Saying Farewell Pt1

There was, Renwick noted, something to be said for the ability of Mother Nature to render even the most traumatised lands serene and beautiful. Looking down the valley at the small township of Valens Smith, buried as it was deep in the north-western mountains of the Hillsbrad Foothills, it was hard to visualise the slaughter that had occured here not three days hence. A light drift of snow had settled on the township and the surrounding hills, more swirling in the air as if Kalimdor itself wanted to keep the truth hidden away.
Still, such half hearted attempts to avert the scrutiny of the three who rode with Renwick would not work. Theirs was the clarity of purpose that would not and could not be turned away and they would allow nothing to stand in their way. They sat astride their chargers, immobile and impassive, carved out of stone for all the emotion and movement they showed. Only the slight golden motes of light that circled their horses and the occasional rustle of chain and plate proved that they were men, flesh and blood, as real as Renwick himself. Even so, he wasnt sure that they were entirely human.

"This is the place. The child was released at the entrance of the valley and left to wander. Sheer blind luck that the prospector found him and brought him in before the lions got him. Or worse. Otherwise we wouldnt have known for days yet."
Renwick leaned over the neck of his ageing grey mare and spat.
"Poor bastard was raving. Only a child and his mind broken already."

Finally, some response. The woman edged her charger forward. Barding clinked softly and the morning suns light glinted in her eyes, startlingly blue. Not bad looking, if Renwick was honest, her figure honed and tautened through years of combat, athletic and trim. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her eyes in battle. Hard to imagine her swinging that massive mace slung on her back, but there was something in her eyes that made you think twice about it. She'd seen things alright, things Renwick didnt even want to think about. Penitence, she'd said her name was.
"The child is young. He will heal, given time."
Her voice was soft yet firm and possessed a quality that made you believe her, made you accept that she was right and that everything was going to be ok. The child had certainly listened, not even a whisper had escaped him since she had spoken to him.

Renwick grunted and nudged his horse onwards with his knees down the path that lead to the township. Paragons of virtue they may be but there was something not quite right about them. Something about them suggested an otherworldlyness, as if they werent entirely human. Take the stocky one, called himself Macloren. Looked decent enough, like he'd enjoy a nights drinking, and by the build of him he certainly looked like he could hold his drink. But look closer, actually look at him, into his eyes and again there was something there. Something just below the surface - a furnace of anger, of righteousness, of the need to hurt someone, something, for its sins. And judging by the ease with which he hefted that axe, this Macloren had certainly done his fair share of cleansing.
Further down the path now, the township starting to take shape before them in the swirls of snow. Outlying houses, fences, all dusted with a white that was now turning a dirty grey, as if the ground itself was tainted. They drew to a halt at the outskirts of the town and dismounted, Renwick circling his shoulders and easing out the cramps and aches of the ride up here. The others showed no such discomfort, no grimaces crossed their faces, no memories of old wounds haunted their movements.
"Bastards" Renwick muttered and spat in the ground again. The third of them looked over and Renwick felt a chill run down his spine. Of all of them, this was the one that best epitomised the difference between them and normal folk. He even looked like an angel, all cheekbones and long hair, eyes that had all the girls swooning and he moved with such grace. But still. Something there was undeniably different, as though his long exposure to the Light had changed him in some basic way. Renwick wasnt even sure that he could be counted as fully human anymore, there seemed to be so much of the light in him. He had said his name was Evangelist, Scion of the Light. Looking at him you could well believe that angels had once walked the lands of Kalimdor.

The snow now was falling all around them, settling on Renwicks battered felt hat and the massive plate clad shoulders of the Templars. Strange though, it was cold but not at all wet. Renwick raised his face to the sky and let the flakes fall on his face, into his open mouth and catching them on his tongue like he used to as a child. It was then that Evangelist spoke.

"Ash. The inhabitents of Valens Smith. They have been burnt to ash."

And even though his voice sounded like an angels, like the beautiful Truth of the Light made real, it couldnt stop Renwick faling to his hands and knees and vomiting until his stomach muscles cramped.