Conversations in the Dark

He stood at the balconies edge and looked out over the rooftops of Stormwind. The hour was late, well past midnight and the city lay dormant and sleeping. Moonlight stole down like a cutpurse in an alley, picking out the edges of slates and tiles with a faint almost hesitant light. The air was chill but somehow close, as though the entire city held its breath, waiting for something...

Cartheron grunted a soft laugh to himself. Too long in the shadows and he saw danger everywhere. Nothing was simple anymore. He leant his arms on the cool stone of the balconies rail and stared out across the city. His features were harsh and drawn, faint scars laced along his face and a larger darker line of scar tissue ran raggedly across his bared throat. Pale grey eyes gazed out towards the distant spires of Stormwind Keep but did not seem fixed on anything. If anything tonight, his gaze was turned inwards, towards his own soul. A month had passed since his return to the Order, weeks that had done nothing to quell the whispering in his mind and the feeling in his heart that something was rotten within the Brotherhood. True enough the Lord Militant had welcomed him back happily, as had the Scion but there had remained an undercurrent of distrust amongst other members of the Order. Increasingly Cartheron had found himself at odds with younger, more zealous Brothers and the old rumours had risen anew. He knew that there were some who thought him...lost, if not in body then in mind. A smile twisted his lips sourly. If only they knew the truth.

There had been times when he had questioned the path he had chosen. Times when the pain was too much to bear, when the memories of screams became almost too much to live with. It would have been easy to turn away, easy to fall. Even easier still to simply surrender, to let the pain of wounds drag him under. But the Hate had not let him. It had coiled around him and sank ice cold fingers into his heart and squeezed. The Hate had pushed him on past the pain of his shattered body, past the cries of the spirits that haunted him and had roared and spat its defiance all the way. Grinning and bloody it had clawed its way from the brink and dragged him all the way with it. It slept now coiled around his heart like fine chain, armour and prison combined, gathering its strength. The way ahead would be difficult and hard. Blood would be spilt and trusts shattered, Cartheron knew that. There would come a point where a choice would need to be made and the Light alone knew what would come of that choice. The Darkness had gathered its strength and had found more mortal agents. Even now they riddled the lands of men like cancers, corrupting and decaying all they touched and there seemed little defence against their depredations. The greatest curse of man was to seek the easy way and the greatest strength of the Dark was to provide the path. Cartheron sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. The hour was late for such thoughts and he was weary. As ever sleep was a rare commodity. Even when it came it was short and turbulent, broken by half remembered dreams and memories. His sister appeared in his dreams with alarming regularity now and as ever she was accompanied by the twisting pain of betrayal. Grimacing he turned away from the rail as though unwilling to face such memories. There was a foul taste in his mouth. Hypocrisy, his heart whispered.

A strengthening wind whipped the hairs that had fallen loose from his rough ponytail around his face. The air had grown close and heavy and clouds had dampened whatever weak moonlight had once crept down. The chill breath of the wind rose gooseflesh on the exposed skin of Cartherons hands and he looked up to the night sky, as if searching for something. Answers could not be found in the stars, he knew that, but he had few other places to look. The events of recent months had left the Order sorely lacking in the wisdom of some of its older members. Penitence was a shattered wreck, brittle and crazed. The Lights touch had gifted her with visions it was true, but at the cost of her sanity. Rare were the times she was coherent and even then she was a pale imitation of the caring woman he had known. Prophetic visions and the knowledge of angels coursed through her mind now and slowly but surely she was being consumed by it. Locked away for her own safety she raved day and night, knowledge spewing forth in torrents, every word recorded and interpreted by the monks who cared for her. And now he learnt that the Brother Chaplain had declared a Penance Crusade and had disappeared. Vaknor had been the most knowledgable of them all and one of the few Cartheron had felt he could truly trust. Along with Azeem they had seen many things...and done so much more. It was unlike Vaknor to simply leave without leaving word and worse the damn fool was likely to get himself killed. Cartherons face darkened as suspicions and doubts flew through his mind. Someone was working against the Order, this much he knew to be true but there was no way to tell how much they had influenced events or even the extent of their power.

Footsteps in the corridor beyond the balcony entrance snapped Cartheron from his reverie and he tensed. One hand moved towards the hilt of the knife sheathed under his left arm and he felt the Light trickle power into his body. Even in the heart of the Orders sanctuary he did not feel truly safe. A figure moved into the shadowed archway, as tall as Cartheron but much wider. It was robed and hooded and wore no obvious weapons. The faint light from the torchlit hallway did little to illuminate the figure.
"Light damn it Quillion, you going to stab me, you're going to need a bigger blade" the figure laughed, his voice rich and deep and carrying the faint hint of an accent from far-off lands. He lowered his hood, exposing a dark skinned face weathered and sword-kissed. Cartheron felt a crooked smile tug at the corners of his mouth and relaxed his guard.
"Aye, it'd take nothing shy of a axe to hack through your thick hide. It's good to see you Azeem." He stepped forward and embraced the Paladin warmly. Azeem was the closest to a brother he had and had fought by his side for many a year, standing true in the face of the Dark. His shield had saved his life more times than Cartheron could remember and until recently he had thought him dead. The realisation that he had survived the slaughter in the warehouse had spurred Cartheron into returning to the fold of the Order, safe in the knowledge there was at least one Paladin left he could trust. The immense Paladin was one of the oldest serving members of the Order, one of the foundations the Brotherhood was built on. Even robed in simple cloth his bear-like frame exuded raw power and strength. Not for nothing had the recent initiates into the Order named him 'Juggernaut'.

They turned back to the view of Stormwind laid out before them. The atmosphere was oppressive, pregnant with some unknown threat and both Paladins felt it. Unease slithered across the sleeping city like a thief. Azeem grunted and spoke.
"The Lord Militant is still ignorant of Vaknors whereabouts. No word has been received and none of the Order have seen him on their travels. I fear for the old man."
"Aye, Harlequin has been making enquiries on my behalf. Damn sneak seems to think someones got to the old man. Rumours on the streets he says."
Azeem spat to avert the ill-luck of mentioning the Elf. "Bastard thing could be lying through its teeth Carth, you really trust him?"
"No. Thats why I pay him well. Vaknor was the one who always used the Blades. Still, theres little enough left of them now. Harlequin mentioned something about cat and mouse in the alleys since Merri's....incident."
"Aye and theres a damned thing. How long had she carried the taint? You think it was her that...." Azeem did need to say anything further. The wounds of that betrayal were still raw. Beside Vaknor only a few others had known of the Fraternity and the Shadowbane's plans. Betrayal had come from someone close, someone involved and had left the two Paladins uneasy and distrustful of others. Cartheron sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, seeking to ease the ache of tense muscles.
"Light alone knows. All that is certain is that we are on our own again Brother."
"As always."

There was silence as both men stood wrapped in their own dark thoughts, suspicions and questions twisting and turning through their minds. The three of them had shared a sacred task, one fraught with danger and that would test their resolve and faith daily. To face betrayal from within was an attack they had not expected, had erected little defense against. Events had rushed beyond their control and even the return to the safety of the Order had not been as easy as they had hoped. Suspicions had been raised and the Brotherhood was a very different place to that which they had left.

"You think the Scion suspects anything?" Azeem spoke softly, leaning against the arched entrance to the Cathedrals interior. His thick arms were crossed against his chest and muscles strained at the fabric covering them. Cartheron grimaced and returned to the railing, placing his hands on it as if bracing himself.
"Hard to say. Bastard shows less emotion than a statue. There are....whisperings amongst the others."
"Ah yes. Our erstwhile Brothers and Sisters. I'll admit, they are....eager"
"Eager? Damn fools are naive. Who are they to judge us? If they knew what we have seen, what we have done..."
Azeem moved to the railing next to Cartheron and gazed out across the rooftops.
"If they knew, like as not they'd burn as heretics. Their naievty is to be expected." His voice was level and soft as he spoke. Azeem knew that something within Cartheron was twisted and pushed others away, not allowing him to open to anyone and leaving him distempered when confronted with zealous purity. He had spoken little of his past in all the years they had fought together in the shadows, but Azeem had gleaned pieces here and there. Something dark lurked within his friend, some terrible secret that he would not share yet was eating him from the inside. Still, secrets were the Shadowbanes currency. Everyone had them, hoarded them even, himself included. He looked over as Cartheron spat, a tribal gesture he had picked up from Azeem.
"Ah you speak true enough. This damn waiting has me on edge. I cannot help but feel we are two steps behind in this game. Things are moving too fast my friend and we have no idea who the players even are."
"The time for action will come soon enough. I feel it in my heart. Soon enough the players will be revealed"
"Aye. I look forward to it."

Thunder broke overhead like the rumbling of a gods drum and both men looked up at the night sky. Still that sense of oppression, of being watched remained and both were uneasy. Azeem clenched his fists unconsciously and Cartherons hand wandered to the hilt of his blade again. When Azeem spoke his voice was distant and soft.
"Hard choices ahead brother. Hard times."
"Aye. The hardest"
Again the rolling of thunder washed over their words. A certainty was shared between them both, an unspoken agreement that no matter what blood was spilled, what secrets were revealed, they would honour and stand by each other. Cartheron's breath hissed out from between his teeth.
"Torches have burnt down. We've been standing in the dark all this time Brother" he caught Azeems eye and a small smile crept across his mouth. Azeem spat again, the gesture doing little to ease the discomfort he felt.
"Apt. If unfortunate."
"Aye."