(54) - The Headless Horseman

Griffonclaw gripped his faithful Fireblade, and waited.

He had recieved a note fromt he Storwmind Oprhanage matron Shellene; he had assumed that it was one of the semi-regular reports he recieved on the status of the Orphange; he had long since been considered by them to be one of their benefactors, to be called on at need in addition to the stipend that Griffonclaw sent them each month when he went there to sing songs and read stories to the children. The letter was an invitation for himself and Kestralil; the Orphange was sponsoring a children's party in Goldshire, in honor of Hallow's End, complete with costumes, candies, and games, and they were invited to attend. Griffonclaw smiled warmly; Kestralil had made it plain that given their duties, starting a family together would be unfair and dangerous, but she loved children.

And she loved costumes.

A week later, they rode to Goldshire. They had already booked a room for a few days time, and would relax away from Theramore, from the rigors of their duties and the hazards of their professions, and relax together, enjoying the party and some time alone together. They changed into their costumes; Kestralil had assembled a pirate costume, while Griffonclaw used magic to appear as a firbolg. Together they found the lady - one of the matrons of the Ophanage, in costume - and while Kestralil ran off to join the children in their merriment, Griffonclaw pressed a donation upon the matron, placing the purse full of gold in her hands. He watched from a distance as his wife dunked her head into a water rub, seeking apples with her teeth, a happy grin on both their faces.

And then, suddenly, a thick veil of fog fell upon the township. The children screamed in mock terror and delight; they assumed that this was part of the Hallow's Eve celebration.

"Get the children inside" Griffonclaw commanded the matron, cancelling the magic which had transformed him, and as she turned to comply, they all heard an eerie voice from above shrieking "Prepare yourelves, the bells have tolled! Shelter your weak, your young and your old! Each of you shall pay the final sum! Cry for mercy; the reckoning has come!" Looking up, Griffonclaw could see a revanant spirit mounted on a flying spectral horse. The spirit appeared in the armor of a degraded Knight of the Silver Hand, wearing the uniform of the Death Knights who had chosen to forsake the Light and follow Arthas into the Darkness, and it was, properly speaking missing it's head, although it had been replaced with a carved pumpkin gourd inside a nimbus of yellow flame. As Kestralil appeared as if from nowhere next to his side -- the fog being less impenetrable than the shadows through which she habitiaully walked -- the shade began hurling burning, round... pumpkins?

The fiery objects hit rooftop after rooftop, exploding into flame, and Kestralil shouted "Ghosts are your problem - the fires are mine! Go!". Nodding, Griffonclaw fell into a mediatative focus, and prayed.

"Light spring forth from wall of fog
On evening not fit for man or dog
Judge this thing flying all around
And bring him down to solid ground!"

As bidden, a bolt of pure, golden Light sprang forth from his pointed hand, and smote the shade like a reverse thunderbolt. the horse disappating into the mists. Griffonclaw ran to where it started to stand, aware of Kestralil's shouts as she directed a brigade of buckets to extinguish the fires before they grew out of control. He was filled with a forboding as he closed, sword in hand, to engage the spirit knight; he was reminded of Scholomance, and challenging the unholy things that had once been the city's living populace, while their former homes and businesses forver burned around them.

It was a reminder that Arthas, now the Witch King, would remake the cities of Azeroth in Scholomance's image if left unopposed. Griffonclaw's jaw set in determination; it would not happen here, and not today. Fireblade met unholy cursed sword as Paladin and Death Knight clashed together in the middle of Goldshire, while Kestralil and her volunteer crew extinguished fire after fire. It struck at Griffonclaw with an unholy might, but he noticed that as Kestralil was successful in extinguishing blaze after blaze, it drained the spectre of its might, and when she put out the last fire, it called out "My flames have died, left not a spark! I shall send you now to the lifeless dark!"

The ghostly knight swung his blazing bastard sword with both hands, weaker than it had been, but still strong. When it had begin its attack, the flames around it's pumpkin-head had receded and almost extinguished. Griffonclaw pressed the attack, scoring what might have on a mortal opponent, a decisive wound, but the fiend just grinned and spouted more doggerel, "So eager you are, for my blood to spill. Yet to vanquish me, 'tis my head you must kill!"

The pumpkin head was the key!

Again and again, Griffonclaw sought to smash the pumpkin, but the thing knew its own weakness, and had the advantage of size on Griffonclaw. So intent was the paladin on the battle, that he had not seen his wife nimbly leap from ground to barrel, and from there leap upwards, catching the roof gutters of the blacksmithy. Swinging herself up, she crouched, waiting... waiting.... and leaped into the air. Griffonclaw's eyes caught the movement, and watched his wife seemingly suspended in mid-air, rotating... and then the creature's blade slammed into his side, knocking him back just as her feet descended... on the pumpkin, her boots together. Gourd shattered into a dozen burning pieces as she kicked off again, landing as lithe as a cat, twisting in the air to face the spirit.

The thing's body fell, and as it did it dissolved into nothingness. Kes stomped a bit; the flames of the pumpkin-head had caught her boots afire, but it was swiftly dealt with. Griffonclaw picked himself up, and faced his wife.

"My thanks for your timely assistance, Darling... of course, it was only a matter of time until I would have been victorious...." he grinned at Kestralil.

"Of course it would have... " she teased back.


* * *

Reports had come from Kharanos, and the Azure Watch that a revanant of a degraded Knight of the Silver Hand had been materializing, and setting fire to the towns, just as he had in Goldshire; whatever defeat he may have suffered, it apparently was only a temporary setback until it could gather its strength and reform again.

Griffonclaw had been asked to prepare a report his encounter, although he had relied on Kes' observations; he had been too focused on the battle to take in any of the details, while she had the sure eye and presence of mind which had earned her the position as Lady Jaina's spymaster. They had both been summoned to Jaina's tower, where Jaina had greeted Kestralil warmly.

"It is always a pleasure to see you, Dame FitzSilver, even under trying circumstances," the ruler of Theramore greeted her friend. "But the matter of this.. this headless horseman must be dealt with immediately."

"I am at your service, Milady" Kestralil confirmed with a smile. While their relationship had begun as business, the two women had both enjoyed a burgeoning friendship.

Jaina smiled, and continued "Kes, I need you... and of course, your husband," she smiled at Griffonclaw, and he bowed back. He knew that to her mind he was little more than one of Kes' more useful tools, but he was thereby content to be used at his wife's pleasure. And often for his wife's pleasure. Hiding his grin, he listened once more.

"Not only have Alliance villages been attacked by this creature, but so too have the Horde. I have been in contact with Thrall, and he has suggested a joint expedition. Kestralil's observation that the creature wore armor in the style of the Scarlet Crusade gave us a direction, and Thrall's spies within the walls of the Scarlet Monastary tell him that there is a new shrine in the Forlorn Cloister graveyard... a shrine of a burning pumpkin. He has suggested - and I have agreed - that we mount a joint expedition into the Scarlet Monastary to investigate matters, and destroy the shrine. I would like the two of you to be our representatives, and meet with your Horde counterparts at the Bulwark in the western Plaguelands." The Bulwark was an earthworks defense maintained by both the Forsaken and elements of the Argent Dawn, containing the Scourge to the Plaguelands.

"It shall be so, Your Grace," answered Kestralil, bowing. There was much to prepare.

* * *

Griffonclaw stared down at the body of the "Headless Horseman"; the revenant Death Knight had fallen after much effort to a combined Horde-Alliance task force. For a change, the Scarlet Crusaders themselves had backed away from them, giving them free and clear access to deal with the threat - whoever had spawned this creature, it had not been them, and the spirit had proved beyond their ability to master and banish.

After the creature's spectral form had been destroyed, the spirit of Sir Thomas Thompson had appeared, and spoken to them. He had once been a knight of the Order of the Silver Hand, and Griffonclaw had recocognized him from Stratholme, when the Order had been first split, then disbanded, by Prince Arthas. Thompson had been one of those who had split from Arthas, and joined the Scarlet Crusade, where he had begun his descent into pain and madness; he was cursed for his actions as a Scartlet Crusader, and came to believe that he was alive and that everyone else alive was dead and undead, and needed to be put to rest.

Freed from his curse, his spirit had asked for forgiveness for the terror and suffering he had engendered during his curse. He had passed Griffonclaw a book, the Tome of Thomas Thomson, and asked that Griffonclaw take it back to Stormwind.

Griffonclaw had agreed. He did not know what choices had led Sir Thomas to the Scarlet Crusade, nor what he had done as one of it's agents, but he did remember the hero that had shined in the memory of the Order of the Silver Hand. The book had listed his wife, Suzannah, and their two children, Joel and Gina. The names had been oddly familiar to Griffonclaw, and he pondered this all the way back to Stormwind.


* * *

"Archbiship Benedictus said you wanted to see me, Sir?" inquired Thomas the Altar Boy, who served in the Stormwind Cathedral. Thomas had entered the Cathedral service after his parents were killed by the Defias; his father had been a guard for the Northshire Abbey, and his wife had been a lay scribe there.

"Yes, Thomas... I have something for you," answered Griffonclaw gently, rising from the table in the Cathedral Library. "This book belonged to a hero of the Order of the Silver Hand, and tells the story of his travels... " Griffonclaw motioned the boy to sit besides him at the table, and opening the book, began to read to Thomas about his grandfather.