The derelict house was small and the wind would occasionally whistle through the many cracks in the wooden walls. A small fire illuminated the house and the sound of rain could be heard pattering the roof. Hunched over a workbench Teirvel leaned, a look of concentration as his boney fingers were occupied in all matter of his work. The crackle of the fire and rain was split with a loud boom that shook the small house, sending the fruits of his labor flying in a multitude of directions. Swiftly, Teirvel stabilized the items on his workbench, choosing to ignore the boom, assuming it must be the growing storm overhead; however, not even a few minutes later, three more explosions shook the house.
Realizing that the sound had not followed any lightning, Teirvel put his tools down and walked to his window and pushed aside the curtain. The fog on the window, which had stopped him from seeing far, was swiftly wiped away as he peered through the murky glass; the High Executor could barely make out the glint of steel in the night. “By the Dark Lady…” He grumbled in a mess of phlegm as he made out the vague form of a mortar shell. In the light of the explosion, he could now see this wasn’t a mere storm, but rather an assault. In the cascade of light, the bright polished steel of the Alliance soldiers made them easy to spot, but despite this, his enemy seemed cloaked in shadows even in the light. Knowing this, Teirvel closed the curtains, shuffling to feed another log into the fire before going back to his workbench. Whatever their fight he wanted no part in it, nor would he partake.
He continued to work, his mind unable to concentrate wandering constantly back to the battle again even as his eyes panned across the rotten workbench. Realizing he was making no progress, he went back to the window and gazed out again. The rain was coming down harder, but from what he could make out the fighting had stopped. This set his mind at ease, however transient, he made his way back to his work.
From behind the curtains, another flash of light surged forth. Silence, the music of death followed forth – no explosion, no sound of crinkling platemail, but as he turned to the door the splintered wood buckled, and showered him in an obscuring cloud of dust.
Picking up a cloth from the workbench Teirvel wiped his hands and straightened his robes, before beginning to make his way to the door. As he began to move to the door the perpetrator walked through the shattered entrance, a Forsaken in heavy plate armor the symbol of the Undercity on his chest. The intruder looked around and then seemed to notice Teirvel. He stared for a moment at Teirvel, the sound of rain and the crackle of the fire were the only sound as he assessed the situation.
The armored Forsaken spoke first, “We thought this building was empty or at best some Dwarves may have hid away inside. I did not expect to find one of us inside.”
Teirvel stayed silent.
“Why are you here?” The intruder asked, “Who are you?”
Teirvel raised an eyebrow, “I hope you intend to fix my door. The wind will put out my fire if it stays open too long.”
The Forsaken’s eyes narrowed and the sound of steel boots sucking in mud could be heard outside the door. The Forsaken repeated his question, “Who are you?” His eyes moved toward the tapestry hanging over the mantle. A ghastly green, a white skull in the middle, with eyes that seemed to smile at those who would gaze upon them, begging you for a challenge, it seemed out of place in the broken-down house.
The Forsaken drew his sword, and looked back at Teirvel. “Defiler.” Motioning for the men to come inside. The Forsaken tracked mud and bits of grass on the floor as they drew their swords and entered. “You are under arrest for treason, and loss of Forsaken lands.”
Teirvel clasped his hands together. “Loss of Forsaken lands? It is a crime now to lose a battle?”
The Forsaken slowly surrounded him. “I am simply trying to finish my work, I have no qualms with you. But do clean up the mess you have made before you depart.” Teirvel turned his back to them and walked to the fire.
The soldier answered with a hoarse laugh. “You are under arrest for the crimes of Prince Galen and his crimes against the Forsaken. If you would rather not come, we will happily bring you to justice here.” Teirvel stood in front of the crackling fire, reaching down he placed a log on the fire. He watched the fire in silence.
The Forsaken moved closer in, he placed his hand on the Defiler tapestry before turning around. “Galen was a fool and a coward, do not confuse the Defiler’s with his ilk. We did what we thought would bring Stromgarde back. Besides you have your story confused, the Defilers left his side when he declared Stromgarde a sovereign nation. Few stayed by his side. Strange that so few seem to remember that fact.”
Teirvel could feel the heat from the fire as the log caught fire. “If I had known, if we had known, we would have killed him ourselves.” The Forsaken stopped, and looked at their leader for approval to move forward. The Forsaken leader lowered his sword slightly, as he listened.
The High Executor’s eyes filled with rage as events raced through his mind. “We lost everything, and you break down my door and seek to bring me to justice? Our vision of a renewed Stromgarde is gone, we fought for nothing, sacrificed for lies, what justice do you have to bring?”
The Forsaken, leader raised his sword again. “The losses you sustained and failures are on you, and the only one responsible for them is those who carried out the actions. The justice we bring is that which you deserve.”
The fire cracked and popped, and the Forsaken again moved in. Teirvel stood in front of the fire, the rain had finally stopped. “Perhaps you are correct, what is imprisonment now.”