Dark Rebirth of Joseph Redpath

The Dark Rebirth of Captain Joseph Redpath
As penned in the journal of Sergeant Caelyn Lascelles of the Darrowshire Militia, Third Platoon
 
It was eerily cold and dark that night. The men had been becoming increasingly hungrier and increasingly more fatigued as a result. Redpath refused to show this effect, and the men responded in kind. They remained alert and focused on the tasks with which Redpath had assigned them. Even the Silver Hand paladins, whom had been the only force to acknowledge our distress call, began to take orders from him, a mere militia commander.
I had the suicide shift that night. The Captain had warned us that it was most likely during THESE few hours that the scourge would attack. He would always accompany whoever landed this shift. He turned to me. “Son,” he said, “It is going to happen tonight. I want you to go tell the men. Do so silently. I do not want them to know that we know. Once they have positioned themselves, I want you to report back here. Am I making myself clear?” “Yes’ir.” A programmed response. I left the tower and headed to the barracks. I told the men to position themselves for the attack. It wasn’t until I mentioned the orders came straight from Captain Redpath that they sprang into action. The hunger seemed to fade. The thirst now more distant then the sun itself. The second they seemed ready enough, I ran back to him. He was waiting.
“Shhh. Don’t talk. Don’t move. Don’t even think too loudly. They are close...” He immediately motioned out toward the fields to the east. It took a minuet, but I did see them. Ghouls. An immeasurable number. They were on all fours, skittering silently through the grass. Had it not been for Redpath, I don’t know if I would EVER have seen them. They leapt to the wall of the guard tower and began to scale it. He grabbed me and threw me to the ground; he then jumped down beside me and held my mouth closed. They were all around us. Walking on us. Their claws dug into our flex through the joints of our armour. Then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone. Into the town.
Just then, a loud shriek of pain was heard. An ungodly noise that could only come from the depths of a ghoul in anguish. Then another. And another. The battle had begun.
Militants and paladins alike flew from all directions to engage the ghouls. The Captain took flight down the stairs of the tower the second he knew I was ok. As he reached the door, he grabbed the nearest weapon he could. It was a large steel claymore. He picked it up as if it were a dagger. He took to the field like he had been born to do. Screaming commands at his men through attacks. He wielded that sword as if it had been attached to him his whole life. Raising it high and bringing it down in a large ark, he would cleave the limbs off of the ghouls. Rend the flesh from their bones. In a flash an unlucky ghoul would be split from chin to naval. 
“NOW!” He shouted. His voice boomed over the battlefield that had once been a home to us all. Where we once felt safe. The men turned to the west and fled. Once they reached the middle of the town, Private Debartollo lit the oil line as he had been commanded. A ten foot wall of flame licked the sky. The ghouls found themselves trapped in a massive ring of fire, encompassing half of the town. It was at this moment the archers made their presence known. They fired their arrows in a high arc, clearing the majority of the town and landing perfectly in the middle of the circle. The ghouls only screeched for a moment before all sound from within the fire faded. As the flames died down, the affect of Redpath’s gambit made themselves known. Every ghoul lay down before us. Every last one dead or wounded enough to constitute death. The night was ours.
Hours turned into days, which turned into weeks, which turned into months. We held the town through it all. Wave after wave of foe fell to our superior tactics and defences. Abominations, Ghouls, Wraiths, Banshees, Siege weaponry, everything. Anything and everything that stood against us fell without pause. We even got a messenger to Lordaeron, and they agreed to send a massive force to help us... but it is always when things look their best that they get their worst...
It was during another ghoul ambush Redpath had expertly detected that he came. The Death knight, Marduk. The ground froze beneath his feet as he walked. His ghastly visage loomed high over the ghouls. He merely walked as they blurred past him. He had a purpose. The Lich King must have had enough of our commander and sent in the big guns. He walked up behind the Captain and ran his sword deep into his back. The dark rune blade protruded from the chest of our fearless leader. He screamed in pain. A number of paladins rushed to his side and began to smite the Death knight with light. He seemed relatively unhurt, but annoyed enough to turn and walk away. His cloak a deep black the likes of which I have never seen. True black. Black beyond colour.
The ghouls had once again been defeated, but our leader found himself rather unable to fight. For the next few weeks nothing but silence fell over both sides of the conflict. The scourge could be seen during the day, off in the distance, just staring at the town. Refusing to attack again. We figured it for fear. We were naive. They had but three priests. One of which was to spend every waking hour with the commander, healing him as best he could. Despite the efforts of this powerful priest, the commander just got worse. His flesh began to rot. His temperature began to drop. He even froze the bed during a nightmare at one point. His room had to be vacated, as prolonged exposure to the sub-zero temperature would put the poor priest out of commission for a good two or three days.
I entered his room at one point. Large columns of ice had formed on each of his bedposts, reaching from the ground to the roof. The ground had completely frozen, and a fine layer of snow covered any dressers or tables. He had been sitting up for the first time in days. In his left hand, he held his sword. By the blade. It seemed to have been cutting into the skin, as there was a dark red splotch on his hand, but there was a thin layer of ice over the wound now. Acting as an instant scab. With his other hand he was dragging his nail, no... CLAW... along the flat section of his sword in a strange, foreign design. His eyes were closed and he was chanting in what I dare call demonic... His armour had left its stand for the first time since the attack which crippled him. It now hung from his frail-looking body. Frozen. Icicles hung from various sections, including the epaulets, the helm and the gauntlets. He looked up at me... His face... By the LIGHT! It had practically rotted RIGHT off... He skull was visible in sections. His cheeks had rotted away enough to expose an ever lasting, evil grin... but not enough to remove the last few strands of skin passing over them. His bones were exposed in various sections of his body. He spoke...
“... Friend... leave this place... quickly...” His voice a deep hoarse groan. He twitched at me as he spoke. It was... unnerving...
I turned and fled. I knew what was coming... I yelled for everyone to run as I did... no one followed... I got to what I felt to be a safe distance... I turned back around and watched... Why did I watch?... I have no idea... What happened next... well... it was enough to make you lose faith in the world...
A sharp, inward screech was heard from inside the commander’s room. A number of foot soldiers approached the door, swords drawn. The screeching got louder... and louder... until the men had to cover their ears. It got so cold; I honestly expected the air to freeze, and fall to the earth, shattering on impact. The bat-like screech suddenly jumped a good twelve levels and shattered the door right on the spot. Splinters of frozen wood flew in all directions, raining down on the soldiers. As the soldiers were still reeling, trying to regain their balance, Redpath was upon them. He ran out, sword raised and cleaved the soldier nearest him from his left shoulder through to his right hip, separating him in two. He then turned to another soldier and rammed his blade deep into his stomach. Without even removing the blade, he let go of the sword with one hand and pointed it behind himself. A Silver Hand paladin instantly froze solid on the spot. He then turned back to the impaled foot soldier and withdrew the sword. The poor man fell to his knees and died in front of his former commander. He then turned to face the rest of his men. They all stood before him. Weapons readied, prepared to slay him where he stood. He waved his hand behind himself. The second man he slew rose immediately as a ghoul. The first, however, was more interesting. Strands of skin flew from the wound of his top half, and connected themselves to the wound on his bottom half, and pulled the two pieces together. He then stood ready to die, again, with his Captain, Joseph Redpath. The Captain then turned to the Platoon of paladins and they all instantly froze. He then proceeded to slowly walk up to each one and dismember it. He would knock the head off of one, and the arms off of another. The other men in the regiment were too sticken with fear to move. Finally, one of the archers let loose an arrow that found its mark in the chest of the commander. He didn’t seem to feel it... He turned to them... he turned to the regiment that he used to command and smiled. He then fled into trees. The damage had been done. The scourge immediately attacked and whipped out the demoralised regiment, taking control of the town. I fled.
And thusly... the newest Death Knight of the scourge walks Azeroth... May the Light watch over us all...
Category:Lore