OOC: This is a reactionary rp story to the recent ‘Clergy Of The Light’ event taking place in the glades. Several guilds are aware of and involved in this storyline. This is a collaborative work, and a story involving personal ethics, morals, and lines drawn in the sand. Where lies redemption?

Disclaimer: This is a Forsaken rp storyline, there is violence and gore. If darker themes in rp are disturbing to you, please skip this plot. Although many civilians were kill in this storyline, no children were.

Pre Story RP: There is rp and events that took place to lead up to this event. You can read more here https://undercitynexus.wordpress.com/2013/07/11/the-tale-of-three/ . The city where this attack happened is a fictional location in game, a city which features a Church dedicated to the Light. OOCLY we opted to not use an actual in game city for many reasons.

Summary: The Forsaken seek revenge for the civilian casualties on their lands. They extract revenge by going to a human settlement, killing the civilians and using their bodies to desecrate a church dedicated to the Light.

INDEX:
1. Intro – The Standard of Three And The Raven, By Banshih
2. Part 2 – Survivor’s Perspective, By Richi
3. Part 3 – Going To Church, By Silaine
4. Part 4 – Post Reckoning Log: Harvest, By Zamboozle

• 1. The Standard Of Three And The Raven

Oily black feathers gleam under the summer sun. In a silent, seemingly deserted human city a Raven is perched upon a Forsaken battle standard. The only thing that disturbs the curious silence of this once bustling city is the occasional exhausted whimper of a child. Upon the battle standard the Raven waddles, moving to and fro as its head cants and jerks, the bird is thinking.

Upon the battle standards hangs three potential meals, each equally revolting – the severed heads of three Forsaken women. Even the Raven can sense that something is not right with the flesh of the three potential meals. The flesh is too foul even for a scavenger or even a vulture, which only served to frustrate the Raven further.

The first woman’s head has long lost her eyes, her flesh blue and gray. Her tongue distended, bloated and oozing. The second head was missing her lower jaw, eyes too missing. Long strings of tissue swayed in the hot summer wind at where the woman’s jaw had been violently removed. The third and final head was frozen in terror, rigor seemingly freezing her in her final moment of pain. Each of the three heads hung from the Forsaken battle standard, staring out as witness to some horror.

In the Raven’s brief life, he had never encountered Forsaken flesh, nor was he stupid enough to sample it. With a dejected caw he took flight and made way to where his flock had flown – into the cities Church Of The Light where fresher human flesh lay…

• 2. Part 2 – The Longest Summer Night, By Richi

It was a warm summer day; the Fire Festival had come and gone by early July to take refuge from the added heat. The sun was just breaking over the water which showed no persons reflections for it was currently being occupied by a trio of human children. They had decided to make the best of the muggy day by refreshing themselves in the pools just outside of the settlements gates. There were two males, one had sandy colored hair and blue eyes, the other had jet black hair and green eyes. The third child was a small female with red hair and violet eyes. All of three were scrawny and no more than the age of eight judging by height, on which the two boys were roughly the same and the girl was actually slightly taller.

The boy with sandy hair made a huge splash towards the other male who sputtered and promptly fell over while the young girl shrieked with laughter. He came back up, “Hey not fair! You said only small ones Jordan!” Jordan responded with roaring laughter to the point he fell backwards and got water up his nose and had to come up gasping for air. “Now look what you made me do Chris, I got water up my nose. What are ‘you’ laughing at Tina?” He said suddenly rounding on the girl who immediately stopped laughing. “Nothin’.” She replied with an innocent air. She glanced upwards at the keep, “We better get inside, night is fallin’ and mama said I can’t be out late again.”

Jordan and Chris exchanged a knowing look; if they were caught outside it would mean a beating for both of them by their fathers. Chris was the first to wade over to the shoreline, “Hey, let’s catch fireflies tonight and put them in a jar. We haven’t done that in a long time.” He suggested, but Jordan instantly refuted, “We’re to ‘old’ for that Chris. We ought to practice with swordplay more.” Tina, however, brightened instantly at the prospect. “If we catch enough, we can line the streets with them like lamps!” She exclaimed happily as she waded to the shore herself. Jordan sighed and gave in, “Well alright, I guess it could be fun.” He said as he joined his two friends on the road toward home.

The three kids made their way across the cobblestone streets just as the sun began to sink beneath the stone walls they called protection. Their mothers stood anxiously waiting outside of one of the civilian barracks. Tina instantly went toward the one who stood in the middle, a rather short woman with curly flaxen hair and matching violet eyes which were awash with stern affection. “Tina my dear! You shouldn’t be off playing with the boys so late and look at you; all dripping in mud! You’ll catch your death of cold.” She said ushering her daughter inside of the house. Chris walked up to the woman on the right, addressing her warmly, “Hello mama, we caught a river snake today.” The lady who had soft and short brown hair sighed with a small bit of relief that catching snakes was the only thing they had gotten themselves into. “Well isn’t that lovely dear. Come inside, supper is almost ready.”

Jordan stood resolute in front of his own mother who had extremely long blonde hair that was tied back into a pony tail. “Jordan Silverblade, if you don’t get inside right now and get cleaned up you’ll earn yourself a right thrashing. What have I told you about going outside of the keep? Get inside; you just wait till I tell your Father. He’ll be home any minute!” Jordan rolled his eyes and went to go inside, followed by his disapproving mother. He stopped short however, a prickly feeling on the back of his neck causing him to look back. Standing on one of the lamp-posts was a solitary black raven who had fixed its eyes upon Jordan. It ruffled its feathers and let out a loud caw before flying away. Jordan watched the raven with a feeling of uneasiness for wherever there was a single raven, there was always death soon to follow.

Jordan sat down at dinner with his friends’ families but found he was only able to think about the Raven as he ate. Afterwards he followed Chris and Tina outside, their arms filled with several glass jars. It hadn’t taken much to convince their parents to allow them to put the jars up on the lampposts as long as they stayed within the city. As dusk was in full swing the ground was soon a myriad of blinking lights, and Jordan soon forgot his worries as he joined Tina and Chris in cupping several of the flies into the glass jars. “Mine are the biggest fireflies!” Chris exclaimed as he lifted up his four jars and sure enough he had caught the fattest of the bugs. Tina began to giggle, “Yeah, but ‘mine’ are the brightest!” She said revealing her three jars and Jordan noted how hers indeed did sparkle the best. They soon began to pester Jordan to show off his to which the boy lifted up his jars and they both shouted gleefully. “They’re perfect!” cried Tina, “Marvelous!” shouted Chris. “Their light and size are perfectly balanced!” Jordan managed to smile, “Thanks, let’s string them up!”

The three of them went to work putting up the jars filled with fireflies all along the streets of the town. The people wandering down the roads agreed that it was a nice touch of summer, with all the flickering yellow and gold. Others came outside from their dwellings to admire the children’s handiwork and soon other children came rushing out with empty jars of their own to catch the remainder of the flies and hand them on the street lamp-lights. The townsfolk had decided this night to let the flickering glow of the bugs be their light, instead of putting fire to oil inside of their lamps. It was a small joy that filled them with hope. Little did the people know, that the hope was soon not to last.

“What was that noise?” Tina asked as the three of them sat underneath one of the larger trees off on the outskirts of town inside the walls. “I didn’t hear anything.” Chris said for he was busy picking up the grass that grew. Jordan however decided to strain his ears and listen, “It sounds like it’s coming from the towncenter. Let’s go check it out-“He was suddenly stopped in his speech as a person landed on the ground in front of them. Tina and Chris screamed and Jordan found that he couldn’t blame them, for the persons flesh was rotted and pieces of bone was exposed in several places. The creature turned around and pinned the children with a yellow stare. “Undead! RUN!” Jordan yelled as the three of them bolted for town. Jordan looked behind him and noted that the Forsaken didn’t seem to have any interest in following them.

They reached the middle of the town and all three halted at the vision of chaos and carnage. “Tina no!” Chris yelled and Jordan spun around to see Tina sprinting off toward their house. “Chris get her! I need to find Dad!” Jordan shouted as he took off for the armory; however he never made it as one of the militia fell in front of him. Jordan watched the man gasp for breath as his became dull; it was the towns blacksmith, a portly man whom Jordan was always fond of. He took up the broadsword, but it was much heavier than the wooden swords he and Chris practiced with. He hurried off to find his friends, slamming the door to the barracks open. There was no sign of Tina, or Chris, just blood on the walls and the lifeless forms of Chris and Tinas mothers. Jordan stood paralyzed with shock before he heard movement and swung around with his sword raised only to see Chris cowering in the corner.

Jordan ran to his friend, “Where’s Tina! Where’s your mum? Why are you just sitting here? What happened!?” Chris shook his head, staring at his mother who was turning green as fungus began to sprout from her form. “Killed them…they took Tina. They took her!” Chris began to sob as he crawled over to the two bodies and Jordan tried to drag him away. “Stop it, they have the disease! You’ll die!” He shouted, trying not to look at the blood pouring from the wounds of the two women, one had her throat slashed and the others heart was pierced. Chris tore from Jordan’s grasp who watched in horror as his friend took up the carving knife from dinner and before he could say Forsaken, he watched as Chris suffered the same wound as his mother. Chris impaled himself and as his hearts blood rushed from his body Chris dropped to the floor, instantly dead. Jordan turned to the side and threw up, only one thought kept him going and that was that Tina and his Mother were still out there somewhere.

Jordan ran through the town, bypassing pleading militia and corpses both dead and alive. Jordan witnessed firsthand the savagery of the Forsaken as they cut down unarmed citizens and the towns’ militia alike. He stopped in the middle of the street, catching his breath before he saw a flickering red light. His gaze slowly lifted as he saw more and more blinking red lights along the ground. Jordan lifted his gaze as he found the source of the lights, the jars hung from the lamplights but they all had a new addition…they were dripping with flesh blood. The golden and yellow lights which had been hung as a sign of hope and gayness had turned into a mark of death and twisted fate. He felt sick as he dropped the sword and turned around to be met with the same pair of yellow eyes, it was the Forsaken they had first seen to cross the wall. Jordan saw him lift his greatsword and bring the hilt down, his world instantly turned black.

“Jordan! Jordan!” The words swam into the boys mind and a blurred view of red hair and violet eyes came swimming into focus. “T-Tina?” He asked as he felt himself being lifted up and shaken. “Get off I’m alright. Are you ok?” He asked as he sat up and noticed how he was sitting in a circle with the rest of the towns children and a concerned Tina hovered over him. “I thought you were dead, I think they are going to cook us! Where’s Chris? He’s the only one not here.” She said, looking around desperately. Jordan couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth, “I don’t know, maybe he escaped.” He suggested and the words had an immediate effect on the girl, “Oh I do hope so. Your mother is alright too, she’s over there.” Tina pointed and Jordan sighed in relief as he saw her, she was rather a ways apart from the rest of them for some reason. Jordan watched her being approached by a hooded Forsaken, dressed in cured leathers; his eyes were blue and flaming instead of yellow.

Jordan opened his mouth to shout out to his mother and tell her he was still alive, but all that came from his lips was a wordless scream. The Forsaken Death Knight had lowered his hood to reveal sharpened yellow teeth. Knocking Jordan’s mother to the ground the boy watched in horror as the male descended on her, though his intentions were not to defile the living. The needs of the Forsaken were so much simpler and purer as he ripped open her blouse. Jordan heard the screams of his mother, watched in agony as the males teeth sunk into her flesh and his clawed fingers began to rip out her entrails. Blood dripped from his clawed hands and into his mouth; it was a feast worth having as he gorged himself on the peasants flesh. He even looked up and straight into Jordan’s eyes, then he grinned and rubbed his belly. “Sshe tassted nice.” He said with an evil sounding hiss to his voice before he got up and walked away to leave Jordan’s half-eaten mother in plain sight.

Jordan tore his gaze from his dead mother and held onto Tina who was crying loudly in his arms. He debated running, but he had quickly noticed their wrists were bound by the power of shadow which shackled all of them together. He then heard the fluttering of wings and looked up to see a large black bird, the raven, flying into the Church. Jordan noticed how trails of blood lead inside of the building, along with the absence of most of the towns’ bodies visible from sight. He watched as the Forsaken pulled his mother inside, leaving drag marks in the pools of blood. Jordan found himself suddenly filled with hate for the solitary black bird. “Don’t worry Tina, we’ll survive and I’ll avenge them all. I promise.” He whispered and the girl looked up at him for she had run out of tears to weep. “Really Jordan?” She asked her eyes full of fear and hope and he nodded. “Really…” He answered and the two of them looked down the darkened streets, the blood glistening in the flickering red light of the lightning bugs. To the both of them, they would always remember it as the longest summer night of their entire lives.

• 3. Part 3 – Going To Church, By Silaine (This story contains scenes of gore)

A desperate whimper escaped the wrecked body of a man, the air hissing through his cracked lips and catching in his throat to release a murmured scrape of life as his body forced itself to live. Wheezing through broken bones and impaled parts the man laid in bloodied pieces upon the sacred stone floors; drowning in a pool of blood as his chest swelled with the nights foul air.

It was a horrible sopping sound as the thick meat was pulled from the bones, each strip of flesh slowly tearing away with a slimy break. The undead held tightly to their flaying instrument making careful cuts along the back of the human, pulling at the hard flesh as the blade ran down the skin. Soon they had collected piles of sheets of skin and one by one they plastered them to the stain glass windows.

Bones cracked under careless pressure and limbs were cut or torn from their place to be thoughtfully placed throughout the room. Some bodies were left mostly intact, hands bound together with barb wire and backs hunched kneeling on the floor in front of the altar. Their heads removed and impaled upon the iron chandelier spikes. Other bodies had been ripped open, their organs used and their skin a small snack for the hungry dead.

The barely breathing human wheezed the stagnant air once more. His ears filling with the crawling noise a blade makes against skin and sickening vacuum sound of blood as organs were pulled from the bodies of his friends.

The undead decorated the hall with a sadistic merriment, hanging the entrails and organs of the deceased from candle sconces and twisting the long intestines around the symbols of Light that hung from the walls like garnish on a christmas tree. Each step trailing the saturated blood until the floor became a canvas of carnage.

Limbs were hacked and assembled into crudely nailed sculptures of the Light, hung on the walls like prized art. The Forsaken dipped their hands into the pools of blood that formed on the floors, bringing their dripping hands to the wall and smearing the white walls with brushes and streaks of red.

Returning to the living man for their last act of cruelty they cut the skin from his face and draped it around the holy book upon the altar. In withering pain the man lay on the floor, silently screaming through punctured lungs, the blood clogging in his throat and dripping from his his gaping mouth. They returned once more to dismember his body, wrapping each naked piece with barb wire around the stone. As the flesh began to rot it swelled and pulled on its constraints creating gashes and deep tears in the putrid skin.

The clamours humming vibrations of a flies throng filled the unnatural silence of the hallowed halls as ravens swarmed the vibrant green trees that decorated the Chapel’s courtyard. A sickening stench floated in the air and filled the empty town with stinging sensation of rotten death.

In the still of the night hushed whispers could be heard from the Chapel beneath the constant squeaking of a rather large raven…

• 4. Part 4 – Post Reckoning Log: Harvest, By Zamboozle

Work…work..and more work. With a sigh the forsaken picked through the fields of battle.

“…more body parts than bodies,” Zam murmured to himself as he surveyed the devastation. He closed his eyes.

Such…desecration. Still, he knew better than to ‘clean up’ after his own kind. As the medic picked his way through the sullied fields, the ‘decorated’ chapel, the stench of death, of rotting flesh and still-wet blood greeted him. It reminded him strongly of the killing fields in the days of yore.

“Ngh…even Faranell won’t have something for this smell,” the medic muttered. He stopped, the lone forsaken standing among the dead. Pieces and pieces of bodies, pools of blood, a faceless head wrapped to a signpost. Where they even killed with raising in mind? It was hard to tell. Most of the body parts were strung up, nailed to the walls, splattered across the holy symbols in an outright blasphemous manner. Innards curled around what were once holy statues and symbols. He frowned.

Really, are they trying to make my work harder? I’m not even sure if the apothecaries can use half of this.

With a grumble the medic waved at the small handful of forsaken that had accompanied him to this location.

“Search the premises. Anything that might be useful – take it – clean and whole parts only. Anything that is broken, nailed, scratched, strapped down, used – leave it,” he said.

“The children, sir? I saw a few of them, still alive,” one of the apothecaries asked. Zam waved his hand dismissively.

“If they don’t bother you, then don’t waste your time with them – now move. We have limited time here before the Alliance arrives.”

With silent nods, the handful of gatherers dispersed, bags in tow. But Zam knew from experience there was little to be retrieved here. This was more of a statement than an actual act of harvest.

It was all to be expected, really, given the latest state of affairs he was surprised the town was still standing. The Forsaken has never been a forgiving bunch. Closing his eyes once more, the medic made his way to the chapel where the mutilated bodies of the fallen laid – or knelt. He could feel them, the still screaming souls of the dead, the fallen, the tortured. The last horrifying few seconds of their lives forever frozen into their very spirits. The scent of blood, the feeling of death, the cries of the fallen, tormented spirits whose screams only he could hear. He sighed.

It was just all so…deliciously irresistible.

The necromancer raised his hand and from the shadows, pulled forth a dark saronite staff. He gave it a practiced wave, then raised it up to the center of the bloodied mess.

“You will all thank me for this when it is over, trust me.”