints of his companions in arms. He even snatched up some rather attractive robes of a magical nature, that I myself would not have minded claiming as a spoil of battle. It made no difference to him, though; he stuffed it all into his knapsack without so much as a fare-thee-well. This, apparently, was the last straw for our Mage companion: The latter rose up in anger and demanded that the warrior relinquish his ill-gotten gains or be cast out from the company.

A brief spat then ensued between the Mage and our mercenary Paladin (what have we come to, might I add, when even the servants of the Light are letting themselves out to hire?), the upshot of which was that the Paladin thought us all a bunch of namby-pamby sissies (and other words of a somewhat harsher character) who could go twist in the wind for all he cared. And so, with a bit of grumbling, they got themselves under way once more, and we battled our way deep into the winding corridors of the Scarlet Enclave.

We came, at last, with some effort, to the innermost Sanctum of the Enclave. There, as foretold by the Crusade Commander, the vile dreadlord Balnazzar awaited us. Though the burning of his hatred made my head grow dizzy and made even the very power of the Light seem remote from my hands, we forced our way into his chamber to do battle.

At a certain point in the battle, Balnazzar reached forth with his fearful and loathsome will, and seized control of the warrior’s own mind. Chaos ensued, as the warrior, helplessly obedient to the demon’s dark command turned against the members of his own company!

I do not know what came over me at that moment; in the Abbey, they train us to reach into the mind of such a person and stir up such a fear as will paralyze their very limbs, rendering them impotent for a time, till their own faculties may re-assert themselves. Perhaps it was the malevolent influence of the demon that touched me as well—for I forgot my training in that moment.

Reaching out with my mind, I spoke the shadow-words to evoke anguishing pain and devouring disease upon him, and lashed at him with holy fire, and smote him with the Light two, or perhaps three times in succession. And then, at last, in a fit of demonically-inspired glee, I spoke the shadow-word of death upon him, and he fell lifeless to the ground.

In due course, we destroyed the corporeal form of Balnazzar, and returned to report our victory to Commander Dawnbringer. And truth be told, it might be that I could have found the warrior’s fallen body if I had looked a bit harder, and mayhap I could have evoked the power of the Light to restore his spirit to its earthly home. Alas, it was all so confusing, and we were all so weary at the end of our labours, that I confess I may not have given it my fullest attention. I shall return home, remorseful, and perhaps do a penance for my oversight upon returning to the Abbey.

Even the strongest among us grow weak, sometimes.

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