Saying Farewell Pt3

They rode back to Southshore in silence. Not one word was uttered and when they finally reached the town and the Templars left on the Griffons that would carry them back to Stormwind, Macloren and Evangelist flew without a backward glance. Only Penitence stayed for a moment, sorrow still lingering in her eyes and a hand laid gently on Renwicks shoulder.
'Just ...remember' she said, staring into his eyes. He nodded and she was gone, borne away in a flurry of feathers. She had asked him only to remember and as Renwick turned and took in the life and bustle of Southshore that surrounded him, he wondered how he could do anything but remember what he had seen.

By the time they had crossed the threshold into the church all of the Templars were bleeding from somewhere. Macloren had coughed and spat, a red bloody mess that had stained the ground and Evangelists nose had continued a steady stream of blood. Penitence bore red tracks on her face where small tears of blood had wound their path down from her eyes. He was the only one not bleeding but still Renwick felt ill and pained, his muscles cramping in rhythm and bile forcing its way up his throat. They had approached the open doorway cautiously, as if expecting attack at any moment, the two men leading and Penitence staying slightly back. Renwick had opted to stay by her side, any small curiousity overwhelmed by a feeling of despair and the almost certain knowledge that he didn't really want to know what had happened here. They moved inside and there was a heart-stopping second where his eyes adjusted to the change in light and Renwick was blind. His vision quickly returned and he glanced all around, taking in as much of the church as he could in case some assassin lurked in its shadowy corners. The interior of the church was fairly standard, a long hall broken up by rough wooden pews leading to a raised dias with some sculpture at the far end. A small aperture to the left showed stairs rising to the unfinished bell-tower. Loose pamphlets and woodcuts littered the floor, as if some whirlwind had raged through here and pews were knocked askance. A small sound, a murmer from Penitence drew his searching gaze back. She stood rooted, hands clasped over her mouth as if afraid to make a sound and real tears joined the sanguine in rolling down her face. She stared at the far end of the church, to the figure that Renwick had dismissed as some carving of the towns patron god or hero. The other Templars were also seemingly memerised by the statue, Maclorens features shifting between grief and rage and Evangelists frozen in a mask of disbelief. Renwick took a step forward and looked closer at the statue, and suddenly sickeningly realised what he was looking at.

It was no statue. A man stood, no, was nailed to a beam of timber in some grotesque parody of sculpture, crude iron spikes driven through his arms, legs, torso and groin. He had been stripped and beaten, bones showed beneath the surface of his discoloured skin in jagged lumps, not quite where they should be.
'My gods...' Renwick whispered but something compelled him to look again, forced him to take in every gruesome detail. The man had an older, grizzled face, older by far than either of Renwicks companions but his true age was hard to determine through the damage inflicted. Special attention had been paid to the mans eyes, the ravaged empty sockets staring back accusingly at his new audience. The scale of damage was hard to take in, as if the mind could not comprehend the amount of punishment the body had taken or the strength of will needed to inflict it. Renwicks eyes took in everything, almost against his will, as deep inside something looked and analysed and concluded and screamed that this man, this poor unfortunate victim, had been alive when his limbs were broken, alive when his eyes were torn from their orbits and alive when the iron spikes had been driven through him, fastening him to the upright beam.

'Faith.....' Penitence whispered behind her hands 'it cant be...'
'I..no, I refuse to see this...' Macloren was visibly shaken, his hands clenching and unclenching unconsciously. Evangelist walked slowly forward as if in a trance, one hand outstrechted to the figure. He slowly lowered his hand gently onto the corpses forehead, as if offering a prayer or benediction. His hand rested for mere seconds on the unfortunates head then was snatched away as if it were red hot. He turned to the others, his angelic face ashen.
'Draylin. By the Light this is Draylin. Our brother has...fallen...'

There was an incohate bellow of anger and grief followed by the sound of wood splintering. Macloren visibly shook with rage and his eyes blazed with light. He was surrounded by the splintered remains of several pews. Penitence moved quickly and placed one hand on his armoured chest, incredibly seeming to restrain and reduce his rage with just a touch
'Brother, this is not the time or place...Patience.'

'You..you know this...this..' Renwick couldnt bring himself to say person, the wrecked physical shell left behind bore little resemblance to any living thing. It was hard to imagine that the end result of such hatred and cruelty could once have been a walking talking soul. His voice little more than a whisper, Evangelist replied,
'Aye. He was..is..Draylin. One of our Order, one of the oldest. He stood with us when the Order first held the line at Dagon fields. His sword was one of our strongest, one of our most resolute.'
'I'm sorry.' Words failed Renwick. What could you say to these inhuman warriors, that seemed so distant to normal people? What words could possibly bring solace to those touched by the Light?

'Apologies mean nothing damn you. We will have retribution for this. Bloody and hard, we shall have retribution.' Macloren's fury was plain to see. Sorrow, it seemed, was not his way. Rage appeared to sustain him and allow him to deal with what he saw, the shattered remains of his comrade in arms, his Brother. The other two looked at each other for brief moments. then nodded sorrowfully.
'Aye. Retribution.'
Somehow it was more frightening to hear the words come from Penitence, to hear the steel behind them.

They had fired the church and watched it burn to the ground in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. The ash still lay heavily all around and Renwick fought his gorge with every breath. Once the shell of the church collapsed into a flaming mass the Paladins turned as one and started back towards the horses. Renwick kept pace, his mind struggling to keep a hold on all that he had seen, all he had witnessed. Just as they reached the edge of Valens Smith, before turning south-east for home, he found the courage to speak again.
'So...so what now? What next?'
There was no answer for a few moments, only the sound of the horses hooves on the packed earth of the track and the jingling of harness and plate. Then Evangelist spoke, his voice clear, calm and angelic.
'Now the Order rides to War, friend Tulen. Now we ride to retribution.'