Fallen (Part 12) - The Dream Mists

In the dim almost-darkness, there was nothing to see but endless mist and fog. She found herself walking aimlessly, her steps muffled in eerie silence. No, not quite aimlessly. But for what purpose she couldn’t remember.

“About time, paladin,” a gruff voice called out.

The voice echoed hollowly, unnatural even in the strange blanket of dream mist. She blinked. A shadow detached itself from the fog. From the darkness of an ornate, covered helm, a pair of glowing eyes glowered. Familiar eyes.

And in that instant, all the memories washed over her. She was not surprised when the figure removed the helm, revealing a face that was a reflection of her own.

The paladin nodded neutrally. “ ‘Twas hard findin me way through th’ bloody dream mists. Th’ lass was makin sure th’ sleepin draught would be keepin me asleep. Seein as how ye were tryin ta stir up mischief,” she added pointedly.

The death knight sighed. “Yes.”

She folded her arms and scowled. “I’m thinkin we agreed ye’d nae be tryin tha’ agin,” she growled.

The other dwarf mirrored back the same scowl. “That was before, paladin. Things are changing. Getting worse. Even with that salve, the fel energies are still building up. We don’t have time to sit back and wait for someone else to find a different solution.”

“So ye were explainin ta Lyir, aye. I’m rememberin tha’.” She had memory of that conversation now, though she had not technically been present at the time.

“It’s the easiest solution, paladin. Cut off the hand, cut me loose, and you’ll be free.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “But what o’ ye?”

The death knight rolled eyes impatiently at the gentle tone of that question. “What does that matter? I don’t belong here anyway,” she added darkly. “I knew where my choices would take me.”

For a silent moment they shared the death knight’s memories of those dark choices.

The paladin shook her head. “Has ta be ‘nother way…”

“WHAT other way? Face reality, paladin – I’m a damned soul! My fate was sealed the day they branded this thing on my hand!” The death knight threw off her left gauntlet and brandished the glowing demonic symbol in the paladin’s face. “Like it or not, Branwynne Stelhamor, I AM damned, and none of your oh-so-shiny goody-goody intentions can undo that!”

The paladin’s jaw set mulishly. “An’ I’m sayin there HAS ta be ‘nother way, ye pig-headed bloody fool o’ a dwarf! Yer jest set in yer ways, an’ nae willin ta look fer it! ‘Sides, ‘tis MY body, like Lyir was sayin, an’ I’m nae willin ta hae me hand cut off, an’ tha’s final!”

The pair bristled at each other with identical expressions of ire.

“Do you not listen? Or are you just stupid? The fel energies are building up! It’s like, like an infection, or a cancer – if you don’t get rid of it, it will rupture, it will spread.”

“So how can we be getting rid o’ the blighted energies, then?”

The death knight snorted. “The only way *I* know of to get rid of them is to USE them. And right now, Miss shiny paladin, that’s not exactly possible, is it?” She sneered at the paladin, expecting an explosion of dwarvish temper.

But the expression of the other turned suddenly pensive instead. “An’ iffen ye could?”

Glowing eyes blinked in confusion. “…what?”

“If ye could bleed off some o’ them fel energies, use ‘em fer summat. Would tha’ give us more time ta find ‘nother way?”

She considered it for a long moment. “Possibly. But I don’t see how it would work. You’re so besotted by the Light, there’s no way you could harness the power.”

“Aye, I’ll nae be able ta. I’m knowin tha’. But ye’d be able ta.”

Another long moment of silence.

“Your druid friends won’t like it,” the death knight hazarded cautiously. “Nor your paladin friend, I think. They don’t trust me.” She did not have to add, with good cause.

“I’m knowin that,” the paladin shook her head tiredly. “But ‘tis our best chance, I’m thinkin. I’ll talk ta them ‘bout th’ idea, leastwise.”

The death knight offered a wry grin. “Good luck with that, paladin.” She turned to walk back into the mist.

“Dun ferget yer gauntlet,” Branny shouted after her. A muffled grumbling was the only response.

Blade of Rage (Part 2) - Of Ghouls and Teddies

“Ratslobber, go!” I shout, pointing at a target. With a wordless growl, it shambles forward, lashing out at the indicated target with claws and teeth, even as I engage another. Scarlet fools, remnants of the fallen Crusade, they huddle at Hearthglen and imagine themselves safe.

There is no safety for them.

We of Acherus no longer follow the frozen ass of Northrend. His whispers do not cloud our minds, or fill us with hatreds not our own. We have our own hatreds to tend to now. Oh yes, and tend them we shall.

“No! Stop him!” I growl, directing my ghoul after one of the fools, trying to flee. Ratslobber breaks off his attack and immediately gives chase.

Unfortunately leaving me to deal with the angry female he had been clawing a moment before.

“Die, unclean filth!” the woman screams at me, swinging her blade wildly.

“Already did that,” I reply with a dark grin, easily blocking her unbalanced swing. A quick twist, a wretching jerk, and I send her heavy blade flying. She stands blinking down at me, weaponless. Stupid Scarlets, untrained for gnomish opponents. “Your turn now.”

A leap upwards, a quick, practiced sweep – she falls to the ground in a bloody mess of viscera and fluids. I pay no mind, turning to my next target. I smile viciously at him, a tall man, his Scarlet tabard now freshly splattered. “Wanna be next, shorty?”

My mistake. The bitch isn’t quite dead.

The holy energies hit me unexpectedly. It is a weak strike, but enough to break my focus for the briefest of moments. An armored boot to my gut steals my breath a moment, and I feel myself fly backwards. I hit the ground heavily, just managing to keep my grip on my runeblade. Not that it matters, as a heavy foot smashes down on my wrist. I cut off a shriek of pain.

“Time to die, gnome,” the man tells me, holding his blade above me, like some kind of holy executioner.

“Seriously, don’t you fools EVER come up with new lines?” I gasp derisively, then use my left hand to fling a frosty bolt of pain straight at my would-be tormentor’s head. He screams and falls back a step, releasing my sword-hand. Gritting teeth against the pain, I try to rise, but find myself knocked down again.

Damn. More of them. Stupid paladins. A pair of them hold me down now. I struggle fruitlessly, even as I see a blade being raised once again.

“For the Ligh…”

“NO HURTS TEDDY!” roars an inhuman voice, filled with rage.

I blink.

A whirlwind of flying teeth and claws hit the poor fools from behind. Amid shouts and screams, I clearly hear the strange battle cry, over and over again.

“NO HURTS TEDDY! RATTY’S TEDDY! NO HURTS!”

Once the dust settles, I find myself hoisted in the air, lungs almost crushed in an overly-exuberant hug, face assaulted by horribly disgusting slobber. And I realize exactly who – and what – my savior was.

“BY THE NETHER, YOU STUPID ROT-BRAINED OAF! PUT ME DOWN BEFORE I PUT YOU BACK INTO AN EARLY GRAVE!” I shout.

It takes several minutes before I convince the stupid thing to put me down.

Blade of Rage (Part 1) - Enter the Ghoul

“Concentrate, death knight,” the Lady Alistra instructs, looking down upon me coldly. “Focus your will.”

Wordlessly, I nod, gathering the sickly-green energies within myself. The circle of initiates around me watch dispassionately, dead eyes reflecting neither curiosity nor compassion. I expect neither.

Acherus has washed away all that. Heroes and champions, villains and thieves, all washed clean – each an empty canvas for the Lich King to paint upon anew. And though we followed High Lord Mograine to a freedom of sorts, we yet remain what the frozen arse of Northrend made of us.

Death incarnate.

“Harness the power of Death, gnome. Drag this sorry carcass back into unlife. Now.”

As instructed, I direct the unholy energies into the unmoving corpse at my feet. It was human once, from the size and shape of the bones and unrotted flesh. Perhaps it was once a Scarlet Crusader. It would fit Lady Alistra’s humor to have such a one used in such a manner.

Briefly, I feel the spirit struggle within my ethereal grasp, but quickly it succumbs to my will. Against the very powers of death, there is no hope of escape. As the Lady has instructed. Numerous times.

“Rise,” I command, raising one gauntleted fist.

Groaning inhumanly, the thing struggles to obey. Drags itself up from the ground, blinks stupid dead eyes at me. Though it towers above me, it knows me to be its master.

“Adequate,” the Lady says.

“I am grateful for the instruction, Lady,” I reply, bowing formal respect.

“Now take your new pet, and go. Put it through its paces, see what it can do.”

I take three backward steps, head still bowed. As I turn, I spare a glance at my new creation. “Come,” I order it tersely. Obediently, it follows.

“Teddy?” the thing mumbles questioningly at me, as we walk down the halls.

“No, rot-for-brains,” I reply. “Shaddup and follow.”